How time flies

So I have been very busy doing everything but keeping up with my blog.  I have been out in South America for five months already and I am currently on my third tour running across the South American continent from Lima to Rio de Janeiro or visa versa.  The tour lasts seven weeks although some passengers only do part of the trip with their joining or leaving point in La Paz.  We travel through Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, and Brazil, going to some beautiful, interesting, and exciting places, many of which still fascinate me on every visit.  I know people pay good money to come out here for an adventure of a lifetime but for me, this is my whole life at the moment.  Even though I am working, I get to do the excursions and activities run by the local tour operators that we use as if I was just another person on holiday.

Don’t get me wrong though, I still have to earn my money.  Doing accounts, preparing information for the passengers, making bookings, and confirming reservations can take up time, especially when you need internet access, which can be temperamental and slow at times.  I have many spare hours sitting on the truck during the days travelling from place to place, but not much can be done in that time.  I also have to buy food for the group, take the passengers on orientation walks around towns, and make sure the truck is kept in good condition.  Not to mention all the group dinners, and having to take those group members who like to party out and about later at night.  When socialising is part of the job, it is hard to find time for yourself and tonight is probably my first night staying in alone in well over one month.  I am not complaining though as it has now become difficult for me to relax and do nothing.  Boredom sets in and I want to be with people or out exploring.  This has been exacerbated by having trainees on my tours, spending pretty much 24-7 with someone for at least a couple of weeks at a time.  My most recent trainee just left to lead her own tour which is why I finally have some alone time.  However, it does feel as if something is missing, and probably rather than talking, I now have the impetus to write my thoughts down instead in this well over due blog.

Organising in chaos

Puno is the biggest town on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. It is near a border crossing into Bolivia and is also surrounded by important mining areas. In the past, there have been various violent demonstrations against mining and other causes the local people decide to fight against.

We happened to be there at the start of a riot and they were fighting for all foreign mining companies to leave the area. They had blocked the border crossing as well as the roads leading up to it. This posed a problem for us, as La Paz was our next destination. With my birthday approaching, I was keen to stick to the schedule but this was not possible.

Luckily I had my favourite Peruvian bar in town to frequent in the meantime. On two of the nights, I chatted to a British RAF guy on holiday but who was normally stationed in the Falkland Islands (or Las Malvinas if you are Argentinean). As much as he didn’t like it there, I still would want to visit them sometime.

We stayed in Puno only one extra day and night before the office gave us the all clear to take a road around the north of the lake that many people had heard of but that nobody dared to venture. After an afternoon of running around the town, trying to get stamped out of Peru, and buying emergency supplies in case we got stuck on the side of a road, we left on the morning of my birthday and headed on what came to be known as ‘the Indiana Jones adventure’.

The first part of the journey was fine. A lot of the way was tarmac and the truck got her paperwork in order at the right office. After that in no man’s land, the thin dirt road winding up and down valleys meant that the truck was precariously close to toppling off a couple of cliffs.

We drove into the next town’s main square to see a Bolivian flag flying, after crossing the invisible border. There was supposed to be a migration office to get our official entry stamps. The police there informed us that there wasn’t such an office and that the nearest one was in La Paz. So we continued our journey. We arrived in the administrative capital late but with just enough time to get a good meal and have some drinks, to finish off my birthday as I had planned.

I loved La Paz as much as the first time I went there. The chaotic metropolis had something strange for me to see on every dirty street corner. Not much had changed in six years but I’m sure there are more people and there is even more traffic now. Travelling along the dirt roads (which actually had less rubbish along them than before), waking up to cold showers, and dealing with things not running properly, are things I enjoy when I’m away because of the neither good or bad differences from what I am used to. Many passengers disagreed and with most of them getting sick from eating too much street food, using the tap water to brush their teeth, or more likely, just having weak constitutions, they couldn’t wait to get into Argentina.

This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship

After a week spent back in Cusco fixing up Doris, the truck I would be using for the next few months, I finally met Stu, fellow crew member and driver, possible drinking buddy / shoulder to cry on / pain in the backside.  We had a two day transit back up to Lima where our first tour was starting.

It did not take long before the shenanigans began.  Trying a different route out of Cusco, we found ourselves in narrowing streets with colourful banners hanging lower and lower above the tarmac.  “Ping, ping, ping” went the banners because Doris’ house – the back part of the truck- was too tall to fit under them and they got caught and cut on the truck. Looking out of my side mirrors, I saw streams of red, blue, orange, pink, and green flags, flapping off Doris, as we shamefully, but still in a fit of giggles, drove through the local area.

Winding up and down valleys, the views out of the cab windows were spectacular.  As well as the usual ‘getting – to – know – you’ questions, it was easy to dip into the odd ‘deep – and – meaningful’ because of the magical scenery in front of us, even though Stu and I barely knew each other.

With dinner time approaching but no reasonably sized town near on the map, we stopped at Santa Rosa, a one street town with no restaurant signs to be found.  Walking up the street we saw a large table in a door way and peeked in.  An old lady looked at us before I asked if it was possible to eat here.  She told us what the only thing on the menu was and I assured Stu that the dish was usually nice.  We sat down and started to comment on our current situation.  I then heard something.  I instantly grabbed Stu’s arm and had an expression crossed between shock, excitement, and disbelief on my face.  After telling him to shut up so I could hear the noise again, I was still unsure if there could actually be what I thought there was.  Letting Stu in on the secret, he said we just had to get up and check.  Creeping through another short door way into the kitchen area where the old lady was prepping our dinner, there they were, guinea pigs running around on the floor, at least four or five or them, squeaking away as they scuttled around, stopping to munch on the odd leaf of lettuce dotted around.

There were also dogs, cats, and a parrot that bit a chunk out of Stu’s finger, all hanging out in the kitchen.  When I took my camera out to take a photo of the guinea pigs, the lady informed us how they were not pets like the other animals in the room, but rather something that would be dinner one night soon.

The dinner was delicious and we had jelly for dessert, something Stu and I both enjoy and that is easily found selling in plastic cups by Peruvian ladies in any town.  We drove a little longer before deciding to pull over for the night, and as we did so, Doris died.

I slept quite well on the tiny bed at the back of the cab.  When we woke up, we ate some cereal on the side of the road watching the sun come up over the valley we were in, and then Stu got his overalls on, crawled under the truck, and quickly figured out that an air pipe was cracked.  It didn’t take us too long to hitchhike into the nearest town, get the pipe bronzed, find a lift back, for Stu to put Doris back together again, and for us to make our way to Lima.

Not quite deepest darkest Peru just yet

Too busy enjoying the different lifestyle, I have already travelled around most of southern Peru and failed to document my adventures.

My training trip back in April continued from Arequipa up the coast to Lima.  An overnight excursion to the Colca Canyon let me see giant condors fly close over my head.  I discovered Arequipa, what is probably my favourite city in Peru, with a great mix of a small historic city centre, modern and vibrant suburbs, and varied choices of cafes, restaurants, and bars, all being guarded over by the imposing, snow-capped El Misti volcano.

I’ve camped out on a deserted beach watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean in the old Inca fishing port known as Puerto Inka.  I went to Nasca to see the weird lines zigzagging across the Peruvian desert but will not fully appreciate them until I have taken the plane ride over the area to pick out the huge geometrical figures in the sand.  I stayed in the fish smelling town of Pisco and drank the not so nice drink sharing its name.  I’ve laughed and screamed while flying over sand dunes in buggies, on an excursion including sand boarding based out of the desert oasis of Huacachina.  And I unfortunately disliked most of the time I spent in the capital city, exploring the centre, as well as the livelier Miraflores neighbourhood.

But Peru is a country that has it all – landscapes, history, cuisine, and culture.  I just need to do the Inca Trail and Lares Trek, see Machu Picchu, explore the northern towns a little, and visit the jungle to complete my Peruvian adventure.

Waiting my turn

After Lake Titicaca we returned to Cusco (my new home away from home) on an overland truck, similar to the one I will be tour leading on.  I sat up in the cab and watched the beautiful montane scenery go past, stopping off to stroke baby alpacas at a pass over 4,300 metres high.  The next day was the start of another truly Peruvian adventure as we headed into the Sacred Valley.  Our first stop was again animal related when we visited a rescue centre.

There were pumas, condors, an Andean mountain cat, and the oddest type of canine – the Peruvian hairless dog.  Then onto the historic sites… Pisac was my favourite as you could really explore the labyrinth of house remains.  Ollantaytambo was interesting too with our guide giving a thorough explanation of how the Incas (and not aliens) moved and built with such huge stones.

This was another town in which we stayed in people’s houses but this time it was more like a guesthouse rather than a homestay.  With not enough time or space for me to join the group along the Inca Trail this time around, I could only wave goodbye to the passengers on my training trip the morning after as they headed off for the four day hike finishing up at Machu Picchu.  But not before eating a full cooked breakfast at a cafe which donates all its profits to the livelihoods of the local people of the Sacred Valley, a place I will be certain to bring my groups to in the future.

 

Why Lake Titicaca women aren’t as fat as they look

I’m writing this on the last day of my first trip out of Cusco training with a group.  I can’t believe I forgot just how much I love living out of my backpack, staying somewhere different every night, seeing new things at every turn, experiencing new cultures, and having the enthusiastic energy of a pink energiser bunny.

 

From Cusco we took the cheapest overnight bus to Puno, the Peruvian city on the northwest side of Lake Titicaca.  The coach was fairly empty so I had a large double seat to myself which reclined almost horizontally.  I fell asleep as soon as the bus left the station and only woke when my alarm went off.  Arriving in Puno we found ourselves exiting the coach on the side of the road.  However, the bus driver flagged a taxi and paid for him to take us to our hotel.  I guess it was saving him a journey into town as we were the only ones not travelling further to Bolivia, but it was perfect for us not having to get our own taxi and spending more of the budget we had been given for the trip.  I was surprised how nice the cheap option was and realised that the expensive tourist coaches must be like a five star hotel inside to charge what they do.  My travel companion is also my fellow trainee and she has a bladder the size of a pea.  The only thing that she didn’t like was the coach toilet which smelt so bad that she gagged a little.  Luckily I did not have the need for that experience.

 

The hotel in Puno was impressive for an overland trip.  They had a room spare when we arrived at 0530 so another nap was called for.  Heading out after midday we found a four course set menu with a drink for 7S/.  The place on the main drag looked more like an old Chinese restaurant but the Peruvian food was decent and it was full of locals.  Puno, being famous for an organic coffee called Tunki (supposedly the best in the world), I had to try a cup.  Paying 8S/. for a mug (more than my lunch), I wasn’t impressed.  Luckily my partner in crime choose to have just a normal cup of cheap coffee and at least I was able to tell there was a great difference between them, but for me it was in no way as tasty as the Italian coffee I lived off for the two years before.

 

After a little wonder around town, finding out answers to some of the questions set by the office, we went to meet our training group who had just arrived from Bolivia.  The leader took us on a very brief orientation walk of Puno.  Brief, not because it wasn’t helpful or informative, but brief because Puno is only a very small city.  We then left the group and headed to the agencies which we use to book activities with, and the leader showed us a couple of other hotels are company uses for the different types of tour that come through the city.

 

 

We joined the group for dinner at a more touristy restaurant.  Half of us ordered cuy, roast guinea pig, the most famous of Peruvian delicacies.  I was really the only one that gluttonously stripped the bones and even sucked out the brains.  Most of the other people were happy to have tried it but would not eat it again.  There happened to be five company employees in Puno that night so when the passengers said they wanted to go to bed, we decided to stay out and went to a reggae bar for some more beers.  It wasn’t full of tourists – although I would imagine in the peak months for tourism, it would be heaving – and I felt comfortable and enjoyed my time in there without sticking out for being a gringo or a girl.  It is definitely a place I will be going back to with or without my groups.

 

The next morning we got bicycle taxis down to the port, bought some presents for our hosts that night, and boarded the boat on Lake Titicaca.  Our first stop was on the floating islands visiting the Uros.

There was a talk about how the history of the islands and how they are made, we even got to eat some of the reeds which I thought were juicy and quite tasty.  The islanders then tried to peddle their wares, and even though some of the embroidery was very pretty, my lack of interest in souvenir shopping persisted.

The group then paid to go on a reed boat across to another island.  The women on the island sang a couple of good bye songs, including ‘vamos a la playa’ which has been stuck in my head ever since.  We took our normal boat across to meet the group who had got their passport stamped with the floating islands, and headed off to Amantani, where we were spending the night.

 

The boat journey was long but peaceful.  There was plenty of space for the passengers to choose to sit inside, out the back, or even on the top of the boat.  The weather was amazing and my tan can prove that.  Arriving on the island we headed to the centre of it where we were greeted by ourmamas, the ladies of the houses in which we were having the homestays.  Paired up we headed to the home.  Our room was carpeted and far more comfortable than I had imagined. The bathroom was tiled with a western toilet but there was no running water.  The kitchen was basic though, and mama Blanca prepared our lunch on a vegetation fired cooker.  Soup for starters as per usual, followed by potatoes, rice, and omelette.  After being given a bobble hat to wear, we rejoined the group for a game of volleyball against the locals, before heading up to the peak of the island to watch the sun set.  Unfortunately it was a little cloudy but the landscape was beautiful and you realised just how big Lake Titicaca is, barely making out the snow capped mountains in Bolivia, across the other side.

 

Back to the homestay and another carb overload for dinner.  It was a little weird in that the mama and the husband ate different things from us and it did look like they kept the nicer things for themselves but it was no big deal.  Mama then dressed us up in the local costumes for a little party.  We wore a white shirt with hard embroidery across the chest area, two skirts on top of each other which were colourful and reminded me of larger, heavier versions of the old eighties ra-ra skirts, and a black shawl with more colourful embroidery at the ends.  The skirts were fixed on with various embroidered belts that were tied so tightly it was hard to breathe.  The boys got away with having only to put ponchos on.  There was a band at the party, three boys playing a drum, panpipes, and a charango.  Most of the men of the town were not there as they normally wake up about 0400 to work, but the mamas were there to dance.  Simple and more like a children’s playground game, the dance wore thin on everyone quite easily but it was still fun.

 

We woke up to pancakes, funnily pronounced ‘pancackay’, before hiking back down to the docking area.  Saying goodbye to the mamas, the boat headed off to another island, Taquile.  Beautiful and peaceful, apart from the tourists in the main square, there was not much to do while waiting for lunch.  We had delicious fresh trout from the lake, and then crossed down the other side of the mountain to rejoin the boat,  and return to Puno.

 

New start

Three days ago I arrived in a new country, two days ago I started training for a new job with a new company, one day ago I got a new phone number, and today I learnt new things about trucks (or rather ‘overland vehicles’ as they should be referred to).

 

Training is fun and varied so far. Luckily I have a fellow trainee to accompany me for the first three weeks before we split off and start running different types of tours on our own. Having lived in Peru before, she is perfect for suggesting all the local things to eat and drink which are new to me. There hasn’t been anything I’ve tried which I haven’t liked, and finding tasty 2 course menus and drink for 5 soles is going down a treat.

 

There is so much that I am being told and that I am finding out, I am sure my sponge capacity for remembering things may start to leak soon but heading out with a real tour group in a couple of days will put things more into place for me. There is nothing I like more than being kept on my toes with new information and new adventures. From this new start, I am certain that I will not be disappointed.

 

Itchy feet

Just over a year ago, I thought I had gotten rid of my travelling bug.  Living in Italy is what I wanted to do and so I did it.  I loved my time in Florence but I came to the realisation that I am not ready to settle down yet because there is still so much I want to see and do around the world.  When I originally left my career to travel more I wanted to go to South America again, having had the greatest adventure there back in 2005.  There weren’t jobs available at that time which is why I worked in Italy instead.  When I found out at the beginning of this year that there were South American job openings soon, I just could not miss out on the opportunity.

 

So at the end of March, I am packing my bags again and heading to Peru.  The company I work for has an office in Cusco, where I will be based for the first week.  I will then start a training trip in Peru, before getting my own tour to lead at the end of April, travelling through Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, and Brazil, ending up at Rio de Janeiro in the middle of June.

 

Apart from working in another continent, the style of tours I will be leading will be different to what I did in Italy as well.  Rather than taking small groups around, using public transport, and staying in hotels, the new tours will be on overland trucks, with a driver, bigger and younger groups, and camping most of the time.

 

Some of the things I disliked about tour leading last time were that the passengers moaned about having to carry their bags and they were not fit enough to enjoy the hikes and organised walks, and also dealing with public transport not running on time.  All of the aforementioned problems will be negated because of the difference in tour style this time around.  That is not to say I won’t get annoyed by things that passengers do on the new trips.  I’m sure I will have to deal with people being late because of partying too much, and trying to get people to do chores like cook the camp dinner or go grocery shopping when they don’t want to, may test my patience at times.  But it is all part of the new adventure which I can’t wait to start.

 

Final countdown

So this is going to be the last blog for mala on tour.  After travelling the world at every opportunity I had for the past ten years, as well as specifically changing career to travel more in 2009, I think I have finally found a country that I want to live in.  I spent seven months in Italy last year and every passing second that I was there, I fell in love with it even more.  I had never felt so comfortable in a foreign land than how I felt when I was there.  Having returned to London for the past few weeks, I feel like a stranger in the city that I grew up in, and I cannot wait to return to a place that I will soon happily call home.

 

I am under no illusion that I will be living la dolce vita as soon as I return to Italy and have no dream in mind that I will be chasing.  This will undoubtedly be the hardest year of my life because of all the risks I face.  Not only am I far from fluent in the language, away from my family and friends, and will have limited support to help me on my way, I have decided to find a job in a country which has an increasing unemployment rate as well as an increasing immigration rate, which of course I will be contributing to.  There are countless reasons why Italian culture and society is so appealing to outsiders.  However, it is also common knowledge that the large amount of red tape I will soon have to contend with may well leave me wanting to bang my head against a brick wall.

 

Rather than taking the easy option and accepting a job tour leading in South America, I have decided to try a new life somewhere in Italy, doing something else.  I am not sure where or what yet but I have a paid work placement with accommodation in Florence for a while which will give me time to find something more permanent after Easter.  I have started up another blog, as well as a new twitter feed, and photo sharing site, for ‘Mala in Italia‘, so you can carry on following my adventures.

 

Exchanging one CV for another

When I got back from Italy, rather than staying at home, updating my resume and looking for a Christmas temp job, I stuck to this year’s priority and went travelling again.  This time it was just me and my little backpack in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.  I went to Cape Verde, a stunning volcanic archipelago half way between Portugal and Brazil.  A friend of mine lives on one of the islands but is planning to leave at Christmas, so this was my last chance to visit him out there.

 

My flight out was to the capital Praia, on the island of Santiago.  My first few days there I spent sleeping on beaches, getting shown all the local watering holes by some ex-pats I met there, and sampling all the local alcoholic beverages, as well as drinking a whole load of Portuguese beer.  I managed to get a flight over to the northern set of islands where my friend lived and arrived on São Vicente to stay with my mate in the beautiful colonial town of Mindelo.  Knowing how to get around the islands, my friend had kindly planned the rest of my trip (thanks T) which he was to accompany me on.  The tour included hiking on Brava and climbing the active volcano on Fogo.

 

We booked our flights and then headed off to Santo Antão for a couple of days hiking.  It was only an hours boat ride to the larger neighbouring island.  The sea while sailing the Atlantic was dark and ominous but I was highly amused by the fact that the boat staff distributed sick bags to all the passengers.  Luckily, given my phobia of other people’s vomit, not too many people had to use them.  What followed were magical hikes around craters, through flowering sugar cane fields, descending into steep valleys, stopping off at hidden waterfalls, greeting locals wandering through tiny villages, watching kestrels fly, ending up at the coast where vicious waves crashed into shore, and being in complete awe of where I was and what I was doing.

 

Our return to São Vicente did not bring so much joy.  We had been bumped off our flights for no satisfactory reason, and couldn’t get back to the southern islands in time to live out our planned adventure.  So instead we hired a jeep to go off-roading on São Vicente.  Driving around the island, I was waving to the roadside grazing goats along the way.  My friend took us to some beautiful, secluded spots for swimming and snorkelling.  I realised that there are not many other things I enjoy more than overland travel, watching the scenery go past, admiring the landscapes, and seeing all the beauty out there in the natural world at every blink of the eye.  I don’t think I could ever get bored of it.

 

Rather than taking a simple short flight back to Santiago to then fly back home, I decided on the local long boat ride instead.  Given the reliability of Cape Verdean transport it was no surprise that my boat actually departed a day later than scheduled.  As advised by my friend, when I got on the ferry I picked my spot right at the front on the deck to avoid sick splatters and vomit filled flying plastic bags.  There were not many other civilians on board but the boat was full of Cape Verdean newly recruited soldiers.

 

The whole day at sea went surprisingly quickly.  It was the wrong time of year for spotting cetaceans in the ocean but I did see schools of flying fish jump in and out of the water along the way.  After listening to the soldiers impromptu sing song using empty boxes and bottles for musical accompaniment, I watched the sun set at sea, and then decided it was time for bed.  Having laid my sarong down on deck and gotten comfy lying out under the stars for my night’s sleep alongside a couple hundred soldiers, I, for the first time in my life, got bumped up to first class (I have no idea why though).  Through a secret door on one of the lower decks, I was escorted to the saloon room with large, squishy, fully reclining seats and managed to get a good few hours kip.  Waking up on the ferry for my final morning in Cape Verde, I discovered that the saloon room was right at the front of the boat with panoramic windows all around.  My timing couldn’t have been better as the beautifully rugged island of Santiago was just coming into view, and I sleepily enjoyed the last minutes of the longest, but most memorable boat journey I have ever had.

   

As with quite a few places I have travelled through, I was mistaken for being one of the locals which is, for the most part, great for opening conversations.   From encounters with other Cape Verdeans over the past two weeks, being able to converse in Italian was my way of communicating with locals when they realised I wasn’t one of them and got stumped after a “hello” and “how are you”.  I was only able to grasp the absolute basics of Cape Verdean Creole (which there are many versions of) by the end of my time on the islands.  However, as one of the resort islands of Cape Verde is a popular destination for Italians, a number of people working on or from that island have a better understanding of that language more so than English.

 

Finally I need to thank and apologise to the friends I made in Praia.  After being invited to their poker game on my last night in Cape Verde, I preceded to win the pot on the first game and then headed straight to the airport for my flight home, without giving them a chance to win back their money.