Pisco, Pez, and Protests

Monday, December 22nd

Today marks our last full day in Peru  (contrary to my semi confusing post yesterday - clarification: the LAN flight was a domestic Peruvian one) and we packed it full of as many things as possible: friends, pisco sours, ceviche lessons, pisco sours, pre-Incan burial grounds, pisco sours, massive student protests, and even some pisco sours.

(We weren't *all* drinking. Some of us were just enabling others. All day.)

Cooking Adventures with Silvia

Courtesy of our lovely parents, John Alex and I had the opportunity to partake in a small group cooking tour of Lima on our last day in Peru. And given that Ellen's only cooking awards to date are Master Ramen Chef and two-time winner of Setting One's Microwave On Fire, this was going to prove to be an interesting day. The highlights:

John Alex and I discover the lucuma fruit smoothie - an interesting fruit blend that eerily resembles a Dairy Queen Cake Batter Blizzard in flavor:

(Aww I have a cute brother)

JA and I visit a questionably too clean marketplace and ooh and ahh at the pretty fruit and veggies...

...and the creepy giant river "shrimp" in the lower right hand corner. 

(I'm a little disturbed that everything in Peruvian rivers appears to be abnormally large and man-thirsty.)

John Alex also got to show off his muscles/Pisco Sour bartending skills to the awe and delight of the older ladies in our group:

("Never fear, ladies. I do in fact have a license for these guns.")

And Ellen got to show off her ability to drip her freshly (and self-)prepared ceviche all over her unsuspecting brother seated next to her:

(Look Ma! No microwave!)

Lunch with the Pre-Incans

After spending our entire morning eating delicious and entirely too filling food, we did what any good American would do: we went and got lunch.

We counted it to our cultural checklist though (instead of our fatass one) by observing the massive --and apparently earthquake-proof-- Pre-Incan burial ground (temple? mound of impressively vertical rocks?) located directly adjacent to our restaurant. 

(No, no, I think it grows this way naturally.)

It is pretty fascinating though that they (Peru/its government/divine intervention) have been able to leave these buildings/archeological sites so well preserved despite being smack dab in the middle of a hopping well-to-do metropolis area. And our restaurant. Which obviously was there first.

The cooking adventure and tour overall though was a fantastic adventure, highly recommended, and took us to see parts of Lima we never would've stumbled upon otherwise. It also didn't hurt that John Alex and I got major street cred with Silvia, our guide, for visiting Polvos Azules, the insane black market, yesterday. Aww yeaaa, one upping the local.

An (In)convenient Protest

While we had a couple more minor adventures during our Final Peruvian Countdown, the by far grand finale happened right outside our window.

In the middle of demonstrating our (d)evolution into our parents by spending dinners splitting single meals, we glanced outside our window and saw a nice little party starting to form:

(If you can zoom in, check out the shield of second guy on the right standing in line - there's one in every family...)

Popular theories bantered about included: Jousting tournament, annual caroling from your friendly neighborhood traffic cops, the Peruvian Police Force's holiday card, motorcade drills, surprise party for their captain, or a massive bribe by the local crime lords who conveniently were convening on the exact opposite side of town at this very moment.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. The party grows.

(Ooh maybe it's a choreographed light show syncopated in time with Transiberian Orchestra Rock Christmas music!)

On the off, off-chance that they had gotten wind of my poorly timed artifact smuggling jokes and were preparing an unfriendly hostel raid, John Alex and I decided to casually leave our enclosed, single exit building and mosey our way over in a natural manner to the convenient multi-exit local mall across the street. You know, for shopping. At night. With our passports and non-sequential local currency.

(It's dark outside, and we're wearing sunglasses.)

Sans communication devices, JA and I decide to split up in our browsing, which I must admit is one of our better ideas in a multi-story department story full of pre-Christmas crowds. With vague instructions of "I'll just come find you" we soon lose each other.

Then, off in a distance, I hear stomping. Then chanting. Growing louder. With the forward thinking mental capacity of a moth drawn to flame, I find myself pulled in the direction of the noise, secretly hoping I was going to stumble across an ancient fishtank naming ceremony.

(On land. In a desert.)

Phone in hand and dreaming of future YouTube fame, I break through and see this:

Thousands and thousands of chanting students, taking to the streets. YES! My moment was in. ¡Vive la revolucion! Down with....er, what's the Peruvian President's name again?

Turns out, from what I could gather from stuttering Spanglish conversations with fellow participants (apparently I need to brush up on my revolutionary vocab), the students were protesting a new law that targeted the rights and protections of workers under a certain age. Ley #30288, if anyone is interested.

(A little less "overthrow the dictators" than I would prefer, but you get what you get and you don't fuss a bit.)

Also, I found my new favorite sign:

(I'm thinking of getting one to hang on my work cubicle. Because it's "authentic cultural artwork giving a timeslice view into the hearts and minds of a non-Western work world")

Okay, that's it for today! JA and I both survive the protests, neither of us are arrested and awaiting extradition, and I get to cross *another* item off my Never Have I Ever list. I'll try to post one more post tomorrow summing up our trip back (we leave at 5am) and all our adventures, but in the meantime, check out my new favorite wine jug. Like Baby Bear, it's justttt right:

(Heart health. It's for my heart health.)

Lima Beans

Saturday, December 20th to Sunday, December 21st

Happy Winter Solstice! Nothing quite like celebrating said holiday wearing a tank top in humidity-free 75 degree weather. Because JA and I are now in Lima, the second largest desert city in the world! But first...

LAN Airlines: The Real Airline of Death

So I may have preemptively designated Avianca as the Airline of Death. But like Nobel Peace Prizes, once you won it, they can never take it away from you, no matter how many covert drone wars you run. So taking a line from fourth grade graduation ceremonies, we'll just find new opportunities to celebrate so that everyone feels special. Therefore, I proudly designate LAN Airlines as the Airline of Soul-Wrenching, It-Would-Be-Better-To-Be-Dead Ninth Circle of Hell.

(That's right, with the betrayals. BECAUSE I TRUSTED YOU.)

Now, I want to point out that I love flying. And I love turbulence and the little hop you get in your stomach when the plane drops slightly midair. I do NOT like feeling the entire fuselage vibrate and start to fishtail, observing the wings warp with pieces flapping, experiencing intense turbulence for a good 60% of the flight, seeing the lights flicker in the main cabin, hearing the old man next to you start saying his final prayers, and I definitely, 100%, without a doubt do NOT like hearing the experienced stewardess seated directly behind me start screaming. 

Holy crap.

In the words of my adventurous, fearless younger brother: "I have never been on a flight before where I legitimately thought I was going to die."

(And then we died. The End.)

Kidding. We survived. But I would be lying if I said there was no one who kissed the ground upon landing.

Navigating Lima

Newly appreciative of our ability to navigate directly on the Earth's surface, John Alex and I hop into a taxi to head to our hostel/home for the next three days. And I dunno, maybe having a near death experience freed up some of our inhibition, but we had our best purely-in-Spanish conversation to date. We were killing it. Asking follow up questions, describing our trip...I even pulled out a past participle or two. Aww yeaaaa.

It was going loads better than my last attempt at the pharmacy trying to find anti-itch cream, when you can't remember how to say itch, bite, bugs, or pain. 

("No necesito repelente - algo por *despues* de los mosquitos. Despues!")

Exploring Lima

Lima is an entirely underrated city. Commonly treated as a transit town, Lima actually offers a unique blend of pre- and post-colonial architecture, lovely parks, and a cliff-side beach view to die for.

(The Park of Love. Aka an awkward place to visit when strolling with your brother.)

Another unusual sight was the sudden onslaught of parasailers...or what we think are parasailers. Like the semi-terrible Ashton Kutcher/Natalie Portman rom-com of the same name, these guys were flying along the coast of Lima with No Strings Attached. While first resembling the Wicked Witch's flying monkeys...

(Fly! Flyyyy! *cackle*)

These guys must've been experiencing some baller-a** views. And yes, I believe that's the technical term for it. 

(As JA pointed out, still a safer flight than our ride here.)

Polvos Azules 

We also went a checked out Lima's largest unofficial yet semi-officially enforced black market: a multi story "it fell off a bus" market place where, if you didn't mind dodging the elbows of tiny Peruvian grandmothers, you could could snag some sweet contraband.

The most fascinating part: these "official money changers" everywhere. These guys (and gals) would sit at cross roads wearing neon vests and openly carry STACKS of all types of currency: Peruvian soles, euros, pesos and thousands and thousands of US dollars.

(Because snapping a clandestine shot of a marked target openly carrying gigantic stacks of cash isn't suspicious at all.)

Parawana Hostel

Big shout for a second for our hostel. After a week or so of traveling in grungy, limited shower environment with questionable internet and uncertain hot water, thank you Parawana for taking care of us. 

I'm cleeeeeeean.

Didn't stop this San Franciscan data analyst from Bangalore from using the delightful pick-up line: "you look like someone who would go to Burning Man." Uhhh... Because I smell?

(Burning Man: a multi day, cult-like, hippie-esque gathering in the middle of the showerless desert. Full of smelly people.)

Okay that's all for today! Heading on a great cooking adventure tomorrow for our Last Full Day in Peru!

Prime for the Amazon

Friday, December 19th

In Summary: Ellen gets to put down another finger in Never Have I Ever, should any of the following things be mentioned: canoe through the Amazon, play with a family of Amazonian river otters, and sludge through knee deep Amazonian mud.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

*Crack!* We awaken to the sharp crackling of lightning cutting through the whistling wind, thunder murmuring in the distance, its voice overwhelmed by the marching hoards of rain drops dancing like lead-legged leprechauns on the tin roof above us. 

So much for a peaceful morning awakening.

But what does it matter? It's hardly like JA and I are on a honeymoon-style beach resort vacation (eww cooties). We're in the freakin' Amazon! During rainy season I might add. Quietly thanking our non-Wicked Witch of the West heritage, John Alex and I dig out and don our best rain gear, which at this point consists primarily of water-resistant jacket shells and tacky tourist ponchos.

(To be? Or not to be (tacky)? That is the question.)

Our guide for the day, Eric, arrives shortly after breakfast, takes one look at us, and with a subtly suppressed smile, shakes his head, and immediately sends us to the back to grab new gear. Namely, boots. Knee high, unisex, solid rubber rain boots. It's like I never left the farm. Newly attired, Eric, JA and I, as well as two more companions, a Canadian and a Wisconsian (so, a pseudo-Canadian) get ready to depart on our epic adventure:

(I went for the natural color look, hoping the blue-butted macaws might mistake me for one of their own.)

Sloshing and Slodging

Like last night's elusive lover, as soon as day breaks, the rain vanishes, leaving naught but fading memories and a few wet stains in its stead. Heartened, we trek down to the river and begin our journey on a long narrow boat.

(Got my nautical-themed pashmina afghan)

To give a brief rundown of our jungle day: we boated for an hour down the river to the national park entrance.

We then proceeded to hike (or more accurately: slodge) 3 km through the jungle, artfully dodging the giant mud pits dotting the trail with the finesse of a hypochondriac elephant. At the end of the trail, an empty canoe sits bobbing in a small riverbed, and then the true adventure begins.

(And off in the distance, a pair of banjos begin to play...)

Los Animales 

I've gotta say. In terms of what we got to see today, we got pretty damn lucky. Eric attributed it to our "positive energy." I rolled my eyes.

Red-bellied macaws, yellow-bellied parrots, a black caiman AND the more rare speckled caiman, just a few feet from our boat. A mama monkey with her baby hitchhiking a ride. A small snake (I'm almost positive it was a baby anaconda. Eric politely disagreed). Small furry bats. Army ants. Leaf cutter ants. And lots of birds. Too many birds. 

(I've got my eye on you.)

The highlight of the trip was without a doubt stumbling across a family of five or so giant river otters, which were fishing and playing directly alongside our boat. We followed them for a good half hour or so, so cool.

(Much empathy for the Loch Ness photographers. I *swear* they were right next to us)

A few things of note from our trip.

Note #1: Not all the animals are cute or nice. 

And it's not the usual suspects. This is very pointedly aimed at a certain dodo-esque black bird, who kept leap frogging around us for the entire journey, and ending his tagalong journey with a long, graceless elimination of its bowels directly in our path. "It's coincidence," you say, "all birds poop in the woods."

No. This one was mocking us. I can sense it.

Note #2: Ellen's nature photography sucks

In terms of both quality and quantity, using an iPhone's camera to document your rainy adventure into the jungle is a bit like bringing your hammer to help mass produce microprocessors. This, for instance, is my picture of a tree coated in at least fifteen red-bellied macaws:

(Pulitzer winning work, right there.)

It also doesn't help that your guide very strictly adheres to the Pirate Code: any man that falls behind...is left behind.

(And no, these are not "guidelines" so much as guide rules.)

Note #3: At some point you just have to accept the fact you're going to eat bugs.

At some point the sweat and exhaustion set in, and you stare forlornly into your glass, mentally debating whether it's worth the effort to fish out your newest stowaways. You briefly attempt to sip around them, but eff it, you're thirsty...and it's protein, right?

Your guide is also watching you discretely to see if you're gunna be a girl about it, so you man up and DRINK IT ALL.

---

All in all, though, about as best of an experience as you could hope for on only a day-long trek. Eric did offer to let us go swimming, as well, but after seeing this posted photo of the fishing expeditions in the same area, you can count me in for a big ole pile of NOPE.

(Just keep swimming...just keep swimming)

That's all for today, folks. Tune in tomorrow to hear how Avianca evidently isn't the only Airline of Death being run in Peru and apparently plans *can* still fly while fishtailing mid-flight.

Oh Dear Madre de Dios

Thursday, December 18th

Welcome to the Jungle

We take it day by day

Caimans, otters, and a baby monkey!

For a very small price to pay

In the jungle, welcome to the jungle

Oh the humidity, ty, tyyy, tyyyyyy

Mosquito bites make me bleeeeeed

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

In case the intro song didn't give it away, John Alex and I made it to the Amazon! But at risk of getting ahead of ourselves/devolving to singing the entire post in Gun n' Roses lyrics, flashback instead to yesterday morning, where our heroes awaken at zero dark thirty, and desperately sprint to catch the train to catch the taxi to catch the plane.

Four modes of transportation in four hours. Challenge accepted. 

Being the expert, seasoned travelers that we are, JA and I packed the night before, left our hostel in plenty of time, looked up the exact location of the train station, and proceeded calmly and pleasantly to the departure location for smooth, carefree day of travel. We definitely did not oversleep slightly, underestimate our packing time, desperately book our next night's hostel while sprinting out into the early morning streets, barking at each other sharply when we realized the train station was *not* where we initially thought, before stumbling across it in the nick of time, catching our train minutes before departure, and glaring at each other in the process.

Whew, glad that didn't happen.

(You would've thought the train tracks running directly in front of our hostel would've been a dead giveaway.)

Luckily, the train was on time, our taxi driver prompt, and the airport security line only one person long. This was going swimmingly.

Cuzco Airport

To the surprise of perhaps no one, Cuzco's airport is really small. That being said, it is still incredibly disconcerting to check in at an empty airline booth, while every other represented airline's check in line extends at least thirty people deep. It's even more disconcerting to wander around the terminal ten minutes before boarding and not only not see your flight listed anywhere, but not see a single other flight by your airline.

Hmm.

However, at this point, I'm hesitant to ask security. I was already sweating bullets coming through security the first time, as I was attempting to sneak onboard a second carry-on *shhh*, but when I was pulled aside, all the gruff Peruvian kept saying was "tenedor. TENEDOR."

Uh, fork?

(I believe the term you're looking for is "dinglehopper")

Turns out he *was* worried I was trying to smuggle onboard a fork. And a quick glance toward the central bin of confiscated contraband revealed this was not an uncommon occurrence. However, joke's on him!

(Tenedor *this*)

And no, I have no idea why I have a spoon in my pocket.

Avianca: the Alleged Airline of Death

Our boarding time comes and goes, and like the blond cheerleader in a B horror movie, we belatedly start to realize we should probably be worried. However, luck, and our natural homing ability to seek out other vaguely disconcerted passengers, directs us to this shady side door with a hastily placed, hand posted sign displaying a single word: 'Avianca'

Now, it wasn't all creepy. Smiling stewardesses take our tickets and wish us a pleasant flight. Then they proceed to usher us through the creepy unmarked double doors, asking us to "espera por favor" until we're all on the other side. My emotions are conflicted. On one hand, I'm ecstatic. I managed to sneak on an extra carry on! On the other hand, this process eerily remind me of gas chambers and cattle cars. This, evidently, is what happens to your world view when you live in the same city as the world's most depressing museum.

(Spoiler alert: everyone dies.)

If you laughed at that, shame on you.

Good news though, John Alex and I don't die on this flight, though there were a few times over the course  where that premise potentially needed to be reevaluated. Namely, take off, landing, and every time in between, as the pilot did his utmost to showcase his Denzel Washington impression.

(Or he was skywriting, in which case I withdraw my complaints.)

Puerto Maldonado

One shaky plane landing later, JA and I touch down in Puerto Maldonado, a river city located in the best named region we've encountered so far: Madre de Dios.

(If I lived here, I would answer every form's locational inquiry with this meme.)

Puerto Maldonado is essentially a river city located in the Amazon basin where the rivers from Cuzco and Puno collide. In short, this part of the trip was planned solely to briefly live out my favorite childhood computer game: Amazon Trail.

(I was also an expert at spearfishing logs.)

The climate couldn't be more different than Cuzco. I immediately cast aside my beloved llama sweater, donning the more climate friendly tanks and flip flops and give the mandatory blood offering to the local mosquito gods. But to be honest, I love it. I love the heat and humidity, the spontaneous rain storms, and the mutual feeling of climate-induced despair as you lock eyes with similarly sweating strangers, too tired to do more than nod.

And speaking of strangers, people definitely stare more at foreigners here. Though, after catching a glance at myself in a passing window, I too was shocked and blinded by my glaring lily-whiteness. Forever a gringa.

Anyways, I leave us here, if only to save room for our Amazon adventure tomorrow. A teaser:

Macho, Machu Picchu

Wednesday, December 17th: Parte Dos

We return to our needlessly (though Hollywood-trendy) split up in our story line, with Ellen and JA left atop of Huayna Picchu, staring down like Incan Gods on the puny ruins of Machu Picchu, contemplating the fate of the mere mortals below. The return hike ensues.

Gran Caverna and Templo de la Luna

Because I have the long term memory and self-destructive tendencies of a lemming, John Alex and I opted to prolong our mountainous torture and take the long loop back--down and around the mountain on the other side--rather than retracing our footsteps. We knew we had definitely made the correct call when a local guide hurriedly ran after us, fervently trying to explain...well something. Shouting from a distance while frantically waving one's arms does not allow for the most ideal of translation settings.

(I think he's saying "have fun.")

Turns out he just wanted to make sure we knew what we were getting into. Which we totally did, because it wasn't like this was a last minute spontaneous decision made when we came to a symbolic split in the road. So we thank our concerned benefactor and head onwards, silently laughing because it's downhill...how bad could it be?

(Eff.)

The hike begins rather pleasantly, as we descend along an empty trail to the sounds of birds chirping and labored breathing (guilty). The flora begins to subtly change as well, taking on a more King Kong-esque jungle feel, as the humidity sets down upon us. An hour or so later we reach the main reason why crazy people opt to take this route: the Templo de la Luna and the Gran Caverna.

(Which the Inca conveniently labelled for us.)

And then the Gran Caverna in all it's glory. Not so much a cavern as my new summer home.

(And in better shape than some if the 'fixer-uppers' on the market.)

The Ascent Back

Somewhere along our leisurely stroll down, this nagging suspicion that we descended further than we hiked up kicked in. Uh oh.

Sure enough. Hello hills.

(Though if the Elves of Mirkwood swept in to save us, you certainly wouldn't see this girl complaining.)

I learned three things on this hike back:

Lesson 1: Ellen is related to a supernatural being.

And that being would be my trailmate, John Alex. That boy, my brother, is this nonstop powerhouse of stoic consistency while simultaneously able to leap from rock to rock with the nimbleness normally reserved for spring-born mountain goats. So I dubbed JA's trail name to be Goat. Because I'm his sister, and I refuse to give him a more flattering nickname.

Lesson 2: The Inca will find any excuse to add more stairs

But seriously though. After an hour plus of solid uphill climbing, we round a bend and see ourselves even in elevation with Machu Picchu.  Perfect!

Just kidding. Let's proceed to climb further up, then descend down a bit, then what the hell, let's add another 200 stairs up for the fun of it. Now rinse and repeat. It was like having a sadistic football coach leading you on suicides along a drunk, oscillating sine curve. At some point, you ask yourself: "couldn't we just go *around* the mountain?"

But then you see views like this and it makes it all worthwhile:

(Or terrifies the living daylights out of you depending on whether your eyes were first drawn to the mountains...or John Alex's pterodactyl-esque mouth.)

Lesson 3: Ellen is not a mountain climber

Ellen is not a mountain climber. She is driven not by the challenge, the view, or even a love for the mountains. She is driven out of misplaced stubbornness, seemingly self-destructive tendencies, and the right to thumb your nose at the people who didn't make it. Because, class. Always the epitome of it.

However, I did discover one thing. Ellen is an expert mountain descender. I can descend a mountain like it ain't nobody's business. You got a mountain? *Bam* drop me off at the top and I'll descend the crap out of that mountain. Just be sure to meet me at the bottom with a cup of coffee, scantily clad men, and a hot tub.

(And like Buzz Lightyear, I'll do it with style.)

Machu Picchu

Okay fineeee. I've been putting it off long enough. Machu Picchu, according to my favorite scholar Wikipedia, was built around 1450, and was believed to be a summer resort for the Incan elite. Because nothing says vacation retreat like a 4 day climb uphill in rainy season. 

At first glance, the ruins seem small, never holding more than 750 people at a time. But then you start to realize the sheer architectural genius that went into its construction. Seriously, look at the size of these stones:

(I like that boulder. That's a niiiice boulder.)

Speaking of architectural genius, this was one of the only labelled portions we could find: the Tres Portadas. Or in English, the Three Doors. 

Which, as JA pointed out, is architecturally significant because it was TWO whole doors more than normal.

The crowds had started to pick up at this point, so we spent most of our time along the outskirts. Which was totally worth it:

Most people complained about the mist obscuring their photos, but I felt it added a surreal mystical feel to the place, and if you very carefully ignored all the other sounds/smelly tourists, you could almost feel transported back 500 years. 

It started to rain just as we were leaving, so we awkwardly high-fived like two dead fish slapping each other and congratulated ourselves on our great but totally unintentional timing.

Alpaca Steaks

One last thing of note for the day. There were two consistent(ly unusual) items on all the Andean menus: alpaca and guinea pig. And given I had not desire to spend $40 to eat a glorified furry rat, I was on the hunt for some alpaca. Mmm.

Easier said than done. There's a long back story behind it, but essentially not only did Ellen manage to cross off her Fourth World Wonder off her list today, she also finally got some grilled alpaca! We live in a magical world.

(And it was delicious. #noregrets)

Okay, that's all for today! Tomorrow we head to a completely different climate: the Amazon basin! I promised my dance partner I wouldn't let a piranha chew off one of my legs, but other than that, the adventure possibilities are endless.

We end with this picture of the Incan quarry, which JA o-punned were evidently the rocks that didn't make the cut:

(Ba dun *ching*)