Welcome to the Jungle Baby!

        I spent last weekend visiting the nearby (but oh so far away!) jungle town of Quillabamba. To reach Quillabamba from Urubamba you can jump in any one of the many cars, buses, or llama-drawn carriages heading through the breathtaking (and probably life-taking) mountain pass that separates the Sacred Valley from the jungle of Peru.

        The time the journey takes depends on exactly how much you value your life: if you want you could grab life by the cajones and speed along the twisted, cloud covered, and cliff-hugging 161 km to Quillabamba and be there in four hours, but a more reasonable driver would do it in 5-6 hours.

I did consider that despite their disadvantages llama-drawn carriages don't have "brake issues".

        Did you see that photo up there? When you see the sort of sheer drops that await anyone who has the misfortune to take a turn just a bit too wide you wouldn't fault someone who opted for an eight hour tour.

        This nerve-racking, but beautiful road deposited me in Quillabamba on Friday the 16th in the late afternoon. With a bright blue sky above me and the ferocious sun beating down on me the city was really living up to its nickname as "the city of eternal summer". I was forced to make an ice-cream stop en route to my hostel.

But the heat felt oh-so-good.

        Now my reasons for visiting Quillabamba were purely exploratory. I really wanted to take a weekend away from Urubamba to simply relax and unwind a bit. So why not the jungle?

        .... OK fine. The truth of the matter was that I'd heard that Quillabamba was something of a major hub for coffee in Peru. For those of you that know me you'll know that I perked up more upon hearing this than a kid does at the sound of "free candy" (or a major CEO at the sound of "free cocaine"). This little bit of information sealed the deal for me: I was going to Quillabamba and I was going to visit a coffee plantation.

        With all the love that coffee gets from the Western world you'd imagine that there would be more interest in coffee farm tours. Vineyards give tours, right? Why not coffee? If people can sit for hours tasting different wines talking about the "beautiful bouquet" of this wine or the "hint of cinnamon and cheese" in that wine the least I can get is a basic tour of a coffee plantation. Right? Whatever the reason I did not meet a single person in Quillabamba or otherwise who knew of any coffee plantations who offered tours. Coffee fields mockingly studded the mountainsides all around the city yet no one could point me towards a farm? I found this rather strange.


        Generally in Peru, someone always "knows a guy". If you need your toaster fixed the butcher will tell you to visit his cousin down the road. If you're looking for a guide to show you around "that mountain over there" you can bet that the little kid sitting on the corner has an uncle or a friend of a friend of a friend who'll take you there. Hell, you could probably find someone who sells baby ocelots if you've got the money. It's just the way things work around here. But strangely enough asking about coffee plantation tours draw many blank-faced stares.

"Would you like the one of the left or the right, sir?"

        But determined as I was to see a coffee farm and learn the ins and outs of its production I did what I seem to do best: I went exploring.

        Without much more to go off than "I've heard there are lots of fields that way" I set off. I heard that on the way to the "Waterfalls of Mandor" roughly 20 minutes outside Quillabamba there were many coffee chankras (small family-owned fields). My plan was to get dropped off in Mandor and hike my way to the waterfalls hopefully coming across some family kind enough to show me their way of life. I was going to make a day out of this little adventure.

I better put on my badass sunglasses.

        I found a taxi to take me down the dirt road leading to Mandor where I would start my hike up to the waterfalls. He was kind enough to drop me off somewhere between "Where are we again?" and "Are you sure this is it?"

"Here? Really? If you say so."

        It wasn't long into my upward hike that I looked to my left and saw a small patch of paved ground covered in drying coffee beans. Where there's smoke, there's fire. I was close.

So close.

        Visions of inky dark expressos made from only hours old coffee grounds pushed me towards the farmhouse. I wasn't particularly worried. Confident in my Spanish and armed with my irresistible charm who could say no to this lovable gringo? Three bemused Peruvians, a man and two women, were outside the house. Few people and even fewer foreigners visit this part of Peru. To say that this particular family was not expecting visitors of my, um, complexion would be a fair guess.

        "Um hi. My name is Benjamin and I'm a volunteer in Urubamba." Damn, I sound like I'm selling something."Ah... These are your coffee chankras, right?"

        "That's right. They belonged to my parents and now they're mine" replied the man. 

        He said it with curiosity and a slight edge of distrust as if to say "what's it to you?". I flashed them all as big of a smile as I could manage and plowed on.

        "I'm only here because I wanted to ask you if I could see how you produce your coffee. I saw the drying beans from the road and I'm really curious about the whole process. I know that coffee comes from a red fruit, but from there to my cup in the morning it's all a mystery."

       They all visibly relaxed. A smile of realization spread across their faces as they saw that I was just a harmless traveler looking for a little tour. They welcomed me in and invited me to sit down. The man was kind and explained everything I wanted to know. He showed me the process from fruit to final product explaining how the fruits are harvested, sorted, de-shelled, cleaned, dried, and roasted. The family laughed often as I continually asked "Could you show me how you do that?" and "Can I see the tools you use for this?"

The red ones are ready to be picked. By hand, naturally.

A coffee pod "de-sheller". That's a scientific term.

A coffee bean roaster.

A hand cranked coffee bean grinder.

        The man happily showed me around his small farm. He proudly pointed to his large mango trees, his many lines of coca bushes, his banana groves, and his occasional cocoa and papaya plants. It was more more than I was expecting when I spotted the drying coffee beans from the road. In roughly one hectare of land this family of three was raising pretty much all of the essential cash crops of this region. I was loving it.

Walking among the coffee plants.

Coca leaves in the front. A cocoa pod in the background.

        I must've done something right because the family was kind enough to invite me to lunch there at the farm. I enjoyed chatting with them and the man opened up a bit a share some of his true feelings about export coffee prices and how much he makes on the kilo compared to what it sells for abroad.

       I left after lunch and tipped the family well. A couple hour tour and lunch was more than worth the tip I left them, but they seemed quite pleased and surprised to receive anything at all. They told me to come back and visit some day even if that day comes many years from now. Perhaps I will.

To be honest, they were probably just trying to set me up with their daughter.

        After my coffee farm adventure I continued up the hour long climb to the waterfalls. At the base of the hike I was told that it was a 20 minute walk. Halfway to the top I was told it's roughly 30 minutes in total and only once I could actually see the waterfall did I realize it was closer to an hour than anything else. Let that be a lesson Ben: those who have actually gone the distance are the best judges of the time. Now that I think about it that applies to a lot of things in life.

        The falls were lovely though. Well worth the hike. I spent some time admiring them before I set back. I wanted to reach Quillabamba before nightfall. The rest of my time in that jungle town was spent either sleeping, reading, or chatting with the hotel staff. There was a lot of sports to be watched. I even managed to catch the Wales V. France rugby match on Saturday. It's been a while since I saw one of those!

        It was exactly what the doctor ordered. Just a bit of down time to do my own thing and relax. Life continues to come along well here in Urubamba and I've adjusted well to independent living. While Peru may not be the U.S. of A. and Urubamba certainly isn't Madison the life lessons I've learned from living and traveling alone for the past two months will carry over well.

Hasta pronto amigos!

Introducing "Project Luz"

This picture is completely unrelated to this post, but I wanted to set a happy tone.

        This post will be considerably less heavy than the previous. You have my word on that. In fact, this post is something of a joy for me to write because it allows me to share with you my new project here at Kiya Survivors: Project Luz.


        It is a remarkably simple project which I hope can help improve the quality of life for some of the families here. The best part of it all is that it won't cost any of the families a dime and the cost on our end is very minimal.


        What is Project Luz? Project Luz is my hope to use cheap and locally available resources to build "solar bottle light bulbs" which can be installed in the roofs of homes. They are well suited for the sunny climate of Peru and they work particularly well for poor families who live in either semi- or total darkness due to a lack of windows or electricity. Kiya Survivors frequently works with this particular demographic.

        These "Solar Light Bulbs" are nothing more than empty coke-a-cola bottles which are filled with water and a touch of bleach and then fitted into a hole in the roof of the house. Once they are installed in the roof they refract the sun's rays and scatter them inside the house. They work, as I have seen and read, roughly as well as a 50 watt light-bulb. They require no maintenance and their estimated lifespan is between 3-5 years. They are, if I may say so myself, a textbook example of simple ideas making a world of a difference.


Total cost per light: roughly one US dollar.

One such bottle light.

        In reality, their construction is slightly more nuanced than simply taking a hacksaw to a roof and hoping for the best, however they are sufficiently simple to build that even your average idiot (such as myself) could manage to build and install one.

Tools needed for installation: a ladder and two boards. I said more "nuanced" not more complex.

        I can not take claim for the idea of these "Solar Bottle Lights". This idea was first publicized by the "Isang Litrong Liwanag" (A Liter of Light) Project and installed in poor neighborhoods in the Philippines. I remember reading a news article about them some time ago and I remember thinking that it was a very clever idea. But at the time I had no use for it.


        I was reminded of these solar bottle lights a few short weeks ago when I stood in the home of that very ill girl who I spoke about previously. Among many other things, the house was very dark inside. Even a few light bulbs would have made a world of a difference, but the house was without electricity and without windows. How we could bring a little light to the house without major renovations was the challenge we faced.


        This is where the idea for Project Luz first conceived. It was not the result of hours of concentrated problem solving or even some creative thought process, but it was more a spark of inspiration where, for whatever reason, the neurons in my brain fired in just the right sequence and my memory of these solar bottle lights was recalled.


        Regrettably that girl will never see us install one of these lights in her house, but the poetic beauty of it all is that out of that very dark situation an idea that has the power to brighten the lives of many was born.

        I am pleased to say that we have already installed three of these solar lights and that they are working even better than I could have hoped. Even at two weeks of age Project Luz is already helping two families. Next week we will install at least one more.

The children of the first home in which we installed two solar lights. They're holding some of the foodstuffs we regularly deliver to them: milk, oatmeal, and canned fish.

        In light of these recent developments with this project and as a result of me thoroughly enjoying my time here in Urubamba I have changed my travel plans. I planned on leaving Urubamba on the 18th of March and spending nearly a month in northern Peru, but I have decided my time would be better spent in this region. Therefore I have decided to spend an extra two weeks here at the Rainbow Center and I will not be leaving the highlands of Peru until the 11th of April. This doesn't really change anything for you all back back home, but there's the new plan!


        This does mean that I won't get a chance to see Mama Cocha, but I will get to see the Peruvian jungle, Lake Titicaca, and I'll get to take another two weeks of salsa dancing lessons. Dancing in size 46 (size 12) hiking boots does add an extra bit of a challenge.

Look at the shoes! The shoes!

        That's all for now. If you're reading this thinking "I could use some solar bottle lights!" then please direct your attention here. If you're reading this thinking "this whole Kiya Survivors thing sounds pretty cool" then direct your attention here.


Ciao!

A Harsh Reality: A Glimpse At Some of the Challenges We Face

        It has been an interesting and incredibly busy two weeks. Don't expect any apologies from me about not blogging because I've been anything but lazy. I'd like to warn everyone that this blog will contain some very real and possibly upsetting stories.

        I debated quite a bit with myself about exactly how much detail to share: on one hand this blog is primarily to entertain and keep everyone at home from worrying about me, but on the other hand perhaps an occasional dose of reality surrounding what I, Kiya Survivors, and their volunteers are actually facing here.

        On Wednesday, the 22nd of February, I went out on my first day of outreach here at the center. As the kids were on vacation from the 20th of February to the 2nd of March this day of outreach represented my first true day of volunteering.

        On outreach we do a variety of things. Everything from taking food to families to doing battle with red tape to help mothers receive child support payments is fair game. This particular Tuesday we began by taking one mother to a nearby city, Ollantaytambo, to begin the process of filing for child support. In true Peruvian fashion it took several hours as we shuttled back and forth between town-hall, the local governor's residence, and the house of the child's father collecting names, addresses, and filing papers. It needed to be done, but it couldn't have been done by the single mother. It was an exasperating process, but not everything we do is fun and games.

        After this several hour bureaucracy battle we headed out to visit the families of several disabled children who we had heard about but had not had a chance to visit. In essence we were surveying the situation and offering food and education to the children. But what we do can't be simple handouts: before we return with food and before we make arrangements for the children to come to the center we wanted to be sure that they were being treated well at home.

        Do they have their own clean bed? Are they being treated well, with love, and free from abuse? Was the father involved in the raising of the children and if not, did he support the family in any way? These were all things we needed to find out in our initial surveys of the families. Our fantastic social worker, Iris, made sure that the families knew that we genuinely cared about the welfare of the children and that certain things, such as having a disabled female sharing a bed with a male relative, were not OK. Once we were sure that the children were being properly cared for Iris assured the families that we would be back to help.

        Many times negligence or ignorance can lead to the poor care of a disabled child. Children with disabilities can be immensely more difficult to raise than your average child and at times people are simply unaware of the special needs of their children. Unfortunately, some families do have malicious intentions which go beyond simple negligence.

        I can't tell you which one explains the horrible situation that we found this girl in. She was likely between 14 to 17 years old, but it was difficult to tell. To say that it was a poor family would be something of an understatement. We found her laying on a foam mattress in a very dark one bedroom house. She was being taken care of by her grandmother's sister as her own mother had passed away many years ago. She was very ill. Naked from the waist down and laying on her foam mattress on the floor we knew she desperately needed assistance.

         When the aunt grandmother told us that the girl shared the bed with her uncle we made it very clear that this was absolutely not OK. She needed her own bed. We promised to return to help not only the girl, but also the aunt grandmother with food, house renovations, and cleaning. We, unfortunately, never got the chance to help the girl: we were told only a few days later that she had passed away. We nevertheless returned to the family's house a week later, as promised, to see what we might still do to help. 

The soot you see above the right-hand window came from the stove inside. Without a proper chimney much of the inside of the house was in a similar condition.

        Through conversations with the aunt grandmother, a neighbor, and a local shop owner we learned, too late, exactly how bad the girl's situation had been. The uncle with whom she "shared a bed" was an alcoholic and the girl was often seen wandering around unclothed searching for food. Presumable she was was not being fed enough. The neighbor claims to have seen her eating animal excrement and that the aunt grandmother was known to drink excessively.

        To recount this story brings up such a vile mix of emotions in me that I am having trouble typing this now. The English language, and any other language that I can think of, lacks the words to describe exactly how brutally frustration it was to hear all these horrendous details after the girl's death.

        The helpless rage and sadness we felt, and still feel, surrounding the whole situation can not be done justice by anything I write. No matter how many times I wrote and rewrote the above story I could not capture the entirety of the experience. Who can I be angry at? How can I vent my frustration? Is ignorance to blame? Is crippling poverty to blame? If only someone could tell me where to direct my fury perhaps I would not feel as vilely ill to my stomach as I did learning all this.

        This is why I am writing this all here: it is half catharsis and half a shot of reality. I know as you are reading this now you did not come on this blog to hear such terrible things, but nothing I am telling you is an exaggeration. Everything you are reading is reality. Situations like this exist and it does you, me, or anyone else no good to pretend they do not.

         This is the reality we are doing are best to change. It hurts to think that we can't save everyone, but it gives me hope to know we can save a few. From Fernando, Kiya Survivor's first rescued child, to Luis at Mama Cocha, Kiya has helped children in equally if not worse situations. They have also likely prevented many more similar situations by spreading awareness about the plight of disabled children in Peru. Awareness really is the path forward; A cultural change must be made. Providing education to an unfortunately uninformed population is one of the greatest facets of Kiya Survivors.

        Reality is harsh, but the more we open our eyes to it the more we can do to change it. Social progress is a messy thing, but your help does bring change.

        I will write no more today as nothing else I can say belongs under the same post as this one. I will only say that I am alive and despite this gut-wrenching story things are well for myself. Tomorrow all the children will return to the Rainbow Center for classes so I eagerly await that.

        Life must move on. We all need to move forward holding on to the lessons of the past without finding ourselves trapped in any one moment. We have much work to do and more more of life to live.

"Welcome to the finest Carnaval in Peru! Only in Urubamba."

        Generally when I sit down to write a blog entry I’m usually somewhere between my second or third cup of coffee before anything worth writing emerges from the twisted and cryptic jungle of my mind. This entry, however, came a bit easier. The sheer volume of events in the past few days made choosing enough for this post a breeze.

        If I ever desire to be a writer I’d better stay on the move as much as possible. It seems I find writing easiest when my brain is in a continual state of “sensory overload” and “sensory overload” is certainly what I’ve been experiencing the past few days.


        I have arrived in Urubamba! I made my rendezvous with Aisha (the volunteer coordinator) only a mere 54 hours ago, but the happenings of the past few days could easily make you think otherwise. Even the most mundane of events can appear quite extraordinary when you’re adjusting to a new home. What does that make normally extraordinary events?

        The small city of Urubamba takes its name from the river valley it is set in. It is large enough to keep you entertained, but small enough that everyone is still in everyone’s business: the trademark of any truly small town. I have been told that dancing is an integral part of the social contract and that if you miss an evening out on the town then you better have a good alibi: expect many questions about your whereabouts the following day.

I didn't even bother to mention the mountains surrounding the city.

        But this is not the first time I have been in this city. I was here two years ago with a fantastic group of students and a few equally charming sponsors. However, my experiences in Urubamba were limited to the house in which I stayed, the Rainbow Centre, and the roads in between. Now all of Urubamba lays open before me and I have the pleasure of being able to explore its most intimate regions unhindered.


        The staff-house that I am staying in is far from luxurious, but it is home. It does contain what I am beginning to call my “Holy Trinity”: hot water, a sharp knife, and a clean bed. The vast majority of places I have stayed during my travels the past month have been missing at least one of the three. The volunteers and staff members that I have met so far have all been exceptionally amiable persons. Considering that nearly all of them have been female they may just be pleased to have such a stunningly gorgeous man, such as myself, around.


You never know.


        Speaking of lucky people, I was fortunate enough to time my arrival here in Urubamba with the annual event of “Carnaval”. For those of you that were unaware, as I was a short few days ago, Carnaval is something of a big deal for this small town. In what amounts to nothing less than a full day fiesta the entirety of the population of Urubamba and the surrounding cities descend from the mountains for a full day of music, dancing, drinking, and water-fights. Dressed in their finest traditional Peruvian clothing the sea of colorfully adorned crowd includes persons of all social rank from simple peasants all the way up to mayors and governors. And everyone was ready to have a good time.

A colorful sea of ponchos, chullos, and... plants.

        Did I mention the water-fights? From sun-up to late into the night on Carnaval if you are out of your house and anywhere near the festival you must be prepared for the eventuality of catching a “refreshing” bucket of water or a quick blast of foam. The locals seem to take extra joy in targeting the small population of gringos such as myself and handfuls of colored talcum powder are not off-limits either. Carnaval is considered something of a “single persons day” where the young and brave show their affection in the most natural of ways: by coating their crushes in water, foam, and multicolored madness. Isn’t that how we all met our better halves?

I begrudgingly did my best to fit in. 

        The festivities start early in the morning and with the assistance of many beers the event culminates with the mid-afternoon event of “The Axing of the Trees”. Several trees "volunteered" in advance for this great honor and were dressed appropriately for the event. Ornamented with sacrificial robes of ribbons and “gifts” ranging from laundry baskets to colanders the trees patiently awaited their fate.

So brave. How kind of the tree to offer itself up in sacrifice.

        When the time was right everyone gathered in a large circle around the trees and the event went as follows:


        Inside the large circle of onlookers an inner ring of dancers held hands and began to dance around the chosen tree in time with the local brass band. Included in this inter-circle of dancers were all the who’s who of the region: the mayors of Urubamba, Chinchero, and Ollantaytambo. The mayors and other important persons would then take turns stepping into the circle of dancers. They would be presented with an axe and once they had taken several swings at the ceremonial tree they would pass the axe on to the next dignitary.

Don't mess with the major of Chinchero. 

        The event continued in this fashion for as long as it took to fell the tree: the onlookers cheerfully admiring their mayors as the brass band patiently played their festive tunes. The person who took the last swing at the tree before it fell received the high honor of purchasing the many “gifts” for another tree in next year’s Carnaval.

        As soon as the tree hit the ground the enthusiastic crowd of on-lookers, suddenly possessed by an acute case of animality, burst forward as if water from a broken dam and stripped the tree of its loot.  The ensuing chaos as persons in the crowd joyfully jumped over one another in a mad attempt to claim their share of the prize was shocking, but it passed within seconds as everyone either skipped away carrying their war trophies or nonchalantly walked away empty-handed. It was all in good fun.

This was repeated three times with equal vigor.


        After the “Axing of the Trees” the festival turned into an outdoor concert which continued well into the night. If you want to see the true importance of dancing in Peruvian culture just watch a crowd of drunken concert goers. With each subsequent hour the crowd appears to dissolve into one large pool of wobbly-legged dancers all doing their own form of drunken tango or folk dancing. The Peruvians don’t become “falling down drunk” they become “dancing down drunk”. The more they drink the more they do this special jig where it appears their legs are shrinking and they resolutely fight to keep standing.


        I am taking pleasure from diving headfirst into the culture of my new home in Urubamba and I have no worries about myself enjoying the next month here.

¡Hasta Pronto!

P.S. This was meant to be posted several days ago, but the internet here in Urubamba is patchy at the best of times.

P.P.S. I am disappointed by the lack of challengers to my three-month-beard-off. I have no choice to to crown myself "Champion Short-Term Beard Grower". Hurrah!

Machu Picchu: An update full of clichés.

Can you believe I took this with a three second delay-timer?

        There are more clichéd descriptions that I could use to describe Machu Picchu than there are landmines on the 38th parallel. If you'll allow me, I'm going to go ahead and throw out a few of the more tempting ones right now so that I don't to use them later in my post.

        It was a fantastic, beautiful, unique, one-of-a-kind, breathtaking, awe-inspiring, and marvelous place. There. Much better. Now I can get down to the business of writing this post sans overused adjectives.

        I arose at the hour of 5:00 AM to begin my day at Macchu Picchu. A time so criminally early that even the birds refused to rise with me and sing their usual morning songs. By 5:40 I had boarded the somewhat overpriced bus to the ruins on the mountains above the small town of Aguas Calientes and by 6:10 I was standing among the other zombie-like adventurers as they all gently elbowed each other in an attempt to snap a postcard worthy photograph of the ruins before more people arrived.

Not shown: the three little-old-ladies that I shoved out of the way.

        All joking aside, I can only assume that the Incas thoroughly enjoyed a challenge. Perched precariously on this mountain ridge overlooking the Rio Urubamba below I find it hard to believe that someone, at some point in time, stood here and said: "Ah, yes. This is the perfect place to build a city". Many speculate that this location was a very holy place to the Incas. Why else would they both building a city here?

"Perfect! Just the challenge we were looking for today."

        I can see the merits of the "holy city" argument. I'm certain that the Incas needed either divine assistance or a lot of cojones and a dash of insanity to construct this city in the clouds. But in reality, nobody knows exactly how, when, or for what purpose the Incas built this settlement. The mystery of this original cause only further fans the flames of intrigue surrounding these astounding ruins. I was content to leave the great debate of "why" to those who are more qualified to answer.

I preferred to do what I do best: explore.

        And explore I did. For a solid six hours I climbed up, down, and back up again. My fears that rain would put a damper on my day at Machu Picchu (it is the rainy season!) turned out to be unfounded as I hiked under the sun's gentle approval.

        However, my fears of swarms of other people arriving to fill the ruins proved to be all too true as bus after bus of visitors arrived. Luckily by noon, the peak hour to visit Machu Picchu, was already spent. The sun also decided that it had had enough for the day and it scurried off to kindly warm another part of the earth. As the sun left its place above the ruins the ever-looming rain clouds quickly scurried in to fill its position as they released there burdensome load of rain on all those below.

To the left, sun. To the right, rain.

        In the past, at this very place, the Incas might have jumped up and praised the clouds for their kind offering, but today the rain only brought out a sea of ponchos, umbrellas, and a murmur of curses from the ingrates below.

        I took the afternoon rains as a sign and descended from the ruins. I returned to my hotel to begin the process of sorting through the superfluous amount of photos I had taken.

And that was my day at Machu Picchu.

And here is a picture of me petting a llama.

        On the more personal side of things I am pleased to say that my Spanish has improved greatly during the past four weeks. Someone once told me that ones proficiency in a language can be measured by their ability to tell a joke. Over the the past few days I've found myself drinking and playing "Jenga" with Argentinians; exploring markets with Peruvians; and poking fun at Chileans. Day by day I find I am able to more comfortably expressing myself in Spanish. There are times where I struggle to explain something, but those times are becoming less and less.

        Any sense of homesickness I may have harbored at the beginning of my travels has all but left now to be replaced with a sense of normality. You could say I've acclimated to the traveling lifestyle. I've developed a familiarity with my surroundings here in Cusco. If I need vegetables I go to the San Pedro market. Bread can be found at the corner-store down the road, but it is not nearly as good as the bakery on Calle Triunfo. And buses to Urubamba leave from Puente Grau. If I need something I have developed an awareness of where to find it and that makes life just a bit easier.

        I'm enjoying my travels immensely and I anxiously await the next part of my journey: volunteering in Urubamba!

This is too good a picture not to sneak it in somewhere in this update.

        P.S. Since it is still Valentine's Day here in Peru I'd like to say a special thank you to all of those back home and abroad that are supporting me. Even by simply reading this blog you are supporting me and my efforts because I take pleasure in knowing that there are people out there behind me. Thank you all!

       P.P.S. I'd like to make a extra special shout-out to my family, my close friends, and my Valentine Anna. I miss you all and hope everyone had a very merry day today.

WARNING: Content not suitable for children or the faint of heart!

Alternatively: "The things you'll find when you're not looking for anything in particular."

Ha! I bet you weren't expecting that.

        As I sat down to write this post I pondered: "Could I do an entire entry completely about a single nude photo of myself at 3650 meters above sea-level?". The answer, luckily for you all, is no. Unfortunately for me, that meant I actually had to think of something interesting to write about. Butt But, now that you've seen me standing in my birthday suit on top of a mountain you're kind of roping into reading the rest of this post to get the full context.

        The last few days I've split my time fairly evenly between city and country, but even in the city I am constantly surrounded by the imposing mountains of Cusco. Their peaks seem to watch over the city was a perfect vigilance. Ocassion menacingly as they send a thick haze of clouds fearfully skirting around their summits. At other times they peacefully observe the goingabouts of the humans in their domain, casting friendly shadows on their subjects below. It's easy to see why a culture might revere, and fear, these mountains as gods. 

The Quechua term for a mountain god is "Apu".

        The mountains have a way of hiding beauty just out of plain site. If you explore any mountain in this area long enough you're bound to stumble across the remains of an ancient civilization or perhaps the current inhabitations of their decedents.

        The things that have brought me the most joy during my travels so far have been the unexpected events. The events that come out of the blue and require a several page back-story to explain how you managed to get yourself into that position. One of the most entertaining of these unexpected and unplanned encounters of the past few days was exploring the Inca ruins of Tipón.

        Before I began the tiring four kilometer hike up the steep dirt road which lead to the ruins of Tipón I needed something to fill my stomach. Something typical of the area and something hearty. Something I could eat to bring out my inner savage for the climb ahead.

Guinea Pig.

Does this really need a caption?

I was led to this backyard Cuyeria by a local who swore up and down that this... restaurant?... served the finest dish of furry little friends this side of the Andes.

        I'm not exactly sure how to judge the quality of one guinea pig against another, but overall I found this Peruvian delicacy to be okay. As you might imagine there isn't much meat on your average cuy. I'm happy to have tried this local dish, but I think I'll pass next time. However, it doesn't get much more authentic than this: following a recommendation of a local taxi-cab driver and being served guinea pig on what appeared to be someone's back lawn in the rural village of Tipón.

        With my stomach (kind of) full I had the energy to successfully complete the climb up to the Inca ruins.

The site is still in great condition.

        These Inca ruins show another facet of Inca engineering: their domination of the uncompassionate and treacherous topography that is typical of the Andean highlands. This set of ruins featured an impressive network of agricultural terracing and Inca fountains.

A set of Inca fountains.

        It appeared that the somewhat laborious hike to the ruins must have deterred the usual sea of camera wielding voyagers as I had the site almost completely to myself. I took my sweet time marveling at the ingenuity of the Incas who's fountains still channel water gracefully today.

        Feeling the familiar tingle of adventure and having nowhere in particular to be I found an old aqueduct heading upwards from the ruins and decided to follow it to its source.

Clearly the road less traveled.

        In the end the source of the dried up aqueduct was not the crystalline lake that I imagined or hoped for, but I felt a great sense of joy at having reached the top roughly 3650 meters above sea-level. Something about simply exploring an old set of Inca ruins and following my impulses gave me a fantastic feeling of achievement. I was the only person for miles in any direction and only the sound of the wind gently rustling the hearty mountain shrubs and the occasional birdsong broke the silence of the mountains.

Damn, one meter short.

        The place high in the Andean mountains, all but forgotten, was far more fascinating than listening to any listless tour guide ramble on about the importance of some particular museum. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my fair share of museums, but this experience was something completely out of the ordinary. I was looking for nothing in particular and I found something unexpectedly unique.

        It was so beautiful I did what any rational human being would have done in that situation. I stripped naked and took a few photos.

        If there's any lesson to take away from this post it's that the true joy I find in traveling comes from personal exploration. And that there's nothing quite as nice as a cool mountain breeze blowing over your.. um... never mind.

        Now that, my friends, is my kind of adventure.

Introducing Cusco: From the seaside metropolis of Lima to the greener pastures of the high Andes.

        I have arrived in Cusco! What was once the capital of the vast Pre-Colombian Inca empire that stretched from present-day Chile to Ecuador now retains only vestiges of its former glory, but those vestiges are absolutely fascinating.

        So this is the city I find myself in. Perched at the lofty height of 3,300 meters above sea-level this city in the clouds buzzes with life and an intangible pride. The remains of a truly great empire can be found on backstreets and alleyways: a sort of living memory of the past.

And this is where I am. In the ancient city of Cusco hidden away in the mountains.

        I arrived here on Thursday, the second of February. I arrived unsure of where to stay in the city. Following a recommendation from my friendly Lima hotel owner I went straight to the "San Blas barrio" an area of the city stuck rather precariously to the mountains above Cusco.

Cosy, but I'm not going to hang around if there is an earthquake.

        Now I'm not really one to boast (well, maybe just a bit), but I am certain that the hotel I'm staying in has the best view in Cusco. The "Home Sweet Home Mirador" is a lung-collapsing ten minute walk uphill from the center of Cusco. If you survive the many steps and cobblestone streets and you manage to find this small family place you will be rewarded with a panoramic view over Cusco.

Any grievances against the hotel are canceled out by the view.

        It's a bare-bones place, but for 25 soles (7 euros) a night with breakfast and this million dollar view it's quite a bargain.

        At the end of each day I have a hard time deciding if I have been exceptionally busy or exceptionally lazy. It's tempting to measure the day by "things I did" instead of "moments I experienced". It's quite easy to ruin the magic of simply spending a day exploring a completely new city by thinking of all the things you could have done.

        Yesterday was a day of particular cultural beauty. As I mentioned before Cusco was once the capital of the Inca Empire. As with any empire where there is a capital there are the corresponding palaces and temples. In Cusco only the foundations and walls of the once great political center remain and they can be found at the archaeological site of "Sacsayhuaman".

        Pronounced, to my childish humor's delight, as "Sexy-Woman" it is truly a unique site. While the Incas did not use coin nor did they have a written language they were remarkable engineers. They designed stone walls and palaces which resisted earthquakes with the effectiveness of modern technology. The fact that they left no written record only adds to the mystery of their civilization.

The interlocking rocks at each corner served to stabilize the wall during earthquakes.

The site of an old temple. In the background you can see the trademark trapezoidal niches also, as you guessed, to resist earthquakes.

        I wandered these breathtaking ruins with the help of my friendly guide "Carlos". Carlos embodies the unspoken pride of the indigenous people of Peru. He makes jokes about the conquering Spaniards pointing at the walls saying: "Here. These are the walls that the Incas built, but over there, that's from the Spaniards. This wall is an Inca wall. That wall was built by the "Incapacitados" ("The Incapable Ones")."

        When I handed Carlos my water bottle he tooks it graciously pouring a bit on the ground before he drinks it. He says "First for Pacamama (Mother Earth), then a bit for me.". Clearly the indigenous Peruvian way of life and thought lives on. Not in any written record, but in the blood of its people.

Pro-Indigenous graffiti in downtown Cusco.

        Upon leaving Sacsayhuaman and parting with Carlos I happened upon something equally Peruvian, but clearly of a different nature. As I descended from Sacsayhuaman I landed in the middle of a Peruvian parade.

        Complete with a full brass section, a large wooden effigy of the Patron Saint of San Blas, and fireworks I quickly found myself surrounded by a joyous mass of Peruvians celebrating an annual religious festival. The contrast between the clear annoyance that Carlos felt towards the influence of the Spaniards and the religious, or at least jovial, fervor of the parading Peruvians effectively highlights the complexity of the relationship between the modern "Catholic state of Peru" and the culture and ideals of its indigenous population.

        However, both were enjoyable experiences and both were fascinating glimpses into the mentality and cultural backdrop of this beautiful and surreal city I find myself in. In the silence the city seems to whisper "Welcome to Cusco Ben, you have much to learn."