Machu Picchu

Veni, Vidi.

The pile of rocks didn’t need to be conquered.

After a reasonably spirited go, the fake student card was abandoned. Too hard to organise in Cusco, and the forgery streak in me doesn’t run very wide. I was keen on the idea because the entry fee to MP is ludicrously high, and rising by the month (but is half for students – which is a more reasonable price). The town of Aguas Calientes is served by a train, but no roads. Hence the train ride is also expensive (monopoly). There is an option to take a much, much longer route around, mostly by bus. This involves catching a bus to Santa Maria (6hrs), then a collectivo to Santa Teresa (4hrs) and then the hydroelectric station (1hr), and finally walking (2hrs) the remainder along the train tracks to Aguas Calientes (also known as Machu Picchu village).

Aguas Calientes is possibly the most overpriced and touristy town I’ve seen – instant dislike. The bus timing is less than ideal, an involves traveling all night to arrive about 7am in Aguas. So we found a hostel, and we slept all day. I surprised myself by sleeping so long, but I think the body needed it – after arriving we all had splitting headaches, caused (we’re convinced) by the ludicrously bumpy ride in the collectivo bus. We slept all night as well.

At 4:30 am we left to walk to the entrance of MP, which guaranteed us entry as the gates opened at 6, before the first bus of the day, and the arrival of the hordes. Dawn is before 6 but due to the mountain range to the east, the sun doesn’t hit the site until after 6, and we saw the sun rise. The first few hours were quite good – few tourists around and clear sky. We got some good weather (obligatory photos on Flickr). We walked up the mountain behind M.P., Huayna Picchu, and got some good views from there as well.

The city was impressive. No doubt. It is smaller than the classic postcard photos might have you believe, housing around 1000 people at it’s peak. The stonework is also quite impressive - the builders went to some lengths to make the stones fit exactly into the walls. The Inca had no steel or iron, but they did have bronze (and gold, but that wouldn’t be much help shaping stone). Wikipedia tells me “The rocks used in construction were sculpted to fit together exactly by repeatedly lowering a rock onto another and carving away any sections on the lower rock where the dust was compressed. The tight fit and the concavity on the lower rocks made them extraordinarily stable.” There you go. It must have taken a fair amount of effort.

As I said, the site is impressive. It’s location as much as anything. It is surrounded by steep mountains, almost invisible from the river below, and perched on the top of some serious cliffs. The site on three sides was all but impenetrable to a normal human (some modern climbers with modern gear could get there easily enough, but forget about getting an invading army in, 500 years ago).

Later in the day the hordes arrived, and made it horrible to be there. We left. Next day we returned by the circuitous route, and partly due to the bus having three flat tyres, and the road being cut by road works from a landslide, took all day (from surise to after sunset) to get back to Cusco.

And now we must think about getting back on the bike. The holiday from the bikes is over.

Well, maybe one more day with civilised food. On that note, I had Alpaca steak tonight. It’s good (but expensive) – it could also be that it tasted good because I haven’t had a decent lump of meat (other that chicken) for some time now. I’ll keep an eye out for some more along the way.

Cusco

We made it! Up and down and back again. Cusco has been a target for some time, so now we are here and putting our feet up for a few days.

The road from Curahuasi began promisingly. Down hill on asphalt is always good fun. At altitude 1800m we found the bridge, and then climbed. Stopped for lunch in Limatambo (found a place that sold HUGE chicken schnitzels – with rice). Altitude and feasting are continuing to play havoc with my digestive system, so the remained of the climb to the pass at 3780m was accompanied (assisted?) by gas escaping from all orifices. Near 2000m climbing for the day, and 100km across. Possibly the last such climb for a while.

After a relatively big day up and across, we rolled into Izcuchaca (there was a town with the same name a few weeks ago). The day was capped off by being greeted by ‘¡gringos!’ screeched at us as we entered the (only) hospedaje in the pueblo. So we shared a room with the mice (it looked like there could be some around, but we didn’t actually spot any). I scored an upstairs room (difficult with the bike) because… I’m still not sure why I couldn’t have one of the other three empty ground floor rooms. Perhaps it was just an attempt by the owner to be unpleasant. The other hostel in the pueblo couldn’t give us a room because the woman who ran it wasn’t in town today, and the guy left in charge didn’t want to give us a room. At least we didn’t need food – the chicken was still reacting nicely.

A short climb into Cusco and we’ve definitely hit the gringo trail. Despite the huge number of tourists the town isn’t too bad – we’ve worked out how to keep away from the majority of them. Prices are certainly higher, and the amount of English spoken is greater, although it is vaguely insulting (especially to the Swiss) to always be labeled as American by the locals – even before opening your mouth.

This morning we had a long chat with two Austrian cyclists who are going north – comparing roads and routes. There is a lot of country coming up! Hopefully with less altitude gain per day though.

The Macchu Picchu problem is currently taking up a fair bit of thought. We’ve worked out how to get there without taking the outrageously expensive tourist train (taking the best part of two days), but we’ve still got a way to go to get student cards and reduce the similarly outrageous entrance fee. This could take some effort. But it’s a break from the bikes which is good for a few days.

The five passes: Road to Cusco

The road is asphalt. The mountains are just as high. The river just before Abancay was at 1800m. Today we just tipped 4000m, before sailing down the other side. Yes, that is over 2000m vertical. And guess what? We go down to 1900m tomorrow, before… Yes, another pass, just shy of 3800m. But Cusco isn’t far now, and the prospect of doing a bit of touristy stuff. Maybe even a few days off the bike.

The road has surprisingly little traffic (at least today), considering this is the Panamericana, and the main road from Nasca (and Lima) to Cusco – Gringo central.

I wonder if I should have stuck to catching buses around here. Nah – the view tonight was again very good, and who would stop in Curahuasi if you were on a bus to Cusco? The climb today was pretty good really, despite taking most of the day. The clouds were covering the mountain tops when we were at the top of the pass, but they cleared for sunset – again the mountains were on fire. Burnt orange everywhere to the east, and a spectrum of colours on the snow capped peaks more to the north (come to think of it, they may be the same snow capped peaks we saw the other day for sunset). Anyway, it was great.

Sleeping with the scorpions

You’ll never guess what I found in my hotel room this morning. Only small, and probably not poisonous, but I don’t really want to sleep with scorpions. Spiders are bad enough.

The five passes: To the Asphalt

The section from Ayacucho to Cusco contains five main passes (as well as a few other minor bits of climbing).

Continuing in the same vein as the last post – the dirt road from Andahualas to Abancay was pretty dreadful. There was only one pass in here. We took two days to complete this section, although I just got very confused – it feels like much much longer.

The first day was reasonably good. My bike started making a reasonably dreadful noise (as distinct from the other horrible noises of bashing over rocks all day). Later I found out that one of the panniers retaining hooks had broken and it was flapping around a fair bit. Looks like another job for Cusco.

We had a bit of a mixed day with the locals. Some were very friendly, one stopped to ask if we needed directions to whereever we were going (there was only one road and it was pretty obvious where were going, but the offer was appreciated). Others were indifferent, and a few were downright hostile (rotten potatoes were launched at me and Joerg from a truck full of kids). When it became clear that we weren’t going to clear the pass in one day, and we needed to find a place to camp, the locals appeared friendly enough. We camped in a slightly sheltered spot, off the road, but in sight of several people bringing home the livestock for the night (they take it all out every day to graze). Two horses were cobbled (not unusual), but it was distressing to see them hop all the way up the road. It looks like they don’t remove the cobbles to allow the animals to walk freely back to the corral. Surely that isn’t necessary.

The sunset was spectacular. Mountains to the north east caught the setting sun nicely – turning the snow all sorts of pink, orange and reds.

Due to the altitude (hence cold night), I accepted Joerg and Rahel’s offer to share their tent. Early in the night (about 10pm), three men appeared at the tent, roughly opened the zip and shone torches in. I was closest to the opening, so responded by sticking my head out of the tent. When my head torch and head got grabbed by one of the men, and I spotted the knife, it became clear that they were after more than a chat. I went to reach for the Bear Spray (pepper spray, similar to mace) – Rahel always keeps it handy in case ladrones (thieves) show up. But the Bear Spray was gone! The men then asked for our money, and almost immediately fled – Joerg had preempted there request and gave them a good dose of Bear Spray. I copped a bit of a whiff, and I’m glad I wasn’t the target!

The only damage was five substantial rips in the tent. As the men fled, one tripped over the tent and ripped it, and another lashed out with a stick and ripped the tent fly, inner tent and hit Rahel on the arm (she wasn’t hurt – but it scared the hell out of here – as you might expect).

We were pretty lucky really, and thieves are part of such a poor area, but it still got me really angry. And a little scared that they might come back, so I stayed awake for the rest of the night and kept a lookout. I got a good view of the lightning from a storm to the north, and froze (half of me was hanging out of the sleeping bag so I could sit up and keep watch!). Joerg and Rahel didn’t sleep well. The thieves didn’t come back. Hopefully they got a good smell of that pepper spray!

Needless to say, the next day we started early (up at first light – we were awake anyway!). And rode down. And down. 55km took about 4.5 hours. The road started reasonably pleasant and deteriated as we descended. By the end we were again hanging on. Not helped by having no sleep!

I broke two spokes, but didn’t notice until the next day when we tried to get the majority of the dirt out of the chain and casette. I hope this back wheel makes it!

A short (20km) climb up the asphalt (oh, the bliss of smooth road!) to Abancay to finish the day. My body let go about 5km from the end. I think I punished it just a bit too much, thankfully Joerg and Rahel found a hostel and helped me in. I had only been awake for 40 hours (with 2.5 hours sleep in there), but there had been a bit of stress. Not sure whether that is being soft or not.

We took a rest day in Abancay. I needed a sleep in And finally some good news! One of the cracked CDs worked, so I copied it and posted it home. Perhaps I will get some of my photos back after all!

Hopefully it gets easier from here. At least the road surface will be consistent.

Start of the Passes

Woe is me. I just opened my collection of photo CDs to find then all cracked in some way. This is distressing because it means I have lost more photos (the set from Huancayo to Ayacucho I made two copies of – both cracked). But it is also indicative of the roads I have been traveling the last few days. To call them bad is an understatement. According to the map, the road I am following is one of the “Carreteras Principales Del Peru”. Main roads. Huh! Yesterday, while going up, I tried an experiment. On the side of the road, which was reasonably smooth, but nothing like asphalt, I could get up to 9 kph in the short section available. On the road, I was averaging 6. It’s a game of hang on, even with front suspension (which is rapidly dying).

The last five days we have managed a total of 255km. We’ve also climbed almost 5000m. (Oh, and yesterday I reached my 50th kilometer of altitude gain – a good reason for pizza tonight!). It feels like a fair bit longer however. This is a tough section of road. And we’ve only crossed two of the 5 passes on route to Cusco! Luckily the last two are on asphalt road, so they wont be quite as taxing.

The first night out of Ayacucho we made it to near a small town called Acocro. There is pretty much nothing there, and that includes hostels. With a storm bearing down on us, we asked a passing local what we could do, and he suggested sleeping in his shed (along with the sheep skins, potatoes, piles of junk and god knows what else). It was a fair offer, with the wind howling, and rain incipient. As we were moving the bikes, he had a better idea: how about in his restaurant! Errr, ok. So we had soup, Rahel and Joerg set up their tent in the restaurant and I slept on a bench. It kept the rain off, and we were warm. The only problem was the owner decided to watch TV at volume (everything is done at volume here) at some ungodly hour in the morning, possibly as an attempt to wake us up.

The next day we climbed up. And up. Took most of the day to climb about 40km and 1000m. Sounds like slow going, I guess it was. This was the top of the first pass. Then we got to go down. I didn’t measure it, but the descent was roughly 20km, and took us the best part of 2.5 hours. Yes, thats right, down hill 20km took over two hours. This was the worst road so far, constantly riding the brakes, and times traveling less then 5kph. Thats me, the crazy one in the group; Rahel and Joerg were even slower. Maybe I’m going on about this, but the road is horrible. I have visions that the Carretera Australis wil be like this also. I hope not.

The road continued in this vein the next day, although slightly faster, until we couldn’t descend any further and we hit the river (which is quite obvious on Google Earth, see the map page if you’re interested). That was at 2050m (we had come down from 4090m). The only benefit was the temperature climbed as we descended. Although it didn’t stop at a reasonable value, and we were suddenly roasting in 42°C heat in the valley.

Once you hit the bottom, you go… Up. Of course the road was hardly better, despite the promise that it would be. On top of the road condition, the afternoon storm returned with a vengeance. Part way up the hill, we donned coats. Shortly after Rahel was literally blown backwards while walking and pushing her bike. I was stopped short and had to use all my strength (ok, no jokes about how weak I am) to go forward. Even with the wind howling, light rain being driven into us, and elevation above 2500m, the bugs were still biting (they stop biting when… not sure, but on the top they don’t seem to be there). On that note, I’m constantly itchy at the moment, and have a few nice holes in my legs. We finally found shelter in Chincheros, and had the ice cream that we promised ourselves in the river valley (despite the fact that it was now drizzling and we were wearing jackets against the nights chill).

I reminded Rahel and Joerg that we had all quit our jobs, and sold out things to come here and cycle up this, in this. It wasn’t appreciated. I maintain it is still better than work (and to be honest was still having a good time – I know, masochist you might say, and Joerg often has)

Continuing up the mountain the next day, started steep and continued. The road was also so bad that Rahel managed to push her bike more than ride it. It was slow going.

If you’ve slogged through this whole piece, with no photos, until now, then you’re getting to the point of it. I’m not just whinging at how hard this is.

At the first intersection, really just a place to sit for a while, we had lunch. Sitting on the grass, some animals wandered over. Some pigs and a horse started chomping their way through something (grass I guess). A piglet came over to see what the gringos ate for lunch (and managed to get some off us). Sitting there in the sunshine, blue sky, with the animals and mountains around us… it was a pretty good place for lunch.

But the climbing hadn’t been completed, so we set off again, for 20km to the top of Abra Soracocha. At least the road wasn’t quite so bad. From the top (and from quite a few places along the way), and down the other side, the view was absolutely amazing. One might call it breathtaking. In fact one will: It was breathtaking – possibly helped by being at 4270m . It is a little hard to describe, but it was like being on top if the world (again). Looking out I could see mountains in all directions, with deep river valleys causing the irregular bumps of mountains, and giving some sense of scale to an infinite view (although the scale was hard to adjust to, those valleys are 2000m deep!). To make it better, it was late afternoon, the sky was blue (there were a few clouds), it was cool, but the sun was warm. I wish I were a more accomplished wordsmith to describe the scene. Four days of adventure (aka struggle) to get here? Was it worth it? Hell yes! The one view may have been enough, but I have failed to mention some of the other good things that have made it worthwhile (the friendly guy who let us sleep in his restaurant, the group of kids we talked to in the river valley, the views everywhere). Taking a bus would never allow you to enjoy the view as much. Even if it stopped at the top to let you out, the feeling, breathlessness and scale isn’t the same.
But it was late afternoon, and we still had a way to go to camp (I’m not keen on sleeping above 4000m!), so we descended rapidly (on much improved road) to the tiny pueblo of Chicmo. We had sunset while we descended. Apart from the obvious (it got dark), it was a great thing. The few clouds lit up, the hills mountains looked they were coated with gold, and the road looked smooth! It still felt bumpy though  maybe I just could no longer see We rolled into Chicmo with the head torches on (it took a bit longer than I expected as we had a flat to deal with).

The locals gathered around (a normal occurrence), and stared (normal). The police I asked for help to the nearest hostel was most unfriendly, as was his gun (not so normal). No one wanted to help, insisting that the only place to sleep was 20km further down the hill (possibly fun if I had my bike lights and we hadn’t already ridden a full day over a pass – certainly not an option at that point). So we had dinner (pasta, potato and rice – mysterious absence of chicken, but carbs? All at once?). Rahel looked around, and found an ally in the centro del salud (local health center / community hospital). It was a small room, with only two beds (and a cot) – luckily they had no patients.

Today we completed the descent from the second pass and got stopped by the prospect of pizza in Andahuaylas. Which I am late for now.

Only 120km until the asphalt that will take us all the way to Cusco (and further almost to the southern border of Peru). Yippee!

Indicators and driver training

There is quite a lot that can be said about the cars in Peru (like how they carry animals in the taxis and people in trucks), and probably will be in due course.

Special note must go to the indicators or flashers or blinkers or whatever you might call them. I have slowly gotten used to ignoring then completely. It is too difficult to work out quite what the driver intends to do just by the indicators.

For example, a flashing left indicator can mean:

• I am turning left (the only usage common in developed countries, hence what I am used to – but the least frequently applied here);
• I am turning right (god know how they came up with this piece of brilliance – but it’s true);
• There is danger (ie cyclists, a parked car, a hole in the road, whatever) to the left of me up ahead;
• There is danger to the right up ahead (most likely me as I turn right with the left indicator flashing);
• You can overtake me on the left now, it’s safe (the definition of safe would not be quite what you might expect)
• I have forgotten to tun off my left blinker,
• or (and this is probably the most frequent) I have tried to turn on my hazard flashers (for any number of random reasons) but only the left blinker works.

Of course there are the same number of possibilities (which are identical) when the right is flashing.

The only real constant is the use of the horn. This means absolutely everything and anything. Seriously, anything. I think some of the time they use it gratuitously, just to be loud – with no need to attract attention.

We think we’ve discovered the major points of the cirriculum of the driver training school for Peruvian drivers, with roughly equal time given to each point:

1. Here are the keys. Look they jingle.
2. This is how you work the horn.
3. This is how the radio works. Note that increasing the volume is easy, decreasing is frowned upon.
4. There is the road. Go. Find a place to put your car and do it as fast as possible. Bonus points for making lots of noise.

Since we haven’t been hit (yet), this is probably a little harsh, but honestly some of the crazy stunts they pull make you wonder if they have any training at all.

Argh, the air up here!

The main problem is there is much less of it.

Rolling out of Huancayo wasn’t a good day for me. I lost my sunglasses (at the hairdressers), and we wasted hours trying to get them back. Lucky I carried a spare pair. Five km later, I broke a(nother) spoke on the rear wheel. This time it was on a straight, flat, bitumen road. No stupidity, nothing. I don’t hold out much hope that this wheel will make it the distance (whatever “the distance” is). But we’re getting better – a replacement was fitted in about 10 minutes. Since bad things come in threes (or so I’m lead to believe), that night, one of the starps snapped on one of my panniers. Sewing needle out (yes, I can sew if I have to) and it’s as good as new again.

But apart from the inconveniences, the day was great. Up hill for most of it, in great weather, to about 3900m. Had a picnic at the top (bread, chocolate and banana, mmm), and remarked at how travelling by bicycle is the only way to have experiences quite like this. No other way do you get the smells, sounds, the slowly changing landscape, interaction with the locals/farmers (and dogs) and still make a reasonable distance (you could walk I guess, but that would just be silly when there is a road).

And then down. And steep. Part way down, Rahel and Joerg (I’ve finally worked out how to spell Joerg’s name correctly), hit 20,000km. In 1.5 years. I have only 3,000km (which is still a fair way, it might take you from Perth to Adelaide – except I’ve also climbed about 42km in the same time – no possible correlation with Australia there). A minor celebration was conducted on the road side – followed up in Ayacucho a few days later.

That night I had another attack of stupidity. The guide book told me that the highest drivable pass in the world was ahead, and of course I wasn’t about to pass up that bragging right. Except 10 seconds with Google and Wikipedia have since told me otherwise (try Tibet, and 500m higher). Pity I didn’t check this in Huancayo. Rahel and Joerg decided to take the river valley (a most sensible decision) and I decided to try and be a hero. So we split in Izcuchaca, after a meal of chicken and rice – I’m sure you guessed it.

The road along the river looked quite pleasant as I climbed the alongside, but up. In some ways it was good to be travelling alone again – I could go at my own pace (yes it is a little faster), but the company is good, as well as the added security of traveling in a group. Everything is just easier with other people – even stopping to buy a drink is much easier when there is someone else to look after the bike. Also, alone I was again forced to use my Spanish, which is (slowly) coming along – which is a good thing.

Fortunately the road to Huancavelica has been recently paved – so recent that there were people painting the lines as I rode past. The good road meant that despite the climb (of over 2000m) I could make the distance to Huancavelica, and go slightly beyond. I was heading for the small pueblo (town/village) of Lachocc – which featured on my map. The people in Huancavelica told me there was bugger all in Lachocc, but I didn’t believe them. About 5km short of the village, with the sun setting, I stumbled across a railway tunnel that looked inviting. Of course at 4100m, there are no trees for the hammock, and staying in a tunnel would protect me from the majority of the nightly chill. The danger of course is that a train might come, but hey, this is Peru, right? The train timetable works in days of the week, not times of day. So I chanced it. On closer inspection the tunnel was clearly abandoned, the train tracks ripped up and taken away, and the hill had started to collapse to reclaim the tunnel. As a camp site it was perfect, but the removal of the trcks diminishes the quality of the story. I still bivvied in the hammock to keep the bities out. I hit 3,000km right on camp. No celebration yet – just some dried figs for dinner (I had a reasonably big, late, lunch).

The next morning I left camp wearing damn near everthing I had. It was cold. At Lachocc, I was suddenly grateful that I had camped in the tunnel. Lachocc is nothing, not even worth slowing down for – there are plenty of ruined houses to see in other places. But the altiplano behind was worth a look. It held lots of Alpaca, and is allegedly one of the highest habitable altiplanos (but I now know more than to trust that guidebook about altitude records). So I bashed and gasped my way along the dirt road to the other end of the altiplano. I thought I was acclimitised, but as the altitude climbed toward 5,000m, I was certainly feeling it. I took an hour detour to reach the pass at 5,059m (according to the GPS it was a bit lower, but in this case I’ll believe the sign). Gasped a lot. Took some photos. Did a handstand (I finally remembered to do one at the top of something). And then got the hell out of there. As soon as I was going down I could breathe again. The change is amazing.

I then looked to the left. A mountain that was there a minute ago had gone. Someone had hid it behind an ugly black cloud. At the same time my rear tyre decide to go flat. So I pumped up the tyre, and (pump in hand) raced the cloud to the next thing approximating shelter (a pueblo at Choclococha – say that three times fast). I needed to pump up the tyre three more times to make it, but It was better than changing the tube in the snow. i made it, just as the snow arrived. I gratefully bailed myself into the only restaurant, and requested lunch.

The woman looked annoyed to be disturbed from her kniting and grudgingly informed me “I’ve only got eggs, and you’ll have to wait while I prepare them” (in Spanish of course). You can imagine that filled me with joy (especially if you know how much I like eggs). But it was food (it came with rice! oh the joys! – no chicken!), and I was able to stay dry and warm as I fixed my wheel and the storm passed.

The storm had cut into my riding time, but I wasn’t keen to sleep above 4600m, so I hurried down to Santa Ines, and then Pilpichaca (I don’t know why I write the town names, no-one back home will have ever heard of them, or be able to locate them). I was stopped short at Pilpichaca by another storm, and decided to hole out here for the night. It was a hole.

This left me with a 150km trip to Ayacucho the next day. Quite the longest day so far, and including three passes, and the majority of the riding above 4000m. But I decided I could do it, and of course I did. I was a little surprised, I thought the trip would take four days, but I managed the 340km (ok, only 110km was dirt), with 4,800m climb in 23 hours of riding over three days. Hardly iron man material, but a pretty good effort – if I do say so myself.

Knowing I had a big day ahead, I left at 6, but luckily the snow on the surrounding hills had melted overnight. I don’t know how thought – it was below zero (according to the computer) for the first 15km.

And then after four days of being, and needing to be, perfectly healthy, I was sick again within hours of arriving in Ayacucho. Does my body store these things up until the food suddenly has the option of variety? I hope to recover without drugs (at the risk of offending Richard by not taking his advice )

Ayacucho

After 3 days of hard riding, I’m in Ayacucho. But where are Rahel and Joerg?

<Later. Much much later> It turns out hey beat me here by a matter of minutes (not bad timing after three days).

Huancayo Hamburger Haircut

Today we were meant to leave Huancayo, but Rahel isn’t feeling too well, so I readily agreed to another day off. It’s been go-go-go for the last few weeks, so good to have a day to just mess around. And eat.

Jurg and I had a hamburger for lunch. We’ve called it the conejo (rabbit) hamburger. Lettuce and cucumber I consider normal. Never before have I had broccoli and carrot served with a hamburger.

Straight after lunch we decided to have a hair cut. This was probably expensive at 3 soles (approx A$1). Jurg ended up with a decent cut, although it is slightly asymmetric. I definately had the apprentice. After about 20 minutes of trimming the hair at the back of my head, she tried to use the clippers. I had to put the comb on the clippers for her. It went downhill from there. The good news is the difference between a bad haircut and a good one can be as little as two weeks.

Perhaps this one will take three.