evadventure

[evadventure]

The ghosts of Barcelona

More or less accidentally, I’m standing on one foot in a train down the coast from Barcelona. Since I can’t do much, just hang on the rail, I can contemplate the weird mix of familiar and strange.

Skies are yellowish-gray, dense with Sahara sand. When I attempted to live here, it rained. But in the last three years, in some places here not a single drop fell.

I still haven’t caught even a glimpse of a big reason Barcelona was calling me back at the end of 2019 — the sea. This beautiful coast — up north it’s Costa Brava, the wild coast (much like patatas bravas can be wild) — used to see us heading to a beach every weekend. The sense of normality amid the covid chaos. Me, desperately doing anything to keep the illusion I was brought here for something more than anxiety, loneliness, and the evergrowing sense of not belonging.

What started as an adventure spiced — by a heavy-handed wrinkled Indian cook who no longer measures the amounts of chilli because he can eat any amount — with the sense of the world vanishing, was followed by careful re-discovery, re-building, re-claiming, re-connection.

And it was easy for a while since there was nothing else to do. As Leonard Cohen sings, I loved every morning and pretended it was new. Or, I tried.

So I’m traveling down the coast to see my friend Dylan and his family and I find relief in the notion that I no longer have to try to fit in. It’s not an age thing, no, this is Spain. A sixty-year old women (who’s in a better shape than me) doesn’t mind taking a seat on the floor in the crowded train. No one around me complains about having to stand. But when I take down my Sony headphones that cancel most of the noise, the world seems somehow quieter than it used to be.

It’s the yellow sky and the sense of doom and the lacking rain. And I don't belong. Have I ever? My dream was to go south, follow the sun, live by the sea. Covid turned it into a nightmare that I slowly recovered from, but I don’t feel like I’ve recovered my travel lust. Fernweh, that I’ve got. The hidden lump of gold in the shit the covid years have been — it’s four years since I moved here and I just can’t fucking believe it — is the fact that the sense of the passing time scares me less. An ability I never had, to prioritize, to embrace I can’t be in all the places at once. Alles was ich immer wollte war alles.

Now we’re passing the rocky coast and it starts to feel as a pleasant memory as I’m no longer really remembering the summer heat with a mask on. The sea reminds me of someone dear, someone I first wanted to bring, but now I’m glad to be alone. This is my world. None of it can be shared. This path alone commemorates all those days here, countless days I can’t tell apart because they all melted together.

I was here because at some point I wanted to change scenery. Run from myself. I’m here now because I wanted to feel the pleasure of changing scenery. Solitude perhaps. How symbolic is it that I chose to come here? (Well, voucher tickets.) It only hits me when I leave the train: I’m here to re-concile with the person I was here.

With the person I failed to be here. I’m here to see ever so clearly what I have found since then. I don’t have to force myself to belong. I no longer need everything.

[evadventure]

A day on Titicaca: Urus islands

As usual, we got up super early and waited for the van to take us to the port. When we were booking the tour (second of three, first one being Rainbow mountain, with increasing level of annoying touristicity, yes that’s a word) we had a choice between fast and slow boat with an insignificant price difference. I chose the slow one because I’m me and yay, more time on the boat. We didn’t regret it too much. 

The tour included a stop at the Uros islands and at the Taquile island. 

Uros islands are traditional islands made out of reeds. The floating platforms are made of reeds, the houses are made of reeds, the toys also. It’s an ancient tradition, now with an injection of modern age -- quote, most boats have motors, nearly all islands have shared solar panels [...] and the main island is home to an Uru-run radio station, which plays music for several hours a day.

Since a little tour is included, we learned that there’s about 200 families and they split the touristy duties, but seeing how many boats arrive there it didn’t feel like they get enough break and to be honest, it felt a bit like a shit zoo. I’d be much happier to read upon this amazingly interesting lifestyle than observing it first hand -- and observing it slowly crumble under the weight of mostly white money. It’s easy to lose centuries old traditions and it’s not easy to watch it happen. 

We learned about the craft of building the islands as well as bit of mythology and history. Also, took a very slow ride around on a traditional boat. You can guess what it was made of. 

Frankly, I’d probably be less harsh with my comments weren’t it for the theatrics of it all -- of course we were welcome by the chief of the island and of course he was taking people inside into his cabin and of course his face was asking for money and of course the chief’s wife tried to convince me that a beautiful tapestry, down to the last detail same as the one I’d see later near Lima, is made by her own hand. It all felt way too insincere and the stories I’ve heard about these local nice people being exploited by those who run the tours didn’t exactly make me feel better. 

Yet in its own it was interesting. For example, there are little herb gardens on the islands: 

Handicrafts! I liked the little hanging boat with a little man and woman symbolising the origin of the tribe. These didn’t seem as artificial as the other generic Peruvian stuff, so I bought a little orange one that is hanging in my living room now. 

Finally, we also took turns climbing on a tiny watchtower. What’s not in the picture is that this construction stands on 2 meters of reeds floating in the freezing water. Just saying. 

After this we hopped back onto the boat and continued our journey. We were finally allowed onto the roof so we did so and talked a bit with the other travellers. I wanted to stay on the roof until we would get out of the bay and see Bolivia, but the boat was slooooow and it was cold. 

Next stop, the island of Taquile. 

[evadventure]

Puno and first local delicacies

It’s been ages since the last post. Forking shirt, as Eleanor from The Good place would say, and since there may or may not be new travels on the horizon, it would seem fitting to wrap up Peru. Alas, not nearly there yet, but getting there anyway! Let’s see how much I still remember. :) 

The decision to go to Puno was (not sure how Jasmin remembers that) from my perspective more or less mine and largely driven by the achievement of seeing the lake Titicaca, accompanied by my jealousy over Apo’s lovely warm jacket from that area (that felt amazing in the cold Cusco nights). The first one we checked off, the second one not, maybe also due to stocking up on llama sweaters leaving little space in our backpacks. But, looks like I’m digressing. 

On the morning of June 12th we left Cusco by an airplane to Juliaca, 50 km from Puno on the Titicaca shore. In the distance on the right we could see El Misti (until next time, my dear) -- it’s that triangle slightly left off the centre of the photo below:

Mountains, covering that huge area from Lima all the way down here, stepped back and plains covered in endless farming areas took place instead. It’s a landscape beyond comparison: almost 4000 meters of altitude, 12 degrees from the equator: The sun can be and is dangerous, yet cold, and produces enough heat for crops. As this article mentions: Traditionally, different types of potatoes are grown around Lake Titicaca. The region is even known as the origin of potato farming. Grains such as corn, barley and quinoa are also counted among the region’s agricultural products, thanks to the microclimate created by the lake which allows these crops to grow despite the altitude’s otherwise adverse conditions. (Too bad we didn’t get around to any potato tasting, that would have been sweet. And starchy.)

(Adverse weather conditions can be studied upon here.)

Arriving in Juliaca felt again like a completely new place. Harsh sun, were it not for out Rainbow mountain ascend, we’d be the highest ever, and the one hour cab ride to Puno showed us a face of Peru we haven’t seen so far: Poverty, disintegration, mess. Lonely planet wasn’t mentioning Juliaca as one of the more accommodating cities and we were happy just to pass through. 

Arriving in Puno around lunchtime, we checked into the hotel, checked that we have a bunch of extra blankets on our beds (adverse conditions included below zero temperatures forecast for the night) and headed out into the city. To be fair, it’s not just me who set us up for coming to Puno, also our Peruvian contacts kept selling it as a cool city full of folklore (I had the feeling I shared here my discovery of it meaning FOLK LORE, but can’t find it now, so enjoy!) -- but turns out, that is mostly a February thing. 

First glimpse at the lake! Due to me absolutely not accidentally choosing the seats on El Misti side we missed out on the lake from the plane. 

Now, it’s story time. We were hungry, looked up a good restaurant on the one tiny square (PLAZA DE ARMAS, of course) but also we’ve been here for a while and are thinking more in terms of a budget than in the beginning. So when we see a next door restaurant with one third prices and menu túristico, that’s where we go. And we get a menu túristico indeed. As a tiny foreshadowing, I’m gonna say one thing: We didn’t tip. 

And it doesn’t make sense to beat around the bushes, though the restaurant seemed clean and nice, Jasmin found maggots in her potatoes (it took three for her to speak up; for neither of us this was a very assertive day) and my alpaca meat was raw which I enjoyed until I started thinking about all kinds of parasites that I could potentially digest (that are definitely dancing in my brain as we speak). 

After this wonderful lunch we took the straight line of Av. de Puerto to the, well, port. The guide seemed to deem this area as quite safe (and as far as I understand any guide would want to stay on the very safe side of things and usually the reality is way less gloomy, in this case the city didn’t feel welcoming for us to explore, so we walked to the lake and back on this one street where we even saw some tourists from time to time).   

To keep it short: There wasn’t much to see. There’s the lighthouse and SS Olanta. There was the moon, as seen above. And there was a wonderful little scene that we spent the most time with (and by we I mean Jasmin).

How many guinea pigs can you find? (Due to this inspiration, in the next post we’re gonna eat one!)

We wrapped the day at La Hosteria, which was a super cosy restaurant at the corner next to Plaza de Armas which managed to wipe out our memories of lunch and didn’t overcharge for wine, which may or may not be related. 

[evadventure]

Rainbow Mountain

I know I said that we kept an early schedule but there is still something unsettling about setting your alarm clock to 4 in the morning. 

On the trip to Rainbow mountain, we got so stuck in our heads. It wasn’t clear how the trip would look like or what to prepare for. People in hostel kept saying it was “a walk” (but they were all 20 and drinking every night until the morning) and scouting internet didn’t yield much. As it turned out only when we arrived, tourism moves fast in Peru and reports of 900 meter altitude difference and full day hike were outdated. 

In that ungodly hour, we got picked up from the hostel and aimed into the mountains south east from Cusco. First a breakfast at a local farm. (Yay coffee, oh wait, will there be toilets on the mountain -- we spent way too much time wondering about how many toilets we would encounter; sometimes I felt old. But yeah, there were two sets of toilets. As I said, tourism is moving fast.) 

And then we went up and up, in a beautiful landscapes, surrounded by tons of alpacas. Rainbow mountain is one of the most frequented places in Peru and in the new setup, the cars take you about 4600 meters above sea level. Yeah, you’re reading this right. After nights in Cusco and acclimatisation and no-longer-feeling-like-suffocating, this was a brand new level of again-feeling-like-suffocating, amplified by the (ba-dum-ts) breathtaking landscape all around.

The total altitude difference was about 400. There’s the spot next to the actual Rainbow mountain, where everyone takes pictures, and then there’s a slightly higher top next to it, that actually surpasses 5k, so it’s an achievement to be unlocked. Even if you feel like dying, and you will. Achievement. It’s one thing to end up on a mountain you paid for extra, it’s a whole another thing to get as high as you’ve ever been even if it will cost you a lung. 

We set up for the journey (totally overprepared in count of layers, but not having enough chocolate). First few steps were quite steep and we immediately felt the altitude hard. Despite the amount of people, it was lovely and solitary as everyone was focused on their own difficulty to breathe and counting the alpacas in the valley. 

First part was ok. It felt like a walk, a slow one. One foot ahead of the other, step by step. Taking the layers off. 

Second part was bit steeper and at some point we caved in and decided to rent a horse. There’s a ton of locals offering a horse ride, and the horses looked healthy, if a bit out of breath (much like everyone around). So we negotiated a good price and it had only two slight catches. The steepest part was too steep for them and we had to get down and walk on our own which felt, to be honest, totally undoable. The second catch was way funnier one. Somehow I ended up on the first horse of the two and as we set out, the horse was pleasantly surprised by carrying someone as awesome as me and immediately started shitting. Like, a lot. So, I was riding on a shit machine and Jasmin was watching the shit machine. For good few minutes. 

That last part (before the actual last part), that was something. In the saner moments I was watching the smug faces of the people descending, to practice for the time when it would be my turn. And then, after painful 30 or so minutes, there we were, at the most picturesque place in Peru, us and 200 other people. Meh. And there were alpacas and for few shushniks, as we say in Czech, you could have your moment of glory next to them and take a ton of pictures. Just Rainbow mountain, fluffy animals, totally high on lack of air me, that darth-vadery guy in the black down jacket and Yoko Ono. (I have better pictures but I totally love the expression of all the three participants here.)

What followed was that final climb, tons of beautiful pictures taken (and, to be fair, even more astonished stares into all directions) and then the descend (with a smug face, obviously). Once returned to Cusco, for the last night, we didn’t (spoiler alert) even now manage to go to the local craft beer pub, so I guess we’ll have to return. 

Stay tuned for the next destination! Because Berlin summer is just starting, so let’s go somewhere even colder.

And now you can take a break from my words and dive into the beauty. Because no amount of words can describe this:

Here, in the clouds, you can see the snowy top of the Auzangate mountain, 6 384 meters.

[evadventure]

Quadding around Cusco

Taking a train at 5:30 might be problematic in other parts of the world. It’s not problematic in Berlin, as you are likely just on a way from a party; and it’s not problematic in Peru, where we still after almost 10 days wake up round 5 anyway. So we take the morning train back to Ollantaytambo and we need to figure out what next. At some point we’d to be back in Cusco, but we still haven’t completely given up the idea of seeing more of the Sacred Valley’s architectural glory. 

But, neither me nor Jasmin are super into history. I don’t mind, but I haven’t read up enough to feel confident I’ll understand the significance of things I’m potentially looking at. I also don’t assume the local cab drivers would be too prolific in history (though, I might be surprised). In the end, facing the price for the Sacred Valley package deal on one side and complications of trying to backpack the shit out of it on the other side, we opt in for a completely different idea: A quad tour. Because, yeah, we are tourists. 

As a result we take the collectivo to Urubamba and to Cusco, to find ourselves in the same hostel round noon, devouring a lunch (by now we still don’t know that ají de gallina is 10 times of normal daily calories intake, so it’s very likely that that’s our lunch) and heading back in the direction of Urubamba, this time with bunch of people from local hostels that also want to have some quad fun. 

I’m not a very good driver. This shows best in kart racing, where my competitiveness takes over my brain completely, yet I’m not too aware how exactly should I steer to take over all the boys (and, to be honest, I might have some self preservation where I’m just too afraid to go fast enough). So I usually end up at the tail of all the guys and ahead of most girls, but I’m never really happy with this. 

And quads, as I find out, have stick on top. So for a moment I’m freaked out. Obviously, because of stereotypes (not far from the ones I’ve just shown myself) we end up both in the slower group -- and once I get a hold of the driving, which is actually fairly simple, I’m not happy at all that our group is the slow one. I may have rebelled a little and tried hard to get the quad to full speed (hint: if you don’t want people doing that, don’t put a tachometer on the vehicle). At one moment, Jasmin hit a wall in a little ravin-y road but luckily got just few intense bruises. We rode to the lake in the header of the article and it may have been an hour or two. I felt bad for the farmers, whose land we crossed though, I can’t imagine their compensation is high enough to make up for groups of lunatic tourists speeding by, but -- I’m happy I tried it anyway. Reminded me of my motorbike days (never as a driver though) and the freedom of movement and the speeding air you’re not blocked away from as in a car. 

After that, we headed for the Salinas de Maras. It’s an impressive complex of salt fields, gathering and distributing salt from a very salty stream. (I licked it. Repeatedly.) There’s more than 4000 of them, divided between some 50 or so families. Salt has always been gathered here, even in the pre-Inca times. 

After that, we drove back to Cusco. Sun gets down quite early, it’s not too far from equator and it’s the local winter (in Cusco that means no rain and temperatures as low as zero in the night). 

(Astronomy intermezzo: Driving back, it was dark already and I had my face stuck against the window and stared at the West. According to my app, Mercury and Mars were supposed to be there but I kept seeing only one of them, hoping that the lower will pop between the hills and trees. Well, turned out that the bright one isn’t Mars, but Mercury and that I’ve been looking at Mars next to it all along. I understand that this is utterly boring for most people and thank you for reading through if you did. But, I was happy cracking the mystery!)

We booked a trip to the Rainbow mountain for the next day (front desk meet up at 4:30, uh) and I went to see the tattoo artist that I made an appointment with. Well, didn’t make an appointment with, as it turned out, I completely forgot to let him know I’m back in Cusco. Needless to say, the design he had for me that I thought was too big on paper ended up being too small. I left with maybe ten stencils everywhere but no tattoo. Alas, next time. 

(I’m so impressed with the salt ponds that I can’t button my shirt properly.)

It feels almost impossible how much we stuffed into each day without taking a real break. And we still have five more locations in the next seven days. To be continued!

[evadventure]

Machu f#@king Picchu: Final hours

Here goes the descend. 1 hour of painful jumps later, sitting on a stair next to the entrance to Montaña Picchu, I’m dizzy and can feel a rising headache, which is only partially caused by the sign we now notice for the first time: 2670 stairs. I’m glad I didn’t see it when we passed here on the way up.

Water that was kindly given to us on the top is almost gone and — a catch 22 situation — I can go out and buy water at the entrance but I won’t be allowed back in. Also, Machu Picchu isn’t exactly small, so getting there, maybe to get someone to pass me water through the exit and getting back here also doesn’t sound too intriguing.

So I choose to suffer, sipping the leftover water in smaller and smaller increments. My memory of Machu Picchu is therefore bit vague. There’s the magnificent landscape around that continues to captivate me. It’s relatively hot, the sun is definitely piercing. Crowds of people, obviously, flock in order to catch the best views on their phones, while I as always try to take people-less photographs at least to be able to pretend I was here alone later. But it’s beautiful and though I’m not a great deal into archaeology, I find an odd comfort in the idea that people lived here, surrounded by nature, worshipping the great Huyana Picchu, provided well for by the generous, fertile land around. I would like to come back one day. (I would like to be so rich, I could buy all tickets for one day and just have it for myself. 16000 soles for the first entrance pack (800 tickets) is about 4000 euros. Here’s a thought.

See? No visible people!

Isn’t it just beautiful? Officially, in the records, Machu Picchu was first discovered by a white man in 1911, and turned a UNESCO heritage site only in 1983. It's still not clear, which exact part of Inca society lived here (though it definitely feels high class and sacred), and even the reasons why it became abandoned are not completely clear: The most accepted theory is a smallpox epidemic, obviously brought from the Old world. 

Of course, any touristic place in Peru will have llamas. Or alpacas. There’s a very simple hint to know the difference, that I will share once I reach some more boring parts of the travel to fill the space.

Even here, some friendlier than others graze the grass and — surprisingly — do not spit. My quest is no longer about getting to the exit before I faint, now it’s take a hundred pictures of Jasmin with llamas. Jasmin, I’m dying, I need water — yeah yeah, can you take a picture of me with this other new llama? Something along those terms.

This is a llama. On the right. 

Oh by the way. I forgot one story from Cusco. Last night, when we were sneaking out from a party (I think that was the party where we were forced to play beerpong). I was using the Nadia move (my friend who always disappears from a party without raising any awareness, English / Polish style depending on your origin) to sneak out. I didn’t manage to go entirely unnoticed — one of the French girls caught me few minutes later with a hairdryer sitting on the floor in the corridor.

Drying my phone, that ACCIDENTALLY with almost no alcohol influence slipped into the toilet. BEFORE USING IT, in case you need to know.

So, I overheated my phone whose display showed serious signs of water trauma. So I rather went to the kitchen, which was luckily still open, and requested arroz, por favor. Also luckily, the air around Cusco is really dry, so with help of the midday sun in Ollantaytambo next day, my phone stored in a fabric bag of rise healed and continues to take pictures of Peru. This was extra lucky, since my backup iPhone 5S’s exchanged cheap display decided that 3400 meters about sea level is not enough pressure to keep its shit together, and partially stopped (never to recover in normal altitudes) working in the middle right area. If your passcode ends with 5, you’re in bit of a pickle.

But yeah, end of the intermezzo:

Peruvian street dogs: Friendly and clean. And Jasmin, also friendly and clean.

In the end, I rushed through the leftover ruins (partially rebuilt to give a better impression of how the village used to look like), bought an overpriced water, and we headed through the evening tropical forest back down, completing our altitude difference of 1000 meters as a full circle. 

Grabbed a quick dinner (oferta turistica is always a good deal, for 20 soles a soup, main dish and a drink, this time I think even a desert) -- discovered sopa criolla, heavy soup with creme and beef and egg, enough of a dish on its own, and went to die, because our train was leaving at 5:30. Not that that would bother us too much, this has been our schedule since beginning of Peruvian time.

[evadventure]

Machu f#@king Picchu: The accidental ascend

Aguas Calientes is a tiny place. It spans for maybe kilometer by kilometer, around the quick stream of ! and a slower river of Urubamba that we followed with the train.

It’s a touristy place, built to serve the endless masses of people coming to see one of the wonders of the world. Everything, from countless stands selling the same Peru swag, to offers in restaurants, to hotels, hostels and guesthouses on every corner, is here for us. But despite that — it is a place with hot waters; on the top of the hill there’s a spa that we fail to visit. 

From all the guesthouses this one is the tiniest and fullest of rules -- especially when it comes to hanging towels to any place other than the ONE. The owner is sweet old lady speaking only Spanish and not putting up with my lousy attempts. At least I learn pasado mañana from her. 

Before going to sleep, we’re strolling the streets. Mostly in search of food. Surrounded by mountains, once again we can be happy we stocked up on alpaca sweaters in Cusco. We find a nice spot on one of the streets leading from the main square and while enjoying the dinner (CEVICHE!), a parade passes by. We already saw the celebrations in Cusco, then Pentecost (takes me until a boat ride on Titicaca to remember the word for Pfingsten and letnice) celebrations in Ollantaytambo, and finally here, also Pentecost parade, very local, down to the last tassel and a dead baby alpaca on the back of some of the attendees. As we’ve learned in Cusco, Inca traditions are just as alive as the Christian ones. 

We go to sleep early. Jasmin usually wants to get up bit earlier (all the monkeys will appreciate her precise makeup I’m sure 😝) and I want to sleep in but then I mostly end up waking up with her. But there’s always a bit of discussion around this and I fail to realise that instead of thinking about those extra 10 minutes of sleep, I should be thinking about enough water. (Foreshadowing much.)

So. To get to the area of Machu Picchu, one has to get to the entrance up in the mountains. The windy road takes about 15 minutes by bus, and costs almost 30 euros, and we are both waaaay too cheap for such blatant tourist exploitation. Our entrance time is 8, which gives us enough time to sleep until 6, put makeup on (here’s a slot to admit I do it too) and walk up. 

This beautiful Andean motmot welcomes us at the beginning of the hike

This is the first part of the day that is fucking magnificent. No one does this. We meet one Dutch couple, but otherwise we are alone in what is definitely a jungle. Behind us, cone shaped peaks create a fantastic scenery, one I haven’t seen, anywhere, ever. 

And further behind them, sun slowly crawls up, creating breathtaking light play. It’s a lot of stairs, but quite doable. We arrive at the entrance, learn that no one can enter before 8 (joking around about Germans implementing the system). Turns out, despite many warnings around the internet, we don’t need a guide to enter the area. So, all good news. 

We also have a place to be. At 9, we can check in at a mountain entrance. Now, when we were booking the tickets, the famous, beautiful, scarily steep Huayna Picchu, the sacred mountain, was sold out. But there was, quote, her slightly less cooler brother Montaña Picchu. Now, if you read smaller, you’re like me. The fact that there’s a mountain towering on the left doesn’t break my calm, it’s probably that tiny peak right ahead. 

Where could I be possibly going with this, right. At the entrance we find out it takes 2 hours up, 1 hour down, and as we luckily learn when we are back, it takes 2 760 stairs. 

So yeah. That.

It’s getting hotter and we don’t have enough water. This simply wasn’t planned. But we are here and we paid for it, so be might as well start climbing. 

What can I say, I am stubborn. We’re stubborn. So even if I do tell myself there is no shame in turning back, I know very well there’s plenty of shame in turning back and I put one leg in front of another, over and over again, until in the rising heat we stand on the top. 

Which is totally worth it and from here, Machu Picchu is so tiny, no puny humans disturb the sight. It’s way past the moment the sun jumped up from behind the hills, up here it’s still quite windy, but yeah. Here we go: 

The total altitude difference makes over 1000 meters and yes, we will feel it for few days. And yes, we’re out of water. And it’s hot. 

To be continued -- 

[evadventure]

Machu f#@king Picchu: Overture

In the morning of June 8th, we comfortably get up and out of the hostel. Our task list is simple: Find a nearby street called Pavitos, get a collectivo to Ollantaytambo and there figure out the way to the train station. 

It feels like tourism in Peru is either huge or none: This being the only official way to get there, it’s a tiny street nearby the city centre where, in the typical on-demand way, minibuses get filled up, leave and new ones arrive. Maybe a schedule exists, but who cares. We pay 10 soles and nest ourselves on the front seats. 

Now it’s time for a story. Jasmin has a German Lonely planet that we extract our offline information from. I forget a lot, so all I remember is a vague going to Aquas Calientes ... bus ... if you dare. 

Things that generally freak me out: Spiders (but I survived the jungle and I thought that the dry bodies of the ones on the net above our shower were kinda cute, mostly because they were not moving). I used to be scared of flying on the verge of panic attack -- yay to whoever came up with serving wine on deck -- but I have a really patient pilot friend who spent hours explaining to me how planes work and how all the things I imagine are not likely (missing phalange, for example). And I fly a lot and I convinced myself of the odds and I actually really enjoy flying nowadays. And I get to comfort myself that if something happens, at least it will be quickly over. (Well, until the Iquitos story.) 

But the one anxiety I haven’t tackled so far is riding in a car on a rim of a mountain road, with hundreds of meters deep view into the valley full of car wrecks (Croatia, island of Brać, 1990s). There’s a movie that I saw around the age of 10 that can be defined by my unsuccessful google search: movie camper van parents fall die children forest survival. So yeah, cliffs and cars. Even in Tenerife, with perfect even roads and barriers on the outer rim (hahaha), I was clinging to the seat, expecting a car to appear in the opposite direction, in full speed, hitting us and sweeping us off the road. 

So I’m clinging to the seat of the collectivo, making jokes about the death seat, and the road slowly climbs up to wonderful plains, we count llamas and alpacas and donkeys and cows and pigs and everything is painted in golden strokes with seldom trees and majestic mountain skyline. 

Long after we’re back, about now, I find out that there is another way to Aquas Calientes. Aquas Calientes, the little town at the foot of the Machu Picchu mountain where we will arrive later this day. There is no road leading from Cusco to AC, hence The Train That We Will Take Later In This Story. But, apparently, there is a road leading to the nearby hidroelectrica station and THAT is the place where the buses can go to. In words of my friend and former flatmate who went there early 2018: Lots of people in the bus were vomiting! 

But yeah, our voyage leads to Ollantaytambo by a comfortable road, and this is it: Touristy stands, ancient ruins, high sun and not so much to do. We take some Inka coffee (coffee with coca, quite boring) in a local chocolate place. And then we find the train, saying no to a lot of taxis that think that the 700 m walk is too much for us. And, yeah, our luggage fit under the seats, so all is fine. Machu Picchu, here we come! 

[evadventure]

While in Cusco...

We spend two nights in Cusco (both marked by not-so-nice altitude adjustment), leave for Machu Picchu, return, spend two more nights and leave for good. From all the places in Peru we stay here the longest. 

But -- we just arrived and it’s time to figure out what to do next, because the only thing we know now is that on 9th of June we will be granted entrance to the most impressive Inca site. 

And we need to figure out how to get there, and we need to not try any craft beer here, and I have to not get a tattoo.

All in its time. 

First, the craft beer story: 

Somehow we find out that Peru is experiencing a craft beer boom. That’s intriguing, because a. I hate lager (and lager is everywhere) and b. I love random beers with funky flavours and such. On the first day, in tiny streets above the main square we actually pass a random CB bar that is so HYGGE that I slip on a freaking carpet and land in a less-than-dignified-pose in front of the tap. 

Needless to say, besides a corn beer that I might be tempted to try, the local hipster is out of IPA, and we leave without trying. 

So I mark the most praised CB bar in Cusco on the map. And -- surprise -- we never make it there. Through out the trip, we stick to getting up around 5am because most of the tours and hikes and such begin around that time. 

So when Apo tries to force us to beer pong, she manages one round -- more on that later -- and then we disappear, Spanish/French/Enhlish style (depends on the country of your origin, the idiom changes) to fall asleep in very godly hours. 

The tattoo story: Ahem. So Apo has a llama with an adorable knitted hat done by a guy from Cusco, and me, being all aware of the transformative nature of this journey, ahem, I am all up to get a random tattoo from a random, yet skilled guy. After hunting him down for hours, we finally meet, he shows me the design, I do like it, but when I finally come down for The Thing, it doesn’t look good anywhere on me. (Needless to say it’s a very precise colibri in Inca art and I am tempted, but, I don’t feel particularly close to Inca culture or to birds.) Maybe some other time. 

(This is already from the trip to MP)

When we were getting ready for Peru, I reached out to the local game dev scene (we ended up shooting a podcast that I’ll link as soon as the edits are done). I had a lot of talks with the guys about Lima and Cusco way before we arrived, but also regarding Sacred Valley (the valley around the Urubamba river that ends in the Amazon, and that holds all the major archeological Inca sites) we got a guide contact to set up a tour. 

Now, Peru isn’t particularly expensive nor touristy but: The offer we got felt way too high for us girls from behind the Iron curtain, and I kinda want to break it down just to see:

So it stood at 430 USD per person for a trip to Sacred valley, Machu Picchu, including the entrance fee, Rainbow mountain and all the transport. Regarding MP we paid 60 USD (entrance including a fun story, stay tuned) and 130 (train -- there’s also a story coming up), by far the most expensive part. A full day trip round the valley that we didn’t end up taking was round 45 dollars for both. The Rainbow mountain was 40 per person. The extra travel around was about 6 bucks. So if I’m counting correctly, 260 for each of us would cover it. And this is how it goes -- and without looking into numbers, it may feel like saving and it may save the hassle but. For me it’s a great reminder of not giving into the travel stress: I can easily get into the anxious planner mode from distance and this is a good reminder for Never Doing That. 

And yeah, the train. The train is the only means to get from Ollantaytambo (I learned to spell it once I engraved in my brain that Ollan sounds like a Norwegian male name, which it most likely doesn’t sound like) and it’s the one monetised part of the road that cannot be bypassed. Talk about pay-to-visit. But anyway, not there yet, but here’s the story about the ticket purchase: We almost bought it online when I noticed that in the fine print (who notices the fine print?) it states that all the luggage should be smaller hand luggage size and up to 5 kg. So, in sorta panic, we went to the local office, conveniently placed 3 blocks from our hostel, where we came in, pressed a button for a queue number, a guy jumped up, and we formulated our doubts. Because, apparently, you can send an email do PeruRail, regarding your luggage, and you can take more on board than I just described, but only then. And it would be nice if he would enlighten us on the next actions.

As usual with us and among these circumstances, I’m taking the lead and the game design attitude of Figuring Out The Problem And Finding Solution. So... our luggage might be a bit bigger? No problem. But it’s definitely over 5 kg, I argue. And shall we send the email or is it ok if he knows. And so on. And so on. 

The guy laughs and says But no one has a scale there and we don’t really care. 

So much about the “official information”. 

We play beer pong (I win against Jasmin and Apo, Jasmin needs to spin the loser wheel, Jasmin needs to give someone a lap dance, guess who gets the lap dance) and we sneak out from the bar area to atone to our it’s-10pm-time-to-sleep-needs. 

[evadventure]

So this is Cusco

Since I forgot to mention one final jungle encounter, here’s a throwback to the jungle: A sloth hanging in the trees, again amazingly spotted by Chris. (Maybe there is some freaky technology on the background, animals have chips and he just follows gps? If that wouldn’t be such a preposterous thought, I would believe it!) Did you know, that sloths get down from the tree once a week to poop and eat? What a life! 

But now, we’re on the way to Cusco. In the physical sense, getting from one place to another, by all and any means, is a miracle. (If you see a person resembling a dog, hanging from an Indian train with her face in the wind, that’s most likely me. Or a person attached to a plane window despite severe sleep deficiency, because there is landscape below.) I like how the change of scenery makes me feel and how it makes me think. Even taking the very regular bus from Berlin to Prague, means seeing the landscape change, seeing the weather change, taking in the transition. In Peru, every trip we took was like taking thousands of Berlin-Pragues. 

Flying from Iquitos to Lima, landscape changes from vast green to a mountain range, sun disappears (Lima is endlessly covered in clouds). Flying from Lima to Cusco is ... a lot of mountains. Like, horizon to horizon of mountains. Like, someone wanted to build land and had nothing but mountains in their sleeves. Lifeless at first sight but after a while you start noticing roads carved into the mountain sides, little and bigger villages, even cities, highways, fields. Life is everywhere. 

When it comes to travelling, I’m an achiever. I love simple geographical achievements like southmost, highest, or even new. And Cusco is, before we travel to Puno, all of these. So now, I’m excited to be landing at 3400 meters above the sea level, in the sunset light. 

“Cusco is hot in the sun and cold in the shadows”, my Peruvian contacts tell us, but they don’t mention that the nights are ... freaking cold!

Oh right, so: The hostel. We stayed at the Point, very central and very chaotic. Mentioning because as mostly backpacking, I do appreciate following things in a hostel: hot shower, not too crazy roommates, people to talk to+hang out with+make plans with. 

So as our first night is freezing, it also includes broken door to the room, broken door to the bathroom, cold shower, and a roommate that comes in the room around 4 am, smelling like she smoked a ton of terrible Peruvian cigarettes, which adds to the fact that I’m already suffocating from the altitude a great deal of discomfort. But, as it turns out the next day, this French girl, Apo, is actually cool and fun and in the bright sunlight we chat about tattoos and what to do in Peru and I forgive this place a lot despite initial bitching. I can survive anything but I want to stay in hostels where there are people to talk to. Like, really. I consider hiding in a hotel room weird when travelling since travelling is mostly about who you meet. 

We spend the first day walking around and exploring. The altitude makes us catch our breaths even when talking up the stairs in the hostel, so we take it easy and mostly just explore the centre in search for craft beer, alpaca sweaters, beautiful neighbourhoods and food. 

Turns out it’s holiday! (Turns out I don’t remember which one!) It also turns out Peruvians love parades. So we see a military parade and there’s music all the time and there are children performing little choreographies. (There’s also the most adorable bunch of kindergarten kids in alpaca ponchos. Coming from Berlin, where the dress code is “black”, I love the colours everywhere.)

I’ll stick to the first impressions now, and I’ll get into history and facts in the next post. I used to fall in love so easily with cities. That feeling that I could live here and I could be happy here, exploring everything. It happened in Istanbul and Cairo, in New York, in Brno and Edinburg and Sibenik and San Francisco and Toronto and Zurüch (turns out, I’m city-promiscuous, hehe). But being older and having the experience of actually moving makes me pickier. More things considered. I think about language barriers and my favourite restaurants and dishes, I look at how friendly people are and how many cats populate the streets (oh, Istanbul). With all of this in mind, Cusco isn’t the most rational choice since my white skin makes me a target of though polite and inaggresive offers from tourist agencies, they’re everywhere and snowball especially around the centre to a frequency of at least 2 per minute. And with all that in mind, I fell in love with this city: With it clean air, wonderful sky, cold nights, tasteful main square (even McD sign has to be black and invisible), bit of a party culture, mountains around. If I ever want to write a book, starting here doesn’t sound too bad. 

Next on evadventure: How I didn’t get a tattoo in Peru. Stay tuned :) 

Main square. Every, literally every Peruvian city has at least one Plaza de Armas. “Weapon square”, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll figure out why until next time! Only in Cusco, it’s “Plaza Mayor de Cusco”. Not confusing at all. 

Lovely streets around the main square.  

When out of llamas, sheep will also work. Yay to holding fluffy animals!

[evadventure]

Iquiting

I don't have any pics from Iquitos. We arrive in the late afternoon, suddenly everything is loud and dirty and overwhelming. The hostel is ok, the city is ok, though not very attractive, or we don’t have capacity to see much. Neither we have capacity to try to figure out how safe or unsafe it’s here, so we walk to dinner.

I add another funky foot accident into my repertoire, when my leg slips into a 30 cm hole that I somehow didn’t see. I limp for the rest of the evening, but nothing tragic (unlike the fun story of me stretching my ligaments day before leaving for Brazil and then hiking with this condition, heh). 

Since we’re tired and we don’t like the city, we go to bed early. Next morning we want to see a local animal rescue centre, so the frontdesk guy negotiates with a waiting mototaxi driver to take us there, wait for us and take us to the airport. It wouldn’t be me, if this would be smooth. Much like in Georgia where I unmistakably pick the slowest oldest marshrutka, this mototaxi has huge problems going uphill and I’m silently facepalming. 

Arreglar? I ask when we get out at the rescue centre, not even pretending I can put together a whole sentence but yeah, my I-just-looked-this-up-in-google-translate Spanish is enough. It’s not enough to explain to the cashier that we don’t have much time before our flight, so no, we have to wait for the official tour and we cannot go alone. 

But once it starts, luckily the guide decides to trust us and -- don’t touch anything -- lets us to walk through the centre alone. It’s tiny, maybe 12 species, but we’re happy anyway. 

Here are the promised funky floating caimans. 

When we head out, neither our guy nor the mototaxi is anywhere to see. Which leads to a little disagreement where I want to catch our flight and I get another guy to take us to the airport that’s basically around the corner. Jasmin disagrees, wanting to honour the deal that I don’t care about, since the guy mentioned nothing about not being there when we’re done. (In a fun aftermath, he finds us at the airport, so we decide to pay him the difference between what we agreed on and what we paid to the other guy and everyone is happy, but he would have never found us if Jasmin wasn’t smoking in front of the departure hall! :D)

The airport is very tiny. We hop over Lima to Cusco, first of the few flights where I use my sweet sweet innocent eyes to pretend that my backpack isn’t oversize and overweight for hand luggage. It works every time, muhahaha. Or they don’t really care. 

[evadventure]

Back to civilisation

Step by step, we will get back to Iquitos but we still do some exploration and adventure on the last day.

The channels in the river are actually quite stable, they keep their shape, and it still strikes me. Looking at the satellite pictures on google maps, it feels like at least the bigger ones we navigated daily to get around stick -- which is weird, if the river gets up a few meters and then down again, shouldn’t that be more random? 

And it seems like Chris understands that me and Jasmin are no ordinary tourists, so we take the boat through watercress-ish waters to a little lake, where apparently no Chris has ever stepped (or steered to) before and it feels just as adventurous and Indiana-Jonesy* as I’m describing it. 

The picture doesn’t really sell it, but nevertheless: Huge water birds circle around, the landscape (waterscape) is full of these leafless white trees (Skeleton trees, hi Nick Cave), and more than anywhere else this place feels like awesomely well off with no human trace in sight. 

It’s magical. 

We shrug and bow facing the thorny palms that not only look painful to touch but also cause infections. Jungle, adding to my collection of weird trees we encounter. I imagine having nothing but this boat and a tent and diving deeper and deeper. Chris mentions that 20 % of species in the Amazon is still probably undiscovered. Even here, where there’s clear evidence of humans, is so much life, and I can only imagine more and wilder. And it is subjective and anecdotal but it feels like if entering with respect the jungle won’t turn on us. 

We end this boat round in a tiny village of maybe 200, El Pueblo de Miguel, nearby. Compared to Nauta, which was dirty and muddy, this is a paradise, a white man’s dream of jungle retreat (notice the sarcasm; but still). In lots of Peru as we travel on people seem content with what little they have (which doesn’t necessarily mean poverty, I am after all comparing mostly to myself, which is biased enough) and here it feels like the nature is generous and fertile and I can’t evade those kind of thoughts you get when you travel in places like these. Like what can be considered a house and how disproportional is the reality between me, a white girl with a camera who flew here, and the locals. (And here, maybe, but way stronger around Titicaca, I want to wipe all the tourists out of here and just leave the life alone, but I still screw up the local economy by purchasing a few overpriced souvenirs and I still won’t be able to escape my label; would it not be easier for everyone not to be here at all?) But, alas, I am thirsty for exploration, and that’s my reality, and here at least it doesn’t feel like our presence tips the balance, because life goes its own way with no regard to us here.

At least apart from the moment that I didn’t manage to capture, when we pass a local school and all the little kids run out like a swarm and surround us and it’s this little moment of pure joy and curiosity that makes me feel like we are not invading anything. 

And we see a semi-domesticated macaw: 

And this is the local jail, as Chris comments dryly, for guys who get drunk and beat up their wives (which is of course terrible). Here, where the houses sometimes don’t even have walls, it must be difficult to commit more serious crimes. 

A local church; surprisingly there are two in the village. Even the tiniest place on Earth cannot exist without some religious schism. 

After we are back, we pack up and we drift back to the civilisation: By boat to Nauta, through the place where Amazon becomes Amazon, and by car to Iquitos. 

* Here is the reward for everyone who got here: I saw Last crusade (the whole holy grail, ba dum tss) without realising that it’s Harrison Ford. In my defence it was a shitty copy... oh wait, I am talking about Blade Runner. Time to go. 

[evadventure]

Welcome to the jungle, part 3

It’s the second day. Jungle and jungle and jungle. Getting up before dawn, rolling around on a boat, coming back for lunch, hiking through the forest, coming back and taking the boat again until it’s dark and that’s it for the day. And we see some shit!

The walking part is mostly plants. Daytime isn’t the best for local animals that usual peak their activity around twilight. And despite this being the rain season, it rains mostly over lunch and when we are out, never too much. Every time we enter the jungle, by foot or by boat, I feel very humble, very tiny. This is still not the real deep Amazon jungle full of nothing but poisonous flora and dangerous animals, this is still a mild forest and there are paths carved by villagers -- we do have Ivan the machete guy with us -- and -- as I learn from the article about Juliane Koepcke, German girl that survived 10 days here in the 70s after a plane crash, how crazy is that -- following the water is the key to survival and you are bound to stumble upon fellow humans. At some point. But it’s still humbling and awesome to be here, to breath in the humid air, to see a thousand things that I do not have a picture of. 

Like a huge blue butterfly. Or an actual tarantula. Or the blue-yellow macaws high up in a tree, making so much noise. But as much Jasmin is impressed by the animals, I’m thinking about the forest internet, this thing being from a certain perspective one huge organism and, yeah, clearly we are the intruders. Similar to the birds, I don’t remember the trees but I do come up with creative names instead. This, for example, is the paddle tree, a tree from whose funky plank-like roots paddles are made. Including the one we have on our tiny canoe that doesn’t completely seal. 

And there are other trees: A palm that moves around up to 10 meters during its lifetime, spawning root/branches sideways and killing the others ones to follow better nutrition. 

Or a parasite plant that builds its structure around a tree and suffocates it, using the original trunk as a support for its evilness. And pretends to be a tree! 

We also ask at some point if a liane can hold a person and here’s a proof (I’m gonna spare you the video where I’m saying I’m Tarzan): 

Did I say Chris was genius? If I didn’t, I’m saying it now. Spotting an animal 20 or so meters high up in the trees as casually as I can order a kebab in Berlin at 2 in the morning takes quite some skill. So here’s a crappy picture (proving my skillz with phone and binoculars) of nothing less awesome than a sloth. Did you know that sloths climb down from the tree to shit and eat once per week? Now you know. 

We also see our friend Muchacho again, and this time he’s not alone: There’s a coati at his side (who got here as well as the monkeys, planted by locals) and they seem to keep each other company. And it’s so cute. 

Here you also see how the trees grow directly from water: They are equipped to withstand the differences in water level (meters of difference) throughout the year. I’m surprised that while looking on the satellite pics the channels seem to keep a steady form.

Did I say Chris was genius? Oh well. What I didn’t say was that caiman eyes reflect red in the flashlight, and Chris spots one and then pulls him out of water, no idea how. (Stay tuned for how funny they are, floating in the water, when we visit a local animal rescue centre few days later.) 

Yes, I touched a caiman. Almost like touching a snake. Much like his relatives he doesn’t posses enough strength to open a mouth you hold shut, so there’s no danger. This one is tiny, but we, I mean Jasmin and Chris, have seen eyes of bigger ones in the bushes. It’s dark, so I’m once again captivated by the sky more than by imaginary caimans. 

And that’s it for the day 2. 

[evadventure]

Welcome to the jungle, part 2

After the fun with the boat, we arrive in the lodge: Three tiny wooden houses in a cutout in the forest, on 1.5 meter tall pillars, with nets for windows. The land is rented for a ridiculously low amount by the local jurisdiction. In reality the jungle belongs to no one. Were it bit more up the stream or bit further away from the shore, no one would find it. 

So we eat oh-my-god-my-first-ceviche, unpack and take an even smaller boat out. We head up and down different channels of various sizes and our heads are spinning around. There’s so much to see, and we see a lot. 

The jungle around is impossible to describe. It’s alive, so green and fresh. The foliage reaches up way beyond European forests and random trees tower 20, 30 meters high. There’s a crazy amount of birds of all sizes, from hummingbirds to vultures and herons, and Chris seems to know them all. In the end we start to feel embarrassed because we are not able to remember even few repeated names while he seems to know on which page in his book each bird is. The book contains about 1800 species. Peru has more bird types than Europe. (When it comes to diversity in nature, Peru with its 30 out of 32 world climates has more than almost anything.)

Before we take the less beaten stream, we encounter some inhabitants:

This is Muchacho, local Spider monkey that has been previously caught, then released on bail as an American tourist with a soft heart bought it out. When we were leaving, Chris was still trying to get the local rescue centres to catch him and reunite him with his species. 

Him and a pack, sorry, a shrewdness of Woolly monkeys have been conveniently placed near one of the bigger lodges, for the guides to score easy points with the tourists. When it comes to fauna, there’s not many bigger pieces than the monkeys (we’ll get to that), and these particular monkeys stick around because, obviously, they get fed. The more courageous woollies enter the boats and nibble on bananas; while me and Jasmin think that they do look cute and fluffy and secretly wish to do the same, we respect the jungle. But even here, tourism sticks out its ugly head and not every guide is as respectful as Chris. 

Alas, on we go, away from the cute blasphemy. Most of the time I’m purely enjoying: The humid air (oh how I will miss ... air ... when we will land in Juliaca), the greenness, the endless bird chitchat. We see tiny Squirrel monkeys (one carries even tinier baby on the back) that are impossible to capture on camera, we see white herons and hawks and vultures. Yellow birds and red birds. It’s like catching pokemons, but better. We spot two kinds of kingfishers, both of them different from the ones we saw in India: Amazon kingfisher and Ringed kingfisher (though I kinda am fishing this out of memory). 

On the boat we feel to be part of the everything even if there’s a dividing line: The close encounters will happen later. Now the sun is setting (here, on 4.5° South the day lasts 12 hours no matter what, and after it takes a perpendicular dive to the ground, it gets dark fast) and we’re watching pink dolphins play in the water. 

Before we get to the lodge, it’s pitch dark. Chris uses his super bright flashlight to look for caymans (no luck), and only when I borrow it I figure out the magic trick: Tiny shining eyes that reflect the light if you stand in its axis. While him and Jasmin are occupied with scanning the trees and bushes, I stare up. There’s stars I don’t know. There’s something that looks like the Lion and it takes my clever app to show the stupid me that the two bright stars on the left belong to Centaurus (Canopus!) and the rest is nothing less than the Southern Cross. I stare and stare at the constellation I always wanted to see (in Brazil I saw it, tiny and faint at 4 in the morning because I simply had to), and it will guide our evenings throughout our stay, together with bright Jupiter in the East, Mars, Mercury and Sirius in the West, and the ecliptic in zenith (no one cares for my nerding out even when I try to show and explain). 

At the lodge we get ready for another outing. This time we put on rubber boots, and Ivan, local dude who until now controlled the engine of the tiny boat, grabs a proper machete. Did I say Jasmin is super good with spotting animals? I worked on a hidden object game, but apparently I’m better with hearts, french lilies and treble clefs. But this time, I spot an animal before her: I point to a snake on a ground, as if it was the most normal thing: Look, a snake. Turns out it’s not. (She also jumps.) Chris swiftly grabs a fork-like stick that is clearly intended exactly for this and stops it from running away. 

It’s a Rainbow boa, beautiful and shiny. And rare to see, as Chris tells us, shining with happiness almost like the snake itself. Also, I touched it. If you never touched a snake (nope, not a euphemism), do it, it feels cool and soft and subtle. We let it go and verge into the jungle. 

Already when paddling back, we heard a fun sound and now in the darkness we stumbled upon its originator. I’d like to add something for size but this frog (not a toad!) was huge, about a size of a smaller papaya. Good 20 cm long. I tried googling, but no luck, so its name, as well as the sound, will remain a mystery. (We also saw a toad this size later.) And the leafcutter ants in a dozens of meters long line (and their anthill which could host a few tinier hobits). And a beautiful lizard. No mammals, unfortunately, and no spiders, fortunately.

We spent about two hours walking through the night, and it was magical. Knowing we are the only people in miles and miles and miles around, nothing but wild life around, completely trusting this Swiss dude we met 12 hours ago, who moved across the world to find solace in these forests so full of life. I can understand him perfectly. What civilisation? We shower in water from Ucayali, pumped to the basic plumbing system. No signal. Basic toilet. Frutis 

Among the few leftover books in the lodge I discover this one. Reads so well I’m tempted to steal it, so I order it before we leave Peru. 

We fall asleep with the jungle sounds all around.

[evadventure]

Welcome to the jungle, part 1

Here we are. This is Nauta, a town in the jungle, 1.5 hour by car from Iquitos, a city accessible only by boat or plane, 9th biggest in Peru. How cool is that? 

Our movement follows fractals, outpost in an outpost in an outpost. Iquitos, Nauta, jungle. Only yesterday morning, we flew to Paris and to Lima, spent the night and took a tiny plane to Iquitos.

You can see the Marañón River in the background. Beginning somewhere north of Lima, in the middle of nowhere, she twists and turns through mountains and rainforests to end not far from here: 12 km downstream marks a rendez-vous with Ucayali, another big river that swallows all streams and creeks in southern Peru, including the one we’ll be following with a train in Sacred valley, in Inca’s land. 

That -- somehow totally insignificant -- meeting point is the birth of the Amazon, the moment this magnificent river begins to be, officially, on a map, called Amazon, the Queen of all rivers. Already by now it rolls forward with nearly all river water of Peru and is still thousands of miles away from the ocean. It’s nearly a full kilometer wide, but who knows exactly. The water level changes during seasons and so does the width. From the airplane it’s an impressive view; yet nothing compared to sitting in it in a tiny boat. 

But we are still in Nauta. It’s dirty with the ever present river mud. Chris, our Swiss guide, a person who has been living -- and married -- here for five years now, knows way more about the jungle than about people, and gets clearly more comfortable when we leave. This will stay our first impression of the country, of the people, and it might not be precise or complete but it’ll stick: The dirt, the meat market full of animals that are technically on protected lists, the tiny men kissing our cheeks, reeking of alcohol (it’s a problem here, Chris adds). Puedo tomar una photo, I’m learning to ask, but I won’t get another chance to get a picture this intense, nothing from now on will be this authentic, this real, this far from carefully protected Berlin reality.  

Nothing seems safe to eat (says Chris and he’s probably right, though I’m curious), so we buy somehow sealed and somehow muddy-tasting sweets (some of them pink like Simpsons donuts), we jump onto the boat and we follow the river to the confluence, where our motor gives up and while Orlando, the local guy, fixes it with much grace, and while the gentle stream of the huge river slowly, sloooowly moves us away, we watch the grey river dolphins frolic in the water until the engine is fixed and we continue to the moment we exit the river and aim up one of the channels. On the map there’s nothing, on the satellite pic you can notice the endless twirling of the riverways.

Earlier, I would imagine a lot of rain, but it becomes clear already a day before, while we are still on the plane somewhere above the Amazon forest, that in rainforest there’s water everywhere, and boat is a boat is a boat: Without it, you’re lost. The bigger streams mark distinctions between whole species, Chris says, and they would imprison you, a puny human, on a piece of land surrounded by water from all sides, without mercy. 

To be continued!

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Venice after dark, Thibaud Poirier

[evadventure]

Half awake and half asleep in the water, Asako Narahashi