Bobblehead Backpackers in Machupichu

..Peru Rails prime rail line is serviced by a train that woiuld not look out of place on Thomas the Tank-engine. Decorated in an ancient blue the cars are extraordinarily dated. There is a certain charm to them and thankfully the seats are modern, it is a 4 hour ride from Cusco to the Pichu, involving 4 switchbacks( a rail term, for steep inclines ) a pissed of steward with fantastic moustache (enough said) and cruched leg room. The ride itself was slightly sadistic, whenever the the jolted, we did, whenever it wobbled so did we. Every little bump was felt through the arse of the seat. Bobblehead Backpackers all. But when you see the scenery of the Sacred Valley snail by you forget what little comfort there is. A valley of ruins and rivers. At the end of which stands Aguas Calientes(AKA MachuPicchu Pueblo ) a tourist mecca which thankfully cannot get any uglier because Pachumama (Mother Earth) won´t allow it. It´s sandwiched in by cliffs and rivers...........
4am is not my favourite time, unless I am still out which is acceptable. To rise to go and see a bunch of crumbling stones doesn´t make sense. To do it by choice well that is perhaps stupidity.
....I stumbled through the entrance. Huge terraces stepped up to my left in what is thought was an experimental farm. I wandered straight, unsure of what was what. My guide led me to an empty terrace. Even though it was already bright the sun had not hit the ruins. As it peaked over a mountain tangent rays hit them in different spots. People snapped. My guide dragged me through time, ruins and sleep for two hours. Winding streets, observatories and temples where explained. We wrestled past other bigger tour groups complete with US tang, struggling to get a decent spot anywhere. Thousands were there. After my guide left I hiked off to the Inkas Bridge. I walked for an hour in seclusion. Only the river accompanying me and the shadow of MachuPicchu (Old Mountain). The air cooled my nostrils and the trek is exposed to sudden drops to the valley 1000ft below. It was solitary and stunning. Afterwards I walked up to an old Inka Gate were the famous Inka trail ends. Skilfully passing tourits with walking sticks with the agility of an obese mountain goat. The view as I turned to see Machu Picchu is stunning. A mountain top city surrounded by high mountains covered in dense foliage. No wonder this place was lost, nature can so quickly overtake here.......
Hiram Bingham ¨discovered" Machu Picchu in 1910ish. (This is not about the dates) Upon his discovery he found a Peruvian persons name wrote inside one of the dwellings dated 10 years earlier. Like a decent man he erased his name and returned the following year with an expedition party. This man thought of the locals. He paid them one Sole for every body they dug up., In turn the locals destroyed much of the ruin. He maintained he never found gold or silver while excavating tombs etc. Yet some turned up in his native USA and are housed in Yale. (The Peruvian Govt have requested them back, they have yet to get a reply) This man should tell you one thing. NEVER TRUST AN ACADEMIC.

Notes From The Navel Of the World

....Cuzco´s early morning air banjaxed my breathing as a lack of oxygen drove me demented for a time. I resolved the best thing to do was take a walk and forget about my freaky breathing. And as I passed down the cobbled slender Calle Recoleta I heard distant gunfire. I followed the gunfire as any curious backpacker would and came to the grand Plaza De Armas.(Yes there is one in every town here) The plaza was full to the brim with marhing army bands and strangely enough marching teachers(not protesting, celebrating). The cause of the celebration is Peru´s national day. I gazed as the various groups (including Quechuas being flailed by mock Spanish conquistadores) and cantankerous horses marched in the most bizarre fashion. Almost as if John Cleese´s Ministry For Funny Walks was involved. Then I noticed much to my delight that the participants had been clothed by the same supply chain used by The Village People. It is quite a wonderful site........
....Pan pipes apparently can be cool. I was entertained by Cuzcos answer to the Pogues, with less drink of course. The kids loved it........
..Ollantaytambo is a mammoth tomb in the Sacred Valley which skirts around Cuzco. As I approached terraces rose up in front of me and the bus struggled up a steep incline. The bus wound its way through the ancient Quechua settlement resting directly in front of the Great tomb. I gazed upwards and struggled in the altitude to reach the top. Great grey stone adorned the top in a tribute to the stars, the sun and the moon. A craggy face watched from the opposing mountain. A revered God in these parts. More settlements were cut into the side of this mountain and seemed impossible to reach. Ollantaytambo was constructed in the shape of a llama. It is still obvious today. Cuzco was designed in the shape of a Puma and on Monday I will see the wonder that is Macchu Picchu, designed in the shape of a condor. If it is as impressive as Ollantaytambo I will be lucky........
Cuzco´s nuts at night, and cold, and mostly nuts.

A Treatment of a Typical Night Out in Arequipa

...it starts out with a cheap cervesa in one of the countless restaurants and bars here. A beer costing no more than $2 and surprisingly malty in taste. Accompanied by a set menu meal consisting of crema(soup) and a main course for the princely sum of $3. And then its time to move, negotiating the street vendors selling anything from cigarettes to sunglasses and always disgruntled when you turn them down. A brisk walk will always bring you past a number of bars all with happy hours. Las Bruhas or Swedish Avenue have 3 of any cocktails for $3 resulting in a rosey glow. A bit of small talk degenerating into the foulest depths of the human psyche and back again. Until someone, and this is a certainty clambers on top of the nearest bar, aided with encouragement from the staff and does an uncertain jig until (a) he/she falls on their face or (b) he/she suffers a moment of clarity and realises the precariousness of their present position. Some slurred words will then agree the best course of action is a few more drinks in local club, Daddy O´s(con Karaoke, Dj´s and live music), the Forum(fully equiped with beds and water feature) or De Ja Vu(Lonely Planet hangout, ie too expensive). And this is where the night gets complicated.
Locals are invariably attracted to travellers. I don´t know why, we look like crap, smell of moth balls, (if we are lucky), and are generally too drunk to stand unaided. Men will be attacked by ferocious women who pound their ample arses into their crotches and swing the drunk lout across the room. Women will be accosted by men who speak two lines of English poetry and think it is enough to get them into bed. (Sadly it is sometimes.) It is necessary to stay in a group at this stage but it never works as we are all too drunk, being seperated by the locals into manageable groups or moreover than not alone. It is at this stage you make the choice. Dance badly to raggaton or try to slowly slip away from the clutches of a vulture.
If escape is possible you are generally the target for the night vendors who sell chocolate, fags, water, and other munchies. But nothing savoury. As you cross the Plaza De Armas it is necessary to avoid the chocolate selling Santa, who will chase you back to your hostel. Where finally you can watch the sun rise from your rooftop terrace, or just fall asleep.
...Time to burn your LONELY PLANETS, they are misinformed, with questionable itinereries and they strangely enough push the prices up. Any publication that gives its reporters three weeks to research a country has to be bad. Come on you know I´m right, how many times have you stood outside an abandoned building expecting to see a hostel? To prove this I intend to travel Ireland next year with the Lonely Planet to see how accurate it really is. Challenge, duel.
All are welcome.
Heading to Cuzco on Monday, protests permitting.

Civil Disobedience in Arequipa (And A Pigeon Tale)

.........for seven days now they have come and voiced their distrust of the Peruvian government. Clogging the arteries surrounding the Plaza De Armas, chanting solidarity songs, linking arms in the face of heavily armed riot police who stand with disinterest in the shelter of volcanic archways. Teachers, communists, children, city workers and civil servants. Passion bursts from their lungs as effigies burn and blacken the white buildings of this beautiful city. There have been reports of riots in the outer barrios as teenagers full of testosterone go too far and use the police for target practice. In the centre it is calm at night and safe. A bubble of touristy goodness. I am stuck here. Buses are not running and hotels are full with people yearning to leave. But this is being repeated all over Peru. It is possible a revolution is starting.,,,,,......
......sitting watching the protestors chant in a merry mood I was accosted by a family who sat beside me on a park bench. A picture of wholesome fun they began to feed the pigeons with a huge bag of grain bought from a jolly woman for 25 cent. Pigeons are not a shy creature and coupled with this they are extraordinarily stupid. The pigeons clambered on the family greedily pecking at the grain and emptying their excrement on them. I shifted uneasily on the bench and put my book into my bag when suddenly a ratty feathered fecker landed on my cabezza(head). I shudderred with disgust and the fiend fluttered of, as did I with one thing going through my brains, Pigeons are surprisingly heavy little things.......
Too much rum, too much rum, rum too much, only 2yos 30 for a bottle. DANGEROUS

A Legend,EarthQuakes! and Randy Nuns in the White City

........a rich nun came to Arequipa from Spain along with a carefully selected group of lower ranking nuns from wealthy families. They proceeded to build up the beautiful convent of Santa Catalina. A town within the city. White brick painted over with ocre, red, yellow and sky blue. As I walked through this convent I could almost taste the colours. Then the hedonistic lifestyle of the nuns was explained to me by a bearded old man. The nuns each had many servants and were not afraid to throw a party or two each week. In such decadent parties homosexuality was reported aswell as the taking of copius amounts of opiates. This continued unabashed for 400 years until a strict Dominican nun arrived and washed their collective mouth out with holy water. She then proceeded to close the order to the outside world for the next 100 years.....dirty nuns...etc
.........I sat alone in the TV room recovering from a particularly intense couple of days involving 3 nightclubs, one bottle of rum, a changing of a hostel, a lot of free Pisco (local shot with after effect of Tequila, ie. it gets you drunk) 3 games of giant jenga, a conversation with a legend(see below) and explosive indigestion. I was straining to keep my peepers open as the credits rolled on a non descript film. I reached forward to suck down some water from my glass when the chair jumped beneath me. I woke instantly and glared as all the glasses shimmied on the mantel piece and realised with some distress the earth was shaking. Cool I thought as I wobbled to bed and gazed out momentarily at the 3 volcanoes creeping up behind the city........
.........she sat at a table, eyes locked in an eternal struggle with sleep. I jumped into the hammock beside her. "Still drinking are ya?" She slurred something beautiful from her mouth, not a word but a sound. Her lips moved, I stared and caught "40 hours" from in between hic-cups, belches and burps. I knew this already. I had been out the night before with this slim waif like woman. Her frame could fit behind a lamppost comfortably. She smilled while drunkenly sticking her fingers up at me. She stood and walked around a swimming pool to prove her sobriety. She seemed ok while walking, it was when she talked that trouble started. I walked away and came back 4 hours later. She was still there. All swagger and wobble. The girl is a legend, the girl is a stereotype, the girl is Irish, the girl will remain un-named....
Adios mi amigos. Estoy en Arequipa ahora y estudio Español por dos semanas aci. Depues Voy a salir a Cuzco.

Penguins, Fatso´s and The Nazca Lines

...Pisco, the Spanish for dump. A sordid little town ran by the many feral dogs that inhabit it´s corners. They run in packs, go wild when in heat and threaten anyone who walks near. Their shagginess is only matched by the towns dirt. It smells and should never be visited except for......PERU´S FATTEST MAN and the ever straight laced HUMBOLDT PENGUINS. ,..... on with the tale........ the guide herded us into two tired columns. Hundreds of gringos stood hunched over with cold. After 30 minutes we were allowed on the good boat `Rocket Ship` and sped off to the Ballestos Islands. These islnds are covered in Guana. Thats a nice term for bird shit. And man do the smell. There is so much shit the entire surface of the island is white. The boat float up to the side of the islands. And make no mistake even if they smell like shit they are beautiful. Giant pink, purple rocks jutting out of the sea with natural arches and caves. The noble waddling Humboldt penguins live here are provided a show. Well they just stood there. Then there was the Peruvian Boobie and star fish, sea urchins and sea lions. All very fishy so far. Until we hit the main land again and a shadow cast down on the beach. From the shadow a loud bellow of directions came. Peru´s fattest man sat straining the towns flood defences. He was huge...... ....the sand shone in reds, purples and pinks. Giant sand dunes about 40 metres in height swept all around. Waves crashed against brittle cliffs, creating the Cathedral. Giant stacks out in the sea that once were linked to shore. Further up the coast sand turned red. And a crimson beach stretched for 5 km in an arch........ ....half the fun of doing the Nazca lines is the flight. A tiny 4 man plane that a draft could make wobble going up into the sky and doing loop the loops around gigantic lines in the sand. The plane I was on was equipped with sick bags that held half a litre of liquid. I settled in my seat and we took off. I couldn´t help noticing a strong draught coming in the door. But ignored it. Then the awe struck. These truly are amazing images. I won´t even try to explain them. Just come here and do it yourselves.... CHECK OUT THE BALLYMUN APPRECIATION SOCIETY ON FACEBOOK