Urug-why?

Joe, Nidhi (our Aussie friend from Santiago's journalism network) and I jumped the Andes and flew to the Atlantic, landing in Montevideo, Uruguay for a long weekend stay.

Uruguay is a small country, roughly the size of North Dakota, with approx. an equal population size. What makes Uruguay unique? Not much, I gathered, in all honesty. Although some could say bobbing matte gourds in the hands of all those wandering the streets, that, and the pride of winning futbol's first World Cup in 1930, according to my backpacker source of Lonely Planet.

I found meat, remote beaches, ostrich farms, and a small, indescript population of people. Neither loud, rapid speakers like Chileans, nor slow-speaking, amable people like Peruvians, or bubbly Argentines. Uruguay, for now, will be stamped with a big question mark, I have determined.

In a nutshell, our trio biked throughout most of the capitol city of Montevideo. Its pearl is the golden white sand coast that hugs the city's curves. The ocean water, however, slaps the clean beauty with a contrasting dirty puke brown. I didn't dare step my toes in its contaminants, although I'm sure I would have been fine. After all, I did soak in Lima's trash strewn Pacific coast.

After the toast of sun during our three hour bike ride on our beach cruisers, we arrived at Uruguay's flagship market, the Mercado del Puerto. Hidden within this atmospheric mercado are a string of restaurants serving meat with meat, toped with a great meat sauce, seriously. We devulged with a meat medley of steak, chicken, intestines, mystery meat, and even blood sausage (which I secretly enjoyed--this thought still grosses me out), all toped with a grilled red pepper to balance our overflowing meat pot. We sat next to the grill and I could feel my body swelling as we chewed our tender carcasses.

At an early 5:30 a.m. wake up call, we boarded the bus to Punto Lobes (incorrect, I forget the exact name) and slugged five hours by Uruguayan cattle, sheep, and ostrich (?) farms to arrive at the country's most remote and rural beach town. The village consisted of a few decaying restaurants and many abandoned buildings. I found it quite strange and perculiar. To be cont.

Well hello again.

The past 24 hours have been quite interesting, well, really it was just five minutes within that time span that expresses that.

After a power-packed workout at Andres Bello, including an air-boxing class with Chile's Billie Banks and a 30 minute cycling session, I was exhausted and half-way to my apartment on my walk home when the incident occurred. I was probably stressing about today's looming mid-term, listening to music on my ipod, when a street thief came running from behind unexpectedly and snatched my ipod. I, however, was not about to have that, no matter how tired I was. I screamed, what you could compare to a bloody murder horror scene, "Oh NO, not my ipod," and then took off after the runner. He darted past the bus stop, but in the shuffle, I realized that my ipod had been tossed, or at least I was hoping. I turned around, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to chase him, crossing my fingers with hope that I was right about the toss. I looked back with disappointment, if it had dropped, the area in question was covered with Chilean boys. Oh no, my ipod, I thought. But in a strike of good fortune, three chilean boys approached me with my ipod in hand. "Cuidado," they said. Be careful. Then they asked,"Were you scared?" I clutched my chest, "yes," not realizing until that moment how silly my move had been, but my ipod and I were safe. I chucked to myself. So, so silly. Just like a Chilean once told weeks ago, "In this country, someone is always watching you. You need to be careful." Although I think I would change that description to staring for better accuracy. On the rest of that walk home, I noticed every eye's gaze.

Word to wise.

Start from the bottom and work your way up to follow the sequence, otherwise you may be quite confused.

The end.

But onward we trudged to the boat on our lake tour. Lago Titikaka is the worldest's highest lake and splits its boundaries between Bolivia and Peru. I only saw the Peruvian side, but the crystal, sublime blue of the lake created lasting impressions in my mind for the hours we relaxed in the sun on the top of our cruiser. I attempted to redeem my sleep-deprived body with cat naps on the top deck.

The first island was a floating reed isla, comprised of 43 individual floating communities, this place puzzled me. It was incredibly touristy and quite fake, in my opinion. I'm still searching for the most appropriate description of it. Disneyland? Still, I enjoyed it. We danced, we doned "typical" island costumes, and snapped "hello, i'm on a floating reed island pictures." I bought a porcelin fish bowl I was particularly fond of, until it broke in various pieces, hours later.

Four hours of chugging on the sea, we arrived at our homestay island, a desolate place inhabitated by 4,000 people, almost all descendents of the Incans. Most of the older generation speaks only Quecha (sp?), the official language of the Incans, however, the younger generation is taught in Spanish in the island's elementary and high school.

Allison, my roommate, however, was unfortunately suffering from altitude sickness and slept away most of the day. I too fell asleep early, around 8, but before, I enjoyed one of the most spectacular sunsets with the rich, creamy blend of colors reflecting over the lake atop the highest point of the hilly island. I could feel the steep ascent as I climbed, the altitude luckily only affected me in the sense of shortness of breath while I trekked the Incan stone steps. I still arrived first to the top, before any of my other 20 boat mates.

After a 6 a.m. breakfast of a crep-like pancake and nescafe powder, we visited our final island, a previous prison for Peru's criminals. After the end of that reign, the island's residents now live tax-free for compensation, although officially it only acted as a prison for four years. We ate trout fresh from the lake and slurped sopa (soup) con quinoa (a Peruvian grain I have become quite fond of).

The next 25 hours involved the transition between Puno and Lima. Lonely Planet told me it would take 19 hours, it's not exciting realizing that while en route you have an additional six hours, but we survived. I even crocheted a red headband with my time and added a pound of grease to my hair, also I don't think I've smelled that gross since....hmmmmmmm. I don't think I can finish that.

Lima was like a large light at the end of a mainly dessert and sea filled ride of shacks and very poor, rural villages. Despite Lima's shining gloss, Peru is still a third-world country and that ride showed me evidence of that.

After a much-needed shower, we walked around Lima's centro historico district and visited the city's nearby beach in Miraflores. I jumped in the salty and quite dirty sea water. I pulled a bird feather off my body as I exited the sludge and soaked up the heat of the sun of the rock shoreline. But I'm not sick, despite gulping an accidental mouth full of water, luckily. My roommate, Joe, however, is feeling the effects of Peruvian cuisine with an upset stomach still.

In the morning we finished our trip with the perfect goodbye to Lima and Peru by paragliding over the sea and Lima's tall skyscrapers. It was magical and I felt like I was flying. Ah, I love Peru.

Cont. from below.

However, in Peru in general, I have never felt unsafe, just dirty and a little curious about particular procedures. For example, our bus ride involved switching buses at 4:30 a.m. in a sketch, unnamed town. To add to the confusion, I was still sleepy-eyed, but the blur remains in my memory. Young children and babies were shuffling around. We ran off the bus, back on, back off, and seconds later, we were 80% sure we were on the correct bus headed to Puno. This one smelled significant grades worse, but I tried to sleep it off, I failed.

We arrived in Puno at 6 a.m. and crazed from another restless night. A few blocks from the bus station, we attracted some Peruvian hostel owners near the train tracks. Peruvians love to hustle. We should have known then that we were in the ghetto of Puno, but we followed the man in a daze. Without question he agreed to rent us a room for an hour of sleep and another pan (bread) and marmalade desayuno (breakfast.) Later we discovered when we returned from our island tour of Lago Titikaka that the place is known for its one hour rentals, but different reasons than ours. The giggly couple that rented a room after us signified this to us. As did the two couples following the first pair. Awesome.

It's all part of the Peru experience.

Cont.

Cont. from below.

I couldn't resist the hats and a few other crafts. So, I'll be buying another duffle in Argentina for my return because I'll have no other way to transport my swag back home. Peru is alive with colors--some of the most vivid yellows and pinks I've ever seen.

After the first market, we arrived at a llama, alpaca, vicuna farm, or in my opinion, tourist wool camp. Still, I enjoyed snapping fotos and feeding the extra eager fine wool machines. We finally visited our first ruin, the name of which I forgot, shortly after. I was in awe. It was so large and expansive. The perfectly formed rows of agriculture steps balanced nicely with the rich blue sky speckled with a few clouds--that was until the rain came, but in the moment, I didn't mind it at all. I think it created a nice overtone to the mystery and wonder of the Incan empire and its wake it left behind.

Hours later, after another ruin site, another market, lunch and trying, what I must point out, Alpaca meat, which really tastes and looks like a beef steak, the sun set and we loaded the train for Aguas Calientes via Peru Rail. If you had to name the worst touristy town in South America, Aguas Calientes would steal the bag without a contest, but it's a requirement to stay there the night before if you want to the catch the first bus ride up to Machu Picchu at 6 in the early a.m. I wanted to beat the rush, so we did with a 4:30 a.m. wake up call. Augh.

With mist surrounding the mountains on the ride up, I was sleepy, but electrified with anticipation for the wonder of Machu Picchu. Just as many say, this is a place of mystery that cannot be captured by camera, but rather experienced through its spiritual vibes. Whether an Incan prison or another village high in the mountains, the ruin is awe-inspiring and much larger than I imaged in my mind. Llamas roam the grassy the courtyards of yesteryear and cameras permanently affixed to people's faces outnumber public restrooms, which is zero, unfortunately I learned.

The highlight was the hike up Waynu Picchu, a steep and somewhat precarious climb up the neighboring mountain. At the top, you are rewarded with vistas of the site that put the expanse of its creation in a whole new perspective. One I hope I never forget, nor the feeling of tranquility I felt up on top.

After observing and walking around the ruins for six+ hours, I hiked down the dusty trail to Aguas Calientes for our train ride back to Cusco and onward to Puno, via a sketchy Peruvian night bus. Cont...

The Roundup.

Where to start?

I arrived to Peru in a blur. We left Santiago for Lima on a red-eye, just like the way we returned. I spent my first few hours in Peru in the Lima aiport--in purgatory hell, as I like to call. Really though, I just slept in Starbuck's, consumed some McDonald's ice cream, and even snagged a cheap, but crappy Peruvian massage.

From there, we caught another flight directly to Cusco, the gateway to Machu Picchu and the beginning of our epic journey. We arrived low on sleep, but hungry for adventure. After a nap and some cocoa tea in our quaint hostel, we wandered the steep, stone steps for info on the Sacred Valley and of course, the greatest Incan wonder of all, Machu Picchu. We haggled for hours, but finally arranged our business. Peruvians speak much slower than Chileans, thankfully, so negotiating a student group discount was much easier, although still never as cheap as we want it!

In the night we wandered upon a town parade. It was curious, indeed. We watched weird birds, children with lamps in the shape of stars, bumblebees and spongebob square pants(!), native instruments sounded and costumed women danced. I munched on food from the street, choosing Tamales and Potatoes slopped with an indescript sauce, I should have gotten the meat pairing, but I was a little cautious of its effects.

Day 2 brought us bright and early to the Sacred Valley. The land area encompassing many of the Incan's vast ruins, including Machu Picchu, however, the last is not included in the S.V. tour. That is reserved for an entire day of admiring.

The S.V. is beautiful, but touristy. Along our visit, we stopped at various markets to shop Indian crafts--including scarves made of alpaca wool, Incan trinkets, bags, blankets, murals, hats, hats, gloves, and more hats. Continued in the next post...

Te Amo Peru. (I love you, Peru)

SOOOOOOOO many pictures but I'll try to upload as many as blogger will let me.