Blog check up.

Okay okay so you may have noticed that the blog is over two months behind. Between the crap internet of Bolivia and us now rushing to get through Chile and Argentina without going broke, it's been hard to catch up.

But I'm going to try something to fix that. From now on, I'm going to update one old post (continuing) and one new post. This is going to be totally disorienting for a while (like two months more than likely) but I'm hoping it will help close the gap sooner rather than later.

I still can't get the rss feed to work (no clue what happened there) so please sign up for the email subscriptions to follow along. And please forgive the old/new post mixture. But I'm doing it for you.

Welcome back to that same old place that you laughed about

There is a unanimous opinion about Lima. It sucks. I often like to disagree with people and this is one of those times. Lima gets a bad rap but it’s not the city that's the problem I think it’s the sky which is almost always grey and hazy and makes the city seem depressing. Sure that grey sky is thanks to pollution but it’s not all bad. There were plenty of things to see and places to visit and we hadn’t seen them all the first time. Well that’s what I remember from our first trip here ages ago and that’s why we didn’t mind returning to Lima. Our bus arrived early and it was still dark as it navigated the city streets. We were in no hurry to get to the hostel as I didn’t expect them to have our room ready but even dragging our feet we arrived at the Hostel Espana just behind the Plaza de Armas at 6am.

Most people stay out in the chichi suburb of Miraflores with the malls, movie theatres and bars but we chose this hostel because it was in the historic centre within walking distance to all the main sites. The hostel was also a historic building – an old colonial mansion filled with the weirdest collection of art (it either belonged in the museum or the trash). We had plenty of time to take it in because as expected our room wasn’t ready. We headed to the roof to wait (the one bad thing was that there was no common area). From there we could see the roof of San Francisco and the thousands of pigeons walking up and getting ready to poop on tourists. We waited there for two hours and then went to check in. Our room still wasn’t ready and now wouldn’t be until 10 so we went upstairs and had breakfast and then went to walk around the Plaza. The city was just walking up but it looked just as we remembered it – the city hall, the cathedral, the presidential palace. But the problem with having been here before was that all of it was too familiar and after a poor sleep on the bus we really just wanted to check in and nap. Luckily our room was now ready and it was worth the wait. It was on the roof with the same view of the church (photo above) plus a private bathroom, tv and lots of room. We promptly took advantage of it and went to sleep.

When we woke up it was mid afternoon. Oops. Adrian demanded McDonald’s for dinner and I acquiesced because we have an agreement. If I allow him McDonald’s every so often (when available of course) he’s agreed not allowed to complain about eating rice with chicken/fish everyday. So we walked by lots of little local cafes offering $3 menus and headed to the pedestrian shopping area – Jiron de la Union where McDonald’s was waiting. No longer sleep deprived, Lima seemed a lot cleaner (except the grey sky) then I remembered and at the city hall a “your tax dollars at work” showcase proudly displayed the urban renewal of the last years. So it wasn’t our imagination. What also wasn’t our imagination was the huge number of gringos – most of them converging on the Mcdonald’s. They all had a look of shock and disorientation that screams “I just got off the plane from Iowa, Milton Keynes or Oshawa” or any other exotic place. Lima is the first stop for maybe backpackers and it shows. I wanted to tell them all it would be okay but didn’t. Instead we lined up for our McNuggets and Big Macs behind them and then headed back to our hostel room to indulge in another comfort – tv.

Chillin’ and freezin'

Most people come to Huaraz for the amazing trekking around the area. Now Adrian and I weren’t trekkers so we were here for the day trips. The first one had been so good that we decided to do more. However we got back so late from the other tour that we missed Vicky from the hostel to book another one for the next day. Instead we just hung around the hostel chatting with Kiwi, Derek and LA girl, Carrie. Derek had been on the road for the last two years and was heading out to do a multi-day trek the next day while Carrie was heading back to Lima and then to LA having just finished a 3-month archeological study around Machu Pichu. Pretty cool? With such great company no wonder we didn’t feel like leaving the hostel.

When it came time for dinner the four of us headed out for chicken and chips. Pretty amazing since we’d all been woken up every morning by the chicken slaughter just over the fence. But chicken and chips was about $1.50 for a breast and mound of fries and a tiny side salad. Take that Swiss Chalet. Afterwards, Adrian and I headed to the tour company office to book a tour for the next day. Even though there were other places offering tours in English we booked with Hugo’s company hoping he’d be doing the Pastouri glacier tour tomorrow. The clerk didn’t know for sure but we crossed our fingers and headed back to get some sleep.

Good thing too because unlike the first tour, we were picked up right on time and taken by taxi to meet the bus in the middle of town. There were many familiar faces, including the American kids from the first tour. We chatted with a couple of them, Melissa and Joel, and found out that they were all on exchange with a university in Lima and were traveling around on the weekend trying to squeeze in some sightseeing. Most of them had homework in their bags that they were attempting to do on the bus. They had to be back in Lima for Monday morning so like us they were on a night bus. Who we didn’t see was Hugo, until the bus opened the doors and we realized he was driving today. Boo he wasn’t our guide but yay he was were for comic relief (that was probably just our opinion because I’m not sure everyone else thought he was as entertaining as us). Our new guide was Grigorio. He was nice and tried hard, but he was no Hugo. He wasn’t as fun and his Spanish wasn’t as easy to follow. So when we stopped in Catac, I was a little confused what we were supposed to do. Was it a snack break? Or were we ordering for later? Would they come to us or did we have to go up to the counter? That’s when Joel stepped in to help me out. And called the waitress over to take our order for lunch when we returned later in the day. Phew.

That over and done with it was time for the long ride up into the mountain. The scenery was much different this time. For an hour it was nothing but scrubland with the snowcapped mountains way off in the distance. We kept going up and up on the dirt road. Passing some prehistoric rock paintings. Unfortunately we were on the wrong side of the bus and couldn’t see them. The road was too narrow so we weren’t allowed off the bus for a closer look – maybe on the way back. As we rounded the corner we got our first peek at the glacier. It was still a long way off and a long way up. The bus slowly made its way towards it dropping us 2km away at the start of the path up. Immediately, I noticed the thin air and worried that the trek might be too much for us. It was also freezing col. Adrian and I started walking and about 200 metres up we turned back. No we weren’t giving up (yet). But we decided to rent some horses to take us up. Apparently three days were not enough to acclimatize us to the altitude especially since we were now 5000 metres up. Back at the beginning of the path, it was a case of you snooze you lose. All the horses had been rented out already so we were forced to walk up unaided. Yikes.

We looked at the glacier way off in the distance and told each other that we’d walk as far as we could and didn’t pressure each other to make it all the way. We walked slowly bringing up the rear of the group. Grigorio walked with us and told us that it was best to keep walking but we couldn’t and stopped every couple of hundred metres as we headed up. The effects of altitude are hard to explain – your body isn’t tired but you feel as winded as if you’d just run 10 km at top speed trying to escape a pestilence of touts or a plague of taxi drivers (they really are the best descriptions). Up ahead most of the young students were already at the glacier, except Joel. We caught up to him about half way up. The altitude was buggin him too but he also said he wanted to appreciate everything. And there was a lot to take in - snowcapped mountains, the path back down (photo above), and of course the glacier. The vista was endless.

It took us a good hour to get up to the edge of the glacier and the last bit was the worst. It was steep and rocky and the horses didn’t even go up so I was glad we hadn’t hired them. And we didn’t need it because we made it up on our own. With burning lungs we made pushed ourselves the last few metres arriving at the edge with a huge sense of accomplishment. The glacier had obviously receded in the last few years and the large bit that overhung the path had an ominous crack in it. Eventually this too would break off shortening the glacier by another 20 feet. We took it in and took an awful lot of pictures and then it was time to head back down. The way down was almost as treacherous but much easier on the lungs. But it still took a good chunk of time to get down, leaving us just enough time to use the bathroom before being whisked onto the bus for the slow slog back down the mountain. We stopped back in Catac for our preordered trout dinner and arrived back in Huaraz before dark.

After killing 5 hours at the hostel we headed to the Cruz del Sur bus station. It’s the company that is always recommended to tourists as being the best so I had expectations. The security wasn’t as tight as at the Linea station – there were no fingerprints or passport check this time. just photos and checkmark on the passenger list. And the bus wasn’t as comfy or nice as the Linea one. It was not what I would call a semi-cama since the seats barely reclined. As we pulled out of the station, the onboard tv played a slick safety video which talked about the onboard luxuries like wifi which is I guess what made the bus one of the better ones. But since the security getting on hadn’t been the tightest, there was no way I was going to pull out my computer to try it out. I curled up under the tiny blanket and tried to sleep while the silly Cheetah Girls movie played on screen. Through some miracle of central heating it was both too cold and too hot at the same time. But I drifted off, my dreams alternating like the heat between freezing glaciers and scorching desert.

Young Gay and Yang Gan Ook Oh

Our room at Jo’s Place not only had a great view of the mountains, it also had a bird’s eye view of a yard where every morning two men slaughtered, ducked and plucked hundreds of chickens for the endless stream of local grocery shoppers. It was a rather gruesome sight (of which I’ll spare you the details) but of course we watched and even took a picture to document the event. So every morning we woke up to the sound of chicken death throes. And for those of you curious what that sounded like, it was less horrific than you’re imagining as it was the sound of wings madly flapping in a confined space. But today wasn’t about chicken slaughter it was about a tour. Although if the tour was bad, there was a chance we’d be enacting our own death throes in the confined space of the bus.

The tour didn’t start well. We got up early and had our breakfast to make sure we were ready when the bus arrived. After waiting for 15 minutes, the hostel owner came out to tell us that the tour was running late so we had another 45 minutes before they arrived. I wish we’d known this before since those were 45 minutes we could have been sleeping. It didn’t get better when the bus arrived as we were surprised to learn that the tour was in Spanish and we were t the only gringos on the bus. Oh well I guess I’d be translating for Adrian all day. But the bad feelings disappeared once our guide began his spiel. Hugo looked like some sort of South American game show host. He had the pinkie ring and dyed hair that looked like a toupee but most importantly he had the personality and repetoire of bad jokes to go with it. However, he was so entertaining soon both Adrian and I forgot he wasn’t speaking English and enjoyed his descriptions even when we couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Our first stop was at the hot springs just outside of town. However, we weren’t there to visit them. Instead the bus was picking up a group of young Americans who appeared to speak pretty good Spanish (phew, at least there would be someone to ask for a translation when I couldn’t figure it out). Then it was off to our first stop, Caraz. Caraz was a small little town famous for a religious festival but we weren’t here to visit that either. Nope we were here to sample the local ice cream, rumoured to be the best in Peru. Adrian indulged and agreed that it was pretty tasty while I pulled out my zoom lens to take some snaps of the local folks who wore some pretty impressive fedoras.

Then it was back on the bus and off to our next stop – the city of Yungay. Saying the name may make you want to titter but it was a rather sad place. At 3:23pm on May 31, 1970, Peru’s deadliest earthquake sent a mountain sliding down over the city, burying the town under 6 metres of earth and ice killing all but 92 inhabitants. The survivors were mostly children visiting a fare at the stadium just outside of town and a handful of folks visiting the hill-shaped cemetery. Only the cemetery was still there, with the rest of the city and the bodies lying under the earth. As we walked through (or should it be over) the town, we visited the old central plaza which was identified by the palm trees still growing, although half of their height was now under the earth. The façade of the town cathedral had been rebuilt as a memorial but the tops of the original giant arches of the ceiling poked out of the ground near a crushed bus that had been thrown out of the landslide and now lay as a reminder of the devastation.

Hugo explained how earthquake measuring 7.9 on the Richter scale had released heat that melted the snow as well as energy that helped propel the mixture of snow, ice, water, rock and dirt that made up the mountain and on to the town. It only took 45 seconds and no one stood a chance. Now the entire site was considered a national cemetery and it the only identifiable place still untouched was the original town cemetery. The bottom two tiers were buried and had to excavated but now it provided a fitting gathering point for visitors.

To give you a sense of what happened a did a little bit of google work and found these before and after shots.
Before and After
It was hard to believe the distance the mountain traveled to bury the town but on our way up over where the mountain used to be we passed huge house-sized boulders to emphasize the power and force of the event. It was a somber visit but also awesome in the true sense of the word. Nature’s power is always impressive.

Then it was time to get back on the bus for the long drive up into the mountains. It took over an hour on twisty mountain roads to reach Huascaran Park in the Cordillera Blanca the mountain range opposite the Cordillera Negra. The two ranges used to be easily identifiable – the Blanca had snow caps and the Negra didn’t but the effects of global warming had screwed that up. I passed the time by sticking the camera out the window to get snaps of the white caps which got closer and closer as the valley got smaller and smaller. Once we turned into the park, the road passed between a narrow gorge with sheer rock faces that rose up on either side of the bus.

At the park entrance we paid our S5 fee and then drove through the gate. Just on the other side we stopped. There was no lake in sight and I worried that we were going to be disappointed. But Hugo pointed to a path that wound its way through some trees. I began to walk towards the path following the others in front of me and walked bang into a stone sign. I saw stars and had to double over in pain, cursing myself for following the short locals without looking up and cursing my hat for blocking out the sign from my view. This did not bode well I thought. As the goose egg on my forehead throbbed, Adrian and I followed the path and as we rounded the corner we were greeted by the sight of the most beautiful aqua glacial lake. The lake stretched back to the mountains surrounding it. There were row boats waiting to take us out for a tour but the price was a bit steep and Hugo told us that following the path around the side would give us an even better view than the boats. Quickly forgetting about the concussion and cerebral hemorrhage I’d probably given myself, we followed the path. It was easy and when we got to the end, we were very glad not to have forked out for the boat ride. The boat only went about 30 feet from shore, whereas the path took as halfway around for awesome views of the lake and the mountains (photo above).

It was now late afternoon so we (and probably everyone else on the bus) assumed we were skipping lunch and just heading back to town. But first there were a few more stops. The first to visit a naturally carbonated spring. Hugo invited us all to take a drink but I passed noticing signs that warned that the water was not potable. The next stop was to visit the world's largest flower. The puya raimondii plant flowers only once after growing for about 100 years and then dies. Sad but true. But when it flowers it goes out with a bang. These large alien beasts tower like the mountains they grow on. They reminded Adrian and I of Triffids and as they grew in numbers it felt like they were multiplying before our eyes. We took lots of pictures and then hurried back on the bus before they attacked us.

Once we were all back on the bus, we drove back down the mountain and towards Huaraz. Much to everyone's surprise the bus then stopped at a small town for lunch. Like all restaurant stops on tours, it was a restaurant far away from anything else so it was either starve or pay the price. Luckily the price was reasonable and they had lake trout (not chicken!). It was delicious and worth more than they charged and I think lake trout may be my new favourite seafood. After lunch, or was it dinner, we all assumed we were heading back to Huaraz. Surprise there were more stops on the tour.

The first was for some dessert at a manjar shop. It’s what the Colombians call arequipa, and the Argentineans call dulce de leche and what Adrian and I call yum. Well, the free samples were tasty but I’d never buy a whole jar as just looking at it gave me 50 cavities (yes I know I only have 28 teeth). Now it was time to head back to Huaraz? Nope wrong again. The bus then took us to a ceramics workshop and while I’m sure they were beautiful Adrian and I stayed on the bus waiting to get to town after a very full day. Eventually we got our wish and the bus drove into town. We got off in the centre and headed to a bus company to book our tickets to Lima in a couple of days. By booking a few days early we hoped to get our favourite seats at the front. No such luck as there were the only four already sold. So we settled for the second row and headed back to the hostel to collapse. Tours are exhausting even though half of the time is spent riding a bus. I wanted to blame it on the fact that I had to translate everything for Adrian but even when they’re in English they’re exhausting. Tomorrow we needed a break. So we decided to wait another day before venturing on to the tour bus.

Huar are we?

The last time we were in Peru, we did the Gringo circuit, Lima – Nasca – Huacachina – Arequipa – Puno – Cusco, with a little jaunt up to Iquitos to see the Amazon. This time were concentrating our now-shortened trip in the North. The highlight of this area of Peru is Huaraz. Huaraz is 3100 metres above sea level in the Peruvian Andes. We were looking forward to seeing the mountains but we weren’t looking forward to getting used to the altitude all over again.

Despite the closed curtains, the sun woke us at 6:30am. Clearing the fog from the windows we were greeted with a panoramic view of the mountains. The heavily bundled people walking along the highway, told us not only were we considerable higher we were also going to be considerable colder. Oh boy.

There were many signs telling us that we were in a completely different part of Peru. But there was also the familiar, starting with the pestilence of touts gathered like vultures outside the bus station doors when we arrived. (I’m writing to the OED to suggest that plague of taxi drivers and pestilence of touts be the official way to refer to more than two of these professionals. Think they’ll agree?). Since we had a hostel in mind and even a reservation we shooed them away and headed through the town still quiet in the early morning.

The hostel was about a kilometer away but with our heavy packs and the altitude it felt 10x further. And of course the room we had booked was on the fourth floor. Sure it was a room with a view but maneuvering those stairs was almost the death of us. All that was soon forgotten when we got into the hot shower. Washing away the night of bus grime perked us right up, not enough however to send us out to explore the city. Instead we enjoyed a delicious and huge breakfast and decided to just spend the day relaxing at the hostel just getting used to the altitude.

Rather than getting to know the city we got to know the other hostel guests. Most of them were part of a tour group. We sat and talked to Naomi, an 18-year old Aussie girl who had just finished high school and was making her way around the world. She was feeling a little out of sorts since most of her tour group was about 15 years older than her (um so were we). She said she felt so young (not in a good way) and I told her we often felt so old. But for her it meant that just 6 weeks in she was really missing her family and friends. She asked us how we were doing. I explained that it was a bit different for us – traveling as a married couple, is kinda like traveling with family and friends. And for the ones back home there are the wonders of skype, email and facebook. But I think it’s also different for a 36&37 year old to go off around the world than someone half our age (ouch that hurt to type). I told her to hang in there. Her tour was almost over and then she had 6 months to travel on her own where I assured her she would meet sooooooo many people her own age (since we’d met lots of them already). Guess the grass is always greener no matter who you are.

After Naomi left, Adrian and I decided it was time to sign up for a tour. The owner of the hostel tried to convince us to try ice climbing or mountain hiking but with the altitude bugging us, we opted for the bus tour to Llanganuco – an aqua glacier lake, and Yungay – a town buried by an earthquake 30+ years ago. Then we decided to treat ourselves to dinner. Huaraz supposedly had an amazing Thai restaurant. When we first walked up it appeared closed although all the tables were set and the lights were on. We were about to turn away when a street vendor told us to knock on the window. So we did and sure enough a woman came out from the back and unlocked the door, only to lock it once we were seated. Hmm, rather odd. Locked in we couldn’t escape when we saw the prices on the menu. And perhaps this was the plan. Compared to our huge and cheap meal the night before, the prices in this place were the same if not more than what we’d pay for Thai food in Toronto. It was ridiculous but we decided to splurge (not that we had a choice with the door being bolted and all). And we weren’t the only ones, as Naomi and her tour group were soon knocking on the door to be let in. We left them to finish their bottles of wine and made our way (slowly thanks to the altitude) back to the hotel. We weren’t too bad until we hit the dreaded stairs to our room and then we felt every one of those 3100 metres. But the full moon view was worth, it don't you think?

Everybody’s goin’ surfin’, surfin’ U.K.

Today was Adrian’s big day. Today was his first surfing lesson. The school promised to get students up on the board the first time or their money back. So they must have been pretty confident but I’m not sure we were. Still he eagerly got up and was out the door as soon as we were done breakfast. Since his lesson was two hours long I took my time going down to the beach to watch and instead uploaded some blog entries and more photos and then grabbed my camera and headed out to document the big event.

Down at the beach Adrian was just making his way into the water having spent the first 45 minutes getting instructed on dry land. For the next hour, I watch and snapped photos as he tried to get up on the board – spending just as much time falling into the water as he did sitting on the board. I began to think that perhaps the school would have to make good on their promise when it happened. He got his butt up in the air and then his arms and soon he was standing riding the last wave of his lesson all the way into the beach. YAY!!!! He did it. I walked with him and the instructor back to the school where Adrian showered and changed back into his clothes and was congratulated by the staff on doing it. Adrian was now hooked on surfing and although we were leaving Huanchaco tonight, he vowed to get back on the board the next time he had the chance – even though that wouldn’t be until we were in Chile, a long way away.

We still had a whole afternoon to spend in Huanchaco before our bus out and considered going to visit the other ruins. But I didn’t feel like especially after the disappointment of the second ruins yesterday. Plus the last two sites were a long way from the hostel and equally as far from each other so seeing them would probably require a taxi ride which we hoped to avoid. Adrian was happy to enjoy the free internet at the hostel so we had a quiet afternoon kicking around the hostel. But both of us were looking forward to authentic curry from the place down the road. Of course, when we turned up, the hostel was in the midst of a power outage and the owner apologized that the curry was prepared but not cooked yet. He hoped to have it ready in a couple of hours though but unfortunately for us we had a bus to catch. He told us that there was a tasty place next door where we could get good cheap local food. And his description was bang on – we spent about $5 for the two of us and got huge bowls of veggie soup, a Peruvian chicken curry called pollo saltado, rice and fries. We were stuffed and satisfied and it was a nice feeling. As we were settling up our bill, a stray dog came sauntering into the café. The owners told us that the dog was lost and they were trying to find the owner but weren’t having any luck. And as we walked out, the dog followed us. We tried to send it back to the café but it wasn’t cooperating. A woman approached us asking us if we knew who’s dog it was and in Spanglish I tried to explain the situation. In the middle of our tortured conversation a couple appeared calling out the dog’s name. The puppy immediately ran to them and all over them – family and dog were reunited. It was the perfect way to end our time in Huanchaco and we hoped this would be the turning point for our Peruvian adventure.

Indeed our taxi back to the bus station was half the cost we’d been charged on the way in. And at the bus station we met a nice man who kept Adrian amused while we waited for the bus. The man had been schooled by English speaking Jesuits and was happy to practice the English they’d taught him. And he was the kinesiologist for the Huaraz soccer team so he was just as happy to talk sports. Just as pleasant was our bus ride since we had managed to grab the first seats in the front of the bus – so we had plenty of leg room and a great view (until the attendant made me close the curtain for the night). The only bad thing about the bus was that the one dvd they had was Laura Pausini’s greatest hits. Laura who? Well, I’ll politely refer to her as the Italian/Latin Celine Dion and let you come to your own conclusions. Huanchaco had almost made up for our terrible border crossing. We hoped that Huaraz would be just as good to us.

Cha Cha to Chan Chan

Surfing wasn’t the reason we’d come to Huanchaco. Neither was the beach. No, the real reason we were here was to check out the biggest ruins in Peru (that’s me calling them the biggest. I have no idea if they really are.) The cab driver had pointed them out to us during our ride from the bus station. But in the pitch black we’d seen nothing and just smiled and nodded to please him. The staff at the hostel were very helpful in giving us instructions on how to get there on the local bus and then how to get to the right bus station afterwards so we could buy our next ticket. This was important because every bus company in Peru has their own bus terminal and they’re not always very close to each other. Actually they are deliberately not close to each other which forces you to commit to one company and their ticket prices before hand. They could tell you it’s a bajillion dollars to the next town and you’ll pay it because you’ve already spent a morning figuring out how to get to that office and the last thing you want to do is trek across town to find out if the other company has tickets for just a bazillion dollars. It also doesn’t allow for any spontaneous travel decisions. You have to know where you want to go and when beforehand. If you just show up at a random bus station, chances are you’ll pick the company that only travels in the exact opposite direction you want to go, only goes once a week and you just missed the bus. Well in our experience that is. But I digress.

Catching the local bus to Chan Chan was thankfully much easier. For just 50 cents we caught the bus around the corner from the hostel and were let off at the entrance to the site. Immediately we were surrounded by a plague of taxi drivers all offering to take us on a tour of all the sites for a ridiculous price. We shoo-ed them away and kept walking. It was early and we had the whole day and besides we wanted to walk. Good thing because just walking from the road to the ticket office was over a kilometer. We passed the ongoing excavations of the other temples as we walked to the ticket office which was in the middle of the park. Here we had to shake off more people, this time guides offering an interpretive tour. Once again we declined (but more politely than with the taxi drivers). And it was a good thing we hadn’t hired the guide because the ruins had signs in English everywhere.

I knew Chan Chan was big but it was huge, unbelieveable huge. And remarkable that it’s still there because unlike Machu Pichu or the other Incan, Mayan or Aztec ruins we’d visited, the ruins weren’t made out of stone, they were made out of adobe. Okay so it was in the middle of the coastal desert and there wasn’t much rain to wash it away. But still, it was made out of mud and was 800 years old and I think that’s pretty impressive. Chan Chan was at one time a city of 30,000 people and made up of about 10 different complexes like the one we were allowed in. It was only this one, known as the Tschudi Complex, that had been completely excavated and was open to visitors. Most of the original designs of birds, pelicans (photo above), fish and other geometric patterns that once covered the ruins had been lost to wind erosion and had been lost to wind erosion. I will admit that was a little weird. Sure it made for good photos and they’d used original methods, materials and designs to recreate them. But it didn’t give us that same wow factor of seeing the original stuff. But what was amazing was the size of the place. Just this one complex was as big as 4 football pitches (once again my total guess-timation)

You’d think with all that space, they’d find room for the museum. Well, you’d be wrong. No, the museum was located next to the site which was 1km back to the road and another 1km down the highway. But still not wanting to give our business to the waiting taxi drivers we walked to the museum. It was small and informative but the most impressive thing was the presence of a bunch of Peruvian hairless dogs. They have got to be the ugliest animals I’ve ever seen and I’m sure you’ll agree.

It was now time to hit some of the other smaller sites sprinkled around town. Adrian looked at the map and decided we could walk to the next one since it was “just down the road”. I warned him that just down the road in this case was another 4km but he didn’t believe me. So we walked and walked and walked and walked. And finally he admitted I was right. But just up ahead we spotted the church that marked the turn off and headed into a small residential area where the Huaco Esmeralda ruins were located. I wish I could say it was worth it. But it was small and after Chan Chan was really unimpressive. Although there were more ugly hairless dogs on site. We had declined the offer of a guide but when it came time to leave a policeman/guard insisted on accompanying us back to the main road. I tried to tell him it was unnecessary but he told us that the neighbourhood wasn’t safe. Of course once we were at the road, he asked for his fee. Sigh. He then insisted on staying with us as we waited for the bus. Once again I told him it wasn’t necessary (we were standing on the main road in full view of everyone, after all) but he told us it was because there was an armed man waiting to rob us. I didn’t believe him – if there really was a crook shouldn’t the cop be arresting him – but thanked him anyway. But the cynical voice in my head, thought that the only crook around was him. Ah Peru, every time I think I may have misjudged you, someone finds a new way to get a couple of dollars out of us.

Unfortunately all the walking had tired us out and taken a long time. So we had to scrap our plan to see the two remaining sites. Instead we headed to the bus station where we purchased our tickets for the night bus to our next destination, Huaraz. There was a little café at the station and while normally these places don’t rate high on our to do list, we were both quite hungry and enjoying sitting down after all that walking. We took a little break and then caught the local bus back to the hostel. My feet were very happy when we were let off at the front door. They were even happier when we discovered a place a few doors down from the hostel that advertised authentic Indian curry on the menu. Sure enough, the restaurant/café was run by an Indian guy who made authentic curry. But alas not tonight as he’d just arrived back in Huanchaco after a long bus ride from Lima. He promised he’d make curry for us tomorrow. We took him up on that offer and settled for hamburgers. It could have been the promise of real curry the next night or the fact that we were starving after a full day of walking all over the city but the burgers were delicious (and I don’t even like hamburgers). Not exactly authentic Peruvian fare but with the scams, the ruins and the taxi drivers, I think we’d had enough authentic Peru in the last few days.