Back in La Paz
It rained torrentially overnight the sixth and seventh, and I awoke at five AM concerned that my day at Machu Pichu would be a wet one. Thankfully, the rain abated as I headed to the train around six, and mostly disappeared for the day. The train ride was pleasant for its view, though not so much for comfort.
The entire MP process is ultra-touristy, which I hear is a change from fifteen years ago. There is really no way into the site without paying for a guide, and a limited number of private enterprises appear to control travel to and from the site, as well as all the commerce located at stops along the way. My time in Bolivia has felt less plastic and regulated, and apparently Cusco has gone Disney in its desire to extract every dollar possible from the "experience." It seems as though hiking the trail is the only way to retain a feeling of discovery and untouched majesty from the Americas most impressive archeological site.
After spending about an hour with my tour group at the site, I realized that I was not going to hear anything about the site that I had not read on my own. To be fair, I have not seen anything quite like Machu Pichu. The acropolis in Greece never stopped being the center of a major urban area, and the architecture is unparalleled. Still, MP is so remote, and its location on a perch that constantly had clouds swirling around it made me think that it was just as impressive six centuries ago. The fact that it disappeared from the view of the rest of the world, and only remained known through the oral tradition of scattered indigenous groups, lends to its awesome affect on today's visitor.
So, after that hour, I decided to assert a little tourist independence. I took off on my own after the tour guide pointed out the nearby peak of Waynapichu, about 2000ft above the site, where there were barely visible remaining structures at the summit. I could see a few dots of tshirts at various points along the ascent. When I told the guide I was going to take off on the quick climb, he endeavored the group to send off the "intrepid american" with applause. It seemed like a tame climb, and it only took me an hour round trip, though I was drenched with sweat at the summit. My guess is that my twelve-pound weight loss on the trip has made it much easier for me to climb, but I look forward to a cheeseburger frenzy upon my return. Sadly, my view at the summit was mostly obstructed by the swirling clouds, though I did catch a few fleeting glimpses of the site.
I took the bus back from Cusco to Puno overnight Tuesday. The bus system in SA is atrocious, and it never ceases to amaze me how unprofessional it is. Our bus left two hours late, never with any explanation for its absence. It was raining so hard in Puno and the entire lake looked cloudy, so I decided to skip Copacabana and touring the lake by water, and I returned to La Paz. I am really worn out from traveling and can't wait to drink tap water. My travel has been very tame and much more luxurious than many SA backpackers, but I don't care. I think I am very ready for all the US has to offer.
It is raining in La Paz, and I would like to put the South American umbrella on the list of public annoyances that include American drivers with cell phones, and dog crap on French sidewalks. I have snags in sweaters and scratches on my scalp from those damn things.
My Spanish has improved to the point that I can react pretty instinctively and speak without thinking at times. This has its liabilities, too. When I arrived back in La Paz last night, I decided to take a cab from the bus station to my new hotel. It was only about a ten minute walk, but I figured a forty cent cab ride was worth it after fifteen hours of travel. When I got into the first cab in line outside the bus station, I told the driver where I wanted to go and mentioned that I knew it was close, and I gave him the cross streets. When I asked him how much, he said seven bolivianos. First of all, this is only 85 cents, but it was double what he should have charged me. I responded so quickly that the words were out of my mouth before I could think. I told him that he was probably charging me double for the short ride because I was a tourist and didn't know better. I said I would rather walk than let somebody like him have my money. I told him to stop and let me out. The price difference should have been negligible to me. He had approached me outside the station, however, and I know that he felt he could sucker me. Well, I hope he told the truth when he returned to the line of cabs and all of his buddies who he had pushed past to get my fare. Regardless, the walk felt good.
A couple of comments that I have been saving for no reason: American clothing is everywhere, which I may have metioned before, and I only encountered one kid with rheumatic heart disease during my month, which surprised me. Apparently there is a big market for re-sale of donated American clothing, a racket that would not make well meaning church groups and other donating agencies too happy. I must say, it is also humorous to see a Peruvian campesino wearing FUBU gear. As for rheumatic heart disease, which is an uncommon, though dangerous side effect of letting strep throat go untreated, I had expecte more. Perhaps if I were seeing adults instead of kids, it would have more time to develop.
This afternoon I am off to try to recover the $150 that I am owed from LAB for my undelivered La Paz to Cusco fight due to a continuing pilot strike. Apparently, it has been all over the news that there are no refunds in the works. I will see what I can do at the travel agency. They had told me last week to return this week. If I have no luck, perhaps I will try to get the credit card payment cancelled for the transaction. Then, I will skip the country.
The entire MP process is ultra-touristy, which I hear is a change from fifteen years ago. There is really no way into the site without paying for a guide, and a limited number of private enterprises appear to control travel to and from the site, as well as all the commerce located at stops along the way. My time in Bolivia has felt less plastic and regulated, and apparently Cusco has gone Disney in its desire to extract every dollar possible from the "experience." It seems as though hiking the trail is the only way to retain a feeling of discovery and untouched majesty from the Americas most impressive archeological site.
After spending about an hour with my tour group at the site, I realized that I was not going to hear anything about the site that I had not read on my own. To be fair, I have not seen anything quite like Machu Pichu. The acropolis in Greece never stopped being the center of a major urban area, and the architecture is unparalleled. Still, MP is so remote, and its location on a perch that constantly had clouds swirling around it made me think that it was just as impressive six centuries ago. The fact that it disappeared from the view of the rest of the world, and only remained known through the oral tradition of scattered indigenous groups, lends to its awesome affect on today's visitor.
So, after that hour, I decided to assert a little tourist independence. I took off on my own after the tour guide pointed out the nearby peak of Waynapichu, about 2000ft above the site, where there were barely visible remaining structures at the summit. I could see a few dots of tshirts at various points along the ascent. When I told the guide I was going to take off on the quick climb, he endeavored the group to send off the "intrepid american" with applause. It seemed like a tame climb, and it only took me an hour round trip, though I was drenched with sweat at the summit. My guess is that my twelve-pound weight loss on the trip has made it much easier for me to climb, but I look forward to a cheeseburger frenzy upon my return. Sadly, my view at the summit was mostly obstructed by the swirling clouds, though I did catch a few fleeting glimpses of the site.
I took the bus back from Cusco to Puno overnight Tuesday. The bus system in SA is atrocious, and it never ceases to amaze me how unprofessional it is. Our bus left two hours late, never with any explanation for its absence. It was raining so hard in Puno and the entire lake looked cloudy, so I decided to skip Copacabana and touring the lake by water, and I returned to La Paz. I am really worn out from traveling and can't wait to drink tap water. My travel has been very tame and much more luxurious than many SA backpackers, but I don't care. I think I am very ready for all the US has to offer.
It is raining in La Paz, and I would like to put the South American umbrella on the list of public annoyances that include American drivers with cell phones, and dog crap on French sidewalks. I have snags in sweaters and scratches on my scalp from those damn things.
My Spanish has improved to the point that I can react pretty instinctively and speak without thinking at times. This has its liabilities, too. When I arrived back in La Paz last night, I decided to take a cab from the bus station to my new hotel. It was only about a ten minute walk, but I figured a forty cent cab ride was worth it after fifteen hours of travel. When I got into the first cab in line outside the bus station, I told the driver where I wanted to go and mentioned that I knew it was close, and I gave him the cross streets. When I asked him how much, he said seven bolivianos. First of all, this is only 85 cents, but it was double what he should have charged me. I responded so quickly that the words were out of my mouth before I could think. I told him that he was probably charging me double for the short ride because I was a tourist and didn't know better. I said I would rather walk than let somebody like him have my money. I told him to stop and let me out. The price difference should have been negligible to me. He had approached me outside the station, however, and I know that he felt he could sucker me. Well, I hope he told the truth when he returned to the line of cabs and all of his buddies who he had pushed past to get my fare. Regardless, the walk felt good.
A couple of comments that I have been saving for no reason: American clothing is everywhere, which I may have metioned before, and I only encountered one kid with rheumatic heart disease during my month, which surprised me. Apparently there is a big market for re-sale of donated American clothing, a racket that would not make well meaning church groups and other donating agencies too happy. I must say, it is also humorous to see a Peruvian campesino wearing FUBU gear. As for rheumatic heart disease, which is an uncommon, though dangerous side effect of letting strep throat go untreated, I had expecte more. Perhaps if I were seeing adults instead of kids, it would have more time to develop.
This afternoon I am off to try to recover the $150 that I am owed from LAB for my undelivered La Paz to Cusco fight due to a continuing pilot strike. Apparently, it has been all over the news that there are no refunds in the works. I will see what I can do at the travel agency. They had told me last week to return this week. If I have no luck, perhaps I will try to get the credit card payment cancelled for the transaction. Then, I will skip the country.
posted by Aaron Clarke Shur @ 12:55
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