2 months later...

You know you're in South America when...your one-hour 'direct' flight is delayed for half a day (there's no radar and when the fog finally clears the pilots are busy eating lunch), then you get a free, three-hour stop, two-plane-change aerial tour of the country, only to arrive 16 hours later, just beating the 18-hour bus ride you were initially trying to avoid. -Andrew Dean Nystrom


There was a time when this summary was a painstaking reality. After 8 months of travel, I could not wait to get out! I was tired of being on the road. I no longer wanted to deal with the obstacles contributing to South America's zest and my not-infrequently loathing of it. I had had enough of 22 hour bus rides on unpaved roads, dirty washrooms forcing me to carry a constant supply of toilet paper, locals with no concept of personal space, traveler's diarrhea, over-priced hostels, bank international withdrawal fees (I've been charged over $200!), mountainous piles of garbage, bugs, begging children, language barriers, living out of a backpack, other backpackers, diarrhea, bad pizza with no tomato sauce, strange tasting powdered ketchup, traffic jams caused by sheep, early morning markets, border crossings, launderettes and mysteriously missing laundry, tourism agencies and their sales pitch, crazy fast drivers, strange skin reactions, altitude sickness, diarrhea, bottled water, ill-informed Lonely Planets, town riots, staring, chicken-foot soup, raw room-temperature meat, streets with no names, late-night bus movies in Spanish, bus drivers with little air-temperature control, cold showers, hard beds, soft pillows, partying hostel dwellers, 2-week holiday-goers, jaded travelers. I sadly became the latter, and at the time, could significantly lengthen this list. Now, 2 months after saying goodbye to this eccentric continent, I find myself missing it more than ever.

I'm in California at the moment, about to fly to Canada and my family for the holidays. I am in limbo; negotiating how to get an American work visa, where to call home, how to not be a bum. The transition from South American to European and finally American culture has been a difficult one. I find myself longing for the things that once annoyed me. I want back the simplicity of living, the love I experienced for myself and the people around me.
Those I befriended reminded me of the importance in family, community, nature, folklore, religion. How sacred culture should be. People, both local and foreign, who convinced me to volunteer with underprivileged kids, and to climb not 1 but 2 high peaks. It was through them that I discovered only when tested do we truly know ourselves. They reminded me of why I travel.

Apus, mountains, Bob Dylan and all things Huaraz

Opening my eyes after a bumpy 8 hour overnight bus ride I immediately knew I would dig Huaraz.

This city, a bowl within snowy peaks, is the base for world-famous treks. Mountaineers and trekkers from all over the globe come here to prepare for life changing journeys, and after reading the somber eulogies on my hostel´s walls I discovered that some don´t make it back alive.

When not out playing in the mountains this place simply rocks! My hostel has views of Huascaran (the highest peak in the Peruvian Andes at 6768m), a cozy fireplace and hammock. The restaurants here serve thin crust pizza, lomos, freshly baked cakes and local brew. There are about 5 homemade ice-cream parlours competing for your love at .50 cents Cad a cone.

Thermal hot baths, glaciers, horseback riding, mountain biking and rockclimbing are all available to occupy your day. As is the famed Cafe Andino, home to the comfiest couches, biggest veggie breakfast and largest collection of classic books (hard to find in Fabio-esque romance novel polluted Peru). The owner is also a little obsessed with Bob Dylan.

Foolishly I thought I would be in and out of Huaraz in 3 days. Well, more than a month later I am still here.

I found the perfect trekking partner in Clay, a Californian who had completed at least 20 treks during his 5 months in South America. Together we did some short treks to test our lungs and legs. After Bolivia, I was nervous about the 3000m plus altitude. Our trek to Laguna 69 (still unsure of the name), took a beating out on me. After reaching the 4750m glacier, Clay raced down the mountain to claim my backpack which was seriously weighing me down with the altitude. I felt like my feet were nailed to the earth, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Finally at the top I remembered why I was actually putting my body through this strain. The views of the snowy mountain peaks, closer than I had even seen them, were breathtaking. We spent a cold night drinking whisky under the stars.

A day later we were off again to complete the famed 4 day Santa Cruz trek in the Cordillera Blanca. We were among the few to go without a guide or donkey, carrying everything on our backs. Words cannot describe how much this trek meant to be. We were blessed with blue, sunny skies and incredible panoramic views of exposed mountain peaks. Unfortunately my boots were stolen in the night and I was forced to ascent the Punta Union pass (4750m) in Clay´s sandals. Awesome.

Back in Huaraz, after one day of rest we met Hunter and Page, 2 Americans eager to trek the Huayhaush. Teasingly they invited us along. Of course Clay and I were exhausted after the Santa Cruz but we curiously listened to their plans hoping to make it on our own later on. Quite spontaneously the night before their departure, with only a few hours left before the shops closed, we changed our minds. Racing around Huaraz we grabbed the necessary food, supplies and trekking poles (for me), for our 8 day adventure.

The Huayhaush in the southern Huayhaush Cordillera is a beast of a trek. Most people complete it in 10 or more days with pack mules and guides as the trails are poorly marked and safety is a huge concern. We did it in 8, on our own. I have never been challenged this physically before in my life. There were days when I nearly broke into tears, wanting desperatly to be out of the mountains. There was also one of the happiest days of my life; when we ascented the 5030m Punta Trapecio pass, a personal record for all of us. I had never felt more elated.

Our days were spent in extreme isolation, passing the odd cow or shepherd. I was reminded of how remarkable the survival story of Touching the Void is while drinking my soup, staring at Siula Grande, the mountain the boys would never forget.

Hunter was the unfortunate victim of the boot bandit this time around. However fortunately, after making enough fuss to the rangers paid to protect us, they were miraculously returned.

Our last night in the mountains rewarded us with beer sold by the Andean women. It helped to warm our frozen bodies (we were in bed every night by 7am due to the freezing temperatures).

Truly challenged, the following day I walked away from the mountains into the tiny town of Llamac feeling victorious and entirely proud of what I had accomplished.

Lima

Always mistakingly calling Lima La Paz, I was worried when I got on the bus in Cusco. 21 hours later I was in Lima! An overly friendly taxi driver, Andre, took me on a drive-by tour of the plaza and nearby colonial architecture. He was sweet enough to remind me to hide my purse between my legs as theives like to target tourists in idle cars.

I only had an afternoon to kill before I borded another bus. I spent lunch in an elegant cafe eating my first dish of ceviche in Peru followed by the famous lomo saltado. This dish packs a punch of tender beef strips, sauteed onions, veggies and a salty teriyaki-style sauce all on a bed of french fries. This was the beginning of a new food love affair. And all for under $5 Cad!

In the vast plaza I randomly started chatting with a guy who happened to know friends from Cusco. We wasted the rest of the afternoon in a pub overlooking the hills surrounding Lima while downing local brew. The beer helped send me to sleep on yet another overnight bus ride.

This time my destination would send me to the mountains! An expected 3 day stop in Huaraz has turned into a month-long (and counting...I´m still here) adventure.

Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia

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Barely Bolivia

In Canada I had a rough itinerary for this South American odyssey of mine. I knew that I wanted to see the Andes. I also knew that I needed to go to Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia if only to take one of those wacky photos of a mini-me floating on top of a whisky bottle.

Sadly I didn´t make it to the world´s largest salt lake. .For various reasons.

In the north of Argentina I saw several small salt lakes, with no camera to be had. No bother. I was heading to Bolivia anyway.

Well...Gracie and I eventually broke away from Cusco for a holiday around Lake Titicaca. This sacred body of water is one of the highest lakes in the world at 3812 m. It is home to delicious trucha (trout) and man-made floating islands. Gracie and I spent a quiet night with a local family on isla Amantani eating trucha and french fries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We continued our trip through the Bolivian border into famed hippy hangout Copacabana. Our intentions were to visit Isla del Sol (birthplace of the Inkan empire), but both of us ended up being hit hard by the high elevation. We spent most of our time lounging in the sun or sleeping in our inexpensive hotel beds.

Gracie was set to return to Cusco in anticipation of her parents´ arrival. My plan was to continue south to culturally rich La Paz and finally the Salar. As most of you know by now, I am an impulsive human being. This led to a quick return to Cusco. I missed my friends, missed the comfort of being settled somewhere and really didn´t think I had enough time to properly enjoy Bolivia.

Och well...To the future! Gives me reason to come back and do some treks through the challenging land. I have since met travellers who really loved Bolivia, surviving bike rides down the infamous ´death road´and reaching their highest elevations next to glacial lakes. I will return. Hopefully when I do the country will have settled politically.

It is hard to avoid talk of the conflict in Bolivia. Peru has just kicked out the Bolivian ambassador and there have been fatal protests in the Lake Titicaca region.

Adios Cusco

Since leaving Cusco I have met travellers who even afer only 3 days in the city felt that they had overstayed their welcome. True Cusco´s streets are conjested with tourists and women desperately trying to sell massages, but after nearly 7 weeks I was sad to go.

I was however fortunate enough to befriend folk with a lust for Cusco´s rich history and a need for eager students to teach it to. My dwindling time was spent conversing around Saqsayhuaman (pronounced Sexy Woman), final battleground between the Inka and relentless Conquistador, and Coricancha, otherwise known as the Temple of the Sun.

On my last day the Plaza de Armas erupted in celebration. Another typical Cusqueña day full of parades, traditional dance, and festivity. Unsure of what we were witnessing but glad that we were, Gracie and I spent hours simply enjoying ourselves. I left Cusco on the night bus for Lima, grateful for the memories.