Machooo Picchoooo

Having seen umpteen photos of Machu Picchu in all its misty glory, either online or from other peoples’ adventures, I was afraid that our journey to the old Inca site would ultimately end in somewhat of an anti-climax; that I would just not be as impressed as I’d hoped when I actually saw it for myself. But thankfully, I was proved very much in the wrong!

Our longest bus journey yet, 18 hours, brought us to Cusco. Not that bad, considering we had full cama seating, meaning 170° reclining seats wide enough for quite a fat person in a little compartment on the lower floor of the bus, separated from the rest by a little door, that made you feel like you were flying business class…which I have never done by the way. We had a few movies, some hot food which, on the airplane theme very closely resembled plane food and after yet more Valium (Kev took 4 this time, I think he has a problem….) we dozed off to a restful enough sleep.  Once we arrived in Cusco and got to our hostel, The Hitchhikers Backpackers Hostel, we had ourselves a wander around the very beautiful city, a mix of Inca and Colonial architecture and immediately began seeking out information on the various treks to Machu Picchu. We were informed that the Salkantay Trek, and 4-5 day hike through monstrous mountain terrain was off due to the consistent rain over recent days. This news came with a mixture of disappointment and intrigue, as we had our hearts set on doing this trek, yet we had also been told about the more “gentle” and more varied trek called the Jungle Trek. This trek was very much piquing my interest with its promises of river rafting, zip lining to name but a few activities. And possibly the lure of there being no camping involved, purely hostels. Having met up with our travel buddy Clarence, we decided on a company (there are hundreds, all promising the same thing!) and handed over the USD$253 which was an all-inclusive price – all activities, all accommodation, most meals, entrance to Machu Picchu and the climb of Huaynapicchu. Not sure whether or not we were being ripped off, we set ourselves up for a 6.30am wake-up the next morning. One would thus think that a night on the booze was not on the cards, but we found ourselves propping up the bar of Paddy’s Bar until the wee hours….

Day 1 – Sporting a hangover that would floor a bull, we reluctantly arose the next morning and met Rene, our eccentric local guide, who brought us our van, complete with mountain bikes on top, ready for our first adventure. Here we met some of our companions on the trek, Eli from Paraguay and her Aussie boyfriend Nick, Diego from Mexico and Angel, a man from the Basque country of Spain. Later on we were joined by another Nick, this time from Germany and another German, a girl called Kathrin. This completed our posse and off we set towards the town of Ollantaytambo in the Inca Sacred Valley. As it was a 3 hour bus journey, the conversation and jokes soon started flying as we drove up beautiful winding mountain roads, past waterfalls, ruins and thriving farmland. As we ascended further towards an altitude of over 4000m, we became surrounded by mist and rain. This, we thought would made the bike ride back down the mountain an exhilarating, if not scary experience, as there isn’t much to protect you from the hundred-odd foot drop to your left! Decked out in waterproof ponchos, hi-vis vests, helmets, elbow pads and knee pads, looking very much like a group of school kids on tour we set off on our 15km downhill cycle. Dodgy gears and brakes were rampant, so despite the awesome views as we descended down through the clouds, we were all very happy when the journey came to an end in a little village outside Santa Maria. Having free-wheeled through stream after stream and through some muddy roadworks, we were wet down to our socks and were all sporting mud-freckles. Back into dry clothes, we were brought to Santa Maria, the first stop on our trip. We had lunch and were supposed to do some river rafting after that, but we were told that due to the river swell thanks to torrential rain of late, the river posed a bit too much of a threat to us novices, so we were promised that we’d be brought out the next morning when it had reduced somewhat. What else to do then but to go knacker-drinking in the basketball court of the local school, and make a general nuisance of ourselves. An impromptu night of pool and shots of Inca Pussies, Kryptonites and some flavour of Absolut Vodka followed before we fell into bed. I say fell, and mean it quite literally – I fell down two steps coming out of the loo and hobbled into bed convinced I had broken my ankle.

Before the mountain biking madness began

Santa Maria

Day 2 – A short, sharp knock on the door far too early the next morning signalled the beginning of our rafting adventure. I stumbled my way down town for brekkie and in the pissings of rain we were brought to our rafting destination. Sure enough, the rain swollen river was the colour of diarrhoea and was raging more than an angry swarm of bees. I felt that my life jacket would only be enough to briefly keep me afloat in the event of falling overboard, but I thought “to hell with it”; may as well get wet rafting, than get slowly soaked while trekking the 8 hour trek that was ahead of us. Plucking up the courage from God knows where, we were coached in rafting commands and before long we were paddling our way over Class 3 rapids and swells. The scenery en route was stunning, and our paddling skills were being keenly monitored by the dozens of workmen on the shore who were rebuilding roads and bridges after the devastation caused by the floods of 2010. Being water-whipped in the face and coasting over stomach-churning rapids, we were wet, but very, very happy at our experience; the only drawback being the loss of one of each of our flip-flops, yet Nick managed to fish out both of his. I resigned myself to the fact that my precious Havianas were making their way towards some backwater where some 10-year olds with a fishing net would have themselves some treasure.

After the rafting, missing a flip flop!

After drying off and changing, the next step was the trek through the mountains, past banana trees and coca plants. We stopped off in a jungle shack to get a lesson on fruits, plants, to taste some chocolate, to get our faces painted with the orange goo from the inside of some plant and to dress up in traditional costumes to the point where we all looked pretty frickin’ ridiculous. The trek wasn’t exactly tough, just long and tiring and with a sprained ankle, swollen up to the point where I had a “cankle”, it was a bit of a challenge. The views were awesome as we walked along narrow little pathways on the sides of steep mountains, with the rapids of the Rio Urubamba carving out the valley floor below us. There were several bride-crossings involved, some on rickety bridges that looked like they wouldn’t support as much as a hairy llama and others that were sturdy enough, but wobbled like hell if you didn’t walk exactly in the middle. En route, Rene pointed out some spiders, only as big as a small fist to be fair but enough to send my skin crawling, some millipedes and painted beetles which were so brightly coloured and beautiful. Our final river crossing was a pulley system, where an ancient looking man pulled you across the river on what can only be described as a glorified bucket suspended on a wire cable. Our treat at the end of Day 2 however was 1.5 hours of soaking our tired, weary bodies in the natural hot spring baths of Santa Teresa, our second stop; possibly the most heaven-sent feeling after walking until your feet are blistered and you’re just covered in a layer of grime and sweat. Nice. The air was thick with the “oohs” and “aahs” of all the other weary travellers and sniggers from the locals who were either perving on the ladies or just taking the piss out of us gringos.

Epic hiking!

That night, post dinner, we were treated to some revolting local hooch to “help digest our meal”. Three shots in total, one called Inca Tequila, which I believe is stronger than Poitin, one with some curdled-looking yellow stuff with chilies in it and the third was just sugar and water, designed so that you don’t throw up after shot # 2. Thus, after some adult drinking games to put it gently, the night ended with Kev forgetting where we were staying and German Nick and I treating the club to a dance rendition of Gangham Style. Enough said.

Day 3 – With the grace of God, and Rene’s good humour, we were granted a later wake up on the third morning in time for zip lining – what better way to shake a hangover than throwing yourself off a mountain and over a river valley while wearing a nappy-like harness and hanging on for dear life. My fear of heights didn’t really kick in here surprisingly; I was shaking, but that was more so due to the aftermath of the Inca Tequila I’d imagine. There were 5 lines, the last one the longest at 510m long. The real challenge was the suspended rope bridge we were required to walk along afterwards, being connected to the cable “handrails” by some rope and carabiners. Wobbly as hell and scary considering that to look at your feet to see where you’re going, you’re also looking at the hefty drop below you through the trees and down to the jungle floor. Once this challenge was over, we were comforted by the knowledge that all that was required of us that day was a 3-hour hike to the town of Aguas Calientes – the Machu Picchu stopover town. We had a bite to eat, what we could manage on our dodgy stomachs at the train stop of Hidroelectrica and walked the rest of the way to Aguas Calientes along the train tracks. Memories of the movie “Stand By Me” came to mind as we joked and sang our way along the tracks and jumped into the hedgerows as the Peru Rail trains alerted us to their presence on the tracks. Aguas Calientes is a pretty, charming little town surrounded by colossal mountains and situated on the raging river, which was all but washed away in the 2010 floods. The town was pretty much built purely for tourism to Machu Picchu, as the ruins are literally hidden away just above your head as you look up and to the east. For the first time in 3 days we had a HOT shower and took it easy that night with the knowledge that our trek to Machu Picchu would begin at 4.30am the next morning.

Kev, giving it his best zip line

Day 4 – Eli kindly knocked on the door to wake us up the next morning. Bleary-eyed and grumpy, we walked in the dark towards the 1785 steps, steep and uphill towards the entrance of Machu Picchu. After an hour of huffing, puffing, and sweating out all the previous days’ alcohol intake, we arrived at the entrance where there was already a queue forming. We looked at the travellers arriving by bus with an over-whelming sense of resentment as we had to change our tops as they were so sweat-soaked. If only sweating profusely would mean that I’d lose some of this beer belly I wouldn’t mind so much….

We met our guide Miguel (Rene had to hot-step it back to Cusco that morning) at the entrance and he described the mind boggling history of the ruins as we walked around, peering into the mist, watching the majesty of the whole site appear before our eyes. The best views of the day were at around 9-10am when the clouds cleared enough to see the entire site, yet some wispy clouds remained, clinging to the sides of the ruins, adding to the mysterious beauty of the whole place. At 10am, we took ourselves up the steep mountain of Huaynapicchu – that big cone shaped mountain in the back of all those classic photos. There’s such an amazing view to be had, once you conquer the perilous climb, not only of Machu Picchu itself (which appears to resemble a condor from that height), but also the 360° view of the entire mountain range and the river valley that surrounds the sacred site. It’s easy to see why the Incas treated this place with such reverence; the natural beauty here is breath-taking and all you can hear is the muted roar of the river below as it winds its way around the valley. Walking through the ruins, the masonry is something to be venerated, considering the sheer size and weight of the white granite stones used to build the houses and temples, which fit so tightly together that there was no need for mortar. How they managed to carve these stones 700 years ago so that they fit so perfectly is beyond me, and I don’t think the guides know either! So, therein began the running joke that it was all aliens… We got soaked to the skin later on that afternoon, walking to see the Inca Bridge (2 planks of wood over a small cliff drop), so we gladly paid the USD$9 bus ticket fare back to Aguas Calientes, to warmth and dry clothing, all be it during a power cut.

the ruins emerging from the morning mist

The classic shot!

We departed Aguas Calientes that evening on the train back to Ollantaytambo with huge smiles of satisfaction on our faces. We had done it; completed the 4 day journey, taken the photos we had coveted since we arrived in South America and we had a bloody good time doing it too! We made some great friends, had some good laughs and did some really fun activities so that it seemed more like an adventure than an arduous 4 day pilgrimage to the site. Considering how wrecked, sore, weak and blistered we were after our trek, we wondered if we’d ever have made it through the tough Salktantay Trek after all. Back to Cusco very satisfied and ready for a warm bed and well-deserved Cuba Libre!

Where we stayed in Cusco:

The Hitchhikers Backpackers Hostel 

How much?: $15 per person, per night, private room, private bathroom.

Pirwa Hostel http://www.pirwahostelsperu.com/

How much?: $12.50 per person, per night, private room, private bathroom.

Company we used for the Jungle Trek: Inca World Peru (in Pirwa hostel)

How much?: $253 all-inclusive.

Huacachina - oasis and sandboarding!

Huacachina is so bloody tiny yet it feels like we could stay here for ages if we were let! Having battled to get to sleep last night due to the rowdy nightclub nextdoor, that seems to pump out the tunes despite the complete lack of customers, we awoke to glorious sunshine and the awesome sight of massive sand dunes at the back of the hostel. The oasis town of Huacachina is located in the middle of some of the biggest sand dunes I have ever seen, and their size only becomes truly apparent when you see someone trying to climb one, or standing on the top of one. As we were eating breakfast out by the pool (fah fah fah), we saw one guy expertly making his way down on a sandboard with  the same ease as the veteran snowboarders I’ve tried to mimic on my past snowboarding holidays.

Obvioulsy, with a pool at the hostel, the day was mostly spent sunning ourselves, alternating between sweating in the baking heat for 15 minutes and jumping into the frigid pool for 5 minutes’ respite from the desert sun. In order to receive room rent for cheaper than the norm, we agreed to book a dune buggying / sandboarding excursion through the hostel. This made me a bit dubious at first, as I was afraid that if the dune buggy driver had the same feckless and “hell if I care!” attitude as the male receptionist, then the buggy would more than likely be flipped over at some point and we’d all drown in Peruvian desert sand, lost forever. Dramatic I know, but health and safety really is not a concern over here, I’ve yet to get into a taxi where there are actually working seat belts available. However, at 4pm today, I put my reservations aside and set off in a buggy with some extremely giddy Japanese girls, a very pierced sandboarding instructor and Alfredo, our suicidal, wannabe World Rally Championship driver. We were driven, full speed up, down, over and inbetween sand dunes that appeared as tall as some of the mountains that we had previously climbed through in other locations on our trip. I battled between opening my mouth to scream with terror / excitement and getting lungs full of sand. Kev of course, being a seasoned traveller, and prepared for all eventualities, had his scarf over his mouth and head, resembling some kind of Lawrence of Arabia extra. The louder we all squealed with fear, the crazier the ride became, which made the experience all the more fun. Once we reached some sand dunes to hurtle ourselves down on sandboards, we stopped for a brief instruction from the super-pierced guy before grabbing our boards (laminate-covered 2 X 4s with dodgy Velcro straps) and trying to display our prowess amongst our peers. I of course, cocky as hell from my previous, relatively successful snowboarding trips (successful in the sense that all bones remained unbroken) decided that I’d show them all how it’s done, which immediately resulting in my face-planting into a pile of sand, realising that the pieces of floorboard attached to my feet were about as effective is sand-carving as helium balloons are in supporting a Transatlantic crossing. As we got more and more courageous, we were brought to taller and taller dunes, where instead of attempting to snowboard properly, we were pushed down the scary hill lying on the boards on our bellies, which proved to be much more fun, as it meant that 100% of the participants were actually able to do the task in hand, happily dusting off the layers of sand after gravity finally pulled us to a stop.

After the physical exertion of the previous day, the next day we decided a day of gently culture-seeking was next on the cards. After yet again another morning in the sun, we got ourselves a dodgy matchbox-type taxi into Ica to visit the Regional culture museum. We were accompanied by Justin, a very American “cool dude” and we were attracted there mainly due to reports that they had a collection of misshapen skulls from pre-Inca civilisations. These skulls, which I can only describe as elongated and cone-shaped, were purposely figured this way from very soon after the child was born, by placing plates / weights either side of the head to put pressure on the fragile skull which eventually would mould the skull into a skinny, elongated version of a normal skull. How this affected brain functioning I have no idea, if at all, but it seems pretty silly to me, when you consider the fact that it was all done as a mere status symbol – the more cone-shaped and taller your skull was, the richer / more important you were in society. I mean plastic surgery is one thing, but this seems a bit ridiculous! The museum also had a to-scale model of the Nasca lines out the back which to be honest, has totally abated my curiosity to see them in real life. I think I’ll keep my $90 which would have been spent on the rickety flight to see the lines in the sand and spend it on things I’m pretty sure I’d prefer to see or do.

We also decided to go visit a witches’ coven, or so we were promised, in the small village of Cachiche. It turned out to be a very non-descript “park”, with a golden statue and some neatly arranged stones. 

Acknowledging the fact that my fortune was not about to be revealed to me by some babbling witch with grey hair, a cat and a warty nose, we decided to get out of Rape-ville and head back to Huacachina, where we arrived in time for the glorious sunset. We attempted to ascend the massive sand dunes surrounding the oasis village, to achieve and better view. We did so, with much huffing and puffing and not before we had drank the entire contents of a 2 Litre bottle of water. I may have essentially lost a stone in weight in sweat but it was most definitely worth it; uninterrupted views of arid desert landscape, with the occasional dune buggy crossing our view with the screams of the passengers almost trailing afterwards. After about an hour, watching the sun descend below the dunes, and illuminating the sky in yellowish-pink hues, we decided to head back before the cold hit us. They seriously do need some kind of clean-up effort here though as the volume of litter among the dunes is quite criminal and spoiled an otherwise pristine landscape. Coming back down the dunes was a whole different ball game however, I could barely tell what was up and what was down as I tripped and slid my way back towards the village and I think I’ll be shaking sand out of my hiking boots for weeks to come.

Where we stayed: Casa de Arena http://www.casa-de-arena-hotels.com/

How much?: 25 soles per person per night, double room, private bathroom

Lima, and gastronomic happiness

Once again we hit the night buses for our trip out of the mountain townof Huaraz to the coastal city, Peru’s capital of Lima. We arrived at the crack of dawn, just early enough to see the fog / smog (I couldn’t determine which) rolling in over the sea. Central Lima, around the vicinity of the bus terminal looked grim enough, reminding me a tad of the sweaty grimey outskirts of Rio. But a short taxi ride brought us away from the slum-like feel and into the upmarket areas of Miraflores and Barranco, where most of  the gringo hostels base themselves. Here, high rise flats and dodgy pre-fabricated office blocks are replaced with old, beautiful colonial houses and, well, newer and posher high rised apartment complexes. Most of the old buildings seemed still abandoned; the daily smog adding a daily layer of grime to the paint on what were obviously once amazing seaside homes of the rich in Peru. Today, the more affluent among them have acquired these old residences and have restored them to much of their former glory.

Our hostel, one of a chain of hostels called The Point was situated in a quiet residential area of Barranco, being just paces away from the cliffs overlooking the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. At night, the view was quite pretty, with the city’s lights casting a warm yellow glow on the breaking waves below, and the small green park across the road from the hostel was a popular hang-out location for smooching couples. The Point hostel was noted as a “party” hostel, which indeed it turned out to be, but only to the extent where we gladly joined in the fun with a handful of other guests, rather than raucous, endless parties that you find in these “super-hostels” that seem to spring up all over the place. The bar was a place where you’d easily get lost in the 2 for 1 cocktails (a decent amount of booze used here!) and then play some drunken pool, and it’s all in a very open, friendly atmosphere.  We made the trip here with another Irish guy, called Paddy, believe it or not, and we decided to share a small dorm between all of us. Being the token Irish people in the hostel, we were greeted with much enthusiasm at the bar, obviously cos they figured we’d spend money and clear them out of rum. Which we did. Mostly Paddy’s fault and he spent the night garbling with the other guests before passing out in the dorm. He had asked me to remind him to ring his mother the next morning, but due to him having a head like a bear the next morning, Paddy’s mother never got called………..

Our first day in the city was one of fulfilling chores; Kev had to go search for some medical supplies and I had to try sorting out getting a refund from the airline company LAN ( I had to buy a flight from Colombia to Quito which I would never use, just to placate the airline company that we were not going to become refugees in Colombia and that we were actually going to leave!). With much frustration, neither of us managed to get 100% sorted and all we wanted to do was to return to the safety and the craic in our hostel! We did manage to get a little bit of sight seeing of Miraflores in though in the process of running around chasing our tails…..

The next day however, we decided to cheer ourselves up, throw our budget to the wind and treat ourselves to lunch in the world’s 35^th best restaurant, Astrid y Gaston. We had heard about this in the Lonely Planet and by word of mouth from other food-obsessed travellers so we thought we’d treat ourselves while we’re here; there are only so many almuerzos one can eat before you want to run away at the sight of another grain of rice. In having the meal here however, we were spending an entire week’s budget in about 1.5 hours of gluttony, so it was a total battle of conscience, but as I think with my stomach before all else, I bullied Kev into doing so. It was an absolutely delicious meal; the taster menu having been created especially for us by the manager who picked what he considered the restaurant’s finest dishes. We were even recommended a bottle of wine, which cost us the equivalent of a week’s accommodation. The waiters were literally stumbling over themselves to serve us, which made a welcome relief from the bored and uninterested waiting staff we’ve encountered over the last 2 months. The whole experience cost us 490 Soles, so around $190, not including tip, which we figured was pretty darn decent for two people, considering the volume and quality of food and drink we enjoyed. We thanked everyone profusely for, what they didn't realise was the best meal we'd probably ever had. Kev brazenly approached the kitchen to take a photo, purely for the fact that it's industrious and sterile appearance reminded us both of the labs we used to work in. It turns out that if you hang around the kitchen long enough, you'll get invited inside for photo ops with the entire kitchen staff and the chefs, sweet!! I guess it would've been too cheeky to ask for something to take away with me.....

Leaving Astrid y Gaston drunk, happy and full enough to not have to eat again until 12pm the next afternoon, we hopped on the metro as far as Plaza de Armas in Central Lima to admire the gorgeous architecture. The square was beautiful, as all previous photos we’d seen would have suggested, and people were busy adorning the wonderful colourful buildings with Christmas lights and decorations. We navigated our way on the metro system with much confusion, but thanks to some friendly locals, we found the right stops and managed to buy our own tickets and everything, how cool are we?! We made our way back to our hostel after what had been a great day. The next morning was spent researching our next stop, Huacachina, an oasis town in the desert near Ica, which we hoped would be a unique experience before we launch ourselves back into mountainous terrain for our Machu Picchu trek!

Where we stayed: The Point Hostel http://www.thepointhostels.com/peru/lima.html

How much?: 35 Soles per person, per night, 4-bed dorm.

Glacier-lickin' goodness

Well, now at least I can say i've licked a glacier, one more thing to scratch off the list of things to do before you die! Well, ok, maybe just touched it as opposed to licking it, for fear that my tongue might get stuck "Dumb and Dumber" style.

After our lung-bursting trek to Laguna 69, we weren't up to much exertion, so we signed up for the day expedition to Pastoruri glacier with Enrique Expeditions. 25 Soles (about $9) provided us with pretty much a whole day's entertainment. The bus ride was another 3-hour epic up and over mountainous bumpy roads, but this time we had some starkly-different scenery to the bus journey to the Laguna 69. Instead of narrow passes through immense stone cliffs, we made our way towards the glacier through a very sparse and tree-less landscape that looked remarkably like Conemara. En route we were surprised to see small stone walls and thatched-covered tiny huts that reminded us of the Crannóg replicas that you can visit in Co. Wexford, Ireland. Obviously there used to be some farming here although it didn't seem apparent that anyone was still living here. Sure enough, as we got closer to the glacier, the snow-covered mountains emerged and were visible in the distance, gleaming in the sunshine. The bus driver stopped occasionally at several "attractions" on the way including a stone overhang by the road with ancient tribal artwork (of what I couldn't tell), and at a small bubbling spring which produced carbonated water as a result of the volcanic activity in the area. We were allowed to more closely investigate some very unusual trees called Puya raimondii which belong to the pineapple family and they can grow to 10m over a period of 100 years. To us they looked comically phallic-shaped, which obviously led to some hilarious photo opportunities among the more immature of us before we were ushered into the bus to continue the rest of the journey towards the glacier.

View en route to Pastoruri glacier

Bubbling water spring

Amusing trees!

Indigenous settlements, ancient or not I couldn't tell!

The glacier now firmly in our sights, from the distance looking like a smooth, polished blanket of snow on the top of the mountain, we alighted the bus, took one final pee-break and set off on the 30-45 minute hike. It sounds like a doddle, but as we were beginning our hike this time at the same altitude at which the Laguna 69 trek reached it's highest, I was expecting to be wheezing like a 75-year-old John Player smoker without exerting myself that much. The trail itself is a stone patch, conveniently accompanied by handrails and benches for those of us who needed to take regular sit-down breaks on the way up. It's not very vertical, in fact, it's a very gentle ascent up, but it'd knock the breath out of you easily enough. I didn't have the same horrific chest pains and headaches as experienced on the Laguna 69 trek, and I'm not sure if I could attribute that to better acclimatisation or the coca leaves we were chewing on and off. Coca leaves have an awfully bitter taste, and apparently the active ingredient is better released if you chew it along with a piece of lime, which makes you feel like your face will implode with the bitterness of it all. It really does help with the headaches and the dizziness and I made a little mental note to tease my parents by telling them I had sampled some Cocaine! Maybe it was the coca leaves making people giddy and happy, or yeah, maybe it was just the awesomeness of the glacier itself, who knows?! If you're not up to the hike, you can rent a horse for 6 soles (around $2) to carry your sorry ass up to the top, but where would the fun be in that? Once the stone path comes to an end, it's another 15 minutes over a small section of gently undulation, almost lunar-looking mountainside towards the glacier. As my legs brought me there on autopilot, I could see the glacier emerging and it's sheer size revealing itself as we got ever-closer. It was an awesome sight to take in and at 5050m, there was no sound other than the trickling of the glacial melt at the glacier's base as it flowed towards the icy lake beside it. I touched the glacier thinking how old it must be and was slightly saddened by the knowledge that within 5-6 years it will supposedly disappear, due to glacial retreat and melting. The glacial lake was covered in a slushy layer of ice and with the sun bouncing off the whiteness all around us, it was almost blinding. One poor Irishman found himself quickly sunburned! We took in the astonishing scenery, took some obligatory group shots pulling funny poses and enjoyed the majesty of the uninterrupted mountainous view all around us before we were beckoned  back down towards the car park for our return journey.

tasty!

En route back to Huaraz, the bus stopped at an overpriced roadside restaurant where some had lunch ( we had geekily brought our packed lunches!) and we purchased some insanely cheap beers from a small shop run by a 200 year-old woman the size of a gnome and toasted to our fabulous icy experience!

Cordillera Blanca and the sexy Laguna 69

Having enjoyed one last perfect sunset over the Pacific at Huanchaco, we packed up our stuff and caught another night bus to Huaraz - a small city nestled in the Andes, among the range called the Cordillera Blanca. This place is hiking and mountaineering Ground Zero, hosting the highest mountain peaks outside the Himalayas. True enough, when you walk around the town, the whole ara seems surrounded by huge mountains, firstly covered in farmland and secondly, behind those are the daunting snow and glacier-covered peaks, reaching over 6000m. They stand like Centurions, protecting Huaraz from the outside surrounds, but also creating the most bizzare micro-climate we´ve experienced yet! Baking hot sun in the morning,slightly cloudy in the early afternoon, then usually thunder and torrential rain in the later afternoon / evening.

Huaraz itself isn´t much to write home about; most of it was obliterated in a 7.8 earthquake in 1970, reducing everything to rubble, and due to the general lack of money around here, it remains only half re-built, the cathedral in Plaza de Armas looking like a poor quality pre-fabricated concrete version of its former self.

Giving ourselves the first day to chill and acclimatise to the drastic change in altitude having come from the seaside, we bumped into Rudy, a friend from our Mancora days and met some alarmingly tall German girls, some Brits and an eager American mountaineer. We signed up for a day trek to Laguna 69, a glacial lake in the mountains which promised to be as sexy as it sounds. We were conveniently picked up at 6.30am by the company´s van (Galaxia tours - I haven´t heard the most flattering things about them, but they seemed to deliver today) and driven 3 hours into the Parque Nacional Huascaran in the middle of the Cordillera. The scenery on the drive alone was amazing - tall vertical cliff with again, more intimidating snowy mountains, "peak-ing" (see what I did there?!) over the top as if to say "Yes, we´re enormous, we´re freezing, crevasse-laden death traps and you´ll never be able to climb us". I managed to take some drive-by shots of the scenery from the front seat of the van during the hair-raising journey up the narrow, bumpy mountain roads. All of a sudden, just as some of us were nodding off due to the early morning departure, a striking aqua lake appeared withing the mountains as a chorus of "Oh my God, look at THAT!" emerged from the rows of passengers in the back of the van. We were briefly let out to take some snaps of the impossibly blue waer, which looked incredibly inviting to swim in, despite promising Hypothermia. The sun bounced of the lake which was rippling gently in the breeze,which made it sparkle like a glitter ball. After we had exhausted our "oohs" and "aaahhhs", we jumped back into the van to continue on to the starting point of our 5-hour trek to Laguna 69. If it was going to be half as impressive as the lake we just saw, I was going to be very impressed!

The trek initially took us through a flat, bright green flood plain, dotted with grazing cows and through which the roaring ice-cold river cut a hypnotic winding pattern. The trail gradually gained in altitude as we approached the smaller of 2 waterfals in the valley. My obvious lack of sufficient acclimatisation was already kicking in, the slightest conversation while walking was stealing air from my lungs and my heart was beating at twice its normal rate, leaving me gasping for breath and my muscles weak. Thankfully at least, the trail zig-zagged its way up towards to plateaued peak I could see before me, making it less of a suicide mission than it seemed. After two hours of struggling to get air into my lungs, stumbling over slippery stoney paths and willing my legs to keep going, we emerged at a smaller lake on top of that plateau I spotted earlier, only to discover in dismay that the Laguna 69 was a further hour´s trek across the flat meadow in front of us and up an alarmingly steep section of mountain. At this stage, my head felt like my brain was about to swell and burst, it ached to breath as it felt like someone was sitting on my chest and my legs felt like dead weights. With exhaustion and disbelief at what lay ahead, I sobbed until at least some of the ache in my chest dispersed and I continued to plod along. I´m sure Kev didn´t know what to do with me - he suggested we turn back but we had come this far I was so determined to keep going. The silver lining of the whole torturous experience so far was the breathtaking glimpses of the snowy peaks around us as the clouds dispersed. They were truly awe-inspiring and I´m not exaggerating when I say they really do stun you in your tracks and make you breathlessly mouth the word "Wow". I had never seen mountains this big before, coming only second to Everest and its Himalayan companions. I was informed that one of the peaks we were looking at, was the mountain used in the Paramount Pictures logo, a peak called Artesonraju, standing at 6000m. Stereotypically enough, these mountains really did make you feel miniature, like a tiny ant scurrying around in the scrub below. Once I gathered my strength again, I turned my back to the glorious sight and continued with the 200m remaining climb to get to our final destination. As Kev sped ahead of me with the agility of a mountain goat, I gained some motivation when we turned and looked down at where I was clutching to a rock, put his thumbs up and shouted "you have to see this!". So with what little energy I had left, I scrambeled my way to the top and let out one huge sigh of relief when, up ahead I could catch a glimpse of another perfect glistening pool of glacial water, this time surrounded by peaks so tall that when I tried to take a picture of the whole vista, I just coudn´t fit it all into the camera screen. The mountains were snow covered giants adorned with a glacier, slowly making its way down the slopes. Glacial melt created a series of torrential waterfalls,constantly repleneshing the pristine aqua lagoon and feeding the rushing stream nearby that eventually became the bigger of the two waterfalls we had seen earlier on in the trek. We were all completely aghast at this sheer beauty, completely un-scarred by human interference (apart from our presence) and I was totally in awe of this natural perfection that I had previously assumed could only be created in CGI. I constantly had to remind myself that I was really there, really standing in the middle of the snowy Andes, watcing Nature carry out its eon-old routine of carving out beautiful landscapes for us all to enjoy. The peace and silence of this area was a world away from the car horns and the whistle-blowing Police of Huaraz city. As I sat there eating my victory sandwich, I could hear the cracking and creaking of the glacier above us, reminding me that while I get to rest my weary bones for a half hour, that glacier never stops as it carves out the mountain in front of us, following the same routine it has for centuries.

We packed up our stuff and took our obligatory photos and set off on the 2-hour descent back the way we came. We had been so lucky with the weather; the clouds which had broken for about an hour, to grant us the uninterrupted view of the Laguna and it´s surrounding peaks had now regathered. A clap of thunder echoed through the valley and the heavens opened, first throwing rain at us and then heavy hail. By the time we made it back to our awaiting van, we resembled a group of poncho-clad drowned rats. Needless to say though that all that suffering and altitude sickness was most definitely worth it and I will never forget that sight as I appeared over the top of the hill. Never before was a hot shower and a glass of wine been more enjoyed than when we returned to Huaraz 3 hours later!

 Artesonraju, apparently the Paramount Pictures mountain

Laguna 69

Where we stayed: Alpes Huaraz http://www.hostalalpeshuaraz.com/

How much?: 25 Soles per person, per night, double room, private bathroom.

Entrance fee to Parque Nacional Huascaran: 5 Soles for one day

Bus from Huanchaco to Huaraz: 45 Soles for semi-cama seat

Huanchaco and it's amazing sunsets!

OK, so night buses are the bees knees, that's it, we're hooked. We booked ourselves a fancy pants night bus from Mancora to Trujillo (and from there to Huanchaco) for 45 Soles (around $15) which would take 9 hours we were told. Having stocked up on some filthy cheap over-the-counter Valium (10 pills for $1.25!), we dosed ourselves up, reclined to our 160degree seat position, wrapped ourselves in our Alpaca wool blanket (bought in Otavalo, Ecuador) and the bus rocked us to sleep with its gently undulating drive along the Pacific Coast highway, soothing ourselves to sleep with the knowledge that our bus ticket was cheaper than one night's accomodation in Loki del Mar. We were regrettably leaving Mancora; sure it was ridiculously over-priced and was like a Peruvian Ibiza at night, but we had gotten fond of the poolside lounging, the clicking of the fingers for "another Vodka slushie, please!" and the guaranteed glorious weather. Sure enough, we were headed to Huanchaco, which is another surf mecca, but this time, better waves and less gringos partying until the sun came up.... I might actually get a decent night's sleep here.

Once landed in Trujillo, we were bundled into a waiting taxi by a very eager taxi driver, with a car that looked like it was selotaped together and we drove the 20 minute journey into Huanchaco. I don't think the sight of a turquiose-blue ocean appearing in the horizon with ever get old. We had asked the taxi driver to bring us to a hostel called Chill Out, as recommended in The Lonely Planet. But, true to form, the Loney Planet was yet again outdated; the hostel was not only closed, but when we buzzed the buzzer just to make sure, a man answered and said "oh no, this is my house now, I'm renovating it". So much for the "pool, great food and good ol' Scottish welcome" we were hoping for. So again, we had to haul ass with our backpacks around town to find somewhere decent that wasn't going to charge us the price on one kidney. The taxi driver had given us a flyer for Plazza's hostel, so we went there; super friendly receptionist who smiled alot and spoke in rapid Spanish but she showed us our room, pretty decent-ish for the equivalent of about $6.50 per night. The bedside lockers were broken, the lamps didn't work and there was an ever-present concerning smell of urine from the bathroom, but we said "hey, it's grand for a few night's, we'll probably just fall asleep on the beach anyway".

So having arrived there, checked in and settled ourselves by 9am that morning, we immediately donned the flip flops and walked along the sea front and decided surfing was going to be today's main activity, seeing as the waves were more like the waves you see people actually surfing in as opposed to the waves in Mancora which just allowed people to gently bodyboard themselves into shore. Saying that though, the bigger, stronger waves made it more difficult to actually paddle out to them without getting knocked off or carried back to shore! With the help of a good teacher and a full length wetsuit (man, the sea is MUCH colder this far south!), we did pretty well, standing up and everything, and I even managed to stand up and ride the wave all the way back to shore, where a group of Pelicans were waiting there open-mouthed in case I brought with me the daily catch.

Huanchaco beach, adorned with traditional fishing "canoes"

As reward for our Kelly Slater-style surf skills, we treated ourselves to the amazing Ceviche (did I mention it before? Raw white fish marinaded in lime juice, chilis and onions, delicious!!) before sunning ourselves the beach once again. We bumped into Connor and Jake, too Americans who were basically following the surf route of South America who we joined for dinner at a, you guessed it, American-style burger place called, predictably enough Surfer Burger. Amazing burgers though it has to be said. Condsidering the much quieter nightlife though and the fact that both American boys were under 21 meant that it was up to Kev and me to keep the bars in profit and we enjoyed a nice few cold brews as night fell.

Day 2, we figured we'd get up off our sandy bums and actually do some sightseeing. We took a local bus, again looking like it was welded together with pieces of an old Lada and arrived again in the city of Trujillo. From there we caught an even smaller bus (the size of one of those miniature people carriers), into which some screeching ushers manage to pack about 15 people to the settlement (I wouldn't call it a town!) of Moche, where there were two archaeological sights; Huaca de la Luna and Huaca del Sol - to me and you, known as the Temple of the Moon and Temple of the Sun. Moche is very much a desert settlement, about 5kms away from the coast and it gets HOT out here. Huaca del Sol, a pyramid-shaped structure made from millions of Adobe bricks now resembles a giant mount of sand, but it's currently under excavation, so all we got to see was the outside as we drove by. Huaca de la Luna cost us 10 Soles to get in, and from the outside it just looks like an archaeological site surrounded by some corrugated iron walls / rooves to protect it from the wind and sun. "Great" i thought, "more tourist entrapment here to see a piece of clay that was once part of someone's water jug". But I was very wrong. Being showed around by our guide, we were taught about the Moche people, dating back to before the Incas even, who built this big temple as a human sacrifical temple; people were sacrificed in one part of the chamber (skeletons have been found with horrific wound inflictions on the bones), their bones were placed in another chamber as an offering to the gods, their blood was collected in a chalice and carried by the peoples' Leader up to a kind of platform at the very top of the temple where he would have drank the blood in front of the thousands of citizens in the courtyard below. Grim stuff, very much like Indiana Jones, but the piece de resistance is kept for the end of the tour, where you're shown an entire wall, 7 stories high that has been excavated from the sand to display the 7 different levels of the temple, the outside wall of each adorned with beautiful intricate stone carvings of animals, people, snakes, spiders and the personification of the executioner god, all coloured in bright reds, yellows, blues and blacks. Our American companions on our tour didn't seem too impressed, but we loved it. All this excavation is being done outside of government funding and is being funded mostly by smaller organisations and educational groups. Kudos I say, kudos.

Huaca de la Luna

The next day we just ambled around Trujillo itself, which unexpectedly turned out to be really pretty, with it's large square surrounded by brightly coloured colonial buildings and churches, complete with the obligatory impressive statue and fountain in the centre. We were treated to the spectacle of local girls, in traditional dress, displaying some traditional Latin dancing. And randomly enough, everyone here seems to drive old Volkswagen beetles!! It's a feast for the eyes for any Bug-lover!

Trujillo Plaza del Armes

That evening we returned to Huanchaco and had ourselves a beer (aptly named Trujillo) on the beach while watching what was one of the most spectacular sunsets I've ever seen. Tucking into a cold brew while watching the sky turn from hazy blueish yellow, to burnt orange, to warm pink , to red and eventually to a purplish black was a great way to end the day.

Huanchaco sunset

Where we stayed: Hostal Plazza's (so bad it HAS no website!)

How much?: 15 Soles (around $6) per person per night, double room, private bathroom

And into Peru!

Gypsies. They're the same everywhere. On our otherwise pain-free bus journey from Cuenca across the Peruvian border, our main delay was at the border check itself while queueing to exit Ecuador and enter Peru (and get the all-important stamp!). While the rest of us were waiting patiently in the queue, along come about 10 gypsies, seemingly from Chile (about 3 generations of the one family) who run straight to the top of the queue where they proceed to rant in Spanish, clearly not being able to read or write as they hadn't  a notion how to fill up the forms. So while the singular female official was trying to deal with all of us plus the swarm of gypsies, our bus driver was waiting patiently for us to clear the customs check before continuing another 2 hours on to the beach-side town of Mancora.

Mancora's pretty much like Montanita in Ecuador, just with less hippies and pricier hostels. Our hostel, Loki del Mar is pretty much the priciest place here, but it's right on the beach, has a lovely pool and pretty decent food at the bar, despite the drinks being ridiculoulsly overpriced. The sea here seems to be freezing and the wind blows sand straight up your nose when you're lying down, so the poolside deckchairs at the hostel we well used, definitely! There's noise here for sure at night, but we found it was not so much from the hostel bar as the really roudy nightclub next to the hostel which seems to go Monday to Sunday without fail. There are some beach bars too which will pump out chart music (well, at least it's not salsa) even if there's not a soul in the place. even the dogs start howling at night, but you will eventually get to sleep at 2am once the music stops! The weather equals beautiful skies every morning. even though the sea is quite cold, it does look like turquoise water paradise, complete with palm trees.

Loki del Mar Hostel 

Mancora sunset

We bumped into a good few faces we had met in Ecuador, so we had some beverages with them in their hostel as it was much cheaper than ours (Kokopelli), so what followed was a pretty fun night of catching up with others and arranging to meet up again further on in Peru. As the beer flowed we did the usual - danced ridiculously to 90s pop songs, solved world political problems in one conversation and found that the drunker we got, the more fluent in Spanish we became.....

And one of the best things about Peru? It being home of the Potato, we found ourselves mashed potato for the first time in 7 weeks............. I ate the plate and all.

Where we stayed; Loki del Mar http://www.lokihostel.com/mancora
How much; 43 soles (about $16) per person per night, double room, private bathroom

Cuenca, our last stop in Ecuador

After another slightly hellish busride of awful salsa music and tedious inappropriate movies, from Montanita to Guayaquil, Guayaquil to Cuenca, we settled ourselves in probably the nicest hostel we've been to yet; Alternative Hostel, just on the outskirts of the centre of Cuenca. It's spotlessly clean, has a perfectly equipped kitchen where things don't appear to have year-old grime coating everything, a nice TV lounge area and a sunny terrace where you can chill or have brekkie, whatever. The only drawback is the room, which felt kind of dungeony cos the only window looked out over the kitchen and not the outside, but was spared darkness by a skylight nearby which let us guage how sunny or rainy it was that day! The hot water, the GLORIOUS hot water showers made up for any qualms I had about the room.

We hopped up the next morning as the sun was beaming through the afore-mentioned skylight, so we decided to make the most of the day. Armed with a touristy map, we spent the whole day rambling about this lovely city, it's all churches and parks, and walks by the riverside - very Teletubby-ish and picturesque. It's nestled quaintly among the mountains and the semi-cloudy skies made for some nice sunsets in the evening - if only I had the watercolours to hand!

Cuenca Cathedral

As Cuenca is good for the ol' English speaking (due to large amount of foreign students here), we figured we'd use this chance to go see James Bond Skyfall in the cinema in English, all be it with Spanish subtitles. Wading our way through the scores of giddy teenagers scrambling to see the latest Twilight installment, we got to the ticket desk only to disover that the movie was shown only in Spanish, and not in English as advertised on their website. Nuts. We tried another cinema nearby only to discover the same problem, and thus wasted $6 in the process.

After we got over this hardship, the next day, being another sunny day but in fact a Sunday, meaning very little was open, we enquired in the tourist office about what there was to do locally and we were recommended the thermal baths in the nearby parish of Banos (another Banos!). as we're quite the fans of some hot baths, we said, "why not?", so we hopped on a bus next to some lady carrying a bag of chickens and paid $2.75 to spend the day in the baths and soaking up the rays. I say thermal baths but I mean more jsut milky-coloured swimming pool really, but it was a nice way to spend a sunny day.

Banos thermal pools

Tomorrow it's on to Peru, wohoo! excited about exploring a new country but sad to leave Ecuador as we've loved it all. our next stop is Mancora, back to seaside loveliness and hopefully some more reliable weather than Ecuador!

Where we stayed; Alternative Hostel http://www.hostelworld.com/hosteldetails.php/Alternative-Hostels/Cuenca/54694?source=googleadwordshostelsbyname&kid=688645&aid=2&gclid=CJH7w-7X47MCFQkFnQodCzEAxw
How much?; $9 per person per night, double room. shared bathroom

One Night in Puerto Lopez

OK, so The Lonely Planet seriously needs to be re-examined and maybe written by people who have actually BEEN to these places. Whoever said that Puerto Lopez was a "must see" was delusional; OK so it has a relatively picturesque seaside location, nice fishing boats etc etc, but it was an absolute ghost town when we got there. apparently the only big draw with this place is that you can do day trips to Isla de la Plata, which is like a miniature Galapagos Island, and if you're lucky you can see whales on the way. But as it costs 2 days worth of our budget for a trip which apparently just pales in comparison to the Galapagos meant that we decided against it and just arsed around instead.

We left our "comfort zone" of the ever-giddy Montanita to head to Puerto Lopez, about an hour north of Montanita and close to Machalilla National Park. From a height, as you drive down the hill into the town, it looks quite picturesque, like a small Greek fishing village. It has a lovely crescent moon-shaped beach. But as you get closer, you realise that those lovely cute huts are infact just neglected shacks and that everything is just a little, well, dirty. It's pretty much no more than another sprawling, poor market town, trying to make as much of a living off the fishing industry as possible. We met a father-son American couple from Manhattan Beach in California, an amazing place I would imagine. They had arrived here on a short tour of Ecuador with the hopes of tropical, equatorial beach-side perfection and needless to say, their faces showed that they were a little disappointed. There is a smattering of small cocktail huts on the beach and some "authentic Italian" restaurants, who do NOT know how to make a lasagne.

We found a nice, cheap hostel with a very eccentric owner, so we threw our bags down and went for a stroll around town. The place was kind of ugly to be honest, with loads of either half-built of half demolished buildings and litter-strewn streets which I'd imagine would turn into mudbaths in the rain. There's just a general appearance of neglect, some saying that the place has never regained its "glory" since the weather phenomenon "El Nino" wreaked havoc around the area back in the 1990s. However, we spent the night, and the next morning, after a pretty shitty night's sleep due to several over-eager roosters and a window-pecking bird, we had brekkie and there met a couple from LA who were heading to Los Frailes beach, which apparently is Ecuador's most beautiful beach. Considering it was a great day, we tagged along, and we were greeted with an absolutely amazing beach. It's located within Machalilla National Park (it's free to get in now, before it was $10), so it's spotlessly clean and well-kept, with beautiful white sand and turquouise water, so clear that you can see your entire body when you're out swimming. There is an abundance of funny little orange crabs that scuttle around the sand in front of you and then disappear into little holes in the sand.

Puerto Lopez beach

Los Frailes Beach

After a few hours of sun-bathing and swimming we decided to head back to the mecca of Montanita for some action; as it turned out, we missed the constantly pumping music and cheesey Gringo bars! We found ourselves back at Hostal Pakaloro where we were greeted with smiles and demands to make some more of our lovely popcorn (!). Here we enjoyed Calle de los Cocteles for one more night before we fell into bed slightly tipsy in preparation for our trip to Cuenca the next day.

Where we stayed in Puerto Lopez: Hostal Maxima http://www.hotelmaxima.org/
How much?: $7 per person per night for private double room, private bathroom.

Spanish, Surfing and Orgasmos

It actually never occurred to me how feckin’ little there actually is to do in a seaside town when the weather is not so much “Laguna Beach” but rather “caravan-episode-of-Father-Ted”. Since we arrived in Montanita, the weather was steadily, well, shit for want of a better word. It was pretty much solidly overcast for the best part of a week, though admittedly it was warm enough to wear shorts and flip flops all day without feeling like a very much out-of-place Gringo for once.

So, seeing as sun-bathing is relatively out of the question, what to do eh? What to do…….? Well, the good, responsible tourists that we are, we enrolled in Spanish classes with the “muy bonita” Gaby at the Marazul Spanish School. From 9am to 1pm, we’ve had regular and irregular verbs coming out our nose, even though the most I can still mumble in the outside world is “muchas gracias, senor”.

So with our mornings filled, we have the afternoon to ourselves, which allowed me to make some observations around town seeing as I wasn’t nose-deep in a shitty chic-lit book whilst tanning my bum. After some people-watching, it seems to me that about 1 in 5 people in this town actually work; the other 4 seem to do nothing but hang around street corners like bored teenagers, looking generally hippy-ish, hollering at their “hombres” and offering cocaine or marijuana (or both) to anyone who appears vaguely like a potential customer. One thing that HAS struck me about locals so far, and dare I say, Latinos in general, is that, as racist as it is, they are mostly pretty frickin’ lazy. Even when they do have jobs, e.g. restaurant waiters, you pretty much have to wait an eternity to get any kind of customer service. Actually, maybe I should reserve the following catty comments solely for the service sector. You pretty much have to stand on the table and stamp your feet to get their attention to get a menu, then you may be required to wolf-whistle or flash your “tetas” to make an order, then wait about 15 mins for your drinks (one being delivered first, your companion’s will follow another 5 mins after that), and wait about 25 mins for a mere morsel of food. As for asking for and paying the bill? Forget it; you may as well strap the cash to a carrier pigeon and just walk away. No need for leaving a tip as they very thoughtfully include a 10% service charge in the bill.

So there seems to be several types of people to be found in the town; the employees, the drug dealers, the surf teachers (a job which only borders on working really) and the sporty folk. The latter are to be found in the gym or on the beach, surfing it up “Point Break”-style. And when the sun comes out, all of these people do the same thing, just with less clothes on. Which leads me on to the delightful fact that the sun finally came out in Montanita. Immediately the town seemed to come alive, gringos and locals alike gravitated towards the beach where all of a sudden there was volleyball, football, surfing of course, and general awesomeness. Tat-sellers were everywhere, trying to pawn off their plastic creations on you, and will return to ask you about 3 times before you tell them to “F*ck off”, in so many words. Kev, Bleddyn, Jamie and I attempted our own surf marathon on Saturday, which was quite comedic for anyone shore-side I’d imagine. Think tall, gangly Gringos in ill-fitting wetsuits, willingly throwing themselves headfirst into rip current waves and trying with all their might to stand up on a surfboard like new-born foals. A sight for sore eyes I’d imagine. Great fun all the same for about 30% of the time, when you’re not swallowing gallons of seawater, haul-assing from the shore back into the waves after your 23^rd failed attempt at catching a wave and getting hit in the back of the head with your surfboard.

A much welcome sunny day on Playa Montanita

Montanita, it cannot be denied is a great party town. Whether you like it or not, various degrees of salsa and dance music will be pumped out of every establishment with a speaker from Wednesday to Sunday, pretty much all day. There are lots of restaurants and bars serving Happy Hour cocktails which seem to be totally lacking in alcohol or for the more discerning alcoholic, there is a street dedicated solely to cocktail stands, aptly named “Calle de las cocteles”; Cocktail Street. Here you can get a pretty potent “Orgasmo” for $3 or your favourite, the Long Island Ice Tea for a mere $2.50. They’re strong and their cheap, like bargain-basement body builders. There are a few nightclubs, allowing one to put into practice one’s salsa skills, and thankfully, none seem to charge entrance fee, so you can spend your money on grossly overpriced beers and cocktails. Yeah, don’t expect to sleep in this town, it is very noisy and there are only a handful of hostels far enough away from the noise in order to be able to get a decent night’s kip, but hey, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?!

Hostal Pakaloro from the beach

Where we stayed: Hostal Pakaloro   http://www.pakaloro.com/

How much?: $8 per person, per night for a double room, private bathroom. Normally $10 but there was building work going on so we got a discout.

Where we did our Spanish classes: Marazul Spanish School     http://www.ecuador-spanishschool.com/

How much?: $6 per hour for mini-group (2 people); 20 hours for $120.

Surf's Up

There’s just something about the seaside, isn’t there? Despite the accumulation of sand in every possible orifice, annoying bugs that seem to irritate only YOU and the dodgy smell of sea flora during tide-outs when exposed to the sun, ye gotta just love being by the sea.

So, we arrived in Montanita on Ecuador’s Pacific Coast last night at about 6.30pm, after a 6-hour trip from Riobamba via Guayaquil. Guayaquil, from what I saw from the window of the bus is f*cking  huge, and the bus terminal is nearly as big as an airport. Buses drive in and out of there at the rate similar to worker bees to and from a hive. Buses to all Ecuadorean and some international destinations can be sourced there.

We had preliminarily picked out a hostel, Hostal Pakaloro in the town centre; it seemed nice and had a decent off-peak season rate of $10 per person. But, thinking that the noise of the town at night might drive us prematurely insane, we decided to have a walk around. A sweaty walk around with a 45L bag on my back that was…… we ventured slightly further down the road and found a quieter spot for $8.

The hostels here seem to be a different breed altogether from city hostels and hostels in the sierra (mountainous regions). Here they’re all wattle and daub walls, thatched roves or reed roves and the general feeling of itchiness in your hair. And the prices? Some are dirt cheap, around $7 and up for basically living in a glorified shed with the added bonus of spiders and some then brand themselves as “eco” hostels and “yoga retreats”, charging up to $75 per room per night (including breakfast and dinner) but are basically snobby hippy communities, probably with stinking compositing toilets “so you don’t pollute, man”. Bullsh*t; just full of 40+ early retirees with unshaven faces / legs, hair matted worse than a shitty-arsed sheep who just can’t let go of the ethos of the swinging 60s and having a joint for breakfast.

After one night in our $8 shack, Hostal Maui, we bailed due to lack of promised WIFI and a very septic-looking fridge in the communal kitchen. We returned to the Pakaloro place and bargained them down to $8 for a sea view room, due to the fact that they seem to be banging through all supporting walls in the floor below us, so there IS a chance we might die……I think we deserve a discount………

Banos, Baby!!!

We were completely fried after our 3-day hike of Quilotoa, so luckily the journey to our next stop, Banos would not be too long. 2 hours, we were told, and we’d be bathing in the thermal baths of the town that literally means “toilet”. OK, so “baths” if you want to get particular about it, but when you’re asking a waiter “dondé estan los banos?”, you’re not asking where the baths are………..just sayin’.

So following a change of buses in Ambato, where we were passed around ticket desks more times than marijuana, we arrived in Banos after about 2.5 hours, with enough time to have a ramble around the town. It is quite a small town, but it’s setting amongst forest-covered mountains and at the foot of an active volcano, Tungurahua, make it very picturesque. One of the first things we noticed were the “evacuation route” signs painted on the road, you know, just in case the volcano blows, but we were told that the volcano had been very quiet for the past few months with not a shcreed of lava at all.

Banos centre

Volcanic eruption evacuation signs

We had picked out a hostel noted in the Lonely Planet, Hostel Rosita. We navigated our way around the town, found the hostel, which was run by a woman who looked to be about 104. She led us to the room, which, being a mere $5 each per night was horrendously like the kind of place where prostitutes would entertain their clients, so needless to say we left as quick as we could, considering we were waiting for a fossil to descend the stairs before us. But across the road, like a beacon on shining light was Hostal Plantas y Blanco, which we bagged for $9 per night; private room and private bathroom. The hostel and lovely common areas with wood fires as well as having a separate building with a roof terrace for chilling and serving breakfast, its own bakery (fabulous fruit bread) and another building with a roof terrace with small paddling pool and a Turkish bath.  Quite luxurious when compared to the brothel we had just been shown.

The next morning we decided to check out the thermal baths, in the hope that they wouldn’t be full of sulphur and cause the stingy-eye syndrome that the baths in Popayan caused…..They were located at the edge of town right beside a tall waterfall, from which water is taken for use in the natural, and freezing-cold showers showers. As I was looking like a bit of a leper with skin peeling off in distinct patches following the sunburn we received on the Fuya Fuya climb, I took advantage of the hot hot water and proceeded to discreetly self-exfoliate my skin, in the hope that the locals wouldn’t mind bathing in a bath with some skin flake floaters…..lovely. But at least now I’m all the one colour again. The baths are well worth the visit, for the $2 entry and just for the fun of the locals taking the piss out of you cos you’re too chicken sh*t to get into the plunge pool after the hot bath…..

Thermal Baths Agua de la Virgen

On our third day in Banos, we decided to let the hair down a little bit and get adventurous! We had met up with Penny and George and Bleddyn and Jamie again, so we bargained for the rent of 3 buggies and drove them down the “Waterfall Route”; a 4-hour round trip from Banos to Machay, visiting a few waterfalls on the way and taking in the beautiful scenery. There are options all along the route to do Canopying, basically zip-lining over a plummeting canyon, for the brave I’d imagine! The drive was great fun, in and out of mountain tunnels and dodging the trucks and buses that were blowing us off the road. To visit the first waterfall, we had to get a fairly rickety-looking cable car across the canyon to the other side and trek downhill about 800m. It was a spectacular view, both on the cable car ride (which had us roaring with nervous laughter and pissing our pants simultaneously!) and when we got to the waterfall, trying to peer over the edge to get a view of the massive drop of the waterfall. Further down the road at Machay, we were required to hike down from street level to the canyon floor to see the other waterfall, costing us a dollar and considering the ass-breaking climb back up in the heat, we struggled to think that it was worth the effort! It’s a great trip for 4 hours though, and we bargained them to $30 per buggy, so it’s one of the more affordable trips you can do in Banos.

Buggying!!

one of the many waterfalls we saw

fantastic scenery

On our last day, we stepped it up a notch a bit and went Canyoning, which is pretty much a legalised version of throwing yourself down a waterfall. It’s basically abseiling, while battling a fear of heights and the torrent of river water in your face. Great fun! We practiced firstly on smaller waterfalls, about 10m in height, getting the technique right and learning to put your life in the hands of some guy called “Nacho” (naturally he became “Guacamole”). By the end of the 3 hours we were launching ourselves down a 40m waterfall, considering though for most of it you’re just dangling from the rope like a spider from a web as we lower you slowly, sometimes rapidly down to the bottom. Great fun and great therapy for a fear of heights!!

canyoning!

our final descent!

Where we stayed: Hostal Plantas y Blanco http://www.plantasyblanco.com/

How much?: $9 per person, per night, double room, private bathroom.