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!