Cusco - Peru

Our flight from Lima to Cusco was hairy. As we approached Cusco, the plane was swallowed by clouds and swirling mist. After an aborted first attempted landing and some prayers, we were informed that the pilot couldn’t land the plane because of poor visibility and our flight would be diverted to another airport. Halfway to the new airport, we were informed that the weather at Cusco had improved and we would be returning for another attempt at landing. Thankfully, after circling around several times the pilot managed to land the plane. Without a doubt, the pilot was more successful at converting new Catholics than the conquistadors; there certainly weren’t any atheists on debarkation!

Like a bejewelled button in the centre of a crushed green velvet cushion, Cusco is surrounded by lush mountains. The quaint town is an infusion of its Inca and Spanish heritage, with Spanish terracotta tiled roofs lending charm to sombre Inca walls, ingeniously constructed with interlinked trapezoidal granite stones. The old section of the town is dominated by the Plaza del Armas from which a spiders’ web of delightful narrow medieval streets radiate. Caught within this enchanting web is a multitude of bewildered deracinated tourists upon which the local touts descend with arachnid ardour selling tours and bright alpaca wares.

We stayed in a beautiful hotel which was just off the Plaza del Armas and, because it was out of season, the hotel was reasonably priced and had hot water! (Many places don’t have hot water!) On arrival we were given coco tea and told to rest for about 3 hours so that our bodies could acclimatise to the altitude. After the obligatory nap, we discovered a lovely little restaurant that became our local haunt, called Sabor de Casa (House of Flavour) which served delicious trout ceviche (raw fish marinated/cooked in lime juice) and lip-smacking soups. Peruvian food was fantastic.

There is so much to do and see in Cusco that to record them all would require turning this, already too long a synopsis, into an essay. Sometimes complimentary and sometimes contradictory, Spanish and Indian influences are everywhere. For example: often Christ is represented as an Indian; a painting of the last supper includes a traditional Peruvian meal of roast guinea pig; there are carvings of naked Indian women in the choir stand (definitely not the usual conservative Catholic thing); and baroque alters are full of carvings of Inca designs.

City Valley Tour and Sacred Valley Tour - Cusco, Peru

We did tours of the city and Sacred Valley which included: Koricancha, thought to have been a temple to the Inca Sun God; Sacsayhuaman (sounds somewhat like, “Sexy woman”), built with massive quartz and granite blocks (up to 270 tones!) which is thought to have been an Inca fortress and/or temple; Qenqo, a sacred shrine; Tambochay, a sacred spring channelled through carved gutters and fountains built around 1500AD; Pisaq a large Inca town with an astrological centre and numerous irrigated terraces for researching crop farming; Ollantaytambo, an incomplete imperial Inca city/temple with water fountains, massive trapezoidal stones almost seamlessly joined together, agricultural terraces, storage buildings and a cliff that has the appearance of an Inca face; and Chinero, an old agricultural centre and market flanked by the snow capped mountains of the Chicon and Wequey Wilca with an old Spanish church.

We had only come to see Machupicchu but discovered that there are many majestic Inca ruins in the region around Cusco. Some were in the middle of the city, others much further away in the surrounding mountains. Meandering through the Andes on winding roads was reward enough, with incredibly scenic valleys and rivers separating huge lush green mountains with silver snow-capped crowns in the clouds. We would walk through the ruins and feel the ghosts of the past and wonder as to their lives.

The ruins are fantastic, steeped in history and myth. Because the Spanish systematically destroyed all symbols of the Inca religion and superimposed their culture on the Indians much of their civilisation remains a mystery, even though the high imperial Inca period was only in the fifteen hundreds. However, when you stand in the midst of the ruins, the mind’s eye takes you back in time: Inca elemental numen rise up from the granite rocks and crystal springs at the behest of feather adorned priests, richly decorated nobles rule from their palaces perched high in the mountains like eagles eyries and thousands of Inca peasants work the green terraced slopes and work their way along the Inca trials with antlike obedience.

During our tours of the city it was astonishing to learn how incredibly advanced the Inca were. Their stone buildings were exactly aligned with inclined walls and doors to resist earthquakes. They used tongue and grove fittings and bronze “staples” to ensure the granite blocks were joined seamlessly. They also had great skill in making ceramics, weaving, dying and mining and forging gold and bronze. When confronted by the Inca’s brilliant stone work, apparent organisation and seemingly impenetrable fortifications ensconced in the mountains, it is incredulous to hear that the empire of seven million people was conquered by a handful of Spanish Conquistadors in one year. The tale is mythic, with so many coincidences playing into the hands of the conquistadors: a civil war involving royal assassinations, the Spanish knights resembling images of Inca gods, divine providence during battles and a disenchanted “peasantry”.

Despite not having a written language, the Incas practised astrology and had a very complex religion involving the worship of a creator, the sun and the moon, the stars and the elements (particularly Mother Earth). In addition they practised ancestral worship burying their dead in caves and tombs facing the east. They had many festivals to honour and worship the dead and the former and current Incas (ie the Inca chiefs) had the status of gods (just like the pharaohs).

Ricky: “I guess Ancestral worship is easy to understand. All it takes is an undying love for ones parents. I loved and worshipped my Father immensely. While it is a cliché, for me, his passing was like an eclipse of the sun. I suspect that I will always gaze into the panoramic sunset of his memory, filled with warm colours and celestial thoughts, myself stranded in the lee of a great mountain, engulfed in the vast shadow of his absence. When I dwell on it, his passing still holds the wistful hooks of a thousand autumns. Our forefathers worshipped their ancestors by parading their bones. Elephants revere their dead by turning their giant bleached skeletons. The bones of saints were held in reliquaries as treasured relics. Likewise, I regularly fumble through the bones of my Father’s memory, desperately trying to summon his sub-conscious presence to shed light on a dark sea of alienation, and sometimes his moon-like presence rises above the inky swell. In these haunting hours, I try to commune with his lunar presence and whisper silent prayers, desperately hoping that my words will follow the trail of molten moonlight across the gulf-of-death. It must be greatly tempting to externalise these internal machinations and institutionalise the immortalisation and worship of one’s parents, even though reason would dictate that it is no more than reaching for the reflection of a stranded emotional desire or, worse still, a vain attempt to resurrect the dead. Modern thought is that we should let attachments to the dearly departed go, to drift away like autumn leaves in the breeze, but then who ever forgets the beauty of autumn leaves aflame, long after the winter winds have carried them away….

Goodbye Cusco

Machupicchu - 1st and 2nd day

Wow, wow and more wow! Despite a demanding three days, the Inca Trail to Machupicchu was everything we hoped for and it is something everyone should do before they die.

Before starting out, our tour operator warned us that the trail could involve trudging through icy rain and wind for the entire four days and accordingly, he advised us to bring clothing that could resist the elements. We proudly informed him that we were forearmed with fleecies and wind sheets to meet the challenge. Our confidence dissolved when he responded with a bleak expression and woeful sigh that evoked images of Scott’s doomed expedition to the North Pole. To aggravate matters, he nervously informed us that, due to a mudslide having melted away a section of the trail, we would have to divert to the nearby town of Aguas Calihentes just before reaching Machupicchu. The name of the town alone let us know that we were in hot water (excuse the pun). In effect, it meant that we had to do the normal four-day trail in three days and then get a bus from Aguas Calihentes to Machupicchu on the fourth day. The image of us gloriously entering Machupicchu on foot as the sun rose through the Sun Gate was suddenly eclipsed by an altogether different vision:

Looking down from the cloudy realms of the condor we saw vast mountain in the distance with a thread of a trail etched along its side, which had been severed in numerous places by avalanche clawmarks as if a colossal condor had tried to grasp the thread and bear it away…Riding the egests we soared closer - mite like specs clinging to an isolated strand of trail resolved into a group of frostbitten hikers huddled together for warmth in the face of the driving gale.

The Condor had spoken! We dashed out and bought clothing and provisions for an Artic expedition. Packed like alpacas, we were ready to set out for Machupicchu.

On the first day we were picked up at sparrows-fart in the morning and introduced to the rest of our small group of hikers: Walter our tour guide, Roger and Sarah from the UK and Justin, an ex South African living in London, his girlfriend Sarah from New Zealand and a number of porters and a cook. After a very scenic one hour drive, we arrived at the starting point, Chilea (2600 m above sea level). We started out following the Kusichaca River up the Sacred Valley to our first campsite Wayllabaa (3100 metres). Ricky was ill, so the start of the trail was a nightmare for him.

Ricky “I thought it was important to do in Cusco as the locals do (You know, “When in Rome…”), so the day before our trail started we had headed to the local produce market. Perhaps I should have been forewarned by the contrapuntal odours of alpaca wool, lama-milk cheese and everted offal and Tereza’s dire predictions, but I was an intrepid adventurer not to be daunted by such trivialities as reason! So, fending off flies, I strolled through the thronging maze of hawkers selling wares ranging from socks to raw meat sampling various mouldy cheeses and buying the recipe of my future torment, to serve as lunch. In the same manner as some rights in Rome were reserved for its citizens only, clearly Cusco’s local fare is best enjoyed by the indigenous population alone. Unfortunately, the laws of cause and effect held true and for the entire first day of the trail it felt like my stomach was being inverted with red hot irons. I arrived at the camp a lighter man. Fortunately, I had the fresh air and breathtaking views to distract me and the motivation of having travelled half way around the world for the pleasure of being tortured. Despite this, in some bizarre way, I loved every moment. Here I was in the heart of the Andes exorcising my daemons. ”

Initially the walking was fairly easy heading towards a majestic snow capped peak. Around noon we passed some Inca ruins in a valley below us called Willkarakay. From our vantage point high above, the myriad of walls and roofless stone dwellings below looked like an open termite mound, long since abandoned to the elements. After lunch, the trail zigzagged steeply past a few lonely dwellings to our campsite. Lugging our overburdened packs became a gruelling exercise forcing us to consume volumes of the water, the price of which increased proportionately to the increase in altitude. By the end of the day we had covered 12 km and climbed 500 meters in 6.5 hours and were sore all over. It became apparent that, if this short incline was difficult, then the next day would be impossible. As a result, we didn’t question Walter’s advice that we hire porters for the 2nd day which he predicted would be twice as long and hard.

Our first campsite was near the base of a wide valley with mountains towering all around. It was a great relief to discover that the porters had set up our tents and prepared our supper. The food was good (Ricky, “Not that I had much as Walter, concerned that I was suffering from altitude sickness, had put me on a strict diet of Coco and black tea.”) The only downside to the campsite was a terrible squat toilet. Tereza “Mother nature was a much better loo!” As a result there was more than one moon visible that night.

Day two began again at 5 am. Tereza “I had a terrible night’s sleep, so the day was very long, not only for me, but also for Ricky who had to listen to my griping”. Thankfully, Ricky was feeling so much better. We started with the mandatory Cocoa tea with breakfast prepared by the porters. Thankfully, we handed our pregnant backpacks over to the porters who were incredible: waking up at the crack of dawn to prepare breakfast, breaking camp, bearing enormous loads along the trail, making lunch, setting up the next camp, cooking supper and cleaning up. They emulated termites running along the trails with disproportionate loads on their backs and slops on their feet. Incredibly, notwithstanding their punishing workload, they were always jovial and smiling - an absolute delight!

After breakfast, with the first rays of the morning sun crowning a huge shadow of a mountain behind us, we set out on a seemly never-ending trail to the top of the world. The first section was a steep but pleasant climb through cool green forests besides a purling stream and was reminiscent of Skeleton Gorge, just much longer. All too soon, we emerged out of the forest into the sweltering sun. What did we bring those polar bear fleeces for - even the llamas alongside the trail were sunbathing?! The going was hot and there were millions of stairs rising higher and higher – some big and some small, but always more. Ricky “It reminded me of a magical set of stairs in a book I read as child, “The House that Bibo Built”. In the book, there were three floating stairs and when the protagonist had stepped up to the top stair, he would take the bottom stair and put it above the top stair and so on, continuously climbing ever higher and higher to escape his earthbound pursuers.” In a similar vein, we continued to follow our never ending staircase towards a huge granite castle set on the crest of the mountaintop.

It turned out that the trail didn’t lead right up to the castle, but instead bypassed it to the left of it over a nearby saddle. Nor was there a castle, for as we neared the summit, it became apparent that what had appeared to be the outline of a castle’s battlements was in fact a towering wall of igneous rock from which emerged the half molten forms of Condors, Pumas, Serpents and Inca faces, as if the Inca’s numen spirits had been petrified just as they were attempting to rise like wraiths from sacred mother earth. However, not even the solemn disdainful gaze of these deities could deflate our elation when we reached the summit.

We had ascended 1100 meters up Dead Women’s Pass (4200 meters above sea level) (Tereza “I can relate to the name - the first part of the walk had taken 4.5 hours and I was finished”). The majestic panoramic views from the crest of the mountain lifted our spirits and we soared over the Andes like thermal borne condors. From this perspective we could understand why the Inca’s regarded the condors as messenger spirits from the heavens above, it felt like we were at heavens gates with the earthly realm of the puma far below. The serpent’s underworld couldn’t reach us here.

Like Icarus, our time with the condors proved to be short lived as our guide pointed out that we would have lunch in the next valley some 400 meters below, in the realm of the puma, at a campsite called Runkurakay (3800 m). The walk down was hard on the knees with us having to navigate down a flight of huge steps, constantly concentrating to avoid falling – thankfully we had walking sticks. After lunch, our creaky knees had to ascend another 300 m pass and then descend 400 meters into the Valley of the Clouds to our next camp at Chaquiquocha (3680m). Tereza “I was shattered and the thought of now walking uphill only to walk down again was crazy. It started to drizzle a bit and for the first time but luckily it didn’t last long.”

Exhausted, our descent into the Valley of Clouds was a surrealistic experience with the world around us dissolving in milky mist with the occasional frosted window opening to reveal a sea of clouds girdling snow-capped island peaks in the distance. We could have been forgiven for believing we were descending to the realm of the Serpent, a ghostly Hades. As darkness fell, we passed the mist shrouded ruins of Sayquarka and then were swallowed by the inky shadows of a rain forest. Only after wending our way through a labyrinth of paths through the forest did our campsite finally emerge silhouetted against a midnight blue horizon. We crawled into camp like serpents slithering from the underworld. We had walked for approximately 12 hours to reach our campsite, Concha Marca (3550m) and were utterly exhausted. Although it was hard going, the scenery was our catharsis: Lakes, cacti, ancient Inca sites, snow-capped mountains, running streams and rivers, lichen and moss covered branches, huge magical green trees and fluttering birds. That night, the stars were so close we felt as tall as gods with our lofty heads caught within a dizzying crystal chandelier of stars. In this crystalline blaze it is understandable that the Inca’s were drawn to the mysterious voids in between which, like rocks in a great river, gave from to their astrological signs. Not attuned to the heavenly beauty we were soon hypnotised by the celestial lights and borne by the currents of the Milky Way to a realm of dreams filled with blazing supernovas, winking crystals, burning suns, serpent tailed comments, watery-eyed planets and astrological beasts. Finally even this dreamscape receded like a shattered mirror sinking into a dark sea as the Serpent dragged us down into the Underworld.

Machupicchu - 3rd day

It is safe to say that, that night we slept like the dead and were reincarnated into paradise in the morning. The valley was clear and the air crisp with the glaciers on the distant mountains as sharp as glass. In the beginning of the day we traded the stars of the previous night for a shadowy green cosmos decorated with constellations of white and purple flowers. Following the trail through the rain forest we were seduced by trees dripping with green beards and decorated with orchids in every colour that filled us with wonder. However, like Adam in Eve in the Garden of Eden, we were not entirely free of the Serpent’s grasp. Giant tangled knots of lianas, vines and creepers continually threatened to mesmerise us and we had to keep our wits about us to avoid being caught like Mowgli in Kaa’s hypnotic gaze. To reinforce this subliminal warning, later in the day, a bright green snake dropped out of a tree into the path next to us before retreating into the undergrowth! Undaunted we soon discovered Inca tunnels that passed behind cliffs and followed them blindly into Mother Earth’s cool womb. Each time our faith was rewarded as we emerged though a curtain of blazing light that drew back to reveal yet another breathtaking vast vista of mountainous jungle before us. It was truly amazing!

After taking in the views, we slowly made our way down the steep winding centuries old Inca trail that barely held back the thick jungle growth on either side. It’s no surprise that shortly after the Inca’s abandoned the region the trail had became overgrown and concealed by the jungle for centuries, until Hiram Bingham “rediscovered” it in 1911, following it to Machupicchu (where he found to locals living in the ruins). While our morale was high because we’d made it through the strenuous second day, our elation was somewhat dampened by the realisation that we would have to take one step down for every step we’d taken up, and then some more (Machupicchu is lower than Cusco). “What goes up, must come down!” became all too real and this wasn’t helped by the fact that the porters had returned one of our backpacks. The third day’s walk lasted approximately 10hours. Our lunch campsite at Winay Wayna was very hot. After lunch, we were told it would be another hour of downhill and then two kilometres of “flat walking”. Our guide conveniently forgot to mention that that the flat section was along a railway track which was very difficult because you either had to walk on the uneven gravel or step from sleeper to sleeper. Finally, after a long day, we arrived in Aguas Calihentes with wobbly knees at around 6pm and headed straight for the Hot Springs. The hot springs helped our muscles somewhat. We then had a beer and dinner to celebrate the end of the trail!

Machupicchu - 3rd day

Machupicchu - 4th day

But the best was saved for last, the next morning we were up at 5am to catch the bus to Machupicchu (means Old Mountain). When we arrive the entire mountain top was shrouded in mist. Upon entering the ruins, we realised that we had stepped through a portal into history and were lost in the obscuring mists of time that only granted us tantalising glimpses of the past. Proceeding like detectives, we slowly followed a trail of clues - at first just a ghost of a wall and the promise of a terrace, then a spectral wraith of vapour leads us to a groove which turns out to be part of a channel drawing water from a fountain set in the side of a great granite wall - after a few yards the wall gives way to a trail of steps ascending to a grand chamber where a halo of suffused light draws us to a doorway exiting onto another rising flight of steps strewn with foggy cobwebs – advancing deeper into the mysterious maze the mist dissolves to unveil a magnificent temple lauding over an ethereal realm of clouds with paths leading down into a great gloom. Then, just as we’re starting to wonder whether we’re trapped in Escher’s never-ending Ascending and Descending Lithograph, the gods could not keep their secret any longer and release a pent-up breath, rolling back the mists of time to reveal an entire town dramatically perched on the top of a ridge between two spectacular peaks. If Zeus could have chosen his home on top of the world, this would have been it. What an incredible site - mist everywhere, large beautiful mountains surrounding and protecting this concealed treasure. The ruins were spectacular, huge terraces, rocks, waterways, temples to Condor, Puma and Serpent. It is many things: majestic, mysterious, magnificent and more – words simply cannot do it justice.

To get an aerial view of Machupicchu we climbed up the nearby Wayna Picchu peak. The trail up was incredibly steep and at times we had to haul ourselves up on ropes. On the way down some of the narrow descents were so sheer we had to put our backpacks in front of us to avoid them hitting the slope behind us. From high above, the scale and beauty of the citadel becomes more apparent and we could only marvel at its wonder.

The ruins themselves are but clues to even greater mysteries. Because the Inca’s did not write nor use detailed hieroglyphics, much is left to speculation and imagination. While they did use obscure symbols, no “Rosetta Stone” has been found and as such, these symbols have yet to be deciphered. What is evident is that Machupicchu is an entire citadel with military, astrological, religious, residential and storage sections containing a number of temples and palaces and numerous houses, storage buildings and terraces. Some believe it was a palace but more recent research suggests it also served as a sort of a university. The reason why the Incas abandoned Machupicchu is unknown. There are several theories: a plague; a great fire; or fear of being discovered by Spanish. Interestingly, Hiram Bingham, the American archaeologist that rediscovered Machupicchu, said he found no gold on the site, only silver. However, more recent excavations on the site have curiously uncovered gold artefacts, which raises some questions. Did Hiram Bingham find some of the gold and secret it away or was it removed? It is generally believed that the Incas retreated deep into the jungle. Some archaeologists still speculate about the possibility of another undiscovered site in the jungle that may be the fabled city of Eldorado containing the lost Inca gold. We left that mystery unsolved and instead settled for a warm bath and soft bed.

Even though the trail was hard, it was one of the most rewarding and incredible experiences we’ve had. The natural beauty, magnificent ruins and rich history, infused with the mystery of the unknown, combine to make the trail such a rich experience.

Lima - Peru photos

Lima was a bit of a mindblow. We stayed in Miraflores because we were told that central Lima is dangerous. On the way from the airport the eye was assaulted by a seemingly endless vista of poverty - broken down and dilapidated houses, shanty towns, masses of people, carbon-coughing congestions of traffic, a maze of wire entangled roads and big sandy cliffs staring blankly into a wall of rolling smoggy mist that should have been the sea. Then, miraculously beyond this emerged beautiful manicured lawns, flowers and a Lovers Park which consisted of a waving mosaic of colourful tiled walkways similar to what we expect to see in Gaudi’s park in Spain. Clearly, South Africa isn’t alone when it comes to massive poverty gaps and with this comes the security police and guards which were on most street corners and at the entrances to upmarket houses. What was, however, entirely foreign was that, after the crow’s eye-lid of night had concealed a bloodshot sun, the city suddenly transformed into an explosion of retina-burning neon colours and we had to check the date to be sure it wasn’t Christmas or New Years Eve. It turned out that Vegas has competition – Lima is full of casinos lit-up like glow worms to attract their apparently moth-like clientele.

In general the Peruvians were friendly, helpful and speak more English than the Chileans, but note the following footnote:

Tereza “I took Ricky’s advice and decided to be “more friendly”. So when the guy standing outside the local bakery asked whether we wanted to try some Peruvian dishes at a cheaper local restaurant, I jumped at the opportunity. Ricky was nervous – and I was friendly. Anyway, it turned out to be fine, but we had to pay him a tip for the good information and he did try to get some more money out of us by offering drugs!

Ricky “Fine! He was built like a brick shithouse and looked just like one of those South American thugs you see in the movies carrying crates of cocaine! And when he asked a question, you had the distinct impression you had to give the right answer if you wanted to avoid meeting your maker – the undertone reminded me of a Soprano’s Mafia boss asking an underling, ‘Don’t you trust me, huh!’ No wonder the security guard on the street corner carried a well oiled machinegun and had an itchy trigger finger!”

Safe to say, we politely declined the drugs and took great pains to avoid encountering our new “amigo” again.

Santiago

Buenas Dias from Santiago

After a pretty good flight from Sydney (the sleeping tablets worked like a bomb), we arrived in Santiago. Tereza “I whipped out the Latin American dictionary and tried to master Spanish within a couple of minutes so I could at least try and get a taxi driver to take us to Vitacura. I was chuffed, I used my Portuguese and a couple of Spanish words and off we went. Of course I get to the taxi and the guy has now changed the price (a lot more than was previously quoted).” We arrived at Michael, Nina and Simon’s place, to confirm that the taxi driver was indeed trying to rip us off. With a few choice words in Spanish from Nina we got part of our money back.

Santiago doesn’t have much going for it except the booming economy and, if you can see it through the haze, the Andes in the distance. It’s a big sprawling city of smog and pollution that is growing at a rapid rate with buildings being constructed and highways popping up all over the place which is great for Richard Davies formwork business.

Ricky “I think you can judge people by the way they treat animals, particularly dogs, because kindness towards them is a selfless act and cruelty, malicious and selfish. It says a great deal that there were miserable stray dogs all over Chile. In contrast, every second person in Rio had a cute pampered little pooch in great condition.”

We stayed with Michael, Nina and Simon in their new house in Vitacura, an upmarket residential suburb of Santiago. It was great to catch up with the Davies’ household and to see how Simon is growing up. For the next couple of days we suffered from jetlag – sleeping in the afternoons and wide awake at midnight.

Having been to Santiago previously for Michael’s wedding, we didn’t do the touristy things in town, but instead opted (on Michael’s good advice), to head to San Alfonso which is at the foothills of the Andes. English in Chile seems to be unheard of, so it was out with the dictionary again. We managed to find our way from Puento Alto to San Alfonso on the local bus service which was almost for free! We stayed in a beautiful place called Cascadas de Animas, which definitely wasn’t for free. To make up for the cost of the place we used our cabin’s little kitchen to whip up our meals instead of going to the restaurant. Cascada de Animas is set at the foothills of the Andes alongside the River Maipo, with a wooden restaurant overlooking the river - Great looming sun-backed grey granite mountains, a huge oval swimming pool (too cold for Tereza to swim in) and cool green trees and shrubs. Ricky “The poplar and gum trees were reminiscent of our family’s farm in the Free State”.

On our arrival, we made the most of the place by hiking (trekking for the New Zealanders) to the nearby cascada responsible for the name of the place. Although the trail was hard going, with steep assents up dusty grey shale slopes, there was a stark beauty to the dramatic pallid lunar landscape with its resilient cactus sentinels. Tereza “I thought I was in the Wild, Wild, West!” The lush green ferns and lichen growing behind the 20 meter high waterfall was a pleasant contrast.

The next day we set out on a 4.5 hr walk in preparation for the Machupicchu trial we planned to do in Peru. We went with Oriana, who is one of ten children (now adults) that live with their parents in Cascade de Animas! The property has been owned by the family for 200 years. To our great surprise and curiosity she asked us whether we would mind if she brought her puma (yip a puma) called Willow, along for the walk. Tereza: “I was scared, particularly since she told us Willow means “scratch” and Oriana’s legs looked as if they’d been used as Willow’s scratching pole, but Ricky was pretty cool about it.” Oriana is hand-rearing Willow, who was abandoned by her mother. She told us that wild Pumas are virtually extinct in Chile. Willow was beautiful. She played, chased and teased Oriana’s three the dogs that also came along for the walk. What a site to see, Oriana, three dogs, Dan and Natasha (a Russian couple living in Dallas that joined us) and the two of us strolling along with a puma. Unlike her dog counterparts, Willow did not walk or follow us, she did her own thing. At one point he decided to lie down between Ricky’s legs! However, most of the time he would go roaming and Oriana had to continuously call out to him so he would not get lost or go and chomp a goat or dog from the neighbouring farms or houses – charming!

The hike was again difficult, slippery, dry, shale. Tereza: “Sliding down on my bum was the norm, and grabbing big sturdy branches of trees was a way of avoiding too much damage!” But there were rewards - beautiful sun-leached greens, browns and oranges, cacti with bright flowers, orchards of fruit (including grapes, youngberries, walnuts) and a translucent stream. Best of all was view of the more lush valley below filled with eucalyptus and poplar trees suffused in the light of the setting sun and intersected by the wide rushing pale blue green ribbon of the River Maipo.

At one point we were greeted by bright blue, pink, yellow and green coloured “dream catchers” hanging from the branches of a tree. They were hung up by locals to keep away evil spirits and pay homage to their Mother Earth, Pacchamamma.

The next morning we ventured a little further into the Andes to the town of San Gabriel. On the way we passed broken-down houses that reminded us of the film Motorcycle Diaries. Then, it was back to Vitacura where Michael had arranged a braai for a couple of friends (Tony and Tim who we met at Michael and Nina’s wedding) and his neighbours. It was great catching up and reminiscing about Michael and Nina’s buddymoon of Jan 2002 where we spent a week together at Pucon in southern Chile.

As Michael was busy and Nina expecting, Heather (Michael’s mum) generously volunteered her services as a tour guide. She was a wonderful tour leader – first of all she speaks Spanish fluently (except when getting out of speeding fines) and apparently enjoys showing everyone around the town! She took us to Yerba Loca (Sanctuary of Nature) in the Andes about 45 mins from Santiago. The weather was beautiful and sunny with a chill in the air. Stark grey-blue mountains, pale green shrubbery here and there, glacial turquoise rivers transforming into rapids and little waterfalls and an awesome view of a glacier called La Paloma or El Altar (not quite sure which one). We walked around for about 3 hours and discovered cacti with bright red flowers, eagles, horses, cows and more. Just as we were rounding up a wonderful excursion, Murphy struck – Heather caught her boot on a long strand of barbed wire from an old fence that was slyly concealed under a conspiring bush. There was an initial tug to which Heather responded with a determined countervailing pull, this was followed by a sort of a hop, skip and lunge as the prehensile wire refused to relent and Heather bit the dust. For a moment we were all caught in the shock of it, as a cloud of dust enveloped Heather. Fortunately, the dusty path proved to be a cushion of sorts and Heather proved to be made of sturdy material. To add to our shock, Heather then stripped down and gave her bludgeoned knees a freezing bath in a nearby glacial stream. To settle our nerves, we all headed for a much needed Cerveza (beer) at a nearby winter ski resort, Farellones. After the Cerveza had done its work, undaunted by her ordeal, Heather repeated a prior offer to take us to see the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda’s renowned house in Isla Negra.

The next morning, we caught a bus to Providencia, a suburb with tree lined streets and beautiful old delicate buildings, to meet Heather. In general Isla Negra consists of little shantytown houses bisected by dirty streets infested with the previously mentioned stray dogs. Pablo Neruda’s house was one of the slightly more affluent houses overlooking to the sea.

In short, Pablo Neruda was a leftist poet. As a result, he is not very popular with most conservative rightwing Chileans. His poetry was very modern for his time. He, loved women, wrote about love and nature, particularly the sea. Translations of his poetry are very moving and he was undoubtedly a master word-smith, notwithstanding his more controversial involvement in politics. In 1971 he won the Nobel Prize for Literature. He died of cancer in 1973.

Tereza: “Upon arriving at Pablo’s house, I was reminded of my grandfather’s house in Madeira, particularly because it was infused with the smell of log fires.” The day was pretty miserable but the tour guide was really good. The house was next to a beach with a view of the sea. From the windows of the lounge you could see a small dilapidated brick house building which served as Pablo’s studio for many years. The entire house was a collector’s treasure trove filled with eclectic selections of artefacts, baubles, and oddities. The lounge had a number of huge wooden figureheads from yesteryears ships adorning it, bright glass piano leg stands, a big ship’s wheel in one corner, a telescope and navigation equipment and more. There were shells on the ground leading from lounge to dining room to massage feet. Although Pablo was a tall man, the doors to his house were very narrow and low! The house and his studio were filled with collections of butterflies, insects, devils, masks from China to Africa, maps of the world, carved wooden door pieces, bottles with ships in them, a wooden virgin Mary replicas from the Easter Islands, a life-size horse, paintings, bright coloured tapestries made in Isla Negra, mosaics, ship placemats and bright coloured jars of brown and orange on the sill of the window looking landwards and blue and green jars on the sill of the window facing out to sea. He loved coloured glass and said that wine tasted better if it was drunk out of a coloured glass. An undying romantic, his and his wife’s initials were carved on the cupboards in their bedroom. Tereza: “This was one of the most interesting places I have ever been too!”

Next on the itinerary was Pomaire famous for its ceramics. As it was past lunch time, we decided to try out some local dishes. A soup with chicken, rice, potato and mielie, an empanada with chicken and a chicken pie with a crust made of mielies with sugar – while wholesome, all the dishes were bland and unexciting. Tereza: “I wasn’t feeling well, having caught a cold from Nina and Michael and so I tried to fortify myself with a drink called Viana (similar to Baillie’s) which did the trick until I collapsed towards evening.”

Pomaire consists of many streets all crowded with shops offering the same pottery: dark brown in most cases with bright coloured ceramic pigs, necklaces and masks. The pottery was incredibly cheep but we didn’t have porters to follow us around the world.

Heather, thanks sooooo much for showing us around, you were an excellent tour guide and great company!

To ensure we didn’t impose too great a burden on Michael and Nina, we took another excursion to Vina del Mar and Valparisso (the beaches of Santiago – 100kms away). We climbed on a bus to Vina del Mar and found an inexpensive hostel in an old house. Vina del Mar’s waterfront consists of hotels, casino and swanky restaurants, the rest is more rustic. We discovered a little deli with great cake! There were numerous horse drawn carriages to go riding in. There were plenty of bars, clubs around the area we stayed in, even one called Legolas but Tereza was too sick for us to go out on the town.

The next day, after croissants and coffee, it was off to Valparisso to find another of Pablo Neruda’s multiple houses. Pablo Neruda explains Valparisso: “Hills of Valparisso decided to dislodge their inhabitants to let go of the houses on top to let them dangle from cliffs that are red with clay, yellow with gold thimble flowers, fleeting green with wild vegetation. But houses and people clung to the heights writhing, digging in, worrying, their hearts set on staying there, hanging there tooth and nail to each cliff.”

Despite the dramatic description, the hills surrounding Valparisso are not as steep as Clifton. It has lots of small streets, with lots of broken down places, winding streets where buses race along if on a Grand Prix circuit, friendly bus drivers who don’t speak a word of English, unsafe areas and poor people. After four busses, we managed to pop in to see Pablo’s house high above Valparisso – bright coloured walls of blue, green, pink and yellow. While as not as interesting as the one at Isla Negra it offered beautiful views over the port - a mosaic of derelict houses on the one side and more upmarket houses on the other. Valparisso a city of contrasts!

Ricky: “Having read the swashbuckling adventures of Lord Cochrane a famous British naval officer who not only fought the French but helped Brazil and Chile gain independence, it was great to see that he is revered in Valparisso with monuments and museums dedicated to him. Everyone should read Lord Cochrane’s adventures, they include special force operations against daunting odds, fantastic naval feats, great bravado and daring, internal naval political battles, a stock exchange fraud involving a false report of Napoleon’s death and jail breaks.”

After Valparisso, it was back to Santiago and for the first time we could see the beautiful Andes’ ice-capped mountains surrounding the city!

Michael, Nina and Simon thanks for your hospitality, Simon we enjoyed your bubbliness, story books and Spanish lessons. Michael and Nina congratulations again on the birth of Ian! (He arrived just after we left.)

Photos of Cascadas de Animas - Santiago