Cuzco
A big delay in my flight to Peru gave me the unexpected opportunity to sample two completely unrelated things I had wanted to try - an Outback Steakhouse (an American chain with an Aussie theme that was randomly in Quito airport) and more Ecuadorian craft beers. The flight was delayed long enough for me to try a surprisingly delicious steak and the whole brewery range - pale ale, lager, porter and stout.
The god of airports doesn't allow such fun to go unpunished however, so the compensation for my merriment was being forced to spend nine overnight hours in Jorge Chávez International in Lima. I'm not sure who decides the airport flight schedules, but I imagine whoever organizes the one for Lima is an insomniac who loves to inflict his sleepless suffering on others - so many flights there leave at ridiculous early morning hours. I landed in Lima at 9.30pm and was departing for Cuzco at 4.30am.
I had to wait until 1am before I could check my bag in, so in the end I only got 180 broken minutes of shuteye. I was in zombie mode when I emerged from the airport at Cuzco, having to use my full ignoring skills to wade through the crowd of hawkers that greeted me at the airport (the first time I had encountered this spectacle, which is common in Asia, on this continent). The sign for "Aban" was close enough for me to hop in the car and get my ride to the hostel.
The morning was spent catching up on sleep, followed by an afternoon spent relaxing and catching up on photo uploads - with a few days until my next activity, I had the time to take things slow. This was the first time in the trip where I felt fully unhurried. It helped that Cuzco was a nice chilled out place. I even found a hipster cafe doing decent coffee. I was right in my comfort zone, and loving it.
The main reason I had skipped ahead to Cuzco was to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Cuzco is the base for the trek, but it also happens to be the former capital of the Inca Empire itself, so I spent next couple of days learning all about everything Inca in the numerous museums and ruins, as well as wandering the plazas and streets dotted about the old centre. This was fast becoming one of my favourite places of the trip so far.
Some of the ruins were fascinating. Qurikancha was the most important Inca temple in the city. In pretty brutal fashion, the Dominicans, who took on the job of converting the Incas to Christianity, built a church/monastery right in top of it. In some parts the original Inca walls still form part of the church walls, making for a crazy mixed up mash of building techniques from different worlds.
Despite Cuzco being a great location, I wasn't totally enjoying myself. The five days with good company on the Galapagos trip was still fresh in my memory, and I was finding it hard to adjust to being on my own again. I was also finding it harder than expected to meet people - certainly harder than my last time travelling solo in Asia. Most people I encountered were either on a short-term holiday, or travelling in a closed group, and I was getting a little fed up of being by myself so much. Besides the experience itself, I was looking forward to the Inca Trail because it guaranteed I'd have people to talk to for a few days once again.
Of the four sets of nearby Inca ruins I visited, Saqsaywaman (pronounced "saxy waman") was the most memorable, for two reasons: it was huge and looked bloody impressive, with incredible stone masonry, and it was also where I dealt the fatal blow to my new camera. Not realising my shoulder bag was open, it slipped out and fell on its side on to hard ground from a height of about one metre. The zoom lens was stuck open, and an error message was shown. Fuck. Right before the feckin' Inca Trail. I handed it into a Cuzco repair shop more in hope than expectation. At least my phone had a decent camera, although with no zoom.
The last morning before the Inca Trail provided a social boost. I was watching Liverpool versus Everton during breakfast in the hostel bar, and an Italian lad asked if he could watch it with me. We agreed to head to the notorious Wild Rover afterwards to watch the Manchester derby. It was really nice to spend the morning and afternoon watching soccer with company, in a venue that felt familiar yet bizarre.
Of all the places to encounter an Irish pub, this was one of the strangest. Also a hostel, after struggling up the killer hill you need to sign in as a non-guest at the entrance security booth. It feels like entering a security compoind, except you walk around the back and there's a wood-panel fronted Irish pub, totally out of place. I find it amazing that I can be thousands of miles from home and see stuff like pictures of De Barras of Clonakilty up on the wall or an excerpt from the "Munster Tribune 1957". It's the highest Irish owned pub in the world apparently. You could tell it was a party hostel - when we turned up at 11.30, the pub was full of weary heads (many of them Irish) on the water, trying to work out when they were able to handle alcohol again.
I got another boost when I went to collect my camera, and miraculously, it had been fixed. A couple of buttons were still out of order, but they performed functions that could also be done via the touch screen. Nice one! Happy that I had my new toy back, I gorged down a big plate of pasta to provide some carbs for the 46km walk starting tomorrow, before joining the pre-trek briefing where I met for the first time the people I'd be spending the next four days with.
The make-up of the group surprised me. They were all from the US it seemed, every single one. They all seemed nice, and some of them had spent a bit of time in Ireland, but I wasn't looking forward to being the only odd-one out while they discussed US things. On the way out though, I met Warren, who was from Enniskillen, and also doing the trek by himself. I was relieved to have a buddy from the same part of the world as me, and retired to bed to rest up before the early 4am start the following morning. It was time to do some serious walking once again.
More pictures from Cuzco
The god of airports doesn't allow such fun to go unpunished however, so the compensation for my merriment was being forced to spend nine overnight hours in Jorge Chávez International in Lima. I'm not sure who decides the airport flight schedules, but I imagine whoever organizes the one for Lima is an insomniac who loves to inflict his sleepless suffering on others - so many flights there leave at ridiculous early morning hours. I landed in Lima at 9.30pm and was departing for Cuzco at 4.30am.
I had to wait until 1am before I could check my bag in, so in the end I only got 180 broken minutes of shuteye. I was in zombie mode when I emerged from the airport at Cuzco, having to use my full ignoring skills to wade through the crowd of hawkers that greeted me at the airport (the first time I had encountered this spectacle, which is common in Asia, on this continent). The sign for "Aban" was close enough for me to hop in the car and get my ride to the hostel.
The morning was spent catching up on sleep, followed by an afternoon spent relaxing and catching up on photo uploads - with a few days until my next activity, I had the time to take things slow. This was the first time in the trip where I felt fully unhurried. It helped that Cuzco was a nice chilled out place. I even found a hipster cafe doing decent coffee. I was right in my comfort zone, and loving it.
The main reason I had skipped ahead to Cuzco was to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Cuzco is the base for the trek, but it also happens to be the former capital of the Inca Empire itself, so I spent next couple of days learning all about everything Inca in the numerous museums and ruins, as well as wandering the plazas and streets dotted about the old centre. This was fast becoming one of my favourite places of the trip so far.
Some of the ruins were fascinating. Qurikancha was the most important Inca temple in the city. In pretty brutal fashion, the Dominicans, who took on the job of converting the Incas to Christianity, built a church/monastery right in top of it. In some parts the original Inca walls still form part of the church walls, making for a crazy mixed up mash of building techniques from different worlds.
Despite Cuzco being a great location, I wasn't totally enjoying myself. The five days with good company on the Galapagos trip was still fresh in my memory, and I was finding it hard to adjust to being on my own again. I was also finding it harder than expected to meet people - certainly harder than my last time travelling solo in Asia. Most people I encountered were either on a short-term holiday, or travelling in a closed group, and I was getting a little fed up of being by myself so much. Besides the experience itself, I was looking forward to the Inca Trail because it guaranteed I'd have people to talk to for a few days once again.
 |
| Taken with my phone, unfortunately |
Of the four sets of nearby Inca ruins I visited, Saqsaywaman (pronounced "saxy waman") was the most memorable, for two reasons: it was huge and looked bloody impressive, with incredible stone masonry, and it was also where I dealt the fatal blow to my new camera. Not realising my shoulder bag was open, it slipped out and fell on its side on to hard ground from a height of about one metre. The zoom lens was stuck open, and an error message was shown. Fuck. Right before the feckin' Inca Trail. I handed it into a Cuzco repair shop more in hope than expectation. At least my phone had a decent camera, although with no zoom.
The last morning before the Inca Trail provided a social boost. I was watching Liverpool versus Everton during breakfast in the hostel bar, and an Italian lad asked if he could watch it with me. We agreed to head to the notorious Wild Rover afterwards to watch the Manchester derby. It was really nice to spend the morning and afternoon watching soccer with company, in a venue that felt familiar yet bizarre.
Of all the places to encounter an Irish pub, this was one of the strangest. Also a hostel, after struggling up the killer hill you need to sign in as a non-guest at the entrance security booth. It feels like entering a security compoind, except you walk around the back and there's a wood-panel fronted Irish pub, totally out of place. I find it amazing that I can be thousands of miles from home and see stuff like pictures of De Barras of Clonakilty up on the wall or an excerpt from the "Munster Tribune 1957". It's the highest Irish owned pub in the world apparently. You could tell it was a party hostel - when we turned up at 11.30, the pub was full of weary heads (many of them Irish) on the water, trying to work out when they were able to handle alcohol again.
I got another boost when I went to collect my camera, and miraculously, it had been fixed. A couple of buttons were still out of order, but they performed functions that could also be done via the touch screen. Nice one! Happy that I had my new toy back, I gorged down a big plate of pasta to provide some carbs for the 46km walk starting tomorrow, before joining the pre-trek briefing where I met for the first time the people I'd be spending the next four days with.
The make-up of the group surprised me. They were all from the US it seemed, every single one. They all seemed nice, and some of them had spent a bit of time in Ireland, but I wasn't looking forward to being the only odd-one out while they discussed US things. On the way out though, I met Warren, who was from Enniskillen, and also doing the trek by himself. I was relieved to have a buddy from the same part of the world as me, and retired to bed to rest up before the early 4am start the following morning. It was time to do some serious walking once again.
More pictures from Cuzco
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