Week four is what I like to call "the week of being adventurous"...

Throughout the week, the  phrase "let's be adventurous!" was used non-stop by Andrew, Tracy and myself.  It was originally coined by Andrew and then later mocked by Tracy in her best Andrew voice, which sounded more like Booger from Nerds than Andrew. We used this phrase at any point we wanted to get someone to do something they didn't want to do. For instance:

You: "I don't want to climb that mountain"

Me: "Let's be adventurous!"

You: "alright I guess"

Now just replace 'climb that mountain' with anything you want, for instance: 'try that drink', 'rob that old lady', 'smash that ancient relic'...all are within the boundaries of the LBA phrase.

Now that you have the general theme, I'll pick up where I left off last week. Tracy and I successfully made it through our flight from Lima to Cusco, which is a city outside of Machu Picchu (the main attraction for the week).  After picking up our bags, we head outside to find our driver, who was supposed to be waiting with a sign that had Tracy's name on it.  After looking for a moment, we found a guy who had very unsuccessfully written Tracy Lau's name on his sign as "Trash Law"...which from then on, was her name according to myself and later, Andrew.  

When Trash and I finally made it to Hotel Rumi Punku, a really beautiful and well maintained hotel, we find Andrew checking his email (or browsing porn...I can't be certain).   We catch up with him a bit while I drank a little coca de matte, which is a tea that is supposed to help you acclimate to the high altitude (at over 2 miles up, Cusco is the highest I've ever been on land).  The tea didn't seem to help though, I was definitely not feeling well; I really want to say that it was altitude sickness because it makes for a better story, but more than likely, the culprit was just a hangover and general lack of sleep. No problem, I can get over this, Andrew suggested that the best idea to cure my headache would be to go horseback riding on top of a mountain...hmmm...prolly not, but I "got got" with the LBA phrase and that was the end of that discussion. So we make our way first for some lunch at a place suggested by our hotel manager that unfortunately had more flies dining on the mediocre food than people. Gordon Ramsey would not be pleased.

After lunch we make it to the horses which looked more like donkeys and were half as smart.   On top of this, the sky started to turn black and the owner was telling me I needed a poncho plastico to cover up my thin, short-sleeved t-shirt. No problema señor I say, I have an emergency poncho that I won at a Yelp event two years ago.   So I strap that baby on and with a kick of my boots, the horse started to begrudgingly saunter towards some of his buddies just a little bit up the trail so he could get some food.  I mean he did just go on a long walk of 0 miles after all, so I get why he would want some grub.   At about this time it starts to rain and even hail a bit and it was getting cold...really cold. Unfortunately for me the 'emergency' adjective when applied to 'poncho' really just means 'shitty' or possibly 'useless'; I have no idea what emergency you might use this in, but you most certainly would die in it.   As we turn the corner, the wind literally blows out the back side of the part of the poncho that covers the head (i.e. the most critical part) and I'm left with a hole in the back that, had I been an owl, would find useful, but since I'm not, I used it only to look back at Tracy and Andrew to express my feelings about this horseback riding experience. After about 15 more minutes of getting drenched, losing feelings in my fingers, and getting my idiotic horse to walk in a straight line instead of just getting food wherever he could find it, I was ready to call it. The guide (who with his poncho looked exactly like an ewok) tried to rearrange my poncho in a hilarious but pointless attempt to find me shelter in the shreds of plastic that I now adorned.   For me, this adventurous adventure was over, and so I told him "no mas!" and "yo muy frio!" which seemed to get the point across to him but not to the horses who turned around but went on the worst route possible to get back.

We eventually made it back to the hotel where we waited out the rain under all of the covers the hotel had to offer. For dinner, we hit up a place called Jack's, which is completely for tourists but damn, the food was good so I could of cared less. On the second day Andrew headed back to the top of the mountain to finish his horseback ride while Tracy and I decided to avoid any possible repeat of the previous day and just went exploring the town of Cusco. The town really doesn't have a lot to offer besides a ton of touristy shops, so I was kind of disappointed, especially since people had told me that it was a really interesting town.  Tracy and I decided to hit up a complex that was a 3-for-1 (a threefer) catholic church, Inca ruin and modern art museum. The first two were only kind of interesting but the modern art museum had a lot of really good pieces. What was bizarre about it though was that all of the artwork was open to the elements on the sides so if there was a hard rain, they would probably get wet. Also, there was no security when they apparently really needed it since there were several people grabbing the sculptures and touching the paintings...I spent a lot of time flinching.  Afterwards we met up with Andrew who lucked out and had perfect weather for his ride (I guess Tracy and I have bad luck with any form of transportation).

Next, it was time to get closer to Machu Picchu, so the three of us all hopped in a car we had arranged to take us to a quaint little village called Ollatantambo (O-Town) where we were staying at a place that I dread the most: a hostel. This one in particular was named Hostal Sauce which sounded even more disgusting than the other hostels I had stayed in before (note that I wasn't always like this; it was only after staying at a bunch of terrible hostels in Europe that I grew a hostelphobia). When we got there however, the place was really nice and confirmed Dan the Canadian's statement that hostels in South America are way nicer than everywhere else in the world.   Happy with our accommodation situation, we head out to the town and explored a bit.   I actually really liked this town; it was tiny but didn't seem to be completely touristy (even though that absolutely had to be their main source of income) and it was surrounded by mountains and Inca ruins. We got some dinner at Heart Cafe which was pretty terrible and went to bed early to get ready for our big day at Machu Picchu the next day.

We woke up at 5:00 am to catch our Perurail train out to the ancient site. We were hoping to get there early enough to make it onto Huinu Picchu which is a mountain next to the ruins that you can climb but that only allows 400 people a day to pass through. We had heard that a lot of backpackers got there really early in the morning and usually you needed to be there by 7am if you wanted to climb the thing. We were banking on the fact that it was the low season and thought if we made it there by 8:00, we would still make the cut. The train ride was actually really nice and went past a winding and raging river as well as through mountains and beautiful scenery. There was a reason why this was the low season though, and unfortunately outside it was raining...a lot. Luckily I purchased a real non-emergency (read: non-shitty) poncho the day before in anticipation for this and I put it on as we searched for the bus to take us to Machu Picchu.  After the bus ride, we got sidelined by a tour guide at the entrance to the site who offered to give us a tour in English.  Since we were in a rush to get to Huinu Picchu before 397 others, we had no time for a tour until after we finished hiking that mountain. To our dismay he told us that 400 people had most likely already been admitted and there was no way we would get in at this late of an hour. To confirm this he talked to a guy taking tickets to ask to see if there were any spots left on the mountain and he responded with a very certain "no".  So sadly, we opted for the tour with him, who was named Felix and looked to be of Inca origin adding to the authenticity.   He took us through various interesting sites such as the sun dial, earth shrine and even the royal bathroom. We finished our tour and said goodbye to Felix and headed over to Huinu Picchu just to see what the entrance looked like and when we arrived we see people going in. Is it possible that we were duped by good ole, lovable Felix?

So we try our luck and walked through the gate and found that we were merely numbers 156-158 to make it on to the mountain...oh Felix, how could you?  So, we start the journey up the mountain which ended up being a climb up a set of stairs that were basically a set of either jagged rocks that had water coming down them, or stone cut into the size perfect for tiny Inca warrior feet, which were probably size three when they went to Inca Footlocker.  To the one side of the stairs was sudden death from a 5,000 foot free-fall to the mountain base and on the other side was liquid hot magma and blood-thirsty tigers...no wait, no, just a mountain side...but still, scary shit.  When we finally made it to the top, it was hard to see the ancient site due to all of the cloud cover, however the fact that we made it to the peak without dying made the climb completely worth it.  After taking a few pictures, we headed back to the ruins and then decided to go exploring a little more, including a trip out to the Inca bridge which ended up being slightly lame but again worth the adventure.  We also thought about climbing another mountain but after about 10 minutes of that climb our legs started screaming "WTF ARE YOU DOING!!?? NOT AGAIN!" so we decided to just head down to Aguas Calientes to check out the city at the base of the mountain.  While I'm glad we didn't climb the second mountain, I wish I didn't have to spend any time in Aguas Calientes which is basically a crummy tourist trap of a town that should be avoided at all costs.

We killed some time there until it was time to head to the train station to catch our train back to O-Town but when we get to the station, our train as well as the train before us had been delayed due to landslides (we found out that two weeks later, people were being air-lifted out because the landslides overtook the railway).  On the train Andrew and I sat across from an Irish couple as well as an Australian who had just finished a four day Inca trail trip and who had been and were currently drinking heavily (to the dismay of everyone on the train but us who got to hear all of their hilarious stories).  We talked mainly about, what else, but their bowel movements (or lack-there-of) during their trip and I spent most of the time laughing my ass off as they described in great detail the various atrocities to their digestive systems they endured during their adventure.  We also heard the story of the Aussie's friend who he was supposed to be traveling with, but who had previous to the Inca trail gotten in a near fatal bike accident, slept on a bottom bunk as the drunk guy on the top bunk wet the beds (plural) and then later got pneumonia which was apparently the nail in the coffin for his trip.  Suddenly my sinus infection story sounded incredibly lame.  When we got back to O-Town, we said good-bye to our new friends and made our way back to Hostal Sauce for the night.

The next day we explored O-Town a little more including the Inca ruins that surrounded the town.  We opted this time to make up our own stories of the various sites instead of asking a tour guide who might betray us like Felix.  We took turns describing the various rooms and corridors and what they were most likely used for during ancient times.  You probably didn't know this, but these Inca ruins apparently included night clubs, romp rooms and sun bathing verandas.  At the end of our exploration, we decided that we should reward ourselves with some Incabucks coffee which is exactly what you think it is but way better than the Seattle mega-chain it was ripping off.  

We then climbed some more ruins until we were thirsty again, however this time I wish I could go back in time and warn Past Jason about what former me was about to consume as it would be a huge mistake.  What we drank was basically a version of cheecha (the corn drink I had in Lima) that was alcoholic since it had been fermented.  To find cheecha, you only have to find a rojo bandera (red flag) that was less flag, more red garbage bag on a stick sticking on the side of someone's house.  The place we eventually went into was supposed to be the best according to some random guy on the street, but if this was the best place, I'd hate to see the worst.  This place was basically a room that at one end had a TV on a rollie cart (a la middle school), at the other was a lady sitting at a long table and throughout were tons of flies probably drunk off cheecha.  Andrew nervously ordered us all uno cheecha to which the lady got up, uncovered a large bucket from the blanket that was on top and ladled us out some yellow, frothy hell that we were supposed to be put in our bodies.  Let's be adventurous indeed.  The drink tasted like an unkempt pig farm mixed with a pile of sawdust previously used to sop up vomit in an elementary school bathroom.  We all took two sips before we all decided to end it and graciously bowed out back into the streets so we could quickly go find something else to drink and hopefully wash away the filth that we just drank.  We settled on some Cusquena Negra beer as well as some rum and Inca Cola (our own creation) which we took back to our hostel where we waited for our driver who was going to take us back to Cusco.

While there, we invited the hostel manager and her boyfriend to play some drinking games with us which they not only did, but also taught us their own game which goes a little something like this:

1. Assign everyone playing a number (In Spanish)
2. Take a quick drink to celebrate your new number
3. Someone starts by saying the following statement "# limon(es), media limon, # limon(es) where the first # stands for your own number and the second # stands for another player's number who you are passing the phrase to.  For example, if you are number 3 and want to pass it to number 1, you would say "tres limones, media limon, uno limon" who would then have to say "uno limon, media limon..." and so on.
4. Drink when you mess up (you will)
5. If it starts to get too easy, change out limon (pronounced lee-moan) with melon (pronounced may-loan)
6. Drink when you mess up some more (you absolutely will)

We played their game until our cabbie arrived who drove us through the scenic route home to Cusco including a stop to see a couple places where they kept guinea pigs, a local delicacy, who seemed to be enjoying their little mud huts and tiny bridges and who were seemingly unaware of their soon-to-be, frying pan demise.  We also picked up some more Cusquena beer which our cabbie allowed us to drink in the car on our way back to the Rumi Punku in Cusco.  When we arrived, we ended up grabbing some dinner at a local restaurant that we could only stay at for so long because Tracy and I were feeling the cheecha which the hostel manager nicknamed "the stomach mover" and which was one of the reasons why Tracy labeled our group as the Poo Crew.  Gross.

Although Andrew and his iron stomach tried to keep the party going with some rum he purchased, I was too busy being curled up in my bed holding my stomach as if an alien were going to pop out.  Looking over at Tracy, I knew she wasn't doing much better.

The next morning, I woke to a glass of rum at my night stand that seemed sad I couldn't drink it the night before, but I was soon reminded why as the cheecha was still working its voodoo devilry on my guts.  No time to deal with it, because Tracy and I had to say goodbye to Andrew who was heading to the Galapagos while the two of us were heading back to Lima for one last night in South America.  Before our flight we stopped by the Inca museum in Cusco which had a lot of interesting artifacts but were unfortunately presented as if a group of middle schoolers were putting on a book fair and these were their dioramas.  Our flight back went smoothly and we eventually made it back to the Doubletree.  We didn't stay there long since we needed to make the most of the day and so we headed out to partake in some happy hours and a little last minute shopping for friends and family.  We did pretty well with our bartering skills but even better at our drinking pisco sour skills which got a little out of hand towards the end of the night.  I say this because I decided to order, for my last meal of the night, cuy, which was the spanish term for a member of our mini mud hut dwelling friends: a guinea pig. Gross.

The next morning, I said goodbye to Trash Law who somehow made it to her 7am flight back to New York while I got to sleep in a little longer and get on my plane to take me to my final destination: El Salvador.  While this isn't officially the end of the week, I've decided to split the blog entry here, since it makes the most sense.  Stay tuned for the final week which was considerably less adventurous but 100% more relaxing.

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