Peru Pt. 2 - Huacachina & Nazca

My first bus ride of the trip was from Lima to Nazca. I’m not one for buses, but as far as they go, this one was pretty tame. The touring buses in South America are vastly different from those in the United States. For starters, they’re almost all double deckers. The top floor is much like a standard Greyhound bus, but the bottom floor has seats that are about the size of a first class airplane seat and recline to 160 degrees. You also get meals, but they’re on par with, if not worse than, airline food.

We sat up front and got a birds eye view of how the bus interacts with traffic. Drivers in Lima, and most of Peru, are batshit crazy. There are almost no rules to the road. When you come to an intersection, you don’t stop. You honk to let cross traffic know you’re coming. There are also no lanes, so streets get crammed with four or five cars wide. It’s bizarrely third world in a country that has many first world amenities.

Except for the toilets. Like many countries in South America, the plumbing is old and weak. Therefore, when you wipe your ass, you don’t flush it down the toilet…you throw it in the garbage.

Right. Anyways.

We arrived in Huacachina in the evening. There isn’t a whole lot to do in this little community, so we went to bed. The next day was pretty much more of the same. Andrew and I hung at the pool for much of the day. There’s really only one reason you come to Huacachina. Sandboarding.

Around 430pm, as the sun is on its way down to the horizon, all the tourists hop into a dune buggy and go roaring up into the dunes.  If you’ve never been, it’s an absolute must. It’s highly exhilarating. You go up, down and practically sideways, to the point that you think you’re gonna go tumbling over. They take you up to a series of progressively larger dunes, so you can board down. It had been a good nine years since I’d gotten on a snowboard, and let’s just say it’s not like riding a bicycle.

The first dune I fell on my ass a good ten times. The second dune I made sure I got down the entire dune in one try, so I went face first. And the final dune I made another attempt at descending legitimately. Well, I did a little better than the first time, but I still ass-planted a few times. None of it mattered. I was having a lot of fun.

I had already booked an early morning bus ride to Nazca the next day, so I was off to bed early. However, around 4am, a series of pops went off. I tried to put it behind me and go back to sleep, however after another five or ten minutes had passed, another few pops could be heard. Again I was up and again I tried to put it behind me. A few minutes later a man was in the courtyard clapping his hands. This time, both Andrew and I were up. Something was definitely amiss.

Andrew asked “did you hear the gunshots?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

More clapping could be heard in the courtyard. Finally someone walked out of one of the bungalows.

“You speak Spanish?” the clapping man said.

And then it went silent. I lied back down; eyes wide open, waiting for some sort of resolution. But there was nothing. A good ten minutes passed with nary a peep from the outside world. My eyes closed and the next thing I remember was sunlight peeking through the window. I guess I’ll never know what went on that night.

My bus the next morning was on time. However it arrived 45 minutes later than scheduled. Figures.

I high tailed it to the airport, where the man from the touring company was awaiting me.

“Matthew Porter?” he said as I stepped out of the cab.

Fifteen minutes later I was climbing into the back of one of those rinky dink six seater prop planes. And when I say six seater, I mean only six. Any more and that plane wasn’t taking off.

The actual Nazca lines were pretty cool. Hundreds of years ago, or so they think, the Nazca tribes put these figures into the earth where they would cultivate. No one really knows how or why they’re there. Regardless, it’s pretty impressive to see these shapes from up in the sky.

But, let’s face it, the best part is going up in the sky in a tiny little tin can. We would get near one figure then bank hard to the right around it, then bank hard left so the people on the other side of the plane could see it. Occasionally we’d hit a little turbulence and drop a few feet. It was a pretty wild ride.

The rest of my day was filled with a whole lot of nothing. Nazca is a very small town with little else to do than see the lines. So I sat down in the town square and wrote. At one point, I was approached by a young local girl. She spoke very little English, but persistently tried to communicate with me. After about twenty minutes, I finally realized she was studying English at a local university and wanted some help. So for the next hour or two we communicated by pantomiming, writing in her notebook, and using her English handouts. We covered tenses, sentence construction, and pronunciation. For someone who speaks English fluently, it’s not exactly easy to teach someone who speaks a different language. English has very few rules that can’t be broken. Hell, I don’t even understand how it works. I more or less know what I’m doing because I’ve been using it my entire life.

Peru Pt. 1 - Lima (Pictures)

Peru Pt. 1 - Lima

For the most part, every hostel I’ve stayed in has been fairly nice. My layover in Cartagena, however, was not. Having spent two days in Santa Marta, I had to get back to Cartagena for my early morning flight the next day. I found a cheap hostel and booked it for just a night. What a mistake.

The hostel’s atmosphere was cool and most people were American. However, a 12 person dorm room had barely enough floor space for beds and baggage. You literally had to climb over other people’s backpacks to get into bed. When I awoke at 530am, there were 13 people in this room. Someone had pulled out a mattress and was sleeping in the middle of the floor. It was hard not to step on him as I climbed out of the room.

I stepped into the reception area to find all the lights off, no one awake and the gate to the front door padlocked. My first thought:

            “How the hell am I going to get out of here?”

My second thought:

            “If there’s a fire, we’re all fucked.”

I looked around to find another group of five or six people asleep on the floor of the common area. After about five minutes of searching to find a way out, the hostel receptionist woke up and came out of the common area. She unlocked the door, called me a cab and I was finally on my way. If there’s one good thing about this whole adventure, it’s that getting up at 530am allows you to watch the sunrise over the city. Awesome.

One flight to Bogota, one flight to Lima and my passport was stamped yet again. But I’m just going to be brutally honest about Lima here. It sucks.

From the cab ride to the hostel in Miraflores (the nicer part of town), I had made my decision: I wasn’t gonna waste more than a day here.

At the hostel I met Andrew, another American, who had just arrived and was also headed south in Peru. So, we did what any sensible person who’s travelling alone does. We started travelling together.

My one full day in Peru consisted of really only two things: The catacombs at the Franciscan church and Larcomar. After breakfast, Andrew and I hopped on the Metropolitano (aka. The bus) and took the 45 minute ride to downtown. This is where we quickly realized how much this was just another dirty South American city. We wandered around the main square where the capitol building is and saw the changing of the guard (which wasn’t nearly as exciting as it sounds). The square was bustling with people and there were even performers, as the city was setting up for a big anniversary celebration that evening. What’s the anniversary? 477 years…

The Franciscan church and catacombs were actually kind of cool. The building had been there for nearly 500 years and some parts were even dated as such. The whole place was a very serene setting in such an insane city, but the most interesting part was the catacombs. I’d never seen skeletons. Now I’ve seen a good hundred.

Andrew and I had lunch at a nearby tavern that’s famous for their Pisco Sour, which is the big Peruvian drink. Pisco is a liquor made from grapes, which is then mixed with sour mix and raw egg. It’s nothing special. We kept wandering around downtown, including Chinatown, and bussed back to Miraflores.

The next event we did was walk down to Larcomar around 630pm to watch the sunset and wander the shops. For those unfamiliar with Lima, the city is built along a bluff that overlooks the ocean. Larcomar is an outdoor shopping mall that’s built into the bluff. From the streets, you walk up to it then down inside. It’s a pretty cool design, but it’s just another westernized mall.

We went back to the hostel for dinner, then hung out for a little bit before heading back to Larcomar to go clubbing. South American girls have a much better knack for dancing than the American style of grinding. Whatever is bred into their culture allows for girls to have no qualms about taking lead. They’re always on a 3 step beat, rather than the back and forth two step that is more common in America. This makes for an some odd missteps at times when dancing.

The next day, Andrew and I were off to the little desert oasis of Huacachina.

Colombia Pt. 2 - Cartagena & Santa Marta (Pictures)

Colombia Pt. 2 - Cartagena & Santa Marta

My day started at 8000 feet and ended at sea level. I flew from Bogota up to the Caribbean coast, specifically, Cartagena. I knew to expect warm weather, but was shocked to realize how humid it really was. The temperature wasn’t very hot but with humidity at 90%, it didn’t matter. Within fifteen minutes of walking around I was drenched with sweat.

Cartagena was founded around 500 years ago as a Spanish colonial port city. Currently, it’s more or less three cities rolled in one. There’s the old colonial section that is surrounded by stone fortress walls, the new high rise section where all the Colombians come for holiday, and naturally, the ghetto. I stayed in the old town and didn’t really venture out much further. The new part of town reminds me too much of Miami; a plethora of modern hotels and stores.

The old town is full of charm. You first notice how all the buildings look like you would assume they did 500 years ago. It isn’t long, though, that you set your sights on the people instead. The streets are littered with people trying to sell you anything and everything. On one corner, there’s and old woman trying to sell you her homemade dish. Around the next corner there’s four people with carts of fruit or empanadas. Someone then comes up to you with a tray of cigarettes, gum and candy. And if you say no, they then ask if you want weed instead. And lastly, there’s the guys trying to push coke. They all speak English and say the exact same phrase to every passing Gringo:

“Hey, my friend, welcome! Where you from?”

I must have heard this phrase uttered by at least ten people daily. At first you answer, thinking they’re just friendly. But before long you begin to ignore them.

My first afternoon was spent just wandering the old crooked streets. I didn’t even bother with museums or anything like that. The city in and of it self is fascinating enough. And then there’s the sunset.

Along the western edge of town, you can walk up to the top of the wall that surrounds the city and borders the ocean. At the top is a café where everyone and their mother go to watch the sunset. You can buy a beer from the café for $7 or just buy one from any of the guys with a pushcart for $2 (yes, you can buy beer from a street vendor). I made the mistake of buying from the café the first night. That all aside, watching the sun set over the Caribbean is the highlight of this city. It’s spectacular.

That night, one of the hostels was having a rooftop party. I had met these three people from England that were travelling together and tagged along with them. The main floor inside was absolutely crammed with backpackers and it was impossible to talk over the live reggae band, who were actually pretty good. But, there wasn’t really a dance floor and it was really hot. So we spent 30 minutes waiting in line to get up to the roof. The wait was definitely worth it. The heat had subsided and there was a nice cool breeze blowing. It wasn’t packed like downstairs and you could see the entire city.

On my way back, the streets were empty and the city was quiet. The only living thing I passed was a lone stray dog coming towards me. You know that dance that people do when they’re walking towards one another and can’t decide who’s going right and who’s going left? Well, I did that with a dog. It’s odd to think about, but in South America, stray dogs are everywhere and they’re often treated as just another human. I’ve not seen one dog on leash. I’ve also not seen any dog attack a human. It makes you wonder whether our western form of domestication has just bred bad behavior amongst our animals.

My second day in Cartagena was spent doing almost exactly the same thing as my first day. As much as I’d like to say I did something amazing, I didn’t. I wandered the town taking pictures and watched the sunset. But it didn’t matter, because that’s all I needed to do in order to be satisfied with my time.

The next day was a travel day to Santa Marta. The shuttle ride took up most of my afternoon, so I didn’t really get to do anything special. However this is where I got to see the poor side of Colombia. There were a number of little roadside towns with shacks made of anything from old wood to tin to even garbage. And when the driver stops to pick up people or comes to a toll, there’s always one or two guys coming up to the van trying to sell you something. Even weirder, though, at one checkpoint, there were a number of locals dressed in Halloween costumes dancing in the street at the passing cars. I’ve never seen anything like it and I still don’t understand why they were doing it.

Santa Marta was a bit of a let down of a city for me. For Colombians it’s a cheaper resort town than Cartagena. For backpackers it’s a hub for going on multiple day hikes, like the Lost City trek. The beach itself wasn’t that spectacular. Especially since the shipping port and the main beach are one in the same and there’s a giant tanker anchored right by where people are swimming. Sadly, the town isn’t much better. The main street is filled with street vendors trying to sell all sorts of cheap knock-off garbage. This is where you get your fake Nikes, fake Rolexes, and fake Cell phones. Oh, and just about every vendor is selling crappy tv remotes. I don’t know why Colombians need crappy tv remotes, but they definitely have a surplus of them.

Basically, I saw everything in Santa Marta I needed to by noon. So what did I do? I went back to the hostel and sat on the roof and baked for the entire afternoon. Should I have tried to do something touristy instead? Probably. But, was it worth it? Absolutely. Instead of touristy garbage in a cheap Miami knock off, I hung out with some really cool people at a very cool hostel.

That night I sat at the hostel bar with another American watching football. This slowly transitioned into drinking beers and playing music on the rooftop with the hostel staff.

I won’t bore anyone with details about the next two days, because they’re both travel days. From Santa Marta, I went back to Cartagena for the evening. I got a cheap hostel and woke up super early to catch a flight back to Bogota. I spent a few hours in the airport, then it was off to Lima.

Colombia Pt. 1 - Bogota (Pictures)

Bogota

Monserrate

Graffiti

Tejo

Gold Museum