Ride or Die - The world´s most dangerous Road

We survived. More to follow...

Floating islands, Peru and Isla del Sol, Bolivia

The floating islands, Lake Titicaca, Peru (tribes retreated here, fearful of the powerful Incas)
















Isla del Sol and opposite Isla del Lune, Bolivia where according to Inca mythology the sun and moon were created, also thought to be the birthplace of the first Incas.

The lost city of the Incas

Arriving on time seems to tempt fate on this continent and it was the same for the train to Machu Pichu. According to the fifty-four minute rule if you arrive early for any journey here, you will leave at least an hour late. Of course sod’s law is in influence if you arrive dead on time because, of course, the bus, train or plane will have already left. Such as it was for the train in the rain, for more than an hour. The train was standing at the platform while we shivered in the roofless station (the plastic rain macs were just 25p) - there seems to be some kind of elasticity within the Latin American temperament. If you complain about something, quite obviously out of order, somehow or other it seems to make the situation worse. Better to develop some patience and bite the stiff upper lip.
When we arrived at Agua Calientes (there are thermal baths nearby) an hour or so later we booked into a cheap room ready for the 5am shocker the following morning (We arrived at the ruins at 6am for dawn, before the tourists arrive). Miraculously we all managed to get out of bed and were sipping coca tea to counter the breathless altitude on the way up the mountain and it´s dizzying panoramic views of the ruins. We also climbed the adjacent Huayna Pichu mountain with its lookout tower over the fabled Inca ruin, Wayna Pichu (in the photograph you will see us at the summit after a mad, hair-raising scramble up its steep slopes, perched, with Machu Pichu in the background shrouded in mist and clouds).
The three hour hike took us through the clouds, up the mountain, down the other side (I am sure this was really mountaineering) down to the majestic Temple of the Moon set in a cave, with what appeared to be a meditation chair hewn from the stone, facing out to the jungle. Just a few steps further we found another temple with alters set into its cave wall, complete with meteorite rocks. Apparently if you place both hands on the space rocks and close your eyes you can vibe with the mountain, the ancient Incas, aliens or anyone else who takes your fancy.

Nariz Del Diablo, Ecuador

Beyond the simple border crossing into Ecuador and a short stop at Ibarra, we made our way to Otavalo and supposedly the largest market on the continent. The animal market was quite an experience (Louise wanted to buy a piglet for US$15) and we also found some particularly large cabbages. I have to admit the rest was largely Andean tat, pan pipes (which made me think of Hounslow precinct’s buskers), ‘artisan’ works, and relatively overpriced alpaca ponchos, gloves, socks, hats and the like that seem to be a mainstay for the masses of middle-aged American holiday makers that are drawn to the town. We swiftly hot footed our way past the stalls to the food market where I enjoyed a delicious hog roast for lunch.

The meat market was a bit of an eyeful with various organs, hooves and slabs of flesh lying around, but I suppose it is a case of waste not want not when you live in a continent that is so obviously shafted by the evils of the global economy.
Arriving in the capital, Quito, a few days later was, after the initial romantic night time vista of the city’s twinkling lights up the mountain, a distinct disappointment.











It has to be the most underwhelming city we have come across following its high billing in what we have discovered are the largely unreliable, ill advised and badly researched ‘travel guides’. The dismal, rainy weather and city attitude rather reminded of drab, second rate London streets in winter, without all the world class cultural events, art and music we come to expect in Europe. We were left chasing our tails again as we found the derelict, abandoned and distinctly closed national gallery alongside more predictable Andean street art and more tat (yet more ‘travel guide’ advice). One consolation was that our hostel was very cheap (a recommendation from an American poet we met in Columbia) though we discovered afterwards that rooms, rather darkly, could be rented by the hour.

Ecuador did brighten eventually. We arrived in Baños, finally with some sunshine, and the town’s wonderful thermal baths set, dramatically, in a volcanic valley surrounded by a mountainous backdrop. Unfortunately, we enjoyed the best of the hot springs, Piscinas de la Virgen, a little too much and forgot to take photographs of the floodlight waterfall tumbling down the adjacent volcano at night time, literally twenty feet from the hot springs. Heaven after a year of cold ‘showers’ (quite often we have found a shower really is just a stop tap that has been plumbed a little higher than usual), followed by a plunge under an icy shower and a dip in a chilly pool. It was a strange, skin tingling sensation getting back into the hot water, which was at a perfect temperature. On leaving we both felt energised, but afterwards quickly fell asleep, exhausted. Following another day of hot baths we headed for the fabled Nariz del Diablo, the Devil’s Nose Train, described in its programme as ‘The World’s Most Difficult Railway’. Apparently hundreds died during its construction; it plunges down a mountain, then zigzags backwards and forwards down an almost sheer precipice. We joined the throng of other gringos on the roof of the train at 6.30am to arrive at the foot of the mountain, somewhat windswept, five hours later (the mountain descent itself takes about an hour). We must have travelled through every season taking in our fair share of grey clouds, then ice, blazing sunshine and finally rain on our ascent up the mountain. I was the only one cracking jokes on the way back up but I managed to garner a few forced smiles from under the sleeping bags, raincoats and whatever bits of plastic sheeting were available. The train ride down the mountain offered a stunning panorama and although we derailed on the way back (I was particularly excited by this but the batteries in the effing camera ran out, I guess I will never make a photographer) it was well worth the effort.
Following a herculean fifty two hour bus ride (over three days, to make time for our excesses in Columbia) we arrived in Cusco, Peru a few days ago, very, very tired and breathless from the altitude. We are bound for the Machu Pichu by train tomorrow (we have bucked the four day Inca Trail trek, as we run out of time, have seen plenty of miles in the jungle and it seems we might see more - including other ruins in and around the Inca Citadel and the Sacred Valley - before we head to Isla del Sol and lake Titicaca in Bolivia.