T minus zero finally arrives, and I am ready. Just a few hours of work left, and then I am off to the airport. There are 16 ounces of beer chilling in the tap at the airport bar, ready to be set free.
Then the text from Delta arrives: "Your flight to Miami is now departing at 9:20pm." I quickly do the math; that gave us about an hour layover before our flight to Lima. Meaning: if they delayed it further we were F*CKED.
Naturally, I looked into other options. Delta had a whole portal set up ... "Easily switch your flight if you've been screwed over by us." — nice!
I scrolled through the options and clicked on an earlier flight out of JFK to see the details. Pinwheel. "Your flight has been successfully changed." WhAaAaAt. I wanted to see options. OPTIONS. Not change my flight. Quickly click back through. Oh, there it is. 7:50pm flight. Click. Pinwheel. "Your flight has been successfully changed to 7:50pm on April 15.
That's tomorrow.
Panic.
Call them? Yeah, I'll call Delta and sort it out. 90 minute wait. No problem. There's a chat! Enter Cynthia.
Hey, Cynthia, pal, can you get me back on my original flight, I've been a bit daft and accidentally got myself on the wrong flight.
"No longer available."
Yeah, but, you see, your system ...
"Correct; I'm in the system, and that flight is no longer AVAILABLE."
Lots of chatting. "Wait." I wait. I check in on her. I APOLOGIZE ...
She leaves the chat. Her job is "customer service", and she just left the chat.
Enter Jonny. Now Jonny couldn't spell, BUT Jonny came through. I was worried for a bit there though.
"I have a flight for you; it's your only option if you want to leave today. Can you get on this 5:15pm flight?"
Look at the time; 3pm. I usually give myself an hour and a half to get to JFK; I haven't packed, or finished work, or gotten the library books I wanted. If I arrive a day late, everything is ruined.
Okay, Jonny, I'm in.
Called Julia to let her know that I would see her in Peru, and then scrambled.
Now, on a good day, it takes about an hour and fifteen minutes to get to JFK from my apartment via train, so I immediately checked Uber: hour and a half, and likely to be longer as rush hour was hitting. Off to the train!
I finished work, showered, packed, and was out the door by 3:15pm.
10 minute wait for the train I need ... no problem, I'm still great on time. Switch trains after a couple of stops.
In my eagerness, I switched to the wrong train.
Yup.
Now, it was going the right way, but by the time I realized it was the wrong train, I had to get off at the next stop to be able to switch to the correct train without leaving the subway station.
Switch.
Somehow I make it to JFK by 4:20pm. Anddd there are 50+ people at the Delta check-in counter (impossible to check-in online these days with COVID). I wander over to the only Delta customer service counter that is available and am turned away (quite rudely) because it is for domestic flights only. The international customer service was closed.
I head back to the long-ass queue, looking to my right as I'm in the queue to enter the queue. There's a check-in officer just hanging over the divider, not looking too busy.
I approached him and told him I would miss my flight if I waited in the line. He asked me when my flight was. I told him.
"Check-in closed six minutes ago."
"But can you just try???"
"No bags?"
"Noway."
"Passport?"
Two minutes later I was headed toward security.
Thanks to TSA pre-check, I quickly made my way to my gate, only to find out that it was delayed further, and that I would have time for a tall gin and tonic. Not mad. If ever there was a time ...
We boarded not too long after and quickly backed away from the gate.
Then we sat on the tarmac.
The pilot told us that he was going to be honest with us. Which, in theory, is admirable.
"So I have no idea when we'll be moving. Settle in."
Okkk. So YOU also don't know. NOT comforting.
Then came the rain.
"So there's some weather, which is why we're not moving."
Right ... and we can also see the rain. Thanks for that.
An hour later the pilot's voice came over the intercom, and it sounded like he said we would be moving soon; people started cheering.
The flight attendant's voice came over the speaker
"The pilot said 'it looks like the rain is letting up over the city.' He has no information; he was just making an observation."
Wow; thanks again, CAPTAIN.
We then taxied on the tarmac for another hour.
By the time we took off at 8pm, I was going to have an hour-long layover. I was originally going to have four. And I was originally going to buy dinner the second I landed in Atlanta.
And what do you think was the absolutely only thing open in the Atlanta airport?
Yup. And they didn't even have BBQ sauce.
MEANWHILE. Julia got on her flight to Miami just fine, but it ended up being so delayed that she missed the connection for Peru.
I landed in Peru at 5am, on Julia's solo trip, solo.
I then went forward with the plan for our day in Lima: Leave Luggage.
I was met with this sign:
Roughly translated: CLOSED.
I found some site where you could leave your luggage at random places throughout Lima, so off I went to drop off my luggage at a random place in Lima!
Before my flight departed Atlanta, I had decided that I would book a tour if I was going to embark on this adventure alone: entire Mi Bike Lima.
After a coffee and a stroll as Lima yawned awake, I headed to my well-researched bike tour with my trusty guide Nicholas.
The tour consisted of Nicholas, me, a man I only know as "Michigan," and a father and son that I only know as "father and son."
To put it simply, there were some weird dynamics on this tour. Nicholas had a crush on me. Michigan kept trying to talk about what a good biker he was and how he does triathlons, but to again, put it simply, he did not present as if those things were true statements. And son had to keep asking Nicholas to repeat himself in Spanish for father because Nicholas just kept turning and talking to me in English and then not repeating himself in Spanish even though that is his first language.
Why did Nicholas have a crush on me? Couldn't tell ya. I could barely string a sentence together in English after having two full glasses of red wine on my flight and getting three hours of sleep.
Nicholas would turn the wrong way down one-way streets, not look behind him, and make three turns, before realizing that we had lost father at the first turn. At red lights, he would turn around and talk to me, and not even face forward until people started ringing their bells and biking past him because the light was green. When he wanted someone to get out of his way, he would yell back to Michigan to ring his bell so people would know that five people were barreling down the bike lane.
I learned a little, saw a lot, and wouldn't have had it any other way. Photos below.
Julia arrived !!! and we met up for a pisco sour, a little walk around Plaza De Armas, and a smoothie, which through shit Spanish on our part, we asked to be lukewarm ... yum.
We left Lima armed with all of our bags, sunburn, and the knowledge that Good Friday is the major holiday in Peru, not Easter (hence why we guzzled warm smoothies instead of sitting down to eat at a restaurant because every single Peruvian had left their hometown to come to Plaza De Armas in Lima).
As if Lima airport hadn't offered up enough disappointments already, upon arrival we had what can only be described as pisco mixed with stale ginger ale (not entirely sure what we actually ordered).
Time for Cusco.
I climbed three steps to get into the hostel in Cusco; I was out of breath. Oh. So this is why they tell you to spend a couple of days in Cusco to get acclimated to the altitude before heading out on treks in the Andes.
Other ways to help prevent altitude sickness: don't drink alcohol, don't smoke, sleep a lot, and drink coca tea. Let's just say only one of those really resonated with me.
Julia on the other hand, was quite the rule-follower our first night—yes, I've only made it to the first night—imbibing in mocktails while I sipped on beer as we looked over the Plaza De Armas in Cusco (yeah I think they have those in like every city in Peru?). It should be noted that on this night, we also ate alpaca, and damn was it delicious.
Back to the hostel where I had a beer, and Julia did not, and I was still a bit taken aback that she was taking the recommendations so seriously.
The plan had been to go to Rainbow Mountain at 9am the next morning, but the tour operator had messaged me right when we landed in Cusco saying that Rainbow Mountain was closed, but it was OK!!! because we were now being offered a private tour to another rainbow mountain, Palcoyo, but it was farther away, so we would need to leave at 7am.
Some research led us to the truth—and by research I absolutely mean asking around at the hostel party that we were at—Rainbow Mountain had been closed for weeks because the locals could not figure out how to share the profits. It's obviously much more complicated than that. HMU if you care and want to know more.
Private tour instead of sitting in the back of a 15-passenger van as it winds through the Andes? Sign us up!
All of that to say, Julia did the responsible thing and went to bed at midnight since we had to wake up at 6am.
"I'm right behind you! Hour tops."
The famous last words of someone who is having way too much fun on their first night on vacation.
At 3am, I reluctantly left my new friends from the hostel behind, and hit the hay, not at all dreading the 6am alarm that was soon to sound in my ear.
And guess who was out of bed first? YEP. That was me. The experiment was now in full swing to see who Miss Elevation wanted to f*ck up the most as we headed to 4700 meters.
As we left the hostel, we realized we were wearing the same thing, and both being too tired to do anything about it, climbed into our awaiting car with a shrug.
Enter Mad Max: our driver—who does this drive every day—and looks at all speed limits, red lights, and sides of the road as if they are Google search suggestions. Had I used the "I can sleep in the car!" excuse to stay out late? Absolutely. Was this possible while we raced for our lives from Immortan Joe (the antagonist in Mad Max)? Not quite.
We had to walk about five minutes to the trailhead, and let me tell you, I felt it. BEFORE WE STARTED the hike, I sounded like Darth Vader taking his last breath. As we ascended, my heart was beating inside of my head as if the bass was on full blast at a gay circuit party. In case these similes haven't made things clear to you, let me spell it out: I was experiencing a somewhat mild case of altitude sickness.
But do you know what made me feel a helluva lot better? Julia had the same symptoms, AKA the results of the experiment were in, and there was no way to avoid the effect that 4700 meters tends to have on your body.
Our guide was awesome. She had this sly way of saying "let's take a picture here" whenever she heard (or felt) our heavy breathing, so that we could pause, catch 27 breaths, and take a photo. She also offhandedly mentioned that she had oxygen in her backpack should we need it. I am happy to report, that we did not.
Below are some photos of our Palcoyo experience.
We got back in time for a coffee and a stroll before meeting up with some friends from the hostel—Dan and Emmanuel—for, you guessed it, guinea pig!
After seeing the seemingly delightful option of the rodent—yes that’s the category guinea pigs fall under—simmering in the open wood-burn stove, we were all in, and settled in with drinks and apps for the hour-long wait for our sizzling friend who—now I could be wrong about this, but I want to say—we named Fluffy?
I want to be able to report back that it was surprisingly savory, tantalizingly tasty, worth the wait … but for me? No. I picked at the leg that I had placed on my plate a bit, but left most of the meat to the rest who were singing the praises of our friend, Fluffy.
*Clarification: No more tequila shots.
**And just so we’re clear: No more well tequila shots.
Now for the revelatory conversation. Julia got into a chat with this gal Drew who said that because of strikes and road closures, they had gotten an email saying they were leaving for their Inca trail trek at 8pm the next night, instead of at 4am in two days.
“Woah! That’s crazy. So glad that’s not us!”
“Should I check my email though?”
“Oh.”
As it turns out, ANYONE that wanted to do ANYTHING within the realm of Cusco had to get out before these strikes were under way. And according to the email I was staring at, that included us. (Again, to not bore people about the political state of Peru, HMU or GOOGLE the strikes in Peru to delve more into why this happened.)
After what can barely be called “a night of sleep”, I arose to find Julia on the balcony, magazine in hand, ready for our (much shorter now) day.
To the walking tour (that we booked twenty minutes before the start time)! We learned a lot, bribed a hotel front desk worker for the bathroom, and realized that Julia still knows how to flirt it up with any tour guide that crosses her path. Then lunch at Cicciolina; thanks, guidebook!
A tour of the main cathedral at Plaza De Armas (where Julia and I confirmed that we don’t care so much for the style—Renaissance style, I think?), a beer on a balcony on the Plaza (duh), and then on to orientation for our trek.
At this orientation we met our trek mates: Jardi, Annebel (couple from Amsterdam), and Matina (Greek; her Italian boyfriend, Roberto, was absent due to the fact that this orientation was changed at the last minute). I thought we were going to be with a group of 20 people, and that we were going to spend the entire trek waiting for slow pokes. Nope! Six people, including us (well, plus ten if you include our tour guide, chef, and porters).
At orientation we were handed green duffel bags with which to put 10 KG of anything that we may need over the next four days. This includes the sleeping bag, pillow, and air "mattress" (which puts about an inch between the sleeper and the ground—I'd say it's more like a buffer). Do you wanna know what that actually leaves the packer with? 4 KG. Converted, that is 8.8 pounds. Anything additional must be carried by the hiker for the next four days. We quickly found most things that we brought to Peru to be completely unnecessary.
After some of the worst soup I have ever had (this hostel was fun, but don't get their weird spaghetti soup) combined with my final beer for the foreseeable future, we were off into the unknown.
We get on the sprinter and they tell us to get some sleep. It's what -- like 9pm? I can't. So I go for my headphones. I had purposefully brought cordfull headphones so that I wouldn't have anything additional that needed to be charged (seeing as I had one battery pack for four days). They. Didn't. Work. Does it sound like I'm being dramatic? I'm sure it does. But this was the low of the trip for me. I thought, what am I going to do walking for 8, 10, 14 hours a day?? Look at nature??? Just, like, appreciate it?
Turned out to not be so bad after all.
Night one, Julia and I just stared in wonder as porters from our group and other groups erected tents in this impromptu campsite. 11:30pm, we were in bed. The other nights would be much earlier.
Inca Trail, Day 1.
5:30am: We were woken up with what became the most dreaded, yet comforting sound...
"Sisters, sisters!! Breakfast!"
Little shake of the tent.
"Sisters, sisterrrrrsssss."
Oh. That's us. Americo, our delightful tour guide, would not leave our tent until he received proof of life. So a "MHHMM!!" or "YUuUuPp" soon followed so that he stopped shaking the tent.
After stumbling out to breakfast, being sent back to pack up, then returning to breakfast, (yep, the "sisters" were those people), we settled in with our number one (only) pals at the breakfast table for a breathtaking spread.
And then it all began, and holy shit. This trail does not disappoint.
I wasn't prepared for a lot of things: the amount of Inca ruins that we encountered along the way, the camaraderie among our group from the get-go, and Americo.
This is all before 11am. By lunchtime, I'm already thinking this thing can't get any better, then we arrive at our campsite. Everyone claps for us. The porters (who have already set up our tents) and the chef, Maximo, (who has already prepared fancy flavored water and tea and begun lunch) clap for us. As if we're the ones that accomplished anything.
And this is when we realize this shit is deluxe. They had set up a table. Chairs. A tent to protect us from the sun. We received appetizers. I had envisioned us sitting around on the ground. Maybe rocks? Nope. Our phenomenal team somehow ran ahead of us—with our bags, tents, food for the next few days on their backs—and set everything up for us.
In order to be a chef on the Inca trail, at least with the company we booked with, you have to go to culinary school for three years. We ate better on this trip than I ever do over a four-day stretch in New York City.
Oh, and after the meal? They convert the tent to a group siesta tent which we took full advantage of.
We traversed a bit more and landed at quite possibly my favorite campsite. A valley. Just us. Our porters clapped for us.
Upon arrival, Roberto immediately asked if we’d be able to bathe in the stream that we had just passed. Americo shrugged and said “if you want to.” Assuming this blasé response was due to a lack of interest in personal hygiene, the six of us meandered down to the stream to test the waters. Events progressed in quick succession upon arrival. Roberto and Jardi stripped down, jumped in, semi-cleansed I would say?, and jumped out.
In an attempt to follow, I was able to wash my feet, armpits, and face, before a combination of bug bites and overall numbness drove me from the water. Clambering up the ridge of the stream, I undid any cleaning that had just been accomplished and muddied myself all over again. Only later did we realize that they bring us hot water after every hike—well, every hike except this one since the six of us tried to be the heroes of our own story and find our own bath.
Americo had a strict no-drinking policy “for our own good” because of altitude blah blah blah. Because of the protests that were going on, our trek changed from the original plan, and we ended up having a comparatively easy first day. I used this to plead my case, and he allowed “one small beer each” from the lady around the corner via the path in the woods. Julia reasoned that if he was allowing "one small beer each", he knew that we were going to get large beers, so back up the path we went, receiving a nod of approval on arrival.
The evening events consisted of reading hour, happy hour, dinner, and bed (happy hour is coco tea). Boy does it feel good when your head hits the “pillow” after a day on the trail.
Inca Trail, Day 2.
5:30am wake-up call the next morning. At least on this morning, we weren't so surprised by the manner of the wake-up call. Bowls of warm water were placed outside of our tent for some face-washing and teeth brushing (with warm water, yum). It's all about figuring out the order, but we got the hang of it.
Each day before breakfast, you pack up your green duffel bag (with your sleeping bag rolled up in it) and put it on a tarp for the porters and get your day pack out of the tent so that the porters can also start packing that up while you eat breakfast. The first morning I was grumbling about having to think through my necessities of the day before coffee, and then I watched the porters tear down the tent in 2.5 seconds while I observed with my coffee and breakfast, and my early morning decisions didn't seem so complex anymore.
Each day was incredible. Day two was the hardest, and day two was my favorite. A few photos from the beginning of the day showcasing waterfalls, alpacas, and siestas...
On this day, we learned the true volatility of mountain weather. Within 30 minutes of leaving lunch, as we approached Dead Woman's Pass, the mountain became engulfed in clouds.
The peak of Dead Woman's Pass is the highest point on the trek at 4200 meters. This part of the trek is where people fall behind, and if they can't make it to the peak in time, are forced to head back to Cusco. It's where the people that thought they weren't going to get altitude sickness, get it. It's a steep incline that, from my recollection, takes about two hours. Jardi, Annebel, Julia, and I had gone ahead, and when Ameico came upon us, he told us that we were going to get sick if we stopped for more than five minutes. So up, up, up we went, only seeing the person's feet in front of us.
This was my favorite part of the whole trek. One step in front of the other. There is no space to think. As the incline increases drastically over two hours, all you can do is focus on your breathing and the slippery rock below each foot. Straight up meditation and therapy.
At the top...
Americo gave us directions on how to get down to our camp; I think they were something along the lines of "look for the bright green tents." This also took a lot of focus as we went downhill on equally slippery rocks for a bit. Well, whatever he said worked, and we arrived to the ever-embarrassing claps and cheers and tea and tents. And bowls of hot water (if it's any consolation, my feet were always the last thing I washed in the bowls).
Oh, and Matina got so scared from the massive flame, that she almost took Jardi's eye out. She screamed. We screamed. The porters looked on.
It was another amazing night with the crew over dinner, and Americo, of course, wouldn't let us ask any questions about the next day until all of the dishes were cleared from the tables. One of many lessons in taking a deep breath and enjoying the moment.
Inca Trail, Day 3.
Shit. Was day three my favorite? We woke up at 4:30am, and with our morning routine down, we were at breakfast in no time.
We hit the trail before sunrise, and that first glimpse of the sun cresting the mountain made that 4:30am "siiiiisterrrss" wakeup call completely worth it.
Up, up, up we went again. And boom. Talk about a rewards system.
Oh, and as if we hadn't been rewarded for our hard work enough, we saw a bear. It was awesome. Here is Americo assisting Roberto with capturing the sleepy being in the distance.
After the hype of the bear calmed down, it was time for some shots as a family, so we all smushed together for some photos, GoPro action, and laughs. A very loud group of what sounded like Americans (could've been Canadians, but who are we kidding) looked over at us and—mid argument—screamed, "Why can't we just have fun like them???!" LOL. I've never felt so lucky.
Day three continued with tales from Americo depicting ancient Incan traditions (we may have even partaken in some rituals while at some of the Incan sites which, I found to be, surprisingly, spiritual?). Sunshine. Mist. Alpacas. Passion fruit. Coco Leaves. Rest. More Inca sites than I could count. And views on views on views.
I believe this was our longest day of hiking. About twelve hours on the trail, and the first time that we arrived at the campsite as the sun dipped below the peaks. We finally had the option to shower as this was the final campsite before arriving at Machu Picchu.
"Are the showers heated?" I asked, knowing the answer. Upon confirmation that they were indeed frigid, Julia and I made the (what could be considered rude to our travel mates) decision to skip the showers and just resorted to our—now quite normalized—bowl of hot water. What's a fourth day without a shower?
Maximo (somehow) made us farewell cake after dinner, and he, and all of the porters gathered round. We could only communicate with the porters and Maximo through Americo as they all speak Quechua (the language of the people in Peru, specifically in the Andes before the Spanish took over). Roberto and Jardi were both great with learning as much Quechua as possible in the time that we had. Julia's and my language skills leave something to be desired as we would repeat the same phrases day in and day out, with more confidence each time, only to be corrected each time.
After some speeches, we were off to the tents, but even after Americo's urging, could not be convinced to go to sleep. The stars. Were. Incredible. Constellations I'd never heard of occupied each corner of the sky that we could see. If we didn't have a 3:30am wakeup call the next morning—followed by a long hike—I'd have been there all night.
Inca Trail, Day 4.
This portion of the Inca Trail system is very broken. Hikers must wake up by 3:30am so that all of our items are ready for the porters by 4am because the porters need to hike down to Aguas Calientes to drop all of our things off and catch the only train out of the town towards their homes at some ungodly hour. They never see Machu Picchu (the tour company that we took, Alpaca Expeditions, pays for the porters and their families to go once a year, but this is not common practice).
Meanwhile, all hikers that have been on the Inca Trail over the past four days, must gather at the entry point for the final part of the Inca Trail and wait until 5:30am for the gate to be opened. So we gathered, and read by the light of our headlights (on red mode so as to not disturb all of the whispering travelers).
At 5:30am, we were off to the races. This was the worst part of the hike. For the first three days, we had all been staggered throughout the trail, staying at different campsites, leaving at different times, but for the final leg of the journey, we were all smushed together. The trail was so skinny, it was impossible to pass people, and when we did attempt to pass, people would get mad and say, “what’s the rush?” Ummmmm to get away from you, bro.
Also. I would not have wanted to be behind these people for our next obstacle: The Gringo Killer. It looks exactly like you’re imagining. Basically a wall of rocks that you do your best to not fall off of to your death. I am happy to report that we all traversed this obstacle with great tenacity.
The Sun Gate was our first glimpse of Machu Picchu. Often, when people reach this point, they arrive to find the site shrouded in clouds. This was not the case for us.
Machu Picchu. Entering the site was one of the most surreal moments of my life. Here we were, sweaty and smelly, fully removed from the world for four days, and all of a sudden, there were tourists everywhere. I gawked. It was so weird to see other people. And honestly. We judged every single one for not working for the view. The llamas (or were they alpacas? I honestly never understood the difference, although I did eat both, alpaca is tastier) were fun.
Down to Aguas Calientes for coffee, BEER, food (not as good as Maximo’s), shopping, and a stamp in our passport. Train back to Cusco, and chill night in Cusco with lovely views of Plaza De Armas. The hostel had become overrun with frat boys. It was time to move on.
Lima!
Back in Lima for Julia’s solo trip! We split up for the day—she sat around waiting for the COVID testing man to come—and I hopped into the worst walking tour of my life!
The tour guide’s opening line was something to the effect of, “I’m not from here, but I Googled some shit, so don’t ask me questions: I won’t know the answers.”
I almost left, but then I got chatting with other people in the group, and then we did some pisco tastings, and then he didn’t seem so bad after all. He brought us to a church; I declined to go in, stating that I didn’t care for Peruvian churches (true story), and accidentally convinced everyone that it was not worth the 20 Sols (or whatever it was). He brought us to the market for some fruit tastings, which I did enjoy, but things got even weirder here. He has us try like ten+ fruits, and then says, “OK, you need to pay 30 Sols now.” My friend Tom does not like fruit. He had one piece of fruit. And the guy looked at him like he was crazy when he said he wasn’t going to pay for it. He ended up having to pay for it. Onward.
We met up with Julia and my walking tour friends—Georgia and Tom—for some beer pong on the hostel roof. We swapped some stories, and then she was off to the airport, and now it was MY solo trip. For one day.
Dan made a grave error on this evening. A *few* drinks in, he decided to revisit our leftover meats from dinner (many a leftover meat). He had brought the meat with us to the roof so that we could make friends by offering it to people? Yeah, I didn't get it either, but honestly, it worked.
A spilled beer (on me / not by me) and a few cigarettes later, and we hit the hay with high hopes for the morrow.
We went to breakfast the next morning and just stared at our food. IDK if it was only the meat, but I KNOW that the meat assortment played a role in how undeniably shitty we felt. And by we, I mostly mean Dan. At breakfast, my main issue was that my bacon was orange, and I was able to recover eventually. Dan never recovered.
So after MY COVID test (which was way smoother than Julia's), I was off to shopping and wine whilst Dan tried to sleep off the meat hangover. We reconvened for biking, shopping, and surfing (for him), which I want to say he paid like $10 for an hour or something like that. They handed him a wet suit and a cute little towel to change under, and then he was off. I read. Not a bad day after all.
Uneventful flight home (thank God) and the Peru trip was a WRAP. Thanks for tuning in. x
