Lost cities, fancy photos

Greg has a fancy camera. It takes great pictures and he’s got an eye for framing things, and his snapshots are always a joy to look at.

Unfortunately, fancy cameras are often big and can be cumbersome to tote around in the hopes that something worth photographing might come along. They can also make you a target for just the kind of attention you want to avoid while traveling, so more often than not there is some justification to leaving the thing safely at home unless you’re certain the photo ops will be striking and plentiful.

The majority of the photos in this blog have been taken with my trusty digital cam, an Olympus Stylus something something. It’s perfect! I take it with us almost everywhere we go; just throw it in the purse and head out the door. If I’m dubious about safety and don’t want my beat-up purse drawing negative attention, I’ll ditch the satchel at home and tuck the camera into the breast pocket of my jacket: easy to access when necessary, a little too bold for most pick-pockets to hazard a try.

But when Greg totes the fancy cam, I’m always delighted to see what materializes. He took lots of snapshots of Machu Picchu (and–more importantly–lots of pictures of me. Thanks Greg!) that I wanted to share. I also came across a few other photos of our hike to Ciudad Perdida way back in the day and thought I’d include those, as well.

So, here you are: photos from two Pre-Columbian lost cities for the price of one blog post! All photo credits go to Greg. Model credit goes to me, Pre-Columbian lost cities, a few innocent bystanders and llamas. Always with the llamas.

Coastal inocentes part 2 (this time, with less fun!)

Another flight, another early morning. We were on the first plane out of Cusco on our way to Peru’s capita, Lima. The hour-long flight took us over mountains and mountains…and more mountains…all the way to the coast.

We’ve flown through Lima on three separate occasions, and this was our first time de-boarding and traveling into the city. As with all our other landings in Lima, we had to cut through a thick soup of clouds. The airport was only visible a few moments before we landed, the low-lying clouds obscuring everything until the last possible moment. The cloud cover, it seems, is pretty typical for Lima, which seems a shame for a coastal city. I’m sure they get their fair share of sun, but, like our cab driver said, “London is grey and so is Lima”.

After a very healthy nap, we set out for the center of Lima, the Plaza de Armas. Its lovely old structures and colorful buildings were surrounded by flocks of tourists taking photos. There was a small parade dedicated to diversity in Peru, which was bright and colorful but really, really small. Diversity parades should be…big and diverse, right? Maybe it depends on your commitment.

For lunch I made sure our first stop was complete with some delicious fish, shrimp and octopus ceviche. I also tried chicha morada, a typical Peruvian drink made of a type of red corn found in Peru. Once they make the juice from boiling the kernels, they typically mix it with a bit of sugar and lime juice to create a delicious dark purple drink.

We spent the evening in Parque Kennedy (of JFK fame) in our barrio of Miraflores. I say “our barrio” and that makes it sound quaint and close to our hotel, but Miraflores is very big, and it was a 15 minute bus ride from our hotel to the park. Regardless of its size, the parts that we came to know were lovely, especially around Parque Kenendy which was surrounded by different restaurants and coffee shops.

Parque Kennedy was also distinctive because of its cats. Cats and cats and cats, cats everywhere! In the trees! In the flower beds! Curled up under fences! The locals apparently leave food and water around for them so they don’t waste away.

Unfortunately, I was battling a cold for our entire time in Lima, probably a combination of many things (traveling in enclosed spaces, wacky sleep schedule, changing altitudes and climate, etc). The front desk staff told us that the humidity and clouds often made people sick, so I guess I can buy that, too. I’m sure there was much more to see that we missed, but it felt much better to spend the afternoons lounging around in our hotel room, watching TV or reading. It doesn’t sound that exciting (and it really wasn’t) but I think it was necessary to take a break from our vacation.

I think the real drawback of feeling less-than-100% in Lima was not being able to enjoy all of the culinary delights that the city has to offer. Sure, I had ceviche and chicha, and for dinner one night I had a sopa criolla (traditional soup with egg, noodles, tomatoes and beef) and a cob of corn with kernels the size of my eyeballs, deliciously tender and engorged (in the good way!).  All were delicious and unique, like nothing I’ve had anywhere else. But if my health had been in tip-top shape, I would have taken the city in my preferred method: by eating my way through it.

On our way back to Medellín we stopped in Quito for what was supposed to be a brief, 45 minute layover; we weren’t even supposed to de-board. But after refueling and maintenance, the airline and pilots decided “meh” and the trip was cancelled. Thus, we were able to spend another night in lovely Quito, confused, weary and with zero clean clothes. The good news, though, was that by the time we walked into our hotel, the heaviness in my chest and throat that had plagued me in Lima was almost entirely gone. Humidity, indeed.

And just like that, we have two weeks left in Colombia.

The inocentes, Machu Picchu-ing

Our first night in Cusco found us in bed by 830PM, exhausted from traveling on little sleep and navigating a new city. We woke up to a cat staring down at us from our skylight of our room, and rose to get ourselves together.

Early-on in the day we set off by bus to Ollantaytambo (a town whose name I can only pronounce after I’ve mispronounced it several times in a row) where we caught the train to Aguas Calientes at the base of Machu Picchu. There are no cars in Aguas, and the only way to get there is either to hike in or take the train.

The hour and a half long train ride through the valley was lovely, the skylights of our car offering up striking views of the surrounding mountains and wildlife, hugging the side of a river the entire time. We passed a number of stonework ruins, which brought to mind the Irish countryside; both places are verdant and green with incredible stone ruins peppering the landscape.

Aguas Calientes, also sometimes called Machu Picchu, is an odd little town. The pueblo is centered on the train tracks that are busy carrying passengers back and forth all day. There are countless souvenir shops, restaurants and ho(s)tels lining the town, but not much else. The transient tourists far outnumber the locals. It was a funny thing to reflect that a town like Macchu Picchi–a transport hub that nearly everyone must pass through to get to the site–was so bland and boring. Ollantaytambo, by comparison, seemed less visited by tourists (though it, too, is a major transportation hub) but somehow more modern amidst its narrow cobbled streets.

The only real automobiles in the town of Aguas are the fleet of buses that bring tourists to and from Machu Picchu throughout the day. They shuttle up and down the mountain between 530AM to around 530PM. All day long the buses go back and forth, leaving as soon as they fill up. Though the site isn’t that far from Aguas (~8km), the climb is a steep one. A solid number of tourists visiting Machu Picchu climb the stone steps up from Aguas, but the majority of tourists take the bus up switchback roads, condensing an hour-long climb to a 20 minute jaunt.

We stayed the night in Aguas Calientes with one goal in mind: to be among the first tourists at Machu Picchu at sunrise. We [very briefly] entertained the idea of hiking up starting at around 4AM, but opted to bus up to the site, instead. When we arrived at Machu Picchu our decision to bus up was reinforced by the thirty or so panting and sweating hikers who were now shivering in the early morning air.

We rose at 4AM to get our things together for Machu Picchu and at 430AM took our place in line at the bus station. We were sixth or seventh by that time, but soon thereafter more tourists began to line up behind us, up the street and around the corner, ready to get started. The buses were lined up and waiting, too, though no one boarded until about 530AM.

The buses filled up very quickly, and within minutes we were ascending, able to now make out the mountains against a dark blue backdrop. By the time we reached the entrance, the sky had lightened considerably, and we were happy to note the absence of rain clouds in the distance; it would be a very bright and very beautiful sunrise.

I suppose, though, that describing the site is unnecessary; you’ve seen pictures (and you’re about to see more!). Maybe the one thing that pictures don’t capture is how lovely the site is, nestled between the mountains and valleys on all sides. Those Incas: they loved a good view. We meandered around taking pictures of the ruins and the rocks, trying to capture Machu Picchu in the changing light. After about 2 hours of this, we decided to head back, content with our experience (and our pictures).

Instead of bussing down, we opted to walk the switchbacks and stone steps. The sun, by this time, was very bright, and we were glad to reach the bottom of the valley and enjoy the shade of the trees along the river banks.

The rest of the day was spent in a stupor as we wandered around Aguas and eventually settled into a bar to watch the Champions League final between Chelsea and Bayern. My emotions were a mix of very exhausted and very exited, and I tried to explain to Greg, as calmly as possible, the dynamics of the bizarre year Chelsea have been through, how Robben spends his time being 25% crazy amazing (craymazing) and 75% wasting everyone’s time (and Chelsea are good to be rid of him) and the spending implications that winning the League brings to Chels this coming year. I am still sort of in disbelief that they won, especially as it came down to penalties; I have never, to this day, seen them win a game in penalties.

In the evening we decided to treat ourselves to a nice dinner. Most of the restaurants in Aguas were unimpressive and bland, with menus that included Mexican food, burgers, pizza and typical Peruvian fare. All of the restaurants are also very expensive by Peruvians standards, especially for food that seems to have very little taste. We found a restaurant with a huge wood-fire grill as its centerpiece and proceeded to have an outstanding meal for not much more than the junky restaurants around town. We’re still talking about how delicious it was the next day (but, granted, we talk about food a lot).

The next morning we caught our train out of Aguas Calientes to Ollantaytambo, where we would then get a bus back to Cusco to prepare for our early morning flight on Monday to Lima. Right before bedtime, a 3 second temblor jolted our hotel room, but never actually turned into something bigger. It was enough, though, to keep me up half of the night wondering if every truck that passed down our narrow street and shook our hotel was going to be another little earthquake; paranoia at its finest!

The inocentes, peruano style

I have been looking forward to visiting Peru (and, subsequently, Machu Picchu), since before Greg and I even talked about moving to Colombia. To me, Machu Picchu is a place that I knew that I must visit in my lifetime, and it wasn’t a question of “if” but “when”. Thus, when we began to entertain the idea of moving to Colombia and traveling from there, I knew that Peru would be at the very top of the shortlist of places to visit. It’s slightly ironic that though Peru was at the top of that shortlist, it is the last country we’re visiting, and just a few weeks before we return to the US.

We began our trip to Peru flying from Medellín to Lima. From Lima, we had another nightmare layover (11PM to 530AM) before heading to Cusco. The layover somehow felt like one of the longest of my life. Considering that we’ve spent a few nights on the floor of Bogotá’s airport, I think that’s saying something.

Early, early, early we arrived in Cusco, running on two hours’ sleep and arriving too early in the day (8AM) to make sense of ourselves or to formally check into our room at our hotel. Neither of us were much fun, and I wondered if we would be able to rally and turn the day around. We were so snappy and tired, I worried that we wouldn’t get anything done. And believe you me, we had a lot to plan.

Mercifully, our luck had a slight turn and we were able to move into our room early-ish and take a much needed nap. I think the real clincher, though, was a delicious lunch; we had skipped breakfast and were totally out of sorts. From there we set out to explore Cusco.

And what a lovely city. The colonial architecture, the striking backdrop of the mountains and then the sky—wildly blue, pock-marked with bright white clouds—all compounded to something striking.

When we first ventured out of our hotel, we were slap-happy and goofy. We went to buy tickets to Machu Picchu (train, site entry, etc) but were so haphazardly put together we forgot our passports and had to return to our hotel and run back to the ticket offices. We were a mess, but we were happy.

We strolled, we shopped, we snapped photos all afternoon. The altitude didn’t even bother me until we stopped for our first drink and then trudged uphill—that’s a mistake that doesn’t bear repeating. Most importantly, though, we got our acts together for our visit to Machu Picchu, which required that we make sure there was space available on the trains to/from the site and tickets available to the site on the day we were visiting.

Cusco’s beauty aside, the place is a bit lousy with salesmanship. Everyone you pass on the street is trying to sell you something, from souvenirs to custom trips. It was reminiscent of our time on Playa Blanca off of Cartagena, where you could not get a moment’s rest amid the din of people trying to sell you jewelry, massages, ceviche, booze and the like. While it can be a bit frustrating at times (eg: when you and your husband are trying to share a moment over some delicious pisco sours and a man comes up to you trying to sell you Ray Bans that he insists are good quality because “they are stolen” and also if you want he can totally hook you up with cocaine, marijuana, etc), at the end of the day everyone’s trying to make a living.

We spent a quiet night in Cusco before rising early and making our way to quaint Ollantaytambo in order to catch our train to Machu Picchu. Somehow we planned our first few days in such a way that we must rise very, very early (between 4-530AM every day). I’m secretly looking forward to getting back to Medellín so that I can sleep past 6.

The inocentes, hitting our favorite spots

The countdown to our departure from Medellín has always been ticking. It was optimistic and full of possibility in its earliest iterations (“We have eight months left!”) but now that we’ve crept under a month we spend much more time in reflection, privately and among our friends.

As with our trip to Guatapé, we want to make sure to hit all the iconic and important spots before we depart, things that we’ve put off since our arrival, knowing there would be enough time to get everything done. But by that same token, we also want to revel in some of our favorite things one last time.

Greg has busted out his fancy camera of late, taking snaps of the city. Normally, the fancy cam has been used for taking photos to accompany his articles. It was heavily used during our first months here, but we’ve been relying on my little digital cam to document much of what we’re up to. On our walks around the neighborhoods he has been bringing the camera along with us, trying to capture all of those things we see on the daily that we don’t necessarily stop to appreciate.

We still hang out at Camilo’s bar almost every Friday, like clockwork, enjoying cold beers and popcorn and watching Carlos E. fill up with its usual weekend revelers. Some days the mood and weather is perfectly reminiscent of our first days in Medellín and the nostalgia is almost overwhelming. This past Friday I met up with a friend for coffee and, afterwards, enjoyed a beer alone while waiting for Greg. People gave me a few odd looks (a woman sitting alone and drinking is an oddity. Also, I bought beer at a corner store the other day and Gloria lightly chastised me with “Women don’t buy beer. Qué feo, Nina!”) but overall the beer was crisp and the popcorn was nice and salty.

This Saturday, with Erika, we returned to one of our favorite restaurants, Mu. Our first trip to Mu came with Jota’s departure in August, and we returned with Brian during his trip to Medellín, enjoying plate after plate stacked with ribs and steak-cut fries. Our return to Mu came this Saturday, with Erika by our side. True to tradition, we sucked down mojitos and gnawed on ribs, our hands fashionably covered in plastic gloves.

There are grumblings of a few other trips to different towns in Antioquia and a few nights of partying before our departure, and for those we are excited. But first we have a week in Peru (and many pisco sours) to enjoy.

The inocentes, vibrando

This Saturday we headed over to an all day music, food and beer festival at the Jardín Botanico, Vibra mi Tierra.

The festival was centered in the beautiful Orquideorama of the Jardín, which turns out to be perfectly crafted not only for sustaining orchid growth but also for housing festivals: the high wooden structure kept us in the shade during the day, shielded us from the rain in the evening and bounced the sound of the bands and the crowd right back down to us. Also, hanging out eating good food and listening to music among the orchids is pretty sweet.

We set up a few blankets near the stage and broke out a few bottles of wine to start the afternoon off right. After almost a year I still forget that alcohol laws in Medellín are pretty loose, and bringing wine to public spaces is not something that you need to hide…even if you bring, say, 8 bottles.

As the day progressed, the musical acts became more and more energizing and exciting. Crew Peligrosos (Dangerous Crew) is a hip hop act from Medellín. It was fun and sometimes really, really, funky (like, Parliament Funkadelic funk), with DJs, rappers and breakdancers woven throughout the performance. The message that they send is to try to combat violence with art, giving kids an outlet to learn to dance, write, play instruments, etc., in the hopes of bringing about change.

Next was Puerto Candelaria, another Medellín-based band whose production company helped sponsor the event (along with the brewery 3 Cordilleras). Their energy was absolutely infectious, and they knew how to work the crowd. At one point, they sang a song for the menfolk, only, “because men also have feelings! men also cry!”. The song amounted to a lot of “Ay yay yay yay yay”s and humming. There was a lot of cumbia, a lot of dancing in the crowd and on stage, and they closed with the theme song from Ghostbusters. Seriously. Later, I saw some guy with a Ghostbusters t-shirt, and I think he must have felt pretty freaking cool.

Puerto Candelaria’s website has a few videos they’ve produced, but to give you an idea of how kind of goofy and off-beat they are, this is a cumbia done entirely with bottles, sort of like a jug band. Mono Loco is another really fun, infectious song, but sometimes I think it might break my brain.

Wrapping up the night was Monsieur Periné, a band from Bogotá that was a mix of…everything. Jazz, blues, latin grooves, etc. While I was partial to the goofiness and good times of Puerto Candelaria, Greg was very much a fan of Monsieur Periné, as was the crowd.

At the end of the evening–danced out–we headed home in the rain.

The inocentes enjoy some bubbly on the balcony

Our hammock on the balcony has been sorely out of use these past two months. With the rainy season upon us, there really wasn’t much of a desire to sit outside on a wet & windy balcony, listening to the thunder and knowing the lightning was creeping our way.

But! We’re starting to have full days without rain! To celebrate this (and ourselves and other things) we decided it was time to break out our eye-searingly orange hammock, string it up, crowd ourselves onto it and knock back a few glasses of something pink and sparkling. Which is totally manly, Greg! Just like your orchid tattoo

Worth it! I think we’re going to “celebrate ourselves” and the city once a week from here on out. One month left. Where does the time go?