I'm just trying to find a mountain I can climb.
Have you even been to Peru if your Facebook profile picture isn’t a photo at Machu Picchu? Whether you are a good tourist who follows the rules or a bad tourist who, donned with their finest selfie sticks, have little respect as long as they achieve that perfect instagram shot it goes without doubt that everyone will make their way to the famed site whilst in Peru. Towering 2430m on a steep ridge in the depths of the Andes and recently voted one of the New Seven Wonders of the World, the historical site provides an incredible insight into the workmanship and building of the Inca people as well as offering breathtaking panoramic views of snow-topped mountains. Officially discovered in just 1911 by an American explorer it has transformed from a sacred, secluded site into the overpopulated tourist attraction you can experience today. Yet I was drawn to the spirituality and power of this site, the third World Wonder I was to experience on my travels. Having already caught a six hour minibus that weaved around staggering mountainous views and past sheer cliff sides with terrifying drops to the closest town of Aguas Calientes, our real journey began at 4am the following day. Following the sound of a gushing river, there was excitement in the air as we quietly tread along the path in complete darkness. Before long we had reached the entrance to the Machu Picchu mountain where a long queue of fellow climbers eagerly awaited for the park opening at 5am. Though there are many routes to Machu Picchu such as a bus or a train, as one fellow hiker perfectly put it ‘God gave me legs so I can save money,’ and what lay ahead of us was a two hour steep upward climb that would cost us nothing apart from aching leg muscles. As dawn crept over the mountain and 5am ticked by the climbers, consisting mainly of healthy twenty-somethings began the ascent and the race against the tourist busses who were already making headway to the top. And then the stairs began. Having already climbed in the Himalayas I was prepared for the mental and physical anguish that comes alongside a trek, yet once again with sweat dripping from places I never knew could sweat we had certainly let ourselves in for a tough ascent. The enduring stone staircase was steeper than anticipated and before long our excitement transformed into sheer determination. As we climbed my mind wandered, like it often does in such times, to thoughts of home, the future and how countless people before me had completed this Inca journey. It was also as we climbed and the sun cast its first rays over the steep cliff sides - a landscape unlike anything I had seen before - that the green jungle mountains flourished around us. By 6.15 we had finally reached the top, meeting with hordes of happy tourists who had just jumped off the bus. I was exhausted yet exhilarated. Having finally gained entry to the park it was now a case of battling past the swathes of slow walking tourists to finally catch a glimpse of the famed site. My thrill grew as we passed Inca terraces that lined the mountain side and slowly, slowly we crept upwards. Before long the dark shrubbery that had surrounded the cobbled path began to clear and as a crystal blue sky opened up around us (incredibly unusual for rainy season and also incredibly lucky for us) I was finally came face to face with Machu Picchu. As I cast my gaze over the intricate stone buildings set between beautiful mountains my mind was blank to everything except sheer bliss as the power and magic of this site engulfed me. Our adventure however was far from over. We took our pictures and pushed past groups of girls doing their make-up and posing in silly ways, past Llamas aimlessly trotting around the buildings and large tour groups and pressed onto the next mountain. Huayna Picchu is the lesser known mountain that climbs hundreds of metres higher and offers a perfect birds eye view of Machu Picchu below. Due to its steep climb only 200 people are allowed to ascend per day and thrilled to grab the last tickets we excitedly signed our names in the hazard book and began but more stairs. With our legs numb from the last two hours I grabbed onto the rope and began hauling my tired body up the steep crevices, nothing below but hundreds of metres of jagged cliffside. The reason of course that such a little number are allowed to climb is a result of several falls down the cliff - meaning it had to be taken seriously. At every pause however, ignoring the drop below and lack of safety measures, the view of Machu Picchu grew with magic and intensity. It took another hour to finally reach the summit of 2700m where a series of vast rocks nestle into the mountain and offer a perfect place to reflect on the power of the surrounding setting. At this height, Machu Picchu looked miniature and peaceful as I watched the dots of tourists still huddle taking pictures below. The sky was a potent bright blue and the sun reflected off the white snowy peaks leaving me in absolute awe. I was alone, away from my climbing group and face to face with the spectacular beauty of Mother Nature herself, connected to the tranquility and enchantment that had enticed the Inca people hundreds of years earlier. It was also at this point that I caught sight of an interesting and very beautiful fellow climber who, also alone was gazing through binoculars at the surrounding mountains. I took a deep breath and mustered the courage to ask him what he saw. To my surprise I spent the next hour gazing through the beautiful American’s binoculars as we connected over our stories and experience at the summit of a beautiful mountain - two strangers connecting for just a moment in each others adventures. Before long it was time to descend back to the reality of the town below, past the overcrowded viewpoints and down a million stone stairs that would wreak havoc on everyone's knees. Yet I cannot deny there was some smug comfort in greeting climbers who were still on their ascent. Like a dream the adventure of Machu Picchu had come and gone in just one long and glorious morning. During that time I had struggled, I had laughed, I had felt the true power of this mountain and I had also flirted at the summit. What I take forwards with me is not just a sense of true accomplishment but also a deeper respect for the strength and abilities of the Inca world and humankind itself. Machu Picchu was magic - and if you’re wondering I did see my American again after the mountain.
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That time I lived and studied traditional medicine with a Shaman in the Amazon.
I first heard about Ayahuasca just over four months ago whilst describing my upcoming South American adventure to a friend. With hopes to visit the Amazon lingering in the air she looked at me with curious eyes and in a hushed tone asked me whether I’d be drinking Ayahuasca. The sentence was shrouded in mystery and the entire group stopped to curiously await my answer. Consisting of two Amazonian plants that are cooked to create a potent liquid, the brew has been used as a traditional spiritual medicine in ceremonies among indigenous Amazonian people for centuries. In the Amazon it is considered a powerful medicine that is administered by trained Shamans who are in contact with Mother Nature and spirits themselves to cure ailments from depression to cancer. For people who have been failed by Western medicine there is certainly a great appeal in trying out this natural cure - however it is also banned in the UK. The stigma surrounding Ayahuasca is mainly linked to the powerful ingredient of DMT that occurs naturally in the plants, making it one of the strongest hallucinogens in the world. Alongside it’s healing principles, the journey that the medicine takes you on often offers enlightenment through visions and a greater mental clarity about the world around you. Some people have seen their future, their pasts and have found powerful messages through the experience that have helped guide their lives. On the other hand a bad trip can lead to complete and utter fear and a change in personality - each experience is totally different and depends entirely on the drinker. In the modern age of natural medicines, Ayahuasca is also on the rise amongst backpackers who travel through the Amazon in the search of enlightenment, body and soul cleansing of sorts. The journey had already begun on the Amazonian boat that had brought me to the jungle. It was through a series of totally coincidental events that resulted in me again crossing paths with fellow boat travellers in the centre of the city before being introduced to a local Shaman that they were drinking with. I was suspicious of the man - I hardly expected a spiritual healer to be wearing jeans, Ray Bans and enjoying a beer and rock music and yet my instinct was telling me to trust the strange path that I was already following. It was from there that we caught a small wooden boat (the floor of which was filled with a few inches of water making me question whether we’d even make it to our destination) and we gently, slowly drifted across the cool waves of the Amazon River. Aside from the sound of the water lapping the brim of the wooden vessel and a weak motor, there was a tranquil air surrounding the trip despite knowing how many predators - from piranhas to crocodiles - lurk just under the watery surface. Forty minutes later we arrived at a small opening in the jungle. We were to be living with a local family in wooden huts in the heart of the forest. Here, worlds apart from the reality of city life, our small group of boat friends would be working with a Shaman and taking daily lessons about various jungle medicines such as learning to cook, diagnose and essentially know the ingredients that could cure certain illnesses. The week saw us hunting for venomous frogs in the dark, cooking strange powders, happily listening to the sounds of the jungle, bathing in waterfalls, meditating at three hundred year old Avatar-like trees, following strict natural diets and of course trying the medicines ourselves. We had spent most of the day fasting, meditating and walking through nature (we even played football with a tribe of children deep in the jungle) yet before I knew it darkness had dawned and we were making our way to another wooden hut with mattresses and a bucket for my first Ayahuasca ceremony. Inside the small, circular building our Shaman was dressed in traditional ritual outfitting and burning potent sage incense as we all took our places in a circle on the floor. The process had already begun and it was as ritual-esque as your could imagine. By candle light and surrounded by strange face masks hung on the walls, our Shaman began to call on the spirits and beckon each and everyone of us to enter into a trance like peacefulness. With incredibly strange sounds he blessed us with sacred smoke and fluids before pouring the brown liquid into a wooden bowl and giving us the elixr. With a wish to Mother Nature, I gulped down the powdery tasting drink (it’s impossible to describe the taste but it wasn’t exactly pleasant) and then we waited in the dark. It was at this time that the Shaman began to chant Icaros, songs that are offered for protection, to summon spirits and to enhance the healing and visual power of the medicine. About twenty minutes had passed before my mind suddenly exploded with neon colours and strange distortions of shapes and patterns. I felt a powerful energy rush through my body, unlike anything I had felt before, as my limbs twitched and contorted in unusual ways (it felt like the spark of life itself was quivering around my body). For all my overwhelming rationality, my colourful world continued to expand in front of my eyes, shift and drift into further beautiful yet mind boggling textures and patterns that were completely beyond my control. I was utterly removed from the reality of the room. It was colours crossed with feelings and thoughts, my body trembling to the sounds of guttural and haunting chanting from my Shaman that saw me reaching for the bucket to literally ‘purge’ my bad habits, a very common and important part of the ritual. And though my vision was showing me flowers in my bucket, the taste of Ayahuasca once again lingered in my taste buds as I purged any bad matter I’d ever consumed and then back into my distorting other-wordly endeavour. I wish I could say that I scaled the Ayahuasca spectrum that saw me reach the deeper heights of my mind but instead I spent four hours in a creative special world, full of unimaginable figures and beings that would guide me around crazy shapes. At 1 am, the Shaman lit a candle, shook me by the shoulders and as if switching a light bulb in my head I was back in the room. I went to bed feeling incredibly confused. Was that it? No visions? No insights into my life? Where are all the diving messages? By morning after having written down my experience, still nothing made sense yet seemingly pointless insights continued to flood into my head as I felt this overwhelming physical and mental strength. For me at least I wanted to understand more and thus arranged for a second ceremony, more prepared to know what to look for and to expect. Two days later the same ritual began, I drank the powdery liquid in the dark room and patiently waited, trying hard to clear my mind of any mental distractions. This time the visions began almost instantly and with both closed and opened eyes my sights were overwhelmed once again by my neon cartoon-like world that was certainly more potent than my previous experience. This time, like on a backward roller coaster I floated through these creative corners of my mind alongside fairy-like figures that resemble most images of Mother Nature herself. Though I couldn’t see the real world, I felt a deep connection to the ground and nature around me, I thought about random people from my life and essentially felt a great level of understanding and deep mental enlightenment - yet still no visions or true messages came through and I was woken up equally as confused. After two ceremonies and a week of lessons in medicine it was time to leave the magic of the jungle and enter the real world where one week later I am still processing what strange messages the medicine was trying to give me. Of course it is beyond my understanding but by keeping me in this strange other-world it appears the medicine was destroying my perception of real life, bringing into question what I believe and prying open my deeper mind to eventually allow the messages I was searching for to shine through (perhaps with more ceremonies). Since the experiences I have also lost the thirst for alcohol and meat, and though still working on my visions, a better sense of enlightenment and an understanding and patience for people has prevailed in my life. I truly feel cleansed and I truly feel like a better person. There is a stigma surrounding Ayahuasca and a fear of the workings of your mind that means this medicine is still a long way from breaking through to normal life. Yet though I can truly see the difference in people, they glow post-ceremony with an unseen strength, perhaps this is the way the medicine should remain. Ayahuasca is no walk in the park (my closest friend saw herself in a coffin and was petrified) and requires a great deal of mental preparation to be ready to perhaps see things you might not want to face - the deepest, darkest inner workings of the one place you thought you had total control of - your mind. The City of Iquitos
Nestled in the top north eastern corner of Peru lies a large city that has streets adorned with beautifully decorated houses and fresh fruit growing on the trees. Like any popular Peruvian city it is a sprawling mass of markets, chaos, colour and traffic that is heightened by the hot and humid climate that comes along with it. As the sixth most populous metropolis in Peru you can begin to imagine the size of this place yet this chaos also mingles with the slow, hot nature of tropical life. There is a New Orleans air about the period buildings, steamboats and vine trees that line the promenade and combined with the indigenous tribal traits of the city there is certainly an interesting mix of old traditions and increasingly new tourists here. If your geography is up to scratch you might have also realised by now that there is a key feature to this city that allows it outshine the rest of my previous endeavours of Peru. On all sides of this city sits the vast, dense and impenetrable lungs of the world better known as the Amazon Rainforest. The air is fresh and alive with the shrill sounds of jungle life in iquitos, the largest city in the world that is to a great extent inaccessible by land. My four day endeavour on Eduardo VIII, the steamboat into the Amazon, had brought me to this city and left me completely overwhelmed. In contrast to the tranquil chugging of the boat easing up the river, my senses were met with the aromas of tropical food, the shouting of vendors and a million TukTuks whipping up dust around my nostrils. And yet there was an excitement about finally making land and exploring a new terrain. What is interesting about Iquitos is the global influences upon its architecture. As a result of the Spanish inquisition of South America you can certainly feel the European decor of the ageing buildings. However this is cleverly mixed with indigenous Amazonian symbols and patterns that highlight a way of life that is intertwined with the spiritual magic of the jungle. On top of that, the Amazonian diet means that food stalls sell fruits that I never knew existed alongside some thoroughly questionable snacks such as piranhas and caiman crocodile meat. Take a walk to Belen market, avoiding the piles of rotting meat and fruit thrown in the gutter and wild dogs lingering around the stalls and if you venture far enough you end up in the witches market, full of potions and traditional ailments that have been influenced by indigenous tribal healing throughout the centuries. The aromas of unusual flowers and teas is enough to block out the meat smell yet the mystery of this area of the market is far more alluring than I’d expected - there are certainly spells and rituals happening in the back buildings of these stalls. The best feature of Iquitos and the area in general is the very unusual weather patterns. As the Amazon Rainforest somehow controls its own climate it goes without question that each day will see thick black clouds roll across the sky before releasing a torrent of warm rain (you really don’t need to shower as a result). Within minutes and having cleansed the streets and reinvigorated the ground the hot humid sun appears once again to dry up the setting and watch the cycle continue. It’s certainly refreshing and by the end of my time there I wasn’t even trying to hide from the rain. Iquitos of course is the gateway to the Amazon Rainforest. It is from here that I venture into the depths for a jungle adventure that had been brought around by a series of completely coincidental events. The journey had long already begun but now it was time to meet with the Shaman (a traditional medicine man) who would be teaching me the ways of jungle medicine in the heart of the Amazon. Venturing into the Amazon
It had certainly been a spur of the moment decision following a two week bender in Mancora. Known for its fiestas, we had been completely consumed by the party lifestyle of this beach town where by day we surfed and by night we partied until it was time to surf again. We needed an escape - and it came in the form of a three day boat expedition deep into the Amazon rainforest, as far away from partying as we could get. It was a two hour bus from Mancora to Piura before a 20 hour bus to Tarapoto. From there another three hour bus weaved through the mountainous terrain (literally dodging a landslide) and taking us to Yurimaguas where awaited at a vast brown river that would take us into the rainforest. I had gone from the debauchery of Great Gatsby to the mysteries of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness within a mere 24 hours. The ship, a vast old three-deck blue steamliner named Eduardo VIII, was adorned with hammocks, eggs, chickens and all types of interesting smells. Set to embark at 5pm, the time went and passed and before we knew it we were waiting in the dark to leave alongside around 50 Peruvian families. By morning we were still delayed as more people clambered on and forced their hammocks into the animal pen and our departure finally happened 24 hours after expected. Beneath my feet were crawling children amongst bags, live animals and most probably cockroaches yet as we set sail and the landscape immediately turned a phenomenal bright green with the jungle coming to life with noise, the frustrations of our 24 hour wait were swept away with the murky water surrounding me. Amongst the 100 strong passengers were also 10 backpackers who had all chosen this route through a thirst for sheer adventure. Like any Amazon expedition that is depicted in films; the food we were served was literally sugar water, we were aliens amongst the Peruvian jungle passengers who and the toilets were not to be ventured into. A huge bump in the night shook the boat and sent me into a brief panic as we dodged trees and other strange objects in the murky water. By day we played cards with the local children and watched as pink river dolphins jumped along the ship and by night we lay on the top deck and counted the shooting stars amongst the most illuminated night sky I’ve ever seen (with new constellations of the Southern Hemisphere). By day two rather than succumb to an inevitable boredom that comes with being trapped on a boat with the same landscape edging by, we practiced yoga and danced to salsa on the top deck and kept our minds as active as our bodies possibly could be. The river was mostly wide yet at moments would edge incredibly close to the banks of dense rainforest buzzing with noises yet the bright green wall of trees remained impenetrable and simply mysterious. And Eduardo VIII continued to meander through the confusing interweave of rivers. It was both ghastly and exciting as we slept and relaxed in close quarters and watched as families literally picked nits out of children's hair. The highlight of the second day was when a pig from storage escaped and leapt overboard into huge river. It was at this point, with the whole ship shouting and beckoning the creature, that we discovered that pigs can truly swim and after a 30 minute trawl it had made its way to the freedom of the shores of the Amazon Rainforest. I can't deny it was still absolute pandemonium below deck and not for the faint-hearted. As we delved deeper into the jungle we occasionally stopped at remote villages along the way where the boat became a tourist attraction itself - even more so with the gringos on the top deck. At each village the boat would hover close to the bank as more than twenty people would run to greet us and throw more cargo onto the deck. By the third day we were passing villages where tribesmen held spears and the women were adorned with tribal beaded necklaces (one tribal family even joined us on deck yet spoke only a foreign tribal language unbeknown to everyone onboard). It was through these testing days that the magical allure of the this vast mysterious setting, that has captured the hearts of so many adventurers before too laid it's magic upon me. When I’m not playing cards, swinging in hammocks or shouting after pigs swimming across the river, you can catch me staring into the depths of the greenery and only imagining what wonder, animals and magic lie ahead. Quite by surprise our departure from the boat had swung by quickly after four nights of sleeping ondeck. And I was slightly sad to leave. The biggest factor in this feeling was ofcourse a result of the crazy motley crew of passages becoming a strange family that ate, slept and embraced the Amazon together. As we fell in love with the surrounding rainforest, the journey that we had all embarked on separately had in fact bound us in a expedition that spans further than the bout trip itself. I am now in the depths of the Amazon Rainforest successfully as far away from partying as I could be. Yet like every adventurer that has come before me, the enchantment of this tropical paradise that so few have the privilege to see, has only just begun. Though religion is not part of my life nor do I wish it to be in this modern day and age, I do attend Church once a year on the holiest day of the Christian calendar. I can’t really place my finger on why this has become a habit. Perhaps it’s the result of the more traditional views of my mum but my wholly non-religious family had attended midnight mass for the past few years (even if my dad would much rather be in front of the TV) and despite my distance I wasn’t going to break the tradition now.
For me, the coming together in Church allows for the first and only time that I can truly reflect upon my year. It gives me a space to think about the people I have encountered or even the people I’ve lost and to feel the festive spirit in a deeper way than Christmas presents. For me, Midnight Mass is an interesting way to feel the power of a group of people coming together and it usually becomes an overwhelming evening of human happiness, kindness and tranquility. It's tradition. Peru is an incredibly pious country so it wasn’t hard to find all the stunning churches in town with their doors open at 7pm (as at midnight you have to be home for dinner). I was surprised to arrive at a ceremony that was already mid-way through, though with the language barrier thought it was best to stick it out. After witnessing a lot of kneeling and praying and kneeling again it dawned on me that this was simply too religious and went on the hunt for another. The second service was at a vast church crampacked with people in every corner and even outside the door. It was incredibly hot and incredibly humid yet everyone still donned their best Christmas outfits. A parade of children walked up the aisle and the singing began, naturally in Spanish and completely unrecognizable to me. In Spanish the next hour and a half slowly ticked by, though there were two songs with recognisable English tunes there was little more that resonated with English Midnight Mass tradition apart from the changing of the Eucharist. However like I had mentioned this time was more important for me personally to simply reflect upon myself - the last time I was in a church (Midnight Mass in Australia where it was too hot to even light candles) I’d felt scared, quite alone and it was completely unimaginable that I’d be in Peru a whole year later. It was also a social experiment of sorts but I can confirm that mass is equally as beautiful and momentous all over the entire world as the lights illuminate the decor of the church surrounded by happy church-goers, priests, candles and still further the feeling of pure joy. I don’t know which church I’ll find myself in next year, what weird adventures I would’ve encountered, what lessons I would've learned and what amazing people might have walked into my life in the next long winding year ahead of me. Yet as always, now I have to look forward to the journey. I know that I had said the festive season had crept upon me with a vengeance but Christmas Day had leapt up with even more of a surprise. And who can really blame me? As we wander through the vast sprawling city of Lima in the scorching midday sun it hardly evokes the essence of magic that the Northern Hemisphere feels on blustery winter evenings with mulled wine.
Nevertheless it came and went and in a slurry of red wine my second Christmas away from home passed me by. Of course Peru does have its own traditions that we were excited to try out. For instance South American culture celebrates everything on Christmas Eve before tucking into a huge Christmas Dinner at midnight. So we thought we’d share their traditions too and also (might I add) this would be the first year Christmas Dinner was entirely my job to cook. On the 23rd December we embarked on the challenge of buying ingredients in the absolute pandemonium of Peruvian Market life. We walked past turkeys hanging by their necks, appealingly in body bags full of blood all around the area. Despite the heat there were also many Christmas Hats and we successfully even found Brussel Sprouts much to my surprise. As Christmas Eve loomed it was time to whack on the Christmas Songs, don our Christmas Hats, open the wine before midday and begin the task of cooking. We opted for roast Beef (the American traditional dinner) yet I argued my case for Roast Potatoes, Pigs in Blankets and gravy naturally. What was surprising was that outside the traffic still ran normally. The streets, parks and beaches were still as full as any normal day and public transport ran and charged the same. By 9pm we headed out to midnight mass, brought forward typically because of the late night dinner tradition before we headed back to enjoy my successful cooking and drown ourselves with more wine. The magic that I had been looking for, that had been sincerely lacking in Peru, began at the stroke of midnight. From the 13th floor apartment we suddenly heard the murmur of people, the sound of celebrations and the dazzling lights of fireworks. Like the same excitement of Christmas Day where you run to open presents (at any age) we leapt over to our balcony to catch a truly phenomenal array of fireworks across every corner of the skyline. The whole city had joined together to illuminate Lima in neon lights. Below, our neighbour's were firing fireworks in the street which meant they were exploding directly at our balcony and between the high rise buildings dozens of firelanters made their way into the air. Aside from being major fire hazard and safety risk in general, the spectacle continued for hours into the night and it was breathtaking. It outdid any Bonfire Night and securely etched this Christmas into my memory. I’m pretty used to celebrating Christmas in an alternative way now. I have friends all over the world who are doing exactly the same and through a series of video calls at different times I send my greetings globally to my nearest and dearest. A time of joy, I pushed away any feelings of loneliness and with the help of some wine, made the day as perfect as we could. The main thing that I miss however really is the cold. The yearning for mulled wine and huge jackets and, though it's an inconvenience, even snow. So perhaps the biggest Christmas Present I can give this year is the promise that I’ll spend the next one with my parents - whereever in the world that might be. Getting off the beaten track
After almost two months of land travel in South America there had been a feature that I had unfortunately missed until this point. As we work our way up towards the equator, needless to say it is also now the start of summer here in Peru and the nights are as perfectly warm and humid as the daytime. A beach, the huge powerful turquoise waves of the Pacific ocean are so close that I could almost taste the sea water however I was yet to actually experience a real beach day - the type in Australia that had seen me wistfully stare out to sea and collect coconuts as well as an impressive tan. Our journey had taken us to Paracas. It is a small alcove of the coast 80 km north of our desert oasis that is firmly on the gringo travelling trail for it’s wonderful sea life and nature (branded as the poor man’s Galapagos). In many ways it resembles Byron Bay for it’s hippy stalls and reggae music along the beachfront yet it is still overwhelmingly aimed solely at profiting from tourism. A minute doesn’t go by when restaurant owners aren’t throwing a menu in your face or bracelet makers are shouting you over to their stall in this otherwise sleepy, bohemian beach side escape. In many ways it is harder to break free of your tourist image and get to know the real side to living in such a small town. Organised fun and paid tours leave little freedom and instead dictate your time and it sucks. With little literature or guide books explaining anything more than the typical ‘what to do’ sections about the sleepy town, it was time to take matters into our own hands. This is how you avoid slipping into the routine that everyone else does in Paracas. I slipped past the hostels (teeming with solo travellers who weren’t talking to anyone) and directly away from the main promenade of the beach. I admit the sea in this sheltered bay wasn’t as pretty as I’d hoped and the smell of the stale green water was quite questionable but alas, it would do. In my spare time I had been practicing how to spin a baton (with fire… so, fire spinning) and with a $2 aluminum staff I began practicing on the sand before a couple approached me to talk. The Argentinians were jugglers and brought their equipment to practice alongside me. Not long afterwards a group of twenty Peruvian children on a school trip swarmed our practice session with awe and we’d become the centre of attention upon the beach and finally a local approached me who happened to be a fire spinner himself. Through conversation with the local, a store owner in the town, I discovered he was later driving to a secret beach on the beautiful national reserve that many pay to tour every day. With a smile, of course we had been roped into this plan and before we knew it were driving in a 4WD vintage land cruiser through the desert. The landscape offers fascinating red sand beaches, yellow and green dunes and a view of flamingos in the crystal water. Finally we had reached a secret beach that belonged just for us alongside soft sand and transparent warm water full of wildlife. After spending the afternoon roasting in the sun and diving through the waves with two locals, the 4WD then took us on an off road adventure through the dunes that would probably have catered for an expensive tour excursion. In the evening we were taken out to eat local Peruvian food before meeting a series of other local bar owners who welcomed us into their groups. The trick is to befriend every person in town that you have the chance to speak to. Befriend the locals, discover their names, have a meaningful conversation and before you know it you are walking around the town being treated like a normal human being - you are given top tips from your friends and even the vendors stop yelling at you in English. We had managed to explore to secret side to Paracas and have some interesting encounters without having to pay a penny to a tour. This is the way to see a new place the correct way - now you just have to learn a circus trick. Hitchhiking in Peru
The lust for true adventure is an impossible feeling to escape. Though you can spend months surrounded by beautiful landscapes and interesting people, the sense of searching for more can just as easily creep back and consume your backpacking ways. But what is the missing piece that leads to such a sensation? As travelling days tick by in countless hostels, beaches, bars and bus journeys one feature becomes a little too evident to avoid. Despite the new locations it is easy to slip into a routine of searching for a hostel and walking around a new place. Though the settings vary, the routine of packing my backpack and hopping on yet another bus is not and there we have it - travelling has become too easy. Well it was certainly time to change that. I was lucky enough to find myself sitting on the southern coast of Peru next to the Pan-American Highway. This single road, one of the longest in the world, stretches the entire length of North and South America whilst cutting through all major towns and cities along the route and it is also the main trade road towards the Peruvian capital of Lima. The road itself is abundant with huge convoys of lorries, tractors and tourist busses yet rather than pay for a comfortable seat it was time to meet some locals, practice my Spanish and feel the wind in my hair through the window of one of these lorries. With backpacks in tow we walked to the edge of the city past garages and street vendors. In the hot midday sun the setting became increasingly dusty as the cars rolled by and we ventured closer to the open road. In an ample sandy spot we dropped our bags, stuck out our thumbs and with big smiles on our faces hoped for the best. One, two, three vehicles passed before the fourth abruptly pulled up to the side of the road. Our first hitchhike had taken just three minutes. The driver that had pulled up was in a huge bright red lorry, much like the Christmas Coca-Cola truck that adorns all our TV adverts, with a single Peruvian driver (Alfredo) in his forties happily beckoning us along for the ride. A quick conversation and we had agreed to be driven 60km along the highway to our next destination and with a jump in the engine we embarked on our adventure. Though some of you might think that hitchhiking in lorries is a dangerous pastime I wanted to argue quite the opposite here in South America and even throughout the rest of the world. What I’m trying to say is that you watch too much TV, perhaps too many horror films and this is certainly not Wolfcreek. As two experienced female travellers with a good grip of Spanish, our driver was so happy to finally have someone to talk to on his long journey through South America. We spoke about Christmas, about his two young daughters at home and we even had a selfie before we were dropped off two hours later. Like with any decision we make in Peru we were nevertheless constantly on guard with my eye on my Google maps and a photo of his number plate in my phone. We’d discussed a codeword in preparation of either of us ever feeling uncomfortable and we had pepper spray at the ready (just in case). From there we enjoyed the view, the wind in our hair and the prospect of meeting more people on our next Hitchhike. Next it took us about 10 minutes to be picked up by a hippy family who were then driving to the beach and dropped us directly by a strip of cheap hostels before giving us tips on the secret beaches. The entire journey had cost us nothing and taken just over three hours (about 15 minutes of which were actually stood by the side of the road). When travelling the world you simply have to learn to trust people and have faith that places are actually full of kind, normal and generous humans who are happy to help. The lust for adventure has now turned into a lust for meeting new and fascinating Peruvians that I otherwise wouldn’t see from a Gringo hostel. It’s time to break the stigma and face the reality of modern day hitchhiking - this isn’t a Hollywood Blockbuster mum, this isn’t Taken and I’m getting to my location way more efficiently than in a hot, sweaty bus. Huacachina, A Real Life Desert Oasis
A fifteen minute taxi ride from the nearest city of Ica is all it takes for the landscape to be transported to the golden depths of what seems like the Arab world. Vast yellow dunes tower over sandy houses, overwhelming heat and tough locals who have seen their fare share of sunshine and dune climbing. Yet there is something more fascinating about this location. Protected by walls of sand the air in this small town is tranquil and warm. But instead of the barren dryness that you associate with a desert this place is lush with green palm trees, exotic flowers and birdsong - of course at its centre rests a huge green lagoon - a real life natural oasis nestled into the backdrop of desert. Of course the novelty and beauty of this area has been wholeheartedly capitalised on as a town of hostels, tour guides and souvenir shops have flourished by the side of the green water. Poisoned by the vast hordes of daily tourists the water of the oasis itself is dirty yet does not shy away from a setting you only tend to imagine in adventure films. Stripped away of its buildings and modern day life, I can only imagine how beautiful this scene must’ve looked for its first explorers - before they profited and built a hotel or two. Aside from the fascinating and photogenic beauty it is impossible to escape the grips of tour guides and street vendors and we were quickly roped into buggying and sand boarding for the afternoon. The convoy of diesel guzzling dune cars revved their engines and pushed onto the sand with their screaming passengers. Climbing the first dune out of the Oasis, the cool wind rushes through your hair and you are met with a panoramic view of desert dunes reaching hundreds of metres into the distance and as far as the eye can see. We weaved and leap over sand dunes for over an hour before being taken to our first boarding location. A steep enough hill itself, the tour guides hand out a bunch of old wooden boards and simply give you freedom to go down at your own peril. And I admit it isn’t easy. It is nearly impossible to explain the vastness of this natural landscape and the height of the dunes themselves but to put it into perspective the third and final location, nicknamed ‘Death Dune’ because two people had apparently died there is a sheer vertical drop about the size of a twenty story building. Without any safety equipment or instruction I took one deep breath and pushed over the edge. As you plummet down the dune at phenomenal speed the sand rushes into your face and before you know it you have skidded to the bottom with exhilarating energy - the hardest part of course was to then climb back to to the top through the slippery sand. The end of the day was spent watching the sunset with about fifty other tourists snapping photos (at least put your phone on silent for God’s sake). Despite the overwhelming beauty of this setting scene, once again a frustration towards the obnoxious type of tourists here truly struck a chord. The desert itself was laden with plastic rubbish and empty bottles that despite efforts of some cleaning groups fails to deter Western backpackers as long as they get their perfect instagram shot. On top of this there was next to no concern about the dozens of petrol guzzling vehicles that run the sand dunes every day. It is this recklessness, witnessed all too often in tourist hotspots around South America that is beginning to expose to me the painful reality of the tourist industry and the barbarity of human destruction itself - yet I am left torn knowing that of course I equally contributed to this trade. This continent has it all. Who knew that Peru had a huge desert of staggering sand dunes tucked neatly away on the Southern coast? Yet be careful to make sure you have a good instagram filter to hide all that rubbish and pollution from your million dollar desert photo. Relationships on the road
As the festive season slowly crept up on me with a vengeance, so it appears have a series of happy marriage proposals and Facebook ring pictures to match. Just like that I have been plunged into the reality once again that life continues to press forward at a staggering pace around me and futures are paved for my happy, not so single friends. As my travelling calendar creeps onto two years doubtless this will only accentuate as more time goes by. So whilst the inevitable pairing continues across my friendship groups throughout the world, I thought I’d spare some time to explain how such pairing works with the weird, winding and unpredictable journey that is travelling. My current status of course is single (sorry Mum). I’m also probably more single than I ever had been in England where there were at least a few text messages going back and forth with the opposite sex. In reality, I’d actually spent my whole adult life in a limbo of dating and break-ups so travelling ultimately gave me a chance to exercise utmost independence and it’s been thoroughly refreshing. Don’t get me wrong however, just like all the travel films and books the romantic bonding over global stories with a like-minded male adventurer appears somewhat appealing. In my solo travel time I have also encountered a great deal of people who have met that very like-minded male counterpart, bought a car and drove off into the backpacking distant sunset to start their own love story. So what is it that makes the cut when travelling and romance collide? One of the highlights of travelling is that it has opened up more space for me to love throughout my experiences. I have loved friends, adventures, days, places, sunset and also fallen in love (and out) a few times too. And, like all the true love stories, they seriously happen when you least expect it. It was recently when I was settling in for a night of catching up on brain-numbing English TV that the next person to change my life walked into the room with a simple ‘hello’. Unlike your typical hostel conversation however, we immediately struck up with interesting questions going back and forth which were a refreshing respite from the often boring, repetitive things we say in hostels. The boy in question was of course also very beautiful, dressed in funny hippy clothes and was just a little cool and different. For my part at least there was a sense of excitement and in my reckless ‘yolo’ mood I suggested we grab a drink. The evening and the alcohol flowed, the conversation became more interesting and in-depth and the night went onto wonderful and fun adventures. So what made him different from the hundreds of other boys I have encountered on my trip? Perhaps it had been the first time that the conversation felt meaningful and wasn’t approached at brief, travelling face-value. The magic spark, the attraction that I could feel slowly swelling upside of me was the product of a series of questions that streered away from the hostel dialogue that I had rehearsed so well. He had torn me away from my comfort zone and through such exposure and intimacy allowed a conversational space for deeper connections to thrive. In a travelling world where you can so often easily feel like yet another anonymous traveller with a good story, it was the awareness of being known that truly triggered the magic of our encounter. With each narrative we told and response I felt came the daunting yet exhilarating realisation of being noticed in this world - ultimately my sense of existence itself. You might be wondering what happened to the beautiful boy that I fell in love with.The romance itself lasted two days before our journeys tore us in different directions, perhaps never to be seen again apart from the occasional facebook like and this case a cringey blog post which I hope he doesn’t see (sorry Mum & Grandma no wedding bells). It did however give me a deeper understanding of the encounters between two people on seperate adventures. Love in the time of travelling is hard and full of hurdles like every other relationship and in reality it’d be even more difficult to face travelling or leaving knowing that you might’ve met someone that might be worth sticking around for - that’s not part of the master plan. While my friends begin to tie the knot whilst I continue to tie up my backpack, I instead remain thankful for the brief encounters that have given deeper meaning to my decisions and my journey and also remain relieved that I feel no sense of urgency to rush into that next area of my life (unless I need a specific visa). |
Tamara DavisonArgentina, Paraguay, Bolivia, Peru. Archives
February 2018
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