Mon 15th Dec: Hostal Apu Wasi

My stomach was no better today. I was confined to my room. I didn´t eat for most of the day. I had plenty of tea administered sympathetically by Sonia and Rosio who had great fun listening to my faltering spanish.

In the evening I had a small amount of pasta with some soup. Otherwise I just read Frederick Forsyth´s Icon which I had picked up in a book exchange in Arequipa.

Sun 14th Dec: Cusco

Yesterday afternoon, during a period while my stomach had briefly settled down, I went to the kitchen to make

a cup of soup. Two of the girls who work in the hostel enquired how I was suspecting I had altitude sickness. I told then I wasn´t good. They recommended tea made from Coca leaves. They were busy running around the place but friendly and curious to find out where I was from. After some mugs of this Coca tea from the girls I was confident I would be ok in the morning.

When I awoke this morning I did feel better. I had a cup of tea and went out to see Cusco. Walking down narrow, cobbled street you could feel the sense of history in the place. It was exciting. Cusco was the capital of the vast Inca empire which reached its zenith in the 14th and 15th centuries AD. 14 Incas ruled from Cusco over the centuries. Each adding knew features, temples etc to the city. Much in the same way that Roman emperors did with Rome. The INca empire eventually spanned modern Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia and parts of Argentina and Chile. A period of Civil war heralded the arrival of the spanish conquistadores under Francisco Pizarro. The situation was exploited by Pizarro and brought about the rapid collapse of the empire.

The spaniards gained control of Cusco after a massacre of the INca army around the citadel od Saqsaywaman, a vast ritual site crowning a hilltop overlooking the town, barel 400m from my hostel. After this victory the Spaniards consolidated their control over Cusco and extended their influence over the region. Inca resistance was futile when faced with the latest in European weaponry. Under the spanish Cusco became a backwater as they established their capital at Lima on the coast.

Today the old town of Cusco retains its original street plan with many of the buildings resting on original inca structures or their foundations. Many lower portions of buildings today exhibit the distinctive Inca tradition of carved stone walls. The knowledge of this technique is now lost. Cusco is an attractive town with roofs of red tiles marking a notable change from the corrugated iron rooves of Argentina and Chile.

Looking around the historic sites marked a change from recent physical activities. Walking around town felt strenuous enough. I was still suffering the effect of the bug. In fact I hadn´t recovered at all and I was overdoing my exertions. I felt tired, lethargic, wholly lacking in energy. I went into an "Irish pub", Rosie O´Grady´s and saw they did a mixed grill. On this occasion my stomach cried out for some familiar food, comfort food. I hadn´t eaten in 24hrs. When the dish was delivered to me I woolfed it down hungrily, washing it down with 2 glasses of local beer. By 6pm I was back in my room, exhausted. By 7pm it was back at Montezuma´s 4th of July parade. Whizz, Bang, Splatter!!!

Sat 13th Dec: Cusco

Despite the concerns over my stomach I managed to get some patchy sleep on the bus. We arrived in Cusco at 6am and pulled into the Cruz del Sur compound. I retrieved my rucksack quickly and was one of the first passengers to head for town. The main gate of the compound had been closed on our entry leaving a small pedestrian door for access to the street. Around this door lingered 12-13 taxi men all eager for business. I never feel comfortable approaching a group like this. Mindful of all the tales of scams, thefts and express kidnappings I was quite wary. Five metres from the doorway I was greeted with a chorus of "Taxi, taxi, taxi" from a line of eager faces who began to crowd around. "Non Gracias, non gracias" I replied without breaking stride. I put my head down and stepped through the doorway. I now faced another barrage of "Taxi, taxi, taxi" from another 8-9 taxi men in the street. Again I replied "Non Gracias". This time I had to go either right or left. I had no idea which way would bring me to the centre and accomodation. I decided quickly to turn right. I walked down the street confidently as if I knew where I was going.

One guy followed after me. "Sir, you go to the centre?" he asked. I turned, smiled, nodded and replied "Si". "Sir you are going the wrong way" he informed me. Good man, Fran, nice one. Feeling somewhat sheepish I turned and hesitantly started in the opposite direction. The guy walked alongside me asking if I had accomodation. I said yes telling him the name of the hostel I was going to. He asked if I had a reservation. For some reason I said know., which was true. Immediately he handed me a business card for the hostel he represented. He introduced himself as Nicacio. I tend to avoid these situations but the card looked good the photo of the hostel looked good to and the guy was dressed smartly. His price 30 soles (eu 7.50) was what I expected for Cusco. I sized the guy up and decided to take his offer. A 5 min taxi ride later we arrived at Hostal Apu Wasi. True to his word Nicacio ushhered me into an attractive, secure and respectable guesthouse. Situated at the top of a slope overlooking the town the views were fantastic I felt somewhat lucky to have virtually stumbled over Nicacio.

I was shown my room which had its own bathroom and I lay down to sleep for a couple of hours before exploring Cusco. I was excited to be here, looking forward to what shold be one of the highlights of this trip. 20 mins later my plans for the day were going out the window, or, more appropriately, down the toilet. It was a bit like Montezuma´s revenge and the fourth of July all rolled into one. Whizz, Bang, Splatter!! My stomach which had thankfully remained relatively dormant throughout the bus journey suddenly woke up with a frenzy of activity. I hardly left the room for the next 24 hours.

Fri 12th Dec: Chivay-Arequipa

Music wakes me up so I get up and head into town to see if the Fiesta is still on the go. Its 8.30am. I have to catch a bus at 12.30 back to Arequipa so I have a few hours yet to see the craic .

As I enter the Plaza I pass a side street which was used last night as a public toilet by half the town. This morning the stench that wafts out of the street makes me cringe. When I say half the town used that street I mean just that. Young and old, male and female were squatting happily in darkness of that alleyway last night. Nobody was batting an eyelid bar me. Back in the plaza its lively enough but casualties of last nights excesses are evident enough. Bodies are slumped over benches deep in drunken slumbers. A couple of bands strike up some tunes but they are without half their compliment. Plenty of people are milling about but there is a quiet, tired air about the town. A touch of a hangover, perhaps?

The decorations are being dismantled by a sprightly group of locals. A group of musicians enter the plaza. At their head "an elder" is beingchaired shoulder high. He has a litre bottle of beer which he sprays all around, cheering exuberantly as he does so. The bottle emptys, somebody hands him another bottle and he continues. Nobody seems to mind being sprayed with beer but few people follow the group at the same time.

A lot of women are still parading around in traditional dress so I don´t know if the fiesta is still continuing but there isn´t the same buzz as yesterday. I have a little breakfast in a small cafe and top this up with an orange and banana. As I stroll around town the cramps begin to return and my stomach starts to rumble. It doesn´t feel good. I have a last wander around town, collect my rucksack from the hostel and make my way to the bus station. I go to the toilet there and my suspicions are fully confirmed. I appear to have some kind of bug. In 15mins I have to start a 3-4hr bus journey. I´m scared to think of the possible consequences.

Thankfully the journey passes without mishap. We get some great views over Chivay as the bus climbs up into the mountains, and another great view of a volcanoe up in the altiplano. Otherwise the terrain is very familiar back to Arequipa. Back on the outskirts of the city the size of Arequipa again surprises. The suburbs extend right to the lower slopes of Volcan Misty. I would not like to be living in those suburbs when Misty next erupts. Misty is an active volcao and she´s due to pop at some point in the next few years.

I have about 5hrs to kill in Arequipa before catching an overnight bis to Cusco. I´m looking forward to this its one of the big destinations on the trip with the prospect of visiting Macchu Pichu in the near future. However, my most immediate concern is my stomach. I´m not eating anything only dry bread and water. I´m afraid to eat anything with a 10hr journey coming up. I spend a while people watching in the station. One little overactive toddler keeps me amused with his antics for a while. Creating mischief for his mother. Shouting out destinations in imitation of bus company reps trouting for business at their counters. The bus station is very busy. People coming and going. One side of the station is lined by bus company ticket booths all shouting out their destinations. The opposite side is lined by small booths selling snacks etc.

By 8.30pm I´m on the Cusco bus. I´m travelling with Cruz del Sur. Unlie other bus companies this one has its own private departure lounge. You check in your luggage as at an airport, wait in the lounge and proceed to a departure gate when your bus is called. A hostess checks your ticket and ushers you on board. Its all ver slick and novel.

An hour into the journey the evening meal is served. I´m starving so I decide to chance eating it. This was followed by a game of bingo. I was down to two numbers when house was called. A film I hadn´t heard of called "August Rush" was up next. It was actually quite good. When this finished the lights were lowered and it was a case of trying to sleep. I found it hard to settle as I was very conscious of my grumbling stomach. It was a night of clenched buttocks!!

Pics of Chivay Fiesta

Thurs 11th Dec. Chivay

I'm up at 2.45am and stroll down to terminal Terrestre. Its alive with people. Admittedly half of them are asleep, some in the most uncomfortable sleeping positions I've seen. One old lady in traditional costume, her bowler hat still in place, lies at a 45 degree angle to the ground. Her two heels support her weight while she levers herself on to her backpack which rests on a seat. When I say backpack, its inaccurate. Nearly all the old women have these multipurpose shawls with which they use to carry almost anything from babies to crops feshly cut from the fields to, in this case, shopping she has acquired in the big city to be brought home somewhere up in the mountains.

I'm surprised how many people are in the bus station given the early hour but then not many buses at home depart as they do here at 1.30am or 3.30am. Arequipa is a bigger city than I had thought. It has a population of over 750,000. I begin to realise this as we pass out through the darkness towards higher ground and see the full extent of the city illuminated across the plain. The bus is full as we leave the terminal but it still stops to pick up passengers in the suburbs. Most stand in the aisle, some of the older ladys, bronzed faces wizened and creased with age, their loaded shawls wrapped around their back, sit on the floor and doze, bowler hat tipped at an awkward angle. On the edge of town we befin the steep ascent into the highlands.

By the time dawn breaks we're high up in the mountains. My ears have popped a couple of times on the ascent. The journey has felt almost stop start as the driver accelerates along windy mountain roads only to slow to a crawl behind a fully loaded and frustratingly slow lorry. As he overtakes the next vehicle I look down over precipitous drops which seem to fall away for a couple of thousand meteres to a distant valley floor. The road climbs higher. We hit the Altiplano at 4, 800m. Its the highest I've been on land. Its bleak but beautiful up here, some poor grazing but mostly dry rocky ground and snowcapped peaks.

To be honest I'm not really enjoying it. I need to go to the loo and there aint no toilet on this jalopy. The journey turns out to be a lot longer than I was informed otherwise I wouldn't have had any liquids before leaving. However I feel I'm stuck as my bladder is uncomfortably full and I'm hanging on for dear life.

At the highest point of the journey the paved road ends on we hit a rough gravel surface. The road becomes a pothole minefield and the journey becomes a bone rattler, utter misery for me with a full bladder. I've been hanging on for the last while thinking we should nearly be there. Its 6am and I was told it was a two and a half hour journey to Chivay. I ask the guy next to me how long more before we reach Chivay and he says about 90 mins. I nearly wet myself. I drag myself up the aisle, around people, over old women, trying not to run. I plead with the driver to let me off and thankfully he doesn't seem to mind. He stops the bus, I nearly run through the door before its open and rush to the back of the bus to preserve my dignity. Of course the zipper sticks and have a moment of extreme anxiety before it unsticks. I bless the ground at nearly 5,000m. And blessed it surely was!! I rush back on board thanking the driver and mightily relieved, indeed exalted, I retake my seat.

I talk to the guy next to me, Guido, from Arequipa. He's a civil engineer and overseeing the construction of a science block in the local school. Through broken English and Spanish we tell our stories. 90 mins later we descend into a beautiful valley which holds the small town of Chivay. At 7.30am I'm walking through the streets and I could swear I can hear a band playing somewhere in the vicinity. Surprisingly the town centre is alive with people at this hour. The main plaza is festooned with decorations which I presume are for Christmas. After some minutes with my bags I'm panting. I'm not sure what altitude Chivay sits at but it must be high. The town itself is a rustic wee place, nestled benath the high Andean mountains. The main plaza is pretty but readiating away from here are dusty unpaved streets with at times ramshackle buildings housing small grocery stores, little restaurants and the odd internet cafe full of kids playing their favourite video games. Here and there local dogs frolic around or doze. Peeping over garden walls are the odd donkey or a horned cow. Every street leads to views of nearby fields or mountain slopes. As I said it was a rustic wee place. I'm looking for Calle Sucre, the street where my hostel is situated. 5 mins later I'm knocking on the door. This hostel is located in a small walled compound with its own courtyard. Everybody's up and I'm let in through a small doorway in the gate. I got a room 'con banyo' and bargained the owner down from 30 soles to 20 (5euro).

I was very tired so I lay down for a couple of hours rest before looking around. 10 mins later as I'm drifting off to sleep I'm disturbed by the crash of cymbals and the blast of trumpets. A brass band comes marching by the house. There's no chance of sleep now. A marching band!!! and its not even 8.00 in the morning. I couldn't understand the reason for it. I stay in bed until 10 and, hearing the music approach again I get up to investigate. As the band approached I went up on to a terrace on the floor above And I see a group of dancers in costume coming ahead of the band. I thought it might be a wedding procession but there was nobody to ask.

I get dressed and go down town to see whats going on. I see there isn't just one band but a few around town. There are two in the plaza each with their own troupe of dancers in bright traditional costumes. By now there a large crowd has congregated in town. Bottles of beer are being consumed by all. Drummers bangin out the rhythm vigorously, trunpets and trombones alternating within the music. It turns out this is a fiesta to celebrate the feast of the immaculate conception and the music and dancing continues all day. The fact that the music and dance doesn't change at all throughout the day doesn't matter one bit to the participants everybody appears to be having a great time. THe great thing about the spectacle is that you can go a way for a couple of hours and come back and you really haven't missed anything.

In the afternoon I decide to go looking for the famous Colca canyon which is supposed to be right beside Chivay. I go towards some hot springs which I mistakenly believe lie on the same road as the canyon. An hour later I'm at the springs but no sign of the canyon. I don't mind. I spend an hour or so soaking in the indoor and outdoor mineral pools. When I stand up out of the hot water I almost faint with dizziness. I have to steady myself. I get a collectivo back into town because I feel too tired to walk back. I don't know if its me or the heat of the pools but I feel very tired. I squeeze into the front of the car and join 6 others, a boot full of agricultural produce and a huge blind alsation which accompanies its owner, an ancient old woman. Both sit in the boot on top of all the crops. The produce is heading for the market in town which is buzzing today with all the people in for the fiesta.

As the evening progresses and darkness falls over Chivay the fiesta begins to reach its climax. Throughout the day bands came and went through the plaza but there was always one or two bands playing continuously. Now all the bands have converged together and waltz around the square. Hundreds of dancers now throng the streets, each attached to a particular band. Every so often a tipsy lady or gent grabs someone from the throng and joins the lines of dancers in what appears to be a revved up Peruvian version of the stacks of Barley. Its very elegant and colourful with most of the dancers in costume. With the decorations now lit up the plaza is a riot of colour.

I eat in a side street off the plaza in a little family restaurant. I lad in his teens serves me. He´s very polite, very unsure of himself, lacking confidence but very earnestly making an effort. I ask him some questions about the fiesta but either he doesn´t understand me or he´s not sure himself. Eithere way he can´t answer my questions. I have a bowl of pasta soup with a delicious subtle hint of fresh mint and a main course of rice and strips of dry, stringy llama meat. Its different but I don´t think I´ll be rushing back to eat llama in future. WHen I pay I tip the lad. He´s delighted with himself. Beaming a smile he says in English "Thank you very much". I walk out into the darkness smiling. Since early afternoon I have not been feeling well. I´ve felt tired and lethargic. In the evening I begin to feel twinges of cramp in my stomach. Every so often I feel a sharp little pinch in the muscles, uncomfortable, mildly painful but no more. The fiesta continues in full swing as I have to head for bed. Down in the Plaza the town of Chivay is still rockin to brass bands and latin music. The fiesta continues well into the night and beyond.

Wed 10th Dec: Arequipa

I have a sleep in this morning. I´m not going to do a whole lot today. I´ll visit Monaterio Santa Catalina which will take a while and is recommended not to be missed. I´m reading the Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, regarded as childrens literature I know but Mark Twain is a fantastic writer. I visited Hannibal in Missouri in the summer. This was Twain´s childhood home and the inspiration and location for the adventures in these books. I promised I´d read them after being interviewed so I have the books now and I´m flying through them.

Late in the morning I take a taxi into the centre and head for the monastery. It was built around 1570. 30yrs after the spanish established control over the district and began to build their colonial settlement. Over the years the monastery gained high prestige . It housed approx 40 nuns, drawn to the religious life from the nobility of the surrounding district. While the nus forsook civilian life and shut themselves behind the walls of the monastery they didn´t live a spartan life by any means. The seemed to have kept themselves by the means to which they were accustomed. The monastery itself is a beautiful town within a town, with streets, plazas and sumptuous cells. All built from the volcanic rock of the district.

Afterwards I ate. I was going to eat in the same restaurant as yesterday but , at the last moment decided to go into a locals place in the same street. This turned out to be a bit of a ramshackle joint and the food was.... spartan. Indeed, I had to try and force some of it down.

Another of the features of the traffic in Arequipa are the local bus services. These are, for the most part, converted little Hiace vans. They zip around town in swarms. They each have conductors who lean out of the sliding side doors to shout out their destinations to prospective passengers. A s the bus swerves into the side of the street, seemingly at random, the conductor, hanging from the door jumps into the pavement, shouting to all and sundry. Its all fast, rapid. The passengers pile in, the conductor jumps in after them and the driver accelerates back into the traffic. They pass a rival minibus and the conductor shouts a pleasantry into the driver, laughing as they whizz past. Conduting for Dublin Bus was never this exciting!!

I got my ticket for tomorrows destination, Chivay. This town sits at the head of one of the world´s deepest canyons at over 3,000m deep. The bus to Chivay leaves at 3.30am so I have an early start.