Blog Roll

Forgot to add this to the Machu Picchu entry. We`d got up before 5am to get the train and I went to brush my teeth. Luckily I'd had a shower the night before.

We continued south to Iquique for the sole reason of visiting an old sodium nitrate mine, now a decrepit ghost town. It`s called Humberstone after James Humberstone, a man of Kent who managed this site for some time in the early 20th century. Production stopped in 1960 and everyone left, so now it`s possible to walk the empty streets, peer into empty houses, prance around on the theatre`s stage, walk through the spooky hospital, sit in the schoolrooms, hang about in the hotel`s ballroom and stare at the rusty, iron-bottomed swimming pool. Humberstone, like Iquique is in the Atacama desert. It never rains. The buildings are decaying but well-preserved.
Before the Germans invented synthetic nitrate during the first world war there was huge demand for this mineral, known as white gold. A lot of British entrepreneurs got in on it, including one man from Leeds called John T North, who was known as the Nitrate King. Conditions were terrible for workers and at Humberstone they were paid in tokens, redeemable only at company shops, until 1929. All the fancy amenities like the pool and the theatre were built in the late 1930s when the management appeared to have softened up a bit. Even the medical care was free. They must have lost their marbles.
This place is now a Unesco World Heritage Site - just like Machu Picchu. There are other mines dotted about the desert. One was used as a concentration camp during Pinochet`s regime and is apparently still surrounded by land mines.

Iquique is also completely rain free. "It never rains", said an ice cream man who had spent 20 years living in Swindon. When we told him where we were from he said, "Liverpool... Manchester... grey... grey..." I thought he was saying "great! great!" then I noticed how he was wistfully shaking his head as if taken back to a regrettable or traumatic experience. You see, in Iquique the sky is brilliantly blue everyday, the light is clear and it`s not even too hot.
There`s always a nice cool breeze because of the sea. He said the city`s water comes from the distant mountains through underground rivers. But he thinks they`re being poisoned by the multinational copper mining companies that use millions of litres of desert water then dump contaminated waste back into the water table. The world`s biggest open cast copper mine is a few hours from here. It`s part-owned by Xstrata - listed on the London Stock Exchange. I`m going to have to buy some shares and represent the ice cream man at the next annual meeting.
On Iquique`s streets the weatherboard buildings are well-preserved by the weather. The paint is blistered and peeling but they still look graceful and stylish - like they might belong in New Orleans or a Western. We walked the length of the town to a great seafood restaurant (see soup picture) and were surprised to see hundreds of storks a group of sealions lounging by a stinky dock. We had gone to great lengths in New Zealand and Argentina to see wildlife like this and here they were sunbathing on empty water bottles and plastic bags. There were about 13 of them, some very large males with very lion-like roars. They stay here because the fish sellers dump all the leftovers for them. We watched as one man threw fish heads into one of the big male´s waiting mouth. Another just stretched out on a freshly dumped pile of fish. More like pigs in shit than graceful sea life.

It´s 4am and we´re stumbling off a Peruvian bus. A man is shouting, "Arica, Arica". This is where we´re heading, just over the Chilean border. He offers to take us, but the border doesn´t open until 6am. We go anyway and see what happens. He leads us in the darkness to his 1980s American car. It´s a Pontiac with a bench seat across the front and a gear lever sticking out of the dashboard. There are two others in the car also heading for Arica. At least I hope they are. I hope they´re not part of a kidnapping gang preying on sleepy tourists. I try and stay awake just in case. It takes five minutes to get out of town, the driver has some kind of Classic Spanish Gold pop station on the radio. As a Spanish Nancy Sinatra croons and what looks like the Atacama passes by I feel like I´m in a Quentin Tarantino film.
At the border the driver switches off the engine (he leaves the radio on) and we sit in the darkness waiting for 6am. Amanda´s asleep, I watch as the yellow moon goes down and the sky brightens to the east. At 6am the driver leads us in a rush through customs. This is our 17th overland border crossing but his guidance confuses us. We stand there looking like we don´t know what a passport is for. Amanda leaves a bag in the car and has to go through again. They tell her off and confiscate some peaches. We´re through and it´s 8am in Chile. One of the other passengers is detained so we leave without him. It´s a short drive to Arica. The sun is bright and the Pacific hoves into view, there´s a disco instrumental on the radio, it sounds like Barry White´s going to break into song.

We left Cusco heading south and aiming for Chile. But before we re-entered that country we wanted to visit the Colca Canyon, one of the biggest in the world. Apparently it´s just over 1,000m down, twice as deep as the Grand Canyon and is famous for the condors that circle in the morning. But it´s a tricky place to get to. First, a three-hour bus journey on the highest road I´ve ever been on. It took us up to 4,800m, that´s three miles and only about 700m lower than Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa´s highest mountain! We both felt a bit light headed and were glad to descend. We were lucky to go on the old road and pass by Peru´s most active volcano, Ubinas, which was smoking for us.

From the town of Chivay there´s a two-and-a-half hour journey on an unmade road. But the bus is in demand and we stood in an orderly queue that convulsed everytime a bus pulled in.

The men and women, mostly in stetsons (the men) and delicately embroidered hats, skirts and waistcoats (the women) grabbed everything and threw themselves at the coach door. This happened about three times before we got on one. As it stopped in villages further down the road some men clambered on the roof (and this is a typical National Express-style coach). That night we stayed in a small town at the top of the canyon, sleeping in a converted barn and eating by candlelight in a small bar. We were up at 5.30am to walk to the canyon and hopefully see some condors. We saw a few but the canyon was the star, its steep sides home to impossibly isolated villages. We sat and looked upon the distant river as villagers passed us, leading their donkeys along ancient trails.

So we slogged our way over the high plains to Cusco, an ancient Inca city. It´s also considered to be the gateway to Machu Picchu another anicent Inca city which has become Peru´s most famous tourist attraction. Lots of people do the Inca Trail, a four-day trek over the mountains, but we decided to get the train (we did walk up the mountain - see pic below of zigzag road). I never knew you could catch a train. I imagined Machu Picchu to be completely isolated and that´s why everyone walked there. Although it´s perched on a ridge between two steep mountains, in a steep valley full of big mountains, a train snakes along by the river and buses run between a small town and the site. There´s even a luxury hotel up there. It may not be as isolated as I expected but it´s still very special. The site is stunning as you can see from the pictures and lived up to the hype.

It didn´t even feel like there were too many people there and we roamed around looking at the houses and temples and climbed Wayna Picchu, that impossibly steep peak that looms behind us in the pictures. Even this mountain is covered in terracing, they terraced everything. It took us two hours return, up very steep narrow steps(see pic below) and we had to crawl through a small tunnel at the top. From Wayna Picchu you can look down on the city and see that it was built in the shape of a condor. The current thinking is that it was a summer retreat for one of the Inca kings. Although it feels very high up, it´s 1,000m lower than Cusco and has a better climate. It also had religious significance and there are many temples here as well as a very rare stone sun dial. It´s not really a sun dial, it´s more of an astronomical tool, but that´s what the guides call it. The Incas used the stars for their agricultural planning and they used this tool, which is in the shape of the southern cross, to read the stars. It´s rare because the Spanish found many like this and, appreciating their significance, smashed them up.


Fortunately the Spanish never found out about Machu Picchu. But while they didn't get the chance to take it for what they could, a British company is making the most of its opportunity today.
Orient Express Hotels, based in London, listed on the New York Stock Exchange and registered to a tax haven in Bermuda, runs the rail monopoly between Cusco and Machu Picchu. It´s a four-hour journey and a return fare for the most luxurious seat costs about $140. We caught it from the closest station an hour-and-a-half from the site and paid $62 each. This was the "backpacker/economico" ticket. And this is in a valley where you can get a three course lunch for about 50p. Although the pricing is cynical I can understand the Peruvians making the most of this asset. I just don´t understand why the government has signed away the 30-year rights to a foreign company. I think it´s a joint venture so some money will end up in Peru´s coffers (or its politicans´ pockets). But it seems crazy in a poor country for any of this revenue to benefit the shareholders of a foreign company and its tax-avoiding directors.

Back in Cusco we roamed around the ancient streets and looked at the fine churches and buildings the Spanish built on top of fine Inca temples and buildings. It was Holy Week so we saw a large procession of people following a gory but well-dressed statue of Christ. We also looked at the hotel where John Peel had his fatal heart attack (is that weird? It´s the white building, bottom right).

The day we arrived in La Paz I had my 1st real experience of squits from a 100% organic soup and sandwich. Jim was really poorly the next day, when we visited Tiwanaku 50 miles out of the city.In fact he was completely projectile and sometimes absent from our tour. Tiwanaku was an ancient civilisation, before the Inkas and seemingly more advanced than the Incas, around between 1,500 BC-1,200 AD and situated at a mammoth 4,100 metres. The stone work and ceramics made me realise how little we have advanced in such a long time. The site's considered to be the most important archeologically in South America. There are two large pyramids both are still almost completely covered with soil. They were aligned with the mountains and Lake Titikaka and were used as important political and religious places. Tiwanaku's elite also studied astronomy from the top of the pyramids to help them plan their crops. There is a small church in an adjacent modern village which archeologists (who are still excavating)think could cover a very important site, as Spanish conquerers often built churches on top of the most significant sites of previous civilisations, to obliterate the past as much as possible. One of the archeologists tried to have a look under the church whilst the priest was away, but was stopped by villagers. The Spanish also defaced the most symbolic statues, believing them to be `false` idols.

Some of the stone carvings depicted different faces, showing the diversity of the Tiwanaku civilisation, including one alien face...

We got to La Paz late at night in early March and hooked up at Hotel Milton for 8 days. We never meant to stay for so long, but the hotel was unusual and friendly and we were hit by bad food on our first day. Despite being aclimatised at 2,500 metres, La Paz's streets are steep and Jim felt like a wheezing elderly folk going up the hotel stairs. The hotel was one of my favourite places to stay. Each floor was grand with 70s wallpaper depicting different alpine scenes, and on the stairways the walls were padded with leather. It was really tranquill, with 8 floors and hardly anyone staying there, but very chilly.

From the rooftop we had fantastic views over La Paz. The city is stunning, squeezed between mountains, with houses pinned to the steepest slopes and markets on most streets.

Women in bowler hats at tilted angles, selling fruit, cheese and lots of varieties of spuds, as well as the usual arndale clutter ( wait to see your presents). Unfortunately, Jim was nearly at the end of one of the spuds from across the road. Whilst trying to take of a picture of me perusing the spud stall, the spud lady was very afronted and clasped a spud in hand and took aim... luckily, I managed to intervene to say he was `with me` so she held off.
There lots of pictures you could take in La Paz, but understandably some people get pretty pissed off with tourists sticking a camera in their face everyday.

One of the best museums we have been to during the trip was the coca Museum in La Paz, set up by a local psychiatrist to educate people about coca and its uses. Coca is a big part of Andean culture in Bolivia and Peru. The indigenous community, which is about 60% of the population, chew the leaves whilst working and at social gatherings. Its pretty similar to khat, which we tried in Ethiopia, although I think khat is chewed by less people. Cafes also sell coca tea, which is supposed to help with adjusting to the high altitudes. The use of coca in Bolivia and Peru is strikingly different to how cocaine is used in the West. Pure cocaine is one of 3 components of the coca leaf, which is extracted and mixed with other chemicals to make cocaine. Although America only has 5% of the world's population, it consumes 50% of the world's cocaine. America continues to send drug enforcement agencies into Bolivia to spray farmers' fields with chemicals to kill coca, against the wishes of the majority of Bolivians, poisoning the soil and killing other less hardy crops. But the Bolivian government has not made it illegal to grow coca for traditional use. Back in the 1960s, the United Nations (UN) sent a former banker (??!) to South America to `research` the impact of coca. He decided that coca was responsible for poverty in South America.... and on his recommendations, the UN outlawed the use of coca. Only last month, Bolivia sent representatives to a UN conference to fight its corner, but the UN continues to push for a total ban. Strange since it "works to promote respect for human rights, protect the environment, fight disease and reduce poverty".
Pictures below, enjoying beer and tea and a picture of Jim when he first moved to Manchester, relaxing after selling drugs on the streets...

Bolivia, like Brazil and lots of other places, has plenty of servants. The era of service is alive and well, and usually the people in service have darker skin than those they are servicing. Here, the cleaners, cooks and childminders are all indigenous women. They´re known as cholitas because they´re usually from the countryside and wear traditional dress. (Although, we were told yesterday that the 'traditional' long skirts were imposed by the Spanish, presumably to protect their modesty.) Each morning we would see cholitas in Cochabamba waiting to be hired. They stand around talking, waiting for someone to come along and offer them domestic work. Most of the time it's probably safe but they looked vulnerable. In recent years three cholitas have been raped and murdered and dumped on a hill overlooked by a huge statue of Christ.


The city has a huge market where there´s all the usual stuff you'd find at home - knickers on steering wheels, tracksuit tops and cheap T-shirts. But there´s one part of the market that deals with, for want of a better word, witchcraft. Well, it's not really witchcraft, more traditional beliefs to do with good fortune. Some of the stalls had dried llama foetuses hanging up. In broken spanish I asked what they were for. 'Good luck', said the woman. 'Where do you put it?', 'El patio', she said. I don´t think this means sticking it next to the barbecue on the crazy paving. In Spanish 'patio' is more of a courtyard.
We also took in an afternoon of football where we got two matches for two pounds. The quality of the top billing was high and although the atmosphere was relaxed there were quite a few riot police. It was interesting to see how they formed a line around players taking corners even though the stands were full of people eating ice cream. At full time inflatable tunnels protruded from the changing rooms to the edge of the pitch and even then the police formed a line, with the greatest protection given to the ref.

We spent a week in Cochabamba trying to learn Spanish. We took on the services of Guido, who guided us through the language for two hours a day, for six days - plus homework. After a 10-month holiday this dedication was a tall order. On more than one occasion I nearly got a biro in the eye during animated discussions with Amanda about the polite third person singular of the verb 'to be'.

We escaped Santa Cruz's stifling heat for the cooler air of the Andean foothills. Samaipata is the kind of sleepy rural town that looks like it hasn't changed for hundreds of years. The roads leading off the main square turn into dusty gravel tracks after fifty metres and are lined with ancient single storey mud brick homes. It reminded me of the sleepy French villages that have been bought up by British investors. Here it´s Dutch and German immigrants who form a large ex-pat community. They´re not that noticable but have a hand in most of the tourist-related businesses. We camped at a place run by a Dutch couple who bought a huge chunk of land on a hillside years ago. It was a nice place but they were a bit smug about their herb garden, vegetable patch and the 'slow food' they served in the cafe. There was a communal locker for the campers and the key was kept on a kitchen shelf. One night the owner took away the key saying there had been some thefts in the past and he had to be careful. He seemed a bit jittery like he was making the whole thing up. The more likely explanation was that he didn't trust a gregarious Polish bloke who had kept him up the night before by talking too loudly. In the morning I went to see the owner about the key. He asked where I was from and appeared to confide in me as a respectable Englishman. 'Oh, it´s back on the shelf,' he said, in a strange Cary Grant accent. 'I can smell the people better now.' I felt like being sick all over his slow food breakfast. The Pole was away for the day but returned late in the evening, raving about a lunar eclipse. Within minutes the shadow of the earth started to move across the nearly full moon. Horses whinnied, dogs barked and thousands of stars appeared. I´d never seen the Milky Way so bright, but then something strange happened. When the moon was completely obscured most of the stars vanished and yet it was a cloudless night. They reappeared about 30 minutes later. Any explanations on the back of a postcard please.

We spent a week in this town taking it very easy, mainly because there were no banks and we hadn't brought enough money. We walked up to a pre-Inca fort called El Fuerte where a huge rock is covered in intricate carvings, mostly to do with astronomy. While we stood there a huge swarm of bees droned towards us about 10 metres up. Staring up in disbelief at this dark cloud, we froze in panic aware that we could do nothing if they decended on us and stung us both to death. (Alright, it might seem dramatic, but these things flash through your mind). But they flew on leaving us jittery, jumping each time we heard an insect fly by. El Fuerte was the eastern-most point of the Inca empire before the Spanish arrived and claimed the site for themselves. We were heading west to the city of Cochabamba and caught a night bus through some isolated villages on some hairy mountain roads.