Where is Reid?

Goodbye Peru

After Huaraz, I had nothing else I really wanted to achieve in Peru. I could have hopped a bus straight to Ecuador, but there was a friend from Saskatoon I intended to visit. She had flown to Colombia with her bike and was bikepacking down through the Andes towards Lima. Finding a time and place to meet up was difficult, but seeing as I had all the time in the world we could make it work. The plan was to shoot for Cajamarca within one week, so I gathered my stuff, went around the town giving the dogs some goodbye kisses and started to pick my way northward.

Trujillo

Yellow and Blue? Wow Someone Knew Their Colour Wheel

I got into Trujillo in the middle of the night, without a place to stay. I asked the taxi driver to go to a cheap place near centro and he agreed. We drove down and he stopped at a hotel that looked fancy. Not fancy enough to host the Queen, but maybe one of the royals nobody really cares about.

It Was Probably A Fitting Place for Lord Frederick Windsor

Being a proud individual of substantial means I entered anyways. I made a good attempt at making an exit without seeming as though it was the cost that deterred me.

“I presume breakfast is included?”

“But of course sir.”

“Very good, very good. And of course there will be a jacuzzi in my quarters?”

“This is not a hotel for peasants sir, there will be both a sauna and a hot tub.”

“Hmm, and all water closets include a bidet?”

“No sir, but hygienic paper is included.”

This was the opportunity I had waited for. Turning my nose to the sky, I let out the most scoffing tut-tut I could muster and strolled out into the night.

Going out in the wee hours of the morning was a bit of a miscalculation. Nothing happened to me, but walking around with all my possessions on my back through abandoned streets felt less spectacularly liberating than I had anticipated. When I came across a hostel I knocked and hoped they would take me in. They did.

It was a fine place, but within my quarters I had to overcome my fear of spiders, and pretend I didn’t hear the scurrying going on in the thatch roof. The scurrying wasn’t too bad in the end, it’s easier to sleep with a little white noise anyhow! In the mornings I would enjoy some breakfast, coffee and pray my toes don’t get bitten off by the tortoise pet.

If you like colours, Trujillo is one location in the world where you can see some. The region encircling the Plaza De Armas has been sprayed with yellows, blues and reds. The best part however is if you happen to show up at the same time as the random Mariachi band.

Speaking of hats, lets go down a quick Peruvian cultural rabbit hole. We will return to Trujillo shortly. DON’T WORRY TRUJILLO FANS!

Interlude: The Many Hats of Peru

Throughout this rabbit hole, I want to clarify that absolutely no research was done. All I am offering is my opinion and observations. However, I would still consider you, dear reader, as being very lucky because I hold my opinions and observations in extremely high regard.

Every location within Peru has a different local hat for the women to wear. This trend continues into Bolivia, as me and Andrew saw our absolute favourite hats – tiny black bowlers that provided no sun shade or rain protection whatsoever – in the airport of La Paz.

Andrew Nearly Got Me To Wear One Our Entire Duration in Peru with What Are The Odds….I Almost Regret That He Didn’t Suceed

It seems to me that the many hats are typically worn by the indigenous women. The hats are taken seriously, in the andes everyone had plastic hat bags that they would wear on their heads during rain. The hat didn’t come off, the bag went on.

Like I said before, I have nothing to say definitively. All I know is that every city I went to had a predominant hat style, and they changed frequently.

Back to Trujillo

If that break in the narrative flow caused anyone anxiety I apologize. But life is full of twists and turns, so maybe it ended up being a good exercise for you. Trujillo has several ancient adobe building sites. Large complexes with intricate reliefs pushed into the mud.

Barely Got it Protected Before the Rain Took It All

Shockingly, my favourite site was not even a UNESCO world heritage site! Under normal circumstances this would mean I would never even consider going to it, but fate must have drawn me there. The reliefs were so amazingly well preserved, and had even predicted a pulp culture phenomenon well before its time.

This culture had successfully predicted the 2003 hit classic “Elf” with this early portrayal of the titular character amongst the evergreens. Other civilizations attempted to predict things (see “MAYANS” re: end of world) but came up short. Surrounding the elf character dragons make out and tongue each other, which of course symbolizes good luck and prosperity. Now consider this:

I came away from this place confused. The universe is large and full of mysteries, and I am but a humble observer. The ancients truly had a phenomenal amount of knowledge and ways of knowing we may never recover. In the words of Buddy the Elf: “You did it! Congratulations! Worlds best *prediction*! Great job, everybody! Its great to be here.”

Cajamarca

My amiga was nearing Cajamarca so it was time to leave. Having not learned my lesson I showed up in Cajamarca very early and with no place to stay. Cue knocking on places! This went on for some time, until one place let me sleep on their couch. This only reaffirmed in my mind that planning ahead was pointless.

While this was going on, storms were surging higher in the mountains, making it impossible for my friend to arrive for a few days. So I went about wandering, made some new friends and tried new fruit.

Interlude: You Better Believe its A Fruit Interlude

My new favourite activity is finding new fruit and trying them. I have no idea how they taste let alone how to even eat them. This usually results in me savagely tearing the fruit apart and trying to make do. Some favourites:

Granadilla, So Fun To Slurp Disgustingly!

Finding fruit and going for it is a lot of fun. I like to post my eatings, especially because I have many Peruvian and Ecuadorian friends here and at home that like to comment and share their knowledge with me. I had just posted my latest fruit:

When I got the informative texts I had come to expect. “It’s called Pitajaya. Peel it like an orange, but only eat half, otherwise you will get diarrhea!” “Perfect! Thanks for the heads up!” I replied while finishing the last bite of the fruit. Luckily my stomach had strengthened a bit in the past few months. I was merely gassy.

Back to Cajamarca

Cajamarca is the scene of Peru’s biggest carnival experience, and the city was getting more and more ready by the day.

There is lots to do around the Cajamarca, but it is similar to Huaraz. Hikes in the volcanic hills, or enjoying thermal springs. Instead I just walked around and tried to get lost.

Getting Lost Would Be So Much Easier Without All These Dang Fabulous Vantage Points

Me and my new Austrian friend took a day to visit Polloc, to see an interesting church filled with crazy mosaics and gold.

He believes that in the churches around here there is the inclusion of imagery from psychedelics. He said south america has a strange fusion of the Shaman/Drug type of religious experience and Catholicism. Kind of like the spiritual version of Tex-Mex. I am not sure where I land on his musings, but it would really help to explain the eyes of all these murals.

Finally the roads cleared and the fellow Saskatchewaner was able to arrive in Cajamarca. She too had made a new friend, so the four of us went on a long trek out of the city to an ancient funerary called Otuzko.

After that day we all moved on. My friend from Sask had a flight to catch in Lima, and my new Austrian friend was jungle bound. So I made an attempt to get out of there also. It was nearly unsuccessful, but eventually I found one seat with the last bus company I went to. It was barebones and too hot to sleep. To make matters worse, this was the day I had eaten the diarrhea fruit. I think I wracked up enough bad gas karma that I will spend my next life as a fart cloud.

I arrived in Chiclayo and somehow slept sitting upright on the floor in the middle of the bus terminal. Eventually I got kicked out and began my walk to the next bus terminal I required (Peruvian bus lines are all decentralized from each other). It was incredibly hot there, and my back sweat nearly destroyed my journal. I bought a ticket to Cuenca for later that day and went about killing time. There is really nothing to report about Chiclayo.

Conclusions

Peru is a great place. Wait for old friends, but make new ones in the mean time. Some background research into fruits you eat can pay dividends, sometimes not just for yourself. Pre-planning is for chumps. An ancient civilization predicted “Elf” and not enough people are talking about it.

Reid Patterson

Currently headed to Cuenca, Ecuador

Huaraz

“Climbing may be hard, but it’s easier than growing up.”
– Ed Sklar

Introduction

After leaving Arequipa I returned to Lima, and got out as quick as I could. The real destination was Huaraz, a place I had never heard of until I googled “places to climb SA”. My body had grown soft and supple over the last few months and something needed to change, I needed some time hanging onto rocks. After seeing the setting of Huaraz, I was sold.

Huaraz is Nestled in Amongst these 6000m Beauties

The setting for Huaraz is what is important. You don’t come here for the city, you come here for what the city has access to. Especially after a place like Arequipa the architecture of Huaraz can be somewhat uninspired (or perhaps simply whelming).

And The Concrete and Brick Industry is Going Gangbusters

The shopping scene is great, with Huaraz having access to some of the feshest brands available.

I arrived in Huaraz and found a climbers hospedaje named Monkeywasi. So far so good. There was just one tiny drawback; being named Reid and not Alex Honnold, I would require a belaying partner. I know, I should hang my head in shame. When me and Andrew were travelling the world together, everyone we met we would ask to be our best friends. We would ask people we just met if they would be our best friends and go on an 8 day road trip with us. We asked others if they thought of us as our best friends like we did to them. The results were mixed.

Fortunately the year is 2020, not 1850 and if you want to make a new best friend, there is an app for that. I opened a hangout on couchsurfer stating that I desired to climb, and within seconds a French dude named Leo responded. New best friend, thankyou modern convenience!

He Was Nice Enough to Take Action Shots of Me Also

The toughest part of each climbing day was getting up out of bed by 8:00. Somehow I surmounted the insurmountable and was up, fed and watered by 8:30. If the older generation thinks we are getting softer, please refer them to the preceding sentence. We rented gear from Monkeywasi and set out through Huaraz to Los Olivos, a crag just on the outskirts of the city.

Not All Dogs Go To Heaven

Huaraz is the first Peruvian city I have visited with a significant dog population. The ones in city centre are as sweet as those from El Calafate, but as you move closer to the suburbs things begin to get hairy. Around every corner there is a new pack of 6-7 dogs that “own” that part of the neighbourhood. If I could understand their barks I’m sure they would all be saying “Oh, you came to the wrong part of town,” “I’ll wreck ya, swear on me mum,” or “Let’s make an example of this one.”

“I’m Actually Nice Once You Get To Know Me!”

You know the situation is dire when I didn’t even honour any of these dogs with a dishonouring name like Trash-Boi-Swol. To give any name, bad or good, is more than they deserve. The first time we moved through their hoods I was making my peace with going for the rabies vaccine and preparing myself for a fight. As hard as it may be, if you keep your head down and keep moving forward the dogs seemingly are all bark and no bite. They follow right on your heels, teeth barred and woofing like they never woofed before, but once you leave their territory they retreat. You get about a milliseconds reprieve before the next gang takes their place.

Being the optimist that I am however, I noted that this is actually good; there is no need to warm up because your heart rate is already through the roof by the time you reach the crag.

What If Crag’s Were Called Greg’s. Would The World Be Different?

The next time we decided to go to Los Olivos (Me, Leo, German Niels and American Carl), we did not feel like going passed the crazy dogs guarding the crag entrance. Instead, we would take a large detour up and around the other side of the valley, crawl down to the river, ford the river and crawl up the other side. This seemed well and good as a theory, but the practice was much different. The dogs were all over us once again, and while in the alley descending the slopes, a huge one burst out from under a tarp. Me and Leo turned to run, and unfortunately Monsieur France caught his foot on a tin fence and fell straight down the hill, wrapped in tin and wood. Again, this was looked upon favourably, as tetanus is an improvement over rabies.

“Sa-cre Bl-eu” He Screamed With Each Bump

All in all I rate these dogs a 0/10. I am not even very afraid of dogs, so if you have a predisposition against them, think twice trying to hike outside of Huaraz.

Climbing in Town

Los Olivos is a cool crag with three sectors right inside of Huaraz. The thing about climbing as a duo, is that it is really difficult to take pictures. You are either climbing which is an important job, or belaying, which I am told is also relatively important. Every now and then though, I would carefully remove my phone from my pocket and take a shot downwards. One might say I like to live dangerously.

To Hold The Life Of Your Cell Phone In Your Hands is Very Sobering

The first day at Los Olivos I was just trying to pretend I wasn’t afraid. All routes were being done by lead climbing, and it had been a while since I climbed anything at all. My friends would casually say “How about this route? It’s 5.10c!” To which I would steady my voice and say “Oh yeah man, sounds great.”

Thankfully something switched in my brain and I started to feel less fear than ever climbing. I did my first large boulder problem (a 4.5m slab), lead my first 5.10d (complete with a dyno above the bolt) and took a whip on the first bolt of a route. All of these things were tasks I was very apprehensive of, so getting the experiences out of the way was a huge gain mentally.

Huaraz is so cool because of the huge amount of quality climbing accessible from within the town. Go there, but pay the 30 cents to take a collectivo or tuk-tuk past the dogs. Even if it breaks the bank, its worth the non-mauling.

Hiking Up High

As a rest day me, Leo and Ryan (Canadian from approx. Whitehorse) hiked up to a Lagoon. You know a place is awesome when a “rest day” includes hiking up to 4600m. It being the rainy season we were socked into cloud, with fleeting views of our surroundings. I also only brought my wind breaker and got thoroughly soaked. My outdoor school teachers voice rang through my head “There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad preparation.” I was alright with this though as I hadn’t showered in a coon’s age. Me and Ryan being Canadian were fine with being cold, Leo on the other hand, being a Parisian was not excited by the temperature. He claimed to get cold at anything below +15. Completely to my surprise, his complaints did not receive much sympathy.

After a few hours, and some climbing with chains we reached what should have been the lake and mountains. What we got instead was further evidence that the Earth is flat.

As we left, the clouds parted and gave us a bit of a view. Still just a tease, and honestly I wished I hadn’t seen it because now I need to readjust my world view. I had the smoking gun for a flat Earth, now its back to the drawing board.

Maybe That Rock Wall is The Earth’s Rim?

Enjoy This Picture Plant-Loving Freak-Losers

Hatun Mache

Two hours outside Huaraz, at an altitude of 4200m sits Hatun Mache. Its an old volcanic formation where the outer rock eroded leaving the hard volcanic rock core. Many of the spires are 40m tall, making this a climbers paradise.

Much higher than Huaraz means focussing on breathing is even more important, and the height makes the air/rock cold, completely freezing your hands on these long routes. The cold was a blessing in disguise though, because it gave me the opportunity to workshop some new looks I have been working on.

Santa Clause Rebranded for the 21st Century

Me and Leo stayed here two days, which was worth it, especially because we got to stay in a five star tent. I was so happy I sent my garbage tent home with Andrew. What made the accommodation extra perfect was that it was sized for a Peruano, meaning that my head pushed one end of the tent out, while my feet bulged the other end out. I was so pleased by the extreme cooling each end received as a result.

Complete With Duct Tape? One Happy Camper!

The climbing is epic, but the stone rips you apart (at least it did my hands, which were admittedly fairly soft). After a day of climbing, two of my finger pads were so thin that they left small droplets of blood on the stone, despite not being cut. Over the course of the two days my shoes wore the toes out.

This sounds like a lot of complaining, but I am absolutely not. Hatun Mache cracks the list of most magical places I have been to. The clouds roll in and give the feeling that you are on the set of Lord of The Rings. It is totally possible to get lost when the cloud rolls in, visibility goes to zero, and the rock forest twists you and turns you around.

Something deep inside me wanted to get lost forever so I took a gander into the rocks through the fog. It’s a shame my sense of direction is so perfect, because I made it out free from harm and/or rock goblins.

I Would Have Found The NorthWest Passage First Try

The only issue is making the walk from the rock forest back to camp. The method is really to just set out and pray you don’t miss it. However, the walk takes about a half hour of panting, so the thought that you did miss it sets in pretty quick. I tried to use echo location but it’s harder than the dolphins make it look. Just another reason to hate dolphins.

Chewing the Coca Leaf

Tastier Than Grass, Less Tasty Than Stevia

Huaraz the city is at an altitude of 3052m, which is nearly higher than most mountains I have climbed in Canada. Climbing and hiking require a lot of breathing, and sometimes you just don’t get enough oxygen.

Enter the coca leaf. Chewing on this wakes you up, clears your head and paints your smile a beautiful green shade.

To really work, you put in a pinch of Sodium Bicarbonate. The good stuff comes out of the leaves, numbs your cheeks and gives a bit of an energy boost. In the time-honoured tradition of a “totally non addict” my German friend had sourced a base that was “better” than Sodium Bicarbonate, named Cali. It had all the aesthetic features of bicarb powder, so what could go wrong? My aunt and dedicated reader of this blog began her career as a chemical technician. She always taught me that when it comes to substances you are unsure of; leap, don’t look. “Down the hatch!” I recall her saying. She has since moved into the field of safety, but her messaging regarding chemical tasting has been consistent and I respect that. So we all took a pinch of Cali and immediately regretted it. It was so basic, the pain was immediate. My tongue swelled up, and anything passing over it for the next two days felt like fire. I considered the possibility that that region of my tongue might die. We figured the only thing Cali could be was mine tailings from the local silver mine. I asked the German what he thought about this new experience and he said “It hurts like hell, but it gets you there I guess.” Spoken like a true totally non addict.

Conclusions

Making friends is easier than ever. Come to Huaraz in the dry season. Skin grows back. Not all dogs are man’s best friend. Don’t judge a city by its appearance. Getting wet is not the end of the world. Get out and learn to climb! Maybe don’t try every random substance that comes your way.

Huaraz: Two thumbs up

Reid Patterson

Currently on my way to Trujillo

Going in Circles

Colca Canyon: Deeper than the Grand Canyon, yet Proving that Depth isn’t Everything

“This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea.”
– Reid, crossing Plaza De Armas in Arequipa

Introduction

When I first went to Arequipa, I had plans to continue south. I was planning to go to Puno and Lago Titicaca, La Paz to cycle the death rode and down to Uyuni to visit the salt flats.

With Advanced Camera and Lighting Tricks I Still Got the All Important Selfie Though, So No Loss

As avid readers will know, these plans had to be abandoned, I returned to Ica and was sworn in as a bartender.

Somehow Being Sworn in as An Engineer is Still Weirder. (2019, decolourized).

I was jaded as I left Arequipa and thought that from that point onward I would head resolutely northward. Two weeks later, I found myself walking across the Plaza De Armas of Arequipa. But before that story….

A Brief Update

In Ica, I had just hit “Publish” on the scamming blog post and my phone began to rumble and light up. Ricardo (Captain Ceviche from a few posts back) was sending me message after message. His cousin is a lawyer in Ica and he was desperate to get us in contact with one another. He was sending messages in English and Spanish, acting as the go between of me and his cousin. He texted me and said “she is on her way, send a picture of yourself to the group”. This picture was nearly my first contribution to the goings-on, and after I sent it Ricardo instructed me to go outside and walk around. I did so, and soon a lady waved at me. It felt very surreal. She called the police for an hour, and said she’d take me for supper and my bus that evening. I went in to say my goodbyes, and the Wild Rover staff cranked the song “You Are Beautiful” and sang me out. Me and the lawyer left for supper, ice cream and seeing some sights. She said she would continue looking into the case, and that I was free to move on. What a whirl wind.

Unrelatedly, Some Children Wanted to Take a Picture. CUTE

Where To Go Next?

Just prior to this lawyer event, I was faced with the crisis of where to go next. Should I go to Huaraz? Trujillo? Home to Saskatoon? Fortunately, the human body is an amazing machine. Our meat vehicles come fully equipped with all manner of directional aids. When in doubt, anyone can follow their nose, and those in tune with their emotional selves can follow their heart. If you are a deep sleeper you may be able to chase after your dreams. The religious among us listen and respond to the movements and prodding of their soul. There is however one compass that is uniquely male and in retrospect it would be hard to argue that this wasn’t the one that dicktated the mental conversation.

Pro Tip: Your Limbs Can Also Point Directions, Like a Compass

You see, I was invited to visit Arequipa alongside Luma, the mysteriously aforementioned (previous post) Brazilian wife. Seeing as Andy had tried so very hard to find one prior to this, it felt dishonourable to him to not at least go and see. The brain justifications had begun, and I bought my ticket.

Back To Arequipa

Upon arrival in Arequipa I was doused in a panic sweat. My brow played host to rivers of perspiration that cascaded down over my shoulders and flooded down my back. What had I done? Suddenly this whole thing felt very very stupid. But I marched onward, found a hostel and tried to find out where Luma was. She was in Plaza de Armas, so off I went, desperately trying to recover the Silverback persona I had in Cusco.

A Brief Aside: Since turing 26, my facial hair has been growing a little bit faster, and in a few more places! Wow, I think 2020 is gonna be a banger.

Back to the Main Story: I found her in a balcony and we re-introduced. I was extremely suave and debonaire, well put together and a general 10/10.

Can’t Hear You Over the Angelic Choir Always Singing For Me

I was under the impression her name was “Luma Atica” but discovered that that was just play on words for “lumatica”, the Portuguese word for lunatic. Another cold sweat broke out with this revelation; she was a self proclaimed maniac. Luckily she did not kill me, and we decided on a few things to do.

A Different Paced Week

Following the insanity of Wild Rover in Huacachina I was excited to just chill out. Luma was in Arequipa volunteering at a kids summer program. I am not proud of this, but I pretty much just slept until she was off work everyday (noon). I think I needed it! From there all days looked the same: we would meet up after work or after I bouldered, we would explore a portion of the city, make or get food, either go out for a party or just go to sleep.

There isn’t the same level of excitement to report as the previous post, and for that I am sorry, but I was also glad to be able to spend some days not under constant pounding stress.

My Destroyed Thumb Only Bled on Half the Holds

Learning Spanish

I had jokingly referred to Luma as my Spanish Professor, but it turned out that that is actually what she is. At home in Brazil she teaches spanish in a university. We tried to communicate as best we could in our off languages (her english was pretty good though). She taught me dozens of words and phrases, and I managed to teach her that “Not Bad” actually meant good where I am from. Guess we are even.

Our conversations led to so many strange observations about english:

You can be overwhelmed and underwhelmed, but never whelmed (originally came across this idea in The Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson)
You see each other in the morning, in the afternoon but AT night
Wanting so much popcorn is much different than wanting popcorn so much
Many other merry mixups

When I had questions about things in Spanish, Luma could describe the proper uses, the linguistic evolution and the cognitive theories relating to how we learn language. When she asked me questions about English, I had to tell her that English is more like Samba: Its just a feeling, don’t try to make sense of it. There are no correct teaching styles.

Maybe Should Have Just Streamed This For Her

I’m sure at one point my high school english teacher Ms. Chef (name changed to protect identity) taught me what to do when a gerund double backflips and dangles from a participle, but (and this may come as a shock to all) I was not exactly a star english student. Being more interested in math I performed better in Mr. Wife and Señor Bandito’s courses.

Around Town

Arequipa is nestled in the ample bosom of three active volcanoes, each one typically shrouded in cloud.

The surrounds are beautiful but the real treat is that the local nunnery is a UNESCO world heritage site. You heard that right! Another one! Unbelievable! So me and Luma gotst thineselfes to a nunnery, poste haste.

Luma is practically a historian and taught me about this and that everywhere. A famous author named Flora Tristan had come to this nunnery, and went on to publish a book about being a pariah. Luma is interested in “resistance” women, and introduced me to many. Also a lover of art, we checked out some galleries. In one of them I was stopped dead in my tracks. My younger brother Devin had clearly been the muse for some South American painter, and I was frightened by the artwork.

In addition to this some artist used a grotesque amount of potential horse feed just to make a sculpture.

Much of this was just from wandering around. Arequipa is a very nice place to be directionless, and I recommend being just that if you go there.

Colca Canyon

One afternoon, fed up with being well rested and in good spirits I launched an enquiry towards Luma:

“Luma, is there any way I can be forced to wake up at 2:00 a.m.? I am really distressed with how much sleep I am catching up on!”

She told me we should go to Colca Canyon, and that luckily the busses leave Arequipa at 2:30 a.m.! She made me wait outside the tour office so that she could go in alone and perhaps get a better price. This method generally worked well for us anytime we wanted to buy something. She would warm them up, then motion to me to step forward. No more Gringo pricing schemes!

The next morning we were off. The funny thing about getting up that early (after dancing the night before) is that you pretty much sleep the whole time on the bus and get jolted awake only when there is a stop to see. Maybe it would have been a good idea to go to bed earlier. Maybe not. So here is a series of photos allowing you to have the same experience as me:

No Peru Day is Complete Without Alpaccas

I hope you have enjoyed the tour.

One Last Memory

Arequipa is a great place. The main square is always extremely busy; day time concerts, carnival, peaceful protests, or night time mourners. Its a great place to just be in, with or without a plan. One night, that was exactly what we were doing. Suddenly drums start roaring and this squad of clowns come running into the square, with signs and balloons and a full band. They start a huge circle dance, and soon Luma is pulled into it. Not long after I am pulled into it. At the conclusion of this, a large amount of hugging ensues. There is about a 5 person hug, and me and Luma are side by side. At this point another clown hugs me from behind, surprising me and causing me to inhale sharply. The strangest thing happened in that moment, my sharp inhale sucked a sizable amount of Luma’s hair straight down my windpipe and tickled the inside of my lungs. There are some bad first date things to do; eating messy food, farting and talking too much politics. I had no idea that being caught with a fair amount of their hair dangling a foot down into your body cavity was even possible, but was sure it fit into the category of things not to do. The extraction process was….interesting. But it made for a good laugh.

The clowns ran around the square a few more times, and then scattered into the night; off towards the next square. Luma had talked to some of them so I asked what that had all been about.

“They are just a club of young people that want to make people smile.”

I like that.

Conclusions

I went back to a place I thought I would never be again, and did not do a whole lot. Despite this, it was one wonderful week. Whatever I followed, be it heart, mind, nose or something else, it did not lead me astray. Arequipa is a beautiful place to try and blend into, and having someone fun to do it with makes it that much greater.

As A Brazilian, She Cannot Sit Still During Any Song

Some Learnings: If at first you don’t find your brazilian wife, try, try again. Knowing someone only one week-ish can still make it hard to say goodbye. Arequipa is better when you are exploring it and not constantly calling your bank. Follow your body’s many compasses, because they lead to a lot better things than your brains plans do.

Reid Patterson,

Currently sitting in Huaraz, ready to climb rocks

P.S. Luma, if you are reading this, see you someday in Brazil. That would be really not bad.

A New Form of Adventure

I Got This View for About 2 Hours Before Heading Back to Ica

Like Taking Candy From a Baby.
– Owner of the Silva Ica (Likely)

To Arequipa

With a great Christmas under my belt, I bought a ticket for the next destination: Arequipa. Stoked out of my mind to begin some climbing and find new friends to do so with. I left with a Quebec friend who was stoked to do the Colca Canyon trek. We were both feeling pretty high.

Flash forward to Arequipa, post 12 hour bus ride. I decide to pay my credit card off, and am floored to see a charge from the Silva Ica (a bar next to the Wild Rover) for a lot of money (think roughly a months worth of work). This starts a whole conversation with the bank to figure out what is going on. But calling the bank is no easy task as my phone will not make any calls here in Peru. I go on a goose chase through the streets of Arequipa, to a microscopic phone booth in the back of the convenience store. This seems to work but the call keeps dropping. Thankfully FaceTime works over wifi, so I call my moms phone via FaceTime, and she presses her phone up against my dads, which is on the line with BMO. Its a McGyvered solution that works only so-so. Then a radical idea crosses my mind: what if I Googled how to call Canada from Peru? It was just so crazy that it was destined to work. Apparently you dial +001 rather than +1. It works seamlessly, and I realize an important thing about myself. I am an idiot posing as someone with intelligence.

My Mom and Dad on Their Honeymoon (1988)

The upshot of many hours of phone conversation is that the transaction was PIN approved, and is therefore difficult to claim as fraud. I need to return to Ica, and talk with the business, after that point I can go to the police. If the police open an investigation then the bank can become involved. Good thing I love long bus rides. I was about to complain when I received a healthy dose of perspective; my Quebec had developed leg pain on bus and went to get it checked out. Blood clot. He needs to be bed ridden for 3 days, and may have to return to Canada (update, he did fly back for medical treatment). It can always be worse.

Bartending at the Wild Rover

I cancelled my nights in Arequipa and ventured to the bus station, snagging one of the last two seats on the last bus back to Ica. Ringing in my birthday on the bus, just as I had dreamed for myself. I returned to the Wild Rover and immediately asked to volunteer, as I had no idea how long I would stay. The staff were very helpful and immediately started to try to get in contact with the owner next door. Unsurprisingly he was very difficult to get a hold of, but after a few days we got him on the phone. He would meet with us monday, which was more than a week away. So I pushed it from my mind and made a good attempt at enjoying the present situation. This task was easier than I anticipated, because the groups of people I was volunteering with were all gemstones.

My first night on the job was a New Year’s Eve’s Eve bingo game. Cards were handed out to the participants and I went about serving drinks. A fairly inebriated English fellow looked at me and said “ah, ye knew this was coming” and motioned for me to come listen to him. I did, and he grabbed my face and planted a fairly substantial kiss. Unbeknownst to him, I did not know that was coming. “Kiss a bartender” was on the bingo sheet, and as a silver lining this incident set the kissing bar fairly low for me, and was easily surpassed with subsequent interactions. Also, I can now empathize with any lady that complains that you are not clean shaven. I see you.

If Your Behind The Sign, You Won’t Know What It Said *METAPHOR*

The next day was New Year’s Eve, and all hands were on deck. I started my shift four hours early, and ended it 5 hours late. On a normal night, we are encouraged to have a good time with the partiers but this night there was simply no time. All I saw for 14 hours straight was 550 bodies milling about, taking turns hanging over the bar, flopping dinero in my face and shouting “PISCO”, “CERVEZA”, “MOJITO”, “POOOOORRRR FAAAVVOOORRRRR”. It didn’t help the mood that I required instruction on how to mix each drink. But I learned fast, and must have put on 20k steps in my little 8ft square zone.

Later, a handful of people would each independently tell me that I looked like the most stressed human being they had ever seen. So, maybe I lost a few years off my life but at least I was getting free bed. A few times per night at Wild Rover there is the call of “FREEEEE SHOOOOTTS” and a staffer will climb up on the bar and mother-bird fresh booze into the keenly awaiting gullets of the masses. I had the distinct pleasure of doing this New Year’s, simultaneously being the most popular person and learning how nasty this practice is. Some people try to suck on the tip as though they are a common hamster going for water, while others move or close their mouthes too quickly, allowing sticky juice to cascade down their faces and onto their clothes. VERY COOL!

The rest of the days were spent suntanning and chilling with my friends during the day, and slanging drinks, partying and table dancing in the night.

This included myself doing karaoke to “Juice” by Lizzo, a song no one had heard. Am I hero for introducing them to it? I’d say yes. Additionally, I was forced into another ladies night, however, this also happened to be the only night I made any substantial tips. I think I’ll take the dress with me, I might need to make some money back.

If I had to describe my time here, it’d be a little too close to the word “bender” then I would like. The toll on the body is hard, you are up super late without fail, and cannot sleep too long because it is incredibly hot, and the music starts early. I feel myself withering away. I was so withered that during a shift I nearly sliced the tip of my thumb clean off. Luckily it instantly was filled with lime juice which felt great.

And of course, any experience doesn’t count for anything if you don’t properly document it. So I needed to climb up on that bar and taking some dancing computer selfies. The results speak for themselves!!

Can You Hear This Picture Speaking For Itself?

Monday Meeting

The Earth continued to revolve and soon it was Monday. “Time to go have an amicable conversation with an upstanding member of society” I thought to myself. However, my hopes slowly dispersed as me and Daniel (the Wild Rover general manager) slipped deeper and deeper into the dark club. It felt as though I was diving into a mafia den, and the fact that the owner appeared before us lounging by a pool, shirtless with chain, and smoking did not help that feeling.

It started to feel serious pretty quickly. He did not shy away from jabbing his finger into my chest, and used some colourful language. “Its not my fault you are fucking loco! You should have seen yourself! You don’t remember do you? You were high on cocaine, molly, everything! You ask me all the time for more drugs.” Daniel was painfully silent, so I had to stick up for myself. It took a lot of restraint to not come back at him, but luckily I kept my cool. I asked him to show me what they charged me for, and he grabbed his book.

45 Shots and 40 Beers; Honestly a Tame Night for Me.

He continued to barely let me get a word in edgewise. He said I bought round after round for all the revellers, and that he has video of me going crazy. So I asked for the video, but he didn’t really want to go to the trouble of grabbing it. I asked if I paid for every line item individually, because it seems like poor business to let someone rack up that tab. He said yes, so I said that I had only one transaction on my statement for this night. After some hesitation he said I left my card with them. So, his version of events was that I was blackout drunk and high on everything imaginable, they took my card, and allowed me to buy the bar dozens of rounds. To me that sounded even scummier than my accusation of an intentional and hidden overcharge. I let him know I was going to go talk with the police, and he invited me to do so. We left with him saying he respected me, and myself saying I wish I could say the same.

Police Time

A man named Guillermo from Colombia became my best friend through this time. He wanted to help, and he did all the talking and translating for me. He really went to bat for me, and did his best. I asked him why he was doing this because we were strangers and he said “You need a friend right now”. We got to the police station, and had some police come out to the business. Arguments ensued, and the owner again was no where in sight and would not answer any phone. The police instructed us to return at 10 when he would be here and to fill out a page in his reclamation book. We went there, and he made us wait an awful long time. Eventually he brought us in, shut off the lights and turned on the revolving green, blue and red club lights. This was done for ambience I can only assume.

The long and short of this is that he refused to give us the book, which was in violation of the police. So, tack on another day. Me and Guillermo rode the tuk-tuk like a couple of absolute bosses back to the police station the next day to tell the tale of last night.

Safe and Secure Under the Cloth Roll Cage

Eventually they came out and explored his business, finding him in violation of the reclamation book law. He will be fined a minimum of $1700 CAD. This tit for tat raised my spirits for the first time in a little while. They also gave him 24 hrs to produce evidence against me, and if it was not to their liking, they would allow me to fill out a demand. This day went much better than I had anticipated!

So the next day we wander down to the station. The owner never showed up, instead sending a picture of the receipt, which looked produced that day and had no features identifying me. Either way, we were told there wasn’t time for this today, and to come back tomorrow. One more day hopefully.

This was the standard for the next few days; wake up, chill out, tuktuk to Ica, wait in the police station and be told to come back the next day. Eventually one morning I was extremely ready to get out of Ica, I had Guillermo text the officer to see if a demand could happen or not. They responded saying a demand would not be possible, with no real reason given as to why. They told us the owner had said I bought drinks for the whole bar that night, which is not new info. The momentum I had believed was present had crashed and burned.

Conclusions

In his book Slaughter-House Five, Kurt Vonnegut’s protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, describes most events in his life, happy and sad, by saying “So it goes”. During this period of events those words were on my mind lots.

I met a tonne of great friends, and being in one place for a long time really cemented them with me. So it goes.

I spent far too much time in a place I really did not want to be. So it goes.

I finally met my extremely elusive Brazilian wife. So it goes.

Out of the many people I met, only one was bad. Guillermo is one of the best I have met! I believe that most people are fundamentally good. So it goes.

I will never receive closure on this problem. The business owner may do the same things in the future. Was I scammed? Was I drugged? Why did the police go from helpful to not? Somethings, like this blog post, have no resolution.

So it goes.

Reid

Currently unsure of where is next.

Lima and Huacachina

I don’t like sand. It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.
– Anakin, discussing the merits of sand

A Brief Disclaimer

Since the last post happened, a minor tragedy has occurred. Andrew has reverse snow-birded and returned to Canada. He was absolutely livid regarding South Americas lack of crows and just could not tolerate it anymore. The main thing to suffer however will be this blog. I must apologize to the biggest fans of this blog, because my writing style doesn’t make nearly enough use of the word “savage” and its derivatives. Pair this with the fact that the stories will no longer be a mess of changing first persons with third person writing sprinkled in for good measure. I fear that the beloved tone of the blog will change, and maybe not for the better. But I will try my absolute best to maintain it. So Reid boldly continued to type savagely, fingers pounding the keys as though he were a 1000 lb silverback, while stress sweats rained down from his brow like liquid sledgehammers.

Lima

We flew into Lima, happy but deflated. This was the end of the road for Andy, and we subconsciously felt that if that fact went unacknowledged, it might just go away. We had come early to Lima, because we had an offer to cruise Lima’s varied regions with our own street-smart guide Ricardo. Plans changed however and Ricardo couldn’t meet us for a few days, so we posted up in Centro, a UNESCO world heritage site. Turns out nearly the entirety of Earth’s surface is a UNESCO world heritage site. Ricardo found out we were staying in Centro and was about one minute from calling an SOS helicopter rescue to extricate us. We didn’t match his level of fear regarding the situation and decided to stick around, nearly joining in on a potential protest for a true cultural experience.

The Experience Never Really Materialized

Lima has without a doubt the best food we have come across in South America, so we made sure to forego all of it in favour of KFC. Savagely we slurped down the freshly minced chicken carcasses like a couple of lions after a long-awaited hunting success. Apart from eating KFC we went around Centro to see the buildings before heading to Miraflores area with Ricardo.

To complete the Centro experience I was very nearly completely devastated by a speeding motorcycle whilst crossing the street. Ah well, I suppose getting merked by a bike will be something that keeps me coming back.

Once we arrived in Miraflores, Ricardo wasted no time in having our stomachs pumped. He lectured us on the art that is Peruvian food and was completely shooketh that we had consumed KFC. We hung our heads as he scolded us repeatedly, claiming to be nauseated by our actions. I didn’t complain because the stomach pumping was covered by travel insurance and was thrilled to try new food. We had a line on a market that would sell us the choicest of foods, the only obstacle being the navigation from hotel to market. No dogs seem to have been employed in the city planning of Lima (little call-back action for my major whereisreid heads). Rather than meander aimlessly, the streets and avenues are laid out in a grid-type pattern. Craziness! Understandably Ricardo was struggling to locate the market, but like any fearless leader he was unafraid to ask for help. I am sworn to secrecy over how many times he stopped to ask directions, but let’s just ballpark it in the lower teens. Not too shabby.

But the food was well worth the wait. Ricardo opened my eyes and heart to ceviche and for that I am forever in his debt. Literally everything else was a delight as well, but I think eating kidney once is enough for this guy.

After showing us the food scene, Ricardo – being a family man – sprinted away from us at top speed as though he were Usain Bolt, chasing glory one last time. He had to return to Canada, which is a fairly long distance to run. Myself and Andrew turned to one another and declared in unison “Ricardo is much faster than I expected. Now what shall we do?”

Luckily enough for us, there was another local UNESCO world heritage site. Huaca Pucllana is the nicest set of bricks you’ll ever see (unless you are a signature landscaping client). To say there is a lot of bricks would be accurate, so I will say it; there is a lot of bricks.

Coming off of the high of Machu Picchu this place was not completely incredible, however when viewed in a vacuum it is pretty neat. These are ruins from the Limans, much before the Inca. They gave their bricks air gaps, to absorb shocks from the frequent earthquakes. SAVAGELY FASCINATING!

Just imagining laying all that brick made Andrew extremely tired, so we went to la playa to take a relaxing nap on the warm stones.

The rest of our time in Lima together was spent taking in the food, and reminiscing on the great times we had. We pined for the early days of Rio, soft and not yet battle hardened by 24 hour busses. We drank deeply from the cup of memory and sat quietly, smirking at one another and slowly shaking our heads, much like Lando Calrissian remembering the wild times of the first rebellion. Finally, I said “Adios you scruffy nerf-herder”, and that was it. Andrew was gone.

Is This The Best Picture Ever Taken? Yes.

After my world stopped spinning I picked myself up, slapped my face with such force I needed concussion protocol and moved on. Putting one foot in front of the other I reached the Barranco region of Lima. It was here that I tried my hand at graffiti.

Seeing that I had reached the pinnacle of my new craft, I determined Lima held nothing more for me (except for a quick viewing of Star Wars). I quickly enabled boss-mode and slang the money required for a bus ticket straight into the desert.

Huacachina

Resolutely I strolled straight into the dunes of the Pacific Desert. I was prepared for death to wash over me, and I knew it would be slow and miserable. Tongue cracked and bleeding I had to constantly mutter to myself “you wanted this, you wanted this…”. I had always wanted to feel just like my favourite street-rat Aladdin, but hadn’t suspected that it would be the last thing I got to do.

This Image is An Elaborate Metaphor For My Ending Life

I began to grow delirious, and the hallucinations crept in. The roar of an engine, the hoops and hollers of humans being mildly entertained, a tinge of green in the dune. But then I heard an unmistakable sound, one that jogged a primal memory buried deep: ” 3-2-1 FREEEEEEEEEEE SHOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTSS”. I had stumbled upon another Wild Rover.

Being near death changes a person, and I am no different. Armed with new clarity and perspective I took the opportunity to just relax in this oasis in quiet reflection. I am also armed with the attention span of a house fly, so quiet reflection did not last and soon I found myself in a dune buggy. Our driver was all serious, grabbing the wheel he furrowed his brow, preparing to teach the dunes a thing or two. The driver was a clear relative of Captain Stormy van Gerhard IV (another call-back, how lucky). Death-wishes must run in the Gerhard family because Baron Thunder McCrack (the presumed name of the driver) did his absolute best to send us hurtling down the dune.

The driver stopped and threw boards at us and simply said “slide”. Our group all looked at each other, wondering if this was the last moment we would see clearly with eyes free from sand. Coming to terms with our potential blindness we did as the driver said and slid. Led by a brave Australian and two embarrassing Canadians that had caused quite a scene the night prior.

Crikey Look at That Mate. Blimey That’s Steep-As

I came back from this experience a changed man once again. This time the change was physical. I fear that my bodies many nooks and crannies will never be free from sand. Doomed to chafe it seems.

I extended my stay to be here for Christmas, among people. Its crazy how was you make and lose friends while travelling. I had some pals and we all planned to feast together. In the meantime it was sunburn city (my body looks covered in tattoos, courtesy of a haphazard sunscreen application), enjoying the pool and doing not much. I tried to complain, but found that I could not.

Too Bad Because Oh How I Love To Complain

I had to fully dislocate my jaw to feast on christmas dinner. I definitely overdid it, and needed a walk to shake things down a bit. The meal was great, but I did miss the sticky buns and chats of home.

My graffiti skills came in handy, providing me with a free drink.

Fun night, but definitely time to move on. Luckily, I don’t have to meander through the desert this time. I’ll have a lift to Arequipa, very luxurious. My Aussie and Dutch friends are headed the opposite direction, so that just means the cycle starts again. This post is dedicated to my new best friends I don’t know yet; I want you all to know that you will never be Andrew. But I’d appreciate it if you tried, let’s have fun.

Conclusions

Capitalism sows the seeds of its own destruction. To err is to be human. Nothing is new under the sun. These thoughts are all original by me, from my reflective period. Clarity and perspective get boring quickly, and dune buggying is a terrific remedy. Go to Huacachina if you want, I’m no ones boss.

Lima: one quarter bowl of ceviche out of 2

Huacachina: Giant butt full of sand out of ….. 2 (somehow?)

This Picture is An Elaborate Metaphor for Being Deserted by Andy

Reid (with Andy in Spirit),

Currently savagely rolling in sand, awaiting Arequipa.

Cusco

We turn him into a flea, put him in a box, put that box in another box, then we mail that box to ourselves and when it arrives we SMASH that box with a hammer!
– Yzma, on Cusco

Sleepless Accomodations

We arrived in Cusco by way of Puerto Montt, Santiago, and La Paz, some of the best airports we ever have had the pleasure of laying eyes upon. Santiago in particular provided one of the best meals we have ever had.

We were greeted in Cusco like celebrity warrior-kings; every taxi driver desperate for our affection and attention. We settled in with Mauro, a cabby who called us “my friends” just enough times to be suspicious, and headed to our highly recommended hostel: The Wild Rover.

Mauro our compadre and new closest friend doubled as an excursion agent and sold us on heading to the acclaimed Rainbow Mountain. We jumped at his mere mention of the tour. Before we knew it we were handing out money to a strange taxi driver who wished us to provide a deposit in exchange for the promise of his picking us up at 4:30am. Smartest tourists in the game baby.

Move Over Rick, There are Smarter Tourists in the Game

We sat down in the lobby of the Wild Rover to book an excursion to Machu Picchu. With that done we felt set up for success and were ready to just relax and chill out our days in Cusco. After a night of travel, and with an early morning looming we decided a nap might be the best next step. But it quickly became apparent that the Wild Rover was no place to get sleep unless you had blacked out. This was especially true with our beds being pressed up right against the bar, with only a sheet of drywall for acoustic damping. If you can’t beat them you might as well join them.

Not Pictured: Reid and Andrew Sleeping Behind the Drywall and Wallpaper Sound Barrier

For background, the Wild Rover is a chain of party hostels through Peru, one we found out about through our Swiss friends in El Calafate. A certain type of people from around the world stay here, and fall in love with the atmosphere. They then choose to volunteer to spend even more time on the cheap. The only place for volunteers is behind the bar, where they get drinks as well. The bartenders seem to be the ones most woozy, causing their pours get more and more generous, and often for free. These are the perfect conditions for two things: fun, and no sleep.

Rainbow Mountain

Our Favourite Time of Day: Before Sunrise

We were so tired that sleep eventually did come, but the morning came far too fast. We were outside our hostel at 4:30 in the morning, waiting on Mauro. He did not show, and we began to worry that we had been taken.

When hope seemed to be entirely lost a car whipped up beside us and out he jumped. “My friends! I am so sorry my friends! This never happens my friends. My friends, I tell you, my alarm never went off my friends. You can see, my friends, that I am still in sleeping clothes. If we hurry, I can get you to your bus my friends!” So we hopped in, and moved faster through the narrow streets of Cusco than I had ever thought could be possible. Mauro was honking at every intersection as a warning to oncoming traffic that we were not to be stopped.

We had a surprising amount of time to kill at the tour agency our bus left from, so the manager fetched us some coca leaf tea while we waited. This miracle plant was supposed to cure the ailments of altitude sickness, as Cusco sits 3,400m above sea level, however our trip to the Rainbow Mountain would reach an astonishing 5km. The trip up to the rainbow mountains involved a tight winding road with a sheer cliff promising us certain death. Our driver with no regard for human life smashed the horn until people in front could slide enough inches over to the right to complete a suicide pass. There was one moment when Reid truly thought death was imminent (Andrew was asleep). As we approached two oncoming semi trucks, the driver of a large bus behind them decided it was the perfect time to cross the river styx and pulled out to pass both. Our minibus got the pleasure of a rapid deceleration and a pull over to the absolute edge of the cliff. The large bus did not back down and completed the pass, the suicidal driver likely fuming that it was a success and not the horrific multi bus and semi pile up/careen down a 1km cliff they had dreamed of.

Not Pictured: Smouldering Wreckage Bellow

After several life threatening moments in which we both had flashbacks to childhood memories that had otherwise escaped our consciousness we stopped for a buffet breakfast. Fried rice and watermelon, the usual. Finally upon the beginning of the hike we were handed walking sticks and set off. Thinking these were absolutely unnecessary crutches representing the failure of human evolution Reid sent his flying down the cliff whilst pounding his chest like an angry silverback gorilla.

Reid would soon regret this as the hike was a test with the oxygen becoming thinner each step we took. This hike at normal elevation would be so simple a zero-legged nonagenarian could achieve it before their afternoon tea and crib game. At 5km up however, moving too fast (which is actually very slow) causes the heart to race, and pain to creep into the brain. Reid’s silverback persona was very quickly replaced with that of a slug. The andean women noticed this and tried to give us horse rides but our pride was too strong. They simply shrugged their shoulders and sprinted straight up the mountain to the next person. Our silverback persona shrank further.

We finally dogged it to the top, and were treated to great views of cute baby alpacas. The mountain’s colours did not disappoint either, rich red colours stood out the most prominent against the deep green throughout the valleys bellow. Snow capped mountains also lined the horizon, as some stretched as high as 6km above sea level.

Before heading down Reid had to pry 3 fresh baby alpacas out of Andrew’s arms, pleading that they were not his.

Andy Had Incredible Grip Strength on That Thing

The walk down was the most entertaining, almost as though you were in a private screening of “The Walking Dead” watching people slug their way to the summit. Seeing their suffering reinstated Reid’s Silverback persona to a whole new level.

On the way down the heaven’s opened up and pelted us with hail. The hail stung, and we were very glad not to be the ones going up. We had had excellent weather, but at 5km elevation the weather is extremely volatile and will swing 180 degrees with no warning.

Needed Concussion Protocol After Being Pelted

We drove the narrow muddy mountain road back down into the valley, keenly aware that mudslides are a frequent reality. We made it back to the safety of the buffet for lunch (more fried rice and watermelon) and the trip back to the hostel went without hitch.

After a short and surprisingly successful nap, we were dragged out of bed for ladies night at the bar. Ladies night sounded very promising, so we went. We found out that we were instead to be dressed as ladies. Good thing no pictures exist of this.

Oh Shoot, I Guess They Do Exist. Pretty Hot Though

Killing Time

The next day we were happy to sleep in and have no plans. We leisurely began walking (ensuring our first turn was to the right), and soon decided to go up to Sacsayhuaman (pronounced sexy woman (reference picture above)), which we had learned of during a walking tour.

We got up there and found a group just walking passed the ticket booth. Emboldened by their actions we followed right through the ticket booth and asked what was up. They were going to some free ruins and asked if we would join. In perfect synchronization we said “What great fortune have we! Huzzah, we shall follow you to the uttermost ends of the earth!” The rest of the day was spent with two Germans, two Aussies and at one point several sheep. The scenery was spattered with caves along the rolling green pastures. We explored and got to know our new best friends eventually going for shawarma and hasheesh as one does in Cusco. We sat around for drinks with our Aussie best friends, and made plans to meet up in the morning for more frivolity.

Can You Spot the 2 Aussies? Not Pictured: Vicki (A Non-Aus)

The next morning we got up to meet in the main square. Inspired by the offers presented to us in the main square of Cusco, Reid approached a gentleman offering free walking tours to see if he would take us “up there”, only to find out they were only taking tourists around the square.

Moey showed up, but Ben was sick. We wandered towards the San Blas market to get some cheap-as (Aus, saying, and no its not spelled wrong) food. It did not disappoint, each person getting a pitcher of fresh juice for $2 and a large meal for $3.

The food was good, but the resulting sickness was immediate. Perhaps we now had what Ben did. We aimlessly wandered stopping wherever we felt like it. These included the Coca museum where we learned to make cocaine, a churro store, and a chocolate museum where we thoroughly abused their free sample policy. We split up from there with Moey, needing to rest up as the sickness progressed. The night was uneventful as we prepped for the Sacred Valley and Maccu Picchu tomorrow morning, praying that the sickness pass us by.

Jewelry Stores. Oh, and Machu Picchu

The next morning it was immediately apparent the sickness had not passed us by. Reid waddled to the washroom, eyes fixed on the goal, completely disinterested by the free line of blow being offered to him. A random dude met us outside the hostel and instructed us to follow. We did, and by divine providence we stopped for more people outside a farmacia. Like Jason Bourne remembering his training, a voice rang through Reid’s head. It was the voice of his doctor, and to be accurate this quotation should be read very very quickly; “Listen Reid, if you ever have the worst shits of your life, like we are talking really really bad ones you gotta go for this. *Scribbles on a post it*. Take this, its a miracle, works so good you may worry you’ll never sit down for a disposal again.” Reid ran into the farmacia, slammed the post it down on the counter and received a true modern miracle. Highly recommend Gardasil 9 to all worried about embarrassing bowel movement.

Reid After Feeling Doctor’s Note in Pocket

We hopped onto the bus with only a little bit of liquid poop dripping down the leg only to be reassured by the fact that this was going to be another winding road up and down through the infinite Andean mountains. Our first stop was a very cool Incan Terrace overlooking a valley in the mountains. This ancient farmland design inspired Andrew with the amazing grading and use of retaining walls. However despite his kicking and screaming the tour guide dragged Andy aboard citing there was more to come.

But first, we were lucky enough to be granted the rare and exclusive opportunity of getting dropped off at a silver shop! Wow. We couldn’t believe our eyes as a person offered us a speech on rocks and energy all compiling to the announcement that somehow this related the Incan people to chakras. What a rich history! Reid inquired about the most expensive and valuable piece of craftsmanship, holding it as his money burned a literal hole into his pocket; however in the nick of time nature called. Disappointed we had to get funnelled back onto the bus before the transaction was ever completed.

The next two stops were far less interesting than the silver shop imbued with chakra energy. They were just ancient Inca settlements of Pisaqa and Olantaytambo. Wow, ok how boring, could we please just go buy more silver trinkets?

The tour of the Sacred Valley ended in the the new Olantaytambo square, where we waited for the train to take us to Aguas Calientes, at the foot of Machu Picchu. We got into our 5-star accommodations – only slightly filled to the brim with bed bugs – and went to bed. The forecast was not promising, but we maintained optimism that Machu Picchu would show its face to us.

Without further adieu we reached the point most everyone who visits this area reaches. It was extremely calm outside as we walked toward the bus station prepared to reach the famed mountain top citadel. Only until we turned the corner after the purchase of our bus ticket did we see a massive line of 100+ people curl around the road as we were directed to head to the back.

“Don’t Be a Typical Tourist, Just do What Everyone Else Does” – Marketing Genius

In an attempt to “not be a typical tourist” as many promotional posters prompted, Reid ate his breakfast from the gutter, a small mixture of greasy long millipedes and “whatever that greenish brown thing is”.

How atypical! Feeling completely unique as tourists at this point, we followed the large groups of people to one of the most visited places on Earth.

At first, the clouds had created a low hanging halo over the citadel and mountains above. Only until divine intervention parted the clouds just a few moments later. Andrew and Reid had perfect weather once again! Feeling as though this moment couldn’t be passed up upon without a computer selfie session, a photo shoot began! A worker there was really into it, and facebook lived the whole proceedings. As usual, the photos turned out great.

We had both been very concerned that Machu Picchu would be overrated, but those concerns flew out the window. It is really incredible.

The Inca stone carving techniques are so precise, and they really knew how to pick a location to live. We spent hours exploring and taking photos. At one point Andrew hit the pinnacle of human existence when being passed by a rascal of Llamas!

Eventually the time to leave came, so we went down to Aguas Calientes and awaited the train back to Olantaytambo. We were very casual, waiting until the last possible second before heading to the train station. This turned out to be the correct decision, because it resulted in a grand adventure. We could not find the train station, and time was ticking by. We walked out of town along the tracks expecting to find a train somewhere. A person directed us up a hill and back into town. The tracks split, and the train station was hidden within a market. We saw where we needed to be, but a long fence was blocking our way. The brakes were being released, and we could hear the train engines revving. So we took off sprinting, at first missing the small sign sticking out of a store that said “train station <–“. Again like Jason Bourne we wove through the market and got to the train. Not 30 seconds after sitting down the train pulled off. The 30 second wait time indicated to us that we could have chilled a little bit longer before leaving for the train.

Our bus ride back was dominated by a British couple trying to find their phone. They were on the phone with someone who either stole their phone or found it. Either way this person was very interested in being rewarded handsomely and made demands for time and place to meet up. We felt for them, and were very happy to not be in that situation. We arrived at the hostel, very tired, but decided to hit the town and make it a full 24 hour day. Our time together was rapidly closing, so might as well go ham. Cusco was empty in the streets, and we followed our ears to wherever music was being shred. The next morning was a flight to Lima, bittersweet as it was the end of our road together.

Conclusions

Cusco is a required city for anyone that enjoys travelling. The Wild Rover Hostel is appropriately named. Macchu Picchu is appropriately rated. Leave for your trains at the last second for a good time. Gardasil 9 will block you up incredibly. Plenty of wife options, but excursions will keep you busy in Cusco, plan accordingly!

Reid and Andrew

Currently in Lima, crying, hugging, and saying our Ciao’s

Chile and the Carretera Austral

Smoked Sea Lion is Much Better Than Smoked Salmon
– Roberto, discussing culinary tastes

Learning the Ropes

To many people road tripping is synonymous with driving. In fact, everybody thinks this because it defines the term road trip. This intro is meaningless therefore, but such is life. Each day slipping by like the sands in an hourglass, how is one to define and acknowledge their purpose within this existence. Anyhow, due to the nature of road trips me and Andy required a car. We had rented a choice micro-mini-compact (the cheapest available) and were all smiles. The only drawback was that in a bid to save further dinero, we had rented a standard transmission vehicle. We looked at each other and stated that neither of us had ever driven one before, in unison. Didn’t matter, we had all the confidence of Bernardo O’higgins, certain that he would liberate Chile, and figured we would drive it off the airport lot and learn trial-by-fire on the mean, wild, and tumultuous streets of Puerto Montt.

Reid drew the short straw of the first rip. By a miracle he got our upgraded Duster (all the micro-mini-compacts were out) out of the parking space no problem. At the exit our rental dude was waiting to see us off. Reid stalled twice right in front of him whist saying goodbye, offering a “I don’t drive stick very often.” The joke is really on him though because Reid had never driven one before. Hehe. Hoho.

Puerto Montt is a city built on volcanoes that have exploded upwards from the sea. It is very hilly, full of multi-lane roundabouts and the most savage taxi drivers (a south american standard). Without doubt it is the best place to learn standard. Shockingly the first days drive did not go well, and our confidence deflated down to that of a yodeller with strep throat. We found a hostel (which ended up just being Ingrid’s house (don’t feel bad if you don’t know Ingrid (I have literally never mentioned her until now))), and devoured YouTube tutorials (turns out I had been letting out the clutch way too fast, giving way too much gas, and Andy’s advice of giving gas before shifting hadn’t helped the situation). We practiced the next day, but still got nervous when we strayed too far into the meanest streets. After two days, we left for Chile’s Southern Highway – The Carretera Austral.

Puerto Montt -> Hornopiren

Like a flash of lightening we were on the open road, hair in the wind blowing as though Reid and I were a couple Fabios from a romance novel cover. Except we stalled a bunch of times and the road was extremely bumpy and rugged.

The Carretera Austral is Less Known for Its Baño Network

Nevertheless the feeling of freedom rode through our hearts much like Fabio on horse back. Speaking of horseback we took a ferry following a meagre one and a half hours on the highway. This offered the perfect picturesque moment for Reid to get his computer readied for a selfie. Photobooth takes the BEST photos!

Our first stop on this journey over sea and land was Hornopiren, a port city that connects the Carretera Austral by ferry to Caleta Gonzalo in the south. We stumbled upon an eco campground on the iOverlander app and decided to take a look. On maps the road comes to an end but there was a very rustic trail leading along the coast with what looked to be a homemade bridge. So like any reasonable first time rental car users and manual drivers we ploughed through.

Sure enough there was a campsite, one with a very cool path through the rainforest leading to a cafe on stilts onlooking the ocean. A sign was hung reading “Regreso En 30 Minutos” so we sat and waited (we later learned the sign is a permanent fixture). Eventually we were greeted by a man called Roberto, little did we know he was about to be our adventure guide. He showed us around his slice of paradise hand built and onlooking the fjord. There were paths leading to organic gardens, a hand-built waterwheel, and various structures all fitted with living roofs. We even helped him hand drill holes in the 12″ thick supports for a new hostel addition.

A very brief sampling of the work Roberto has done:

Hand cut a trail through brush up a mountain from his home
Hand built his home with manual tools
Dredged sand to build a beach
Chiselled through a boulder blocking his trail to his house (a supposed 4 month endeavour)
Diverted a stream to his handmade waterwheel, providing his site with electricity

When asked if Roberto would like to build a wooden boat (Hornopiren is littered with them), he declared the task to be too much work. We found this odd given the four months spent chiselling a rock in two. That night we slept in the old generator room off from the waterwheel.

Roberto filled our heads with the many adventures possible in the area. The following day he showed us exactly what he meant. After napping and relaxing by the fire in his cafe during a rainy morning, Roberto dragged us out to drive through private properties to where the road ended. Like a deranged serial killer he pulled out his machete and made the thick brush his victim. We followed behind while he worked to carve a path. The end result was a beautiful and completly closed in waterfall gushing out of the earth.

He talked about how he planned to build rope swings across while we stood by in amazement. He then pivoted from being a jungle explorer to an alpine mountaineer and took us for a hike up a rockslide to see the Hornopiren fjord from above. Unfortunately we had to leave for our long ferry crossing at midnight, but without fail we again turned to one another in unison and said, “We will be making a return to this region, of this I am certain.” More time hanging out with the legend named Roberto was going to be necessary.

Even Machete Wielding Psychopaths Enjoy the Simple Things

Hornopiren -> Futaleufu

We awoke from our extremely deep slumbers in our car aboard the ferry feeling completely refreshed and rejuvenated. “A better sleep I have never had” declared Andrew with authority. We drove off the ferry directly onto a road that seemed to be built only from rumble strip sections. The jungle was close on all sides, and dust was kicked up from our tires. We pumped the tunes and set off, intending to raft at Futaleufu. The Carretera Austral is sectioned off into road that is beautifully smooth, and road that has seemingly been bombed into oblivion. There is no rhyme or reason to where the gravel starts or ends, it is always a surprise. When the road did open up we were shocked by the beauty of the area. It really did make us feel like we were home in Canada. We stopped in by Lago Yelcho to cook up some breakfast.

Contemplating What To Eat, The Life of Dogs, And How Much Piss it Would Take to Fill This Lake.

A major difference between Canada and Chile is the presence of stray dogs, and this lake was patrolled by a dog thief that was going to every effort to heist our food. This dog was no Stormy, nor Gerhard, and annoyed us to the point of breaking. We dishonoured this dog with the name Trash-boi-swol.

Futaleufu is 77km off of the main road towards Argentina. The path is all gravel and shakes you like those miracle work out platforms that allows you to shed pounds just by standing. This would explain how we arrived in Futa completely shredded. The Futaleufu river is a world renowned competition river for kayaking and rafting. It is one of the places where tours take novices down Class V rapids. Turning to each other, we uttered in perfect unison “This river represents a unique opportunity, one that we should not pass up. We will have plenty of fun, and might even form life long memories. Let us register post haste!” We registered for the next day, and drove into the local nature reserve for the remainder of the present day. The nature reserve afforded us the opportunity to swerve around cattle, sheep and road graters. Majestic. That night we camped in someones backyard.

The next morning we left for the rapids full of hype. It was the companies birthday, and they were offering the full day tour at a reduced rate. This was Andrews first time rafting, but he showed no fear, wetting his pants only once. He took the first shift up front, and it was not long before he was disappearing completely into the water.

We did a total of 22 rapid sets, with 5 of them being Class V. Our first Class V was named The Terminator, and was a long set with huge volume requiring some rock navigation. Clearly it was the perfect time to take a swim, so that is precisely what I did. They did not have a “slippery when wet” stamp on the raft, so how was I supposed to know I might slip in?

Currently Being Rescued By My Hero Carlos

A fellow passenger (Carlos) leapt into action and rescued me. I have now promised to name my first child Carlos, and got a massive back tattoo of his face in his honour.

Carlos had my back, now my back has Carlos

Futaleufu -> Nowhere in Particular

Following the epic rescue and Reid’s 14 hour full back tattoo session we took off, driving nowhere in particular. Our plan was only to head south and to see how far we could get this evening. We pulled over to the side of the road after research on the iOverlander app pointed us to “free camping”. As noted by the app’s reviews it was quaint, while only being passed by vehicles every 10 minutes. However the other occupant (Reid) was blasting music late into the night. 1.5/5 stars.

Our Review to Help Future Budget Hunters

The next day Reid’s full back tattoo had almost completely healed. Very Cool!!! So our next move was to find the famed trail to Queulat National Park’s hangin’ glacier. Had we checked the rear-view mirror we would have seen it within 20 minutes of our drive, however we pushed forward squinting at every sign, assuming one would be the trailhead. The road ended up taking us up a mountain, weaving hairpin turns while we alternated exclaiming, “not bad.” At one point a semi truck offered for us to pass as they maxed out at 1km/hour, only to be almost wiped out by another oncoming semi. One Kilometre per hour it is!

After the very interesting trip up and down this mountain we came to a fork in the road, a classic dice roll for the two of us. We decided to stay right, as once again upon reflection it has never failed us. The chosen path lead to Puerto Cisnes, next to the ocean, which meant we surely missed the hanging glacier. Finally we set our pride aside and asked for directions. This was a tough moment for us both. After a meal we drove back the way we came exploring various view points of waterfalls and mountainscapes until seeing the glacier on the horizon not 15km from where we slept. The park had long closed so tomorrow it is! Slept in someone’s garage this night. For one night. Please. https://youtu.be/TzpAYv0AP68?t=685

Queulat -> Chaiten

That morning, Chilean Patagonia was gifted a new and spectacular volcano. The fish from Puerto Cisnes had not sat well, and mount Reid was in the midst of a violent eruption. This had to be pushed aside, as this was our one opportunity to hit Queulat. So off we drove. The hike up to the main viewpoint is not long, nor is it too hard, but progress was slow due to mount Reid really doggin’ it like a complete turd. Andrew offered a tablespoon of empathy, and tried to bring enough energy for the both of us.

The park was worth it, but not enormous, so after completing this hike we took off towards Chaiten. In and around Chaiten is Parque Nacional Pumalin, recently created by the Douglas Tompkins Foundation, the owner of the North Face. We stayed at Hospedaje Rita, a womans home that never quite felt like home, but had a super cute litter of cats.

Chaiten – > Hornopiren

The next morning we said Ciao to Rita after asking, “Hey Rita, did you wear magma to the dome from Volcán Chaiten, which had erupted in 2008.” Anyhow, we went to hike said Volcano. The hike up is at a 75 degree angle, and quite tiring, but felt much easier than the day before (for Reid). The mountain has had new growth, but all the old trees still stand like sentinels over it all. The pyroclastic flow blew off all branches, leaving just grey trunks. When we got to the top, fog filled the caldera making it appear as though we were at the end of the world.

We took a literal dirt nap to see if the fog would clear, and it did partially. Couldn’t see the full cylinder cone, but could see the ash filled lake, and hear the steam coming from the mountain.

We moved further north to take a walk passed some ancient Alerce trees, some as old as 3,000 years. These trees grow many meters in diameter, but have very small canopies. Andrew was in his own personal heaven. Big tree guy, total freak. The trail took us to some more falling water. We camped outside this trail, close to the ferry for the morning.

Hornopiren Part II Baby, not bad

The next day was dominated by ferrying into Hornopiren. We got great looks at the bay and the volcano. We wasted no time in getting back to Roberto. He greated us with a smile and immediately started to outline plans for kayaking to sea lions, camping on islands and etc. He said if we went tomorrow he would come with us, and that we would be free to go to some thermal hot springs that night with his friend Espon from Norway, among others. We decided this sounded great, even after he said this would be “muy clandestina” because to enter the hot springs is illegal. These hot springs were open to the public for ages, until a set of Germans bought and privatized them. Roberto plans to go to court on behalf of the town, to try to have nights be available free for residents. We hopped over fencing and followed Roberto to the springs, under cover of darkness.

It was great, Espon told us of his life driving a Combi from South Africa to Norway. We had hot water, drinks and stars; a perfect life. Eventually the police showed up and kicked us out, but it was great while it lasted. We retuned to the campsite to pitch our tent while we heard the dolphins spouting out in the fjord around 2am.

Andrew Pitched a Tent While Looking At That Tree

Initially Roberto had explained we needed to be up for 5am to be out on the water for 6am. However this did not happen. Lucky for us our late wakeup was appreciated, as he was late also. By the time we actually launched the kayaks the conditions couldn’t have been more perfect. It was surreal as the ocean water was completely still; Roberto explained it as, “a mug of milk.” Not how we’d describe it but whatever man.

We paddled across the bay to an island that fits almost as a puzzle piece into the bay Roberto called home and followed along the coast. After a few hours it was obvious we had arrived to the famed sea lion colony by the presence of sea lions. “We have arrived. You can tell by the sea lions positioned along the shoreline”, announced Roberto. These critters were fascinating to witness up close, as the closer we got hoards launched their bodies into the water and bobbed their heads up and down with curiosity.

Their Black Eyes Piercing My Soul Like a Hot Knife Pierces Butter

However we seemed to steal the show as a boat transporting people to a nearby island had passengers on deck just filming us in kayaks as though we were Fabio on horseback. “AIR DROP ME THOSE VIDS” Reid screamed, however the boat sped away and the people aboard scrambling to airdrop left connection range.

After a quick lunch break in a neighbouring bay where we sat on a rock, eating cookies and laughing in a very deep and slow tone like a couple of bosses, we took off to the equally famed penguin island. The weather was not as pleasant as before as we shot a strait to reach the coastline. As we approached we could already see a small group of penguins interested in our intentions.

We wrapped around and pulled the kayaks ashore to get a closer look. First we saw the pack out at sea, hunting for the finest fishes, and later saw a pair near by cautiously still in a stalemate with Reid as he took their photograph.

Buckle Up. There’s Even More Penguin Pics Coming.

The penguins were especially unique, and as we ventured into the forest (better described as penguin city) we watched as they came back in from their hunt in the ocean. It was a super amazing experience interacting and being so close to these creatures. We took off back to the café at Roberto’s place after sharing a beer and all taking a nap on the driftwood.

“Curiosity Killed the Penguin”, Reid as He Clubs an Endangered Penguin to Death

It was a brilliant day shared with the best tour guide. We finished off enjoying dinner and drinks in the café with Espon and Roberto among friends. Andrew and Reid stood upright in robotic fashion and said, “That nine hours of kayaking has my energy stores depleted. We are best served to rest and become refreshed for the next day. I am pleased with todays events.”

Return to Puerto Montt

We said our Ciao’s and headed back to Puerto Montt. The drive to the city was uneventful and smooth. The plan was to find Ingrid’s house and sit outside to steal some wifi in order to make reservations for the steps ahead. By some complete miracle we navigated without maps back to her home nearly flawlessly. Reid’s confidence was at a whole new level from his first Puerto Montt experience, and was slashing savagely in front of people rather than being the slashed. We gassed up and moved on towards the airport. This Puerto Montt session had by far been Reid’s greatest driving accomplishment so far, but for good measure and to come full circle he stalled immediately after getting a ticket for the airport parking lot. With the gate barrier threatening to swing down and smash our roof we threw the Duster in neutral and slowly shifted to safety. Our guardian angels had kept the Duster safe from damage, and by proxy us safe from extra fees.

Conclusions:

Everyone should travel to Hornopiren and visit Roberto. Hitchhikers are really nice and should be picked up. Sleeping in a car is less great than sleeping in a tent. Never trust iOverlander reviews. You can do anything you put your mind to, except apparently finding a South American wife.

Reid and Andrew,

Currently on a train, hoping to not plummet into an Andean valley.

El Calafate, El Chaltén, and the Journey to Puerto Montt

Lickin’ Our Chops Over the Bagged Ice Empire We Could Create

Inhale, exhale. Know that you are alive. Are you still alive?
– Andrew to Reid, upon Reid passing out at sight of Glacier

Reid and Andrew knew once again that they were in fact living beings on this rotating rock we call earth, this time in a town named El Calafate. How they got here was truly a dance with the devil, one that resulted in them leaving the capital of Argentina to a Patagonian town in the Andes. But we shall skip that story, and instead focus on just describing an ice chunk, a big rock and a long ride on the bus (which they lovingly refer to as Lucifer’s Wagon).

The day of our arrival to El Calafate we took to aimlessly wondering much to the chagrin of the hostel staff who attempted to guide us. Leaving the hostel we took a right, which again led us to the ripest green pastures of the town centre. We walked eager to find a car rental that would allow us to take their vehicle 2200km north with no one way drop off fee. This proved impossible. However it did not discourage us from walking into an excursions office and signing up for a hike on the Perito Moreno Glacier.

Big Chunk of Ice

Stoke levels high, we figured that the rental car situation could wait to be sorted out. We headed back to the hostel to partake in the nightly feast of carne. Our meal had four courses: pork chop, sausage, steak and lamb. A meal for kings! We met some Swiss friends and stayed up late into the night, chatting and drinking our $1.25 wine.

No Friends Shown, but We Swear They Exist

Our evening decisions did not make for a pleasant morning. The carne that had been so good last night did not sit well. Pair that with a couple days of no sleep and you have a recipe for feeling nasty. But we had to endure, to go out and see the beautiful chunk of ice. Hopping onto a bus we set off to view the main attraction of the area. However upon the bus’ first stop (a hotel) a good Samaritan turned and said, “You guys know this bus is dropping people off from the airport right?” We had no idea. Another classic shenanigan brought to you by Andy and Reid impulses. We remained unharmed, managing to get to the shuttle in the nick of time. The first stop of the tour afforded us an hour and a half to walk the short trails to various viewpoints of the Perito Moreno Glacier. We also stopped to sit and eat our lunches while the ice calved and shot sounds similar to heavy artillery through our souls. Majesty, beauty, we were in absolute awe.

18 Trillion Bags of Ice, at $2.00/bag gives Reid and Andy a Lot of Money. No Business Plan Necessary.

But it gets better. Back into Lucifer’s Wagon we headed to the next stop, our ferry to the south base of the glacier. Once we reached the small marina, our bus driver slammed on the brakes, turned the engine off and cranked “My Heart Will Go On” from the Titanic soundtrack. Cold sweats instantly erupted from our pores. With apprehension we walked to the bus exit and witnessed above the drivers chair a photo of his head taped to the naked sketch of Rose from the classic film. Wearily we stepped aboard with a feeling of there would almost certainly be a captain beckoning, “ICE BURG AHEAD!” The boat never sunk, and our hike on the glacier went without a hitch. Whew, thanks universe! We felt like explorers trying to reach the South Pole. The day was great, nearly making us forget our sickness.

I Taste Money, My Eyes Are Dollar Signs and I Stroke My Curly ‘Stache. Normal Responses to this Natural Beauty.

The following day was spent hiking a local El Calafate mountain. El Calafate is filled to the brim with stray dogs. For the most part they seem to be really good boys, and we have nicknamed a handful. The one we are a little unsure of (who tries to bite every passing car) we have named Psychopath-Freak. Another pooch we witnessed on our multiple walks we nicknamed Fat Lardo, due to him being fat and also a lardo. When leaving for the hike, two of the best dogs (named Stormy and Gerhard after our Iguazu boat driver) ran to meet us and hiked the whole day.

The hostel in El Calafate had a relaxing vibe and we chilled out there to make some future plans. A road trip was fairly important to us, and Andrew ended up finding a way to make it work by renting and returning to Puerto Montt in Chile. Getting there was going to be a major inconvenience, so we took some days to just soak in America Del Sur. With short memories we made our final El Calafate meal another barbecue, this one complete with beef small intestine. Not one single regret was had.

A Big Rock

A morning bus from El Calafate to El Chalten took us passed flocks of Guanacos and the occasional Emu. The scenery was so nice I had to ask the bus driver to come to a complete halt so I could take a computer selfie.

We did not have much time in El Chalten, so our objective was to get to the Fitz Roy campsite ASAP, wake up in the morning to go see the sunrise, pack up and come down. We needed to chow down and drop some gear off first, and both tasks were accomplished with relative ease. An individual from China was following us around after the bus, assuming we were heading the Fitz Roy. He randomly accompanied us for most of our errands, but eventually got bored and ran away. We would later see him running to and fro, looking generally lost. We sure hope he found what he was looking for. On the trail we made fast friends out of two Californians. The clouds had parted and the views were great. Everything was going our way.

Moments after arrival at the campsite the wind picked up and a blizzard started to roll in. It became cold very suddenly. We all went for a walk to try to warm ourselves, but it wasn’t enough. We had to dance.

The Californians were also cheap booze aficionados and offered us some “Breeder’s Choice” whiskey to warm the bones. That did the trick, and offered us a short glance through the eyes of an Argentine ranch hand. Yeehaw. The night was going to be very cold. We had anticipated 3C and had only brought the thinnest of sleeping bags. Andrew was down a sleeping mat. Not much sleep happened that night.

“Awakening” (never really slept) at 3:30am, we made our way up the Fitz Roy summit. The snow from the night before covered the trees and shrubs along the mountainside as well as the grizzled rocks that formed a makeshift staircase to the mountain ridge. It took just over an hour, with the first half hour being only visible with our headlamps, and the second visible through pinkish hues forming in the clouds over the valley. The summit was a sight to behold. Although we did not manage to get a completely cloud free view of the Fitz Roy itself, the sun rising and colouring the snow covered mountains pink and gold was worth the effort.

We came down, and wouldn’t you know it, the clouds finally cleared a bit.

I Free Soloed it, But Andy’s Video Was A Little Blurry, So It Has Been Deleted

Lucifer’s Wagon Marathon

24hr bus rides are so hype. Soooooo hype. So hype in fact we booked one from El Chalten the day after spending a sleepless night at the foot of a mountain amidst a snowstorm. The reason being that we rented a vehicle in Puerto Montt, Chile, and needed to get there within two days. The bus swerved its way through the Ruta 40 whilst dodging pot holes and veering onto grid service roads at any opportunity. The driver meanwhile played both lanes of the highway while sending snap chats to his loved ones and sharing 100lb bags of Mate with his compadres.

The washroom was off-limits on this particular bus, so when we finally reached a pit stop, most people were understandably antsy. A line for the stalls was huge, each person anticipated their moment. Finally, a stall cracked open and out slithered Swag-Lord Flex who took his time washing his hands. Meanwhile, his stall was volcano-ing water as though he had taken Iguazu Falls and tipped it on its head. The entire bathroom was quickly flooded and 50 people were left to battle a tough physical and mental challenge for the duration of the ride on Lucifer’s Wagon – oh well, only 12 more hours! Swag-Lord Flex was unrepentant and walked away slowly, willing anyone to challenge him. No one did.

Lucifer’s Wagon pulled up to some random road in Bariloche and jettisoned all passengers into the rain to grab their bags and scatter like ants. We hoofed it to our hostel to spend a lovely 9 hours. It was a great 9 hours, but we missed the bus experience so much that we went on another the next day, this time to Puerto Montt, Chile. We showed up to the bus station ready to rock, bags in hand and bus tickets ready to be purchased. Unfortunately, this was the one bus station in all South America that only accepted cash, and we were 120 pesos ($3CAD) short. No matter, I will find an ATM. Unfortunately, this was the one bus station in all South America without an ATM. Built for convenience and smooth sailing. Fortunately, Andrew met the one kiosk owner in all South America willing to exchange pesos for the one Canadian bill he had been lugging around.

“Sure, I’ll Take Your Canadian. Not Bad” – Kiosk Owner

So life has a funny way of working out, and we made our bus. Never been so relieved to receive the final two tickets for an 8 hr rumble on Lucifer’s Wagon.

Conclusions

Southern Patagonia is a place one should spend many, many more days than we did. So great, and with all the ice hanging around the capitalistic bagged ice companies are just waiting to be founded. This place definitely warrants its own trip.

El Calafate: 2.5 out of 3 dogs

El Chalten: 1 big rock

Reid and Andy,

Currently in somebodies house, keeping our heads low to avoid the riots in Puerto Montt Chile.

P.S. Reid is WIFELLESSSSSSS NOOOOOOOOO. Oh heavens please have mercy…

Buenos Aires

What are the odds you stay in Buenos Aires forever?
– Reid, trying to sewer Andrew’s life

Our last post described the circumstances leading to our trip into BA. We were making steps to keep a positive outlook, but the first night really tested our patience. The guidebook described Hostel Estoril as “one of the best hostels in the world”, so we were pumped to get a space there. In fairness, the location was awesome! But beyond that, you would have to extend the definition of “best” to be enormously broad, and maintain a very open mind to the term “one of”, realizing that it really doesn’t say anything. With those conditions, I can say the hostel was one of the best in the world. The main issue was just the heat. For those of you that are not geography buffs, BA is located right near the surface of the sun, and you can tell just walking around.

This problem is compounded when you try to escape to your room for a bit of shade and cool, only for the room to be a nice sauna. Our time in BA could really be summed up with one adjective: soupy.

We needed food, and decided to just grab some fast food. All four of our cards were denied, so we needed to cancel the order. Justin Trudeau, if you could just put this on you list of things to figure out as well, we would appreciate it. After finding an open bank and miraculously acquiring some legal tender we returned and place the order again. Seriously, the worst burgers of all time.

However, this burger spawned a new round of “What are the odds” games. Here is the idea:

Someone asks the other “what are the odds” to do X
other responds with a number
at count of three, both say a number between 1 and the responded number
if the two numbers are the same the person has to perform X

Andrew turned to me and asked “what are the odds you eat here every meal we have in BA”. Suddenly I was sweating for a new reason; fear. I escaped, but the precedent was set. Our walks through this city became a lot more dangerous.

What Are The Odds You Ask to Kiss His Cat

What Are The Odds You Climb The Pink House?

What Are the Odds You Backflip Onto Poseidon’s Trident?

What Are the Odds You Ask for Her Hand in Marriage

It goes on and on. It was mostly Andrew asking me to do dumb things, so I had to step my game up eventually.

Tigre

Bravely we navigated the Subte and Tren to a suburb named Tigre. We felt just like the explorer Magellan, wishing to reach his goal but unsure if he will ever return. We found our destination much quicker than Magellan ever did. Tigre is an odd place, a web of rivers near the Rio Plata. People drive there watercraft around to get from place to place, and it has a much more chill feeling than BA.

What Are the Odds You Jump in and Capsize Their Canoe

Exploring the network of rivers was something of a must do in this area, so across the river we went to get aboard the next available boat tour. To our jubilant pleasure we we’re told that we had 9 minutes before the boat left for the tour. We looked at one another and in unison shouted, “LUNCHTIME”. Back across the river to a cafe we went. Without much delay to the boat staff we climbed aboard and began our excursion yet again proving that cutting it close is a gift we carried. The tour was a great way to experience these narrow channels upon which few Argentine’s call home. Along the route we noticed an abandoned amusement park, and once again Reid was posed the question, “What’re the odds you break in?”.

Unscathed we managed to reach the train station to make our return back into Buenos Aires.

Conclusions

Is BA a bad place? Absolutely not, it is very beautiful.

Were we happy to leave still? Absolutely. We had strange issues here. Couldn’t cool ourselves, couldn’t use our bank cards, and kept having Uber drivers arrive only to not let us enter and drive away (we later learned Uber still isn’t allowed in Argentina). BA is pretty, but we are ready for El Calafate and the Patagonia region.

Buenos Aires: 5 out of 5 sweat drops

Reid and Andrew, currently waiting in a power outage stricken airport, hoping the conveyors come back on line to take our luggage and we do not miss our flight.

Foz Do Iguaçu, Puerto Iguazú y Ciudad Del Este

Would you just look at that!
– Reid, upon first sighting of waterfall

Arriving in Foz do Iguacu was a breath of fresh air. The intense Sao Paulo atmosphere was exchanged for much more laid back feeling. We stayed a day at the Tetris Container Hostel, which is a super cool eco hostel made from shipping containers and has lots of events going on.

We had lost so much time on the bus that I was extremely ready to be headed to the main goal: Parque Nacional Iguacu. We dropped our bags and left the hostel immediately. The taxi driver offered the sage advice that we eat prior to park entry, to save money. So we blasted into a buffet and dieseled some food (we hadn’t eaten for nearly a full day on the bus). In a delirious state I took a salad that was getting rained on from water exiting a ceiling tile. On top of that, Andrew and I marched high and proud while slowly and with increasing volume chanting, “Carne mas! Carne mas! Carne mas!” en route to the counter to be dished unlimited meats. Either my body is a bug warrior, or I’m still getting ready to be sick. Fully fuelled, we were ready to explore the park.

As most (all) of the readers of this are from the Canadian Prairies, I will try to describe a waterfall. If you are from Saskatoon, consider the weir:

Iguacu Falls is essentially that. Water moves from a higher position, to a lower one. This occurs often very rapidly and very violently. Unfortunately for our readers in Regina and elsewhere, there is simply no way we can meet minds and explain this concept (Signature Landscaping clients excluded).

Brasil Side

In Brasil, you get vistas of the main falls, seeing panoramic views from afar. It all culminates with a platform that enters a stepped waterfall, allowing you to get nice and moist from the spray.

Speaking of moist, we hopped onto a boat after wrapping up the hike. Boat captain Stormy Van Gerhard IV drove us recklessly through the current, hitting massive rocks and ramping the whitest of waters. He kept screaming “I have a death wish!”, as the fifty year old ladies aboard screamed, “Wooooo!”. Although we don’t know what “I have a death wish” is in Portuguese, we are certain this is what he was saying especially following his decision to drive directly under a wall of falling water that felt like being slapped by 1,000lbs liquid sledge hammers. All in all the Brazil falls were a hoot!

About 1/50 Of a Second To Through Our Electronics in a Dry Bag

To cap off our Brazil side experience, we saw a jaguar and a puma! Together! Totally unobstructed! We sure are two lucky skunks. Wow oh Wow.

Argentina Side

“Wow, not bad!”, is one entirely adequate way to describe Iguazu Falls. Another might be, “okay, nice!” The Argentine side had less of the beautiful vistas, and more raw power. Instead you got up close and personal views from atop some of the largest falls. We discussed at length where one should decide to jump into the falls, if being forced to do so. Finding a good spot to jump in proved very difficult. We concluded that the falls would really thrash you anywhere.

Approaching the main falls from the Argentine side is wild. You cross endless floodplains on elevated bridges. After walking a while you see something that looks like a sinkhole, and the water simply disappears. As you approach closer, its one of the most beautiful and terrifying views.

Magnificence might be a fair description for the Cataratas (waterfalls), however it still does not factor in the main concern of ours throughout the trip to this point. The of love of birds is extremely fundamental to our identities, and when we say birds we mean crows. Toucan’s are great and all but they should be completely eradicated from the earths atmosphere (along with every other bird) in favour of the great and mighty crow. This is no minor blemish on what what could be a great trip.

To Paraguay

As terrific as the falls have been it was time for us to move into the next step of our journey, Ciudad del Este, Paraguay! Suddenly we awoke, feeling well rested and very close to literally bullet proof. We left our roach infested but beautiful accommodations (we had left Tetris for a cabin in Puerto Iguazu the previous day) on the outskirts of the city to hit the dusty red trail in search of a taxi. Someone quickly pealed over to the side of the road like a scene from the Fast and the Furious 7. Some might believe it to have been due to the 30kg bags on our backs, but we believed it to be an act of fate. We jumped aboard and requested that he chauffeur us to our Paraguayan hostel. We had had such a difficult time booking accommodation for our Iguacu Falls excursion that we decided to plan well ahead and book hostels in Cuidad Del Este (CDE), Asuncion as well as a flight from Asuncion to El Calafate in Patagonia. We were geniuses. The taxi drive started well enough, we blasted out of Argentina and were well on our way across the Parana river to Paraguay when boom, bumper to bumper traffic.

Turns out, CDE has the choicest wares of the three towns in the Tres Fronteras area, and most Brazilians and Argentines like to head over for Black Friday. No matter, we will arrive when we arrive. Our taxi driver was vying for the tip to end all tips because he was incredible. He rode the median, he passed semi’s by mere sixteenths of inches and would change lanes through seemingly impossible margins.

Our jaws were slack the whole time. Finally we arrived at the border:

“No visa, no entry”

Our genius deflated and was immediately replaced with the feeling one gets when they realize they are a complete and utter tool/goon. We had planned ahead into a country that we couldn’t even enter, and our flights leave from an airport we would never see. But we would have to think about that later, for now we had to tell our driver he would need to u-turn through 15 lanes and take us back to Brazil. He let out a sigh, but did what he did best and drove like a total boss, one hand on the wheel, the other with a thumbs up to the other drivers he savagely sliced in front of.

We will save you the details of our ciphering, but just know that there was a tonne of it. The net result of it was is that we leave to Buenos Aires and will fly to El Calafate. There has been a financial penalty for this mistake, and we have learned a lesson. But thats all behind us now and we can get back to what is really important to us, finding crows on this crow-forsaken chunk of earth.

Conclusions

Iguazu Falls is undoubtably as cool as Saskatoons weir. We thoroughly enjoyed our time, and perhaps could have even used a bit more. Not super crazy about Paraguay however and would really encourage Justin Trudeau to fix Canadian-Paraguayan relations.

Iguazu Falls: 10/10 stars

Paraguay: Big dump out of ten stars

Reid and Andrew, currently on a plane, on a toilet, 1,000,000 feet in the sky.

PS. We have left Brazil wifeless for Reid. It is a tough pill to swallow. However he might have met his nun wife in the Argentine airport, fingers crossed!