Llamas and Alpacas, Oh My

The only logical place to begin describing my Peruvian vacay is here:

This is Percy. He is a llama (or alpaca? It's unclear...). He is made out of real alpaca wool. I named him after our tour guide at Huaca Pucllana, who was by far the best guide of our trip. Our tour guide at al Museo del Convento de San Francisco, for instance, spoke in a monotone at all times and appeared to be actively trying to lose our group as he walked briskly down the cathedral halls.

But back to Percy. Isn't he loveable? As you can tell from the fabulous art on my blog, llamas are my favorite. I was so excited to see them in real life and to buy llama-related souvenirs, like the llama-emblazoned backpack you see above. The whole trip, my friend Debie and I cooed at all the llama stuffed animals at every touristy shop.

How can you resist?

Debie was the first to cave: she picked up a little llama and christened him Gary, after the dearly departed Gary Coleman. We were on Machu Picchu when we first found out Gary died. Now whenever anyone asks me, "Where were you when you heard Gary Coleman died?" I can say, "Machu Picchu." Top that!

Gary the llama was a good little tourist. He saw all the sights, and Debie snapped pictures of his adventures. Here are some of her pics:

Gary climbing mountains near Huayna Picchu.

Gary taking it all in at the Plaza de Armas in Cuzco.

Here's one I took: Gary enjoying a Maracuya Sour.

This is where I got Percy, can you spot him in the crowd? A little Peruvian grandma ran this table at Pisac Market. She advertised her wares by picking up a doll, shaking it vigorously, then picking up another. "Llama!" she'd say. Shake shake shake. "Alpaca!" Shake shake shake. "Llama!" Shake shake shake. "Vicuna!" Shake shake shake. She was cool. I was laughing so hard that I kept knocking all the little llamas on the floor but she didn't seem to mind too much and I give her props for that.

And then there were two - Gary and Percy. Before long though, we acquired an army. Here's our whole llama/alpaca tribe lined up together. Could it be that we have a problem?

Nah, nothing to see here, just two 25-year-old women playing with stuffed animals.

They are so cute and fuzzy though. I defy you to hold a stuffed llama without making it trot across the table. It's human nature.

We did see real alpacas and llamas though. Here are some at Huaca Pucllana.

Here I am with my best friend Gary. I mean Debie.

And at Machu Picchu. These alpacas wandered free throughout the ruins.

Debie, Lisa, Caroline and I pretty much ambushed the poor things and cornered one until we got the chance to pet it. It made a mooing sound and looked worried. ¡Pobrecita! Guards at Macchu Picchu blew a whistle at anyone who stepped on the grass, and I am so thankful that they didn't see us chasing the alpacas. A lot of whistles would've been blown if they saw that spectacle.

Here's Percy at the airport, en route to his new home in America. I took him to work on Friday and propped him up on my desk. Everyone loved him. Even a principal at our office petted him. "Does he bite?" he asked. "No, he's docile," I said. And yesterday at work, someone asked me, "Where's Percy today?" I think they noticed his absence more than they would mine.

An Alpaca Named Frankie

I gave an alpaca to my friend. She decided that he was a gay alpaca named Frankie. That was just the energy she picked up from him, I suppose.

Here he is, at her desk checking out Gilt.com, chilling with other souvenirs from friends' trips abroad. She writes of my blog, "you should put an update about Frankie in there hahaha and write about how i never go on vacations and everyone keeps bringing me fun things so I'm becoming like an old cat lady but instead of cats i have little dolls from abroad."

Done and done!

Whistle While You Tour

In Lima, we couldn't walk more than a few blocks without getting whistled or honked at. It's understandable why. We were so obviously "outsiders" - plus, my friends are hot, of course.

But always feeling like "the other" - that's the part that can be a drag about traveling. Constantly having a sign on your back that says "I'm a tourist, please try to sell me something." It can be exhausting to not fit in.

I knew about machismo, but I didn't begin to understand it until I saw a few men halfheartedly whistle at us, almost out of a sense of duty. But the shoes I wore one day really blew their minds.

I saw a few people looking at them, scratching their heads, like "What does that girl have on her feet?" Guess the gladiator sandal trend hasn't hit Peru yet.

Back in America last week, I made the mistake of wearing a dress and riding my bike to work. A critical mistake. I wanted to be like the European girls who wear skirts and ride their bikes in Amsterdam, but it didn't turn out like that. Instead my dress kept blowing up as I sped down a hill. Here I was, probably flashing everyone on Massachusetts Avenue, and nary a whistle. "What a great country!" I thought. But perhaps men in the U.S.A. are more discriminating in their cat-calling?

OK, I told you about getting whistled at, now here are the random pictures I also promised:

Something really went wrong in the translation of this menu. Needless to say, I didn't order the "Canibal Pizza."

I would like to order a round of "Sex in My House" cocktails.

These are the directions to use the shower in one of the hostels. So many steps! I think you had to have gone to MIT to properly operate this shower. "In the direction of time" - which direction is that?! Time goes forward, right? Wait, carry the one, divided by the remainder...

I managed to turn the shower on and was proud of myself, but as soon as I hopped in, the water was cold and there was a large slug on the tile wall. One step forward, one step in the direction of time.

This was another three-star hostel. A piece of cardboard from a television box does not a door make. I never considered when we booked the place that we should ask, "And does the room have a fully functioning door?"

Someone in this Cusco internet cafe is a champ with a white out pen.

Aww, Kate Moss, you made it to Lima!

Banksy made it to Cusco as well.

The mannequins in Lima weren't terribly attractive.

But children in a foreign country are always cuter, no?

Here I am, frolicking with pigeons in the square outside San Francisco cathedral in Lima.

Lisa and Caroline frolicking at the Moray ruins. We did a lot of frolicking this trip.

Dressed in the appropriate colors, Debie and I reenacted this poster in Aguas Calientes.

"Hey, I know you are supposed to be stopping a riot at the moment, but could I trouble you for a quick picture?"

So many stray dogs in Peru, and stray purebred dogs at that, which is a phenomena that I don't understand. Very odd. In America these dogs would cost $1000 each, and here they are eating out of the trash. A Dalmatian in Moray, and tons of Shar Peis for some reason. That is the worst dog to be a stray, they are so high-maintenance with their skin issues. Ah, so sad, I can't talk about it.

Me at the gardens of Coricancha in Cusco. This is the best picture of me of the trip, because it's the only one where you can't see the outline of the travel wallet I wore under my shirt. So dorky. I really dug the travel wallet though - no purse, hands-free! I think I'm going to wear it all the time.

I had to pay these ladies a few sols to take their picture at Pisac Market - but we never discussed Internet publishing rights, so there!

Lots of spray-painted rock hearts at the beach in Miraflores in Lima. How romantical.

Debie just sent me an article about coca cultivation making a comeback in Peru, which could overtake Columbia as the world's largest cocaine exporter. I brought some coca candy back to the States. It made it through Customs, but then disappeared from my desk last week. Someone must have been looking for a fix.

Oh and look, Bart and Lisa made it to Peru too!

Because I Love Orange

Fuji Earth Angel

(Taking a short break from Peru talk)

I think I met my bike angel last week. I was riding home in rush hour, which I find terrifying, when an older gentleman in crisp khakis and a dress shirt pulled up next to me at a stop light. He had the exact same Fuji bike as me, just a lighter blue frame. We exchanged bike shop talk, and he said my bike was outfitted pretty well but I needed a headlight. For the record, I do have a light on my bike, but I guess he didn't think it was good enough.

"Take mine," he said, handing me the light off his bike. "After all, the life you save may be your own." And then the light changed, and he rode off into the sunset.

All this is true. Whether he is actually my biking guardian angel is debatable.

Taxi Driver

In Peru, a two-hour taxi ride costs between $50 - $100 U.S. dollars. In America, a two-hour taxi ride would require you to get another mortgage on your house.

Needless to say, we took a lot of taxi rides during our Peru vacation. Not that we had many options transportation-wise - the bus system was daunting for gringos with limited Spanish.

The buses were brightly painted variations on VW hippie-mobiles, packed to the gills with riders. I didn't see any bus routes posted anywhere, guess perhaps it was written on the bus? People just seemed to hop on and off, sometimes in traffic while the bus was still moving. It looked like it would be a thrilling commute to work.

Here's a beautiful bus in Lima.

During our trip, the Peruvians we interacted with most were our taxi drivers. I would say that my view of the country is through their eyes, but truthfully I didn't learn too too much from them as my Spanish is at a second grade level. Makes it difficult for meaningful conversation. I could only remember the present tense in Spanish, which resulted in a lot of phrases like "We go to food now." I was constantly living in the NOW, baby. Forget the past, there is no future.

But you know what? It worked! Debie's Spanish was better than mine and we were able to get around. Thank you, high school Spanish teachers. I may have appeared to be asleep in class, but something got through.

In addition, most of our taxi drivers spoke a bit of English as well, so we were able to communicate between our terrible Spanish and their English. Some things were lost in translation though. While making our way out of Cusco after our flight from Lima, our cheerful driver put on the radio and that whistle solo from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" came on. We all laughed - the song seemed to fit with our adventuring. With that, the taxi driver stopped the car in the middle of the narrow street. We're not talking pulling over to the side, no. He just put on the brakes suddenly and started rummaging, looking for something. We all started getting a little bit nervous. Then he pulls out his cellphone - he just wanted to show us that he has the same "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" whistle-solo as his ringtone. Phew! That was totally worth stopping in the middle of traffic for.

Landscape driving out of Cusco

I could never drive in Peru - it looked difficult. Traffic lights and lane dividers seemed to be mere suggestions, as most drivers did whatever the heck they wanted. Honking was also extremely popular. The first day we were in Lima, we thought everyone was honking at us in a lasciviously way. Could be, but also taxis honked at anyone walking down the street in hopes they might need a ride, and cars honked just to make their presence known. One of our cab drivers in the Sacred Valley honked at everyone on the sidewalk, and also a dog, even a bird. Stay back, bird!

That same cab driver tried to steal from me. In retrospect, we were too trusting. Our plan was to drive from the town of Ollantaytambo back to Cusco, with a stop at Pisac Market. Our American hostel owner called us a cab and told us the driver would wait with our luggage while we browsed the market for a bit. We paid up front - mistake #1 - and got in the cab. We then went to the market and bought a metric ton of llama dolls.

When we got in the car, I had a feeling I should check my bag and make sure my iPhone was still there. Mistake #2 - bringing an iPhone to South America. It wasn't in the pocket that I was 99% certain I left it. I'm sure I turned a paler shade of pale as I whipped around from the front seat and tried to whisper to my friends, "My iPhone is gone." But I suck at whispering and they didn't understand me. "Write it on your iPhone!" Debie said helpfully. The cabdriver watched while I tore through my bag and dumped everything on my lap. Finally, he asked in Spanish, "Did you lose something?" I told him I lost my cellphone. He then opened the glovebox and pulled out the iPhone. "Is it this?" he asked.

"Por que es en esto?" I said, my garbled Spanish attempt at saying, "Why is it in there, you rat bastard?"

He said something like, "Oh you left it on the floor and I was just holding it for safekeeping." Whatever. Lisa later said the zippers on her bags were undone. Needless to say, it was a tense car ride the rest of the way. We thought Lisa lost her cellphone when it disappeared from her backpack earlier in the trip, but in light of this incident, it was probably stolen.

Here are some pictures I snapped during that fateful cab ride and the one to Ollantaytambo. It doesn't come across so well in these pictures, but the Sacred Valley is breathtaking. The landscape really reminds me of Northern California, but on steroids.

Aside from the people who tried to steal from us, everyone in Peru was very nice. One cab driver in Lima even had my back - I was sitting in the front seat with the window rolled down while we were stalled in a traffic jam, and this man selling CDs came up to our car and started talking to us. I was listening to his sale pitch, but the taxi driver warned me to watch out for my camera, that the guy might try to take it. My first instinct was to roll up the window. So this man is going through his spiel and I just pushed a button and whiirrrrr.....the window starts slowly rolling up as he is still talking. Ha! It was funny and sad, maybe you had to be there.

Traffic intersections were a major place of commerce - you could buy food, stickers, CDs all without leaving your car. I so wanted to stick my hand out and grab a banana as this guy biked past.

We didn't only take taxis, though. Because the train tracks to Machu Picchu were washed out from this spring's floods, we had to take a bus to a different train station in order to get to Aguas Calientes, the town outside Machu Picchu. The bus hurtled along narrow unpaved roads with hairpin turns. This wasn't the worst part. People also used these same roads as sidewalks. As the bus rocketed by, I saw people walking and biking along the side of the road, entire families all wearing dark clothing at night, darting out in front of the bus on blind curves. At one point, a car going the opposite direction played a game of chicken with our bus, each refusing to move to let the other pass. Eventually, the bus backed down.

And finally, the last form of transportation: the train.

The ride itself was perfectly pleasant. But on the way back, Debie and I wanted to sit with Lisa and Caroline, so we sat down next to them, assuming that we could explain to whoever's seats we were in that we would like to switch seats. But then a French couple came along and booted us out on our ear. The man actually grabbed Debie by the elbow and removed her from her seat. She was not pleased about that.

I went to back to our original seats, but two other people had taken them. I tried to explain in Spanish what had happened, that they were sitting in our seats, but they just stared at me. I kept trying, desperately reaching into my brain for vocab words, but this couple just was not getting it. I was starting to get frustrated. In the midst of this debacle, I had a chocolate Sublime bar in my hand that was rapidly melting, so I was angrily speaking broken Spanish and simultaneously stuffing my face with chocolate. Oh, dear! Probably looked imbalanced.

This goes on for a few frenzied minutes and then it turns out the people I was talking to were deaf. So the whole time I was thinking that my Spanish is so terrible that no one can understand me, when in actuality I was trying to have a conversation with people who were hearing-impaired.

Really, what are the chances of this scenario? I suppose this sort of thing is what makes travel exciting.