Australia: New Year, airport mayhem and the Red Centre

After Christmas with relatives, my friend Claire has arrived in Australia for a 2 week jaunt around the highlights, starting with New Year's Eve in Sydney. Coincidentally, that's also her birthday. Here's what happened over that week.

We've been here 9 hours, you bastards

New Year's Eve/Claire's birthday began with a trip to Pancakes On the Rocks, a cafe in the Rocks that specialises in, you guessed it, pancakes. What better way to start a birthday than with pancakes? Although, it being before lunch time, we opted for the savoury variety instead.

Nicely full of carbs, we had a wander around the contemporary art museum. Just as odd as any other modern art museum.

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At this point, it was slipping past noon, I thought we should probably be trying to find somewhere to sit and wait for the fireworks. I'm not sure Claire understood just how busy it was going to get, so instead we tried to visit the Botanic Gardens, but they were shut because of the fireworks and the public viewing area there was already full.

Yeah, New Year's in Sydney? Madness. Instead we went back to Observatory Hill which was already getting busy but promised to be quieter than other areas because there was an alcohol ban and the capacity was lower.

And so we sat on the grass and waited.

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And waited.

And waited some more.

For nine hours. Well, not quite that long for the first batch of fireworks, after which a few people with little kids slotted off.

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But nine hours for the midnight fireworks. As it turns out, we had quite a good spot, being up on the hill. You could see up and down the harbour and the Harbour Bridge was near enough straight in front of us. But you can only do so much about the people around you and as the countdown hit midnight, a bunch of Germans pushed their way in front of us.

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And this is why most of my photos of the fireworks have huge heads in them. Ignorant bastards. I was tired. I'd been waiting on prickly grass for hours. I was not in the mood to be charitable and I'm still not. It doesn't hurt to be polite.

I think Claire enjoyed the fireworks though...

Where did the morning go?

The following day, I woke up around 9am. Said fuck it to getting up. Woke up again around 11am. Thought really hard about getting up...

In the end, we didn't leave the AirBnb until well after noon. We'd wanted to do Taronga Zoo and determined not to completely waste the day, we hopped on the ferry and arrived at the zoo about 2 hours before closing. I don't think we did too badly - we made a rough plan of what we wanted to see and then whizzed round. Look, a wild dragon.

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And a sleepy red panda.

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And a really dozy binturong.

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Oh, and I finally saw a platypus. Claire has better photos, but this will do for now.

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Yep, not bad for 2 hours. Normally I'd spend all day in a zoo though...

Since we'd slept so long, we didn't really feel like going back to Leichhardt and the AirBnB so early, so we had a wander through the Botanic Gardens in the rain.

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And then hopped on a bus to Bondi, just to see the beach. Also to see if they had any good fish and chips. Here is the glorious sunset over Bondi.

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I can't claim to have tried the fish and chips, because I had calamari, which was delicious. Claire seemed to enjoy hers though.

DO ALL THE THINGS

On our last day in Sydney, we had to be a bit more organised with our time. First stop, the Opera House for our tour. Fascinating, but it lasted longer than I expected. Look at this concert hall - the funny flying saucers are so that the orchestra hear themselves properly. Other than that, the acoustics are brilliant in there.

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I love this architecture.

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With the tour apparently overrunning and our planned train missed, we made a detour to the Queen Victoria Building to see the huge Christmas tree with its Swarowski crystals and all that.

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Finally, we got on the train to Katoomba. Yep, going back to the Blue Mountains. This time I bypassed Scenic World and took Claire straight to the Three Sisters.

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We also took the track down to Honeymoon Bridge, which joins the pillars to the cliff. There were rather a lot of steps...

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Which we then had to climb again on the way back. I must be getting fitter because they didn't seem too bad to me.  Either that or the cola I'd downed before we got on the train was giving me an enormous sugar rush...

Back on the train and home, where we arrived far later than we'd intended and ended up watching the new episode of Sherlock until we realised we had to get up early in the morning to get back to the airport. Sorry, Sherlock. It'll have to wait.

Well done, Qantas

At a time so early I haven't even written it in my journal, we set off for the airport. A bus and a train later and we arrived for check in. It should have been easy. Self-check-in. Done. Simples. Self-bag-drop? Not so much.

I should have known. Way back on the first day of this trip I'd had issues with EasyJet's fancy-ass self-bag-drop system and now in Sydney it was happening again on a much grander scale. This time the entire system broke down. And with all the check-in desks removed to make way for the automated system, there was very little space for the clerks to work the manual back up system. With our flight time fast approaching, we got stuck in a queue waiting while one very apologetic Qantas staff member tried to get everyone's bags scanned and sent through in time, fighting against a system that kept closing the flight because it should have left already.

Somehow, Claire ended up quite a long way behind me and I was told when I got through security that I had to get on the flight. So I sat on the plane, wondering whether she was actually going to make the flight, especially when the cabin crew asked if she was on the plane and didn't seem too bothered when I told them that she'd got delayed by the bag drop break down.

Claire ended up being the last person on the flight. Off we went to Alice Springs, quietly fuming over the mayhem. At least Qantas feed you on their flights - I was in desperate need of a calming cuppa.

On arrival at Alice Springs I collected my rucksack from the carousel and then stood and waited as all the other bags were claimed. A few other passengers were watching with the same sort of rising annoyance we were feeling. Clearly, Claire's bag hadn't made the flight. So we marched over to the service desk, where the poor clerk had no idea what had happened in Sydney and tried to reassure the growing gathering around her desk that their bags would be on the next flight.

The next flight would be the next day. We wouldn't even be in Alice the next day. Fucking hell, Qantas. Well done.

Because of the bag fiasco, we'd missed the shuttle into town and the next one wouldn't be coming in until the afternoon. We ended up sharing a taxi with an Italian couple who were in the same situation and fortunately, it turned out cheaper than the shuttle, otherwise I would've been writing angry emails to Qantas demanding some form of reimbursement for the additional cost...

With our stuff safely dumped at the hostel, we had to go on an emergency shopping trip so that Claire actually had clothes. Something else that'll need reimbursing. At least she could use my toiletries.

And then we spent the evening playing Exploding Kittens and getting attacked by mosquitoes.

Don't piss off a lady with a digging stick

Far too early in the morning we were awake again and climbing onto a nicely air-conditioned bus headed south. Some dozing later, we arrived at Erldunda, which is pretty much just a roadhouse. They do a good cooked breakfast though, which was excellent. They also have some emus, which we tried to feed.

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I say tried, because as soon as the emu pecked at the pellets in Claire's hand, the things flew everywhere and the emu just sort of stared in that stupid way they have.

From Erldunda we moved on another hour or more down the road to Mount Conner Lookout. Mount Conner is a tabletop mountain which is occasionally mistaken for Uluru by unfamiliar tourists. I can assure you, it looks nothing like Uluru.

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Ever onwards to Kata Tjuta, also known as the Olgas, an odd collection of rounded sandstone hills held sacred by the local Aboriginal groups. By this point, the temperature had hit uncomfortable levels, so I was amazed to spot some tadpoles in a puddle.

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A week or so before we arrived in the area, there had been enormous storms and torrential rain. I can only imagine that Kata Tjuta was absolutely dripping, so perhaps tadpoles aren't such a surprise. I wonder where the frogs live when it's dry?

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We took the short walk up the Valley of the Winds, trying hard not to melt and then climbed back on the bus. From Kata Tjuta, we drove back towards Uluru, where our first stop was the Cultural Centre. Fascinating little introduction to the Dreaming stories and songlines connected to Uluru and its importance for the Traditional Owners. I was also sad that there was no way I could afford any of the beautiful artwork in the craft shop.

And so onto Uluru itself. Our guide, Gerry, took us on a few walks, starting with the Mala Walk, which is tied in with the story of how the Mala people were invited to a ceremony by another tribe. Unfortunately, the Mala had already begun a ceremony of their own and once started, such things can't be stopped, so they declined. The other tribe were furious and ambushed them. The story is inextricably linked with a series of marks and gouges on the rock, which are said to represent, for example, the bodies of the fallen Mala men, the ceremonial pole they were erecting and the tracks left by the Mala women as they ran to warn the men.

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Aboriginal mythology never ceases to amaze me with how strongly it's tied into the land. It makes a hell of a lot more sense to me than most other oral traditions.

From there, we visited Mutitjulu waterhole, where the woma python woman, Kuniya, confronted the poisonous snake man, Liru, over the death of her nephew. In vengeance, she struck him with her digging stick as was her right, but then she hit him again and again until he died, which is at odds with traditional law. You can see the marks left in the rock from the force of the blows above the waterhole.

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The waterhole itself is a beautiful, quiet spot. Strange to think that not long before we visited the water was up above the platform because of all the rain.

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And then back to the carpark to have barbecue and wait for the sunset. Delicious kangaroo sausages. Not so delicious rahs who turned up just before sunset and spent all their time taking ridiculous Insta-ready photos. Claire and I had delightful fun snarking about them. By all means, come and enjoy the view, but these guys were dressed for a night out clubbing. I'm stereotyping like hell, but I got the impression none of them really appreciated how important Uluru is, they just wanted to take photos and say they'd been there.

Once the rahs got out of the way, I did manage to get some reasonable photos of the sunset. Claire had kindly brought my better camera back from the UK, but I don't think it made too much difference to how gorgeous Uluru looks in this light.

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And then back on the bus for the very long drive back to Alice Springs. Why on earth did we decide a one day trip was a good idea?

Is that flowing?

Since we didn't get back to Alice until gone 1am, we felt entirely justified in having a lie in. Once we'd grabbed some lunch, we had a mooch around town. Poked about in one of the many Aboriginal art galleries, but since we'd not left the hostel till quite late in the afternoon, we only got there just before closing. We made plans to return.

On the way back to the hostel, we stopped to take some photos of the river. The Todd River through Alice famously spends most of its time with no water in it. It had had pools when we arrived, but to our surprise, when we stopped this time it was actually flowing. In fact, it was filling - you could tell it must have rained further upriver and the water was slowly making its way down through the town. Pretty cool.

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Oh, and Claire's bag had arrived from the airport. At least you got that right, Qantas.

Snake in the hair

On our final day in Alice, we went on a mission to find some Aboriginal art that we could afford. This meant going in pretty much every gallery along the main strip before we finally found some small canvasses within our price range. And then spending forever in the gallery going through every single canvas in search of a favourite.

It was like trying to pick out a pounamu pendant in Rotorua all over again. I eventually pulled one out that I loved. Eventually. There were several others I'd quite happily have bought as well if I'd had the cash.

Art purchased, we mooched off to the Alice Springs Reptile Centre to while away the afternoon. That was great fun, especially the handling session. First up, the wriggly Gremlin, a bearded dragon.

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He didn't want to sit still with me. Apparently I wasn't tree like enough. Still, his friend Nora the Blue-Tongue was much more docile.

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And finally, Angel the Olive Python. Claire didn't want to hold her - something about ears. Her fear might have been well founded, since Angel first managed to get herself tangled through my plait and then stuck her tongue in my ear. Repeatedly.

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Riding a delightful endorphin high from getting to touch pretty animals, we headed back to the airport and hopped on our flight to Cairns. A fairly small plane - one of those funny ones with two seats on one side and three on the other, which led to the coining of the ridiculous insult "you're a lop-sided plane".

Cairns was wet. And hot. We slept.

Ooh, a neat place to finish for once. In the next installment of "weird-journal-blog-thing-what-Zoe-does-so-she-doesn't-forget-things" we're in Cairns for the Great Barrier Reef before heading off to Melbourne for... whatever it is people do in Melbourne.

There may be more penguins involved...

Australia: Tasmania bound

Marching on with getting the blog back up to date! Here's what went on during my first week in Australia and my long-awaited return to beautiful, wild Tasmania.

Jetlag, jetlag and more jetlag

On my first full day in Australia, having slept most of the previous day and remarkably well overnight, I dragged myself to the cafe just across from the hostel, had a nice healthy breakfast and dragged myself back. I had every intention of exploring. After all, I was staying in Bondi and even though I didn't fancy the crowds, I thought I should at least check out the beach.

As it was, I spent the day reading, writing and feeling a bit grotty. How delightful. I dragged myself back to the cafe to pick up some tea and that was it. No exploring. Nothing. Still, I did at least take a couple of photos. Here's the view from the hostel roof.

Not Bondi Beach, but pretty.

I also discovered, much to my annoyance, that the shuttle run by the hostel started later in the morning than I needed it. The buses were also going to be unhelpful. Which meant I had to book another taxi to return me to the airport. Ugh.

HI, TASSIE!

While there is a note in my journal that reads HI TASSIE, it's preceded by a lot of grumbling about the fact that I had to get up at 3am, because I had to get all my stuff together and stumble out to wait for what I knew would be another over-priced taxi.

When the friendly taxi driver dropped me off at Sydney's domestic terminal just after 4am, most of the airport wasn't even open. I had a fight with Jetstar's self-check-in, got the lady at the counter to fix it and then settled down with an enormous cup of tea to wait for the security area to open up. This is what I get for booking the first flight out of Sydney.

Of course, security did eventually get going, I toddled through and plonked myself down near my gate with one of those handy sockets they've started putting in airports so I could get some charge on the tablet.

And then my gate got changed because one of the crew was ill. Which is fine, but I had to tramp all the way to the other end of the terminal. It wasn't even 6am. My brain really wasn't in the mood.

Oh well. I'd been organised and paid for breakfast on the plane, so I nibbled a chocolate muffin and enjoyed another cup of tea as Tasmania slowly hove into view out of the window.

I love Tasmania. I studied there for a year when I was doing my degree and fell head over heels for it. It's quiet, it's wild and it has the most amazing wildlife. So despite it still being far too early according to my jetlagged brain, I was strangely chirpy when I finally arrived in Hobart.

In the interests of preserving my somewhat ragged brain function, I opted for another laid back day. First stop, a stroll out to Sandy Bay to see if I could locate my old student house, via lovely Salamanca.

The mission was a success, but given that the house is clearly no longer a student house and there were people working in the garden, I didn't dare take a photo. Shame. Still, I followed up that wandering with a trip to Banjos, which is possibly my favourite cafe in the world. They specialise in pies and they are delicious.

And then I spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around the hostel, saying hi to the hostel's dogs and trying to work out what I was going to do with my time in Tasmania. For the first time on this trip, I'd really let go of my need to plan things ages in advance. I had 5 nights booked in Hobart and that was it. For me, this was somewhat terrifying, but, well, I got used to it...

But I want to walk...

First thing on my list of things to do in Tassie was to go up Mount Wellington. It overlooks Hobart and I saw it every day from my house but never went up it while I lived there. I solved that by taking the free hostel shuttle up on the Monday morning.

Gorgeous views from the top, despite a few clouds. I'd fully intended to walk down. God knows how I did it - whether I'd slept funny or maybe slung my rucksack over my shoulder a bit too enthusiastically - but my back had been playing silly buggers all morning. I thought I'd be all right once I got moving, but as soon as I started wandering around at the summit, it hurt. Like hell. So I hopped back into the shuttle feeling annoyed. Maybe I would have been OK, but I really didn't like the thought of getting part way down the mountain and being in that much pain.

Instead I had yet another lazy afternoon, which was getting boring. Eventually I managed to lever myself out of the lounge and went in search of a new pair of sunnies, given that my current pair had just completely disintegrated after nearly 6 months on the road.

Be amazed, people who know me. I not only bought a new pair of sunglasses, I also bought a nice sundress. I figure I'll be needing it in the heat.

And then I made another failed attempt at bloggery. Good god, I'm getting bad at this.

Booking galore

After visiting somewhere new on the Monday, on the Tuesday I decided to revisit one of my favourite places in Hobart, the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery (TMAG). It's free entry, which helps. It's also had a major overhaul since I was living there, with a whole new gallery space and a big redesign on the old galleries.

Unfortunately, the old galleries were closed for redisplay, so I had to make do with the new ones. I wasn't disappointed. There are some fascinating little things in there, going back to the early days when Tasmania was a major destination for the convict ships. There's also a great new exhibition about the impact that colonisation (or invasion) had on the Aboriginal population, especially interesting since Tasmania is the only state where the native people were near enough wiped out.

From the museum, I stopped by the tourist info centre and then spent the rest of my afternoon booking trips galore - Bonorong Wildlife Park, Bruny Island, Wineglass Bay and Cradle Mountain. The next few days looked set to be pretty busy.

Whale farming?

First stop of the day - Bonorong Wildlife Park, another place I wanted to revisit. Bonorong is a rescue centre as much as anything, taking in injured wildlife with the aim of rehabilitating and releasing. They have a lovely little collection, like this beautiful young wombat, who slept through everyone patting her bum.

And Fred the cockatoo, who will be living out his days at Bonorong as an ex-pet. I had a rather one sided conversation with him, since all he says is "hello, Fred."

Fun fact: because Fred was a pet, they know how old he is and he's over 100. Cockatoos are known to be long lived, but still, that's pretty impressive. Friendly old chap.

My favourites at Bonorong though are the roos. These guys aren't for release, so you get to feed them. Surprisingly gentle, but very persistent. They will hang onto your hand so you can't leave and anyone silly enough to lower the bag will have it taken from them.

Following on from the lovely, laid back atmosphere at Bonorong, I visited MONA. That's the Museum of Old and New Art and it is bizarre. The collection is a hodge podge of mainly modern pieces, although I did find some cuneiform tablets and a print of The Great Wave Off Kanagawa.

Half of the collection seems to be NSFW. Like the wall of plaster cast genitals...

Basically, MONA is interesting as a one off thing, but it's not somewhere I'd be hurrying back to. And this is coming from someone who appreciates weird. MONA feels like it's just there to get a reaction out of people. It's almost shallow.

Anyways, moving on from my half-hearted critique of MONA, I spent the evening trying to be social. This wasn't too hard - I got chatting to a couple of folks at the hostel. All was going well until I had to explain to one of them that whale farming isn't a thing. Oh god. And then I overheard someone saying she hadn't realised that Scandinavia wasn't a country.

At this point my brain pulled a big fat nope on me, which is probably a good thing because otherwise I would've despaired at the lack of general knowledge around me.

I went to bed and read some of my Terry Pratchett instead.

My brain is fried

Early on Thursday morning, I dashed out the last few words onto my NaNoWriMo project. Oh yeah... NaNo. I haven't mentioned that for a while. Not since I spent all week on Chiloe writing ALL THE WORDS. As it is, I ended the month with 117, 381 words, which is a new record for me. On the downside, it completed frazzled my brain, so it's probably a good thing that I planned to spend the day sitting back and letting someone else do the thinking.

The minibus came by just after 7am and then we were off on our way to Bruny Island, another place I'd never got round to visiting when I lived in Tassie. First stop, Kettering to hop on the short ferry ride over the D'Entrecasteaux Channel.

Then swiftly on to a honey farm for delicious sweet things.

And onwards to Cape Bruny and its convict built lighthouse. Gorgeous views. The next land south of this point is Antarctica. That might explain the somewhat chilly breeze.

The lizards didn't seem to be too bothered though.

From there we headed across South Bruny to a berry farm for lunch. I'd brought mine with me but that didn't stop me from indulging in a delicious slice of baked berry cheesecake. There is no before shot...

Lovely little beach just across the road, with a lovely view over Adventure Bay. Stupid selfie time, I decided.

At this point, we took a break from eating delicious things and instead went in search of the famous Bruny Island white wallabies. These guys aren't actually albino - they're just an unusual colour morph. And we did find one, hiding in someone's garden. Bad photo is bad.

Wallaby sighted, we headed back on the food trail. Next stop, cheese, my favouritest food in the world and something I've been missing since I left the UK. The Bruny Island Cheese Co more than made up for it. Delicious strong cheeses that actually taste of something, plus a delicious quince jelly and fresh bread.

Om nom nom. My delight was somewhat lessened by the next stop at the Get Shucked oyster farm. I've never had an oyster before. I like mussels. I was hoping it would be similar.

Nope. Maybe if they were cooked, they'd be fine, but raw oysters are not something I want to try again in a hurry. Yuck.

Stuffed full of delicious (and not-so-delicious) food, we headed back to Hobart, where I spent a delightful evening discussing Terry Pratchett with a French chap at the hostel. I even managed to part myself from the Pratchett book I'd picked up in Canada months back in exchange for a different one from Fabien. I'm not letting go of my other Pratchett in a hurry - a friend gave me it as a leaving present when I first came to Tasmania 6 years ago and it's somehow survived 6 months on the road with me. A bit battered, but otherwise doing well.

Death to snoring

On my final day in Hobart I returned to the Tasmanian Museum to check out the galleries which had been closed earlier in the week. They've changed a bit since I lived there. Bit of updating been going on.

Still full of interesting little bits and bobs. And the Antarctic gallery hasn't changed a bit, which meant I spent far too long trying to melt my handprint into the ice block. Like a child.

In the afternoon, I hopped onto a bus up to Launceston, Tasmania's second city. It scarcely qualifies as a city, but since there's only half a million folks in Tassie, I suppose it's relative.

Tramping the half mile from the bus station to my hostel, I had to chase my hat across the road. That was as exciting as my day got until about 10pm at which point... well...

It started off with people turning the lights on and off with no regard for the folks trying to sleep. And then someone started snoring. Not just the little bouts that most people have when they snore. Constant snoring. I kept expecting the guy to wake himself up with it, but no.

And then someone else started. Good god. And he too wasn't stopping.

I needed to get up at 6am to go on my daytrip. I was not impressed. To the point that I very nearly got out of bed and shook them both awake just so I could get some sleep.

I really wish I had, because in the event I was too much of a wuss and spent the rest of the night with earplugs in and my head buried under the pillow. Ugh.

There goes week 1 in Tasmania. Week 2 holds much promise, with trips planned to Wineglass Bay and Cradle Mountain before I head over to the West Coast for the first time. Admittedly, the promise of the West Coast is rain, but I'm a Brit. I can handle that.

Maybe I'll get to see a snake...

Peru: Ancient cultures and altitude problems

Woo! I'm only... less than a week late with this one. This time I am blaming being super busy with adventurous things. And the fact that WiFi at my hostels hasn't been the best. Also, I'm just generally bad at remembering to post these things, evidently.

My second week in Peru went something like this.

Chocolate tea... chocolate buttons... chocolate pisco?

I decided to spend the day making use of my Cusco Tourist Ticket. I'd bought it to get into the ruins at Ollantaytambo, but it gave me access to a whole host of other sites in Cusco and the surrounding area.

Including, to my delight, some museums. I figured I'd spend the day working my way through the three included Cusco museums. Contrary to the information on the ticket, the contemporary art museum appeared to be closed, so I headed across the plaza to the Museo Historico Regional instead.

It's quite a small museum and the entire upper floor is dedicated to the Colonial era. Interesting, but not as interesting as the pre-Columbian section downstairs. And when I say pre-Columbian... well, this was the first room.

That's a glyptodont fossil. They're basically huge, prehistoric armadillos. Definitely pre-Columbian. In the next few rooms, though, were a whole host of pre-Incan artefacts, including this somewhat rude figurine, probably used as a fertility symbol.

Also, this delightful display of the various potato varieties grown around Cusco. I am reliably informed by multiple guides that Peru has over 3000 varieties of potato. I have tried some of them. They are delicious.

Following on from the regional museum, I decided to check out the ChocoMuseo, which isn't a museum as much as a marketing ploy. It is, however, delicious. And free. I'm not going to turn my nose up at free chocolate. So, our guide first explained to us about Peruvian chocolate and that you can tell where the cacao beans come from by the taste. At which point we all ate a cacao bean.

Cacao beans taste chocolatey, but also bitter and to me at least, quite earthy. Not bad, but not something I want to be munching on a regular basis. Fortunately, after the bean, we got to try a whole host of other chocalatey goodness while our guide explained the process of turning the beans into chocolate.

Soooo... I had cacao tea (better than the chocolate tea I've had before), hot chocolate (YUM), chocolate buttons flavoured with coca, sea salt, various fruits and a really nice white chocolate, chocolate and fruit jams and, possibly my favourite, pisco flavoured with chocolate and fruit. Passionfruit chocolate pisco is delicious. I could happily have worked my way through the entire line of piscos.

Of course, this is all clearly a big con to draw you in and get you to buy something and I'm not ashamed to say that it worked on me. I bought a couple of bars of delicious dark chocolate, one with sea salt and one with mango. Om nom nom. Not the cheapest, but it's so rich that it'll last me ages. Trying to save it for NaNoWriMo - I'm going to need the kick.

Following the chocolate overload, I headed away from the historic centre to see the site of Qorikancha, the Inca sun temple. However, I found the entrance to the museum blocked by an enormous school group and really didn't fancy dealing with the crowd, so I toddled back to the hostel instead.

Where I wrote something like 3,500 words of planning for the aforementioned NaNoWriMo. I'm a little bit obsessive about world building.

Fortunately, my attention was drawn away from doing any more writing by a nice evening of chat with other folks at the hostel. That and another couple of pisco sours. Well, if the hostel bar insists on having them on 2 for S/. 18 during Happy Hour, who am I to argue? After all, that's about £4. Om. Nom. Nom.

Pottery, pottery everywhere

My final day in Cusco I had a gloriously lazy morning (not due to hangover, I might add) during which I wrote ALL THE WORDS of intricate worldbuilding, and then toddled off in search of some way to spend my afternoon. The contemporary art museum was still closed, this time because it was a Sunday, so instead I made my way to the Museo del Arte Precolombino, just up from the Plaza de Armas.

The place wasn't included in my tourist ticket, but it was worth the entrance fee. It approaches pre-Columbian art from an artist's perspective as opposed to history, which was a little bit of a disappointment, but the pieces they have there are beautiful. The native cultures of South America produced some amazing art.

For example, this is a Chimu or Chancay vase. It looks like modern art to me, but dates from around 1200-1400AD, if my memory serves correctly.

This beautiful Moche piece, which is in imitation of a cactus, obviously.

The Moche pieces in particular were fascinating - they often created ceramics in the shape of plants and animals, so that part of the collection also includes this.

It's a potato. Clearly that crop was already important all the way back in the first millenium AD.

Enough of the pottery though. I'm sure most folks aren't quite as fascinated by these things as me and I'll admit that I was taking photos of prett much anything so that I could draw inspiration for various fictional cultures in my writing. Not a geek...

Following the awesome of that museum, I thought I'd make another attempt at getting into the Qorikancha site museum. This time I succeeded. Unfortunately, while there are some really interesting pieces in there, no photography was allowed. And the entire museum, which took me about 20 minutes to go through, all felt rather dated.

In addition, to see the remains of the Qorikancha sun temple, you have to pay an additional fee to the convent that's built on top of it. I figured I'd spent enough money on museums for the day and, knowing that I would be seeing more amazing sites over the next week or so, gave it a miss.

So I ended up back at the hostel where I spent far too long repacking my bags, before writing MOAR WORDS and finally ending my stay with a delicious Philly Cheesesteak, pisco sour and the US Presidential Debate. Interesting combination. The pisco sour was definitely required to deal with the ridiculousness of the debate.

Skull squish museum

On the Monday morning I dragged myself out of bed at stupid o'clock in the morning, had a minor freak out when my pre-booked taxi was 15 minutes late and made very bad small talk in even worse Spanish with the driver.

Fortunately, I still made it to my bus in time. Being really paranoid about getting places on time will do that. Struggling to stay awake, I mumbled a goodbye to a rather soggy looking Cusco as the bus set off higher into the Andes towards the town of Puno.

Now, I could have taken the cheaper option and gone straight from Cusco to Puno. But why would I do that when I could pay a few dollars more (OK, so more than a few. Still cheap) and make some stops along the way? Why on earth would I sit on a bus for 8 hours without seeing the amazing things I was passing?

First stop, the small town of Andahuaylillas, which is as hard to spell as it is to pronounce. Its star attraction is the 16th century church of San Pedro, known as the Sistine Chapel of the Americas.

Unfortunately, I only have exterior shots, because photography isn't allowed inside. I do have a disc which the staff gave out which apparently has interior shots, but given that I have no disc drive... yeah. You'll just have to take my word that it is amazing. For someone more used to English, plain old Anglican churches, it looks a bit tacky - it's all gold and shiny and covered in paintings. Very cool.

We made a second stop in Andahuaylillas at the tiny Museo Ritos Andinos. Courtesy of its large selection of deformed skulls, this has been immortalised in my memory as the skull squish museum. Yup. Look, a skelly with a squished skull.

The entire museum can be done in 10 minutes, absolute max, and that's as much because half the info is in Spanish only and it took me that long to translate enough to understand what it meant.

From Andahuaylillas we headed on south down the road, got stuck for a good half hour because of what looked like a pretty serious crash and finally made it to the little village of Checacupe, home to a suspension bridge.

Capilano, eat your heart art. Supposedly there's been a suspension bridge at this location since Inca times, although the current bridge is a bit of a cheat because it uses cables instead of the rope that would have been used traditionally. Still, there were plenty of people in my group who seemed hesitant to cross it. Be amazed - I was nice and resisted the urge to jump up and down and make it bounce.

The next stop was at Raqchi, also awkward to spell, site of the Incan Temple of Wiracocha, among an impressive array of ruins.

Wiracocha was the creator god of the Incas, and if the various guides I've had are to be believed, the only "god" - all other worshipped entities can be considered spirits of a sort, in line with an animist belief system. The site is also home to a lot of circular structures, thought to be storehouses. The sole reconstructed one proved to be very useful when it started bucketing down with rain.

Onwards down the road, we stopped again at Marangani, this time for lunch. I may have stuffed my face with soup and chicken and rice and sweet potato and pudding. And drunk large quantities of tea. Hey, it was included in the bus ticket, I had to make the most of it.

Climbing higher into the Andes, en route to the Altiplano, we stopped at La Raya, the highest point on the road and the border bewteen the departments of Cusco and Puno. Harold popped out for a minute just to prove he's still around.

And still it rained. From La Raya we had a somewhat boring ride out of the mountains and onto the Altiplano. It rained some more.

We finally stopped at Pukara to visit another little museum. Again, no photography allowed. What is it with this no photography thing? It's very annoying. Especially when there were some very cool pieces in that museum - both Inca and pre-Inca, including what I think were some Tiwanaku artefacts, the Tiwanaku culture being one the biggest powers in the area prior to the rise of the Inca.

There was also a funky looking church.

And then back on the bus for the final stretch to Puno, passing through the somewhat terrifying looking city of Juliaca on the way.

I could have flown from Cusco to Juliaca, but quickly decided against it when I read about all the crime and how dangerous it was. Glad I took the bus.

At last, 10 hours after departing Cusco, I arrived in Puno, successfully found a registered taxi at the bus station and made it to my hostel. Where I promptly nearly passed out on reaching my room because oh my god the altitude and oh my god three flights of stairs.

URGH.

The Return of the Storm

Ah yes, the return of my nemesis. But first, my plans for a lie in were foiled when I woke up at 7am in desperate need of breakfast. Much to my delight, breakfast at my hostel in Puno is the best I've had yet - cheese, ham, scrambled eggs, fresh bread, tomatoes, smoothies, ALL THE TEA.

After I'd had a nice cup of coca tea in an attempt to ward off the incoming altitude issues, I booked myself on a trip to Sillustani for the afternoon and proceeded to have a nice lazy morning to make up for the lack of lie in.

In the afternoon I was picked up for my trip to Sillustani, the only native English speaker on the bus. Fortunately, there were a couple of other people who preferred English over Spanish, so I got a bilingual tour.

On arrival, it started raining. By the time we walked from the car park to the base of the site, it was chucking it down and the wind was driving it sideways. Glad I thought to take my wooly hat with me. That bloody Storm. I thought I'd got rid of it.

Anyway, after 5 minutes, the Storm buggered off. Sillustani is the site of a complex of tower tombs ranging from small, Colla-built tombs that immediately preceded the Incas, to the huge structures built by the Inca themselves. I've noticed that restoration as opposed to preservation is popular in Peru, so here is one of the partially restored Inca tombs.

The tower itself doesn't contain the body - the burial is actually beneath the tower. There are also some even older burials on the site, this time in cists. We have similar burials in the UK. A cist is a hole lined with stone and then covered. Sometimes this is with a capstone, sometimes with a skin or wickerwork. The cists at Sillustani show up as small rings of stones sticking out of the ground.

Speaking of rings of stones, there's also a sun temple there. It's like a miniature Stonehenge, or possibly a very large sundial.

The smaller ring next to it is the moon temple, apparently and it's unfinished. Not much else to say aboout that one. With our trip to Sillustani completed, we piled back onto the bus and I took the opportunity to take a stupid selfie to demonstrate my excellently clashing fashion choices. Orange hat, purple scarf, green jumper. I am a fashion goddess.

Can't beat that hat. My ears were lovely and toasty. My innards got nicely toasty too at our next stop, which I hadn't known was included. Ten minutes down the road from Sillustani, we pulled over at a little house that looked like all the other little houses in the area. Adobe bricks, small buildings positioned around a courtyard.

There, the family showed us some of the local staples, including some delicious potatoes fresh out of the pot, fresh cheese and quinoa bread.

Quinoa is a ridiculously faddy thing in the UK and I've never had it in anything nice. Until I got to Peru, that is. I am not ashamed to say that I had a second helping of the quinoa bread. Om nom nom. Strangely, the selection also included a brown spread which I'm almost certain the guide said was made of earth. Like... mud? Still not entirely sure, but it was pretty good with the taters.

The family also keep guinea pigs, although these guys are definitely not pets. These are for eating. Just a shame they look so much like the one I had as a kid, which rather amused the guide.

And then back to Puno, where I had an email waiting for me to say that my two day trip out on Lake Titicaca was confirmed. Win.

IHMAIWTD

Wednesday started out OK. I sorted out getting some laundry done, did some writing, some booking of stuff.

And then my iPod started making the click of doom. This is generally a sign of the hard drive failing. I went into a bit of a meltdown. It really shouldn't have been a big deal, but I'm very attached to my music library and the iPod is the only place I have access to the whole lot. I need it for the moments when I feel like shit or I can't sleep.

So, yeah. Much freaking out. Much trying very hard not to crawl under the covers and cry. Much making myself feel sick with worry.

I had planned on going to a museum, but I couldn't get my brain to focus. I needed something to take my mind off the horrible clicking the iPod made every time I turned it on or off. So I treated myself to a nice lunch in the main square.

Look, more delicious quinoa-based things. How come we don't have nice quinoa dishes in the UK?

And then I ate some of the fancy chocolate I bought in Cusco. As I mentioned above, I'd wanted to save it for NaNoWriMo, but I needed endorphin-inducing food. It worked. Having stuffed myself with good food, I finally remembered that I have access to a large chunk of my library through Amazon, so that should keep me sane until I can work out what to do about the iPod.

On the downside, I'd stuffed myself with good food and my stomach did not appreciate it. Or possibly it was something else I'd eaten. Whatever the case, I spent the rest of the day and all night feeling rotten, if rather less anxious.

Hablas Espanol?

Fortunately, both anxiety and sickness had dissipated by the following morning. Which was great, because I had to get up early again to head out onto Lake Titicaca. First stop, the port, where I bought some water (for me) and apples (for my host family). I had no idea if apples were a suitable gift, but the guide assured us that fruit would be appreciated. Hmm...

And then our group of 13 piled onto a boat for the short trip out to the Uros Islands. These are the famous floating reed islands of Lake Titicaca, named for the Uru people.

We landed on Suma Willtja, where the president of the island, Joel, gave us a demonstration of how they construct the islands with layers of reeds. The reeds are also eaten and I can confirm that they taste a little bit like apple. Not bad.

After the demonstration, we were invited to see inside the houses, which I found a little bit uncomfortable, but the islands now rely heavily on tourism.

And then, to avoid being guilt-tripped in buying little trinkets I didn't want, I paid the S./10 to take a ride across the lagoon in the island's reed boat. Very relaxing.

A quick stop at the island across the lagoon for coca tea - a necessity at this altitude, methinks - and then we were off again on the three hour slog across the lake to Amantani, the biggest of Titicaca's islands.

There we were met by the ladies who would be hosting us for the night - the mamas, as our guide, Johnny, called them. I was grouped with a father and son from Sydney and soon we set off behind our mama, Epifania.

At the house, we met Epi's husband, Teodosio, who joined us for a lunch of quinoa soup followed by potatoes and cheese with a nice cup of munia tea and a basket of delicious quinoa bread. We soon established that out of the three of us, I spoke the most Spanish (by a small margin) so I ended up as unofficial translator. Somehow, I managed to work out most of what Teodosio was saying, which I was very pleased with.

After lunch, we headed down to the community's small library, where a young lady leads an after school initiative to teach the local kids additional reading, maths and basic English. The company I took the tour with contributes to the communities they house their clients in, which is part of the reason I chose to go with them. On our trip, the company was taking some tables and chairs to furnish the library.

We made our own small contribution to the kids' English learning by teaching them Jingle Bells. They seemed to do pretty well, although I did hear the occasional "Navidad, Navidad" which is how the song goes in Spanish.

Outside the library, the mamas showed us some of the weaving they do and also how they grind quinoa. Then it was time to head up the hill at the back of the community to view the sunset. Half of our group decided not to make the trek, so off went the rest of us and Johnny the guide, tramping up the hill. I was soon wishing I'd drunk more coca tea. Or, y'know, was just a little bit fitter. Johnny led us around a slightly less steep path, so we got a lovely view out across the lake, with just a hint of Bolivia's mountains in the far distance.

And, of course, the obligatory group photo in which I am pulling a weird face.

And still onwards, winding up to Pachatata and the ancient ceremonial centre on the hilltop. I was pleased to see I wasn't the only one struggling with the hill and the altitude, but it was certainly worth it when we got to the top.

While busy with other groups, it wasn't that crowded or noisy that you couldn't appreciate the beautiful view. Here is the sun going down over Peru, from the highest point on Amantani.

So worth it. And once we got back to the house, Epi and Teodosio were ready with dinner. A potato soup for starters, followed by a pasta dish. Just what we needed after trekking up that hill. We managed an almost conversation over the meal, in broken Spanish on our part, and the occasional snippet of English from Teodosio. I did establish that the couple have two sons who live in Puno and that Teodosio wouldn't see us in the morning because he had to leave early to go to Puno to see the kids. See, I must have picked up more Spanish than I thought.

We also handed over our fruit gifts. I am super rubbish with body language, but I think our hosts were pleased.

Dinner was followed by a glorious early night during which I managed to snuggle myself into my sleeping bag, under the blankets and somehow didn't overheat. It was beautifully cosy.

So. Many. Hills

After an amazing night's sleep, first stop was breakfast with Epi, Teodosio having already left for Puno. Breakfast consisted of quinoa pancakes and jam. Most delicious. I made a slip up in my Spanish, because I misheard Epi and my brain did a stupid. What Epi said was "Quiera tiene mas?", which I realised later in the day means "do you want more?" and was clearly in regard to whether we wanted any more pancakes.

What I heard was "Quiera tiene?" and without that mas on the end, my brain just coulldn't work out what she meant. It didn't help that I think she tapped her wrist as she said it, so I came to the completely wrong conclusion that she'd asked for the time. She didn't seem too worried when I told her it was 7am...

Fortunately, I didn't have much time to worry aboout my dodgy Spanish, because we were soon off back down to the little harbour to begin our next adventure. Epi was spinning wool the entire way down the hill. I was most impressed by her multitasking.

And then it was time to say goodbye to the mamas and board the boat. Obligatory group photo time again.

Our only stop on this day was the second largest island in the lake, Taquile. Taquile is much more geared up for tourism than Amantani, but without feeling like kitsch central. First task: climb the hill from the dock to the Plaza de Armas.

For some of our group, this was more than a little difficult, but we all made it in the end. I'm glad to say that after the previous night's trek up to Pachatata, this was relatively easy.

We had some free time in the Plaza, which I made the most of by losing a good 15 minutes in the knitted goods shop. There is a tradition on Taquile of the men knitting. I have no idea who made the amazing gloves and scarf that I bought, but I can be certain they were made on Taquile - everything in the shop was island-made.

I couldn't resist - there's frigging llamas and alpacas on them and the fingers of the gloves are all different colours. Plus, the gloves are made of alpaca wool. I'd been looking out for something of this type the entire time I've been in Peru and once I heard about Taquile's crafts, I knew this was going to be a good place to find something.

As it's going to be spring/summer in a lot of the places I'm visiting from now onwards, I have no idea when I'll get the chance to wear them. But the pretties. And also, supporting local communities.

OK, I'm shutting up about the woollens now.

From there it was just a short, thankfully flat, walk around the island to our lunch stop. Lunch with a view, which I suspect is unavoidable on Taquile - wherever you are on this island, I'm sure you'd see the sea.

Lunch consisted of quinoa soup with quinoa bread and salsa for starters.

Followed by trout from the lake. I'll admit that while the trout was yummy, I really struggled with all the bones. My parents will tell you that I get a bit weird as soon as I find a bone in a fish and it then takes me ages to eat the rest of it, if I eat it at all.

I was pretty impressed that I ate as much of that trout as I did.  Altogether, that meal was pretty good for S./ 20 - that's about £5.

After that, it was a simple case of walking down the other side of the island to another dock and our 3 hour boat ride back to Puno. While Machu Picchu was amazing and the main reason I chose to include Peru on this trip, I think this trip on Lake Titicaca has been my real highlight.

My blissful feeling was somewhat marred on return to the hostel, where I found the place overrun with programmers or developers or something. Not that they were unfriendly, but they were loud and they were taking up all the room in the common area. I wolfed down my tea and disappeared back to my room where I had another early night. I'd need it for my stupidly early bus in the morning...


My final week in Peru is looming. I'm heading to Arequipa next, the country's second largest city. No real plans as yet...

Mostly looking forward to the drop in altitude...