Into the Valley of Inca drove Roger and Dora

Crossing into Peru, we bussed along the edge of Titicaca to Puno for an uneventful night in a hotel near the bus terminal. Come morning, we walked through the regenerating, seemingly 24-hr market and onto the Inka Express – our self-admittedly-touristy route to Cusco.

Spot the man eating the head

Our opinionated guide gave us his perspective on the political and economic problems faced by contemporary Peru (in a nutshell - 'rural people aren't civilised enough') before we stopped for a less controversial tour of Pukara. The Pukarans were a pre-Inca civilisation, whose spent a lot of time carving statues to glorify the collecting of enemy heads and eating of enemy children. Pukara now also sells some of the best coffee in the world, as voted in some competition in San Francisco.

As we entered the top of the valley leading down to Cusco, we enjoyed a brief viewpoint (by now we had seen better) and hit the buffet lunch, serenaded by a traditional band. Dora practiced her French with some French people, and a lone German spent so much time talking he delayed the bus by five minutes, much to the genuine irritation of our guide. 

We then visited some Inca grain houses and an Inca moon temple, where the adobe walls and roof had been partially restored to give a sense of how they looked 600 years ago. Our guide made some questionable links between arbitrary numbers and other arbitrary numbers (e.g. "nine columns, like the number of planets in the solar system...a coincidence?!" (answer: "yes")), and we then moved on to a Catholic church built, and painted, to scare locals into backing the bible (alongside some earlier, pretty Jesuit murals). 

We also popped into a deformed skull museum; our guide tried to convince us that, rather than the result of ceremonial head binding/shaping (the general consensus), the skulls could belong to aliens (hmm). We nodded politely, being British.

Cusco

Once deposited in Cusco, we found our AirBnB, collected and cooked some staples, did some washing and slept.

Rested, a short steep walk took us up to Sacsayhuamán, the Inca fortress that overlooks and protects Cusco, and is meant to be the teeth of the giant leopard that the city represents. 

Sacsayhuaman, with Cusco behind

We were impressed (or in Dora's case, re-impressed, given her visit 14 years ago) by the tightly-fitted huge stones. We were less impressed by the failure of an Inca army several thousand strong to defend the fortress against a few hundred Spaniards. 

History mulled, it was time for some light entertainment on the Inca slides and exploring the ceremonial cave system. On to another of the sacred sites in the string out from Cusco the, this time with a rock that looks like a frog/puma (depending on the angle and un-photographable). 

Then the fun game of flagging down the right collectivo to get us into to the Sacred Valley, to the town and Inca citadel of Pisac.

Pisac is a nice town, with market-infested alleyways and pleasant Western-style cafes (we had fantastic grilled llama loin sandwiches and bean chilli followed by a melt-in-the-middle chocolate pudding that almost made us too late to explore the Inca ruins).

Above Pisac town sits a huge Inca settlement, with terraced fields giving way to housing, forts, a sun temple and a lookout point. The climb was fairly fun, as we walked alongside a risk-averse Brazilian ("we better get off the mountain before it rains, or we could die") who told us all about his complex family and business networks. Stunning views drunken in, it was back to the bottom for a collectivo (small bus with relaxed safety standards) home, where a cheap pizza restaurant awaited. 

Note the rainclouds the Brazilian was concerned about, and the height from the town

Typical Cusco street, with colonial
architecture atop Inca ruins

Tuesday was 'mooch-around-Cusco-day'. Mooching commenced with a frustrating search around the Cathedral for any of the unmissable artefacts mentioned in the guide book. It turns out they had randomly moved and removed things, but we managed to track down a mural of the town during a devastating earthquake, and some horrifying crucification paintings from the famous Cusquena school of art. 

The 12-sided rock in an Inca wall. Very impressive.

Qurikancha from the gardens, note the dark
grey Inca wall and lighter Spanish walls on top

Next stop, shopping and admiring Inca stonework, then the Inca palace-turned-cathedral of Qurikancha. It was a bit 'meh', having being taken over by tourist crowds (from which we saw ourselves entirely removed), and being much less impressive than the ruins from the previous day. 

Inside Qurikancha - spot the Inca building in the cloisters

At my insistence, we decamped to the Museo Chocolate, where we learned that Peru doesn't actually produce much chocolate at all. That didn't stop me enjoying a 'traditional' Willy Wonka hot drink though. We then foraged for dinner at the San Pedro market, acquiring some white potato-like things that we thought were rather tasteless, but which we later learned require an overnight soaking to make them edible. 

Wednesday was 'explore-another-bit-of-the-Sacred Valley-day'. We sat in a stationary Collectivo for a bit, until we concluded it wasn't going anywhere fast. A taxi negotiation saw us deposited near the circular terraces of Moray, which some think the Incas used to experiment with different crop types (there is a 5 degree temperature gradient between the top and bottom slopes). 

Farming with an ox-drawn plough

Suitably impressed, we gambled (I've always wanted to use that word) over to the village of Maras, where we were accosted by some waitresses and encouraged to enjoy spaghetti bolognese - we were easily convinced - and a glass of something free, fruity and very flat.

The rest of our gamble (I'm probably over-using it now) took us down to the Salineras de Maras Salt Pans and to the main valley road. 


We jumped in the next Collectivo, where I almost sat on a German backpacker who had adopted a critically injured stray dog to nurse it back to health. While I was my usual sympathetic self (and Dora pretended she didn't mind standing up), I did think South America had more than enough stray dogs, but kept my thoughts to myself. 

We were now in Ollantaytambo, holding an impressive fortress, an impressive number of tourists, and a nice viewpoint where the Incas used to whip misbehaving slaves (apparently). The town itself was lovely once you escaped from the visitors, mostly because of an impressive drainage system that means you are rarely far away from a babbling brook/tiny canal. 

Back in Cusco we headed straight to a guidebook-recommended restaurant looking over the main square, sampling Peru's national drink (Pisco Sours Classico) and Cusquena Beer (better than Cusquena paintings).

Ollantaytambo, at the heart of the Sacred Valley

On Thursday we mostly prepared for the Inca Trail: logistically (lots of packing), intellectually (a visit to the Machu Pichu museum, and a giant statue of an Inca warrior) and digestively (an amazing sandwich at the Coffee Museum). We then had our evening briefing from the guide, before an early night for our 'morning' pick up (5am is NOT 'morning'). 

A Titicaca interlude

Our big coach went on one of these barges!

Straddling the border between Bolivia and Peru, Lake Titicaca makes a majestical highest-large-body-of-water in the world. Approaching the lake-side, Virgin-worshipping town of Copacabana from Bolivia, we had to cross a small sliver of lake on a barge (us on one, our Diana Tours bus on another).

Our first stop in Copacabana was the Basilica, where pilgrims flock every day for blessings in their garlanded cars and minibuses. Unfortunately the famous black madonna's antechapel was undergoing renovations so we weren't able to see her, but the church was impressively festooned with flowers, silver and a 'ceremonial' virgin de Copacabana. The original, dark-skinned sculpture is very old, precious and fragile (and surprisingly small).

The Basilica's serene courtyard

Tipped off by our French friend on the La Paz walking tour, we ate fresh lake fish and omelette at small semi-temporary tent-kitchen-restaurants on the beach. Though perhaps not the culinary epiphany it was made out to be, the meal set us up for a loooong, crowded ferry ride from Copacabana to the Isla del Sol in the middle of the lake.

Nothing could have prepared us for the looooooooong walk up to the ridgeline of the island, where our hotel (partially still being built) perched with views both ways across the lake. After a shower and rest, we finally experienced the magical Isla with a walk up to the highest point, to watch the sunset.

For dinner we took our chances on a small, empty, family-run restaurant, which produced impressive spag bol and quinoa soup (an Andean fave).

Sunrise over the Andes and Isla del Luna

I was up at 5.55am to see the sun rise over the Andes from our terrace (not quite through my toes, as enjoyed by Mum and Dad in the great 2003 South America Tour). A few hours and a substantial breakfast later we were path-finding south to the well-preserved Inca waystation for pilgrims. At the north end of the island, the temples and ceremonial sites the pilgirms were heading for lay dotted on our map.

The south end of the island is tantalisingly close to the mainland (but not Copacabana)

On the way back north we sighed (well I did) at the snow-capped Andes in the distance, and failed to capture them sufficiently beautifully on camera (see left). Heading along the ridgeline beyond our hostel, we were stopped firmly by a local who told us we couldn't go any further - no tourists allowed. No boats were visiting the north either. Thus thwarted, we plodded back to make enquiries. There is an ongoing conflict between the north and south halves of the island, likely over uneven tourism revenue and associated prosperity. The north has been completely out of bounds to tourists since April 2017; it's unclear if that is self-imposed or the southerners controlling the boats.


Now with 4 hours to kill, we wended our way back down to the harbour of Yumani via the three water springs (right) and original Inca steps, and established ourselves at the best table on the best terrace. Our long relaxed lunch involved pizza, chocolate pancakes, coffee, and a view of a touristy Inca reed boat with 'oarsmen' and a motor. And the Isla de Luna and Andes serene behind.

The 3pm boat finally pitched up, and we sat inside (but near the back for a quick exit if needed) and made progress with our books. Our final 1.5hrs in Bolivia were spent changing money, eating a hamburger (please remember we did eat local in Copacabana before, and on the Island) and boarding the Diana Tours bus for Puno, Peru. 

By bus, by bike, bye bye La Paz

We are back after a Christmas break, so a reminder of where we left off: winging our way back to La Paz from the Madidi jungle.

Tiwanaku beckoned

We had cunningly booked into a homestay in El Alto, the flatter, dodgier part of La Paz, ready for a speedy day trip to Tiwanaku - the sacred centre of a pre-Inca empire. After dinner at Pizza Gooooooal (a tiny sports bar) we bonded with fellow home-stayers, two French girls, over their home-made banana cake, our shop-bought chocolate and tips on visiting New Zealand.

Our relaxed banana milkshake breakfast was cut short by our host who insisted his wife took us to the Tiwanaku local bus on her way to work. This involved two collectivos and much squishing in, but we were soon out on the open road. 

First up, for background understanding, was the Tiwanaku Pottery Museum, which illustrated the civilisation's advanced craftsmanship and rituals, as well as their trading links with other parts of Bolivia and Peru. The delicately sculpted seahorse was the highlight.


Then we trotted round the Tiwanaku site itself. Due to pillaging, half reconstruction and poor archaelogical investigation over hundreds of years, not much is known about the functions or meaning of different parts. However, we saw: a slumped and excavated 7-terraced pyramid, with cross-section showing how it was constructed; what appears to be a miniature model of another, undiscovered, temple site; a sunken temple lined with stone heads or idols pillaged from other communities to show dominance; the main, raised sacred area with clay altar, sun gate (moved from original place) and monoliths; carvings of cats, crabs and tesselated creatures; water channels; a patio lined with sarcophogi; magnetic standing stones.

The sunken temple

Detail from the base of a monolith in the raised area

The biggest monolith is housed inside to protect it, after it was originally displayed in La Paz (there is a replica Tiwanaku sunken temple in the middle of a roundabout there). It is HUGE! But we weren't allowed to take any photos.

Back at the main road we waved down a minibus and trundled back to El Alto, then chose a minibus over the Azur Teleferico (cable car), which was repeatedly being hit by lightning in the mounting storm. By the time we got to the Amarillo Teleferico the storm had died down, so for all of 3 Bolivianos we took it over the edge of the La Paz bowl and down into the city. Refreshed by an Alexanders sundae and quesadilla we picked up our bags (thanks Camino Royal), booked biking at Barracuda, and checked into a new hostel. Dinner was delicious tacos and fresh juice at a painfully backpacker-y Mexican bar.

Teleferico selfie

After much debate we had decided to 'do' the 'Death Road' biking. Freewheeling down the World's Most Dangerous Road was last undertaken by Coventrys in 2003, when the road was still the main trade route between La Paz and Coroico, and trucks, minibuses and cars sidled past each other on the cliff's edge. Finally in 2006, a new, tarmac road was built on the other side of the valley, and now the old track is just for biking.

The steepest, sharpest corner

There were 10 of us plus two guides and one bus in the Barracuda Group 1. We zoomed down the first 22km, on tarmac, avoiding the crazy overtaking of oncoming vehicles. At the offshoot to the old road, several tour groups were gearing up, so we admired the valley quickly and juddered off down the rocky gravel. Soon an order was established - young no-fear crazies first, then us, then those less confident or more cautious. Unlike in 2003, there was space to admire the view without going over the edge, and the guides insisted on many stops to take epiiiic photos of us all.

Roger and I biking under a waterfall next to a memorial for one of the accidents

The corner that became a famous image of the road

As we descended the climate and vegetation completely changed. 33km down, we arrived in a little village, where there was a final 500m of tough uphill that separated the real bikers (me and Rog) from the rest. A welcome pool and beers greeted us, for maximum relaxation and socialising, and a big buffet. The other Barracuda group arrived 1.5hrs after us, having been plagued by crashes and punctures (and generally being slow).

The bus took us back up the new road, which still had some hairy hairpins and mad overtaking, but also safe views from above the clouds. The next morning we departed La Paz.