16) Cuenca

Sorry for the late posting, I've been out of range and very wet and cold for a few days!
As I mentioned, Cuenca is pretty impressive aesthetically. However the narrow cobbled streets of the old town and constant stream of traffic cause quite a build up of exhaust fumes which is not pleasant, particularily when one of the great big public buses trundles by belching a cloud of black smoke into your face (they don't have thousands of minivans as in Peru). It is a small price to pay though. In the middle of the two main streets; Simon Bolivar and Marsical Sucre, there is a huge plaza covered in towering trees and benches and fountains, and in front is the remarkable three-domed Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception.
We wandered around for a place to get breakfast and a few blocks across from the central hub, we found "Chipotle", a small bar with a fantastic American sounding menu, they even had hash browns! Hash browns!!

Central Plaza

After breakfast Jamie went back to the hostel and I headed across the road to "Mercado de 10 Augosto". It was huge! Across two levels were countless stands selling just about everything. The second floor consisted mostly of an assortment of food vendors and fruit and vegetable traders. So many colours, and so many things I'd never seen before. There are four types of banana here! I drifted through in a bit of a daze amongst an amalgam of people calling out their wares and bartering and the constant hum of conversation.
Towards the back I found a stall with a barbers chair and a woman painting her nails. I bit the bullet, pointed at my hair and she nodded. For $2 she tidied me up, though I couldn't get across that I wanted the beard gone and when she was waving the straight razor around my face like a sword I didn't really want to interject.

River walk

That afternoon I got a map from the helpful hostel lady and she explained where a lot of stuff was. Our hostel was between the two main streets of the old town and not too far away from the centre. Later on we wandered down Calle Larga; the main street for bars and discotecas, and went to eat at a place called "Wunderbar". $6 and three courses later we couldn't help but stay for a little longer to enjoy the cheap beers of happy hour before retiring.

RING THE BELL OMINOUSLY

The next day I planned to get up early to explore Cuenca more but found myself wandering out of the hostel at 11 to find some breakfast. I went up and down the main streets and settled on a chicken empanada (pasty) and a cup of that irresistable South American coffee and an alfahore in a small bakery down a side street. There are lots of shops in Cuenca selling all sorts of things as it's quite touristy. I stopped in a few and bought a postcard for Nan back home, asked for directions to the post office and set about trying to find it. An hour or so later, the card sent, I took a stroll towards the bottom of town. There was a sign pointing to some ruins and after a 10 minute walk I found them at the bottom of  a steep hill near a busy roundabout. They were pretty piss poor even for ruins, consisting of a few arrangements of stones behind a wall and a locked gate. It took me another 10 minutes to get back across the road and up towards the town again. I followed another sign towards a museum called CIDAP. Goodness knows what it stands for but the building was grand and situated on the river. It was quiet and I couldn't work out where to go so just headed up some stairs into the building. I'm fairly sure it wasn't the museum. There were a lot of people hurrying around and I think they were preparing for some sort of exhibition. I looked pretty out of place but no one said anything so I continued to plod about trying to keep out of the way. There were several peices of art floating about and a few things for sale made from hemp and things, not that there appeared to be anywhere to buy them. Through the back was an office and that's when I realised I was clearly in the wrong place and made a silent exit. On the way out I found a locked door downstairs with Museo written above it. It was only 4pm but closed already. Peering through the windows it looked to be all clothes and jewlery from the various indigenous peoples of Ecuador so I wasn't too disappointed. Heading back up to the town I stopped at the building next to Chipotle as I'd noticed a few people taking pictures of it the previous morning. Heading down the dimly lit hallway was a little eerie, and at the end was a sign on the wall. It read " IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE STORE RING THE BELL THREE TIMES" in English. It was like something out of a goosebumps video but I figured I'd go for it anyway, and pressed the button near the door the required three times. A dog started barking and a few moments later there was creaking of stairs. A tiny old woman opened the door and explained that the shop was closed for the day and to come back tomorrow. Despite the dingey hallway it looked light and airy inside, dominated by a large central staircase. I apologised to the woman and she replied "No problem" before chuckling to herself something about gringos. I left, glad I hadn't ended up part of a horror plot, and headed across the road to a store containing all sorts of expensive homely things. The contents of this shop looked like they could total the cost of the whole of Huaraz, and I didn't linger for fear of breaking something worth more than my soul.
That evening we headed back to Chipotle to take advantage of their happy hour. A few gin and tonics in and we met a couple of delightful American girls; Renee and her friend Hayley. They were here as part of a year for their degree programmes. Degrees are a lot different in the states it would seem! We chatted for ages, and they explained that Thursday through to Saturday nights were the best to go out in Cuenca. I didn't realise the time until the barman came over and handed us the bill before stacking up chairs around us. We left feeling a lot merrier than we perhaps should have been and agreed to join them for their friends 21st the following week...

15) Getting Fleeced at the Border

The bus arrived into Tumbes at 9 in the morning and it was already sweltering. We planned to get breakfast before finding a bus station to catch a ride to the other side, but a taxi driver told us he knew of a bus straight to Cuenca. We followed him out to his Tuk tuk, threw our stuff in the back and hopped in. He was fat and jovial, and quite talkative. Before long he stopped and told us we'd do the next bit by car, and that's when alarm bells should have started ringing.

The car we got into wasn't marked as a taxi, and there was already one guy in there but being the foolish gringos we were, we put our stuff in the back and got in. I felt a little uneasy and tried asking as many questions as I could, which he kept answering. He told us they would take us across the border because it was confusing to walk across and not very safe, and then for $50 dollars we would also get our tickets for the bus direct to Cuenca.
We got near to the border and pulled into a carpark, getting out he began demanding the fee. I  told him I'd like to have my ticket first but he said we'd need to walk to the ticket office, saying to follow a new man who'd appeared. It was all very unnerving so we grabbed our stuff close, handed over the cash and began following the new guy into the crowd, already sure we'd never see the ticket. 

The border between the two countries is utterly manic with busy cramped markets of mingling people squished between tall ugly buildings, so we kept close to the guy but all of a sudden we were told to follow someone else. He lead us to a new taxi and told us to take it to get our passports stamped but I'd had enough. He wanted us to pay the taxi man and I was having none of it since we'd forked out a lot of cash already. We started arguing and some nearby people got involved, but I couldn't really understand what any of them were saying. This drew the attention of a nearby policeman who came over to intervene. As I was explaining the situation, I realised that the man who we'd been following had melted into the crowd. We'd been bloody robbed.

The policeman showed us which taxi to get to go to immigration control and sent us on our way. Goodness knows where the other taxi would have taken us but I've a feeling we wouldn't have been left with our bags.

The border control area was 10 minutes drive away and in the middle of nowhere. It's a big complex, but was empty when we arrived pissed off and very sweaty. Jamie had outstayed his visa and had to pay an extra $12, luckily I didn't because I had no dollars whatsoever, and now no money to exchange.

We asked the taxi driver where we could get a bus to Cuenca, and he took us back to Huanquillas where we'd driven through to get to border control. The bus to Cuenca cost $7, considerably less than what we'd been expecting, foolishly thinking $50 would have been the going rate, but it was a damn sight better than El Sol and even air conditioned thank God.

It took us 5 hours to get to Cuenca and the journey was different to those in Peru. For one thing the driver was much less ambitious when it came to overtaking. The scenery was absolutely stunning; mountains all around covered in lush vegetation, and the occassional grand looking house nestled in the trees. Another instantly obvious difference to Peru is the lack of constant horns blaring, and the trip was oddly calm.

We found ourselves at the bus station with a line of pretty immaculate yellow cabs waiting patiently, and hopped in one to the hostel Alejandra (our PhD Student contact) had recommended. By then it was late Sunday afternoon, and Cuenca was mostly quiet. It felt considerably more developed than anywhere we'd experienced in Peru.
We checked into the hostel, it was basic but only $7 a night and so say had hot water so I wasn't about to complain. Admittedly the shower the girl had pointed to when she said "Always hot water" was different to the one across the hall, but I naively assumed it would be throughout. It was cold, very very cold. Someone somewhere was putting effort into cooling this water down infact, and it came out like a riot hose. Needless to say I left 5 minutes later gasping for breath but feeling somewhat refreshed. Trying to find a place to eat was quite difficult, and all the ATMs I tried failed to recognise my card which was really frustrating, but eventually we stumbled across a place called "Chicago Pizza" which conviniently accepted mastercard. I had a fantastic calzone (hardly Ecuadorean I know) and then we wandered the streets some more trying to find our way back to the hostel. Cuenca is stunning, even in the dark. The old town where we were staying is in a grid format like US cities, which should make it easy to find your way back but in fact, everywhere looks more or less the same. We passed several grand looking churches and many perfectly maintained colonial buildings along the cobbled streets, and after about half an hours aimless turning corners, found ourselves back at the hostel. It was only 9pm, but dark inside apart from a weird shrine in the corner with a candle lit. I wearily hit the hay and the bed was perfect, leaving me out like a light.

 

14) Leaving Huanchaco

It better not be down that road...
FUCK it's down that road

Cont.
I got my ticket and spent a couple of hours touring the ruins. They are certainly a spectacle to behold. It was knocked up by the Chimor, a pre-Incan civilisation and they did a pretty good job of it too, though I honestly do not know what they were looking at when they carved the birds into the stonework because they are a pretty shit representation. The fish are good though, and it's all well preserved after it got abandoned when the Incas did turn up. For S5 (about 1.50) you get a ticket to 4 different archeological sites, and once I'd finished Chan Chan, I haggled with a taxi driver to take me to the other 3 then back to Huanchaco. The first stop was the Dragon Temple. It's not very big at all and situated slap bang in the middle of a busy urban area, but is pretty none the less and does offer some good views from the top. I suppose it is called the dragon temple for all the dragons carved into it and not because they sacraficed dragons there.
Next was another temple, again in an urban area and contained in what felt like a cheap car park! It is bigger than the dragon temple and slightly better preserved. There was only me and one other man there, who said he'd seen me on the trek to Chan Chan. He was an architect and had some impressive drawings of the masonry and carvings. We had a short conversation in a mix of broken Spanish and English; he'd never heard of the Puya before! I left him to his work and the final stop was the museum of Chan Chan. It is well kept and apart from Chan Chan, probably the only one worth visiting. It gave a history of the area and displayed many things found during the excavation. I bought a souvenir of the ridiculous looking bird and headed back to Huanchaco.

So sacred

There I toured the town some more, visiting a beautiful church on the hill above the town. It was quaint and surrounded by lush gardens, each pillar covered in declarations of love between young couples. I sat for a while admiring the view whilst a man clanged the bell every minute or so with two rocks. There was a parade going on somewhere in the town (they do love their parades), and it was getting closer. About 5 minutes later I realised I was in the middle of a funeral, when the casket started making a beeline for the church. I scarpered sharpish, though I didn't look particularily out of place. I don't know if it's standard for funerals but I hope it is. What seemed to be about half the townsfolk had been parading through town with the coffin followed by a brass band which were belting out some cracking tunes. There were tonnes of people following in tow, none dressed formally and the whole affair seemed light hearted. I certainly wouldn't mind going out that way.
I descended to the beach and strolled along the peir, watching some Pelicans feed for a while and people fishing en masse off the peir. Before long I found Jamie in a bar on the beach and we sat for a while relaxing and watching a wounded Pelican amble slowly down the beach past all the crowds of people. It stopped a few feet from us because the bar owners hairless mutt was barking frantically at it. When it got near though, the bird stretched its humungous wings and the dog shat a brick and shut up then. I went back up to the church to watch the sunset over the horizon, and the bloke was back clanging the bell again.
It was to be my last sunset in Peru, but with each clang it felt like it was the last sunset ever.

You're coming back tomorrow...right?

We ate a decent meal at the hostel with Erik, said our goodbyes and took a taxi to the bus station. We were cutting it fine, and first of all stopped at the wrong station illiciting some panic. We needn't have worried though, we got to the "El Sol" station with 15 minutes to spare, but didn't end up setting off for another 45. This was more megabus right here. The attractive stewardesses of Movil Tours had been swapped for a balding, moustachioed man with a beer belly, and the bright orange seats were squashed in tight. The 12 hours passed slowly, and the interior of the bus was roughly a thousand degrees. I sat there with my legs being squished by the woman in front, sweating slowly, trying to find an arrangement of my appendages that didn't cause too much pain. Oh well, onward to Tumbes.

13) A day or two in Huanchaco

After the exceptional anticucho and intestines, we bode farewell to Oscar and Yanet and got on our bus to Trujillo. The company was Movil Tours, and although it was still cheap, it was clear we were paying a tad extra for the bus stewardesses and their impressively short skirts. Again, the quality surpassed anything you could get in the UK, providing more comfort than travelling trans atlantic.
We arrived in Trujillo at 5.30am and took a taxi to the nearby town of Huanchaco where we'd reserved a room at Hostel My Friend. It was quite dead when we got there, but a short walk from the beach so we wandered down to the sea and sat and ate peanut butter and jam sandwhiches as dawn approached. It was a really nice beach, and there were quite a few joggers about, including one old man who appeared to be sleep walking as oppose to jogging before hitting the deck and doing 30 minutes of impressive yoga and push ups before wandering into the sea. I did check and I wasn't hallucinating.

The beach front is lovely...

About 8.30 a young man and woman approached and started chatting to me in decent English, and it was too late by the time I realised... Jehovas...
I was reading Hawking's "A Brief History of Time", and when he asked why I didn't have faith in God, I explained that I read books such as this and studied science. He scoffed when I told him I believed in Evolution, but it was quite nice having a conversation with someone other than Jamie anyway so I entertained him with his persistent questions for a while.
Shortly after we went to the hostel just in time for them to start opening and clearing up after what looked to have been quite the party. The first thing the guy did was offer us a plethora of drugs, and then told us the room would not be ready for some time. We dumped our stuff, had a decent representation of an English breakfast, then headed back to the beach to bask in the sun. It was bloody hot, and at 1pm the room was ready so I took a shower before heading out again to wander around the town. The hostel offered surf lessons but I was not keen being the poorly coordinated mess that I am, instead choosing to get my bearings.
Along the beach front a local man stopped and chatted to me for a while, first about MotoGP, then about how silly I was for staying in Huanchaco when all the hot chicas were in Trujillo, and then about how I should make time to visit Colombia because the cocaine there is much cheaper than in the UK. I lied about having to meet some friends, thanked him for his advice, and made a note to take another route back to the hostel.
Huanchaco is really nice, a small fishing town which is up and coming on the tourist scene due to the decent surf, hot weather and long stretch of beach. It hugs the coast and if you go further than the 7 or so streets of it's width there is nothing but barren sand dunes and the baking sun. I got back to the hostel and headed to the terrace to find Jamie. There we met two Americans and a Canadian and introduced ourselves. The San Diegites (or whatever), Cody and Steve, were on their way to Lima, and Erik the Canadian was here to stay for a while. They were good guys and Cody told us that San Diego is the place to be for bio-tech, and we chatted for ages before heading down to the resturant for a beer before they left.

...the area around Huanchaco is pretty desolate

That night the band that had played at the hostel were playing again at a bar down the road, so later the remaining three of us found ourselves wandering the back streets of Huanchaco. A man from the deep north of England spotted us drifting aimlessly and showed us the way, speaking in tongues the whole time though apparently it was English. We got to the bar at 9 and started on Pisco sours, which contains egg whites, Pisco, and goodness knows what else. 3 hours later and the band still hadn't started, and I was not in a good way so headed back before passing out instantly on the bed.
The next day we booked a coach to Tumbes; a city on the border of Peru and Ecuador for S38 realising that this was considerably cheaper than what we'd paid to get anywhere before, and this was hammered home by the man repeating "Economico" several times as we paid.
I then took a bus to Chan Chan aka the largest temple ruins in the world, as they were only down the road. The bus dropped me off at the end of a long and winding dusty road leading off into the dunes and for a moment staring into the barren wasteland, I thought this couldn't be it... After a 30 minute stomp in the blistering heat with vultures actually circling above I actually found more people and the entrance.

12) Leaving Huaraz

Well with all the Puya bagged and tagged, and some 11,000 data points collected in Excel, our work around the Cordillera Blanca was finished. The next few days were spent enjoying our surroundings and trying out new food places, which included an incredible Swiss owned resturant with equally incredibly dim waitresses and fantastic food.
I trawled the local handicraft market, where the old women drive hard sales and ended up getting roped into to buying an Alpaca wool poncho (complete with hood) "Señor it looks so good on you!" and I was putty in their hands.
After some fragmented communication with Paul and Alejandra his PhD student in Ecuador, we formulated our plan to get to Cuenca with the help of Wilson the ex tour guide. Despite Google maps' insistence that it's a mere 12 hour drive, there seems to be no easy way of getting there without renting a car and going it alone.
We walked to a bus station and booked tickets to Trujillo, a town on the west coast and roughly the direction we need to head. The woman there was a massive bitch, and aside from being unhelpful was quite clearly making fun of our (admittedly pitiful) attempts at Spanish. Unfortunately our options for getting there were somewhat limited so we handed over the S50 and picked up some snacks for the journey.

The plan is as follows Huaraz - Trujillo, where I intend to spend a couple of days on the beach in my budgie smugglers soaking up some well earned rays and frollicking in the sea level oxygen again.
Trujillo - Chiclayo probably via bus
Chiclayo - Tumbes hopefully via bus as it's a 9 hour or so journey
At Tumbes we walk across the border and hopefully don't get questioned by the Ecuadorean border force as to why we have 15 unlabelled packets of Puya raymondii seeds and a tub of white powder (TTC). I am NOT using my brown suitcase.
On the other side we'll find a way to Cuenca...

It's the final day; we went to a fish place for lunch with Yanet which was actually pretty fun considering we couldn't understand eachother. Later I wandered into town and managed to get lost in a huge market that I hadn't found before. It's one of those proper gristly ones, with skinned chickens dangling in your face every where you look, amongst great slabs of raw meat, opposite dumpy old women sewing away at machines. The gap between the aisles was about 2 feet and being a head taller than the average Peruvian meant I was constantly knocking into things and apologising to them. After half an hour or so of browsing in awe I burst out onto another main road which itself was lined with vendors of all sorts and tried to establish my whereabouts. I got sidetracked watching a man stuff a sack with live chickens, and then another with squeaking guinea pigs and felt a pang of sympathy before nearly getting mowed down by a tuk tuk. Back in the office, and we've just got time for one more cup of that addictive Peruvian coffee, before we treat Oscar and Yanet to more of that delicious anticucho and intestines and then begin our mission to cross the border!

Adios Huaraz, you've been good to me.

11) The final 200!

After taking Wednesday as a rest day and indulging in some more "Anticucho de corazon", we hit the bus station again on Thursday to get to Queshque (the name is Quechuan). The van we were bundled into this time looked like it was older than me and had seen much, much more action. The inside was plastered in stickers declaring love for Jesus and how Christ is the saviour, which didn't instill much confidence. I spent much of the journey to Catac balanced on one ass cheek trying my hardest not to lean against the door whilst a framed Jesus watched me intently. Nevertheless we got to Carpa intact and started looking for a taxi to our destination. It wasn't long before a taxi man approached us and asked where we were going. He looked EXACTLY like a decompressed Blobfish for you marine biologists out there, and when we said we wanted to go to Queshque he made that stereotypical drawing air through teeth "It's going to be expensive" sound. He told us the road was long and difficult, and in the end we negotiated him down to S70 (about 17 pounds), lobbed our stuff in the back and got on our way.

Base, near the creepy settlement

Turns out he wasn't lying when he said the road was difficult, and was being rather generous in calling it a road to begin with. After about 40 minutes out of the town into the mountains, past farms and into panoramic nothingness, we began spotting Puya and got out, watched him spend 10 minutes trying to turn around before deciding to reverse back the way he came, and set up camp. It would have probably cost him more than that in repairs but I don't think that's a thing here.
That day we got 35 Puya tagged, and come 8pm it was dark so ate our soup and went to sleep.
The following morning we tried out banana flavoured porridge, which was rank, and got back to work determined to hit 100 Puya by the end of the day. Come number 85 the rain hit and it hit hard. It was grim, and my hands were bleeding from tagging Puya and frozen solid! We also had to move the tent. There were some abandoned structures which were the only other thing in the landscape and one of them had a garden marked out by a dilapidated stone wall, so we hitched up the tent and moved it into there for more shelter.
Next day we planned to gather data on the last 100, then get up early on Sunday and hike back down to civilisation, but this time the rain struck at 12.30 and it did not stop. A man and his flock of sheep took shelter in one of the abandoned shacks and for a moment we panicked and thought we'd pitched up in his garden, but he didn't say anything and moved on after an hour or so. I hope he didn't have far to walk. 6 hours of non stop rain later, bored out of our minds and perhaps a little ambitious due to the copious amounts of coca tea, we chugged a few sleeping pills with the aim of getting up at 5 and finishing bright and early.
I came round at 6.30, woke Jamie up, and we pressed on with the final 30 after another bowl of awful, awful porridge and a cheeky nature dump (back to normal). We packed up our gear and started the arduous trek back. It had been a good trip for wildlife spotting. My count was 1 Andean condor and various other birds, a lime green frog that looked like it belonged in the amazon (so I didn't touch it), a massive spider, and then on the hike back we found 2 Vicuña (related to Llamas). I'd never seen one before, and they make a noise like a pathetic donkey so that was cool. It took us 2 and a half hours of trudging along to get back towards town, with a brief stop to attempt conversation with a family heading to market. Turns out the English aren't the only ones with the "if they don't speak your language say it louder and slower" mentality, but they were friendly enough and it was nice seeing people again!

Vicuna on the trek back

Back in town we sat our stinking, sweaty selves down at the cafeteria place we'd been served Coca tea on the way to Carpa, and I thought I'd treat myself to some Picante de Cuy (guinea pig). It was not great to look at to be honest, with the little claws and its head still very much intact, and is the sort of thing you just have to pick up and gnaw at. The skin was very crispy and full of flavour, and the meat tasted distinct, though not far from rabbit, and it was served with boiled potatoes and a chilli sauce as is custom. I followed it up with a nondescript dessert which was kind of like a block of rice pudding baked in some leaves, and then we found another mini van to take us home (which would have instantly failed it's MOT due to a foot long crack across the windscreen). We were done.

Crispy little 'pig to celebrate

The feeling of relief is immense, having gathered data on 600 Puya and tagged 400 of them my hands are obliterated, and now we are finished with our work in Peru! With a bit of luck, no more awful porridge and even worse noodles! Onward to Ecuador.

10) Working in Carpa

Wilson is a friendly guy who speaks good English and helps around the office. To sort us out with getting to the next site where Jamie had started work whilst I was running out of bodily fluids, he explained he'd take us to a tourist bus which passes by the park. With about 15 minutes to spare Sunday morning, the bell rang and I nipped downstairs to answer the door. To my surprise Wilson was there, a little early, and also with a tourist bus filled with people waiting behind him. I dashed back upstairs, me and Jamie grabbed the last of our gear and we hauled ass out of there.
We grabbed a seat at the back of the mini bus and plonked our bags on our laps because there wasn't any room and off we went. First off we picked up some more people. Everyone was Peruvian, and I think it was a kind of city tourist thing because they all looked fairly well off, and obviously a tour of the mountains would appeal to very few locals who see them every day.
After an hour or so we arrived in Catac, a small village/town about half way, where we had to stop and sample Coca tea at a local cafe. It was stronger than normal but good, and we also bought some coca leaves as Carpa is higher than Pachapaqui (about 4400m), and they were only 50 centimos a bag so it would be rude not to. Down the road and about 40 minutes or so down a gravel track and we were at the guard post where tourists pay to enter El Parque Nacional Huarascan, where we would be working (for free, lucky us). We hiked up the mountain and set up camp before setting to work. The original plan was to do half in one day, and finish by 3.30 on the following Monday to catch a tourist bus back. This went massively to pot.
On the first day we had a helper, a young lad called Jack who lived in a shack on the border of the park. He'd met Jamie before and helped us measure the Puya, chatting away despite the language barrier like we were best friends. Either way we didn't get nearly enough done. The night was bloody freezing (literally) and we woke up with the tent covered in ice, ate our shit porridge and got straight to work. At lunch we headed back to the tent and Jack was there waiting with a friend this time, his little brother Jesus. Jamie went to get some more water from the guard post, as it was obvious by that point we wouldn't finish by 3.30 and would be staying the night, and I had to entertain Jack and Jesus who were fascinated by us and every bit of equipment we had (especially my binoculars).

Making our way to Carpa

After a while their grandmother came down from the mountain where she'd been herding their sheep and told me about how their parents had died and she looked after them. She was mortified that we had to stay in a tent, and kept asking me to come for tea. I had to explain I was waiting for my friend, and when I told her I my age she started crooning like I was 12 and asking about my family and stuff. She told me to get in out of the rain that was coming and ushered off the kids, wishing me luck with the work and telling me to make sure I ate plenty and kept warm and some more things I didn't understand. It wasn't long before Jamie returned, with two small followers. I made the mistake of showing them Angry Birds and they flipped their shit and took ages to get rid of. By the end of the day we had 40 Puya left to do, and at the gaurd post Jamie had found out that buses do not run on Tuesdays...

Our helpers and Grandma

Morning came again after another sleepless night, and we got straight to work, finishing by 9.30. We packed up the tent and headed to the guard post. The woman there who sells snacks empathised with our mission, sold us a couple of chocolate bars and we set off down the long and winding road. The 10 miles were mostly hell. The weather flipped from light rain, to intense, blazing sunshine, to eventually continual hail and thunder.
 After 3 hours of trudging along with the featureless mountains on either side, we hit the road damp all the way through, with still no signal to call for a ride. The road to Catac was winding and frankly, a death trap to anyone crazy enough to walk it, so we got our hitch hike on. After a few cars, a pickup stopped with a man and woman in, he told us to sling our stuff in the back and hop in (I assume), which we did feeling immensely grateful and relieved and hoping we weren't about to be hacked up. We hopped out 15 minutes later after a totally silent ride, expressed our gratitude some more, and set about finding a ride to Huaraz. Instead of a bus service between towns, anyone who owns a vehicle that can fit more than 5 people in can pretty much label themselves a bus, and we found one such minivan and bundled in. I mistakenly thought that the number of passengers would be dictated by the number of seats, but at one point on the hour or so journey we had 4 people standing, which is not comfortable in a van the size of a Vauxhall Zafira when you also have a soaking wet rucksack on your lap. We made it in one piece anyway for just S3.50, and stomped back to the office, feet squelching and legs protesting at 4pm, having set off some 6 hours ago.

T

There's a Puya! Imagine it the right way up and pretty big...

After washing away the grime of 3 days roughing it, we celebrated our return with pizza and on the way back to the office there was more Fiesta-ing so I stopped off to take a look. I asked in the bakery what was going on and she explained about their celebrating Shrove Tuesday. I'd totally forgot it was pancake day, but it's a lot more epic here (minus the pancakes). They basically stuff trees with piñata type things and decorations and just dance around getting smashed and letting off even more fireworks. There was a stage set up with a live band and everyone either selling or drinking Cusqueña; the Peruvian beer of choice. I didn't stay long because my legs killed, stopped off at the bakery for a cheeky couple of Alfahores (phenomenal) and went back to the office where I could hear my floor-bed calling me.