Lima was our last stop in Peru. The capital is a short flight away from the mystical city of Cusco, but worlds removed from the high mountain cultures. Wealthy and modern, Lima unfortunately has a reputation for bad weather and incredible poverty. Depressing grey clouds hang overhead most of the year and as the largest city for thousands of kilometers, masses of people move here in search of a better life. But mist and poverty aside, we loved Lima. It’s got the sea, which we had both missed dearly, and there is a charm in the street culture, beautifully manicured city gardens and laid-back atmosphere.

We stayed a few days in the arty neighbourhood of Barranco, spending our days walking around and eating. That’s about it. We walked from one famous seafood restaurant to the next. Lima is probably the most renowned food destinations in South/Central America and we were in seventh heaven.

Having already written about the food of Peru, and having experienced little else in Lima, we don’t have many stories left to tell. We were sad to leave South America after two and a half months on a continent of breathtaking natural beauty, vast open spaces and incredibly interesting culture but it was time to fly onwards to meet my family in Central America.

We had forgotten to bring water with us. The bright midday sun was beating down and dehydration was a real concern, especially at 3200m above sea level. To make matters worse there were no taxis back down from the ruins to the main road which was a 6 kilometer walk according to the taxi driver that took us up. There was no other alternative but to suck it up and start hiking down the tiny, steep path back to the main road. We were visiting the ruins of Tipon outside of Cusco in Peru. Sharing the taxi with us were friends we had made at our hostel – Gary and Renée from Canada. Aside from visiting these fantastic ruins, the area is famous for a small, cute and tasty rodent – the guinea pig or cuy (pronounced koo-ee) as it is called in Peru. Now I know what you might be thinking and yes, a lot of us had them as pets and yes, it is basically a rat without a tail. But if you don’t try it, how will you ever know if you are missing out on a tasty bite-size pet?

So on our march down the hill from Tipon to the main road we remained on the lookout for the telltale broomstick and plastic bag denoting an enterprising housewife’s cuyeria. Suffice it to say and much to my disappointment we had missed the cut off time for lunch and had to march parched and sunburnt almost all the way to the road. The walk was not in vain however, as we struck gold just a short way before the bus stop. Part cuyeria, part baptist church we wondered into the restaurant and enquired about the status of their freshly roasted furry little friends. We were in luck, the woman had both grande and piqueña (big and small) cuys – oven roasted in their wood fired oven. We ordered two grandes and two large cusqueña beers for the four of us. After all, we didn’t know if we would like them and be forced out of courtesy to finish our meal.

It looked like this restaurant was a popular tourist spot as just before the cuys were ready, the chef came out and asked us if we wanted them whole or chopped into pieces. I like to not be able to recognise the animal my food comes from once it’s on my plate, so chopped up was the order for the day.

The cuy came to the table on a platter and was accompanied by rocoto rellena (stuffed peppers), some sort of pasta bake and roast potatoes. The head and feet had been discarded and we were left with the rest. Most people are probably wondering how it tasted. The short answer: like oily, herby roast chicken with a crunchy skin. I can’t say it was the most delicious thing I’ve eaten but it was tasty. The meat was a little too overspiced with the herb – Munya – the closest flavour would be a mix between origanum and mint – which was a little overpowering.

If you ever think of throwing a cuy barbecue, be warned, you are going to need a lot of critters. I would say the “grande” cuy that we received was just enough to feed one person. I am glad we tried it but the way it was prepared and the fact that it costs more than double any other kind of protein in Peru makes it a delicacy which I would not rush back for. Give me the ceviche any day and rather keep the cuys as pets.

Peruvian food is experiencing a renaissance. With such a diverse landscape, Peruvians are spoilt for choice for variety and ubiquity of ingredients. Ancient cooking practices handed down by the Incas combined with influences from Spain make it something different and yet not all too unfamiliar for the traveler. Here is a list of some of our favourites:

Soups

If you ever visit Peru, the first thing you will notice when you peek into a traditional Peruvian restaurant are the diners slurping away at a gigantic bowl of soup. Peruvian soups are varied and delicious. Most are a combination of flavours that can include mint, whole peppercorns, potatoes, yuca, sweet potatoes, rice, maize, fresh coriander and beans served in a rich stock. My favourites are Chupe de Camarones (freshwater shrimp soup), Sopa de Mariscos (seafood soup) and Caldo Blanco – chicken soup a Jewish mama would be proud of. Most Peruvian soups are broths and are generally very light but packed full of flavour. A local restaurant typically serves a two course meal consisting of a soup and a main dish. We loved these meals as they were cheap, tasty and filling.

Ceviche & Tiradito

Although it isn’t unique to Peru and is found widely along the coast of the Americas, ceviche most likely originated here. Made from raw, cubed white fish fillets, fresh coriander leaves, lime juice and sliced onions, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was a dish that originated in Japan. Tiradito differs from ceviche in that there are no onions and the fish is cut differently and reflects the influence Japanese immigrants have had on Peru.

The raw fish is cooked by the acids in the lime juice and the best ceviche melts in your mouth. This was a dish I really wanted to try and I was not disappointed. The best ceviche we ate was at Sonia in Lima – a restaurant famous for it’s fresh fish. It was made from a fish called Lenguado which is a type of Sole. Boasting really fresh fish caught in the morning by the owner – who might I add, sits at the entrance to the restaurant mending his nets.

Common ceviche side dishes are sweet potatoes, toasted corn kernels, boiled corn on the cob and our favourite drink Chicha Morada.

A favourite by-product of ceviche is a drink called Leche de Tigre (Milk of the Tiger), made from leftover lime juice, herbs, chillis and onions of the ceviche. It is considered a potent hangover cure and is delicious.

Lomo Saltado & Chifa Food

Peru is crazy about Chinese food or colloquially known as Chifa. Walk the streets of any Peruvian city and you are bound to stumble upon a local restaurant serving up heaps of wok-fried noodles mixed with vegetables, salted beef, shrimps and soy sauce. The best Chifa meal we had was in Lima and consisted of a mountain of noodles, shrimp, salted pork, vegetables and thick soft noodles. Much like everything else in Peru, the portions are often so huge two people can share one.

Lomo Saltado is a Peruvian staple. Strips of meat marinated in soy sauce and vinegar, fresh tomatoes, onions and potato wedges are wok fried and served with fluffy white rice.

Chicharron

Chicharron or deep fried pork is a delicacy enjoyed by all Peruvians. Good chicharron is fatty and soft, bad chicharron is dry and chewy. The best places for chicharron are usually restaurants so full of people that the chef has to stand outside on the street with her boiling cauldrons of oil and mountain of fried pork alongside her. Chicharron is usually served with a red onion and lime salad which cuts through the flavour of the fat. It’s delicious but this kind of food on a daily basis will kill you.

While chicharron usually refers to fried pork, the Peruvians fry just about anything and and seafood is no exception. One of our most memorable meals was in Lima at an outdoor restaurant down an alley. We discovered the restaurant when we got lost on the way to the main city square. It was absolutely packed and in the middle of just about every table was a mountain of deep fried fish, squid, yuca chips and lemon wedges. “We want that”, I motioned to the waitress the moment we sat down. 30 minutes later and we had our own little mountain of fried fish and squid. It was so good I am contemplating my next visit to Lima just to eat it again!

Pollo Asado or Pollo a la Brasa

Although not typically Peruvian, pollo asado or spit roasted chicken is cheap, juicy and probably the most ubiquitous restaurant in any town or city. Our first run in with pollo asado was not in Peru but in San Pedro de Atacama in Chile, and every town and city after had at least one “chicken joint”. The servings of chicken range from generous to simply huge, the largest of which was at a restaurant in Urubamba in the Sacred Valley. We ordered a quarter chicken each and were given a plateful of french fries, a glass each of Leche de Tigre and then a gigantic piece of chicken and more fries. Suffice it to say we took half of the meal home as leftovers and it only cost us US$4 each.

Rocoto Rellena

Another Peruvian speciality, Rocoto Rellena are rocoto peppers (super spicy, large chillis) stuffed with meat, rice and covered in cheese. They are normally served as a side dish.

Secco de Cordero & other stews

Our first Peruvian meal we had was not in Peru, but on our first night in Buenos Aires. We ordered a plate of ceviche and a plate of Secco de Cordero – lamb slow cooked in a fresh coriander and lemon sauce. The ceviche was okay, but the Secco de Cordero was tender and delicious. The flavours reminded me a lot of Lebanese food – the lamb, the coriander and the lemon juice are all used abundantly in Levantine cooking.

Roast Meats

Roasted Guinea Pig and roast chicken are but a few of the many types of meat roasted by Peruvians. At a quinta in Cusco, we received huge hunks of roast suckling pig and roast spare ribs. This was a meal that left me full for nearly two days! Food is roasted in an oven resembling a clay pizza oven and they are definitely not shy with their portions.

Peru is definitely one of the most pleasantly surprising food destinations I have visited. It doesn’t stack up to South East Asia (Malaysia & Thailand are very hard to beat), but the variety and flavour of the food is very good. Compared to the parts of South America we visited, it is definitely a fantastic place to experience new things and stands out as a highlight food-wise. From the very first moment we set foot in the country we had realised this. Visiting the markets makes it even more clear. If you go to Peru and you don’t experience a Peruvian market first hand, then you have definitely missed out. We tried to visit a market in just about every city we visited and the most impressive of the lot was the central market in Arequipa. It was clean and had a huge variety of food available that you could sit and eat at the counter. Cusco’s San Pedro Mercado wasn’t too far behind, with Lima’s being the least impressive of the lot.

Most people would shy away from the local restaurants and eat in tourist places but we found the only times we got sick from the food were when we ate in tourist restaurants. Peru has a bad reputation when it comes to health standards and I would say from what we saw, it probably fits somewhere between India and South East Asia. We ate breakfast and lunch in the markets on a regular basis, as well as locals-only restaurants and street food stalls. Something which we were told was asking for a tummy bug, but we were fine. Some food for thought indeed.

From the very first moment you arrive in this city you feel a sense of adventure. It is different – very different from anywhere else, yet somewhat familiar. The street food vendors hawk bits of meat on a stick, others sell slices of juicy giant pineapple. One has a bag full of freshly roasted cuy’s (guinea pigs), their smiling faces mirroring the smiling face of the traditionally dressed woman negotiating a price with a customer. The smell of the offal section in the market hits you like a wall. Cow’s heads, pigs testicles – it’s all here. Waitresses yell the day’s specialty to passers-by as hungry patrons slurp their sheep’s head soup. In the centre of the market is a religious shrine surrounded by flowers and candles. Switch the statue of St. Mary with a Buddha and you could be in Bangkok. Switch the statue of the Buddha with one of Ganesha and you could be in Delhi (minus the meat of course).

The streets outside the Mercado San Pedro hum and buzz with activity. The constant stream of beat-up, old taxis fly by, rattling over the cobblestone streets. In the corner, stands a baroque-style, Spanish church. Built from Incan-cut stone. It’s red colour helps it blend in with the other buildings. It’s like walking through a 16th century European city. Beautifully preserved and wearing the scars of its history on the outside with pride for all to see.

We came here to see this. To learn about the last throes of the Incas and to see their legacy which is going through somewhat of a reawakening among Peruvians.

Cusco was once the seat of their empire – the navel of the world. At its height, the Inca ruled the largest empire on the South American continent and one of the largest on earth. And yet, our knowledge of them is very limited. Much of their history was destroyed by the Spanish conquistadors and the little that we do know is sparsely recorded in Spanish chronicles. The Incas started out as a small tribe in the city-kingdom of Cusco. In 1438, they began a rapid expansion into surrounding clans conquering and assimilating them until most of the Andes in Peru and Ecuador were under their control. After further expansions, the Inca empire covered all of Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia, a large portion of Chile and small parts of Colombia and Argentina. This is an area roughly the size of Western Europe, brought under their control in less than 100 years.

The Incas were more assimilators than conquerors. Many of their skills and knowledge was adapted from the cultures that they incorporated. And yet, they had no formal scheme of writing nor did they use the wheel. Their language, Quechua is still spoken today and in some parts of Peru is the only language.

So why are the Incas so fascinating? So alluring? I think it’s more to do with their downfall than anything else. In 1526, a man by the name of Francisco Pizarro, sailed his way down from Panama to Peru. Seeing such a prosperous kingdom and hearing stories and legends of the treasures the Inca emperor possessed, Pizarro sought royal approval from the Spanish king to conquer the region. Upon his return, the empire was in civil war and severely weakened by smallpox brought over by the Spanish in the first place. And so with just 168 men, 1 canon and 27 horses, Pizarro systematically brought the empire under Spanish control. Before long, they had almost wiped the Inca culture out entirely. Tearing down their buildings, only to build their own on top of the foundations. Today, all that is left of this once mighty civilization is the Quechua language, some traditions, the ruins of their buildings outside of Cusco and their foundations within the city.

Our nine-hour, overnight bus trip from Arequipa arrived at 6:30 in the morning. Cusco is very different from Arequipa. The most immediate difference was the state of the roads. Arequipa felt like a well looked-after, mid-90s apartment. Cusco on the other hand felt more like a rustic old farmhouse in the country. The air is thin here, 3400m above sea level. The first thing you notice is that walking around is an effort, climbing the steps to San Blas and up to some of the ruins above the city is quite the workout. Something I wouldn’t suggest doing unless you have acclimatised properly.

The streets of central Cusco are fascinating. I would rate it as my number one city for people watching and taking photographs. You do however, need to be mindful that the people aren’t your private models, and some may get annoyed if you stick a camera in their faces. On the other hand, they are quick to smile, warm and friendly. Many are descendants of the Incas or a mix thereof and are very proud of their country.

Getting lost in the central part of Cusco is a real adventure. The tiny alleyways are lined with the foundations of once mighty Inca buildings. The precision with which they built their solid stone buildings is astounding. Each stone was cut using bronze-age techniques. A hole was bored into the rock, a wooden wedge was driven into the hole and then water was poured onto the wood allowing it to expand and crack the stone free. Each stone is unique and slots in with its siblings perfectly. In some cases, it is impossible to even wedge a piece of paper between them. To increase the strength of some buildings, the stones were interlocking using a system of male and female stones. Instead of using mortar, stones were glued in place using bitumen. Walls tapered outwards as they approached the ground to increase rigidity further. This masterful style of engineering meant Inca structures could withstand the most powerful of earthquakes. And all of this was done without iron tools, nor the use of the wheel. It is with little surprise that people from all over the world come to Peru to see the Inca architecture.

One of the best sites to visit is the temple of Qorikancha. This structure was considered the very centre of the Incan empire and the name translated means Sun Temple or Temple of the Sun. The building is thought to have been a place of worship for the Incas. Judging by the precision with which it was built, it most certainly was a very important structure. The stone-masonry is incredible and there are many examples of how each stone was slotted into place to fit precisely with its siblings. Before the Spanish destroyed the building and built a church and monastery on top of the foundations, the inside walls of the temple were covered in huge plates of gold which channeled the light of the sun through the building. You can still see the points upon which the gold plates were attached. In fact, a lot of the gold used in the many cathedrals in Cusco came from Inca temples and palaces. Today, Qorikancha is a weird hybrid of Spanish and Inca architecture. The church of Santo Domingo and the Santo Domingo Convent sits on top of part of the foundations of the Inca temple. Around the sides of the old monastery courtyard, some of the Inca structure has been restored and is on display to visitors. There is also a great collection of 16th-century artwork from the Cusco school of art. To me, I find some of the artwork a bit grotesque and macabre but it does have an important place in Peruvian culture as it was used by the first converted Incas to tell stories of the saints in the Catholic church as well as the battles the Spanish had with the Incas.

Apart from visiting Cusco for its magnificent buildings, the food is also a big draw-card. The areas around the city are some of Peru’s most fertile. This is probably one of the reasons why the Incas settled and flourished here. Like the Colca Valley near Arequipa, the staple crops are maize, potatoes, onions, wheat and barley. It is also situated roughly 100km from the jungle which gives the market an incredible variety of different vegetables and fruits. The most famous delicacy of the area is what many people would regard a pet – the Cuy or Guinea Pig. If you ever visit Cusco, you need to at least try Cuy. It tastes a lot like the brown meat on a chicken, flavoured with Munya (a type of aromatic herb, not too dissimilar from oregano) and roasted in a clay oven. Another fantastic experience we had was eating in a traditional Peruvian Quinta for Sunday lunch. Quintas are large family run restaurants which are usually situated outdoors in a courtyard. The food is basic, tasty and comes heaped upon your plate. They are very popular with middle-class Peruvian families, who visit them in their Sunday best after the mid-morning church service. The menu in a quinta has about 5-6 dishes on it. It is also reasonably priced and good value – just make sure to skip breakfast if you decide to eat in one.

Cusco’s main square, the Plaza de Armas, is an electrifying sight. Due to strict building regulations and as a testament to the pride the people have in their city, it is perfectly preserved. On two sides of the square sits the imposing Church La Compaña de Jesus and Cusco Cathedral. The other two sides of the square are lined with curio shops, travel agencies and restaurants – albeit disguised to fit in with the rest of the architecture in the square. In the centre of the square is a dramatic water fountain with a statue of Tupac Amaru – the last of the Inca emperors. The centre of the square is also lined with magnificent gardens of flowers. The Plaza de Armas is not the only square in Cusco, there are several in the centre as well as a number of churches and cathedrals (we counted 10 from the San Blas hill).

The San Pedro market is one of the great experiences of Cusco. It is an assault on all the senses and we were drawn to it like a magnet. If not for glimpses of the “just plain weird” then for the fresh fruit juice and strong café pasado. Some of the aisles are dedicated solely to potatoes or avocados. There is even a rather smelly section for offal with oddities such as beef snout or sheep’s brains on display. The most popular section is the Caldo de Gallina or chicken soup section where 3 or 4 rows of people sit and gulp down huge bowls of soup throughout the day. Many just stop off for a quick snack on their way to work or on their lunch break. The Peruvians, like their Inca forebears, don’t do things in half measures. As you walk the aisles, the ladies with their tall, white top-hats yell out their wears. Some leaning over the counter in front of them handing out samples of cheese and olives.

We stayed in Cusco for quite some time at El Tuco guesthouse run by Coco and his family. A comfortable good value spot with generous and friendly hosts. Cusco is a bustling, vibrant city, full of culture, history and colour. The diesel fumes, aggressive taxi drivers and uneven sidewalks do wear the nerves thin, but the sights, sounds and smells definitely make it worth it. To recuperate from the chaos we headed out of the city into the Sacred Valley.

A mule is a wondrous creature. Tough, stubborn, unruffled. Half-horse, half-donkey. The toughness and the stubbornness comes from its donkey genes. The size and strength comes from the horse. Mules all over the world still do the heavy lifting in the most inhospitable places. In Peru, they like their mules fat. It’s the perfect creature for these parts. The arreiros – mule drivers – are held in high esteem. The animals are used to carry just about any known product to the remote mountain communities, including building materials and beer. The paths along their routes are narrow and precarious, not to mention steep. Their trails can be seen zigzagging their way up the sides of the second deepest canyon on earth to tiny villages, perched precariously above the Colca River below. When walking in the mountains and approached by a train of mules, there is one unwritten rule – leap into the bushes on the mountain-side of the path. To stand on the edge, is both foolish and just asking for a mule to ungraciously bump you into the chasm below.

Mules are generally used as pack animals, but they are also used occasionally to carry people. Unlike their cousin, the donkey, they have very strong backs. In these parts of Peru, the people ride them using only a rope and a blanket. Sometimes, they do use a saddle but only the wealthy arreiros can afford saddles. Mules also prefer to walk on the softer grassy patches on the cliff side of a track. I guess this is more comfortable on their hooves than the harder rocky part on the mountain side. For the rider, this is the much more terrifying option, but I am getting ahead of myself here. Hiram Bingham, the famous explorer and archeologist that rediscovered Machu Picchu, used mules exclusively on his expeditions into the most awkward of places. The price of the mules and their driver was one of his biggest expenses.

The Colca Canyon is a mystical place. Hemmed in by the steep sides of the Andes it has been continuously inhabited for more than 1000 years. As I mentioned previously, it is the second deepest canyon in the world. Second only to the Cotohuasi Canyon about 100 km to the north. The area is Peru’s third most popular tourist attraction, not due to its mules but due to a rather spectacular scavenger – the Andean Condor. Famous for being the land bird with the largest wingspan in the world (over 3 metres), as well as one of the longest living (up to 100 years), Condors climb the thermals of the canyon up to the high plains of the Altiplano in search of the unfortunate creatures that have died and return back to the steep sides of the canyon to their nests in the evening.

Upon arriving at the Condor Cross – known as the Cruz del Condor – we were greeted by a football-match sized crowd cheering the black and white birds on as they swooped over their heads. We were only give thirty minutes to see the animals as the guides and driver were in a rush to drop their cargo load of people off at the start of the Colca trek.

We were in the area to do the four day trek from the village of Cabanaconde into the canyon. We had already spent a few days above the canyon, in the Colca valley, before our trek started and were met at our hotel by our guide, Nestor. Most visitors to the area do the 2 and 3 day treks but since we had the time, we decided to do a different variation. This meant that we were the only people on the route. Our walk through the canyon led us along a path that zigzagged its way down the sheer sides of the cliff. The region only gets its rainfall during January and February and it is quite arid the rest of the year. Surprisingly, there is a lot of agriculture and the Colca valley and Colca canyon have been very fertile farming lands for centuries. This is all due in part to the ingenious system of canals that have been built to channel water to verdant green terraces. Ruins in the area, particularly the Uyo Uyo ruins near Yanque, show how the Incas incorporated their ideas of architecture and farming with pre-Incan local tribes. Each building in the ruins has a definite difference between the bottom half – small, unevenly shaped stones – and the top half which are more evenly shaped stones attributable to the Incas. The Incas also designed the canal systems which are still in use today.

Not since India, had I seen people working the land in such a manual fashion. In the mornings, men and women would herd their bulls and oxen off to their terrace of potatoes or maize. Many of the people were carrying a small plow on their shoulders. The work is tough. Farmers coerce their cattle into pulling the plow through the rough earth. Planting is then done by hand. Only then are the requisite gates opened and closed along the canal system and the water is channeled into the field to feed their seeds. According to our guide, the terraces around Cabanaconde yield some of the finest types of maize in Peru and fetch very high prices.

Maize is used in a lot of products in Peru. First and foremost it is used to make Chicha – a pale yellow beer that is drunk by the locals. A chicheria is quite often in somebody’s backyard, the only sign that the owner has a fresh brew: a broom with a blue plastic bag on the end. This is not to be confused with a broom with a yellow bag on the end: an impromptu tavern with freshly roasted guinea pig or locally known as a Cuyeria. Chicha comes in both alcoholic and non-alcoholic forms. Although we haven’t sampled the alcoholic version we like the sweet, non-alcoholic one (Chichi Morada, made from black maize). As a snack, a freshly steamed cob can be bought on the side of the road with a slice of cheese, or as popcorn which comes in all shapes and sizes – not just the variety you get at the cinemas back home. You can also buy tamales on the side of the road, which are pockets of ground corn, flavoured and stuffed into a corn husk and steamed.

Our descent into the canyon was hot work and a cold glass of Chicha would have been a welcome one. We’d started earlier than expected and arrived at the river and base of the canyon around midday, where Nestor prepared us a light lunch before continuing on to the small oasis of Llahuar. Since there was nothing else to do at the oasis, apart from a swim, we decided to push on to the village of Furé which was up a side valley. The trail led steeply up the other side of the canyon along a canal and passed two tiny villages. We stopped in the village of Llatica for a bottle of Inca Kola before our climb to Furé.

Having grown up in Cabanaconde and as a local trekking guide, Nestor is well known in these parts. He has a particular affinity for the miniscule Furé. Perched on the side of a cliff face overlooking the Huararo river it is hard not to see why. Furé has a population of roughly 200 people. We were hard pressed to count fifty. Behind the village, a giant cliff face rises up with spectacular waterfalls gushing off of it. The rivers are fed by high-altitude glaciers. Furé is the fourth last village along the trail, but it is the last easily-accessible village. Impossible paths lead staight up the sides of gorges to other more remote villages.

In Furé the main form of agriculture is the cochineal insect. Prized as a natural dye in cosmetics and a food colourant, and feeding on prickly pear cacti, a kilogram of processed cochineal can fetch up to US$80. Every three months the local people harvest their section of the mountain. Very little work is needed to farm these little creatures, so it would seem, since the cacti are incredibly abundant in this area and all they would need to do is walk up to a dense cluster of cacti before scraping the creatures off with a spoon into a container. But you would be foolish to think it was so easy. Firstly, the cacti grow on the side of virtually vertical mountain slopes. It is unimaginable how these people are able to get to some spots. There aren’t any paths and the landscape is densely covered in cacti and highly toxic plants. Secondly, due to high demand, cochineal thieves are plentiful and the majority of the time is spent by villagers guarding the local crop.

Our accommodation in Furé was very basic. Upon arrival we were shown to our room, a windowless hut made of rough adobe bricks, a zinc-aluminium roof and a dirt floor. However, it had the most spectacular view through the door and the sounds of water and children playing outside gave us a real sense of living within the community. That being said, there was no bathroom. A communal, open-air toilet could be found a short walk from our room. Water and other supplies cost more than triple due to the difficulty in transporting them to this place. Since we had chosen to skip spending the night at Llahuar, we were to spend 2 nights in Furé. As rough and uncomfortable as it sounds, we loved it. The food was basic but tasty and the people were very friendly. There was also the singular absence of the dreaded beige tourist.

A short walk from Furé is the spectacular Huararo waterfall. Plunging nearly 160 metres out of a rock face the mist of the waterfall can be felt quite a distance away along the trail. During the rainy season it is difficult to even get close to the waterfall due to the surrounding slopes becoming very slippery and precarious but we were able to climb down to the base of the waterfall to stick our big toes into the icy water. The only other company we had here was a small herd of sheep and a scarecrow used to frighten foxes away.

On our return from the waterfall, Nestor pointed out an Incan mass grave, set under a rock behind a nondescript wall. From the tiny door, we could literally see thousands of human bones. The bones were not from local people but from Incas as the femurs were much longer and some of the skulls were elongated – a practice common to the Incas. I haven’t been able to confirm it, but one theory is that these were victims of punishments meted down for crimes such as laziness. We have our own little theory that they all died from diseases brought into Peru by the Spanish conquistadors (one of the top three reasons for the decline of the Incas). All I can say for certain, is that it is a little disturbing peaking into a tomb full of what once was a group of people.

On our second and last night in Furé we attended a village meeting to greet a visiting architect. The man was responsible for designing and helping to build the new village school. Furé had only 4 months prior received electricity and street lamps. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been walking along a cliff face in the middle of the night to go to the loo in complete darkness. Now the process is a lot less hazardous. The existing village school, from what I could tell, was either too small or too ill equipped. Too small because we got to meet some of the kids and pretty much all of them had a at least 5 siblings, some up to 8. One poor, young boy had 6 brothers! And no, most of their siblings weren’t in the group we spoke to.

The route out of Furé was rather flat and led us along the other side of the Huararo river and then eventually the Colca river. We were walking now to the Sangalle Oasis, for our last night’s stay, at the bottom of the canyon which is fed by a gigantic underground spring that literally comes out of the mountain in the form of a broad waterfall. The water is a constant 22 degrees and is fed to a number of lodges who fill beautiful blue swimming pools. The walk to the oasis is hot work but not too demanding as most of it is downhill. It is important to note here that the oasis sits at roughly 2200 metres above sea level and our trek back to Cabanaconde ends at 3200 metres. So relaxing at the pool was the order for the rest of the day as we would need to leave at 5am the next morning to avoid the heat of the day and make it up out of the canyon in time.

As many of you know, Margarét and I pride ourselves on the fact that we like to avoid the tourist-safe restaurants and eat in the local places. In fact, in India we ran into trouble very quickly – on the third day – because we insisted on eating local. In Peru, we’ve had some fantastic meals in places I wouldn’t dare frequent back home. In some cases, we’ve been pleasantly surprised by the food and others frightened as our Spanish is so bad we don’t quite know what the waiter has offered us. In one restaurant, Margarét ended up with a plate of fried liver and I had a giant deep fried piece of pork with the fur still attached to one end. Now before you think we are crazy, we do have a method to our madness. Eating in empty tourist restaurants that serve things such as baked salmon with hollandaise sauce is asking for trouble, since the local people wouldn’t touch the stuff – they would much prefer their sheep head soup. This means that the produce for the restaurant is invariably not fresh and likely to have all sorts of interesting bacteria swimming in it.

So with this in mind and to spare you the details, Margarét got food poisoning from the food at the touristy oasis lodge (I ended up suffering the same fate the following evening, we also know of 2 other people that had the same problem). The next morning, weak and exhausted, Nestor organised for her to ride a trusty mule out of the canyon – a rather frightening prospect considering the route she would be taking. Nestor and I set off at 5am sharp. To put it simply, the path heads straight up. Over the next hour and a half, we would climb 1100m in three and a half kilometres – an average gradient of 30%. The path switchbacks roughly every twenty metres and is partly sand and rocks, partly huge, rocky steps. It is also, as you can imagine, alongside a sheer drop where with every step up the bright blue pools of the oasis get smaller and smaller until they are just tiny specs below us. For me the climb out was a lot of fun. As we weren’t walking in a large group of people, Nestor and I were able to do it very quickly. Margarét on the other hand, had a teeth and butt clenching ride out on a mule that had no reigns, was continually pelted with stones by the arreiro and preferred walking on the absolute edge of the path. When she arrived at the top, in her weakened and frightened state, she leapt off of her mule and insisted on walking the rest of the way back to the village.

The rest of our day was spent in a hellish tour bus, being taken at high speed to some rather mediocre tourist sights but at least we were able to snooze at some of the stops. On the road back to Arequipa we crossed a spectacular pass at 4900m to take in the view of the volcanoes Ampato, Sabancaya and Hualca Hualca.

I can highly recommend visiting the Colca Canyon, even if you don’t do any of the treks. The villages are really picturesque and the views into the canyon are spectacular. Once the tourist buses have left, the towns are very quiet and local culture can be experienced everywhere. If you are a trekker, you will be in heaven. You don’t necessarily need a guide, but it was really great having Nestor take us around as he had access to the local people and was able to explain certain customs, point out interesting sights and translate conversations with local people. As for visiting the Oasis at Sangalle, it is a really bizarre place to be sitting at the pool in beautiful green surroundings with hot, dry, arid mountains all around. Just beware of the food.

If you ever need a guide in Peru, we can highly recommend Nestor (startravel_colca@hotmail.com).

Right from the very first moment we stepped off the bus in Arequipa, Peru felt like home. The bus terminal was jam packed. Colours and smells assaulted the senses. Chaos in every direction as people hustled through the door past hawkers and taxi touts. Disoriented we headed for the exit and took a taxi straight to our guesthouse. Peru is a much poorer country in comparison with Chile or Argentina and this was most evident when we hit the urban sprawl of Peru’s second largest city – Arequipa, which is famous for it’s white volcanic stone buildings and monolithic volcanoes – which can be seen from just about any angle in the city. The most notable difference between Peru and Argentina and Chile is that Peru has a much richer, more visible culture. It’s food is superb and the people are more open and friendly to tourists. Arequipa was also a great place to kick off our visit to the country. As large as it is, the main attractions are situated within a 10 block radius from the central square – the Plaza de Armas. Founded in 1540 on a pre-Incan settlement, the city has some fantastic examples of Spanish-colonial architecture, beautiful churches and a generally laid back atmosphere.

The country is made up of three distinct regions. The dry, desert-like coastal region in the west. The high Andean plains running up the centre that eventually give way to the Amazon jungle in the east. Arequipa is situated in the dry zone halfway between the sea and the Altiplano. On one side of the city is the desert and on the other, is the dramatic backdrop of volcanoes, El Misti, Chachani and Picchu Picchu. The location of Arequipa lends itself to some devastating natural disasters – some of which have virtually leveled the entire city. In fact, an earthquake as recent as 2001 caused great damage, leaving many of the beautiful churches in a state of disrepair. Thankfully, Arequipeñans take a lot of pride in their city and you would be hard-pressed to find any evidence of the catastrophic event in the buildings today.

When we arrived in Arequipa, we immediately noticed the amount of food being sold on the streets. This was a good sign and reminded me a lot of South East Asia. This is in stark contrast with Chile and Argentina. Where Chile has very plain, bland food and Argentina has little variation, Peru has just about anything one can imagine. A visit to the central market in Arequipa was a revelation. Fruit and vegetables are stacked to the ceiling. There is a section solely for potatoes – of which Peru has some 4000 varieties. A section for meat, chicken and fish. Even a section for offal. One side of the market is dedicated to lunch and breakfast. On our forays into the market we ate some of Peru’s most famous foods. Ceviche: raw fish cooked in lime juice, served with copious amounts of coriander, roasted corn kernels and red onions. Rocoto Relleno: chilli peppers stuffed with a meat and cheese filling. Chicharron: crispy deep fried pork served with a salad of red onions and peppers and a spicy chilli sauce. Even the ubiquitous roast chicken was succulent and delicious. A favourite, and a meal we went back for over and over, was the Ceviche Combinado at Cevicheria El Oriental. It was a mixed ceviche containing tiny fish fillets, squid and mussels accompanied by a thick potato and bean gravy, fried rice and a sweet potato on the side. The meal also included a free cup of Chicha Morada, a drink made from purple maize which is boiled in pineapple rind, cinnamon and cloves. Lime juice and sugar is then added to finish it off. The whole meal cost us S7 each or around $2 and the ladies behind the counter refilled our plates a few times too, without our even asking, mid-spoonful!

Arequipa is known to Peruvians as the Ciudad del Blanco – the White City. The buildings are built from a particularly porous, white volcanic stone mined nearby. The dramatic cathedral on the Plaza de Armas being the most spectacular of these buildings. With two huge towers, stretching nearly 40m into the air the cathedral is probably the most photographed building in the city. Inside, the cathedral is no less beautiful with colonial era paintings and marble statues of the 12 apostles. It is one of the few cathedrals in the world that is allowed to fly the Vatican flag.

The streets around the central plaza are lined with beautiful, old stone buildings. Built from the same volcanic rock as the cathedral, today they house banks, museums, hotels and restaurants. During the Spanish colonial rule they were ornately decorated, stately homes for rich Spanish businessmen. One of the most famous of Arequipa’s sights is the Santa Catalina Convent. Taking up a whole city block, it was once the home to 120 Dominican nuns and is a city within a city. The nunnery was built in 1580 by a rich widow, Maria de Guzman, and was for nuns who came from very wealthy homes. In the myriad of rooms and chambers, this is evidenced by the rather large living quarters for each nun which included a bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, sitting room, servants quarters and separate entrances for servants and nuns. The nuns lived in absolute solitude and were not allowed to even speak to visitors face-to-face. Their lives however, were rather lavish and to become a nun in the monastery families would need to pay a dowry of approximately 2400 silver coins or in today’s terms US$150 000. Everything they needed was to be found within the walls of the nunnery, including a vegetable garden and guinea pig farm.

In 1871, the pope sent Sister Josefa Cadena to reform the monastery. She sent all the riches of the monastery back to Europe and freed all the slaves and servants. The nuns were then forced to become more humble and give up their riches.

Today a small portion of the convent is still used by a group of 40 nuns. They are under a less strict set of rules and are allowed to even leave the convent into the city outside. The rest of the building is now a very well looked after museum and one of Arequipa’s main tourist attractions.

Another attraction Arequipa is famous for is the Ice Princess – an Incan mummy affectionately known as Juanita. In 1995 an American archeologist called Johan Reinhard was studying Incan ruins at the top of Peru’s many gigantic volcanoes. At the time, a volcano near Arequipa, Sabancaya, was erupting and this gave him the opportunity to study the top of neighboring Ampato volcano as the settling ash had melted it’s snow cap. When Reinhard arrived in Arequipa, he was told by a local guide that he had spotted something that looked like a mummy lying on the side of the volcano’s crater on his last expedition to the summit. Reinhard jumped at the news and put together a team to scale the 6300m mountain. When he reached the summit he was astonished at what he found. A bundle of cloth, no bigger than a large dog had rolled 60m down the side of the crater after it had been dislodged by earth tremors in the eruption. It was the frozen remains of a 12-year old girl. The only part of her not in pristine condition was her face, which had been desiccated by the sun after her shroud had been damaged from her plunge into the crater. She had been frozen in her tomb for nearly 600 years, ironically the last time Sabancaya had erupted, so she is in fact not a mummy as she was not strictly mummified. As a human sacrifice it is incredible that she was taken to the peak of a six thousand metre volcano, where the temperature is between -20 and -30 degrees celcius.

Juanita wasn’t the only sacrifice found on Ampato. Lower down the slopes the archeological team discovered 3 more mummies over the next 2 years. Due to how well the mummies are preserved, we are able to get a glimpse into the lives of the Incas, especially the sacrificial ceremonies that were held at the top of these volcanoes. The children that were sacrificed were chosen by the Incan priests for their purity. They were also fed a high protein diet, in some cases for up to a year before their deaths. In the case of Juanita, she was virtually perfect. Her teeth, bones and skin showed no signs of disease, lending more weight to the fact that these children were considered worthy of the gods. The families of the children were given high esteem and rewards and in the case of Juanita, may even have been royal themselves. The sacrificial party would start their journey from Cusco – the Incan capital and trek vast distances to get to the base of the volcanoes. Ampato is roughly 240km from Cusco and the route possibly crossed the 2 deepest canyons in the world, running along the Andes. Once at the base of Ampato they would have had to climb from an altitude of 3500m to 6300m. Depending on the time of year, the last 1500m would have been covered in thick ice and snow, where the temperature would have been around -25 degrees celcius.

At the top of the volcano the Incan priests prepared the area for sacrifice. The child would have had great difficulty staying awake due to the high altitude and freezing conditions. Bags of coca leaves were found on her body as well as in the vicinity. Analysis of her stomach contents shows that she ate a meal of vegetables 6-8 hours before her death. She was also partially drugged with coca and other herbs. CT scans of her skull show that she died from a heavy blow to the head caused by a blunt object. This was generally the method used to kill the other sacrificial mummies too.

Juanita is important to archaeology because the Incas had no form of writing, which leaves most of what we know about them to Spanish chronicles and interpretations of their ruins and artifacts. As she was frozen and not freeze dried like many other mummies on these volcanos, her body is virtually perfectly preserved. DNA studies have shown that she can be associated with a tribe that lived in present-day Panama.

The visit to the Catholic University’s Museum in Arequipa to see the ice maiden in her frozen glass case was both fascinating and bone chilling. It was also a pertinent reminder of how advanced the Incas had been as they were able to travel to and survive at such high altitudes. Every time I looked up at the volcanoes surrounding the city I was reminded of how important these landmarks were to the people that lived near to them and still are today. The rivers are fed by their glaciers. The rock is used to build cities. The soil is incredibly fertile due to their eruptions and their anger is personified in earthquakes and gigantic ash clouds. The Incas were willing to do anything to appease the gods that lived there.

Arequipa is a great place to visit. The food is good. The museums and churches are very beautiful. There are fantastic activities in the area, such as volcano trekking, mountain biking or river rafting. Most people come to Arequipa as part of the route from Cusco through to Lake Titicaca and onto Bolivia, but I could see many wanting to spend extra days just enjoying the sunshine and soaking up the atmosphere of an ancient Peruvian city.

When Argentinian food comes to mind people immediately think about steak, pizza and pasta. However, Argentina’s immigrant heritage certainly doesn’t leave it wanting when it comes to cuisine. Spanish, Italian and native foods mix together to form an albeit plain but tasty experience. Here are some of the foods we’ve tried and what we thought of them.

Steak

As I mentioned in my previous blog post, I don’t really eat red meat. If there is an option I usually opt for chicken or fish but I couldn’t come all the way to Argentina and not try out their national speciality. The pampas of Argentina make up most of the area from Buenos Aires to the Andes and this expansive, flat grassland is perfect for raising cattle. Consequently, dairy and cattle products are cheap and plentiful and none so much as beef. My first steak experience was a platter of bife de chorizo (I think the english for it is rump steak), grilled cheese, grilled vegetables such as butternut and onions and papas fritas (chips or fries). As I quickly found out, Argentinians don’t serve food in small portions. Ever. There was enough food on the platter to feed 2 people. They also know how to cook meat, and the steak came medium rare. This turned out to be the smallest steak I was served in Argentina – roughly the size of half a plate. They progressively got larger and tastier in Buenos Aires. We can highly recommend Parilla Peña in Buenos Aires. The bife de chorizo was perfectly seasoned and salted and was enough for 2 people – we stupidly ordered 2 steaks and ended up taking one home, but it was just as good the next day thinly sliced, on fresh bread with a slice of tomato and cheese under the grill.

Speaking of which cheese comes with everything in Argentina. The ubiquitous jamon y queso (ham and cheese) is an option inside empanadas, sandwiches, croissants – I even saw jamon y queso flavoured potato chips. Since we were staying in self catering apartments while in Argentina we visited supermarkets a lot more often and discovered that a hunk of good cheese is cheaper than the milk it is made from. Cheese also makes a great accompaniment with steak. Argentinians grill proveleta cheese and it is delicious grilled over a wood fire.

The last but not least essential accompaniment to your Argentinian steak experience is Chimichurri. A mixture (and it can vary) of vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper, various herbs (oreganum, thyme) and chilli which makes an aromatic mix that I don’t think any steak should go without. Each parilla (grill house) makes it’s chimichurri differently and you can pick up the spice mix from supermarkets everywhere.

Pizza & Pasta

Pizza and pasta can be found throughout South America, and Argentina is no exception. Argentinian pizza is not to be confused with it’s Italian counterpart as you might find yourself woefully disappointed. It is quite often thick based and comes smothered in mozzarella cheese. Our first brush with pizza in Buenos Aires was at the well known restaurant El Cuartito. We ordered a large Napolitana. After ordering we immediately noticed our mistake as the 2 guys sitting at the table next to us were sharing a poquito (small) pizza! Since our Spanish is terrible to be blunt, we decided to eat what we ordered, rather than confuse the waiter with smatterings of Spanish, English and a little Afrikaans for good measure. A steaming monstrosity of dough, cheese and freshly sliced tomato landed on our table. It was roughly 3/4 of an inch thick. It was hot. And did I already mention, it was cheesy? We both hefted a slice onto our plates and were promptly filled after the second slice. I need to add here, however, that it was delicious. The cheese melted in my mouth and the freshly sliced tomato balanced it out perfectly. On the plus side, the other half of the pizza was enough for a meal the next day. So it ended up being 2 meals in one.

We didn’t order pasta in a restaurant purely for the fact that the supermarkets sell very cheap, freshly made pasta. This is something of a rarity in South Africa and so we took full advantage and ended up making our own concoctions in the apartments that we rented. The stuffed pastas are especially good and come in a few varieties, including… drum roll… jamon y queso. Yep. Ham and cheese. We opted for spinach and feta or chicken and vegetables, which were great combos. The one thing lacking though from our home cooking experience was herbs. They seem to be very hard to find in Argentina and are not cheap and by any leap of the imagination. So we improvised and bought a dried chimichurri herb mixture and added that to our pasta.

Empanadas

Sometime, far away in the distant future, when I will think back on Argentinian food (I ommitted the word ‘longingly’ purposefully) I will definitely recall the humble empanada. These are delicious pockets of dough stuffed with a mixture of roast chicken and chillies, mince meat, olives and boiled egg, jamon y queso (there is that combo again!!) and the list goes on. Each empanada is big enough to finish about 2 bites and Argentinians eat them by the dozen. This is by far and away the best thing to eat here. Now Chile and Bolivia both have their take on the empanada but it isn’t the same as the Argentinian version nor as good. The Chilean version is more like a large pie and I don’t want to know what dodgy ingredients are used in the Bolivian version. Salta, in the north of Argentina, claims to have the best empanadas but we loved these little bundles of love at La Americana in Buenos Aires. 2 Empanadas and a cup of coffee in the morning and we were kicked into action for the day.

Pastries & Ice Cream

Pastries can be found just about everywhere. Freshly baked in the morning and affordable they are a temptation on just about every street corner. Ice cream or Helado is just about as common and is of a very high quality. Even in chilly Buenos Aires the heladerias were packed with people buying their favourite flavour.

Oh wait there isn’t a number five

Well there is but we didn’t really get a chance to sample things like locro: a ‘brothlike’ beef stew with potatoes and vegetables, tortes: 2 to 3 inch thick quiche/pie, and chorizo (spicey sausage which we did try but I can’t really make any real judgement). So guess we just ate steak, pizza, pasta and empanadas with the odd pastry or ice-cream thrown in for good measure. To be fair though each was of a very high standard and we weren’t ever disappointed with our meals apart from the odd cold empanada.

We did eat a very good Peruvian restaurant in Buenos Aires, so we can’t wait to get into Peru to taste what is arguably South America’s food capital.

A Note About Argentinian Wine

I know this post is about food but I thought it appropriate to mention the wine in Argentina. In short it is excellent and very good value. Especially the red wines. We sampled a number of cheap Malbecs and Cabernet Sauvignon’s and they were very good. In a decent restaurant, a good bottle will cost you about US$8 – US$10, with cheaper options available. Their white wines aren’t as dry as I usually like them to be, but they are still refreshing and decent. We also liked the fact that they had half-size bottles available – something only available on South African Airways back home for some reason – which meant that we didn’t have to stagger back to our apartment after a big bottle of wine, a steak and panacotta.

The steaks arrived at our table. Criss cross patterns of charring on them, the fat round the edge glistening in places, clear juices oozing out from under. Perfectly rested. It was quite a shock to see such large pieces of animal flesh get dropped down in front of us. The waiter left us with a glint in his eye. He knew we hadn’t eaten there before and what a treat it was going to be. I cut one of the steaks in half and lifted a piece onto Margarét’s plate, then took my own piece and carefully cut a corner off – placing it in my mouth. The salty, fatty flavour hit my taste-buds. It was perfectly cooked and tender. Now to those that don’t know me, I don’t eat red meat. I had been psyching myself up for this weeks before we left for Argentina. Worrying about whether there will be fish and chicken for me to eat and whether I would be able to enjoy a juicy, medium rare steak. I can now honestly say, the steak was amazing. With a touch of the accompanying and ubiquitous chimichurri sauce and a fresh salad – I forgot about chicken, about fish, about vegetables. It was that good.

It’s taken us about 5 days to adjust to Buenos Aires. It is busy. Noisy. And dirty. The once beautiful, ornately decorated buildings in the downtown city centre – microcentro – hint at an era where the city sat up there with the likes of London, New York and Paris. The ornate statues and monuments wear their graffiti with shame while homeless people construct their shabby shelters at their bases. The incessant drone of traffic outside our apartment window and the near endless stream of people flowing past on the sidewalk gives the sensation when you leave the building that you are caught in a river in full flood. I had a feeling of disappointment in some ways, in other ways I wasn’t really expecting anything else for my first Latin American city. Maybe it was the jet-lag, maybe it was just the shock and awe of a big city that get’s imparted on you when you arrive from your own sleepy home town but we immediately felt like escaping to the almost mythical beauty that Argentina is so famous for. But we couldn’t. We had booked our apartment near Congreso for 1 week and we had to either deal with the pollution, the hooting and the almost endless hum of buses and cars outside or forfeit our stay and catch the next bus out.

While waiting for our landlord to arrive with the keys to our apartment, we didn’t feel safe standing on the street with all our bags so we ducked into the cafe on the corner. We sat down at a table and looked at the menu. In this moment, it hit me fairly quickly that I had no knowledge of Spanish, whatsoever and the people around me had about the same experience with English. Our waiter – who looked like a waiter out of a Dickens novel – impeccably dressed, hair slicked back, tall, deep-set eyes and thin as a rake approached us and rattled something off in Spanish. Margarét and I both looked at each other in alarm, then looked back at the waiter who was looking at us in dismay. We pointed at the menu, signalling that we wanted a “Jamon e Quesa Medialuna”. The waiter looked at us again and rattled something off in Spanish, pointing at something else on the menu. “No”, we both said. The other patrons in the cafe began to take notice of us. “We want this”, pointing at the medialuna again. He shook his head but we held firm and insisted. Off he went muttering to himself in Spanish – I heard the word Gringo get repeated a few times. We weren’t sure what we had done to annoy him but within 5 minutes a rather tasteless flatbread arrived stuffed with a few slices of ham and some cheese. We ate it quickly in case Douglas, our landlord, arrived sooner than anticipated. Later that evening I discovered what a “Medialuna” is – it’s a croissant. Something you don’t really order at 6pm in the evening. No wonder the waiter got annoyed with us and brought us something completely different. Lesson 1 learnt: Research words related to food and don’t annoy the waiter. Lesson 2 learnt at the same time: You don’t always get what you order and it would probably take 6 months of Spanish lessons to explain the situation to the waiter. Just eat what you get and enjoy it.

Argentina is a gigantic country. The second largest in South America and roughly the same size as India. But in comparison it’s population is 3% the size – a third of which lives in the greater Buenos Aires area. It is home to the tallest mountain in the Andes and the Americas – Aconcagua. Spectacular glaciers. Awesome wine and even better steak.

Buenos Aires is a city that takes a few days to wrap your head around. The scare stories about the crime really freaked me out at first even though we are from a country that is probably a lot less safe. Walking the heaving streets, not having an inkling of Spanish, feels a lot like being in a bubble – nobody can understand you but everybody is white, so you just fit in if you keep your mouth shut. The city also has some surprising sights. One minute you are in an ugly, run-down, filthy street. The next you are staring up at a spectacular building, such as the Congreso building or the Teatro Colón. I have never been to Europe but I would say this is arguably the closest you can get to a European city without actually putting a foot in Paris, London, Madrid or Rome.

We’ve been getting around the city to check all the boxes of some of the classic experiences. First and foremost is the subway or subte as the Porteños call it and if you ever visit the city it is hard to avoid using it as it takes you to within walking distance of most attractions. It is also incredibly cheap and costs a fixed US25c to any other station in the network. The nearest subway station to our apartment is on the A-line and it turns out that this is the oldest line with subway cars that are nearly 100 years old. I kid you not, they were built between 1913 and 1919, mostly of wood and are still in use today!

Arguably one of the most famous sights in Buenos Aires is the Recoleta Cemetery. This mini-city of crypts and tombs is something I was definitely not expecting to be so spectacular. It was once a public cemetery but it has quickly become one of the most sought after places to get buried or stored (none of the coffins are put in a grave, rather they are stored in a crypt behind iron gates or glass windows where visitors can look in). Many famous generals and presidents of Argentina’s past are buried in their family tombs here with elaborate – some would say “over-the-top” – edifices and statues adorning the tomb. The cemetery and adjoining convent and church dates back to 1732 and undoubtedly its most famous “celebrity-at-rest” is Eva Peron. As wife of the president Juan Peron and in a time when Argentina’s bourgeoisie controlled the country both financially and politically, her championing of the poor and middle classes and lobbying of their causes to her husband made her an incredibly popular figure among the people. Her popularity led her to campaign for the vice presidency in 1951 but fell out due to her declining health caused by aggressive cervical cancer. She died at the age of 33 and shock-waves were sent through the country resulting in 2 days of mourning, people flooded the streets of Buenos Aires, covering them in flowers. She was given a presidential funeral even though she had never held an official political position.

Her family tomb in Recoleta cemetary is a non-descript affair. It was rather difficult to find and eventually after Margarét asked one of the caretakers where it was – in her best (broken) Spanish – we managed to find it. It seemed the other tourists in the cemetery also had difficulty finding it as normally there is a throng of people crowding the narrow walkway. While we’ve been in Buenos Aires we haven’t bumped into a single English speaking person, but at the tomb we met the South African ambassador Tony Leon, who, only a few years back, was the leader of the opposition party to the ANC – the Democratic Alliance in South Africa.

Some of the other things we recommend doing in Buenos Aires are to visit the neighbourhoods of San Telmo and Palermo. The former being a charming, relaxed window on the “Old Buenos Aires” and the latter nestled within beautiful parks and littered with some of the best restaurants in the city. The microcentro is also very interesting, especially around the Plaza De Mayo. This is where the Casa Rosada (the Rose House) is situated as well as the Metropolitan Cathedral and just a few blocks away is Florida Street, a pedestrian street, packed with cafes, shops, malls and the odd reggae band.

So after a fairly harrowing first few days in the hustle and bustle, Buenos Aires has grown on me. The people are friendly, the food is great, the pizza is cheesy and the city has an old world charm that I haven’t experienced before. There is a lot to do and the steak (even if you don’t eat steak) is incredible. I highly recommend it if you like cities and are interested in architecture. Just don’t forget your Spanish phrase book.

Our next stop, Salta. A 22-hour bus trip from Buenos Aires.
Wish us luck!

Hi. Margarét here. Usually my boyfriend, Michael, is the one who describes our adventures, but in December 2010 I took a journey by myself, leaving Michael behind to guard the fort back home. I was on a mission to explore the Big Apple and afterwards, to go visit my brother and his family in sunny Florida.

Going solo isn’t always easy, especially if you hate airplanes and then your flight gets delayed by a day. After (hardly) surviving my first day in New York, down and out from sheer tiredness, things started to look better. In fact, they started to look wonderful.

Once you understand the main directions – uptown, downtown, Brooklyn and Queens – getting around on the subway in Manhattan is not all that hard. Tons of commuters use it every day and although it once had a reputation of being dangerous, I felt safe enough using it after dark. You have to use it after dark if you want to get anything done, since, in December, the sun goes down before the workers of the financial district even get to clap their high heels on the pavement on the way back home. The trains suddenly get very small inside during rush hour, not only because everyone is in the same place at the same time, but because every person sports a giant jacket, scarf, head gear and gloves. I was told that I would see a lot of fat people in America, but I couldn’t really tell. Everybody looked like the Michelin Man, all huge and round. Myself included.

This may sound clichéd, but while in NY I ate a sandwich, a hot-dog and a pizza. And cheesecake. That’s it, besides the Frosties and bagels I got at the hostel for breakfast. Oh, did I mention I had Starbucks coffee? We don’t have Starbucks in South Africa.

Seriously though, if I could afford it I would much rather have eaten Michelin starred food at Le Bernardin or Per Se. Trust me. We also don’t have Michelin stars in South Africa.

I also would have maintained a more balanced and exotic diet if it wasn’t for the fact that a single portion in NY seems to be big enough to feed 2 hungry men. The cheesecake I had mentioned was my breakfast, lunch and dinner for Tuesday. It was too big to finish in fewer than 3 sittings, yet too good to discard in some urban dustbin. I just took a deep breath and (reluctantly?) kept on eating. On Wednesday it was the sandwich. I actually did end up ditching the few remaining bites that I couldn’t finish before midnight. This was a real shame, since it truly was a special sandwich.

I had decided to go eat at Katz Delicatessen even before I got to America. This place has been around through the Wars and the Depression, in fact, it has been around for the last 113 years. I had seen it on Anthony Bourdain, but you may also know it from movies such as When Harry met Sally (“I’ll have what she’s having…”) Donnie Brasco, Across the Universe, Enchanted, etc. It’s famous. ‘Some say’ they serve the best sandwiches in the city. ‘Some’ might be right. Not that I would know, I didn’t exactly sample many. All I know is that my super-expensive pastrami sandwich was yummy-delicious and that the entire experience inside the deli was from another world – from the bizarre ticket system for ordering food to the elderly Argentinian pastrami station attendant who struck up a lengthy conversation with me about his hometown, to the owner who personally came to chat to me while I ate.

I loved New York. It was bitterly cold and mostly dark, but in the 4 days I was there, I managed to go for a walk in Central Park twice. To me, that felt like quintessential Manhattan. I mostly wandered the streets just looking at buildings and people; caught lots of trains to different view points; walked the Brooklyn bridge; walked along the banks of the Hudson; walked on Columbia campus; sat around Times Square; walked around the highly caged-in building site which is Ground Zero. Yes, I walked and walked. It was the cheapest and most rewarding thing to do.

I did do a few typical tourist things like visiting museums and watching West Side Story on Broadway. The one thing I didn’t really do, was shop. Unusual, you might think. But I just didn’t have time. There were two exceptions. I had to go check out the famous B&H Photo and the glass-roofed Apple Store on 5th Avenue. Besides, I managed to do a good bit of shopping in Florida afterwards.

Would I go back to New York in winter?
No, probably not.

Would I stay in a hostel again, constantly locking my every possession away, with 5 other girls sharing my room?
Uhm, unlikely.

Do I want to return to New York and spend some more time soaking up the friendly/busy, no-nonsense culture?
Definitely yes. I couldn’t get enough.

When the world ends these towers of rock, stone and sand will still be standing – their glittering spires tickling the sky in their harsh surroundings. The Himalayas – a place that means so much to the people that inhabit them. It is a place where ancient monasteries are protected by the high cliffs and infinite gorges, unchanged for centuries where the people live in the most difficult of conditions – icy winters and dry summers.

It has always been a dream of mine to see the high mountains of the world. I guess it is that feeling of being dwarfed by something rising 3 kilometers out of the ground that attracts me to it so much. South Africa doesn’t have very high mountains, in fact the highest mountain barely rises above 3600 meters and is probably only 1000 meters from base to peak. Up until this trip, the highest I had ever been was the peak of Mont Aux Souces in the Drakensberg mountains. Then in Lombok, Indonesia we got to 3750 meters on Gunung Rinjani. Margarét had been to the great Andes in South America, but everything we had seen before would be eclipsed by the incredible journey we undertook in the Indian Himalayas.

We had started fairly early in the morning from Shimla, with our guide Hassan – a slight, courteous man who thankfully spoke good English and knew the region we were exploring very well – and our driver Bobby – who made up for his lack of English with his big smile and driving skills. These roads are treacherous and they are trafficked heavily by large apple trucks and maniacal bus drivers. They are twisty, dusty, bumpy and rarely sealed.

The region we started travelling in is called Kinnaur. The first day of our trip saw us bouncing along through beautiful green scenery, dotted with apple farms and small towns all clinging to the cliffs and steep mountains of what I like to call the Green Himalayas. The area is characterised by 3500m high peaks covered in pine and rhododendron trees. The roads, as I mentioned previously, are dusty and rutted from the many trucks transporting apples out of the area. Fortunately, the roads were open the whole way – something which is a rare occurrence as the heavy rains during the monsoon season frequently cause massive landslides which cut off access to villages and towns.

There is a distinctive style of driving you need to get accustomed to in these parts. Due to the roads being very narrow and bendy, whenever approaching a blind curve in the road Bobby would toot loudly on the horn to warn any oncoming traffic that were coming around the corner. Oncoming traffic should/would move over to the side to allow us to pass safely. If we wanted to overtake a truck or car, then the horn is blown until the driver in front moves over. This system works the majority of the time, provided the driver’s concerned use their hooters but on occasion we ended having to swerve madly to avoid a car that failed to hear our horn, ignored it or didn’t hoot themselves. It should be mentioned that on the back of most trucks it says “Blow Horn” in brightly hand-painted capital letters. Nonetheless, we never found ourselves in any particularly dangerous situations and most traffic in front of us pulled over nearly immediately after they heard our horn.

The other part of the driving we needed to get used to was the time it took to cover relatively short distances. Since our top speed was rarely 40km/h, 120 km took more than three and a half hours to cover. We did eventually reach the beautiful Kinnaur Valley and started to slowly zigzag our way down to the brown torrent of the Sutlej River. The fast flowing river and steep gorges makes this area a perfect site for massive hydroelectric projects – one such plant produces 1000 megawatts of electricity – nearly four times the size of a nuclear power station. The ugly side of these projects is the huge destruction of the surrounding river ecosystems and the influx of a huge workforce to staff the projects. The road to Kalpa passes through these construction sites and they are as ugly as they are awe inspiring in their vastness. Small towns have popped up around each site and the area is covered in a layer of dust from the blasting and trucks. The positive side of all of these developments is jobs for the local population and less susceptibility to flooding.

We eventually arrived in Kalpa at night. It had taken us nearly 11 hours to reach the tiny village, some 250 km away from Shimla. Our guesthouse was a few minutes drive above the village. We were exhausted and after a simple dinner of dhal and chapatis (lentils and bread), we headed to our room to shower and sleep.

The guesthouse was an odd place and reminded me a little bit of Fawlty Towers. We could have anything on the menu, provided that it was dhal and chapatis, since everything else was out of stock. The manager only allowed us to have our hot water geyser on for roughly an hour – something which was rather annoying as it was only large enough for one of us to shower before going cold again. The busboy-cum-waiter was a Nepali who scampered around under the shouts and curses from the manager, much like Manuel under Basil. He was about as well trained as Manuel and when he came running out from the kitchen carrying our chapatis in a small basket, I could see his brain working overtime trying to stop himself from handling them with his hands. His antics only got more amusing over the course of our stay there. The one time he came to berate me – obviously after he had gotten an earful from the manager – as I had found the main switch for our geyser on the outside wall and had turned it on myself. He knocked on the door, rattled something off in Hindi while gesturing in the direction of the switchbox. I nodded and smiled whereupon he promptly disappeared down the passage frustrated in the knowledge that I didn’t have a clue what kind of trouble I had gotten him into. The next morning, at breakfast, his final stunt put no doubt in my mind that he had been watching Fawlty Towers under the impression it was a training video. Margarét had ordered a slice of toast and butter and when Nepali-Manuel returned with it, he accidentally knocked the carefully balanced knife from the side of the plate onto the table cloth. In most situations, a waiter would just put it back on the plate but unsure as to what to do, Nepali-Manuel cursed under his breath, picked up the knife and promptly walked over to the window whereupon he gave it good shining on the dusty, old curtain. He then walked back over and calmly placed it on the side of the plate. We couldn’t contain ourselves, it has to be one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me in a restaurant. The only thing missing from this picture, would have been the manager noticing what had happened and clipping Nepali-Manuel around the ears while loudly berating him in Hindi on the way out of the room.

The rest of the day was no less memorable. Kalpa is set on the other side of the Kinnaur Valley, overlooking the gigantic mountains of the Kinner Kailash (6005m). The amazing jagged peaks were covered in snow and glaciers. These were the first views I had had of really big mountains and I was stunned at their size and vastness. We headed down to the town of Rekong Peo to get our Inner Line Permits at the local magistrate. The permits are necessary for accessing the Spiti Valley and the area along the Indian/Chinese (Tibetan) border. After a few hours of standing around and waiting we eventually got the permits and headed for our first hike in the Himalayas.

As mentioned previously, our guide Hassan knew the area very well and took us to a tiny village in the valley alongside the Kinnaur Valley, called the Roghi Valley. We started our hike through apple orchards, where the trees were bowing under the weight of their fruit. The people are friendly and sport traditional Kinnauri-style garb – many of whom were very busy harvesting and collecting grass, apples and apricots before the winter. At the top of the main path up the mountain, Hassan turned off and took us to a tiny house, with a well manicured vegetable garden. The house belonged to a Kinnauri woman called Rajni and Hassan had brought us to her house for a cup of masala chai (spicy tea) and to see how the local people live. Rajni was no less curious about us and it was a really unique experience. Her house was very basic and really tiny, consisting of one room. In one corner was a bed, the other, some sort of ancient weaving apparatus and next to it was her cooking area. In the middle of the room was a heating stove. Rajni offered us apples and even lunch – something we couldn’t refuse. Her English was very basic but she was genuinely interested in learning more about us.

The hike up to 3400m was amazing. The views across the valley to the Kinner Kailash were spectacular and we got to see how some of the shepherds live higher up. On our way back down we had our lunch with Rajni and we got to meet her mother and some of her nephews and nieces. Margarét noticed that one of the nieces was rubbing something in her hands, and Rajni told us she was making hashish for her grandfather. It was then that I noticed that the majority of greenery along the pathways and the roads in this area was one giant crop of marijuana. I don’t think it is harvested in any commercial way, but the people definitely do smoke it. High mountains, high people I guess.

We briefly explored the little town of Kalpa and then headed back to our guesthouse. Unfortunately, Nepali-Manuel didn’t have any new entertainment for us to enjoy and the next day we left Fawlty Towers, Indian-Basil and Nepali-Manuel for the Dry Himalayas.

It starts with a rumble. A faint imperceptible rumble. Before you know it however, you are doubled up over the big white telephone. A ball of nausea and pain. Our heroic/stupid efforts to eat in local restaurants were now catching up to us. Margarét had been sick through the previous night and now it was my turn. I don’t want this post to be about poo, but so much of India is. Walking through the streets of Delhi, the state if the railway line at train stations and the inescapable traveller’s diarrhea. We had been very lucky over the last 3 months in South East Asia to completely avoid it and this gave us a false sense of security.

Being sick in a foreign, third-world country is no laughing matter. Being sick in India is even more frightening. Add to that, Haridwar isn’t the most tourist friendly town and there are very few places that appear to serve clean, bland food. Every time you order food off of a menu, you don’t wonder how good it is going to be, you wonder if it is going to make you sick. It is delicious though, and did I mention cheap? A Chicken Korma, Matter Paneer, some Chapatis and rice in a nice restaurant costs about $6 and it is better than any Indian food I have eaten back home.

We managed to escape Haridwar to Rishikesh. Escape from the hordes of pilgrims, the aggressive rickshaw drivers, the filth and squalor. The trip was no less eventful though. Our rickshaw dropped us off outside the main bus station in Haridwar, which is an odd set up to say the least. There is a low roofed structure in the middle that shelters all manner of life, including the ubiquitous fly, beggar and cow. We knew a bus left for Rishikesh every half an hour so the next one had to be here somewhere. Now imagine the scene: the buzz of hundreds of people, about 30 buses honking their horns and rushing passed as they leave the station, piles of rubble, puddles of mud and flies, flies flies. It’s utter chaos and we didn’t know where to go.

I asked the first decent looking person where the bus to Rishikesh was. He didn’t speak English. We walked up to an elderly Indian couple and asked them. They told us on the other side of the main building. We trudged with our backpacks in that direction. When we got there we asked another man. He looked confused, looked around and then told us it was back where we had come from. Arrrrghhh! Doesn’t anybody know what is going on in this place? We walked back through the building. It has to be noted at this point that the names of the buses aren’t written in English and neither are their destinations, so it is impossible to sit in one spot and wait for the right bus. There is also nowhere to sit unless you count the dirt.

Eventually after asking the passengers on several busses we found the Rishikesh bus, just as it was pulling out of the station. We shuffled with all of our stuff to the last 2 remaining seats right at the back next to a Japanese hippy and behind some rather dirty looking tourists. Yep. We’re on the right bus.

In case you haven’t heard of Rishikesh, apart from Goa it is probably the biggest hippy destination in India and they have been coming here since the 60′s when the place was made famous in the western world by the Beatles. George, John, Paul and Ringo moved there for a bit to study meditation and learn yoga under Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. They brought their wives and girlfriends and their music and although they eventually left due to an altercation with the Maharishi – some say he was hitting on their partners, others say he asked for money – a few of their songs on The White Album were written here. Nonetheless, tourists have flocked to this tiny town ever since on the banks of the Ganga. Besides the tourists, Rishikesh is more famous among the Hindus as a very holy place due to its proximity to the holy river. It is set in the green foothills of the Himalayas and is very beautiful.

Our bus took 1 hour to get from Haridwar to Rishikesh, a distance of 17km. When we arrived, it felt like we were still in Haridwar. It was still dirty and busy. A rickshaw driver hustled us into his rickshaw and took us to the backpacker commune in the area called High Bank, up on the hill, overlooking the river. When we arrived, we walked into the first guesthouse we came upon, booked a room and crashed on the bed. Dirty, exhausted, drained. Both physically and mentally.

We had come to a really difficult point in our trip. We had had enough. We spent a fortune getting here, not to mention the time wasted waiting for our visas in Malaysia. This wasn’t fun, this was downright exhausting and stressful and our health was deteriorating. Our first instinct was to go to the nearest Internet café and change our flights to get out of the country as soon as possible. In the end we decided against it. Perhaps we had had a bad run of luck, or we weren’t prepared enough, both mentally and physically. So we decided to give Rishikesh a couple more days before making up our minds.

Turns out, this area is the place to come to if you need to recuperate. Yes, 5 days in India and we already needed to recuperate. Without sounding clichéd, the culture shock when arriving here is the hardest thing to get over and many travellers that we spoke to experienced the same thing.

High Bank, as the name suggests,is set up on the hill above the river. It is a backpacker enclave with lots of cheap accommodation, restaurants and Internet cafés. We had avoided such places in South East Asia, but in India they are small oases of calm and to a large extent you can trust the food won’t kill you and that you won’t be hassled by touts. For the five days we were in Rishikesh, we ventured out of High Bank twice. Once to find an ATM – which was an experience in itself as we had to dodge yet again the rickshaws, the pilgrims and the cows and the second time to check out the area of Laksman Jula. If you have seen photos of Rishikesh, it is the area with the big footbridge over the Ganga and huge Hindu temples in the background.

I don’t know if it was the time of day that we visited Laksman Jula or whether it is always like that, but it was calm and serene. It also has a lot of character with many ashrams, temples and shops. There are also a lot of monkeys in the area, hanging about on the bridge waiting to steal food from passers by.

We felt like staying in Rishikesh until it was time to fly back home but with our health back to normal and the memories of Haridwar and Delhi fading in our minds, we decided to make the most of our 3 weeks and head north to the Himalayas. Since most of the roads in the state of Uttarakand (Rishikesh is in Uttarakand) leading into the Himalayas had been damaged or destroyed by the monsoon, we made plans to go to Himachal Pradesh, home of The Great Himalayas.