Arequipa to Colca Lodge - Wed., Oct. 18

Up a little after 7, we were on the early side for our second hot breakfast at Los Andes B&B in Arequipa before packing up and stumbling our way towards our hotel outside of Yanque, which itself is outside of Chivay, a three-hour bus ride. We took a taxi to the station, bumbled toward the terminal, and immediately found a respectable and English-speaking information booth. 

The staff member there was wonderful. He confirmed my knowledge - that a bus to Chivay was the best and cheapest way - but added something I didn't know. Yanque doesn't have many taxis. All the towns, as small as three-block Paracas, had drivers honking at us to ride with them. Chivay had more, and our hotel was not walkable, even from Yanque. 

Ok, so a taxi all the way there from Arequipa directly sounded tempting, but expensive ($90 for over three hours - expensive for Peru). We could take the bus for $10 each then a taxi for another $5 each instead. Great. 

He also worked with us to buy tour tickets to see Condor Crossing with a tour group the next day. They would pick us up at 6:40 in Yanque at the main town square, and we'd continue on with them for the day. Great - paid for and done. 

He walked us to the bus departure two blocks away, but there we discovered the next bus was full and it'd be over an hour to wait. Oma wasn't happy with that, so they called other bus companies and found us seats to Chivay on another bus in fifteen more minutes. 

The bus attendant from the second station then walked us to our actual bus, and we got two back seats after shoving our luggage in the small back compartment. The bus held 15, but had two extra seats when we left, so Oma moved up to the single window seat in front of me to let the family with a lap-sitting child spread out. 

We picked up another passenger on the way, but I was never forced to squeeze. The three-year-old (Oma asked his age, and I used my small vocabulary to translate) and his dad sang a counting song about elephants as our driver tried to avoid traffic by going down side streets full of dust and construction in a non-air conditioned bus. Not the best thirty minutes of the drive.

We stopped at a final outpost on the edge of Arequipa, and the two women in native garb (mostly just their hair and bedazzled cowboy hats) hopped out to get fruit from the stands while other peddlers poked their heads and wares in to drum up business. 

We also picked up a conductor, who found that other rider by yelling "Chivaychivaychivay" out the half open door. We dropped her off maybe half an hour later at another outpost. Maybe she just hops on the next bus for this company returning to Arequipa?

We were driving along, and I told Oma that on our side of the van was a nature reserve, according to my map. Not five minutes later, she tries to point out something to me as it zooms by - a "deer with a long neck." Ok, an alpaca, they are kind of like cows in their ubiquity in the high altitudes. 

Not a minute later I see a sign: "Zona Vicuñas" - "zone of vicuñas", which just happen to be alpacas smaller, wild cousin. Now I was on the lookout too! 

The next hour flew by as we spotted small herds of the mostly brown animal (with a cute white kerchief) off in the distance, blending into the scrub. Every five minutes or so, we'd spot another, but towards the end, llama and alpaca herds started cropping up and confusing Oma, who assumed those were sheep instead unless they had their heads up from grazing. She started asking them to stop drinking as we drove by creeks so she could tell if it was an alpaca or a sheep. 

We got to the very edge of Chivay, and someone on the bus asked if we needed a collectivo (a minibus) to the center of town. Instead, we asked about a taxi, and a local perked up his ears and offered us a ride as a taxi. His truck was not a certified taxi, but it was clean and he seemed to know where Colca Lodge was, so off we went in the back seat of some strange, old man's truck (sorry Mark).

It was not even 15 minutes to Yanque. We left the town square and headed down to the canyon. He pointed out Colca Lodge on the other side of the canyon and river - idyllic grounds, green, with round blue hot spring pools and thatched roof houses. Very excited to be there as soon as possible!

However, the way the crow flies and the car drives are very different. We headed down on a switchback the opposite direction, crossed the car bridge around the next bend, then started a jostling ten minutes on a mostly gravel road, with more rocks falling down the hill next to it to add to the gravel all the time. A few small fields, hardly more than garden patches, had stone walls built up around them, some with crops and one or two with four-legged creatures of all sorts. 

We reached the drop off area, and it was still a flight of stairs down (though some hotel workers checked our name on a list and took our bags) to the reception. And our vacation within a vacation had begun. A welcome tea, a map of the property, and a guided walk to our "habitación", on the second floor of a thatched house, with a donkey braying their hello. 

We sank into the downy covers and relaxed. Oma took a shower, because we thought the hot springs were part of the spa and not included, but during her shower I called the front desk - hot springs are free and always open! She decided not to come in with me, but we walked toward the river together. 

Oma isn't one for hills, is what I'm learning, but the added stress of being at altitude for the day means that she is extra cautious. We sidled our way down, and I hopped in while Oma took in the steam from the bench. 

A few elderly couples were scattered around speaking English and all complaining that they only had a single night at this paradise. Oma and I were extra excited about our second when we could make them envious. We got some tips on Machu Picchu (it'll take 90 minutes to get on a bus back, just deal) and I got toasty. Oma headed back, and I caught up for my evening shower and took my wet head with us to dinner in the quieter, smaller, more intimate of the two restaurants (which serve the same food, so it's more like two different dining areas for the same kitchen). 

The menu was amazing - the Peruvian specialties were dressed up, the ingredients all sounded great, and the portions were perfect - on the small side, so we could get two desserts. My chicken and her cheese curry-like dishes came with heaps of rice - traditional enough. The brownie I don't think was traditional; the apple pie was more of a savory tart, so don't know about its Peruvian heritage. 

With a wake up call at 5am, we decided to head back to the room. A phone call let us know that our tour company wanted to remind us that it was 6:40 at Yanque. We were surprised and impressed that the man we worked with at the info desk had remembered us and our hotel, but our taxi had been confirmed for 6am twice, so we were confident we could make it there by then. Comfy beds (with a heater and lots of covers for Oma) for bedtime. 

Arequipa - Tuesday, Oct. 17

We woke up at 9:30 to get our taste of the breakfast that ended at 10. We ordered our eggs, but the larger operation meant that the bread wasn't warm and the juice, while frothy, came out of the pitchers much thinner. Still, it was a big breakfast, and late as well. 

We got our day started with a look at the Plaza de Armas, which was half a block out our doorstep. As we entered the square from one corner, a chanting, marching group of school children entered on the same side, other corner. Mark has made me cautious of marching groups, but the fact that most of them weren't five feet tall reassured me. I looked up what "salud mental" meant - mental health! - and we paused to enjoy the children's signs and banners. At the back of the pack was a car with a brain on top. 

We sat on a bench to take in the church that covered one side of the plaza, and inadvertently watched the kids line up against the church steps for photos and chants. Oma was enjoying the sun and I was remembering that I hadn't put on sunscreen, so tried to stand in the mottled shade. Oma gave the once over to every tree in the well-manicured square, finding names (or making them up, I don't know) for a few of them. She is such a flower person - even when all we saw were cacti, she could find the ones with the yellow buds. 

Oma realized that the time to get into the church would be before the children moved on and blocked the entrance, so we walked up the steps ourselves (except off to the left) to get to the ticket area. A guide told us it was 10 soles to get in, then another 10 soles to the guide afterward as a "required tip." $6 was fine, so in we went. 

First we oohed and ahhed at the room of treasures. The Cathedral of Arequipa had burnt down after a tremor caused all the candles to fall over in 1844. The really rich bishop took care of it and expanded it to the full city block it is today. During the rebuilding, they found gold crowns for the Virgin Mary, goblets, jewelry, and these giant statues that we for processionals in hidden nooks. The guide told us that those that were out in the open had much of their beauty and treasure snatched away by needy hands. The hidden ones were fully intact. 

Natives had been using gold for a millennia or two before the Spanish arrived, so the prettiest were the pure gold pieces. Apparently, the gold is so soft you can't even polish it. 

The room ended with a crown with something like two thousand small diamonds in it that looked much too heavy for a statue of Mary to wear, but it was gorgeous. 

We climbed a double set of stairs to get up to the balcony overlooking the organ. A room of old books showed the difference between paper and cotton when it comes to aging (cotton wins) and showed the damage that the 2001 earthquake caused the front of the organ - pipes were dinged when one of the towers collapsed and the other fell over. 

A room of priestly garb with pure gold thread in some, and we were headed up to the roof. Neither of us realized stairs would be in the tour, and Arequipa isn't exactly at sea level. We made it up fine, taking in the views after the first set. 

A walkway ran around the pretty bland rooftop, with uneven concrete and stone, to the bells that are only rung yearly. We tapped them and heard their soft chime, then turned around to look at Misti, the still-active volcano. She erupted in the mid-1400s, so she's not scheduled for a bit. She does cause 20 or so tremors a day (that we couldn't feel) - if she were on the verge, it'd be more like 200. Nearly perfectly conical, it was nice, but the weirdness of the roof ruined the view for me. 

We walked down the flights, then entered through a giant side door into the sanctuary. Getting midway to the altar, Oma could smell the lilies covering it. Weekly, they get a shipment in from Colombia, though during the week before Easter, it changes nearly every day. 

We tipped our guide on the way out, and found ourselves back in the square to sit for a bit. Mid-70s and sunny, it was a good day to take it slow and not get too hot. 

Santa Catalina Monastery was two blocks more, so we got there, bought our tickets, and picked up another guide. 

The monastery has housed nuns since before 1500, not long after the Spanish arrived in Peru. A second daughter was given, with a large dowry gift, to the nunnery to become an apprentice at age 14, then be added to the order around age 18. Since many of the nuns came from privilege, individual houses were built for them inside the walls of the city within a city, with a room for their non-nun servant. Some nuns took in female pupils, with the students living with the most days, sort of like a finishing school so they could go on to be good wives. 

An earthquake damaged the property, and they left one section with the stones still slightly askew to show how the keystone above all the doorways kept them from collapsing. On top of that, all of the beds were built into the wall with an arch overhead - the strongest structure against a quake. 

The colors and gardens of the monastery reminded me so much of Spain, with the internal street names of Sevilla and Córdoba harkening back to those old town. The cloisters had orange trees, adobe red and bright blue paint, and great places to sit as Oma and I finished the tour and relaxed, looking at a tree that Oma managed to find the few flowers it was sprouting. 

I left her for a bit to climb to the roof of a building by the church, but the view was of mostly ugly rooftops, though Misti still looked out over it all. 

While we sat, a child fell into the cactus surrounding a bed of flowers. Her pain-filled cries definitely woke us out of the calming stupor of a cloister, and we headed toward a craft market. 

The market was hidden inside walls that made it look dead. It was dead - we were the only shoppers there - but it was open. A dozen stalls along the sides of a courtyard selling a lot of alpaca wool stuffs, woven trinkets, and keychains. I bought a coin purse, but we mostly browsed. 

Next stop was lunch. We had had a filling and late breakfast, so 3:30 seemed fine for food. A "nouveau Peruvian" place had caught my eye in the guidebook, so we stopped by. The alpaca ribs were slightly disappointing - fine enough meat, not too gamey, but paired with an incredibly sweet BBQ sauce that overpowered it. And the quinoa was just kinda bland. Oma had a giant Caesar salad with "bacon" (which was ham). We could have done better with our orders, or maybe our restaurant choice from a 2-year-old guidebook. 

The guidebook also mentioned a free art museum inside a bank building that used to be a bishop's mansion. We found the building and wandered as much as we dared with guards watching us, but I couldn't find the museum. Even looking up the address, it was right where we were, right where we looked, and right where it wasn't. 

Ah well, just another reason to cross the Plaza de Armes again and go back to the bed and breakfast/hostel. 

I had given Oma the guidebook to see if there were any other sights she wanted to see in Arequipa, but it was bordering on 4, and most museums closed at 5, so we were essentially in for the night. She nodded off, and I did some blogging. 

Back to internet, I get an email from the third party that we booked our Machu Picchu tickets through - Sunday, Oct. 22 is Peruvian census day. There is a curfew from 8am to 5pm, including foreigners, to be counted and fill out a questionnaire. The trains and buses probably won't be running. Hope you are getting to Aguas Caliente the day before and ready to walk the hour and a half uphill to Machu Picchu from the village!

Forums were saying to "always expect the unexpected" and "that's why you leave yourself extra time." The UK's website on travel to Peru said hotels and tourist spots would be operating normally. 

First, I tried to reconfigure our schedule. We could fly to Cuzco a day earlier ($$$), switch trains (no $ but ticket change), add a night in Aguas Caliente (switch, so no $), then buy a new ticket for Machu Picchu ($$).

After Skype failed me, I emailed the train company. They would be running the train we bought a ticket for. Ok, so it's just the bus up to the Sun Gate from Aguas Caliente. The tourist operation that we bought the ticket through said no. Oma said she'd just have me do the hike if they weren't. 

I happened to get an email confirming details with our hostel in Aguas Caliente about that time, and, emailing with her, she said the buses would definitely be running. 

That was about two hours of making Plans B-F before getting that final email confirming the buses, and, with all of the options except the original costing money, we just decided to stick with Plan A. 

(Corinne from the future - the next morning I got a final email from the tour agency saying that, never mind, they got confirmation that the buses were running. I just about threw my phone across the room. They started the panic, and now, twelve hours later, they say just kidding.)

Oma, the pinnacle of health, had finally come down with one of the two colds I've had in rapid succession. Coughing, she couldn't deny it anymore - and she hadn't gotten a cold in five years!

We kept it chill, and I challenged Oma to look through the map for a restaurant that looked good. Of course, the one she found after a 15-minute struggle was closed permanently when I checked on Google. The plaza had places overlooking the square, so at 8pm we headed out to see the lights of the cathedral, get a pre-dinner drink, and find some food. 

The cathedral was magnificent at night - slightly eerie how the bell towers were lit up with white lights on the inside, and yellow lights on the exterior. Face- or skull-like. 

At 8pm, nearly as many people wandered the square as at 10am. It was a mild night, just at mid-60s and sweater weather.

Some of those people in the square were trying to drum up business for their restaurants on the patios above the colonnades. One offered us a free drink, but we turned him down to complete our strolling circuit of the plaza. Beautiful colonial architecture, with music rolling out of the balconies above us, and I did a lot of people and street dog watching. A child's scooter, making its way rider-free down the path; a pair of teens taking a selfie with the church; a couple leaning against a tree in the shadows. 

Returning to the side with the restaurants, it was time for a sit-down. I had checked a few of the places out for reviews before going out, so we avoided the low rated one, but let another guy chat us up as I tried to find their restaurant on Google Maps to check it out. 

They didn't exist on the map, and, after Oma asked if we could have a free drink, and he asked if pisco sours would do, we were sold. 

A pipe-and-guitar band played in one corner, so we sat in the other. Our miniature pisco sours arrived - shockingly complete with three drops of bitters on top!

The meal went slowly. I was talked out of a full grilled guinea pig (mostly because Oma said she couldn't eat next to me with it on my plate, and it didn't actually look appetizing to me either). We found some starters - yucca, so Oma would finally know what it looked like and stop calling every random starch or vegetable yucca, and tequeños, because why not have a fried tube of cheese with avocado to dip it in?

I decided on the avocado stuffed with a potato and shrimp salad, since I'd seen it on a few menus, and Oma had the cream of mushroom soup to try to fend off her cold. And another order of pisco sours, since wine was only by the bottle. 

As we were finishing up (with the third pipe or guitar band making its rounds), we heard some hellos - and we found the California couple we had chatted with (and partied with) at Huacachina two nights earlier! It was a quick chat - me telling them about the craziness of Peruvian census day, and them telling us that they were getting up at 3am to take a tour to Colca Canyon (after just getting in that morning at 5!). We said our goodbyes and headed back for as much sleep as we wanted before figuring out our way to Chivay, Yanque, and ultimately our hotel in the canyon, in the morning. 

Huacachina to Arequipa - Monday, Oct. 16

We woke up, shockingly with no headache for neither me nor Oma. Our breakfast was up on the terrace, so we packed and headed up. 

Oma raved about it the rest of the day. We got freshly pressed (and blended) juice - she got a frothy, thick papaya one and I got a delicious pineapple. The coffee was espresso again, so she watered it down. We each got a fried egg, fresh bread, soft butter, and a gentle, warm breeze to wake us up. 

We spent maybe a bit too much time relaxing over breakfast, but checkout thankfully went smoothly, and we were at the meeting point at 8:20. Now Amos - he was not. 

Lelvin, our guide, found his room and woke him up. He was ready in a miraculous amount of time, and we jumped in the car taking us to the Nazca airport. 

Oma and Amos chatted about places in Germany, and I scoured the countryside for signs of the lines. We found the tower (about and hour and a half into the drive) where the rest of the group was going to stop and look at them. We would get the bird's eye view!

The Nazca Lines are "geoglyphs" - animals, geometric shapes, and lines "carved" into the harsh ground by removing the top layer so the darker under layer is exposed. For scale, one of the lines is the width of a car, so if you're drawing, say, the spiral tail of a monkey, it's going to take at least an eighth of a mile squared. 

The reasons for the lines are still a mystery. The first (European) scientist to study them thought they were part of an astronomical calendar. Her theory was mostly proved false when the measurements didn't line up with anything astronomical. Others have come through with theories from race tracks to aliens (which is helped by the fact that that Nazca culture trained their children's skulls to be oblong as a sign of beauty); the standing theory is that it was part of water worship. In a desert like this, it makes total sense. (Ironic, then, that the excavations of their dwellings show signs of massive floods that drove them from their homes.)

We arrived and were put on a scale by the desk. They needed to balance the place, so our seats were assigned. Just like a "real" airport, there were security and gates. The security just didn't care if you set off the buzzer, and the gates were two sets of double doors with the words "Gate 1" and "Gate 2" above them. We went through Gate 2. 

Walking up to the plane, it was the three of us and a Spanish-speaking couple, so the co-captain repeated everything in both languages. First it was a map of the 13 or so lines we would see. Next, he gave us our seat assignments - Amos in the front with the other gentleman, me in the middle with the other woman, and featherweight Oma in the back by herself. We got our headsets on and took off.

The airflow was a bit low, but I spent the first ten minutes of the thirty-minute flight looking down, up, everywhere. At maybe minute 10, I decided I was going to do more looking at the horizon and deep breathing. Oma tapped my shoulder a few times to make sure I was seeing the figures as we passed over them, but the guide did a good job saying when it was right underneath the wing on my side (then we passed it, banked, and Oma saw it on the other side, or vice versa).

Amos and Oma said they never get motion sick, but I thought I had a pretty normal tolerance - you ride a coaster, get off a bit queasy, but are settled in time for the next one. Not Oma - she was in the Civil Air Patrol in her last two years of high school, meaning that she trained with local, non-military pilots in their open-air, two-seater biplanes! She told us in the car ride she had them do a loop-de-loop and spirals, so clearly not a hint of air sickness. 

I don't know what got to me - it wasn't like it was a lot of jolts. Our stomaches dropped only a few times, and the rumble of the engine was constant, but not terrible. The swooping path wasn't bad either, but I guess you add all those things up, and a sweating Corinne, with a few tears of post-nausea after a burp that could have been worse, was making sure the plastic bag was easily accessible. (It didn't help that the woman next to me had hers at her mouth when I looked over. Thankfully, the headsets prevented any noise from coming in.)

The last ten minutes of the flight, now that the sweat and tears had cooled me off, were just continuing the horizon view, with glances down to the lines when a significant one came up. When we landed, and the pilots opened up the side windows to let the air come gusting in, I was thankful. Oma and hungover Amos danced back to the terminal as I de-clinged my tank top from my moist back. 

Our guide had said the company would shuttle us to Mom's Cafe (which Oma kept calling "momma's") in the middle of Nazca, and so we got dropped off there. After using their restrooms (and me thinking something might help settle my stomach), Oma and I got juice while Amos had ice cream. We had been asked by someone in Spanish on the way in about going back to Ica, which Amos did want to do, but he was told to look for someone at 2:45, and it was maybe 12:30. We took our time, I helped charge his phone, and we decided on a place for lunch. Walking out at least 45 minutes later, the same guy asked again about Ica. After gesturing to the bracelet and saying Lelvin's name, we weren't getting anywhere, so a guy on the street who know both our languages translated. This was the driver from PeruHop and it was hot, so he wanted to get started earlier. Amos was copacetic, so off they went. 

We got a block further down the street and Oma sighed, "We'll miss his company." Since I'm not single, Oma has to pick up all the gents!

We made it in the vicious heat (ok, 85 and sunny isn't terrible, but not what we were expecting) a few blocks to a bank, then to our chosen restaurant. The food was great - a well presented chicken and avocado salad for me and an avocado sandwich for Oma (which had too much avocado and not enough tomato according to her, but our tastes are very different when it comes to that green fruit). I decided that I'd order their veggie lasagna to pick up before our overnight bus to Arequipa that night, so I typed out my request into Google translate and befuddled our waitress. Another waiter came over and translated, so we paid for it all and I was given a cute slip of paper that said "1 Vegetarian Lasagna" with her signature. 

We took a taxi to the archeological museum, which didn't have chairs or air conditioning. The garden out front and out back were beautiful, so we hung out there while reading the English translations to what we had seen inside. Oma exclaimed over the pottery, the well-preserved textiles, and immediately recoiled at the mummy. I loved that the back garden was built around a section of aqueduct (so some stone walls with water trickling through them) and that the peacocks and doves were loud and persistent. Not a bad museum, but the heat of the day wasn't a good time to start looking. 

It was just a ten minute walk back into town, so we strolled through the now-setting sun along the one road to get there. A park was on our way, so we read (and blogged) on benches until those got too hard. A few more blocks to Mom's Cafe, and it was time for some king's corner on their couches and a bathroom break before I walked off to get my lasagna. 

Glad I was a bit early, because they hadn't already made it, so I got them started. The bus came at 6:45, so at 6:25 I rushed back, a warm carry out container in my bag, to find Oma a little twitchy. (I would be too - no judgement.) We had ordered an Oreo cheesecake to-go from Mom's, so we were all set with our dinner when the bus drove up. 

A pair of seats was left for us, and our friends from the past few days greeted us (especially dancing Oma - they hadn't seen her since the party last night!) We tucked into our food (lasagna great, cheesecake had a bad jello texture) as we heard about their stop at a pisco factory, then "Bruce Almighty" started playing.

The next nine hours weren't terrible, but they definitely weren't something we wanted to go through again. A panel came back from the seat in front that gave a spot for our legs to rest, and the seats reclined pretty far. Both of us slept, but it sure wasn't highways we were driving on. Speed bumps and gravel and twists and turns didn't exactly rock us to sleep, and Oma cramped her neck and I felt my knees get more and more sore. 

Eventually, it was 5am, and Oma went back to use the bathroom on the bus (only for #1, guys!) and it was out of order. A shuttle took us the last bit to our bed and breakfast, which made me think that it might be in the wrong part of the city... until the monastery and plaza were a few blocks before it. 

The driver rang the doorbell, and we got some poor attendant out of bed to give us our key and the information about breakfast. Because the place was only $30 a night, we decided to pay for two nights instead of one so we could be guaranteed to get a bed right away. And so we did - a room with four single beds, a private bath, and two ladies that slept for another four hours. Horizontal is wonderful!

Paracas to Huacachina - Sunday, Oct. 15

After our granola bars and the apple that Oma accidentally snuck into Peru, we bundled up to take our boat ride out to the Ballestas Islands. (Island? Islands? It was a bunch of rocks, so maybe plural.)

I considered taking my coat off as we met Lelvin, walked to the dock, and queued up for the boats. We paired off, and Oma and I got seats in the middle, where the bow wasn't blocking our view. Once we got our life jackets on and the boat started cruising, I wanted my scarf out too - the sea air was cold!

I read that it was possible to see dolphins, so I scanned the horizon as we pulled up to the side of the Paracas peninsula. A candelabra was etched into the rocky sand, probably a few stories tall. That side of the peninsula is sheltered from wind, and the 1.2 millimeters of rain every year haven't worn it down. 

Cormorants with white heads dove around us as we continued on to a rocky lump in the distance. These "one-eyed cormorants" weren't very successful, but each splashing dive bomb excited us. We zoomed closer, spending about fifteen minutes getting whipped around and chilled by the wind. 

The rock face came into focus and the dark surface was covered in birds. Terns and cormorants mostly, though the first bay we sailed into had a pair of sea lions silhouetted in a rock arch that passed all the way through the island. The first pair of our eight or so penguins (real penguins, though there were some pelicans around too) walked with their flippers back along the smoother top of the rock, so we never got as close to them. 

Sea lions were on every ledge, seabirds were on every other surface. We rounded the corner of the decently small island and saw our second pair of penguin, with a third one waddling to catch up.

A baby sea lion wallowed with its momma. One sea lion bobbed their head up, but it slid away too quickly for me to follow it. Another was hauling itself up the cliff face, an inch at a time. No wonder they are exhausted once they get up there and just nap. 

When the sea got lower on the rocks, we could see sea urchins, mussels, and one red leggy starfish. Rounding the final corner of the island, we got to see boobies! (Don't remember what color their feet were, but nests of boobies spotted the face of the rock.)

Vultures cleaned a carcass that we passed by, and our guide waxed about the circle of life (and how they prevent diseases).

No one got hit by bird poop, though that was the major export of Peru in the mid-1800s - so much that there was the Pacific War about access to it. Guano makes great organic fertilizer. Peru has the best shit. 

A few more meanders between rocks and caves, and another silhouetted penguin, and we were headed back. Oma sat on the inside of me, and I faced her for conversation when she says she saw a tail in the air. Sorry Oma, no more eye contact, I'm scanning the ocean. 

We saw a trio of dorsal fins - success! My Pacific Peruvian dolphins! We zoomed by them, though, so no playing in the wake. 

Our boat slowed to a stop not long after. Was it the dolphins? No, the captain went back and did something with the motor, and the idling went back to a roar. This sequence of events only happened one more time before we arrived at the dock. 

At the hostel, we ate our seafood rice and beef leftovers from the night before, as well as picking up some little and big bananas on the street. We tried the little ones, and they weren't as sweet as I remembered, but they were still a good final bite before our bus. 

We checked out, met Lelvin at the hotel two blocks away, and piled in for an included bus tour around the Paracas Nature Reserve. 

While it might have been fun to see the Peruvian flamingos a little closer, we saw plenty of the rest of the isthmus. After driving through desert, more desert that is a reddish color is only fun for a bit. My favorite stop was the red "sand" beach where the rocks with iron oxide had formed tiny pebbles. 

Back to Paracas, we picked up the rest of the Peru Hoppers and headed to Huacachina. I just said I was tired of desert, right? Huacachina is a lake in the middle of sand dunes. That's totally different. 

 The bus trip wasn't quite long enough for a nap, since Oma tried to figure out what every of the not many fields was growing. Something like sacks of potatoes were in the middle of rows of the dusty soil, trees that might have been grapes for pisco were around, and some really irrigated fields had wheat and corn. We ate Oma's pretzels from a Southwest flight some time ago as well as her peanuts that she got a few days ago. 

The bus drove up the one street that is two blocks long in Huacachina, dropped us off, and we dragged our bags back the two blocks to our hotel. It was pretty bare, but had a private bathroom - high class, really. 

On our walk back to meet for our dune buggy and sandboarding tour, we had about half an hour to find something to eat. I was sure we'd find some place with fried munchies on the street, but there was nothing. We capitulated and sat at an extremely touristy spot overlooking the lake. 

The lake was natural, but has been drained by irrigation lately so artificially filled to keep the tourism going. Lots of families were out on paddle boats or kayaks, and we people-watched while I tried to order potatoes with a "huancaina" (spicy Peruvian) sauce. They were out. Ok, fine just an avocado sandwich. Time was ticking, and we watched a street dog lap up some spilled cola. 

Ten minutes later, the server said no avocado. We got up and left. I found a brownie at a cafe/bar a few doors down, and Oma got some caramel peanuts at the bar of the hotel we met at. 

The dune buggies were parked all over when we arrived, and now they roared to life as it was cooling off to go up to the dunes. Ours sat 18 people in four rows, plus the driver. 

I really believe this could be a thrilling, A+ experience. I sadly had a B+ time. A few factors: firstly, the radiator on our buggy was leaking and sending water droplets into our faces in the second row. Secondly, the ratio of sandboarding to dunebuggying was heavy on the boarding, low on the buggy thrills. Additionally, my sandboard was extremely slow, so I got no speed on the hills. Lastly, the 

But the entire experience was great. We sped down a hill, then bumped up another, then got some pictures of the dunes, then sped down another hill. We stopped at the top of a sharp drop, and he piled us out and gave us sandboards. The technique for sandboards, at least, if you aren't an excellent snowboarder, is to use it like a sled on your stomach, with your feet to steer and brake as needed. Also, mouth closed is key. 

It was like standing at the edge of a black diamond run. It looks really steep, but once you're over the edge, it is just a mountain slope again. 

Oma and I and two others helped coach a cautious girl down the hill, then I hopped down after her. Oma wasn't going to do it, but I look back after getting half up the next hill, and what do I see at the bottom but a turquoise shirt standing up and brushing herself off! I missed her first run!

We hauled the boards to the top of the next hill, and I coasted down that one. The final hill was the smallest, and I got stuck halfway down. So I decided to try it standing up. I kept my balance (barely) but it stopped near the bottom again. Success! (Though again, standing on a board that is creeping down hill isn't very exciting.)

Our driver pulled up super far away, so we trudged the twenty yards to get to him. It was odd, because when we got to the next stop for sunset, he had no qualms about being within inches of people standing around to get his parking spot. 

The sun dropped fast, and then it was off to our final viewpoint over the lake with the street lights turning on. 

We got back and headed for the hotel to dump our shoes and change pants (for me at least - mine managed to split down the back at some point during the day!) We were meeting our PeruHop guide to learn about Nazca flights at 6:45, and I was hoping that the BBQ we signed up for started at 7. Instead, we signed up for the flights and shuttle, and the BBQ started at 8. 

Amos, a Minnesotan living in Germany, was the third person going on the flights in the morning. Viciously hungry, I was looking for anything to distract me until the BBQ. Turns out, Amos knows how to play cribbage as well, so the three of us let him win until 8pm. 

The BBQ included three different types of drinks for the first hour - pisco and lemon, vodka and orangina, or rum and coke. We got there and were led to the buffet, with pasta salad and a set of fixings that was kind of a salad (but included avocado, so I was happy). Next, it was half a small chicken and a burger - I did both, Oma did the chicken. We sat down and started eating, drinking, and laughing at the pair of couples seated across from us. They had met and were looking at switching from the hostel room with a shared bath to the hotel that was hosting the barbecue which had a private bath for them. One was also obsessed with Snapchat, and, once he got the wifi password and discovered how fast the wifi was, he was sold. 

The drinks were heavy on top, light on bottom, so it was hard to tell what we were drinking. After the hour was up, we went into the bar and our PeruHop guide helped us order a shot of pisco. I learned it is 42 percent alcohol. 

There was music, so Oma found a few gents to swing her around the floor for half a song each before the party decided to migrate to the next bar. We wandered along with them, got another drink, but stayed out by the lake where the music was softer. The group of probably ten had all gone inside when Oma and I decided that 11pm was late enough for our 7am start in the morning, and we ghosted. It was also good, because we were running low on soles and there was an airport tax we needed to pay, so no more 15 soles ($5) drinks!

DC to Paracas - Friday, Oct. 13 - Saturday, Oct. 14

Our trip started after an evening of euchre (which Matt and I beat Oma and Mark twice before they got a game in). I had to stay up a bit later than everyone else so I could get my packing done, but what else is new. Though, since that was the third night in a row, I was excited to sleep on the planes.

Mark drove us to the airport a full THREE hours before our flight - plenty of time in case Oma's 4oz shampoo bottle had to be downsized or a myriad of other circumstances. First flight to Fort Lauderdale involved a shrieking 18 month old, but other than that, not terrible. 

We had a six hour layover, so posted up at Chili's, eating an app and half a salad, then we played cards. I found an app to score cribbage, and Oma creamed me. 

Our flight loaded fine - both flights, loading started from the back so we had no issues with our bags since we were seat 20, which was the cutoff for the first group. It was about half an hour of sitting on the tarmac before we got a slightly cryptic announcement. They were concerned about weather in Lima and the airplane's weight, so  they either could have ditched half the passengers, or, what they opted for, make a stop in Jamaica to get more gas about 90 minutes into the 6-hour flight. Looking at the weather, Lima looked clear for the next day, so it didn't totally make sense. I got a text shortly after this announcement saying that the flight we were sitting on was going to be 90 minutes delayed taking off. Were they just rectifying the fact we were going to be delayed landing? Or were we going to sit for another hour?

A flight attendant walked by, and Oma, never shy, waved her down to ask. She added that Lima wasn't going to be able to provide the fuel for the plane to get back to the States after it landed, so my hypothesis is that they needed a decent amount of reserves once they landed so they could top off and get back to Florida once we landed in Lima.

Regardless, flight took off, and Oma and I found some Drew Barrymore-Adam Sandler comedy that ended up in Africa. (Looking it up, it's called "Blended.") The TV cut out before we finished, but we got the gist. 

Jamaica was maybe half an hour, then back in the air. I was ready for my second round of naps, so Oma took my cookie packet and my hot towel (and apparently asked a guy across the aisle to help her open her chips) while I was passing the time a different way. 

At 1:30, we landed. That was three hours delayed from our original landing time (and was 2:30am in DC). We walked in a daze through immigration, unsure if we had to fill out a form or not, make it past customs to find a bathroom, didn't find bottled water at duty free, did find an ATM, then wandered past some taxi desks to the collection area.

I know you aren't supposed to use a stranger asking you if you need a taxi for a ride, but it got a lot less sketchy after that. He took us back to a desk, where we paid $20 (seemed like a standard, though expensive, amount) then had perfect English and was willing to walk with us to the immigration office. I had gotten an email saying that we needed to show an Andean immigration card to receive the foreigner (cheaper because not taxed) price for a hostel we were staying at. The officer told our driver that I could download something and be fine, or our passports with entry stamps could work. Great. Time to go. 

The trip was 25 minutes, no traffic until we hit the block we were staying on. I knew Miraflores was the place to stay, but I didn't realize I had booked a place across the street from a building full of bars. Cabs were everywhere, trying to get business, and so we were dropped off in the middle of a one-block traffic jam. 

The hotel, the most expensive of our trip (except for the one with private hot springs), was great. Noise trickled up, including bass, but the breakfast in the morning started at 6:30, giving us ten minutes to eat before catching our bus. Price per hour of our four-hour night of sleep? $25. (Yeah, Peru is going to be cheap.)

Fruit, pastries, and coffee for Oma in the morning, and we walked the block to a hostel were the bus was going to pick us up. A representative had us walk the two blocks to a major road, where the bus swung by ten minutes later. We were off!

The first stop was not twenty minutes later at Churillo, a beachside where Lelvin, our guide, gave a brief spiel on why Peru and a historical overview. I filled in the details a little later with Oma on the bus. Indigenous society for twenty thousand years, Incas becoming the ruling class of a empire, the emperor got sick and died, Incan civil war weakened them, and the backstabbing Pizarro did the Incas in. Peru has had a decade or two here or there of stability, but the wealth from guano in the 1800s didn't set them up for success in the Pacific War that Chile fought against them in 1890. Their stability has been up and down since their independence in mid-1800, but they are in a current bout of democracy that has lasted 17 years.

The bus continued on, with half of the seats taken by pairs of travelers and the other half with single travelers, but every row of seats filled. We stopped next for a bathroom and food break at a large outdoor cafe, with four clay ovens baking the bread they are known for. After a decent wait for the bathroom, we then waited to order and get our receipt, which we handed back to get our breads at the next station and Oma's coffee at the final one. It was hot, but also very full with no lid, so we walked back to the bus a few steps at a time, stopping for sips. 

The countryside was dust, with the sides of the slopes showing the layers of rock composition covered in the same washed out brown and grey dust. We could see footprints and tire tracks that were who knows how old, and modern "geoglyph" graffiti writing names and phrases on the sides of hill in rocks and footprints. Tomorrow we will hear about why there is a desert right next to an ocean, because it doesn't make any sense to us right now. The giant grey sheet of the Pacific on one side, and the brownish grey hills on the other. The fog and low air clarity didn't help their case. 

Our guide did some paperwork, figured out who was going on what tours tomorrow and staying in what places, then let us relax as we drove south. Both Oma and I nodded off as the desert became a little more irrigated, so very precise fields broke up the bland landscape. Oma enjoys architecture (which is why we went to the Building Museum in DC on Thursday, which she loved). I'm a little surprised that the small towns don't have churches, but I'm not surprised that everything is made of cement blocks. Most square buildings have rebar sticking out from the top of them. Oma said in Costa Rica, it was so that the owners could add their second floor when they got the money. She also said that because it is so lush there, the buildings don't matter. It is practical, but it is not my aesthetic. 

The land here is so harsh, it just feels more ugly. Paracas was a city full of cement buildings, though many painted in an effort to attract the tourists. Lelvin pointed out our hostel as we drove to the meeting point, and we got our stuff out of the bottom of the bus. While we got in early enough to do a tour of the Paracas National Reserve, we choose instead to have a bit of a lie down. 

I blogged, Oma closed her eyes, and we both showered in the shared bathroom (avoiding any bathroom rush hour, though this hostel was small and not very full, so we never had to wait.) It hit cocktail hour as we emerged and started to explore. 

About a block from our hostel was the beach, and looking up and down that long block was the entirety of Paracas. We found the recommended restaurant (by turning slightly left and looking up) then walked the beach. The weather was temperate - that temperature when only kids go into the water. Mostly the beach was families sitting, some picnicking, some with umbrellas, and many with shoes on just like us. The street dogs and dogs with owners were romping around as well. 

We found our first pelicans. Oma is having understandable trouble with the Spanish places we're going (Huacachina is just "the oasis town") and what we're eating (ceviche is "that fish with lime") and what we're drinking (pisco is "pesko"). However, she's got some English words that get stuck in her head just as badly - the first ten pelicans we found were "penguins." I'm translating from "Oma" to English to very limited Spanish. 

We picked a bar along the waterfront that had 2 for 1 happy hour, so we had our first pisco spurs. Oma was scared the whole time that he'd come back with another two, thinking we both had to have a second for the deal to count. 

We had some peanuts and pretzels on the bus, but no food for a while meant that the drink hit Oma hard. I wanted to make sure we saw sunset over the peninsula of the reserve, so we climbed up the four flights of stairs to the recommended restaurant and looked out. The sun was going to set just barely behind a building, but we could at least keep track of it until it was 6. 

Dinner was fine - the appetizers of ceviche and these fried, stuffed roll-ups were good and light. I got a seafood rice that was super good; every bite had a tentacle or a shrimp. Oma's beef was chewy and disappointing, but the onions and the gravy that leaked into the rice were good. We packed up the rest to eat in the morning (pending how delicious it looked), then raced the sun to the beach. Near the equator, the sun drops quick! I got a few pictures with some kids silhouetted playing soccer, but without any clouds it was nice light but no brilliant colors. 

We walked along the dock area on the other side of the beach to check out the ships and a pelican that was hanging out on a bench. I got closer and a man popped up with a fish to give it. We scurried away to make sure he didn't think we wanted to pay for an experience. 

On the way back, I found a shoulder bag I liked, though it had this feeling that rubbed onto your fingers after touching it. I took the chance, guessing it was just the salty sea air, and bought it. 

Back at the hostel, I rinsed off the bag, and Oma and I wiled away our time with some king's corner before deciding that 9:30 was a completely appropriate bedtime, even with a nap, after only having four hours of sleep the night before. 

The Engagement Story - Edinburgh to Carcassone, Sept 4-5, 2017

We got downstairs with our bags at 7am, waiting for an Uber outside Mary's apartment in Edinburgh. Mark then told me that we were getting on a flight - not to where, just told me so that I wouldn't tell the Uber driver to take us to rental cars. 

We drove into the airport, and we got dropped off. At British Airways, Mark turned in toward the counter. We had to check our bags, so when the desk person said "Toulouse", the gig was up. Or it would have been if I knew where Toulouse was. My first guess of Spain was incorrect - we were headed to France!

Edinburgh had a choice of two executive lounges where we could use our cards, so we stopped in at the first. All of a sudden our 10am flight jumped to 2 hours delayed - and we were just going to London Heathrow! Apparently the aircraft coming from Heathrow had a fault, so they had to switch the aircraft, as well as all the passengers and catering. What that meant to us was that we had 10 minutes before our flight to Toulouse took off when we landed - and when the delay hit 2:45, we weren't going to make it at all. 

We spent a good half hour figuring out if there were other ways to get to Toulouse after the gate agent told us we couldn't get on another Heathrow flight, and that the flight we could get on when we got to Heathrow was an 8pm that landed at 11:30pm. At one point Mark told me we had a seven hour drive to our hotel; thankfully I had just misheard him and it was only an hour. 

We had switched executive lounges at this point, and we ordered lovely salads for lunch. Neither of us were feeling up for the free beverages after being a bit hungover the day before. 

It was settled then - we got the delayed flight to Heathrow, were near the front of the queue to get rebooked, had them call the rental car company to make sure they stayed open, and got tickets for Toulouse at 8pm. We also got 10£ each in vouchers. As they were finishing up, I asked if I could put my frequent flyer number on the ticket, and he told me to find a different counter upstairs. 

Upstairs was also where the lounges were, so up we went and stopped by the counter. I asked if we got any compensation for the long delay, and she printed out two more 10£ vouchers. Both Mark and I almost said something about already having some - but by keeping our mouths shut, we were able to have a fine dinner with a drink each at the pub grub place before boarding the flight. (I skipped over the hours of waiting in the lounge. It really made the whole experience bearable.)

At the Edinburgh airport, Mark revealed the full itinerary, so I knew we were headed to Carcassonne. All I knew about it was there was a medieval game named after it. I didn't know that it was a top tourist site in France - and that it was marvelous. 

Getting to Carcassonne wasn't hard, but our hotel was in the castle. Literally within the castle walls, which meant that cars weren't able to get up to the door of the pedestrian-only walks. Getting to the meeting point for the hotel, we found a pair of snuggling French 20-somethings, but no one staffing the booth. We drove to the parking lot, and a code box thwarted our passage there. 

I pulled up Skype, Mark turned on his hotspot, and the concierge picked up our call and agreed to meet us at the meeting spot. After getting free private parking (he was clearly not excited about us going to public parking and him having to wait), we barreled through the tiny streets in the hotel's tiny van to the courtyard in front of the stone building. Even in the dark we could tell it was captivating. 

The giant kingsized bed (and the "pillow menu", which we ignored) was waiting for us. We set an early alarm to be awake for breakfast, so then we could do some roaming before checkout time. I didn't change my cell phone clock the hour forward before going to bed, since we used Mark's alarm. 

Quite a few snoozed alarms later, I got in the shower with bottles of yummy smelling stuff I found on the counter. After skipping around the room in a robe and taking another wander out on the balcony that overlooked parts of the historic castle (no tourists out yet), I joined Mark and headed down for breakfast. It was tables of fresh, sweet, hot, or otherwise delectable goods - the fruits I added to fresh goat cheese yogurt for my favorite dish; Mark piled up the meats and cheeses for an open-faced sandwich. Both of us seriously considered seconds on the salmon before instead deciding to have a macaron (not macaroon - that's something different, I learned the other week) for our breakfast dessert. I was slightly perturbed that he had to be prompted to wish me a happy birthday, but the gorgeous setting he had brought me to alleviated most of the poutiness.

Mark asked me the time when we got back upstairs and I said it was 10:00am - plenty of time for a game of Carcassonne at Carcassonne! He asked me to arrange the chairs outside so we could both see the game. He brought the bag with the pieces outside, and I went to get a towel to lay down since the slats on the table were too gappy to lay down the pieces. He helped me unfold it, then just stopped helping. Odd, but I moved the bag more toward me on the table, and I saw a glimpse of a black box that I could only assume was a ring. I reached in and got that and the card out. 

I opened the card - I've always loved how Mark writes cards, with so much love and sincerity. I read through his few paragraphs, which included the fact that the extra pages were pictures of his maternal grandmother and grandfather and his mother's writing about their love story. 

You see, it was his mom's mom's ring that he had gotten resized and checked by a jeweler. Seventy years later, he had been offered it by his mother as we were talking about rings (because yes, we had done our talking about rings when he was in Colombia and I had gotten pictures of the ring to make sure I liked it). The box had a little light to make sure the first time I saw it in person, it sparkled. 

I answered the ring and the letter with a kiss, then put on the perfectly sized ring. After sharing more smiles and kisses, he said, "So this means yes then?" I told him I hadn't heard him ask a question - the formalities of "will you" and "yes" were exchanged and we sat on the balcony, dumb with happiness. 

When I asked if we still had time to play the game, we checked our phones - and instead of the 10am I thought it was, it was actually 11, and now, 11:45 and just fifteen minutes until check out!

We threw everything into bags, I stared at my hand all the way back to the car, shuttled by the concierge, and we headed off to hike a quartet of castle ruins in Lastours. 

Sweaty and satisfied, we headed to our hotel across the river from the Carcassonne castle (but still in Carcassonne). Our room was two floors up and gave a gorgeous castle view across the river and the pedestrian bridge. We had a bit to enjoy the view from our terrace (just big enough for a table and two chairs) before getting dolled up for dinner. Since we were in so late the night before, we had missed the dinner that was included in our hotel package.

We were ready early, and I wanted to finally experience the walled city we had stayed in the night before, so we walked up the winding cobblestone walk, up and around to the gates on the side of the city away from the river. We found the single main street running through the five blocks of pedestrian-only (and tourist-only) shops. After peeking into the church across from the Hotel de la Cite, we stopped to look at the restored section of the city, where "Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves" had been filmed. With another hour before our reservation, we started at the lounge inside the hotel with exquisitely crafted cocktails. 

This dinner was extra special - Mark told me that it was meant to be the precursor to a champagne toast on a balcony the night before, before our travel was delayed by 8 hours. I am so much happier that it happened after our engagement. Mark wasn't nervous and could enjoy the three courses as much as I did. He also said that the hotel asked if he wanted a knight to present the ring. Since we were in a castle, I guess they have a knight on retainer. He had (thankfully) decided against that. If I ever wanted a knight in my life, I could get him to dress up in his Medieval Times attire from college.

We wrapped up the dinner and went to pick up the bill at the front desk, since the meal was included in the room package. Unbeknownst to Mark, the champagne he had ordered for the night before was still being held for him and included on the bill. Our to-go containers were a bag holding the bottle of French champagne and a bag holding two sturdy plastic wine goblets.

We wound down the front of the walled city, casting shadows from the spotlights illuminating the walls for those across the river to enjoy. We padded over the pedestrian bridge that led straight to our new hotel, and popped that champagne in our sweats while finally playing Carcassone on our balcony overlooking the splendid medieval city. Best birthday ever.