Glen Canyon Float Trip - Aug. 28

We had calculated it at least three times the night before, but we had to make sure we could actually leave at 9am and get to the Glen Canyon Raft Trip along the Colorado at 9:15 after a 75-minute drive - but yes, that’s how we did it. 

I booked the lodge because it said it had breakfast. Well, it had packaged croissants and coffee. So we left for Wilderness Adventures. 

Now that it was light outside, it was amazing to drive around. We pulled off a few times for photos, including down a dirt road where a dog barked its head off at us. We didn’t stay long there. 

Once we got to the address, we drove all around the building before we found the front for checkin. I used my National Parks Pass (whoo!) and we got the run down. It’ll be hot, but the water is freezing, so don’t expect to swim. There will be beaches for swimming, but your stuff will stay dry. 

We had plenty of time before the meeting time, so we headed to the gas station for snacks. Alisa also had her bag of vegetables from her farmshare that she made into snack bags of green beans, peppers, and tomatoes.

They couldn’t find record of me requesting a veggie lunch for Alisa, but, after we went through security (because the dam needs similar security to an airport - who knew) and got on the bus, they found one to switch hers out with. 

The bus took all the passengers for the day’s activities at one time, so we didn’t know yet who was on our boat. To get down to the boat landing, the bus took a road through the cliff along the side of the downriver part of the dam - it was actually used for transportation when the dam was being built as well. The bus driver said it would take us five minutes; it took us nearly exactly five minutes in the darkness. Every fifteen seconds, a light would flash - these were the holes leading sideways out from the tunnel into the canyon. We slowed down at one halfway down to see... not much. Kinda the other wall of the canyon. 

Once we got down below the dam and the suspension bridge that crosses it, we were given hard hats for the 100 yards down to the boat. Essentially, if anything came flying off the bridge, they wanted our heads protected. 

We all made it to the boats with no concussions, and Alisa and I were sent to the boat with just six others, and our 27-year-old captain, Andrew. The other passengers were all traveling together from Missouri - we got to know each other by the end of the day. 

Given that these boats can fit over twenty people, it was luxurious how much we could spread out. It was our own tanning bed while seeing the views.

First, we got a brief history of the dam. It was started in 1956. Blah blah. The interesting part to me was that there was important equipment at the bottom of the dam that they didn’t want a rock slide to crush, so they drive bolts into the side of the canyon flanking the dam to ensure nothing falls. Those that do that job swing around on rappel lines!

Being down in the canyon seriously warped our sense of perspective. At one point, Andrew pointed out a chunk in the rock above us that was football fields tall! Crazy. 

The wildlife in the canyon was fun to spot. Not fifteen minutes into the tour, I spotted a roadrunner! It was odd but not unheard of down in the canyon. 

The more typical fauna were ducks. Merganser ducks specifically had very pronounced stripes on their head. A few heron flew through and stalked their fish. Rainbow trout was the majority, and we could see them, the water was so clear. Another type of fish, though, is not loving the river since it’s been dammed. Primarily, the temperature of the river. Since the water comes from the bottom of the lake, it is a brisk 47 degrees - not ideal for this fish. 

Also changing the habitat were invasive trees that held the river banks together and also sucked up tons and tons of water. The Fish and Wildlife Service introduced a beetle to help quell their numbers - but I’m just thinking now that beetle is going to have ripple effects. 

Andrew told us the story of Powell, the first white explorer of the canyon. He went down it twice - and he was missing an arm! (We found out later it was only a hand, but still.)

We pulled over to the side of the canyon for a water break - water that was clean enough for drinking had been filtered through the layers of the canyon and was coming out in a natural spout for all of us to try. 

Afterwards, we pulled over to a beach. After staring at our boxes from Subway for two hours, we were all ready to dig in. Post-subs, Andrew took us up to petroglyphs from natives found in the canyon. They had stick figures of important people, and the mountain sheep they had hunted. The Park Service built a wall to keep visitors back from the edge of the canyon, which changed the wind pattern, removing another few inches of dust and sand and exposing more sheep. They aren’t going to do a dig on this site because the drawings are more protected if they are still buried. 

One of the reasons is because they can’t get defaced. He showed us where “Trent” had written his name over the thousand-year-old masterpiece. Trent had been kayaking alone down the river, and one of the guides had seen the tag after he came through. They radioed it in, and officers asked for a Trent at the takeout point. Thinking he must have won something for solo kayaking, he quickly volunteered himself - for a $10,000 fine and hundreds of hours of community service. Some German teens had also defaced it, and they had to answer for their crime or else never be allowed in the US again. They took these crimes seriously - thankfully!

Only one of our boat opted in for a dip at that beach. 

After lunch, we continued down the canyon. Andrew showed us where a sluice (channel) had been carved out from the rock for panning for gold. 

We came upon a pinnacle, and our entire group of adults agreed it looked like a middle finger. Andrew is supposed to ignore that pinnacle with school groups. 

The second beach was just across from a high wall which made an impressive echo. It was here that I decided to take the plunge, and I hopped in for a single, brief, breath-taking shoulders-under second. It was refreshing once I wasn’t in the water anymore, but I had to wait to dry off to apply my fifth coat of sunscreen. The boat did not have a roof. 

Speaking of echoes, Andrew said that one of the ways they measured the distance of the canyon was by shooting a pistol near the end of our tour. That shot took 24 seconds to echo back. 

We rounded Horseshoe Bend (which, based on Instagram, looks better from the top of the canyon, but we didn’t make it to that lookout).

Side canyons would cause rubble in the main channel when they flooded or had rock slides, and that was what caused rapids. We had a “Class .5” as Andrew put it as our only occurrence of that. 

As we rounded the last bend, the walls of the canyon sloped down to land on either side. To our left was a small group of wild horses - more fun critters!

To our right, after we peered down into the water, was a boiler from a sunken ship. That was our last attraction before getting to the dock at Lee’s Ferry and looking for our bus. 

Alisa and I took a bathroom break that also got us out of the scorching sun, and, when we got out, they had discovered that our bus was now a shuttle, and we were ready for the 30-40 minute trip back. 

I definitely feel asleep on that one. 

It was time, now, to drive to the Grand Canyon! Our snacks would last us through the three hours to the entrance station. 

It was twenty minutes before sunset when we arrived at the east entrance gate. The ranger wisely guided us to the Tower for a sunset view. We grabbed our sweaters (first time we’d needed them) and joined the crowds sitting along the outcropping to the canyon to watch the colors change within and above the canyon. 

Great, a sunset, but now we were hungry. Grand Canyon Village was another 45 minutes into the park, and we stopped at the Tavern, the first restaurant we saw in there. It was cafeteria-style, and we found enough food to satisfy. 

With that, we found the parking lot closest to our hotel, El Tovar, and after spending a few minutes trying to determine if an end cap was a spot, someone came to move their car and we grabbed theirs. 

The hotel was majestic at night - a wide front porch with a parked roof just visible. We hauled our bags up the six steps to the lobby, which had giant wooden beams and animal heads. A rustic look, with leather chairs and old carpets with large, beige and brown patterns.

Our room was on the third floor, and we definitely had the bellhop lug our luggage up (and tipped him too - prepping for Vegas meant I actually had cash!) The pro - the bathroom was up-to-date. The con - it was one double bed.

Good thing we were (mostly) too tired to care.

DC -> Vegas -> Arizona - Aug. 27

I didn’t make this vacation easy on myself. Besides starting to lead a team not two weeks before leaving, I also was finishing up career reviews for my advisees at work. And those reviews had to be delivered Monday - the day that I left.

So I cleared my calendar and had one breakfast and two lunch meetings - plenty of food to start the trip off with. Afterwards, I went home and met Alisa for the drive to airport. Except that I had forgotten a key for my coworker and dogsitter Alex to pick up Ellie, so we had to swing by work one more time. 

The airport parking shuttle took about ten minutes to swing by to pick us up - during which we attempted to stay in the shade, but the humidity and heat index still caused us to sweat. 

Because we were flying super basic economy, but also because I had a United card, we couldn’t carry on a large bag, but we could check one. Done. 

We found the Turkish Airlines lounge as the only open lounge at Dulles, and we ate cheese and drank wine while we waited. 

The plane was delayed leaving and arriving in Vegas, so we tried to optimize once we got to the airport by sending Alisa after the bags and me after the rental car. Cars in Vegas are expensive, so I went with Fox Rentals. When I searched for it in Google Maps, it only had 1.5 stars. 

The two shuttles to get there lined up ok, just each took another ten minutes to get farther from the airport. Once I made it to the front of the not long but very slow line, the customer service rep spent another ten minutes bouncing between two computers to get the agreement for the car. 

I was given a choice of three on the lot, and I chose the one that had a USB outlet that I could see. It also had a lot of stains on the seats...

I picked up Alisa and the luggage. I was hoping we could get a little further down the road before food, but the delays (and the lack of any substantial towns along our route) meant we stopped at Tacos and Beer and got nachos. I tried jackfruit for the first time - awesome but weird but awesome. Just like pulled meat. 

And with that, we were on the road. We chatted for the first hour, then the dreariness set in. The second hour was a lot of twitching to stay awake and singing along to whatever we had downloaded (because internet wasn’t easy to come by). The three hour drive put us along the Arizona/Utah border, so we jumped in and out a few times before settling in to Utah - which has time an hour different than Arizona where our canyon adventure tomorrow was. 

We pulled up to Aiken’s Lodge at 2am (which was at least 4am DC time), and fell out of the car into our room. The AC in the back was so loud, I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I turned on ours for an additional cacophony of white noise and promptly passed out. 

Portugal - March 14-20, 2018

After landing in  Lisbon, we waited what felt like a long time for our bags, then took a car to our hotel. The streets were tiny and, despite being a Wednesday, there were certainly people out.

Thursday (the 15th), I did a morning walk to the nearby convent Carmo - now a museum on a giant hill, but a great view over the city (that didn't face the sea). Mark got back early, so we walked down to the main square by the sea. We had to compare Portuguese wine with Italian wine, so we stopped by a wine tasting bar on the square. After adding Euros to a card, we slotted it in above different types of wine to try them. Mark got his first taste of port in Portugal! We did Rick Steve's walking tour around the area - saw different churches and learned about the central planning of Lisbon, before avoiding the line and taking the tall stairs back up to our hotel's village. We had some light food at the old beer hall Alisa and I went to - great mosaics on the wall. As we poked around. we found a little market at the top of streetcar street that had a good view, but was mostly closed.

For dinner, to try a neighborhood I hadn't been to, we walked away from the old city along Avenida Liberdade - much more north than Alisa and I had ventured - to find a recommended (guess what) seafood restaurant. But it was homey and delicious too! Plaid table clothes, giant wooden blocks of fish, and affordable wine - a great example of Europe.

Friday, with Mark partially off work, we took the opportunity to go visit the cute small neighboring town of Belem. My favorite part of Belem, as we had already tried, were the pastels de Belem - the egg custards I'd already had nearly every day. But there was more to Belem than the patisserie. Our cab driver recommended that we check out Cascais, but he couldn't recommend a place for lunch, so we started with lunch in a no-frills restaurant's covered porch. The french fries were surprising - I can no longer remember if they were surprisingly good or bad, but we added wine, because that's the right call regardless.

Once we attempted to get into the site-seeing part, we were met with an odd rain cloud. It was ominous as we watched giant waves hitting the old lighthouse - which was really more like a tower at the edge of the ocean. The line was pretty long, and the wooden walkway to the tower island, while short, was getting hit with some of the high waves. We watched a few distracted tourists get their feet soaked, and decided it wasn't the line for us.

As we headed along to the Monument to Discovery, the raincloud burst. We dodged some of the worst of it by popping into a waterside cafeteria, thinking we could get gelato... but, instead, we found a steamy crowd and decided to stick with the now-calmer rain to book it toward the monument.

We made it to the entrance for the Monument to Discovery - Henry the Navigator's multi-story statue and museum. The museum part was about creepy medical discoveries and experiments - maybe brought on by the fact that the Portuguese were sailing around? Anyway, by the time we were done with that, the sun came out and we could emerge on the top to see the April 24th Bridge (looks like the Golden Gate) and the channel out to the Atlantic.

We took a look at the Jeronimos Monastery. The cloister had gorgeous architecture underneath a now blue sky with white puffy clouds. We saw the kitchen, the dining hall, and so forth, but really, the inner courtyard, with its gargoyles, was the best part.

As we were leaving, we exited through the gift shop. Taking a peek around, Mark found a Portuguese board game - Caravelas. Not wanting to get weighed down too early, we passed... for the moment.

Next was the naval and archaeology museum next door. All the ships for Mark to wallow in. With a long hall of history, a long hall of miniatures, and an airport hanger full of restored ships, we saw plenty in a short amount of time. That gift shop was also very nice, but only had the second of the Caravelas games. We stopped back by the Monastery gift shop to pick up Mark's souvenir.

Finally, finally, it was time for hot chocolate and pastels de nata, at Pateis de Belem. We got lucky again - the line was long but not unreasonable, but when the rain appeared again, we were happy to already be in line. One Uber ride, dodging the rain to jump in, and we were back to our hotel.

Since fado is uniquely Portuguese, we signed up for a (slightly expensive) meal with singing. The operatic but mournful, almost yodeling quality alternated between a few singers while we savored a bottle of wine and a few courses. Near the end, we got to chatting with our neighbors - from Germany, but the daughter studying abroad in Lisbon. We cheers-ed, then walked along the cobblestones back to our hotel on the square.

Saturday, March 17th, was St. Patrick's Day. I looked up festivities, but the options in English were pretty limited. We walked downhill to Time Out Market - a great hall with a market, but the main focus was a food hall. Some of the famous restaurateurs in Lisbon opened outposts here. We got our food, wandered among tables for seats, people-watched, but we were generally much more mellow than the crowded vibe of the place.

We peeked into one of the two Irish bars right by the food hall. The first was one long room, pretty packed to the gills, so we continued to the multi-story (but no less crowded, just more navigable). With no good place to stand, we decided to head back to our neighborhood.

A few streets down from our hotel was another bar - showing some Irish rugby and much less crowded than near sea level.

It was a rainy night, so after some wandering, ended up back at our second hotel, and played some Caravalas. I lost horribly (also, as in, I was a horrible loser). We tried out a trendy new restaurant. Mark loved his mixed drink, the food was exquisite, and it might have made up for me being dramatic earlier.

First up on Sunday was to see the old city on the hill, specifically, Castelo de San Jorge. We hiked up through the windy streets, narrow and cobblestoned. We peeked into a cathedral on the way up - partially to catch our breath, partially because it was free art and architecture.

The castle was as great as I remembered. Extensive grounds, peacocks and cats, a great view over the city and channel, then stone walls to climb up to and play on! Stairs everywhere! Trading turret pictures with Mark while dodging puddles!

On the recommendation of our taxi driver to Belem, we decided to take a train out to Cascais. It is much easier to be spontaneous when someone (Mark) has a phone with internet.

The small town itself had a great little beach vibe crossed with classic European "old" - cobblestone streets and old shopfronts selling beach towels and t-shirts.

We started by checking out the local public beach. There were a few kids chasing waves, but mostly, everyone had their light coats on like us.

Walking along the ocean, we rounded a cape that contained an art museum... but also maybe a hotel? Seemed like a logical place for a bathroom, so we admired the sculptures and the perfumed hand towelettes. And the castle-like structure. Love me some good solid stone wall. Especially with a marina full of expensive boats just outside.

We continued along the ocean. A few more sculptures popped up before we crossed an adorable rock bridge. About a mile along the beautifully paved cycling and pedestrian path was "Boca do Inferno" - a rock structure that kind of functioned like a large "blowhole." When a large enough wave rolled it, it spit mist along its length. Much of the area near the hole down to the water was cordoned off. Rightfully, it looked like it could succumb to erosion at any time. We got our few pictures, pondered upon an ice cream, then headed back along the water to the town.

We scrambled out along the jagged (volcanic?) rocks as we made our way back. Mostly along set paths, but also, needed to get that picture, so crawled out along a boulder to get a view with the coastline.

On the cute bridge on the way back, I pondered a cat for a while as we soaked in the ambiance. We ended our beach adventure with a great little wine bar. Our waiter got Mark excited about quite a few ports, including introducing him to "vintage" ports - where a year was good enough to get its own bottling.

Since every day seemed like rain, we put off Sintra until Monday, our final full day. We started in the central square, at the National Palace. We walked past a variety of statues as we walked the path from the train station into town, hoping the rain didn't get any heavier than the mist it was. When we got to the National Palace, it was just ominous enough that we stopped inside.

The large rooms were mostly decorating in the 15th and 16th centuries, and we saw swans, porcelain and silver sets, and the inside of the kitchen. The kitchen narrows into these two tall, highly peaked domes for smoke to exit. A smattering of rain was getting in as well!

We were both early for lunch and on an off-day for tourism, so our first two attempts for lunch were thwarted. We ended up at the large restaurant just across from the Palace - getting tea in a proper teapot to help ward off the cold.

My favorite parts of Sintra were still ahead, and the clouds were starting to burn off. We ended up talking an Uber up to the top spot, the gardens at the bottom of Pena Palace.

What romance, and heightened greenery, with the mist still gently coating everything. A series of cascading ponds met us, with ferns and old trees encompassing them. I wonder if the swans were the same as when Alisa, Alex, and I saw them?

We roamed our way upward to the castle. I was so excited to get the first big glimpse of the outrageous Pena Palance, and to show it to Mark. It is a gaudy wonderland for the senses - and at such a scale!

We crossed the moat via the short but wide drawbridge, then ducked inside the first museum-like room to get some relief from the rain that kicked up again. After taking in the room and some of the history, we continued on despite the on-again-off-again rain. We wound through the royal quarters, including the very modern bathrooms (for the time - first flush toilets in Portugal!)

Outside the chapel, a path led to the far side of the castle. Peeking around the corner, we were buffeted by the intense wind - being the highest point on a hill makes a difference!

After poking around, we walked down to the Moorish castle ruins - a favorite of mine from last time. The walk from the entrance to the ruins felt especially long, but, after a time and a single cat sighting, we make it to the stone walls surrounding the fort on an outcropping. With the lack of rain finally in our favor, it was great to be able to roam around the walls. Granted, the swift wind was a bit unsettling as we climbed up stairs with low walls and looked out over the valley. Not a crisp blue sky, but we could at least see the National Palace far below.

Back to the town, back to the train, and back into Lisbon for our last night. We made sure to stop by a great port store to get Mark's vintage port from his birth year, but the rest of our holiday was over.

Tuesday, up early and out! The hotel helped book us a taxi back to the airport, and it was the same plane, different seats to get us back to the US. (A little easier than when I got re-routed to Milan!)

Cinque Terre and Genoa, Italy - March 10-14, 2018

Mark and I took off within an hour of each other in Dulles on Friday night. Saturday, landing in Frankfurt, I made it through passport control (though definitely didn't enjoy the giant line - that made me a bit nervous) and got on the plane just as Mark was landing in Paris.

I missed the first flight announcement, though the tail end sounded like "rerouting." The second announcement corresponded with our second approach and second failure at seeing the runway; we were rerouting indeed, to Milan, where a bus would meet us and take us back to Genoa.

So, instead of landing an hour before Mark in Genoa, I landed about the same time as Mark in Milan (while his flight made it into Genoa fine). I turned on my phone, deciding that this was as good a time as ever to pay the $10/day for international service, and started texting him with updates.

A airline rep held a sign for us through the airport to baggage claim, then I ran to the bathroom (thinking that I overheard someone say it was a two-hour ride) before coming back out and looking for Door 5. I caught up to the crowd, put my luggage underneath (Mark had nicely given me the smaller bag), and got ready for a ride through the countryside. I had misplaced my headphones, so it was just me and the rumbling of the bus (and thirty other passengers) that lulled me to sleep.

Before I nodded off, Mark sent a few texts asking if I knew if a "Stephanie Smith" had made it on the bus. Her husband was in the same situation as Mark: waiting for his partner after a rerouted flight. That poor soul had only gotten "We're in Milan" and "Shoot, the bus is leaving" messages, so I double-checked she had made it on the bus by confirming with the woman matching the description he gave that she was, indeed, Stephanie.

So, with an extra two hours of travel time tacked on, we didn't make it to Riomaggiore in the Cinque Terre until 5:45pm. Just enough time to change then think about dinner. We weren't going to be trying to see any of the other towns in the dark, so we took our hostesses recommendation and went down to the marina to have a friend of her husband's (who runs a restaurant) take care of us.

Even at 8pm, we saw the restaurant about half as full as when we left an hour or so later. Of the other three couples in there, two were speaking English - most of the tourists we encountered did. A glass of sparkling was on the house as we decided what to eat. We ended up with stuffed seabass and anchovy pasta, with a dessert of "hot chocolate pie" (which was really more like a mousse) with pear in it.

During dinner, we got to know the two women next to us. They had been hiking all day, since this was the only sunny day in the forecast, and we invited them out for a drink after dinner. We all roamed up the hill to a bar (recommended, but closed) before going to the only hangout spot open in the town, getting carafes of wine, judging the other noisy Americans, then becoming the noisy Americans with a pushup contest after a game of yelling words at a deck of cards.

We took a bottle of wine back to our room, said goodbye to the girls, then made it to sleep by 1am. This really helped our jetlag.

Or actually, what really helped our jetlag was sleeping in until 1pm the next day. Just in time for the rain to start. Despite that, Sunday was our own day in the Cinque Terre, so we headed to Manarola for lunch. The recommended restaurant was straight uphill, so up we climbed, with the rain in our face.

It was open, unlike the rest of the town, so we sat down at 2:30 (when the closed for the afternoon at 3) and ordered the mixed seafood starter and crab pasta for two. We were a little aggressive with how much food we thought we could eat. Especially when the starter consisted of twelve perfectly done little tastes of seafood or fish, cooked or raw, marinated or fried, and all so good. My favorites were the crab wrapped in a triangle of black ink something, the raw salmon with pomegranate, and the tuna with roe.

The crab pasta was huge, and we found most of the crab, but left most of the pasta. Of course, coming to Italy with a Maryland boy, we were going to be picking crabs.

The rain hadn't let up at all, so off we went, to explore the next town. I had read there was gelato, so I had my energy.

Corniglia (pronounced Cornelia) didn't have coastline as part of the town, which meant that it was either a twenty-minute climb... or a 2-euro, 4-minute bus ride. We hopped on (also to get out of the rain).

At the top, we started following two women that had a Rick Steves book (or the pages from it, at least - they followed his instructions and ripped out what they were going to use). They headed to the right, up a hill, and we all looked at then popped into a church.

Leaving the church, I tried to get my bearings from the picture of the Rick Steves page and the downloaded Google map that I had. We should've turned left at the bus stop, not followed them to the right, but we all made it on the right path to get to the overlook, where we could see the next few towns, as well as the stunning green cliffs on the ocean.

As we were walking back toward the bus, which the bus driver said headed back to the train station at 5:15, both Mark and I had that moment where our shoes and our coats were no longer rainproof. With 15 minutes until the bus left, we popped into a storefront that also might have been a hotel but was definitely a bar and got a tiny sipping glass of  sciacchetra, a sweet wine made in the hills around us

Mark was getting anxious getting back to the bus, even though it was only 5:07 and the stop was a block away, so we made it back to the square and got into the awaiting bus. Good thing too - the driver must have decided that he was as full as he was going to be, so he left minutes later. The two women that had been poking around with us didn't make it on.

Getting back to the train station, we decided we were too wet to continue, so we took the 5-minute trip back to Riomaggiore. Up the hill, into the room, and off with anything wet. (Later that night, I took the hair dryer to my shoes just to give them a chance to dry before morning.)

We weren't hungry, we weren't tired, we were just wet. So we just sat and warmed up, thinking about dinner, as the rain stopped and the sun went down. Thanks, rain. Now you stop.

As we were walking back, a few of the places that had been open on Saturday now said "closed due to inclement weather." A storm (with warning signs on the weather app) was supposed to come from midnight to 5am, so slightly before our early departure time. At 7:30 or so, we headed out in search of food.

We walked past all of the closed up shops, down to the marina to find the restaurant we had eaten in last night closed, then started wandering (rather, climbing up and down stairs) through the alleys of Riomaggiore. We got back to the main square, and Mark spotted a chalkboard sign with a candle underneath leading up to the only restaurant open in all of Riomaggiore.

We poked our heads in, were told ten minutes, then watched as a couple got up from one of the 10 full tables and left. Another couple was behind us by a few minutes, with a steady stream of people, about once every five minutes, looking to be fed. We were lucky to not have to wait very long.

The pesto testaroli (like a pancake, look it up) and the chickpea pancake with cheese and pruscitto was perfect after our super heavy lunch. Granted, we still got a dessert apiece (a yummier-than-usual tiramisu for Mark and a wine-soaked, baked pear with really good sweet curd sauce for me).

I was worried about the storm, but, as we headed back down the steps then up the block to our boarding house, there wasn't a drop of rain.

Thankfully, the storm never arrived, so we were up and out and on the regional train (taking 1:45 but no transfers) at 7:17am. In Genoa, we walked across the square at Piazza Principle to our hotel for the next two nights and was able to check in early. Mark was meeting his Italian counterpart at 11am, so we had time to go find a quick breakfast of croissants and foccacia.

I got back and started wandering the hotel for WIFI. After asking the front desk where the best WIFI was, they gave me a mobile booster for the room. Now, I could get to work.

Dinner on Monday was a snack at a bar along the wharf (a prosuitto and cheese sandwich) before heading back for a reception for the convient but not connected hydrographic meeting at the same hotel we were staying at. I met a few of Mark's coworkers who are in the working group meeting about standards, ate off of a platter of cured meat literally larger than a car tire, and had some pesto pasta with green beans (and some sparkling wine - what a cheery occasion).

The next day, Mark was off at 9am, so I got up, did a quick workout, then met him at 8:45 to head down to breakfast. Compared to the continental breakfasts of the US, this was amazing - cheeses, meats, an omelet bar, yogurts, fruits, granolas, juices (including a super delicious orange, carrot and lemon juice mix), bread, croissants, cakes... I realized I should've brought down my computer and worked from the restaurant for a while!

Instead, I went up to our room with the slipperiest floors ever, got on the WIFI, and started my work for the day.

At 4pm, the hydrographic conference was headed up to La Laterna - the lighthouse of Genoa. Turning 890 years old (though in a few different constructions), this lighthouse is the distinctive feature of Genoa. And the hydrographic conference was going to get to see the absolute top, not just the landing halfway up where the tourists visit. Nope, we got to climb all 360-odd steps to see the lens itself!

For dinner, we walked to a recommended seafood restaurant, after wandering along the updated wharf to check out their selection. (Also, because we were way too early for Italian dinner when we started.) The food was amazing - fish and octopus, and, walking back, we ran into a coworker that we gave the same tip to - definitely eat there!

On Wednesday, I had a bit of catch up from Tuesday for work, but our flight was early in the evening, so I didn’t have time to work a full day. When Mark got back at 11:30, it was good timing to go up to a castle!

I had quickly researched something that was close to us, and TripAdvisor had high ratings for a castle museum and an elevator that when vertically AND horizontally to get there. The point on the map for the elevator was pretty close to the castle itself, so we ended up climbing up and up and up to get to the entrance gate. A little park surrounded the stone turrets, and we paid the admission to learn about a captain and his adventures. While Genoa has a very old part of the city, this castle was built in the 1800s - not very old for Italy. 

The rooms had all sorts of knick-knacks, except that the notes and the beautiful display made it museum-like. An exhibit on a modern inventor-artist making a light source in Mali was followed by more permanent exhibits on all the locations he traveled. “Exotic” cultures of the Americas and Asia were in a series of a dozen different displays. 

Mark and I left, and, wouldn’t you know it, across the street looked like an entrance to an elevator. We bought our 2-euro tickets, validated them (since they were 100-minute tickets for all public transit in the city), and got into a pretty innocuous-looking elevator. I was surprised that it was only slightly larger than a typical American elevator. I was also surprised that there wasn’t a conductor. 

We went down the however many stories we had walked up, then paused at the end of a curving corridor, where a pod like ours was trundling towards us. The exchange along a set of parallel tracks happened, then we chugged down the tracks to sidle up to the exit.

The funniest part of this was that we emerged less than a block downhill from our hotel - I had just never noticed the doorway in the facade in the plaza. 

Given that it was Pi Day, I insisted that we needed to get pizza in Italy. Not Naples, but we got it with pesto (since, again, very important to the area) in a restaurant a block from the hotel. One of Mark’s coworkers was on his lunch break and happened to wander by, joining us. We chatted until it was time to go get our luggage and get a ride to the airport with the Italians who Mark and his boss had been talking to. Off to Portugal!

Machu Picchu to the end of the trip - Mon., Oct. 23 to Thurs., Oct. 26, 2017

Oma had a few coughing fits during the night, which some cough syrup and hot tea just barely controlled. With our relaxed plan in the next few days, I looked up what getting back to the States would look like and cost, or what our other options were. Consulting with my parents, we decided that finding a clinic when we got back to Cusco that day would be the best option.

Oma and I got to the train with twenty minutes to wait. Our seats were in completely different cars now, and, after we loaded, I realized that the hallways between cars were for employees only. I sent our car steward to her car with a note and some soles so she could buy a snack or drink if needed, and then I relaxed in my car.

This was the lowest class of train that went to Machu Picchu City, and it was still just fine. Only got served drinks, no sandwich or disappointing brownie, and there was no guided tour coming through the speakers, but we still had windows in the roof to see the receding mountains.

It was only a 90-minute trip, since we weren't going all the way back to Cusco, so I got to Oma's car to help her out and she was incredibly hoarse after talking to a German couple all the way back. They were about four weeks in, had done many of the activities along the coast that we had, but had also been waylaid by a stomach bug for a few days, as well as going further into Peru to see Lake Titicaca. Of course, Oma had to see if they had been to many of the places she had lived any visited with Opa in the '50s.

Our driver showed up with a hand-written sign that said Oma's name, and we piled the two Germans in to give them a ride to their hotel another 30 minutes up the Sacred Valley. We did some chatting, but once they left, Oma's coughing, lethargy, and hoarseness all started catching up with her.

We were close to Cusco, I told the driver to skip taking us to the hostel to pick up our bags and head to a clinic instead. I had found the name of one recommended in forums and travel books, but he asked if "clinca touristica" was where we wanted to go. Sounded as good as any, so we had him drop us off there. I used nearly the last of my cash to pay him.

Oma got into the clinic (which was now high above sea level again in Cusco) and sagged into a chair. They got a selection of insurance cards from her, then took us up to a room on the fifth floor to check her out. An English-speaking doctor heard her symptoms and scheduled an x-ray and fluids. The x-ray (which we took in the basement) showed a lot of fluid in her lungs, both from pneumonia and from altitude. Her oxygen levels were in the 80s instead of the upper 90s, so she got an oxygen tube. And liquids are always good, so she had an IV put in, with some antibiotics to help her fight. Her cough and sore throat got some cough syrup and cough drops, but, after perking up after a few hours on the IV, she was still most irritated about that. Her diagnoses of bronchitis, pneumonia, and altitude sickness causing edema in the lungs were all scary, but all treatable and being dealt with.

Talking to the doctor, it sounded like they were hoping to get her oxygen levels up and fluid down before our flight from Lima to Miami on Wednesday night. We weren't going to make the Tuesday flight to Lima, and instead look to get to Lima midday on Wednesday to give her more time at the clinic.

We spent the night with the IV and oxygen (and some not terrible hospital food), and I got the double bed next to her hospital cot.

On Tuesday, her recovery was not as quick as they had hoped, so we were moved into the intermediate care unit, and they added a heart rate monitor with metal sticker-clips on her chest as well as a blood pressure cuff to the tubes and wires coming off of her. I took a cab into the city to cancel our flight and pick up our bag from the hostel where we had left it before heading to Machu Picchu, and I found a bookstore to get some new titles to supplement our waning stock. I was back before lunch.

It was an afternoon of watching Animal Planet and trying to figure out how to fix the wires when they started beeping. Oxygen? Breath deeply and slowly, and move it around on her finger. Heart rate? Roll over a bit and try each of the five different connections to make sure none of them fell off. I wasn't impressed that the nurses never came in to help with the beeping unless we hit the call button. They did schedule her flight for Wednesday, the next day, to Lima with a doctor and supplemental oxygen for the plane.

The night, Tuesday night, was arduous. Oma would shift in her sleep, one of the monitors would start wailing, and I would get up to start moving and pressing things to get it to stop.

Wednesday morning, we asked for a sponge bath before our leaving time of 9am, and we were ready with Oma in the wheelchair with a mask when it was time to leave. I had been going back and forth to the front desk to call insurance and credit card companies about travel insurance, and so they wanted me a final time to get all the paperwork to take to the next clinic (including some very large x-rays) as well as a final payment.

It was an ambulance ride to Cusco airport, where we relaxed in the small medical room there before heading to the boarding area and climbing the stairs up to the plane. We switched seats with someone (who probably didn't feel very excited about sitting next to someone coughing with a mask on) so I was between Oma and the doctor. We had some empanadas to snack on, then, after landing, the doctor arranged the taxi and accompanied us 45 minutes to INCA Clinic, which specializes in cardiovascular and respiratory diseases. (They were so good that, in the middle of Oma telling them that it was hard to draw blood from her veins, they had already finished when many others had struggled.)

It was a rollercoaster few hours. We got there at 3pm, and the first thing I heard was that they wanted a minimum 8-hour observation window for Oma. Our flight to Miami was at midnight - it was going to be close. We were not given many positive signals until about 5pm when Oma's oxygen was staying at normal levels without her nose tube in and the x-ray showed an 80% decrease in the liquid in her lungs. Her white blood cell count was still (understandably) elevated, but if she could walk back and forth down the hallway and keep her oxygen count at above 95%, they were willing to release her and we could head to the airport.

The wireless oxygen measurement device on her figure read "96", both rightside up and upside down. I could start making plans to get her back to Milwaukee and see a doctor there as soon as possible. I booked up an evening filght from Miami to Chicago (which was as close to Milwaukee as we could get), then booked myself an even later flight from Chicago back to Baltimore (which was as close to DC as I could get).

All told, that part of the trip went ok - the wheelchair attendant was ten minutes late picking us up from the lounge in Lima (where we had had a midnight snack before the flight), so making me anxious about missing our boarding time. The overnight flight wasn't the most comfy, but sitting up, Oma was only coughing, not feeling short of breath. Landing in Miami on Thursday morning, a lot of hotels were sold out, but we found a Fairfield Inn and Suites that had a room that we might be able to get into before noon for a morning nap. They let us have breakfast and tea from the buffet before our room was ready at 9:30. It was a five-hour nap before getting a shuttle to airport, with wheelchair service to the gate.

Landing in Chicago, we met my uncle at baggage claim, handed over the novel's worth of medical paperwork and x-rays, gave the detailed instructions for the inhaler, cough syrup, pain meds, and - most importantly - the antibiotics, then hugged goodbye before heading back through security to fly to BWI where my fiance lovingly picked me up for 18 hours at home.

I missed out on a meal or two of ceviche, but Oma was home and on the road to recovery.

Cusco to Machu Picchu - Sun., Oct 22

We were up and ready for our breakfast a tad later than I wanted, but we had built in enough buffer time to eat our egg and bread and yogurt, drink our juice, lock up our stuff, and hop in the cab with the other pair we had met at the hostel to head to the Poroy station just outside Cusco.

The guy in our car could speak Spanish, so chatted with the driver and arranged for him to pick them up from the Poroy station the next evening. Oma and I had a morning train the next day that only got halfway back to Cusco - we were going to take a cab the remaining two hours from the stop in Ollantaytambo (in the middle of the Sacred Valley) back to Cusco. The cab driver took down our information as well and said he'd meet us there at 10am to drive us back to Cusco - handy having someone doing the translating, since he didn't have any English knowledge.

Oma and I sat on the benches in the decently nice lounge, then we loaded into the same train car. Our seats weren't next to each other (due to my passport numbers being wrong and needing to change), but we had a nice gentleman who was willing to switch, so we sat across from each other on the aisle side of a table.

The train to Aguas Calientes (also called Machu Picchu Village, where the bus heads up the mountain to the ruins) had three different types of trains: an extremely fancy one that we considered, but would have doubled our trip budget; then two reasonably priced ones, one slightly better than the other. On the way out, we got the slightly better one because it fit our schedule better. Tomorrow, for the way back, it was the lowest class of train.

The inside was modern, with sky windows that could be "turned off" (dimmed) with a switch. A soothing English and Spanish voice gave us information about the couple small towns we passed on the first half of the trip - mostly farming towns with a church from 400 years ago. We went downhill from high-altitude Cusco, eventually following a lush green canyon with a gurgling mountain stream and walls that made the skylights necessary.

The train actually had to use Z-shaped switchbacks, going forwards, switching tracks, going backwards, switching, then continuing forwards to make the steep descent work.

I got really excited when the voice said sun bears could be seen along the river, so I kept my eyes peeled, but we weren't quite that lucky.

The trip was thoroughly enjoyable. I had emailed to ask to have the hostel (another Mama Simona hostel) meet us at the train. I had a map, but this way we could have someone show up directly. It was starting to sprinkle, so, even though another group was also being met, we got our personal guide to show us the uphill walk along a market, then two blocks into the small town.

We got a very new room with an immaculate bathroom and only one set of bunkbeds (that were so new, the room almost smelled like wood). We had two hours until our afternoon tickets were valid up to Machu Picchu, so we relaxed and thought about if we wanted lunch. We had had sandwiches on the train (included, along with tea and a brownie that looked delicious but was missing sugar), and Machu Picchu had a lot of rules about not taking in water in disposable bottles or food, so we decided we'd eat at the cafe on top of the hill if we needed it.

It was time, and Oma and I headed off, with water in reusable bottles, to the bus stop. I had heard horror stories about the wait for bus tickets and the wait for the bus itself, but midday on the off-season, we had no issues with either. I was also happy because the fact that it was census day didn't seem like it made a difference in the town - there were still places to eat, though most of the shops in the market were closed.

The bus station was across an old rail bridge (still with its gaps too!) over another mountain stream. The rain had stopped, but it wasn't blazing down on us, so we hit the rare and lucky weather where we weren't going to get burnt or drenched. I was amused that they didn't take Visa, only Mastercard, and sent my coworkers (at the Mastercard subsidary that we work for) a picture.

The bus rumbled on at least six switchbacks on gravel roads up the side of a mountain. I got a wee bit carsick (in the back of the bus), but enjoyed the view the half of the time that we got to look over the valley at the taller, tree-capped mountains next to us.

We reached the top, and the final stressor of the journey was upon us. Would these tickets, that I had bought from a 3rd party reseller, work? Would they turn us away because we didn't have a guide?

The tickets (which I had had Colca Lodge print a few days ago) scanned fine, and we were in! I had thankfully taken a picture of a large signboard at the entrance with a map with a few paths around the site, and we started down the green path - it had no initial switchbacks, which I figured was a good thing.

Down the path, around the corner, and Machu Picchu revealed itself. A set of stone houses with reconstructed thatched roofs was at our right, with the site covering a few acres in front of us. What I especially loved is that it was surrounded by deep valleys and mountains - it was a stone outline of a city on the roof of the Andes.

The path I chose led us right into the heart of the residential (they guess) section of the city. Far above us to the left was the Inka Bridge - I knew we weren't going to get to that. However, a set of stairs led up to the upper section which included the Sun Temple and overlooks to the valley on the other side, and I figured we could get up those.

Oma is nothing if not a trooper! The stairs were maybe three feet wide, but made of rough-hewn stone that varied from 6-12 inches high, not flat, and not even necessarily a single stone. After she started up, then moved to all fours, then turned around a just hoisted herself up while seated, we fielded some stares and comments about why we were going up this staircase at all. Well, we had missed the (probably nicer in retrospect) switchbacks to get to the upper circuit, so it was improvisation time.

Oma was (understandably) out of breath when we reached the top, so we sat and admired the valleys, the stone buildings that were around us, and the view down the terraces to the other few sections of buildings at Machu Picchu. I read out some of the names, but it was caveated by the fact that scholars have very little proof for the things they are calling "temples", "palaces", "houses", and "industrial areas."

We found the spot for the quintessential picture over the valley, then sat on some rocks to plan our next moves. Up another set of uneven steps (which had handrails, thankfully), and we were at the Temple of the Three Windows with its large stone altar and set of three windows to help measure the sun, especially during solstices. What I loved about the village and the hillsides around were the terraces that lined them. Since Arequipa, we'd seen any incline that was steep but not impassable, layered into potential fields. Just the sheer number of those represented a society that had been around for a very long time.

About halfway across the ruined city, we started descending, and we started seeing more wildlife than the midges and mosquitoes that had been warning us not to remove our long sleeves. Firstly, a few llamas started popping up. The grass between the ruins was well-trimmed, and I wonder if it is that way solely because of those grazing creatures.

After stopping by the llama shelter (with another dozen llamas, including some crias - babies) and the Sacred Rock - which had no other explanation, just "Sacred Rock" - we took the lower path through a tangle of houses and walls. I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye, and we stumbled upon a squirrely-looking rabbit. Research after the fact revealed it was a viscacha (I had asked a Peruvian couple and did not understand they word they used). We came across a few more as we finished up peeking through the houses and doorways in the residential and industrial sections along the bottom of the city.

The Temple of the Condor had a grouping of people, each of which had their own interpretation of how the rocks and carving there were meant to represent the giant vulture we had seen a few days earlier. I decided the carving on the ground was the face, and the two ten-foot boulders on either side were the wings. Oma thought the wings were also along the ground with the carving. A teeny bit of water was along the next building, which the guidebook said was for a natural mirror as well as drinking, when it was flowing during the heyday.

It had been nearly three hours of poking around, walking, sitting and admiring the mountainsides and the craftsmanship of the city, and it was still a quarter mile back to the entrance along the same terraces we had walked in on. My stomach was ready for food, but we continued the slow pace that had served us well throughout the site and found a few more natural curiosities (a giant spider, a plant with red that we couldn't tell if it was leaves or flowers).

The walkway emerged to the last set up stairs up to the bus stop, and we got in the fairly short line, then were ushered onto a bus within minutes. The ride down, we saw a few hikers down the stairs straight down the hill, and we were glad we had bought the roundtrip tickets.

I put back on my layer I had taken off when we got back to Aguas Calientes twenty-five minutes later, and we climbed along the river and the market to the street with restaurants. At the single open stall at the market, we finally found the glasses case Oma had been looking for and bargained (badly) for it. Then it was a pair of soups and teas at the first restaurant, and then back to the hostel for some relaxing before dinner.

Dinner was at around 7:30pm, with darkness cloaking the few blocks of city that there was. We heard a few trains, and a lot of dogs patrolled the streets (most with collars or sweaters on, I will say), but will still found the first place that was open. Opening the menu, it was exactly the same as the restaurant we had been to after visiting the park - same typos and everything. Guess the street with five distinct restaurants weren't so distinct after all.

We both got warm but slightly mediocre food along with more tea. It was slow service, slow cooking (maybe because they had to run everything from a single kitchen who knows where), but we weren't in a rush. All that was waiting for us was more rest before the morning.

Arequipa to Cusco - Sat., Oct. 21

Our hotel manager offered to get up at 5:45 to give us breakfast, and she called us a cab as well. (The breakfast was giant hunks of bread and too sweet juice, but it was a good touch.)

We were at the airport about two hours before our flight, checked in, checked our bags, and went through security. I hadn't even bothered to look if any Peru airports except Lima had the Priority Pass lounges, and, for Arequipa, it was only about 15 minutes before boarding that I saw the sign. Oh well - had to sit with the crowds. And pay exorbitant prices for water. 

I fell asleep before take-off, and woke up 15 minutes to landing - which meant I was only asleep for maybe 30 minutes. The quick plane is much nicer than a 9-hour bus trip. 

We had just one evening in Cusco before our train the next morning, so we got a taxi to our hostel to drop off our stuff and check out a few things before the one-day tour. It was the first of two of Mama Simona’s hostels we were staying in. I had booked one in Aguas Caliente (for the next evening, after Machu Picchu) and they emailed about the others they had, including this one in Cusco. 

We originally had a double room, with a single double bed in it, but we switched to a room with two bunk beds (but still a private bath), splurging on a heater. 

The sights lay along a clear walking path that was all downhill. We were trying to play it safe with the altitude, so decided to go as far as we felt, then take a taxi further (or back to the hostel).

Our first stop was the San Pedro market. Our guidebook said to get juice there. Once we entered, I understood why. On the smaller side, as warehouse marketplaces go, the market still had a quarter of its 20-odd rows filled with station after station of juice makers. Each had a veritable bouquet of fruit tastefully arranged in front, and all had the same fruits and same prices. 

We sat down at one that another couple had just vacated (when eating street food, always find one with as much turnover as possible) and picked our favorites. A base of either carrot or orange juice (we both chose orange) and then I picked strawberries as Oma picked mangoes. Just like old fashioned malts, we got our full fountain glasses full of the thick and foamy juice, then an extra top up with the remainder in the blender after we were done. The only negative was the large amount of bees and fruit flies around - none bothering us, but many trapped in with the fruit or honey in the glass cases in front of us. 

We wandered the aisles afterward, full of liquid, looking for something sweet and solid. Instead, I found a granadilla! These grey “brain” fruits with a crackable skin were so fun and good to eat in Colombia with Mark - I had to get one to have Oma try it. She, like most, was not enthused by the grey matter inside, but I think she didn’t mind it after she tried it. 

We had to stop by a PeruRail official office to get our tickets printed for the next day - we had tried to do it in the airport that morning, but their system was down. Thankfully, they had a couple offices close to the squares we were planning on visiting anyway, so we stopped in next. 

When we were booking everything before we left, I had accidentally copied my known traveler number instead of my passport number while making some reservation. Since nearly every reservation we made asked for our passport number, from hostels to the Machu Picchu tickets, I had hoped it would be on a reservation that wasn’t very important. 

Getting the tickets, it was as I feared - my passport number was incorrect.

I figured there was a high chance that no one would ever stop to compare more than the name, but I didn’t want to even take that chance if it was fixable. So I asked them to update it. 

A woman who sounded as hoarse and sick as Oma had to call up the main office, then we had to wait for 15 minutes until they called her back. When the tickets finally got switched, I was no longer sitting next to Oma on either trip. They said the conductors would help us figure it out day-of. We had the correct tickets, and it was time to explore more of Cusco. 

The next square over with the Plaza Mayor of Cusco, with its cathedral on one side. The guidebook said it was actually three churches, but we were having trouble figuring out the distinct churches or buildings or what. A completely different church - or maybe it was two others - were on the south side of the square, but we were facing east. 

We entered something, and it turned out to be correct. By this point, that fruit juice was sitting in my bladder, so I rushed in, walked quickly through all three churches, then backtracked (picking Oma back up on the way) to find the bathroom.

Now it was time to dawdle our way through. The Catholics really go all out. Each side altar was gold, gold, gold. Many had Mary with precious stone crowns. The middle alter was gorgeous carved wood (with a black Jesus. Unknown if that was fancy ebony or just connecting with the indigenous people.)

A local painter had done the Peruvian version of the last supper. On the table were tradition food, with the main dish a cooked guinea pig - on the plate whole. Still didn’t convince Oma to give it a try. You’d think if it was good enough for Jesus, it’d be good enough for her!

I peeked down into the crypt once we had enough of the massive amounts of excess, then we plotted our next move. It wasn’t so much hunger as a lack of substance from the morning that drove us to go behind the cathedral, up a narrow one-way street, to eat. 

The street would have been quiet, except that - despite a one-way sign - cars were stacked up, facing each other, 50 feet deep in both directions. By the time we left our Italian-inspired meal with some leftover thin crust pizza, the traffic jam had gotten unsnarled. 

We had one more sight to see - Qorikancha, the sight of an Incan place of worship that then became the base for a church with monks built on the same foundation. We walked up to the crowded entrance, and we were greeted by a man, speaking excited but fluent English, who wanted to be our tour guide. 

My dad will listen to accents until he copies them - my Oma doesn’t have that same skill and has had a hard time understanding many of our guides. When she said she understood him the best, I decided that the $10 was worth it to get the tour. 

In we went, and off he spouted. The temple was centered against the solstice, so it measured the seasons for the Incas. It was one of the ways they kept their power - by being able to predict solstice, as well eclipses, those the Incans controlled believed in their power.

When I heard a church was built on top of the Incan temple, I wasn't expecting so much temple to be exposed. The massive walls we had passed earlier that day in a taxi were part of the temple, but it was behind the church that had a courtyard and set of 8 or so rooms from the temple days. Our tour really only covered the temple, so we dove deep into the wonder that was this construction project.

First, it was the orientation of the windows and walls. June and December every year, the light comes directly through the window and in the middle of the set of 7 niches. The Incan calendar our guide described was something like 12 months of 28 (each of the middle niches were used twice as the sun swung back and forth - so the five middle ones, used twice, plus the two outer ones equaled 12), with a dozen or so feast day within those which made it equal 365.

The next building marvel was the stones used. They were a dark volcanic, like many we've seen, but were carved into perfect blocks, so no mortal was used between them. The stones lay so close, a knife (or credit card) couldn't fit in the cracks between.

A few earthquakes have happened since the Incan times, and some of the blocks were slightly misaligned, but another smart structural decision was to use one single block above the doorways and windows, so, despite the walls shifting on either side during a quake, the roofline wouldn't collapse.

Our guide showed us a few maps the Incas had created - one of the solar system, with a round Earth by a round sun and other planets they had observed, and one of Machu Picchu, where roads radiated outward from a center point, with city dots along the straight lines. The second painting gave over 200 sites of worship around the trading center, and ruins have been found accurately in many of those locations. It gives just one more guess as to Machu Picchu's function - a trading post.

Our guide left us to peek into the Catholic monastery and church that was over a part of the temple as he went to find other tourists to supplement his income. A modern choir loft (the older parts of the church had faced either an earthquake, a fire, or both, so only new was on display) and a few different rooms for the monks, and we were on our way.

I wanted to see the front of Qorikancha again, since it had looked spectacular from the road. The entrance was opposite, so we picked clockwise to walk around the massive building. It was the wrong choice. A few small roads dead-ended into a set of stairs that put us at the very downhill side of the green lawn out front. With ominous clouds, it was time to hail a taxi and head back.

Oma took a nap as I read most of a book from the lending library at the hostel. She woke up with her cough and sore throat worse, and on the end of her cough drops. I ventured out at 7 or so to find a pharmacy, explained her symptoms, and got cough syrup and pain meds. She wasn't very hungry, so I heated up our pizza leftovers for myself and bought a ramen noodle cup from the front desk to make for her.

I asked the front desk about getting to the train station in the morning - I knew it was about a half hour from city center. The woman on staff had another pair of guests leaving for that train and that station as well, so we agreed to share a cab. Oma and I also decided to leave a bag at the hostel - we were going to back in Cusco after one night in Aguas Caliente, and the train had baggage restrictions, so why not leave some of our dirty and unnecessary clothes.

We packed then had a restless night as Oma continued coughing.