Peru

Mr. Kokopelli, Máncora
30th July, 2012

I've finally been snapped back from one phat haze of hell raising uncertainty. Today the breakfast actually tastes like taste, and my gut doesn't feel like it's being displaced over the brim of these funky Vegas shorts; rolling off down my sides like a melting choco-muffin. The past week has been an epic to say the least - I couldn't tell you if shit feels like it's flown on by, or whether or not (for everyone else anyway) our sessions merely chugged along casually locomotive style. For me it's kind of all blended seamlessly into some giant messed-up hoedown. Peruvian Independence. It has come & been for another year. What better a way to welcome in my unexpected arrival here to Mancora, the countries finest northern party point. I never actually planned on heading back to the coast just yet, not until after I made it up into the Cordilla Blanca anyhow. But as you will see, some things are just meant to be. I'm starting to stop asking too many questions. Life is seeming the better for it. Maybe that shaman really did free from all that "bad energy" after all. Crazy thoughts in these crazy times. I say just let some legends live...and why not?? Spread the love, music & mischief, then go paint these fine legs of mine - I like this Mr. Kokopelli.

Kicking back @ Kokopelli

Ahhh...now where to begin?? Rewind a week and a half ago & I was powering on back across Ecuador, retracing my earlier wanderings over the equator, and making for some big ol' mountains. I'd made contact with a guy I'd met earlier from the Gold Coast, and we set a plan to hook up in Baños and make for some hiking throughout Cajas National Park, not too far from Cuenca. I must attract freaks. Minding my own business, waiting around for our bus; there was this homeless local guy spitting & spluttering, breathing his nasty breath of bad English lingo all over me. He laid claim to being brought up in The States, and tried to swindle me into trading off a few spare dollars for all his useless information on places I'd already visited. Brushing him off was proving difficult - Goldilocks saved the day. I sprung into action the moment he arrived & we jumped on the first departing bus pulling out of the station. About half way through the ride we stopped in some small roadside town for lunch. I was pretty starved & thought I'd munch down a bit of bread. I've had some pretty tasty empañadas in my time, so I decided to stick to what I knew. In my flawlessly fluent español, I asked if that empañada over there was packed full of cheese?? Hehehehehehehe!!! She lost her shit! She just laughed in my face! I asked again, taking another shot with a 'clearer' accent...Hehehehehe!! This chick was nuts. I grabbed a couple of jelly fruit breads instead & called it quits. Goldilocks took a punt & wound up with the wrong side of the coin. Shitty cheese puff. I've seen more dairy squeezed out of a field mouse.

We made it into Cuenca safe & sound. The hostel Goldilocks had booked nearly sent me away for not having a free bed, even though later on that night most of the rooms were half empty. We became acquainted with this hungover chum from Brisso, got our shit together and went downtown for a grocery run. I don't know how Brisso in his fine state handled it. The most stressful & chaotic shopping trip ever. Our posse pushed through six separate basket loads before we chanced our escape. We soothed our sorrows with stir-fry & TV shows which made a whole lot of unwitting bozo's look like idiots.

Burning calories in the early morning. What a way to start a new day...We took off quick smart; loading our bulging packs into a crammed pre-work bus, as we made our way to the main terminal. We left Brisso to his own means at one of the visitor centres before hopping off ourselves at the high point of the thoroughfare; the start of our proposed three day hike, marked by a creepy tres cruces monument. The temperature plummeted the moment we stepped off the bus, and the wind tore through my normally hardy chicken legs like a frozen pick axe. I blame this for our mighty shameful mishap, but really there is no excuse. We searched about for the trail head, finding a sign post for our intended route which appeared to point its way into nothingness. What now?? This other path should do...we could scope it out from up top. We climbed the small hill with a good track directly in front of us, immediately beginning to feel the effects of the altitude. My short stint out in the lowland jungle had become a curse. At the top there was some kind of radio tower surrounded by a fence. I just assumed these fences were there for some other reason...for all those 'unexperenced' children out there who couldn't navigate off a map...a faint track continued over the other side so we simply jumped it. That's when the fun began. Following that ridge soon wound us bedazzled through empty fields of space - wind blown country decorated only by angry looking outcrops & countless confusions of intertwined animal pads. We were being blown over constantly, and that, on top of our cluelessness only led to utter "south-bound" confusion. At one time a large lake came into view, and Goldilocks made a point to say it looked a lot like the one not far from the visitor centre. Impossible, I though; we couldn't be that far off course. We pressed on. The weather began to clear. Things were looking positive. Then we stumbled upon a house?? What the fuck?! That sent the mind into a spin. If we were where I thought we were, what the hell was this?? The trusty map only left us with further wonder, before a few more steps in the house bound direction revealed our house was in fact our visitors centre!! We were back on the dambed road! Brisso was going to love this. I felt guttered...but more to the point - utterly useless. What sort of bushwhacker was I?! We trotted on down to the highway, bathing in our disgrace.

Start of the 'Tres Cruces' Track

Unsure what to do we weighed up our options. There was no way I actually wanted to head back to Cuenca, especially since we'd paid for all this scrumptious carb-loaded food we were carrying, and I'd already told these chicks we'd be out for days...how would I impress them now with my heroic tales!! Our minds were made, it wasn't too late in the day after all - we headed on back for the initial trail head. In no time we'd scammed a ride in the back of a passing Ute; making quick time of our whole journey of redemption, and found ourselves staring back across at the three crosses in a slight daze of deja vu. How we missed this track I have no idea. It was plain to see...I guess we were a little too excited to get gung-ho. This was much easier walking, and for a while our lives were at ease. There were moments when I felt like I was back at home, trekking towards the slopes of the Western Arthurs. Glacial lakes painted a pretty foreground for the imposing crags, shrouded in low cloud behind. However, our bliss lived a short life; the madness soon returned. After lunch the slight drizzle turned to sleety crap, and the winds picked up again hounding strongly across a large lake, against the grain of our onward movements. We were soaked, then the sleet morphed into tiny hail stones. There was a last minute chance to take a quick exit route out of the park, and Goldilocks & I only had to look at each other, faces draped with a grim gloom, to make our final painstaking decision. We were out of there! A warm bed & a cold beer awaited us back in town - maybe a bit of wildness with a few pretty ladies?? Delish cappuccinos with two Nigerian catholic/gangsters?? The mind was playing a wondrous toying game with the hopes of this young boy. Where was this fun sun of ours...

Cajas National Park

Well, I sure found it here in Mancora. What a reckless place. It felt like I was back in South-East Asia the moment I stepped off that bus. Tuk-tuks ruled the streets; and prospectors grappled at Smokie & I as we bounded away from the terminal in pursuit of some kind of money changer. Golden beach clashed with barren desert. Squeezed in between was a single strip of highway, dotted with an endless array of markets, restaurants, hotels & bars. The sky was crystal clear. This could be my calling. The good life is never bad.

The Mancoran Skyline

I guess I got myself a little too revved up a little too early; it wasn't long before the lines began to blur. I took Smokie on an overly romantic date in the towns grandest four dollar restaurant, before sharing some love with local kingpin Charlie Brown, and his pocket grabbing Aussie sidekick Damien, who was having a hard time making a living selling off his tiny hamburgers. "An honest day's work for an honest day's pay"...isn't that what they say?? Poor ol' Damien wasn't copping much luck. When all else fails...juicing up the town normally does the trick. There is so much cocaine kicking around this place that people don't know what to do with it all!! Easy friends. Easy money. I wouldn't have been surprised if Damien found himself an early demise that weekend either.

Back at the hostel we ran back into Smokies other Irish pal & another pack of Aussies we'd met in Cuenca, guzzling their way through a game of Evil. Chino chugged a long-neck & fell backwards off his seat, while ThePostman sweet talked his way into a mid-game gobbie from this German chick with one of the worst Class II occlusions I'd ever seen. At some point we ended up down at the beach with a bunch of Argentinians, busting out all the sing-songs I could muster in this appalling state of un-coordination. I can't imagine it was very impressive. The last thing I remember was coming late into my room, searching for a bed; poking everyone along the way so as I wouldn't squash down upon them, and never get back up.

The bathroom was a total write-off the next morning. I hardly ever chuck but that sent me close to the brink. There was brown vomit all over the walls & floor; actually it seemed to be everywhere except in the toilet bowl itself. This young German girl obviously shouldn't be mixing three-day bus trips with binge boozing & joint smoking. She cleared out pretty early...so then everyone thought it was me!! Fark off...defending myself as an introduction. Great way to kick off the week long bender. I jumped in the pool & fell asleep on a blow up tube, praying that some of that water might infiltrate these pores & hydrate the shit of me. Sitting around proved more popular. That became our routine. Party, sleep, eggs, pool, sit, beach, sit, risotto, party, sleep. You really get to know people. It's also a good way to kill yourself. We waited a bit long to break our way into Loki later that night, but on the way down to some beach fiesta I thought I'd try my luck anyway. Giant wooden doors guarded our way. I held down the buzzer like a spoilt brat, screaming for a $2 Chickenfeed play toy. The eye-hatch opened. I bent down to say hello...WHAM!! The prick punched me in the nose!! I guess we weren't getting in tonight. The beach-front kept the party going instead, but I'm not sure what really happened. I recall walking barefoot through the rankest bathroom I'd ever seen. Juggling glass bottles?? As far as I know I went for a run?! Why?? Mango Dog probably walked me home like he does all the sexy ladies. Steeze magee. That pooch-lord has the biggest kahunas going around. He is my hero.

Mancora Beach

Turns out the Olympics are on!! Well I'd be...After some beach bumming, the Irish lasses & I checked out the opening ceremony in Loki Hostel. That place is fucking mental!! A multi-storied Greek templed resort. I was more impressed by Loki than I was with the Olympics. A mid-day siesta got me geared up for the start of the weekend proper. Friday fever! It was back to Loki!! I met up with ElSalvadorianPeaceCorpsChick for a bit of a jive & a game of giant connect four. My roommate Macca was in fine form going nuts shirtless on top of the bar, juiced out of his mind!! Someone handed me all this popcorn so we just started throwing it all over the place! Woohoo!! There were drunken games of musical chairs & some bitchin' dance floor dance-offs. My moves mustn't have been fly enough for this cool chica. I was having a blast with ElSalvadorianPeaceCorpsChick until she ran off hand in hand with some Peruvian guy with my wallet down her tits...spewzin. Ahhh shucks. Once again broke & broken...ching ching!!

Another day...& apparently the BIG one. I was a little nervous. The last few nights had been HUGE!! There was a bit more hanging about at the beach to be had - some of the lads went surfing. Red & white Peruvian flags were everywhere to be seen; in every shop, on every passing arm...the trance tracks were already blaring by two o'clock in the arvo!! I was feeling the bite but knew this was it. One more night and I could call it quits; bring this body back from the dead. We sat around like always, bumming out on the couches, before some of us went down to Surf&Turf for some seafood. When we got back there didn't really seem like there was too much going on...I was assuming everyone would be making for MancoraFest, but no one seemed phased. Was this it?? One big anti-climax?? This hyperactive English Ginge didn't think so anyway...I bullshitted my way into his conversation by telling him I was in my 30's...I mean seriously?? Do I look that haggard after a few hard days on the piss?? Shit, he believed it and found a friend in my "maturity." Long way to go yet pops. The night was young! By some good fortune, jo-blow paid us a free visit & soon Ginge, Hollandia and I were ablaze with posse in tow, "soundtrack of lifeing" our way on down to the beach for some fun fun happy fun! Ahhh...what a night. An epic end to the wild ride. We ended up with three or four tuk-tuk loads of us, at some local kids parents mansion; a twenty minute jaunt from town, somewhere out in the sticks!! I'm sure that pool was changing colour...Later on the way home, clinging off the back of a tuk-tuk; the sun began to rise up over the dusty hills. We found one of our friends where we'd last seen her five hours before - still down at the beach; & took an early morning dip to welcome in the new day.

There was nothing else to do but melt. We didn't really make it to bed until nine or ten that morning. Macca went missing for two whole days, and I was sure he was dead. After a huuuugggggeeee day of sleep...we spent the night watching this girl get a new tattoo much like we'd watch a movie in the cinema. There wasn't much being said. A shade of spontaneity seemed like a good idea. Captain K.Rool wasn't going to happen, so I scanned my surrounds for inspiration & fixated on our little hostel mascot up on the wall. Plenty of love, plenty of music & too much mischief. I guess I'll remember these past few days for a few more years to come after all...Booyah!!!

Kokopelli Tatt

Time for some gut-crunching exercise!! 
Bye, bye & so long to all those at Kokopelli...
It has been a please-ure.
You shall all live on my fucking leg forever...

Too much ever lasting lovin'
Da one & only SpazTazmaniac...xxxxx

Reclaiming the Washboard, Huaraz
7th August, 2012

Ahhh Peru...I think I love you. The beach bummin' beer belly is gone, and I'm back where I belong. Every morning I can sit out on the hostel balcony and watch the sun welcome in a new day, glistening over the snow capped peaks of the nearby Cordillera Blanca. The air is cold, yet crisp & fresh - a welcome reformation from the congested choke-hold which keeps a tab on most of the countries large cities. Huaraz itself isn't very picturesque; the grid like hub of structured streets is meekly ornamented with cheap food vendors, drab modern architecture & an uninspiring central cathedral which is closed off to the public. The grandeur of this place can solely be accredited to its surrounds. Nevado Hauscarán, at 6768m (the highest point in Peru) makes an imposing statement to the north of the town, crowning a ragged backbone of glaciated monoliths. Hundreds of turquoise tinted lakes lie hidden within precipitous valleys & high up on mountain slopes - shimmering as divine jewels of a white-crested range. This whole area is a hiking and climbing paradise. I could easily see myself spending a few months here, knocking off the best of whats on offer; all the while making the most of this incredibly consistent clear-skied weather. Yesterday I returned from the Santa Cruz Trek, possibly the most scenic I've ever done, and in a few days I embark on a week long epic around the Cordillera Huayhuash, made famous in Joe Simpsons book, 'Touching the Void.' The buzz has reclaimed me from an untimely demise. It's quite surreal to think I'm actually here; after all these years of fidgety anticipation. I've finally made it into The Peruvian Andes!! .....

Cruising The Andes in a combi

When all the fun was done, one by one my fellow partners in grime & crime began to depart the beach-side party playground. The Mancoran TattFest however, continued well past prime time. What started as an afternoon sideshow, soon grew into an infectious carnival. Everyone seemed to be lining up ready to plaster their bodies with tiny tokens of spontaneity & rebellion. On the day I left, the cue had grown three people deep. TattMan would have been making a mint!! My prize had to go to TouristTom, for his "stolen kidney" depiction, complete with an español word of warning. I found it hard to say my goodbyes, as I had in other such places in the past. That is one of the worst things associated with travel. The friends you make are temporary - a brief collision between two great sagas of life. More often than not (despite the self-proclaimed interest), you will never see that person ever again. If one day you do, things will be different. The moment you shared is gone. Backpackers create their own world of isolation, sheltered inside a bubble; disaffiliated from an outside reality. I've grown to love the people I've met here out on the road, some more than others - but life moves on, whether we like it or not; and every one of those lives moves on in a different direction. That's just how it goes. Mine was moving southbound, quick-smart!!

Mancoran TattFest!!

I chose to skip straight through the north of the country. There was nothing more I really cared to see, and no more nights I cared to waste. I jumped aboard a night bus bound for Chimbote, the first leg of my 24 hour slog down to Huaraz...ohhh goody. So far I'd been lucky with bus seats; my bag normally being small enough to fit underneath my chair. I guess Peruvians are puny...I found myself crammed in like a jack-in-the-box, unable to plant my feet flat on the floor unless I straddled my luggage. It wasn't all that bad until this whacked out Peruvian from Lima hopped in beside me to chat. He reeked of marijuana, and instantly took off on a marathon of words, not realising the grief I was in from my awkward position. What I was worried most about was my fresh tattoo. It was only a day old, and I was doing my best not to fuck it. I had no idea what would fuck it, so my mind was in tensed-up paranoid over drive. I received a low down on all things Limanean; from sneaking into girls rooms up windowsills, to dealing drugs at trance parties, robbing blind guys, and taking advantage of a mothers good grace. Every now and then he would shoot off to the bus bathroom to smoke a little more out of his pipe, then come back with an even stronger smelling hash cloud hovering above him. I thought it might numb his tongue a bit, but he wouldn't quit. I searched for an escape out the bus window, watching the vast emptiness of the desert race past under a fiercely moon-lit night sky. I must have nodded off...soon I was dreaming of Kokopelli, popping his head over the seat a few rows in front of me & waving in lucid motions...

The sun was coming up, and it was time to get off this darn bus. I poked Lima in the head to wake his ass, and somehow managed to drag my bag down the aisle. Good morning Chimbote...what a shit hole!! I'm glad I only had to linger around the terminal for an hour or so. The town looked like a a decaying fetus, and kind of smelled like one too. Being Peru's principle fishing port, the stench of the catch buried itself deep into the receptors of my nostrils, so much so I could almost taste it. I attempted to rid the foul scent with strawberry yogurt & empañadas, but only succeeded in misplacing my ticket. Lucky for me, I sweet talked the agent & she let me take my seat despite. That bus trip took me far up into the highlands, initially across more fruitless countryside, before winding its way up into the Cordillera Negra & along the course of the lofty Cañon del Pato. It was a rough but spectacular journey, and gave me the feeling that I'd truly arrived in the heartlands of Peru. As we approached Huaraz, the white snow caps of the Cordillera Blanca dramatically made their first appearance. I was mesmerised. There were mountains everywhere!! This was why I was travelling The Andes. I could not wait to get amongst it!!

This leads us to the start of the Santa Cruz Trek. I spent a day in Huaraz collecting bits & pieces in preparation; also to get myself slightly more acclimatized once again after my week long stint back down at sea level. I found myself a cheap map, brought a new pair of woollen gloves & loaded my belly full of 5 sole gourmet from my new favourite restaurant, opposite my hostel. After an early night & a last minute pack down, I left town at the crack of dawn in the back of a combi van. En-route, this little old lady decided to take a nap on my shoulder. I thought I'd likely given her a black eye when we hit a speed hump at full throttle, sending her nogan into a violent ricochet, hard off the bone. Poor ol' dear...

Once dropped in Caraz, I plowed my way up hill in the direction of the market place, where I would catch my next ride to the trail head. It's nice when the locals point you in the right direction; it takes the guess work out of the commute. In South-East Asia they'll most likely place you on their bus even if it scoots to the opposite side of the country!! I soon found myself alone in another beaten-up combi, waiting anxiously in the hot morning sun with a toothless broad and her baby pet goat. Enter, The Dutchman. Ahhh...now here is a character of comical composure. Tall & gangly, long headed, loud eyed, fat toothed & gummy...he made an appearance like some home schooled kid who was unaware that people were taking the mickey out of him. He shook his introductions & made himself at home beside me, with an almost dribbling retard-like smile. It kind of creeped me out, but I knew straight away that this guy was an innocent bystander who wouldn't hurt a fly. Well, so I assumed. Somehow he reminded me of Beaker from The Muppet Show. That kept me amused while he rambled on about all his bushwalking expertise. I simply nodded along and took in the wonderful scenery unfolding outside the vehicles windows.

Spewzin...I was hoping we wouldn't have to pay. I didn't expect there to be a ranger station until we finished the trek in four or five days. Hesitantly, I handed over the 65 soles in cash. A pity sum for the experience to come. While the ranger was gathering our change, we all heard screams and calls for help at the adjacent restaurant. Our French friends were over there having a last minute breakfast, but quickly made the move when all the commotion began. I thought it was merely a dog fight gone haywire...turns out one of the old chaps had suddenly dropped dead in the backyard. Mental. Best not stick around. As soon as we got our change we hurried off along the track, away from the firing line of heated un-rationalism & misery.

The trail wound it's way up hill, following the course of a river at the base of a sheer sided canyon. The towering walls were immense, and the scorching heat only added to the western-flick like atmosphere. Great birds circled high over head, and every so often we'd find ourselves surrounded by a mob of moping cows. It was hard not to notice the imprint surrendered by the hand of humans. Discarded stone walls, in different stages of disrepute, lined the sides of the track in linear arrangements; contrasting abnormally with the jagged randomness of nature. As it turned out, I got stuck with Beaker...and to be fair it wasn't so bad, however I was more than ready to retreat to the peace and quiet of my tent each night come sun down.

Santa Cruz Valley

We took lunch under a grove of shady trees, admiring some isolated peaks, before pushing on to our first nights camp at Llamacorral. In the distance you could clearly make out the icy profile of Mt Taulliraju, illuminated in the late afternoon sun. In trying to keep out of everyone else's way, we chose to pitch our tents far up in the top corner of the field. We were practically the firsts ones there, so I couldn't figure a problem. Seems you can please no one. We became quite the unpopular pair with the mule herders, who seemed a little pissed that we were doing the walk all on our own without a guide. "No donkeys?? Urrghh..." They stood staring at our choice of camp for a good minute or so before gruffing off & setting up their groups gear somewhere else. Then they let they're donkeys run wild, nearly trampling our tents!! I bit my tongue & enjoyed the vistas, munching my way through half a packet of spaghetti. As the sun went down, the temperature dropped dramatically; and after a brief chat with some school group kids from the UK who had turned back due to altitude symptoms, I retreated into my tent - chucked on the Ipod for a while, then crashed out fast asleep...

First nights camp

If only I could count on the weather like I can here, back home. Man, what a morning!! The bluest of blue skies to welcome in my day. Not a single blemish to be seen, bar the full moon yet to call it quits for the night. To top it off - a perspiration free tent. Easy going, I must say. A relaxed morning gave way to a more than pleasant afternoon of hiking. The route was fairly flat for the most part, passing by two shallow lakes before detouring across a barren sand bed created by a huge landslide (which brought down with it a glacial lake), only this February. As we continued, more & more snow capped peaks came into view. Caraz, Pumapampa & Quitaraju, all making a bold individual statement. My two favourite however, made lasting impressions as we zig-zagged our way up the Lago Arhueycocha side trip. Behind us stood a picture of mountain perfection, Artesonraju. When you conjure up an image of a classic mountain, you dream up one such as this. From the flat plains before base camp, the triangular spire takes its grandest form. Some claim that this was the peak used as inspiration for the logo of Paramount Pictures!!

Mt Artesonraju

Lying at the end of this great bowl like valley awaits another classic, Alpamayo. It's glaciers wrap around to join those of other neighbouring peaks to form a single continuous fortification of ice. As we stashed our packs inconspicuously away in the scrub, we met two climbers from The States heading up for a summit attempt. I thought they were crazy. The ridge line looked no more than two meters wide at some points, and their final camp was to be had in the col, which to me looked no better! They reassured us it was all a lot tamer on the other side, before we bid them farewell & wished them the best of luck. Our day was capped off with a visit to the lake, and a trudge along a high track across to our camp. I couldn't have asked for much more. Taulliraju & Artesonraju loomed above us, as Beaker & I spoiled ourselves with Pringles & Snickers Bars.

Lake Arhueycocha

The new day came, as crystal clear as the last. I still couldn't believe our good fortune. While packing up my gear, I got chatting to some people from one of the other guided groups. A guy from Japan was apparently in a pretty bad way, either due to fever or altitude sickness, and they'd had to lift him up onto a horse for the days journey ahead over the pass. Whether that was wise or not, I'm not one to say. When I passed him coming up the hill, he appeared lifeless, slump in the saddle. Altitude is an unpredictably scary barrier I wouldn't be game to mess with - for me however, it didn't seem to prove a problem in the slightest!! Stoked! I found myself flying up the pass, rapidly approaching the high point of the trek with no shortage of energy at all. At the top I ran into my Italian friends, and we all took some time out to soak up the experience & the surrounding environment. Another turquoise lake could now be seen perched beneath Taulliraju, and the landscape seemed to abruptly warp once on the other side of the pass, opening up as a great grassy pan dotted with small tarns. I spent a good two hours up there; hikers meeting from both sides of the track at this one significant focal point. There were many cool photos to be had, and I was loving all this socialisation in such a breathtaking setting. The time soon come however, when we had to bid our new found buddies goodbye. Scrambles, jellies & donkeys rolling on down the rocky path, signalled it was time to keep on keeping on.

Sitting aloft Punta Union with Mt Taulliraju

That night we camped in another steep valley, close to the junction of tributary river. The open grasslands were surprisingly silent & wind free - our only unexpected visitors being that of local women & children selling soup & cerveza. The kids all took a mighty interest in me setting up my tent, and only giggled and run off if I tried in any way to communicate. The older ladies sat on the grass, spinning wool on a hand held spindle. It kind of had me transfixed; I don't remember ever seeing something quite like that before. Shit Nicko...wool doesn't come off sheep in yarns after all...I brought a beer & enjoyed the interesting company before nodding off for a final night in the bush.

Peruvian Picnic

I was awoken much earlier than I would have liked the following morning by some old codger begging for left over pasta. He didn't seem to understand that this was our last day, and that we actually had none left at all. Then the kids chirped in. They seemed to wander out from behind the trees or something. "Galleta," one would say - "yo tengo hambre" pleaded another. The world is a cruel place. How these kids live day to day I have no idea. As heartless as it may seem, I simply refuse to give into begging. That has been my stubborn attitude since I went to Thailand on my first overseas trip. I don't believe it solves the problem, and only further encourages its habitual continuation. We left those poor impoverished souls to wait it out in the field, and made our way to the end of the trek. It felt nice to drop the packs for the final time, but also a little sombre to leave such a special place, taking with us only memories & photographs. However, our journeys apparent climax was soon to be out-climaxed, by the rough & winding combi trip back to civilisation. What a blow out!! The road zig-zagged its way back up towards the snow line, reaching a pass which seemed higher than that of our trek!! An entire vertical 1000 meters or so, seperated our combi from the beautiful Llanganuco Lakes in the valley far below. On the right towered the sightly peaks of the Nevado Huandoy, and on the left shone the white washed humps of Huascaran. It was a fitting finale, to a fruitful adventure.

View down to Llanganuco lakes

Now I'm here, back in Huaraz, waiting it out until my next endeavour. For all those thinking about embarking on The Santa Cruz - you won't regret it. And don't let wankers trick you into believing you have to go with a guide either. As one local guy said to me: "If you get lost on the Santa Cruz, you're a fucking idiot." His words, not mine. Over & out!!!

So long, from one happy camper loving life...
To all my friends & family, hope all is swell & spritely. 
Chat again soon...

Nickoooooo xxxx

Trapped in an Ice Box, Huaraz
17th August, 2012

It's 6 o'clock in the morning. Ice clings to the blades of grass as we trudge on through the pre-dawn darkness. I still can't quite feel my toes, despite having been on the trail for well over an hour by now. The sun tediously begins to squeeze it's way down the rocky valley towards us, welcoming in the final few stanzas of our latest epilogue. Eight days of grime. It's been one hell of a slog. My breath tastes like grit & salty, charcoaled lamb. I almost vomit when I burp. My feet have been cut to pieces, defiantly rejecting any attempt of tape & plaster treatment. There's nothing left to do but accept the hammering. I thought my bowels had stabilised, yet for the second time today I find myself scrambling up the slopes for some kind of shelter before the storm. We're back to a 2 out of 10...that can't be good. Worst of all however, are my filthy clothes. I've only just realised that it's been since Latacunga more than a month ago, when I last washed them!! No wonder all those wild dogs have been following suspiciously close behind. Yet this place demands the filth, a rugged nature, a lack of dignity - you first see it on the perilous ice slopes, where no life roams bar a few hardy weather worn climbers with nothing to lose but their stationed pride. Domesticated animals learn to take what they can, when they can - circling wandering congregations like wary vultures. So it goes, the local indigenous populations survive much in the same way. They live a hard life, and their faces reveal that arduous journey. It wasn't too long ago when armed robbery & even murder was a common occurrence along this route, mostly in acts of desperation. I however, have no excuse for my abominable appearance...and to be honest, I couldn't actually care a less. Why wash in the Huayhuash?¿? I'm pretty sure that's what I've heard them say. All the bullshit of our "real" world has been left behind out here...in some kind of modern day time-warp. All the while I'm having the time of my life. No soap, no shower, no TV, no Internet, no roads, no rules - only dust, rivers, donkeys & the most remarkable snow capped mountain backdrop I have ever seen. I guess a loo with a view is the least I should pay...

Walking out to Llamac on the last day

Well over a week ago I was crashed out after the Santa Cruz Trek, lining my stomach for the awaiting epic to come. I killed two full days gathering bits & pieces like maps and socks, also tossing up whether I wanted to give the Huayhuash a crack solo or with an organised tour group. I'd never done a guided trip before, not one where I'd had donkeys carrying most of my food & gear anyway. It all felt a little foreign, but in the end probably worked out just as cheap. 400 soles for an 8 day all included circuit. I'd be living off that normally anyway!! Plus an extra 160 soles which went to the communities so they wouldn't hunt us down, and stab us in the night. That part seemed a bit corrupt...paying people off so they won't kill us. I wasn't game to test out their reactions. The grand ol' tour got the nod, so I put my name down & payed the deposit. Later, on my second siesta day, I'd arranged to meet back up with Goldilocks who had finally made his way up from the coast. It was good to see a friendly face once again. The BeakerDutchman had haunted me. We grabbed a feast, & talked tactics. Actually, I kind of just talked him into the adventure. It wasn't long before he'd signed himself up as well, and I had myself a new partner in crime. Stoked. What more, that night when I was wasting away the hours before bed with a mighty Scrubs marathon, Brisso made a reappearance fresh off the Santa Cruz Trek as well!! I'd tried to get in contact earlier on, but Internet duels make hard work of a rendezvous. Turns out he'd been pretty keen for the Huayhuash before, but got fucked around by a whole number of different companies and chose to bail. Now he was about to jump on a bus to Lima for the weekend. Well, he was...Ohhh buddy boy, I got him too!! Fifteen minutes before the office shut, he raced on down & gave his next week over to the will of our fun little excursion. This was gonna be sweet!!

The next morning we were off to an early start. Our mini-van picked Brisso & I up first, before calling on Goldilocks with our unexpected surprise new guest. We then pulled into some kind of gear shop/restaurant place, or so that's what it looked like from the outside. Everyone was rushing about on our arrival, munching on cake & frantically loading up the vehicle with gear. It turned out to be some Israeli infested hostel, where all our remaining team-members were hiding. Ahhh shit, we were sooo out numbered. They jumped aboard screaming uninterpretable profanities, juiced up on excitement & common tongue. There was nothing more we could do but laugh. I didn't understand a single word they were churning out. In fairness, they were all overly friendly. Maybe it was just a bit too early in the morning for my first Hebrew lesson. After a few hours drive we pulled into the small town of Chiquian, where the Israelis shot off to buy a lunch they all thought was provided for them. I had so many chocolate bars stashed away, that it wouldn't matter if the shops shut & the world ended. I waited patiently by the van & acquainted myself with Peruvian rural life. Once we finally got going again, the road quickly deteriorated into little more than a 4WD track. It winded its way through canyon lands, before popping out into open fielded valleys. The high ridge lines were capped with slick grey crags, once again reminiscent of many places in Tassies South-West. Our camp was layed out beside the main road. The guides set up two large food tents, while we got working on our own basic accommodations. I'm glad I took my own sleeping bag; like most of the equipment, the ones provided were barely satisfactory for such an environment. I guess you get what you pay for. Twitching with anticipation, the three of us Aussies took a quick hike up to the top of the ridge before dark. I was overly grateful that they were here. Not only did I have someone to talk to in English, but I had two strapping young lads with equally as much energy as I had. That was rare!! We sat up top for a while and watched the day fold into night, before walking back to enjoy many a cup of hot coca tea and our guide-cooked dinners.

Valley of first nights camp

After a freeeeezing cold night, the first real day of walking had finally arrived. I'd had the Huayhuash Circuit on the top of my to-do list for the better part of three years now, and it was a little surreal to believe I was actually here. Breakfast was quickly devoured, and our icy tents packed away - up the pass we bounded. I'd ran into a local lady the day before, who apparently cleaned the toilets at the site, and she'd been kind enough to point out the route for me. With this inside knowledge, there was no stopping us powering off ahead. The climb wasn't all that bad in the early morning shadow, and it wasn't long before we had a towering view over the area surrounding Gasha Punta. There was a strange red-tinged river spreading out in the valley below, and massive cliffs bounding us in on either side. To my disbelief, we soon discovered that some of the Israelis had hired horses to ride for most of the trip!! Not long after the pass, they saddled up and galloped off down the dirt path. What a shit. I hate the things. I've always held this grudge, ever since my first girlfriend chose to clean stables & pony crap, in place of making out with me when I took her out on our one and only romantic date to the Hobart Show, back when I was a mere sprouter. Actually, this other time I went to visit the same girl at her house, far away on some farm. The darn horses had me hypnotised & before I realised what was happening, I was slumped over a live electric fence. What a bitch. Life has never been the same...and I am yet to mount one of those smelly beasts.

At lunch we made a make or break decision. We'd persuaded our guide into letting us fab-three venture off on our own little side trip, out to Laguna Mitococha; yet after a vague map inspection, had decided on an alternative route back to our second nights camp - a sneaky "short cut." You were a wise man Murphy; "whatever can go wrong, will go wrong." All started well; the lake was beautiful. We got our first real glimpse at the intimidating ice faces of some of the nearby peaks, and even stumbled upon a local guy net fishing in a small stream for trout. There was even a cute dog helping lead the way, who we nicknamed Toby (since it looked so much like Chelsea & Joel's dog) even though it was a girl. As happy as all this pristinity was making me, I began to get chronic stomach cramps. Three separate times I was forced to escape for a crap. It would just hit me all of a sudden, unexpectedly. We sussed out the plausibility of our "short-cut" & plotted our route. The plan was to hike up over this different & difficult ridge in front of us, to avoid a return via our lunch spot and a second climb over another pass. Practically straight-line mode. Yes, I should have known...this same practise has got me into trouble many a time before, but I was buzzed up from the spontaneity. How was I to know...??

Brisso & Goldilocks taking the "short-cut"

Well anyhow, that hill turned out to be a lot steeper than it looked. One foot in front of the other became a rhythm. The altitude was having its first effects on my stamina. The diarrhoea didn't help. BOOM!! Three-quarters of the way up I had to go...muy rapido!! Shit!! Pulling the toilet paper out from my backpack sent it rolling uncontrollably down the hill!! I was so tempted to just let it keep on rolling. Arrghhh...I chased it down, layed it out flat & perched myself quick-smart behind a large rock; just making it in time before I exploded. I was feeling pretty spent. We continued on despite, until we reached where we thought the track went back down on the other side. Not looking good. There were a few cairns spaced about, but nothing definitive. Worst of all, there seemed to be another small valley separating us from where we wanted to be. It was already 3 o'clock. We had to make the call. Goldilocks didn't seem to keen on stepping out any further into the unknown, and Brisso looked at me for answers. The last thing I wanted to do was put anyone in any further danger; the safe thing to do in the fading light was to trace our steps back to the main path & go the long way round. If we got caught in the dark on this cairned route, we'd be in big trouble. That's one thing about walking with others, one thing I'm not all that accustomed to. You fuck up on your own, and you can wear it. There is no one to answer to but yourself, and I feel I can always pull myself out of the shit no matter what. When others are relying on you for making those decisions, it's a different ball game. It was time to turn around. I found satisfaction in the incredible views as we made our way back down the slopes. The climb would be worth it despite.

Laguna Mitococha

There was not much talking to be had as first our energy faded, and not long after the light. We crossed over the pass on twilight, shades of pink dancing along the faces of silent mountains. Soon it was pitch black, and we were forced to walk by torch light. Barking dogs, chasing after Toby gave us a glimmer of camp approaching hope, yet they were simply strays living beside tiny, thatched dwellings. We'd been walking for a good 12 hours by the time we eventually hobbled into camp. Our guide wasn't too happy...I didn't care. Food was momentarily being served upon the boxed-table. Perfect timing!! Hen, one of the Israelis was rambling through a story about having a sex curse placed on him while in Central America by his ex-girlfriend. "I swear man, every time I was 20 seconds to condom, something would go wrong!! The chicks a witch!!" After dinner I swallowed a couple of gastro pills, and played a little comical charade myself to score some extra toilet paper, which probably made the situation with our guide unfavourably worse. Pants down, face pulsating with pain..."Hola amigos, necisito papel ahora!! Tuve un accidente!! Lo siento!!" It got the job done. While that paper lasted at least. I should have been an actor.

We were all pretty totalled the following morning. It was hard to get up out of the warm tent & sleeping bag. Thankfully, we were greeted by another dazzling blue skied morning. It appears as though the weather is perfect every day here!! We trekked around the lake till we reached a small community. A lamb was just being born at the passing of our passage. A positive omen?? Not for me...I farted & nearly shit myself. Arrghh man...this is embarrassing. There are people everywhere!! Where am I going to go?!! Fuck it. I jumped over a stone wall & slid down the bank, less than 15 meters from where my group was huddled. If this one got a rating, I'd give it a .5 out of 10. Holy shit, this was starting to get ridiculous. Ohhh no!! There was some on my shorts!! Deo, shower in a can?? Will have to do...there was a lake up ahead. No one could have stopped me ripping off my boots & top, and plonking down waist deep in the freezing glacial water to clean my arse. Brisso was even less subtle. He dove straight in!! Twice!! That was asking for trouble.

Cleaning up...

After the eventful morning we continued to climb to the top of the mirador. Behind us lay an amazing panorama of shimmering lakes & white peaks. If anything could have soothed my soul it was this. Arguably the best views of the entire trek. There was a lady at the top of the pass selling Coca Cola!! I had no idea where she'd come from, but I wasn't agreeing with her using her young daughter as a sympathy sell point to her potential buyers. I brought a coke despite & relaxed back into my bag while everyone else ate lunch. I couldn't have kept it down. A few more hours had us arriving early at Huayhuash camp, sharing the site with a party of arrogant Italian climbers. It's not hard to say hello. Hefty "hardcore" wankers. Early night. Revive, survive.

Ciula Punta Mirador

A rotten way to wake up in the morning: - dump layed out on the floor boards. Someone ain't no sharp shooter. I'd rather go behind a tree. Except, there were no trees hey...lucky the gut was feeling a bit better. Today was an easy day; up over a small pass and back down to a large island punctured lake, where there were nearby hot thermal springs in which we could bathe away the daylight hours. One annoying factor about walking up front ahead of the pack were the checkpoints. These were the places where we had to pay to pass. Our guide had taken all our "protection" money at the start of the trip, so when ever us fab-three would push far ahead, we'd end up sitting about at manned gates for a good half hour or more waiting for the rest of the group to catch up. It got a bit ridiculous at times, and no one seemed to know our guide. Maybe he was some rouge tourist trader.

Now that I was feeling superb, Brisso hit rock bottom. I knew diving in that lake was a bad idea. The 5th day was supposed to be the toughest, with a high pass around 5000m & an optional but unmissable side trip up the San Antonio Mirador. I felt for him. Goldilocks & I led the charge, running away from those repulsive horses that kept following close behind us laden with Israeli. It wasn't long before we'd reached the top. Toby, faithfully by our side. To our right shone an immaculate glacial wall, which appeared close enough to reach out and touch. In front of us beamed the southern peaks of the Cordillera, standing proud & stubborn. Red-rock desert like columns made for a stark landscape variation as we descended steeply down the other side. We took lunch low in the valley, placed at the foot of a slope, peering up at the gruelling climb yet to come. As the donkeys wandered on by, loaded up with all our spoils, we made the break & darted across the open plains. It was a long way to the top. Reality kicked in on the approach. I chose not to look up, just to keep on keeping on. One foot in front of the other. An unfailable match-winning method. To begin with, it wasn't actually all that bad; a half decent track had been worked into the loose soil. Then I found a spot to stash the bulk of my backpack, and made like Superman. The weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders, and I found myself bounding up the hill. It wasn't until the final push that I really began to struggle again. The air grew thin, and my leg muscles seemed to fall asleep. I found myself a landmark & pushed forward until I reached it. Only then could I rest. If I continued on past, I'd earn myself a few bonus bragging points. Almost there now. The bunny-eared rocks were insight & locked on, one final haul would do it. I couldn't help belt out a "hoot" once I popped out over the lip!! What a view!! They just kept getting better!! A realisation of where I was, finally began to sink in. The setting of mountain climbings most infamous chronicle. Somewhere far off in this valley was the base camp where Simon Yates & Joe Simpson set off on their catastrophic, yet ultimately successful accent of Siula Grande's west face. 'Touching the Void,' had been one of my all time favourite books. Now I could piece together all the pieces of the puzzle, once and for all. For me, this was the highlight. I spent over two hours up there, admiring the changing cloud patterns & spotting new characteristics of these immaculate mountains. I knew I would never be back here again. I had to soak it all in.

Stepping into the Void

That night I got served. I should have seen it coming. One of the tents had been busted open the previous day, and now the front zip wouldn't close up at all. Even though we were easily the first ones back at camp after the pass, one member from each group had chose not to go up at all, and they had claimed the good gear for themselves in the mean time. Brisso was still in a pretty bad way, and wasn't keen to make himself any sicker. I didn't blame him. There was an 'emergency' two-man tent which they could set up, so I took a bullet for the team & spent a night freezing my arse off in an ice box. Lucky I had a good sleeping bag. The water bottle placed beside my head froze solid over night!! It must have been well below zero. That was definitely my worst sleep of the lot. I woke up pretty pissed & grumpy. A great state to be in when you wanna smash out another long & banal day. We followed river valleys walled in by canyon clad cliff-faces for the most part. The highlight was an indigenous woman with mangled teeth, asking Goldilocks for a Panadol.

That afternoon I cracked a Doctor Pepper can, that I'd been carrying with me the entire trip to celebrate six months on the road!! It felt well deserved. The sugar fix revitalised me. What also woke me up, was the Israelis getting their slaughter on. Even since early days, they'd been onto us about buying a sheep on the last night of our hike & cooking, then eating the entire thing. I didn't really think they were serious to be honest. All of a sudden, here was this sheep being dragged through camp at the end of a rope, kicking & struggling wildly. It was like he knew what was coming. In one quick motion, one of the donkey men sliced its throat with a sharpened blade, then pulled back its neck till it cracked & broke. As quick as that he was dead. Such is life. We all stared fascinated as the donkey man worked away at the carcass, pulling away the skin to reveal all the usable, tasteful meat. The woollen coat was hung out to dry, and the butchered sheep bled out before being stuffed into a hessian bag. It was a strange scenario, but also quite normal in the scheme of things. You probably shouldn't be eating meat in the first place if you can't stand the idea of where it comes from. I guess these lads would get their feast after all...

The sheep slaughter

Our last full day was surprisingly awesome. I thought we'd been past all the good shit. A quick climb led us onto an exposed ridge, with sweeping views across to the previously hidden western faces of the mountain range. Looking the other way, you could make out the southern peaks of the Cordillera Blanca far off in the distance. The pace was relaxed after the two previously tiresome outings, and there was plenty of time to take one last admiration of the breathtaking vistas. That nights camp, deep in the valley below was also easily the best. Snow-caps stood tall behind a turquoise laked foreground. Local women sat on the rivers edge & sold cokes & cerveza. There were actually a ton of other people hear, at least thirty or so, in a number of different groups. One lot from Belgium had been on the same route for two full weeks!! Old bones. Hahaha, in saying that; once we were all set up, us three amigos wandered on down to the small cascading waterfall near our camp and washed off in the icy water with cups full of rum. While I was making a little freezer box in the shallows so our bottle of coke wouldn't wash away, these old codgers clambered over to the pools for a dip. I swear I could have peeled their flesh away from their bodies as if it were wet tissue paper. There was no fat on them to speak of, only saggy sultana skin. One guy had a mad white beard that covered his whole face like Santa Claus. They just jumped right in that water, unflinching, unfussed about the cold. Over-sized children in the golden years of their life, enjoying every moment as if it were their last. I was truly surprised it wasn't...

Laguna Jahuacocha from mirador

Once we were slightly drunk, we retreated into our tent & smoked the last of Brissos ganja to top off one highly chilled out afternoon. Then there was only time to lay out until dinner came round, listening to my Ipod. A glorious finale to the hike I thought. However, I'd forgot about the feast!! The Israelis must have picked out I was stoned and were on to me about keeping it secret from them...farrrkk do I really look like that kind of guy?? Crack-heads are always clinging by me to hook 'em up. Anyway, the sheep. There was bucket loads of the stuff!! I'd seen the guides preparing it earlier in a traditional underground stone oven, similar I guess to the Maori hangi, with a blazing fire cranking above the soil, covered yet again with a towering dome of rocks. I hadn't chipped in for the buffet, but I was sure these guys weren't getting through it all. I felt like I was sitting in a dank cave, 10,000 years ago, watching gorillas make the most of their evolutionary oral cavity. Hercules, the Iron Israeli leant over towards me with an entire charcoaled leg - "wants??" Hahaha, I lost my shit. He really was looking primal. I took the leg gratefully and tried to find a chunk not burnt to blackness. Woahhh...there was a truck load of meat on this thing. I could only handle five or six gnawing's. It was so salty!! Quite the task to digest. How these guys were going at it, I have no idea. I guess their wallets, were warranting that. Feeling a little off again, I paid my curtsies & left our dinners dwelling.

Drinkin' golden rum in paradise

The 4 o'clock rise was treacherous. There was no way I'd woken up this early since I jumped on that plane to Mexico. I could still feel the sheep struggling to make it all the down into my stomach. Urrghh...what a morning. Our stroll out of the Huayhuash culminated in Llamac, the sleepy inbred capital of the Peruvian kingdom. Trust me, I know this kind of thing, I'm Tasmanian. "Black Bobs, Black Bobs." No one could actually speak, and their faces looked twisted & birthmarky. I hoped this bus came. There was no chance you were having me spend a night out here.

As it went, the bus did eventually roll through town. I was more than happy to pass out on the back seat & suck on Inca Kola all the way home. Ahhh, Huaraz. We meet again. What's it been now?? Three whole weeks, more or less?? I think it is time we parted ways my friend. I better get back on that long winding road south. Thanks for the good times. Happy days!!

The posse in Llamac

To all the the people I've travelled with...

...may the Lord continue to shine healthy rays of happiness down upon your bless-ed souls. 

Amen, Hallelujah.

Much ever lasting luvin'...
- Raw Dog.

Desert Storms & Thieving Bastards, Cusco
29th August, 2012

Bombs, beers n' bitches. Just another night out, here in Cusco. This whole town is one great conspicuous fermenting nose-bleed. I thought Mancora was a wild ride...that week long splurge was merely suckling down upon mothers sweet milk in comparison. There's some podgy Dutch guy manging this legless mess of a dress against the bar, while two buffed up rugby playing Kiwi lads are battling off naked on top of the pool table, in a game of tug 'o war with leather belts hooped over their heads. One of these same guys winds up spear tackling this feisty little Canadian chick flat to the ground...not too long actually after she'd hostaged my packet of crisps & tab menu, until I'd accepted her challenge to a rap-off over the top of a lousy Missy Elliot song. Ahhh shit son, this is a place of pilgrimage to most; Inca Trails, Machu Picchu, The Amazon Jungle & Ausangate...all we've seemed to do so far is throw our hands up into the air and partied till our livers pop. Day one, had me a tiny bit too excited; straddled a top the wooden decks smashing free shots from an Austrian table trotter & then somehow two nights later, I find myself pouring similar drunk fuckers drinks from over the other side. Six months of freedom, and now I'm 'trapped' working in an Irish pub. I am 100% doomed. I've lived a pretty good life, I'd just like to say. 22 years of swaggling. About time to sign off...Booyah!!

I'd spent a hell of a lot of days kicking about Huaraz by the time I actually left. Goldilocks & Brisso had left a few days earlier, to hit up Lima for the weekend, but my plan was to power on through the big city and avoid the claustrophobic mayhem. As I've said often before, I hate the large cities; and to be honest I can't say I felt too disappointed or deprived when I actually did skip on through the grey-glum. An hour or so changing buses & I was out of there - bound for Ica to reunite once again with our crew. I still had the shits I'd had trouble with on the Huayhuash, and hadn't been feeling all that famished for the long trip; but by the time I eventually hopped off that bus, I was starving!! I no longer craved the once popular soup, rice, potato & meat staple that I'd been downing daily since Colombia - I dreamed of scones & pies & green Thai curries...a bag full of jam cakes & cookies would have to do the trick unfortunately for now. With all my goods, I bounced into a tuk-tuk for the short commute out to Huacachina. I love these beasts. Definitely one thing I need back home. How...??...of yet I am not quite sure; but just imagine cruising Hobart in one of these steeze machines, decked out like Donkey Kong - beats blaring while that (kind of) roof looking umbrella thing protects me from all those terrible Tassie UV rays. I was blown away by the changing scenery as we neared the town. The oasis of Huacachina is beautiful - maybe the water itself isn't all that inviting (hundreds of years worth of stagnant grime), but the tranquillity of the place is undeniable. Around the lagoon are groves of palms & patches of beach, while perfectly formed sand dunes rise sharply skyward hundreds of feet high on either side. I tried to wander about for a while & take it all in, but I was wrecked; and it wasn't long before I passed out in the hostel.

The oasis of Huacachina

"The poor mans Galapagos??" That was the word on the street. Guess I'd better check that out. The guys hadn't rocked up yet so I had a bit of time to kill; I thought an early morning excursion to the nearby Ballestas Islands might prove a hit. Actually, I can't say I really had overly high expectations. Some of these short touristy trips turn out to be pretty boring & slightly gay. But more often than not, I've found myself pleasantly surprised. 'Optimism' my friends. What a treat to have. Haha!! In hindsight, this one poor ol' boatman probably wasn't feeling it pulsing through him that morning. Just as we were walking along the jetty to board our own vessel, the wayward skipper plowed his own into the adjacent pier!! Crash!! Man, it was lucky no one was hurt really. I was glad not to be hitched up with him to be honest. Anyway, we were off, woohoo!! The morning air was fresh, and the hasty journey out to the islands was freezing - and that's coming from me!! First we stopped and looked at some Nazca-esque like patterns in the sand dunes, before continuing out to the actual reserve. Now, I'd heard there were a lot of birds flapping about out here...but dude, there were A LOT of birds flapping about out here!! The sky was nearly blacked out, much like it is when a colony of bats passes on by. The shorelines shifted with movement, as if scuttling crabs were migrating in their millions. There were penguins, cormorants, booby's & pelicans. Standing proud posing on protruding rocks, or lazing about on the beach were the sea-lions. I'd never seen so many in one single place before either - it was incredible. They would pop their heads up out of the water, not too far from our boat, as if coming to say a friendly "Heya!! Good morning to ya'll!!" As well as the wildlife, the islands also boasted some pretty cool geological formations. Isolated outcrops, deep canal like tunnels & countless natural arches. Although it was a short outing, and also not the most liveliest; I'm glad I took the time to visit. I'd still love to get to the Galapagos one day, but until then...the poor man prevails!!

Mass of animals @ The Ballestas Islands

I spent the rest of that arvo chilling out in hammocks by the lagoon, with some of the girls I met on the tour. I'd discovered a new found love for potato crisps, and a whole packet went down in the mean time while we sat and talked smack about all things sensational. I was fairly amped-up for the dune buggy tour later on this evening; I'd been kicking back gazing up at these sand mountains towering above us for most of the day, conjuring the best tactic I could muster to fly down the fuckers as fast as humanly possible. Turns out you go pretty damb fast face first!! The buggy ride was like a roller coaster; our driver had us close to slipping out sideways on some of the sharper corners, and I was fairly certain it would have taken me no longer than 10 minutes to flip the entire thing myself. What was I saying about tuk-tuks earlier?? I take it back. I want one of these!! What a buzz...and the rolling desert landscape all around us was other worldly!! Wax those buggers up, and you're away. It felt like I'd ripped my arse apart coming off on one particular nasty stack. After about six or seven goes on the boards, we sat up on the dunes & watched the sun set over our new found playground.

Sunset over the desert

All the while, Brisso & Goldilocks had arrived in the mean time. I thought it would be best to wait an extra day for these guys, and then we could all cruise up to Cusco together. The day wasn't wasted in the slightest. I think I had more fun climbing up the dunes myself, straight up from town, with a board I'd picked up for a mere 5 soles. It was hard work getting up, but the bombs were worth it!! We were annihilating the speeds we were peaking at the previous day. I just slapped on as much wax as I could & tried my best to keep the line straight & steady. Only thing was, you ate shit once you finally did bail. That was guaranteed; and the gruelling climbs back up to the top spoiled all that technique wisdom that you'd gain by the time you'd reached the bottom. Our last run was the best, and had us scooting straight back into town, covered from head to toe, ear to ear in sand. "To the pub!!"...and to the pub we went, break-dancing in a beats blasting deserted club as empty as the surrounding emptiness. That night reached its climax when I accidentally kicked the hottest girl there in the face, trying to do a cartwheel.

Happy 50th birthday Sal!! Gone boarding...

The next day we left Huacachina, bound for the lines. I guess it's a much nicer experience from the air, but in my opinion Nazca is a shit hole. Maybe it was just the series of unfortunate events that plagued us for the entire day, that really determined why I will now forever hate the place. First off, we got robbed on our bus. I'd been mentioning to Goldilocks as we boarded, how glad I was to be able to keep all my gear with me, under my seat on all the buses I'd been on so far this trip. Fucking jinxed myself hey...the top of my bag had been hacked open with some kind of pocket-knife I guess. The thing that really pissed me & rubbed salt into the wound, was the fact that I'd had one foot on it the entire ride!! I showed the bus driver as we got off - "blehh..." what a tosser!! It then became apparent Brisso had lost out on his luck worse than me. I hadn't actually had anything stolen, just fished through unsuccessfully. I'd been laughing at Brisso passed out sooo obviously across two bus seats earlier on. Seems like someone else was taking notice to. It wasn't until we got off that he realised his camera & MP3 player were stolen. What a bitch!! It was one of those situations where you feel completely depleted; when all faith in the goods of human nature have failed you. I hadn't felt this low since I had the shit kicked out of me by three fuck wits when I was totally smashed one night, dressed in my best giant banana suit. There was not much we could do - we simply booked our bus ticket out of there for later that night, and hopped on the next commute to the Nazca lines view tower. Despite telling the driver about five times where we wanted to get off, he decided to drop us a good hours walk or so down the scorching hot highway. What more, we couldn't step off the road as there were apparently land mines everywhere. There also wasn't much to the mirador either, hey...it looked like someone had just ran across a dirt footy field with a giant garden hoe, skitzing on your stock standard acid trip. Oh well, we tried - and we did manage to score a free hitch back into town with some hilarious old local guys, who only seemed educated in talk of Peruvian anal sex & gold mining.

The road to fucking nowhere!! Walking back to Nazca

So after a very long overnight bus ride we finally arrived in the famed city of Cusco. I was oh so happy, I have to say. Actually, some chick had her lap top stolen on that bus ride too!! At least that gave Brisso a pal for the cop shop. Thieving bastards. This leg between Lima - Cusco was seeming the worst of any I'd yet encountered as far as petty crime is concerned. While Brisso sorted his life out, Goldilocks & I took a stroll through the main plaza and found Starbucks!!! Life was good again. Then somehow we ended up on some skit for Brazilian television with two idiotic, but smokin' hot presenters. All we had to do was dance a bit and look down the lens & say something I couldn't decipher. After that, everything else is a blur. I explored parts of the old city, got shit-faced playing beer-pong & even scored myself a job. We ended up in Club Groove at some point that night, where by 5 o'clock I was far flung into believing I was some kind of black rights revolutionary. The bouncer tried to have me kicked out but I refused, stood my ground, and transformed my imaginary persona even further into madness. We didn't make it out till day light. I thought someone had tried to kidnap Brisso, but he'd actually in reality already left much earlier while trying to pick up some fat chick. Then there was the Kiwi lads. Woahhh shit...what a wild ride they've some how survived. My favourite was when one of the guys, who'd been by now on a 3 day bender, decided to finish off his sheppards pie 'New Zealand style', kitted out in some kind of Yellow Submerine Beatles outfit with a motorbike helmet & a drawn on handlebar moustache..."this is how we do it in New Zealand!!" His face fell flat into the plate...

View over Cusco

To be honest, there are too many hilariously funny (or shall I put it - strange) moments from the past week to possibly fit into one tidy monologue. I'm not even going to try. They are bound to stay etched in my memory for many more years to come. May the good times continue!! T-Bomb time!! God bless, Wild Rover!!

Yeaaa...I'm not too sure what this is...

Just wanted to say a massive "fuck yea!! shazam!!" to all the posse here in Cusco. It's been a wild ride so far, let's keep it coming. Goldilocks, Brisso, Red-head, Dick, AusMatt, NZMatt, ThirdReich, Hollandians & to the rest of the lads @ Wild Rover...you're all truly RawMo'Fockers!!!

Much luvin' as always,
LilTazDevs. xxxxx

Wobbly Weeks at The Wild Rover, Cusco
29th September, 2012

So. Let's put it like this. I kind of got stuck in Cusco. Shit son, more than stuck in reality hey??...the word 'smitten' might seem appropriate. Twice I tried to leave and twice I came whimpering back with my tail between my legs, waving the great white flag of surrender. It was all too much fun. How could I resist?!? Who would have thought, after that mind-mashing first shift, that I'd end up kicking about behind that bar until the start of OCTOBER for god's sake!! I never sit in one place for more than I have to. It makes me fidgety. But of those of you who actually know me, I'm sure you'll all agree - I'm a sucker for a good time; and an even bigger sucker for a mobs full & unfaltering attention. I felt like the King of Cusco. I could do anything...and so we did do EVERYTHING...& maybe just a little more. 100% Young, Wild & Freeeeee...

Happy Dayzzz with 'The Rover' staff

Sharing is caring. What a great family motto...and so it came to be; locked in The Dungeon. The mere talk of this place still sends cold shivers down my spine. No other one room in that hostel could conjure up fantastical limericks & mythical whisperings much the same as that room could. No light came in, and there was definitely nothing good that ever came out. Truth be told; it was a festering trash dump. Bags, bread & bottles littered the floor. I'm actually sceptical that there even is a floor, cause I'd never seen it. While clothes went missing, bras seemed to multiply in a clothesline like fashion across the tops of bunk beds. There wasn't even any need for a mish to the toilet either so it seemed...heck, we'd just piss in the bin!! I'd been hooking up with this red-head I thought was pretty snaz (and don't you worry, I still do me dear), yet as it turned out, so too had the rest of the damb bar!! I guess it really brought us all together in a fashion...minus the speckled willy. Early one morning I was sharing a spliff out in the back yard with this blonde Estonian lass, when our bar manager stumbles out of his room to join us. He looked a little parched. Maybe more than a little petrified. Turns out he'd gone raw-dawg on the village's local gringo hunter, before she'd fell asleep & pissed all through his bed. Mate...great effort. Taking one for the team. Lucky for us, it just so happens we have some resident Peruvian doctor located down the street who appears to enjoy our shenanigans, regularly frequents our bar & is willing to jab us staff in the buttocks for free. Yipeeee!!

BoalTown!!

Amidst all the chaos, I did manage to eventually make it out to Machu Picchu; although the journey in itself was an event to ponder. I'd signed up for the Salkantay Trek, a longer & apparently more scenic alternative to the famous Inca Trail. By this stage I was pretty excited to be getting out of that hostel, for a few nights off the drink, and had everything packed and ready to go beside my bed come nightfall. Some of the guys were heading up to Loki for a few 'quiet' guzzlers, so stupidly I thought I might as well tag along for a couple of hours before bed. Ever heard the notion 'once you pop you can't stop??' well admittedly, that is me in a nutshell. How quickly that night seemed to evaporate!! Before I knew any different, I'd woken up in some small town on the back seat of a shuttle bus, missing a shoe & covered in cake crumbs. My head was spinning. I could barely remember leaving Loki. Who were all these people?! And where the hell was I?? As it turned out, I'd been let loose on a bit of a bender that previous night. The Estonian chick had racked me up early, & I'd definitely drank a few more than a few quiet guzzlers. I guess I got caught up in the moment. Apparently some folks had seen me in Groove Club around 3:30 in the morning, when I was meant to be up by 4:30!! When the guides found me, I was curled up with the hostels cat on The Dungeon floor, and had to have water splashed over my face before being carried out. I sure fucked up here. That first day was torturous!! I think I was still drunk until well after mid-day...then the hangover kicked in. Not the best way to make first impressions on a group of people you're to spend the next five days hiking with...

Salkantay Mountain

I felt like a fool, but a good nights sleep had me nearly back to normal. This was the big day anyway; up and over the Salkantay Pass, scooting around the sheer bulk of this impressive white-capped mountain. My group was quite forgiving to be fair, and I proved my worth racing up the slopes with youthful ease. The views were spectacular, and it felt great to be back out in the great outdoors where I belong. For the next three days we slogged it out through the changing environments, enjoying scenic campsites, hefty late night dinners & even a dip in a natural hot spring. By the time we reached Aguas Calientes, I felt like a reborn man. Fresh once again. Add this to the excitement of visiting Machu Picchu the following day, and you had yourself one satisfied sucker. This was the culminating moment of all these months of travel - I'd reached the watershed. Up until now, this was the place I'd been heading towards...and to be honest it left me feeling a little lost. The ruins themselves didn't disappoint. There is an unparallelled feeling of awe, the first time you set eyes upon this famous ruined citadel. Words can not describe. I tried my best to take it all in, as you always do - but it's not until you leave that you realise what you've just experienced. That day, I'm sure someone tapped me on the shoulder & showed me life is pretty sweet.

Me @ Machu Picchu

And so with all that done & dusted, I returned to The Rover. Here we go again...I'd ripped my new shorts flush apart on my way back on the bus, and was now boasting myself a pleated new kilt. It didn't take me long to get sucked back into my old ways. There was more Naked Lizard Wrestling, some atrocious Carly Rae Jepson karaoke, a mental half-way to St Patricks Day party and forever more free shots and dancing across the table top of the bar. One night I was simply trying my best to work as hard as always, when out of no where I'd become completely stripped by a mob of about 12 local Peruvian girls out for some chicks hens night. They hid my clothes & placed a veil over my head. Bokays of flowers came, before dildo's were forced between my teeth!! The photos floating around are ghastly. In truth, I hardly had any clothes left after the Salkantay incident. I'd lost my shoes, most of my t-shirts & all of my socks. I was practically living out of the lost property bin & any Wild Rover garments I could acquire. I did however find myself a bangin' 80's ski jacket & a pair of uggs which were great before people started using them as ash trays.

Half-Way to St Pat's!!!

After another heavy week or so, I felt myself hitting the wall once again. I had to get out. A couple of the lads that I'd been hanging around with were planning on shooting off to Arequipa after the weekend, and I felt that was my best chance to finally escape for good. I was kidding myself. Within a few hours of leaving the city I started dreaming of the dambed place & all those jolly times I'd had with all those more than amazing people. It didn't help that I'd been offered the bar managers position. That sent my head into a wild flurry. I'd become comfortable, let's put it that way. I knew people well, and people knew me. It was a refreshing change from the constant blow-in blow-out meeting process that goes on, over and over while on the road. That place had energy, and it's not every day you find a hostel like that. It matched my buzz perfectly. But that was the danger I now was facing. I still had a lot of South America I still wanted to see; I was no where near done yet. That trip out to Arequipa & the spectacular Colca Canyon proved definitive. On our return to Cusco, things had seemed to change. There was an unfamiliar, distant crowd frequenting the bar, and a whole new bunch of staff that had come & gone. They were still a great ol' craic don't get me wrong, but it just wasn't the same. Also I felt the weight of this big decision hanging over my head. It would have been a great experience to stay & smash out the good times for a few more months, but I simply wasn't ready just yet to stop in my tracks.

Colca Canyon

As the story goes, my last week at The Wild Rover guaranteed I left Cusco with a righteous bang. It was one hell of a send off. My linguistically lopsided Canadian pal made a grand mess of herself in one of the funniest Hour of Power's I'd ever seen, another Aussie lad & myself destroyed the entire competition in four straight games of Beer Pong, the mighty Swannies took out the AFL Grand Final in a an epic blockbuster (which turned out to be one of the best nights of my life), and for reasons still unclear - I ended up with Taz the Tasmanian Devil tattooed across my arse. I will never fully be able to summarise all those antics that went down in Cusco under my watch, so I'm never going to try. However long I was there for (a good month and a half I guess) would have to be some of the best weeks of my life; wild & relentless ball-busting times that I will never forget, and will always look back on fondly. To all you crayyyzeeee fockers who were there to share it all with me...happy days. Thanks for all the madness!! I hope to see you someday soon for a little more fun.

CARN' THE SWANNIES!!!

Peace out.

Happy Days & Livin'
Much love...Taz, Raw, Bam Bam!! 
& Nicki Boi xxxxx

Farrrkkkk...I still can't believe I've actually left. Check it out...

Bad Ass Nigga's

Our Tatt Posse

With FranDawg n Ez

More Table Top Lovin'

Jolly Chickas on the Bar!!

One Final Showdown!!

Bye for now...