C Is For Cuy, That's Good Enough For Me...

When the notorious Spanish conquistador, Francisco Pizarro, discovered Cusco it was the capital of the Inca Empire. At 3500 meters (11,500 feet) the city is the spiritual and physical portal to Machu Picchu via the Sacred valley's Rio Urubamba, Inca Trail and the Peru Rail choo-choo. Currently the country's 10th largest with 320,000 residents, Cusco's population has tripled in twenty years, and will quickly climb the ranks thanks to booming tourism and Machu Picchu's recent induction as one of the Seven Modern World Wonders. Supposedly shaped like a puma, the city's Inca architecture hides under layers of colonialism, often surviving earthquakes that have required toppled churches to be rebuilt. But symbols of the past , like the multi-colored flag of the Inca and Quechua culture, proudly live on...

We parked in the bus terminal under the foggy darkness of predawn. Cold and groggy from a frigid nocturnal ride, we taxied to Loki Hostel, hoping that we still had a reservation. Thanks to the Bolivian blockade, we were half a day late...Fortune followed the Bolivian folly--the Loki owners were obviously familiar with the unpredictable rhythms of backpackers--and our private double room was waiting for us. We quickly snuggled in for two hours sleep in an actual bed...

Loki Hostel is a renowned recent phenomenon. Founded by four backpackers, the 450 year old building has been transformed into a budget traveler's dream: affordable adequate rooms, awesome services, and a college campus atmosphere. In fact, if there's any drawback, it's that the fun never stops--late teeners, twentysomethingers and wannabeyoungers party at the bar until last call at 6 am every night; 15 minutes after the bar crew cruises, some lovely local ladies open back up for bountiful breakfasts. Luckily, we were able to reserve our room for two nights...

Although we were feeling stronger, no food was more memorable and mouth-watering than the meal we ate that morning. Not only did we sit staring at a silent sunrise over the misty roofs of Cusco with steaming tea and coffee, but we both ordered the "full breakfast" which was obviously intended to give hardcore hikers all the fuel they would need to conquer any high-altitude outdoor excursion: rich slices of home-baked bread, eggs fresh from the farm, thick slabs of organic bacon, mugs of sweet orange nectar, and steak sized slices of tomato. It's hard to describe how nourishing it was, but that meal marked the moment that we recovered from our colds...
Leandra and I both claim it was the best breakfast we've ever had. Savoring every morsel with a moan, we wondered about the valley before us--El Valle Sagrado de los Incas--that disappeared in the neon haze...
Moments later, we were striding down the steep street to meet our bus and tour guide. At the bottom of the stairs, we met Stacy, a solo traveler that buddied up with us...
"Uh-oh." As we picked up other passengers another parade of protesters passed by. Leandra and I gave them the evil eye. Apparently, Peru and Bolivia have some common cultural traditions, but this time it didn't affect our plans. Whew!

Soon, we were winding through the hills, our guide pointing out lesser ruins to the left and right, explaining the mythic history of the Sacred Valley, and previewing our tour today: the artisan market of Pisac, the fortress of Ollantaytambo, lunch and traditional life along the Urubamba River, and the town and temples of Chinchero...
And, before we knew it, we were there, posing at a pullout over the river. According to Inca cosmology, the Willcamayu (now known as Rio Urubamba), connects Cusco and Machu Pichu like an mighty anaconda, but also as an earthbound version of the Milky Way...
Then, we pulled into the popular pueblo of Pisac and scoped its marvelous market for colorful curios. Leandra scooped up some sparkling pink and green polished stones and a banded silver necklace...
In the food court we found fresh oranges and some bottled water to take on our tour. Unlike most of our journey, we are nearer to forests and fertile farmland than anywhere before, surrounded by trees and greenery that was rare in other parts of Peru and Bolivia...
Back on the bus, our guide points out some switchbacks of the Inca Trail. Following the footpath to Machu Picchu is a highly recommended experience, but the short version takes two days, the longer way takes four, physical fitness is a necessity, reservations are required well in advance as unguided tours are prohibited, and it costs several hundred dollars per person. In other words, we opted for the Inca Train...

But, eventually we would experience some of the Camino del Inca...
Entering Ollantaytambo, the last town before Auguas Calientes and Machu Picchu, we were shown an Inca canal solidified in perfectly cut stones. Many of the ancient irrigation systems and terraces are still fully functional...
Entering the fortress ruins, we stood on its lower terraces as the town sat serenely below one of the most impressive ruins in the valley...

To the left are the Baños de la Ñusta or Baths of the Princess, where the Incas performed ritual bathing ceremonies. Our guide showed us how the touch of a finger could effectively turn the stream of water on or off--making it run down the wall instead of shooting through the air. Notice the intricately accurate masonry--still in tact despite the lack of mortar. In the lower fountain, find the finely carved geometric lines that form a pyramid shape.
This is one point on the Chakana, or Inca Cross, which represents the southern cross. The three tiers symbolize the lower world and anaconda, this world and the puma, and the higher world and the condor. When four are joined in a cross, the corners represent twelve 30 day months, and the four points represent the cardinal directions which also correspond with quadrants of the Inca Empire and their associated colors of red, blue, yellow and green.
I bought a necklace for a souvenir--I'm supposed to soak it in salt water every full moon to restore its energy giving powers--which I did. And you know what? Life's been great!

Behind the baths is an impressive mountain with several structures etched into the stone. Much conjecture has come and gone concerning these obviously important creations--today it's agreed that they were granaries. But one carving is claimed by locals to be an ancient Incan--with a rigid face and beard, carrying a heaven burden through the valley...
From the left, you can see a small diagonal granary, the face, a large terraced granary, and finally a complex granary to the far right...
Archeologists are currently investigating the large one...
According to our guide, the "face" to the left shows the physical strength and European features of Inca ancestors, and apparently lead to the misinterpretation that the Spaniards, in their shiny metal suits and dark beards, were gods returning to the sacred land...
Hiking 200 steps higher we reach some of the most impressive constructions. Behind Leandra, people are examining the Temple of Ten Niches before stepping through an amazing arch door. Above Leandra, the Temple of the Sun sits with its six precisely-fitted pink granite slabs sit, some of the relief carvings still recognizable...

Finally, our group visits the quarry where work virtually halted one day when the Inca finally succumbed to the Spanish invasion, leaving a perfect opportunity for observing Inca masonry methods. To the left is one of the watertight walls that modern architects marvel at--it was one of the best examples we saw. Stones resisted seismic activity due to their interlocking niches and trapezoidal design--only the face of the stones actually touch while the unseen sides are tapered.
To the right, one side of a nearly finished block is hewn so smooth that after 500 years, dirt and brown mosses still cannot find a foothold. I literally spooked when I felt it with my fingertips--it was like glass!

Although this fortress is famous for successfully repelling the Spanish advance, the original purpose was to defend the Inca Empire against the Antis--indigenous Peruvians. It's ceremonial baths, agricultural terraces, astronomical observatory also indicate it functioned as a spiritual and scientific center...
This amazing architectural achievement was created during the rule of Pachacutec--the Inca who united the kingdom. But, the credit goes to Ollantay, the legendary general who rose from the peasantry, questing for greatness. Despite his accomplishments and revered following, his final step toward nobility was thwarted by a denial to marry princess Cusi Coyllor due to his humble origins. Sadly, Ollantay led a failed rebellion against Pachacutec and was imprisoned...

We boarded the bus, backtracking along the river...
Stopping for lunch, we noticed that everyday life still occurs in the Sacred Valley. Children are playing futbol during recess...
An elder rests on a bench while landscapers and surveyors measure and remake a neighboring garden...After lunch we visited a small farm for a lesson on Quechua cuisine and traditions...
In the "Inca Bar" we are introduced to "chicha", a traditional Inca drink made from maize. It's mildly alcoholic and sometimes mixed with strawberries...
Before chugging the whole mug, our guide performed a prayer ritual--it was fascinating and complex, involving all levels of life and spilling lots of chicha to show appreciation and to share with the gods...
We chose to sample the strawberry chicha...
Next door to the "Inca Bar" was the "Inca Barn" where a herd of "cuy" hurriedly scurried nowhere or stood staring stupidly. Known in western culture as guinea pigs despite being neither pig nor from Guinea, cuy are a native Andean species of rodent that were first domesticated over 7000 years ago. No longer found in the wild, cuy remain a common food source in Peru, and are used by folk doctors to diagnose and cure diseases like jaundice, rheumatism, arthritis, and typhus. Simply rub a cuy (preferably a black one) on the sick person--you can check the effectiveness of the cure by cutting the cuy open and reading its entrails...

Another Andes tradition is a game called "Sapo", the Spanish word for "frog". The object is to throw six coins into the golden frog's mouth, or one of several lesser valued targets. It is thought that this game originated around Lake Titicaca where Inca royals would attempt to win the attention of magic frogs. If the frog ate the coin, a wish would be granted before the frog turned to gold.

So, with international bragging rights on the line, several of us had a go at the golden frog game. Me and my partner tied for third in the mixed doubles. Somehow, Belgium won the men's singles--he plunked one right in Kermit's mouth.
It's a lot like darts, although it takes a lot more luck and much less math--you just open the drawer after your six throws and count your coins: 500, 1000, 2000 for the side holes or 5000 for the frog mouth!

Our next stop along the river was at a brick making yard. Leandra was the first to volunteer when the guide asked if anyone wanted to try. Using all of her crafting skills and mastery of ceramics, Leandra packed, pressed and patted out a perfect Inca adobe brick and received all due applause from the awestruck audience. And, right now, that autographed block is somewhere in the walls of some lucky Sacred Valley structure...


After a slow meandering climb up the valley walls, we arrived at our final stop just as the sun set across the distant peaks. The village of Chinchero spies over the Urubamba valley from 3800 meters (12,500 feet). Hiking up we found a courtyard with a perimeter of vendors whose wares were spread out on blankets, and behind them, ten door-sized nooks where ancient sacrifices and offerings were placed. On top of the Inca temple foundations, the Spanish built a church--a simple but oppressive gesture...

Walking into the church, where photos are forbidden, we found walls covered in faded frescoes painted by a former Chinchero artist. After wandering a few more minutes, it was time to return to Cusco. On the bus, a musician got on, selling some CD's of his pan flute band and offering free shots of a delicious liqueur made from anis, another Andean specialty. We bought his music and a bottle of the licorice spirit--apparently, its tradition to drink it after eating cuy...

We returned to Cusco under dark of night, thanked our guide and stepped out into the light of the Plaza de Armas...
La Catedral was completed in 1669--inside a Peruvian portrait of the Last Supper shows the apostles enjoying chicha and cuy...
While sitting in front of another town square landmark, Templo de la Compañia de Jesus--which was rebuilt after being all but demolished by the 1650 earthquake--we invited Stacy to join us for dinner. We began asking locals about the best restaurant in town, and some police officers recommended El Truco, two blocks away on Plaza Regocijo...
Upon sitting, a napkin clad waiter asked where we came from--we said Uruguay. After some skeptical looks, we added the United States, and he smiled, soon returning with the appropriate flags to decorate our table. We raised our glasses of red wine...
Across the colonial styled restaurant, another show of dance and pan flute based music was impressing a group of Asian tourists, as we ordered dinner. Leandra ordered beef, while Stacy and I felt like trying something unusual, something cultural, a culinary delicacy. "I think I'll try the roast guinea pig," I said. Smiling sideways,"Mmmmm, that's sounds yummy! Make that two cuy!" said Stacy. Leandra grimmaced...
See, it's not that bad! It's a lot like chicken, but a little bit leaner and chewier. Of course, some of the bones and muscles weren't where a life long fowl eater might expect them to be, but basically it was fairly easy to eat. The flavor? Well, it didn't strike me as mouth-watering but certainly wasn't bad. It was surprising that such a nice restaurant wouldn't have a more impressive recipe for roast cuy--it could have used some more spices or barbecue sauce or something...

The coolest part though, was how--before they cut and quartered it into nice normal looking pieces-- they brought it out in tact so we could take pictures to impress our squeamish western multi-culturally-challenged friends who insult other societies with their sensitive stomachs, disgusted expressions and snobby carnivore noses in the air! (I guess if you're a vegetarian, a guinea pig sympathizer, or it's against your religion than I understand...but if not...wimp!)
I like the way the former feet are propped up on potatoes, the frizzled ears, the menacing eyes at the moment of death, and, especially, I like the little white teeth! I didn't know a cuy could look so scary!...which, just made it easier to eat.

After an a couple shots of the local liqueur, we said so long to Stacy, and walked back to the hostel--me giggling with my toothpick, Leandra wanting to gag. Tomorrow morning, we'd take the train to Aguas Calientes...

La Paz For A Moment...

Still congested but well rested we left Copacabana for La Paz loaded into two front row seats...Bus service runs regularly from lakeside to the capital city, so its affordable seats were filled with a colorful combination of backpackers and Bolivianos.


As we wound around the hills out of town, the cup-shaped bay of Copacabana lay below, filled with the beautiful water of Titicaca, sequined with tranquil trimmings of civilization...
Riding along the ridges that surround the lake, we had wonderful views of islands and little hidden farms and fishing communities...
We were surprised to find ourselves back at lake level and being ushered off the bus. Although I had read about this ferry crossing days before, it was something forgotten during our foggy coughy days of recuperation. This is the Strait of Tiquina--about a kilometer or two across. The procedure? Everybody gets off the bus and on a boat, while the bus rolls aboard one of the polychromatic barges above. Below, you can see all the action as the people and vehicle that arrived before us make the crossing...
Notice that the Bolivian flag is buffeting in a stiff gale and whitecaps are appearing on the water...

Well, being a bit lost on the process, and having more than one boatload of passengers on our bus, we were at the line's end on the dock. As the first boat whirred its engine, bobbing and splashing, rolling and crashing through the meter-high swells, Leandra lamented about this unexpected excursion. Despite my sympathy for my seasick-sensitive wife, I thought it was exciting! The boats, with fresh coats of paint over their old leaky hulls, were bopping against the wharf with each wind-driven wave. Mixed with locals and travelers, including eldery ladies and swaddled babies, we carefully stepped from the warped planks of the pier onto the undulating deck, with a helpful hand from the teenage captain...
Soon, scrunching in our seats, holding hats, zipping zippers, and popping collars against the wind, we were all aboard. The boy pilot pulled the cord on the outboard engine. After a dozen attempts, it sputters and we begin to putter away from shore...
As we rock against the waves, we watch our bus board it's barge. I begin to assess the safety aspects: high winds coming perpendicularly at a bus loosely tied and teetering on a flat bed barge trying to pound through waves with a piddly rebuilt hand-me-down outboard engine. I'm no engine expert, but I've seen bigger engines on lawn-mowers. And, I wonder how many buses are at the bottom of this strait, and what we would do if we lost all our stuff?
About this time, our engine dies, and we are adrift, sickeningly rising and sinking. As the pilot removes the casing and nonchalantly attempts to tweak with knobs and re-pull starter ropes, Spanish speaking passengers lay into him. Reluctantly, he whistles to the dock and the next available boat to come to our rescue. Meanwhile, Leandra is getting a greener demeanor with each hull-slapping swell....
Our back-up arrives and--following the time-honored "women and children first" policy--we carefully transfer everyone to the rescue boat, as decommissioned tires buffer the impact between the oscillating hulls...
Safely aboard a boat with a working engine, I hide my grin and capture the experience with my camera. Fortunately, there was no need to ask Leandra to act sick and angry...

We reached the other shore without incident, and milled about the arrival port waiting for, or should I say praying for our bus to barge across. Sure enough, it was listing in the wind, tilting with each gust, being blown westward and taking a giant parabolic course before paralleling the shore and forcing its forty horsepower way back to the landing. As we nervously watched, a large explosive sound boomed in the other direction. There was a bit of commotion so we walked over to investigate. We never did find out the source of the sound, but...
Apparently, the Bolivian Navy was training. You know, the Bolivian Navy? You know, to protect Bolivia from an aquatic invasion? You know, by Peru? You know, who may want to build battleships or submarines on Lake Titicaca? I think these guys are part of the special forces, the Bolivian Navy Seals or something. They have some pretty decent gear and spear guns, but they sure were shivering...
Finally, re-united with our front row coach seats, we retreated back up the lake ridge and fleeted on toward La Paz...

An hour or so later we were on the outskirts of Bolivia's second largest city. As we approached the high plains, sprinkled with farms, turned into streets lined with simple structures, random vendors with stalls or smoking food carts, and people bustling to no where in particular just outside our window...
We rolled around a park inside a highway clover leaf to begin the descent into the Choqueyapu Valley, where La Paz is nestled between a panorama of peaks. People were lounging in the thin afternoon sun...

Our plan was to spend two nights here, touring the city and investigating the possibilities of mountain-biking down "The World's Most Dangerous Road". Unfortunately, our time and money were running short, with the most important and expensive part of the trip--the grand finale of Cusco, Aguas Calientes, and Machu Picchu--still ahead. Then, two more factors impacted our Bolivian itinerary, turning two nights into three, but before telling those stories, let me give you a city tour and save the chronological events for later. For some foreshadowing fun, I'll hide some hints about our adventure in the descriptions...
At 3600 meters (11,811 feet), La Paz is the highest capital in the world. Interestingly, having two-thirds of the oxygen at sea level, La Paz is extremely resistant to fire. Its most famous mountain, Huayna Potosi, is 6088 meters (19, 974 feet), and was first summited less than 90 years ago. Hint #1: Because of the topography, there is only one main road out of La Paz to return to the border of Peru...
Downtown appears quite modern, with a lovely central park bisecting the cluster of central buildings. Hint #2: To the left is a very popular coffee shop, and to the right, a modern movie theater...
Steep streets shoot up from the main boulevard in every direction as a frantic mixture of taxis, buses and cars compete for every opportunity to move ahead. We walked slowly, still feeling the effects of high altitude colds. Hint #3: Winding streets make La Paz a labyrinth.
Main street is called Avenida 16 de Julio, also known as the Prado. One day, as we strolled up the heart of city, we noticed police plopping pylons in the busy weekday streets, re-directing vehicles and causing awful traffic snares in the side streets. Eventually we came to Plaza San Francisco, where the omnipresent city markets were being overshadowed by a protest and lorded over by police. Apparently, protesting is Bolivia's national pastime. Of course, Leandra was thrilled to pose with so many policemen in full riot gear. She says, "They're cute!" The abstract statue is meant to symbolize Bolivia's three great cultures: Tiahuanaco, Inca and modern. Hint #3: Transportation workers were demanding justice or wages or rights or something, we didn't know what, but it seemed peaceful enough...
The Iglesia de San Francisco was created in 1548, collapsed by snow in 1610, and rebuilt by 1753. Above upper downtown's west side are three unique places in La Paz: San Pedro Prison, The Black Market, and The Witch Market. San Pedro is possibly the most unique penitentiary--it's a self contained mini-city, where prisoners live without guards or uniforms, and their wives, children and pets can join them until their sentences are served. The Bolivian Black Market, El Mercado Negro, is famous for its variety of, ahem, "imported" goods at rock bottom prices. The Witch Market is filled with novel native items to solve any problem. Got impotence? You need an fertility idol! No money? You need a bag of dried frogs! Building a home? Be sure to bury a dried llama fetus underneath it first! Hint #4: Locals believe in a number of chants and treatments to ward off evil and illness...
Hint #5: Hmmm, what do they have for nausea?
Hint #6: Leandra has doubts about the ability of the local medicine women...Besides freaky cures, the Hechicería also has small shops full of woven items. After an English speaking store owner gave her a half hour lesson on local textiles, Leandra was ready to buy her own. Apparently, hand crafted authenticity is easily discernible from factory made fabrics by the appearance and the high quality of fiber is distinguishable by feel. These blankets take months to weave and are usually used for practical purposes such as carrying bundles or layering for warmth, before they end up as a prized find by a tourist. Leandra bought this handmade 100% alpaca wool one for 100 Bolivianos--about $30. Hint #7: This wasn't bought to keep warm.

We scoped out several operators looking to buy a tour for our final assault on Peru. A man named Alex gave us a great rate on a package that included transportation, lodging, and all the excursions we requested! As we were swiping the credit card, I noticed something funny about this map on the wall. Can you sniff it out? Hint #8: The bus from La Paz to Cusco should be approximately twelve hours...

Alex recommended a nice restaurant filled with wonderful art. We had a pleasant lunch below a marvelous mural depicting Bolivia's history, but for some reason Leandra kept needing to excuse herself. As we walked back down to main street, Leandra found another great deal on a real hand-woven Bolivian blanket. Enough hints already...
We wandered across to downtown's upper east side, and sat with people and pigeons in the Plaza Pedro Domingo Murillo. The legislative building, Palacio Legislativo, stands behind the square's central statue which commemorates the death of President Gualberto Villarroel--he was dragged here from his palace by vigilantes and hung from a lamppost in 1946, and so was Murillo in 1810. Ahhh, history...
Also along the park are the arches of the Cathedral, built in 1835...
Take a peek inside...
Heading back to Hotel España, we went inside other unknown basilicas...
On night three we stumbled across a bar called Dead Stroke and sampled the local brews before having a nourishing dinner at Mongo's Rock Bottom Cafe...
And the Plaza de Estudiante, the circular ring at the lower end of downtown's main drive, was well lit one evening...

So that's your city tour of La Paz. Here's what we did...

The first day, feeling a bit stronger, we arrived, and after an interesting taxi ride, we checked into Hotel España which had some nice colonial ambience, heat and hot water. We walked into town and ate a late lunch at Alexander's Coffee and Pub--a very modern Starbucks-like guidebook-recommended establishment that was the original of a now famous franchise--before seeing the modern movie theater across the street with it's marquee twinkling like Las Vegas. So, we opted for a flick. How many people can claim they saw Spiderman 3 in Bolivia? To our surprise, we got to pick our seats when we bought tickets, via a fancy-shmancy computer screen, and ushers walked us to our row! This system must somehow alleviate problems, although, no sooner had we sat, than someone sat in front of us, and we moved seats! Under our eyebrows we watched the ushers as they kept bringing folks in, wondering what they would do if they caught us in the wrong seats--but apparently, they just 're-assign' people if their seats are already taken. And oh, Spiderman wins. Then, we leisurely walked home with a pizza and enjoyed having a remote control...

The next morning, we headed out early to see town, past Plaza de Estudiante and straight to Alexander's Coffee. I got a mocha--Leandra got drip coffee with milk. We don't know what it was, but in about six hours she's going to get violently sick. But, for now, things are fine, and we walk up the Prado and bump into the protesters. We looked through the local market, checked out the church, walked up to the Witch Market, bought a blanket, and met Alex the tour operator--our bus would leave La Paz at 8am the next day, and arrive in Cusco twelve hours later, where we would be taken to our hostel, and rest up for the Cusco city tour the following day. "Great!" We walked to the other side of town, and headed back to the hotel with tired feet. I was excited to go out for dinner--I had read about a nearby bar with darts too. But, Leandra starting getting sick. Real sick. Vomiting up anything she ate or drank. After some time trying to comfort her, she asked me to find a store to buy applesauce and Gatorade. So, although it sounds crazy--first, I don't speak Spanish well, second, I don't know where a supermarket is, and, third, I certainly doubt they have Gatorade in Bolivia and question being able to find Salsa de Manzana, if that is what it's called and if it is what she hopes it is--but she's my sick wife, my love, so I'm headed out to try. I stop at the hotel restaurant and try to explain that my sick wife wants apple sauce, then, frustrated, get directions from reception to the grocery store through the labyrinthine streets of La Paz. It takes me about an hour to find a store three blocks away, but to my surprise, they do have Gatorade and applesauce. So, I return, worried, ninety minutes later, open the door, and there's Leandra, sitting up, moaning and whimpering in her Leandra-esque way, while a very large local woman, derby hat and all, is sitting behind her chanting some ancient prayer. She's also licking her palms, and rubbing Leandra's arms and head, soothing her. There's also a large plate of homemade applesauce, nearby, sitting untouched, and a big mug of steaming coca and anis tea. I say, "I got the Gatorade." Leandra just moans, and the woman looks at me with a 'your poor wife' expression. Shortly thereafter, she pats Leandra, rises and leaves and I thank her--glancing around for dried llama fetuses--and Leandra flops back down on her pillow, barely touching her Gatorade. She hardly slept, moaning every now and then, but apparently the medicine woman cured her nausea. I packed our bags for leaving, then got pizza again and watched TV for a while...

In the morning, Alex was there, 6:30 as promised, and we checked out and crammed into a taxi for the bus station. Another one of Alex's friends was at the terminal to make sure we transferred from taxi to bus without a problem. We got on board ready to go. Eight o'clock passed. The driver got off. A bus company representative got on, explaining that protesters were blocking the only road out of town, so we had to wait until they cleared the road. We ate the snacks we bought for the trip. We played cards. We took a nap. We woke up about noon--still sitting in the terminal. The rep returned and said, "We can't leave today, come back tomorrow at 4am, and we will leave before the protesters wake up." Great. Off the bus, back in a taxi, another night at Hotel España, a weakened wife, both of us still trying to clear our colds, a whole day wasted, and a pre-paid city tour in Cusco gone. We decided to just lay low, napping that afternoon, so we could rise at 4am the next day to beat the protesters. Which we did.

Unfortunately, despite leaving the terminal at 5:30 am, the protesters made the blockade--which was 30 minutes outside of La Paz--at 6am. So, our bus, which was filled with happy travelers who now have had their hopes dashed, pulled into a gas station behind a long line of trucks, and waits for the sun to rise. Which it does...
We sit on the bus for a couple hours. We sleep on the bus for a couple hours. Then, we sit outside the bus for a couple hours. The driver has up and disappeared, and all of our fellow tourists are getting nervous as thoughts of conspiracy, discrimination and mutiny start swirling around...
Locals wander by as if it's just another day...
There's a small town on the horizon about a mile away...

Several pairs of passengers or small groups took turns tromping off to check out the protest--which apparently is a bunch of taxis and a couple dirt piles blocking the road--or to get some water, drinks or food in the dusty little town. It's already mid-afternoon when we decide to go check it out...
It starting to feel like a movie: a band of lost gringos in Bolivia, getting funky stares from the locals. When I buy a drink the price goes up three times before I can agree, as family members seemingly outbid the seller for the actual price for their captive customers from first world countries. At the behest of other passengers, I'm a bit embarrassed to say that we actually did call the US embassy from one of the little shops--getting dead pan glares from the proprietor, who also chided her daughter for smiling at us--and I can tell you it wasn't easy looking up the phone number in a five year old Bolivian phone book. But, after all, the driver had deserted us, and an Israeli contingent of co-travelers were claiming he openly slurred them during one of his mysterious brief re-appearances. The woman I spoke with contacted the company owner demanding some action be taken, like returning to La Paz. It had been almost 12 hours that we sat in the high Andes sun, without supplies or information from the company. We joked about calling in an air-strike, as if there's anything funny about our government's recent abuse of military might. But, honestly, we didn't want to go back--we wanted to get to Cusco...

We walked back to the bus, and got this great shot of being stranded in the Andes between trucks, sheep, and protesters...

About 6 o'clock another bus rider returned from his excursion to the blockade. He said, "Their all in their cars listening to the soccer game on the radio! Nobody's protesting." The European futbol championship happened to be on. Twenty minutes later, the blockade ended. Apparently, as soon as the soccer game was over, so was the protest...
Engine's started, purple fumes started puffing out of exhaust pipes, people hustled back to their vehicles, and pretty soon, a stream of taxis came zooming down the highway heading for La Paz...
As the sun began to set, Leandra happily began to fill out our immigration forms...
Beautiful scenery buzzed by as we again approached Peru...
Another awesome Andean sunset...
It started to get chilly as the sun disappeared, but Leandra just looks cooler in her chullo... It was dark by the time we arrived at the border. The process was easy enough, but it's a little spooky when there's a ski-capped skull and smoldering shrine next to the line to the guy with the passport stamps...

We still had another ten hours to go; first, a pullover at Puno to unload half of our passengers, then the rest of us would push all night, arriving in the wee hours before sunrise, but at least we'd be in Cusco in time to take our tour of the Sacred Valley...

As we left Puno--knowing we'd miss the marvelous views along the road in the night--it got bitterly cold. We had spread out in singles among the double seats, bundling up every zipper, pulling every hood, and tucking in every layer we had. I fell asleep, but when I woke, Leandra was desperately snuggled against me for warmth. Everybody was freezing with chattering teeth, making a long day even more miserable. Leandra, knowing the bus driver had to eventually stop for the call of nature, was so cold and uncomfortable that she stayed alert, armed with our luggage tag so she could go snag the blankets we bought at the Witch Market. Those helped a bit...

We don't know why they didn't do it sooner--maybe they didn't have them, maybe they didn't care, maybe we never asked--but, two hours after Leandra got our blankets, the bus company passed out theirs...