"A" is for Altiplano and also for Andean Plateau.

A new day and a new adventure. Today we go to the city  of Puno, and to get there we drive through the altiplano, or, the Andean Plateau. This is what Wikipedia says about it: 

"The altiplano, in west central South America, where the Andes are at their widest, is the most extensive  area of high plateau on the earth, outside of Tibet. Lake Titicaca is the most well known geographical feature."

But, let me start at the beginning of the day. We said goodby to most of our group, and to Sweet Eddy yesterday, and now we are 7, plus Margy (who is our escort) and our new guide, Shidy. (I'm not sure how her name is spelled, but that's how it's pronounced. At first i thought it was "Sherry" with a rolling "r", but I saw her sign her name and it had a "d" in the middle.) So, we have a small private van, and off we go!

It's a long drive through the altiplano and Shidy says that there aren't any towns that she considers "tourist friendly" as far as restaurants go...she said she wouldn't eat at any of them, so if she won't, then our tummies certainly would rebel, so we stopped at a supermarket before we left Cusco and picked up a few snacks to tide us over until we arrive in Puno.

  I passed on the Kraps cookies.

But I did get a bottle of water and a bottle of sparkling fruit water, a large orange and 2 bananas. Total: 3.00 soles....in Canadian, $1.10. I also had a little bag of trail mix sort of stuff, so I was good to go.

The supermarket was very clean and modern and was full of fun and unusual things, as well as some familiar faces. I just love foreign supermarkets!

Notice that the staff have chairs to sit in.

Little packages of coffee cream.

I'm not sure...packages of cake filling?

We were hardly out of town and we had our first stop at the Pikallaqta ruins, which is just one of the many ways to spell it, so I'm not sure how correct I am.

It was refreshing to see ruins like this, just on the side of the road, with no graffiti or vandalism. That's not to say that Peru doesn't have crime and criminals, but they do seem to be proud of their heritage and everyone seems to want to protect it. Although, I imagine that the thought of spending time in a Peruvian prison is quite a deterrent to vandalism too. Maybe our government should be a little stricter in ways like this. But that's another story.....

We only spent a few minutes here, there wasn't a lot to see, but it was enjoyable. The lack of anyone else around and the silence made it a little bit special. Although, come to think of it, we were right off the highway so I don't know how quiet it really was, but in my memories I prefer to think that it was perfectly silent.

The beginning of the altiplano.

Our next stop was at a small town called Andahuaylillas. And, yeah, its name is a tongue twister and I have no idea how to pronounce it, and I only know its correct because I copied it from a sign. 

The reason we stopped here is because (long convoluted sentence coming up) one of our group has a friend here in town who has a nephew who is a priest at a mission somewhere near here and this friend said that our group should stop by and say "hello". So, seriously, considering that no one knew the name of the mission, and our guide had never heard of one, and nor had our driver, and it wasn't any sort of tourist attraction,  what are the chances that we'd find it? Slim to none apparently.

So our driver decided to stop in Andahuaylillas and ask the local constabulary if they knew where this place was.

We were able to hop out of the van and take a quick peek at the town square and the inevitable church that resides there. However, this church, in this tiny indigenous village, has quite a history.

This is the Church of San Pedro, and it's considered the Sistine Chapel of the Andes. 

It was built in the 16th Century by Jesuit priests, and it has a unique fusion of Catholicism and Incan spirituality, the interior is adorned by both bible scenes  and images of the sun, which was revered by the Incans. Usually all signs of any paganism were erased by the new religious leaders.

There must have been a wedding recently, little bits of confetti were still scattered on the steps. It looked nice on the outside, tidy and clean and low key. But once you look inside??

Talk about glittering with gold! It was eye popping, to say the least. This is a stock photo from a website, there were no cameras allowed. I only peeked in the door, there was some sort of mass going on and I didn't want to intrude, but holy moly..what a view! All that gold...all that poverty.

Just a local woman, going about her day. Note the old cobblestone roads.

The police gave our driver some instructions and off we went, not really sure where we were actually going, through a small town, down a back road, off into the midst of nowhere. I do love getting off the beaten track!

Eventually we pulled up to a large fenced and gated complex and Shidy and our driver hopped out to talk to the fellow at the guard house. After a lengthy conversation interspersed with phone calls and head shaking and some head nodding and some more phone calls, a youngish priest came out and some more conversing and phone calls were made.

The fellow, Father Sebastion, came onto the bus and reluctantly agreed to give us a tour. Turns out that the priest that our group member was to say hello  to was himself on holiday somewhere, but Father Sebastion decided that he could spare a bit of time and give us a tour.

So. I have very mixed feelings about religion and I certainly won't get into it all right here, suffice it to say that I fully appreciate that fact that religion is a personal choice, and if your faith gives you comfort, then I'm happy for you. Whatever floats your boat, as they say. But my biggest beef is with the Catholic Church, which this mission is. It's called The City of The Boys. 

I went in there with my cynicism in check, reminding myself that I was a guest here, and I wanted to see it with an open mind. After all, Father Sebastion is in the business of saving souls....and that's not a bad thing.

I have to say, it was an amazing place and I was fascinated by the way it was run. Father Sebastion was more than happy to answer questions from a pagan such as myself. I think it was obvious since I seemed to be the only one who didn't genuflect as we entered the church. I don't bow to anyone. Although, let me hasten to add, I would have if it was considered rude not to, if it were a culture different than my own. However, the Catholic Church is a whole different kettle. But anyhow, enough.

After we walked through the gates, you get a look at the whole complex, it was stunning in its beauty. Just look at it:

I'm standing with the gate/guardhouse behind me. To the left are fields where crops are grown; potatoes, quinoa, corn and vegetables. To my right are various buildings where trades are taught. I'll post pictures of them shortly. We walked down the road to the huge building you see in front of you, which contained the chapel:

I didn't think the chapel was too elaborate or over-the-top, at least not compared to the one we had just seen, this one it seemed  rather restful actually. As we walked through it (I asked if taking photos was ok, just so you don't think I'm a total heathen.), although as we walked through it we came into what can only be called The Lobby, where the administrative offices were. Ummmmm.....ok.....seriously Catholic Church....is this necessary in an orphanage? In a "city of lost boys"? Really? 

I was a little taken aback, I must say.

The grounds were just gorgeous however, and absolutely spotless and well maintained. 

Father Sebastion gave us the run down of how the place operated, and I have to say, he seemed like a genuinely caring man, I felt nothing but good vibes from him, but It seemed strange to me, to call a man younger than my own kids "Father". So I didn't. Don't get me wrong, I didnt get chummy and call him Sebastion or "bro", I just didnt use a name at all.

So here's the low down. 220 boys go to school here. 20 of them live here permanently, the other 200 are from surrounding areas. The ones who live here are orphaned or abandoned and they live here from when they arrive, at 5 years old, and stay until they are 18. Before they leave, they are fully trained in a career, be it a trade, or a "calling", and some choose to join the military.

The ones that live here have dormitory rooms.

They kept their rooms very tidy, some of the beds had a stuffed teddy bear on the pillows, and more than anything, that touched me. Little boys are little boys, no matter what.

I love this picture....I imagine a little boy so anxious to finish his lessons and to go play that he runs out without his shoes!

They all take turns learning to cook, and keeping the industrial size kitchen spic & span. There are actual cooks there, I don't mean that a half a dozen little boys cook for 220 kids and staff!

They help with the laundry as well.

Everything had a place, and everything was in its place...

 

We left the living/eating/learning/praying area and walked back towards the gates where the trades shops were. To my amazement, Father Sebastion pointed out a large building off to the side and told us it was a swimming pool. Learning to swim is an important life skill in Peru, and not only did the 220 boys learn how, the people from the nearby towns were allowed its come and have lessons as well. 

The trades area was kinda cute...small, cabin-ish, cozy looking, all these cute little buildings were sort of in a semi-circle crescent.

But what really amazed me were the trades they could learn....you could be a tailor, a baker, a cook, you could learn woodwork, music, pottery, you could become a farmer...theory was taught as well as hands on. It was like a vocational school for all ages. 

Woodwork shop, making pews.

Learning to make guitars! It's has got to be a lost art.

Pottery.

We weren't allowed in the kitchen/bakery area, it was for staff and students only, but they did give use each a little dish of freshly made yogurt....it was so good. Ive never had fresh, homemade yogurt before, and I imagine part of the enjoyment was the circumstances under which it was eaten. And I guess it was blessed too, which may not be my forte, but I'm never going to turn down another persons hope for me and my immortal soul.

Other religious icons that the boys have learned to make. 

The old pope, stuck in storage. Sort of struck me as funny. And creepy.

Father Sebastion

So, in talking to a friend of mine, I was under the understanding that being able to visit and have a tour of a mission like this is very unusual, and I was extremely interested in the whole thing, and I was happy to have this experience. Anyone who dedicates their life to helping others has my utmost admiration. Every year a few boys graduate from this place and have the opportunity to have a life, and as they leave, a few more get the chance to move here, and their lives are possibly saved. There's no way that a person can see anything but good in that.

It's just that the Catholic Church has so much money....so much money...and it's needed so desperately amongst so many of their followers. Do you know what the Catholic Church is worth?  Do you? A quick Google search shows that it's worth over $500 million in the USA alone, and as much as $8 billion world wide. And that's a conservative guess...all those priceless works of art? The chapels and churches? The gold? But starving and dying children? It's OK...God has his reasons and ours is not to wonder why, ours is to have faith. Faith? In what? A book written a couple of thousand years ago by a bunch of men? And why just men?  So many questions and so little proof. 

But that's neither here nor there right now.

We said our goodbyes to the good Father and (almost) everyone chipped in a little money to help them out, they do depend on donations. Personally, I think the head of the whole organization, you know, the one worth more than $8 billion dollars should be chipping in.

The one thing that I found really strange...Stephen King-ish actually, was the silence. Where were the little boys? They weren't in their dormitory, they weren't in the chapel, they weren't in school, they weren't in the fields...neither crop or sports fields, they weren't in any of the trades places...all I saw there were a few teachers. You can't possibly expect me to believe that all 220 were at the swimming pool with nary a shriek or yell to be heard? I don't know. It was odd. Did anyone read Salem's Lot? Yeah? Me too.

But we said our goodbyes and moved along, following  the highway up into the altiplano, the thoughts of empty Missions soon leaving my mind as I enjoyed the scenery...imagining giant creatures heaving themselves out of the depths of the earth.  Doesn't this look like two big scaley monster paws clawing their way to the surface? Doesn't it? 

The land was quite monochromatic, the vegetation turned from greens into lovely shades of browns and creams as we climbed, and the alpacas blended right in. The soil is also very good for potatoes and quinoa.

I can't think of anything that's much more enjoyable than letting someone else do the driving and being able to watch a foreign landscape flash by.

I was really concerned at the amount of stray dogs just laying down by the side of the highway. It sort of broke my heart...we're they looking for food? For their owners, who maybe just dumped them off?  It seemed like every 1/8th of a mile you'd see one or two, just looking forlornly at the passing traffic, with pleading eyes.

So I felt like a bit of a North American dolt when I discovered that these are working dogs, well loved and well taken care of. Their job is to keep "their" alpacas from crossing the highway, the land is not fenced in, and I guess alpacas and vicuña just wander wherever their feet take them.

We were starting to see snow on the mountain tops as we climbed, although it doesn't snow here much, they get more hail than snow

Before getting to Punu, we had to pass through the city of Juliaca. Oh Juliaca, what stories you must have to tell. And what a beautiful name for such a black and nasty place. Here's some info about Juliaca:

It's the biggest black market in Peru. Perhaps in South America. It has everything...everything you could want.  Electronics? Cars? Name brand clothes? Shoes? Jewellery? Women? Men? Drugs? Booze? Drugs? Money laundered? Drugs? The land is perfect for growing the coca that is used for cocaine, and they actually do pronounce it "coke-a-een". It's proximity to the Bolivian border doesn't hurt things either.

It looks dirty, grubby, and scary. The citizens don't like tourists and want nothing to do with us, "friendly" is not in their vocabulary. We were told to not take pictures from the van window, for two reasons, one of course being that anyone in a not-so-legit business doesn't want their picture taken, and two, a lot of the locals still believe that a camera steals a little part of your soul with every photo snapped. I can identify with that, and will respect that.

I'm sure there must be nicer areas of the city, and that there must be a bit of tourism, but we didnt see it. Just street after street after street that all looked the same; small shops that looked seedy and disreputable, many had what seemed to be homemade stoves, like a hibachi, outside, with things cookig and steaming. People glanced up at us as we passed, dark eyes filled with distrust and dislike. I might be exaggerating somewhat, but it was not a place I'd like to get a flat tire in. Although I could probably get excellent tires for a fraction of their real price. 

The interesting thing is the University. Or, I should say, university's...plural. There are three. "Three?" you say, "Three? In a poor city like tjhis?" Well of course. Where do you think drug dealers children get their education? Harvard?

And according Shidy and Sweet Eddy, that's not an exaggeration. The drug cartel is huge, and they've  "sponsored" the university(s). I guess it's a well known fact. Eddy was telling us about the weddings that the kids of the cartel members have, and the gifts they get, gifts like mansions and lamborghinis. He said its almost a temptation to meet and marry one of these kids, but should you decide to leave or get a divorce, you're likely to vanish from the face of the earth as a result. Just like the Mafiosi of  days gone by. Interesting.

We soon passed through and left Juliaca behind us and headed towards Puno. Altitude: almost 13,000 feet!

The day had been long and filled with new sights. The sun was starting to set and before long, the stars were out. As we drove into Puno, I knew that Lake Titicaca was within sight, but it was too dark to see. I'd have to wait until tomorrow for my first glimpse of the worlds highest navigable lake....a place that I first learned about in elementary school, but never, ever dreamed I'd see.

"Z" is for Zebra and Zither...of which we saw nither.

When I woke up this morning I was sadly aware of how my holiday days were dwindling rapidly. It was like a whole bunch of mini-holidays wrapped up in Peruvian paper, but at least I still have one more exciting package to open....Lake Titicaca (giggle, giggle....do we ever fully grow up?)

I was up early, for a final wander around the grounds and one last coffee with condensed milk in it, which always sort of coats my teeth and makes them feel grittiy and results in more toothbrush work. I am seriously looking forward to a good cup of coffee with.....dare I dream? Real cream!

We said our goodbyes to the staff, and of course handed over the obligatory envelope of tip money, after which you know that the staff instantly forget your name and clear their minds for the next group, but oh well, that's the way the system works.

We climbed into our boat for a final cruise....out of the amazon rainforest. Man, what an experience that was.

This sign? I had no problem obeying this sign.

This one? Not so much, but only because I wasn't sure what it said. I assumed it had something to do with cleaning your shoes/feet before you entered your cabin.

So, bye- bye land of strange, clingy vines...

And strange, creepy fruit.....

My last view of the river, in all it's chocolate-coffee coloured glory.

We had to stop at a checkpoint, just to make sure that we were all legal to either be there, or to leave I suppose, and guess what? We got a passport stamp! Hooray! It's little things like that that I get a huge kick out of.

So I guess that means I've officially left....

We continued down the river until we got to a strange little spot where we climbed out of the boat and waited for a bus to take us back to Puerto Maldonado. I call it a strange spot because there was a washroom and a tiny store. The store had virtually no items in it, except a few candy type items, some Inca Cola and, oddly enough, Halls cough drops. The store beside it had 12 or 13 dusty souvenir Tshirts.

 "Shopping Mall"

We hopped into our waiting van and instantly came across a washed out road that was being repaired. It was from the rains that occurred the day we arrived in Puerto Maldonado, the day our plane had been turned back. We didn't have to wait long, but we did have to cross the most rickety and narrow bridge I have ever seen. It was the bridge that you read about when tourists die in third world country bus accidents. That bridge.

The muddy area...who knew that worse was to come?

Although, it wasn't that bad in retrospect, I think the drivers are used to it, and we did arrive back in Puerto Maldonado safe and sound.

We drove to a nicer part of town than we had seen last time and went to a surprisingly nice restaurant. From the looks of the city, it wouldn't seem like there was anywhere decent (read: safe) to eat, but this place was really quite amazing. I do have to say, though, that yes, the food looks wonderful, and yes, it tasted spectacular, but tough? I think my chicken ran there all the way from Cusco. That was one muscular chicken. ( it's under the rice in the banana leaf, and after I tried to chew some of the meat, I tucked it tidily back under the leaf, and ate the rice instead.)

But, I do have to admit, it was  a treat to have a reasonably fancy meal in a clean (read: no muddy jungle boots) place.

It was not only safe to eat, but safe to be during an earthquake, apparently.

It was a beautiful view from the restaurant, you'd never know it was not only in the midst of a city, but a pretty poor and sad looking city as well.

We had a bit of time for a small walk, and then headed to the airport for our final trip back to Cusco.

The outside of the restaurant.

Wandering towards the town square, nearly everyone rides a motorcycle, gas is very pricey here, plus with the roads always being washed out, bikes are easier to maneuver around.

Back at the airport.

Bye-bye jungle...I'm gonna miss you.

Hellooooooooo Cusco, and the Prisma Hotel yet again. The best part about coming "home" to our hotel? The lady who waited for us and did our laundry....whooo-hoooo....clean and non-muddy, non-sweaty, non-musty, non-damp clothes will be mine in a few hours!

This woman was employed by Sweet Eddy ( I haven't mentioned Sweet Eddy lately...he hates the jungle, he's a city boy and while he did come with us on our jungle adventures, he was not thrilled to be there, the hates the heat, the mosquitoes, the being away from the bright lights...he spent his time sneaking up us with a long blade of grass, tickling our necks and legs to make us shriek and swear with the fear that jungle critters were upon us.)

Anyhow, this lady, an older woman, waited in the hotel lobby every day and we could bring her our laundry and for a nominal fee, she would return it a few hours later...smelling sweet and fresh and folded perfectly. I was going to toss my jungle socks in the garbage, but I didn't have extras, so I figured I'd at least get them washed and dried, and good god, they came back sparkling. 

This was: long pants, two pair of short pants, undies, bra, sox, neck scarf, long sleeved shirt, two short sleeved shirts and a pair of capris that I had left in my luggage prior to the jungle. Cost? About $7 and worth three times that much. In Ollantaytambo, they hung the laundry on a eucalyptus tree/shrub and the heat just seemed to bake the smell in...it was so delectable that one of our fellows had us leaning over and sniffing him every time we walked by him. This was almost that good.

So it was time to put on some fresh, clean clothes and head out for a final day in Cusco, which was by now beginning to feel very familiar. And when I start to find my way around and not get lost, then you know I'm in a comfortable spot.

I have a shameful confession to make. As I wandered the streets of this marvelous city, I spotted a sign. I tried to walk away....really, I really tried. But I found myself drawn to a sort of courtyard, and not only that....I was drawn up a flight of stairs.....

I tried to go the other way, ohh, how I tried. But the smell....the smell.....it beckoned me, it tantalized me...it called my name.....and sadly, I have to admit, I let her coax me in. And I stayed....and now you know my shameful secret....and I loved every sip...so much so, that within seconds...I had seconds.

I was so disgusted with myself that I went here :

Not to repent...I don't roll that way, but simply to burn off some of the caffeine and Starbucks shame. It's like when you are trying to lose weight or quit smoking and you stuff yourself full of candy, or smoke that one last dried cigarette that you find in a coat pocket and then you have that sense of shame and disgust. It was a Starbucks hangover. With lemon cake, no less.

It was one huge cathedral.

As I briskly walked the city streets, caffeine pumping through the veins, I spotted another old nemesis, however there was no way that this one was seducing me...truthfully, this temptress didnt smell so seductive and I had no problem boycotting, oops, I mean not patronizing this place, but I did pop in to check out the menu. I always find it fun to see what little differences as well as similarities there are.

But that's ok...I can turn the corner and see sights like this:

And I can stop into the corner market and see veggies like this:

And fruits like these :

And that's why I came to Peru, to see new and different sights, and to experience a new culture and to fill my mind with new memories. And tomorrow I'll be starting a whole new adventure...the Altiplano, the city of Puno, Lake Titicaca and the floating  islands of Uros.

So I headed back for one final night at the Prisma Hotel and one final dinner, the cheesiest, gooiest, yummiest cheese pizza and a frothy, freshly squeezed lemonade.

After eating all this rich food, it's a little disconcerting to see signs like this:

Oh Cusco, I'm gonna miss you too.