DAY 7 SAT. OCT. 6 CUSCO

We toured the old centre of Cusco, visiting the old Inca sun temple which surmounted by a 16th century Spanish monastery. Then to the main square, touring the cathedral, watching a religious festival and walking around the colonial square. Then, to Sacsayhuaman , or "sexy woman", where massive limestone rocks snake their way across the land, and thence to Q'enqo, where death and sacrifice were paramount. We learned that the Inca were not against sacrificing in order to gain Pacha Mama's favour for such things as good harvests and good fortune. But the sacrifices usually took the form of animal slaughter. Only when Pacha Mama failed to respond to the sacrifice did the Inca resort to human sacrifice. Such is the capricious ways of all gods, I suppose: some days, they favour with blessings and kindness, and others, they ignore or, worse, strike out at all humanity. If you try to figure this out, or seek to understand, good luck to you.

From there, back to Cusco for a free afternoon wandering the cobblestone streets  looking for souvenirs and a good cafe. We found one, and settled in to watch Peru take on Chile in world cup qualification while sipping capacinos.

The age of Cusco is a bit deceptive, however. A massive earthquake destroyed the city in 1950, collapsing centuries-old Spanish buildings, which have been restored and rebuilt in the old style. The cathedral's beautiful bell towers were toppled. Yet, the Inca walls remained intact. The Spanish did so much to destroy the Incas and take their land, but the land ultimately destroyed them.

We finished the night at a wonderful restaurant where I dined on alpaca. It was delicious !

DAY 8 SUN. OCT. 7 CUSCO - PISAC

This was an exploration day of the environs of Cusco. I have slept badly so far at this altitude, so I was very tired and cranky. But I soldiered on !!

We stopped briefly at a textile shop/museum. Several women demonstrated the old techniques of weaving the wool of the llama, alpace and vicuna in beautifully soft and colourful yarn. These girls and ladies were beautiful Quechua people, come down from the hills for a few days to weave and sell their wares. They were genuine, shy and friendly and spoke little or no Spanish, only their native Quechua, which our local guide Jackie could speak.

From there to a llama farm, where we walked among the llama and alpaca, petting them and feeding them alfalfa. One sought revenge on me for dining on his relative and spit a foul green slime into my face and on my jacket. Soap and water healed the insult, but I resolved to eat another alpaca at my earliest chance, preferably that one !!

Pisac wore me out. It's a market town where, in the main square, locals ( mostly women ) sell their produce. In the alleys off the square, local vendors sell clothes and handicrafts. We all made numerous purchases, ensuring that the local ecomony does well.

An unscheduled stop at an animal resuce facility treated us to a couple of rare sights. An Andean puma was lying in a cage, victim of abuse at a circus, and we witnessed the awesome sight of a full-grown Andean condor, with an 11 foot wingspan, skim over our heads. Impressive, but I saw Pablo watch disapprovingly. He confessed later that he hates to see caged animals and I thought of the dispirited puma, lying almost helpless and quietly in his cage. But the guide of the shelter preached a positive message to us: don't buy animal souvenirs in your travels, because the animals used in the making of souvenirs will wind up here or dead. All the animals in the rescue centre were damged by circuses, souvenir hunters or cruel owners and cannot survive in the wild. It's not a good life for them, but it's better than their previous existance. But I still feel sad for the puma.

The evening ended with a pretty good folklorico show featuring a good Andean band ( with a charango player doing a passable Cat Stevens imitiation ) and the usual Andean dancers. It was also time to bid farewell to several of our travel companions, with whom we've enjoyed some wonderful experiences. We wished them all a safe journey home and hope to keep in touch with them.

DAY 9 MON. OCT. 8 CUSCO - PUNO

Another early morning and our company, slightly diminished in numbers, boarded the Andean Explorer train for Puno on Lake Titicaca. The day began promisingly enough: the train is attractive, well appointed and evoked a wood-panelled bygone era. But the service was spotty and the constant canned Andean music ( which I normally love ) became tiresome after 10 hours.

The journey revealed changing land. For the first few hours, we followed the smaller and smaller Urubamba River, providing much needed water to the wonderfully productive farms, just in the initial stages of planting. Towns and villages looked prosperous enough and the highways were well maintained as they snaked alongside the tracks. The mountains continued to provide a solid, silent escourt as we wound our way through the valley.

Then, about 4 hours in, we started to climb. The air became cooler, the land less verdant. Crops gave way to herds of llama and sheep. Homes became simpler and Pablo told us they were probably squatters come down from the Altiplano to try to make a go at a better life. Even the mountains changed, and became more rounded, less jaggedly majestic. They resembled huge mythical beasts, resting on the plain with paws and head on the ground. This is the land of the Aymara, one of the ancestors of the Inca. We crested at over 14,000 feet, an altitude record for our trip. We stopped at the height of the journey to the ubiquitous souvenir stands and a rather forelorn little church guarding the spiritual needs of the mountain people.

The spiritual needs of the thirsty traveller were also guarded back on the train. The bar car provided a much needed diversion with a demonstration of how to make the perfect pisco sour. That, plus some live Andean music ( much better than canned! ) and an attractive young dancer made the afternoon move along rather nicely !!

Finally the land flattened and the mountains receeded, although they never totally disappeared. This is the Altiplano, a dry, flat plain of thatch grass and little water. The farms and towns are less prosperous: crude stone fences replaced adobe to keep the llama together.

Then, in the gloom of dusk, Lake Titicaca appeared like some dark ghostly immensity. Stacks of reeds and the odd reed boat were visible on the lake's mud flats.

Finally, we pulled into Puno in the darkness. We did a brief walk along the pedestrian-only main street, alive with bright lights, bars and restaurants and throngs of young people. But the back streets look like a good place to get your throat cut.

DAY 10 TUES. OCT. 9 PUNO AREA

A magical day in brilliant sunshine. We took bicycle taxis to the waterfront to catch a ferry in Puno harbour. The taxi bicyclists were athletic young guys who clearly enjoyed the downhill ride almost as much as we did. Naturally, we turned the trip into a race, with no clear winner.

The ferry transported us to a place that has lived in my imagination for years, since reading about it in National Geographic as a kid: the floating islands of Los Uros, an indiginous nation. We were greeted warmly and told how, for centuries, these people have lived on islands constructed out of the reeds which grow so plentifully on Lake Titicaca. The people have learned to adapt successfully to this life-style, using sustainable resources to survive. It was strange to walk on these islands, which have a slightly spongey and waterbed-like quality to them. The only nods to the modern world were solar panels and motorboats. We were introduced to a local woman named Margarita and her husband Jesus and were taken to their home where we posed for pictures before viewing the weavings and handicrafts she had made. Touristy? Yeah, probably, but we couldn't resist and bought a nice tapestry for a wall hanging. How authentic this all is is up to discussion. Certainly, to have so many artificial islands with cabins, a school, docks and boats just for tourists to view seems a bit much. We came away thinking that this was indeed a real place, but the locals have embraced the tourism possibilities quite well.

We then visited a school where a lovely young Uro woman, Amalia, held court. She made it out to university, but then came back to her home to help the local kids as a teacher. She's worked for free for three years, but now the Peruvian government has agreed to fund her school and pay her a salary. The kids were small and put on a nice display of singing and play for us. We entered the school and found it to be fairly well supplied and typically chaotic for a class of 5 year olds. We enjoyed the visit very much.

The bicycle taxi ride back to the hotel proved to be more of a task for our peddlers. Our poor guy fell behind the others and really had a hard time of it going uphill. Is there a message here for Lou and me? I'm hitting the pool and gym when I get home !!

In the afternoon, we visited a site on the far end of the lake where several pre-Inca and Inca tower tombs exist. A strenuous climb took us to the top of a cliff where a dozen or so tombs stood. Once again, mankind's need to make sense out of death came home to me. No matter the time period, no matter the location, no matter the people, we all need to try to make sense out of our common mortality and to somehow memorialize our departed. The fact that these tombs still stand after many centuries tells me that we, as a species, will always do this unless we learn to somehow conquer death itself. And that's not happening any time soon.

Our evening meal back in Puno featured a local delicacy: cuy, or deep fried guinea pig. We got to sample some as an appetizer: well, some of us, the braver and more adventurous ones, did. I jumped at the chance and found it flavourful and slightly boney. The taste? Most compare it to chicken. Me? I think I'd say it resembled groundhog. But one thing was for sure. As I looked down on the poor little critter, my earlier musings about mortality came back to me and I began to philosophize about ... ah hell, who am I kidding? He tasted good !!

DAY 11 WED. OCT. 10 PUNO - COPACABANA, BOLIVIA

The brilliant sunshine continued as we drove from Puno around the huge and beautiful Lake Titicaca. We stopped at a fertility temple in a small town to marvel at the stone carvings of penises. Our group of travellers lost it when we saw these stone "mushrooms" and the jokes flew. Peter, one of the really good-humoured members of our group, offered the best pose of the day, which is captured for your enjoyment below: he's either a great jokester, or he's bragging !!

One of the little border towns on the Peruvian side featured a lovely 18th century stone church which was decked out inside with white streamers and flowers, looking for all the world like a wedding ceremony was about to take place. Instead, it was decorated this way to comemorate the upcoming planting season. Life affirming and wonderful, it was a way to celebrate existance, much like a wedding is.

We drove on around the lake until the border arrived. For the first time in my life, I walked across a border between two countries on foot. The crossing was smooth and efficient, thanks to our guides, Pablo and Tula: after all the formalities, we said goodbye to Tula and thanked her for her guidance and insights.

Boliva is impressive and backward: poor roads, little infrastructure, mostly indigenous and dirt poor. Until we came to our wonderful Hotel Rosario in the town of Copacabana: all rooms in this hotel over look the lake and are well decorated and well appointed. It is much like a hotel on the Greek islands, beautiful and luxurious. A long walk through narrow winding streets led by our local Aymara guide, Juan Carlos, took us to a stunning white and tile church the Aymara were forbidden to enter up to 1950! It was previously reserved for the white Spanish-speaking elite: the Aymara gathered in the outdoor patio around the church to worship. We shook our heads at this injustice, only corrected so recently. Juan Carlos was philosophical about it: he intimated that, yes, it was unjust that Aymara couldn't enter the church, but they enjoyed beautiful services in the brilliant open air and sunshine. Talk about being positive and optimistic, but, this is the way of aboriginal people all over the world when faced by such prejudice: make the best of the situation, but continue to fight with patience and dignity until the injustice is removed.

Change is coming to Bolivia, we were told. But it will be slow and sure in coming.

DAY 12 THURS. OCT. 11 COPACABANA - ISLA DEL SOL - COPACOBANA

This is the day of the hike to Puma Rock on Isla del Sol. We left our hotel a bit earlier in the day than most hikes and we were fewer in number: many stayed at the hotel for some R and R or because of illness. Lou stayed behind to catch up on some sleep and get some rest.

We had an hour and a half boat ride through some scenic and calm waters around many rocky islets. As we sailed, we were left mostly to our thoughts about what we were about to see. Our local guide, Juan Carlos had us all offer three drops of water from our water bottles to Pacha Mama for a safe journey and a good day's experience.

We arrived at a small village on Isla del Sol that is quiet and peaceful and a backpacker's heaven. The village was primitive in that it is untouched by the commercialism that often characterizes tourism. Several low buildings crowded a nice beach and featured a few hostels and bars. Campers set up some tents on the half-moon bay, the beach covered with fine powdered sand. Dogs and some pigs wandered with no fear and local women came and went, bent low to their daily tasks. I felt that I had arrived on some distant planet and became an unobtrusive observer of the slow pace of life on the island.

We climbed the trail at a steady and impressive pace. The clouds lifted and the sun came out glistening upon clear and calm lake water that sparkled more and more the higher we climbed. The tall, snow covered peaks of the Andes silently commanded out attention as they ranged perhaps 100 kilometers away. We passed the village school and were amazed as the kids began a long run up the trail ! We passed them later as they were returning, still keeping up a great pace and huffing as though they were jogging along a level track at sea level. Juan Carlos explained that the Aymara have many more red blood cells than we do to help with oxygen demand at high altitude. I silently wished for a transfusion of Aymara blood in my veins.

After a short distance, we encountered the local villagers preparing for a spring planting ceremony. The women were dressed in their red and white finery and the men were getting loaded on beer and other items. We said our polite good mornings and walked past, not wishing to intrude. Then Juan Carlos and Pablo called us back. Money exchanged hands, and the men favoured us with some great local music, rather basic but well played. The leader danced with a couple of our female hikers and we all clapped hands vigorously as the men played and drank. The local women gathered and seemed unimpressed. A couple of other locals, well lubricated, offered Juan Carlos a small taste of beer, which he accepted in order to maintain the air of friendliness. Pablo, not being Aymara, nor the rest of us, were offered any beer. We were told that, later that afternoon, a llama, also getting drunk, would be sacrificed to Pacha Mama in the hope of a good growing season. We did not see the llama.

We continued to climb. We passed many more locals working their small plots with hand tools as their ancestors had done. We encountered an elder and his wife who were guardians of a huaca stone on their land. The man didn't communicate much and Juan Carlos surmised that he was either ill or in a type of trance. We arrived at the sacred Puma Rock shortly after that and admired the panorama of Lake Titicaca and the far-off snow caps of the highest Andes. Juan Carlos told us it is customary to leave a stone at the foot of the Puma as an offering. I did so and thought of the llama waiting for its fate. We saw an Inca granary carved out of the cliff face ansd stopped for our lunch. Deb asked us if we'd ever imagined in our wildest dreams that we'd be sitting in an Inca sturcture eating lunch overlooking Lake Titicaca with the Andes in the background. We silently shook our heads no and contemplated the strange twists that life often gives us.

We hiked back, got in our boat for the long journey back to Copacabana. As we pulled away from the village, Pablo pointed out in the distance on the far shore of the bay all the villagers gathering for the ceremony wherein the llama would be sacrificed. It watched as long as I could, too far away to see any detail, but hoping the llama enjoyed his last day as much as I did.

We trudged back along the beach at Copacabana uphill to our hotel to reunite with our fellow travellers. The day ended with us gathered on a balcony overlooking our pleasant harbour, fishing boats contentedly bobbing in the gentle waters at anchor. With wine glasses in hand, we saluted an amazing sunset and thanked Pacha Mama for a wonderful day.