“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.” Thoreau
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.” Thoreau
Ready to go! Weather expected to be rainy as I am going to Peru in the rainy season. Everything needs to fit into a single backpack for simplicity. Six T-shirts, two light pants, one long short, two short quick-dry shorts, one pullover, one long-sleeve waffle shirt, one raincoat, one short sleeve button down, one long sleeve button down, five undies, five pair of socks, off road shoes, shower shoes, tablet, toiletries, chargers,and headphones. Of course, passport and other info printed. Plenty of room!
Ten hour layover then six hours to Lima.
Well, off to a bit of a disappointing start. Went to print out my receipt and e-ticket for Machu Picchu and the additional hike up Huayna mountain only to find that after several tries to purchase the ticket, which included many calls to my bank to authorize the purchase, I inadvertently chose Afghanistan as my county of origin. Since the country did not match my passport number, I guess they cancelled my entry ticket. There is a limited number of entry passes issued per day. When I bought mine originally, there was only 25 left. Now there is zero. So, I will call the Ministerio De Cultura Monday morning and see what I can do. If they cant or wont work with me, I can still get into the ruins and climb Montana. So, Huayna is the mountain you see in the back of most photos of Machu Picchu. Montana is the mountain where most of those photos are taken from. See this link for a quick expanation of the differences. Montana versus Huayna. If you know me at all you know that I must climb Huayna. People say that it is possible that your life will change completely after reaching the top of Huayna. So, working on attracting bees with honey Monday even though I dont speak the language or understand the culture. If that doesnt work I will move into the bribe stage. Lastly, crying and pouting. Until next time……..
After some solid research, unsolicited I might add, we found that my situation with the wrong country of origin and cancelled ticket was common. After a three way call with Rick and the Ministerio de Cultura, we found that my original reservation may still be in place. On to my computer lab specialist to locate the e-ticket using a secret code, printed on my payment receipt, and BAM, we have a ticket. Game changer!!!!
I think this works. Click on the following link for my itinerary or copy and paste to your browser. I didn’t list all the places I will be going in each city because I’m testing the google trips app to guide me to destinations as I visit each locale. You know, the touristy stuff.
https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/195lDJU-WTmNoIPPOTEad83IHvKdYBIRpLbTuen5RyD4
Angelica says “Buenos Noche”.
Private room? Heck yes. Only the best for El Presidente! Something seems off with my en suite bathroom though.
A little rough but a great place to chat with a good, midwestern fella until four in the morning.
So, as I stated in my last post, I woke at 8 a.m. and started the morning with two cups of coffee on the roof where I ended my evening just 4 hours earlier. 
I borrowed a metropolitano card from Lien at the front desk. Then began a journey of epic proprtion that will certainly go down in my history as a day to be remembered and a day to try and forget. Many obstacles were overcome, none larger than a tired phone battery that could simply not keep up with the demands of its master.
Out the door and facing a 20 minute walk to the bus station which actually took 40 minutes just to find it, I was greeted by a potential breakfast selection on the street.
Because I don’t like chicken for breakfast, I proceeded onward assuming, naturally, that I would find some type of breakfast food. Let me save you the suspense. I did not. So, after realizing that speaking Spanish or rather, not speaking Spanish would potentially be a problem for me and the fact that no one spoke English nor was there anyone compassionate enough to assist, I managed to stumble across the bus station thanks to Google. Confusion, however, was never far from my side. Once again, since I do not understand Spanish any more than I am able to read Spanish I had to choose one of four buses going two different directions without any assistance. I managed to cram myself into one of these machines along with what had to be several hundred other like-minded individuals who clearly knew where they were going but not how to cleanse or deodorize their bodies. So, I passed by Hotel Marco and took a photo but I will spare you the boredom. I got to Plaza Norte and had to choose between Happyland or a movie with selections in Spanish except for My Little Pony. I passed.
Once I got off the bus in an area that was certainly nowhere near my destination, I began to lay rubber on the streets with my new Adidas. Remember, I haven’t had breakfast yet. I’m seeing all kinds of what could potentially be something delicious but rather than risk being grossed out and potentially physically harmed internally, I was excited when I spotted the familiar golden arches in the distance as an oasis amid the chaos. Upon entering this fine, unfamiliar establishment, I approached the counter and asked the girls for a hamburger because I didn’t recognize the pictures they were displaying on the board. This was followed by laughter. To which I replied, “Are you still serving breakfast at 10:45 a.m.?” The reply was more laughter and giggling. At this point, I was fairly certain that I was not going to be having a hamburger or any of my usual favorites. With hunger firmly entrenched and disappointment cloaked around me, I simply turned and slinked out the door. It would be another 4 hours before any food passed my lips.
Next, I was on to the sites that Google Trips recommended for me. The plaza de San Martin, the government house, some cathedrals, etc. Again, for your sake I will not include those photos in this blog. For those of you who are extremely disappointed by that last statement, reach out to me personally and I’ll be more than happy to share them.
Now, I’m walking around Lima taking pictures of anything that interested me. Little did I know it at the time but I took a photo of a mountain in the background behind some flowers that I approved of. I loved the juxtaposition of the hill with the hillside houses and the flora in the foreground. It really spoke to me. I even noticed on the top of the hill, a cross, but I didn’t pay much attention to it other than, I liked it.
Bored with the “clean” side of the city, I decided to cross a pedestrian bridge into what I would refer to as perhaps the “neglected” part of the city. What really caught my attention was all of these colorful hillside homes. I wondered, who lives in these houses and what does life look like for them? I had no idea the adventure of which I would soon embark.
Things started off slow enough and much as I would have expected. The familiar smell of urine and dog feces in every conceivable place except where it would belong. Houses of all types of construction and random dogs walking about trying to scare me to no avail. Secretly, I was scared inside but I know that you’re not supposed to show fear to a dog so I just didn’t do it.
I was really making some progress up the hill. Amidst all of the dogs and subsequent dog turds everywhere, I watch kids play in the street, I saw soccer balls lodged on the top of a tin roof that will never be recovered because to go out and get it would mean you would certainly land inside the house. Now, when I say house, you must understand that I just mean something with some walls and some corrugated steel on the roof or anything else they can find.
I really started to notice at this point or should I say it was really confirmed for me at that moment that the people of Lima, Peru have no interest in saying hello or even acknowledging that there’s another living being facing them and smiling at them and saying “hola”. Because they don’t respond and they act as if I’m invisible. Which is hard to imagine since I am the only white person that I saw for the entire day. Spoiler alert! Wait, that reminds me, someone did speak to me. Two homeless ladies or maybe just two ladies sitting on the sidewalk; “Gringo”, said one followed by “Norway?” from the other.
Now it really starts to get juicy. As I’m deciding which path to take, left or right, I hear someone say, “Chico”, to which I of course ignored because that’s not my name and I don’t even know what that means. Upon hearing that phrase uttered a couple of more times, I thought it warranted my attention and so I turned. A gentleman began waving me towards him, back down the very steps I had just acended. I approached and he started speaking in Spanish. I said, “no ingles”. Now, in retrospect, I realize that means I don’t speak English. But that doesn’t stop him as he continues to go on and on and I don’t know what he’s talking about but I did recognize the word “cuidad”. Danger. I said Danger? He says something about, you can’t be up here, it’s dangerous so I proceed to follow him down and listen to him tell me what I think he was telling me. I ascertained that he was perhaps a history teacher. He rattled off places like New York, Maryland, Delaware, which led me to believe that he may have been a history teacher in those places. However, due to his inability to converse in English, I don’t think that was the case. But again, let’s remember I told him that I didn’t speak English.
So I tell him that I would like to find the bus station. I would soon find out that not only does he not understand that, neither did the people in the morning and neither would anybody understand that question for the rest of the day.
I never caught the man’s name and it’s probably because I never asked. What I did notice was when he mentioned the word Museum and started ascending the steps in a different area. I also noticed right away that this gentleman had a very difficult time breathing. True, we were at a high elevation and I’m much younger than him but I seem to be doing okay. So, while dodging puddles of urine and misplaced dog feces I was finding myself concerned for this man’s health. Wondering what I would do if he simply died on me. Would I just walk away because I have no idea what to do? I couldn’t really issue CPR because, quite frankly I don’t know how to do that except for what I’ve seen on TV. I can’t speak the language so I can’t ask for help from anybody. So, as he rested multiple times I found myself in that familiar place of impatience. Waiting for someone who is clearly incapable of walking the steps to guide me to wherever he is guiding me.
It’s at this point that an idea creeps into my head that begins to grow. I start wondering where this man is taking me and why I would be allowing him to do so. I feel like I’m getting further and further away from civilization. Like the higher we go the less likely anyone is going to be able to hear me scream. As we near the top I’m trying to tell him that I’ve seen enough but again, he doesn’t understand English. We come around a bend and he knocks on some ramshackle huts wooden door and I’m certain that that’s a que to the inhabitant that a victim has been brought for sacrifice, that we will be right back down, and he needs to be ready for me.
So all the while this so-called history teacher from New York who can’t speak English is planning my demise, I’m already planning my retaliation and how I would strike back to save myself and to counter any attack by these potential scoundrels, when the unexpected happens. We round the bend and he simply said, “fini”, and waved his hand gesturing me to finish the walk alone. He said, “bye”. To which I responded, “caio”. I continued to walk the steps to the top.
I reached the top. I’m amazed by the views. I’m further amazed that I can still hear all of the sounds of the city below. It’s just me and some lady trying to light a candle and a guy selling some stuff. I was grateful for the guy because I didn’t have any water for my entire hike and he sold me a bottle of water. I had half a sole to use for the bathroom that’s up there but since it had a big padlock on it that didn’t accept coins, I basically realized I was not going to be using the bathroom. At the top I found the cross that I had seen from way down in Lima. I took a couple selfies and started to piece together a plan to avert the danger that likely waited me if I descended this mountain in the same manner in which I had conquered it. Surely there were villains waiting for me around the corner on those very stairs that I had just laid to rest.
I noticed a paved road below where I had exited the stairs. Surely this road would lead to the town below and allow me to evade my attackers on the stairs. Of course it would also be likely free of urine and dog feces. Rather than take the obvious approach and quite frankly to add some adventure, I decided to scramble down the mountainous terrain, freeform, in a straight shot to intersect the paved road approximately 100 yards below. The decision may have saved my life. Or the lives of those would-be attackers. I proceeded down the hill, at times running until I felt a blister forming on the bottom of my foot. I came upon a small village or better yet, an area where, through some slick negotiating, using my complete lack of English to understand, I somehow managed to get into a motor Taxi with a young man who drove me down to the valley below, all the while dodging every conceivable obstacle as I am sure you can imagine. Once again I was dropped into an area that was completely unfamiliar and the slate was once again wiped clean allowing me to start all over again to gain my bearings.
I failed to mention earlier but due to my complete lack of communication skills in this country I have not been able to utilize public transportation effectively. So essentially, I’m walking everywhere that I go. I have however up to this point now paid to enter the bus area only to stand around confused and ultimately leave and decide it would be quicker for me to walk than it would be for me to figure this out and potentially go the wrong direction if I’m wrong.
My next destination is Miraflores. It’s a town with some parks located on the ocean. The west coast of Peru. Some pretty iconic places there. So, as I make my way through the streets of Lima in search of a bus station I find myself making my way slowly toward the ocean and it’s a gradual and almost imperceptible decline to the ocean.
I make my way through San Isidro. Finally, I was seeing some clean streets and some nice homes. The streets are lined with trees and the chirping sound of birds is wonderful, although I can’t seem to locate any of them in the trees. I continue on through San Isidro to the ocean where I walk straight into the first park on my list. It’s marginal at best. I take some photos along the way to Park of Love.
I begin my trek back to the hostel. At this point I’m at the ocean and I’ve got about 10% power left on my phone. I locate a possible bus station and start walking that direction.
As I’m walking I begin contemplating the day. While I’m grateful for the opportunity to experience this culture, it is with little sadness that I depart the capital city vowing never to return. I have seen the streets and walked what feels like many of them. I left a piece of me in this town. I left a lot of my shoe in this town. I entered a situation, that of which I did not belong. The odds were stacked clearly against me and I’m proud to say that I prevailed. I accomplished everything that I wanted to accomplish. I saw everything that I wanted to see and more. The city was merciless as it tried to beat me down with odors and noise and confusion and ignorance and inhospitality. I was hungry. I was thirsty. I was lost most of the time. But I kept moving forward, regardless of where that led me and I achieved my goals. For that I say thank you Lima. I may be better for it.
I climbed a mountain to the highest peak. I walked almost 22 miles, 43,060 steps, and experienced a capital city in ways that I never need to do again. The streets smell of urine similar to that of New York City. The noise ceaselessly pounded me until I almost gave up. Garbage is discarded as though it’s a national pastime. I literally got bit on the leg by a dog. It was a clean escape and I was able to shoo him away before either one of us incurred further damage.
I reached the bus station for the final time and began the process of negotiating which train to get on. Have I learned nothing today? It was time for some luck and so I chose Expreso Ocho. I loaded myself into this end-to-end box with everyone else in Lima. Holding on to anything to keep from falling over was truly unnecessary. My mind was focused on the different parts of my body that I could not reach if someone were to decide to take something from me. Once again, I stuck out like a sore white thumb. No one was friendly or hospitable. Everyone fighting for more space even though there was none. The stench of the bus, to which I contributed, was something to behold. I exited the bus and walked the remaining 30 minutes to my hostel through what had to be one of the most incredible traffic scenes I have ever seen. Navigating through the incredibly large roundabout was surely the result of luck as well as ingenuity, frustration, and impatience. But I made it back to my hostel safely and for that I’m grateful. Because I’m able to type this blog, I am certain that you are grateful.
Until tomorrow.
My name is Mark Kombrink and I dream of travel constantly, alone or with a companion. I am not fortunate enough to travel exclusively, so I work and I make two lengthy trips a year somewhere in the world and fit a few local adventures in the rest of the year. Looking to the day when my full time job is “wanderer”.
Journey Man 