Exploring Ollanta and travelling to Aguas - 30th Jan 2011

This morning we skipped the main ruins at Ollantaytambo, visiting the “free ones” on the mountain next door, meeting and chatting with a friendly local on the way up. After a final tour of the fascinating Inca village below, we were back amongst our gringo brethren, setting off on the tourist train to Aguas Calientes.

Ollanta's living Inca Village

Quechan folk in Ollanta village

Climbing the "free ruins" at Ollanta

Despite the cheesy pan-pipe music, we were engulfed in the staggering, lush mountainous environment  of the Sacred Valley, viewed through train windows specially mounted in the roof so we could see the tops of the mountains.

Aguas Calientes is the closest town to Machu Picchu itself, lying at the base across the river and with a steep hill to ascend. Being next to South America’s greatest attraction, it is naturally a tourist-oriented town, but a comfortable enough place to stay.

We wandered around in the rain until we stumbled across a pleasant hotel hung with dubious, fantasy-inspired art, run by a hippy couple with a jewellery shop next door; bed beckoned as we had a very early start if we were to see Machu Picchu at dawn the next day.

Cusco to Ollantaytambo - 29th Jan 2011

This morning we left Cusco and our luggage at Gran Hotel Machu Picchu again, after a phonecall to the UK to argue with my bank to allow me withdraw my own money outside the UK (mental note, let the bastards know in advance next time!). We took a colectivo for a hair-raising drive to Ollantaytambo with the world’s most time-conscious colectivo driver, who overtook all comers and hurtled around hairpin bends as if evading the law.

We quickly found a modest place to stay, owned by an elderly Quechan man who entertained us for ages explaining local myths and features in the cliff-faces and ruins which surrounded his family-run hostel (complete with bed bugs). After the rain eased, we ventured out to explore the lush and peaceful Ollantaytambo village, built next to towering Inca ruins and terraces.

flowering catcus in Ollanta

After our walk we had dinner with some locals, who were glued to a b-grade horror film hilariously dubbed into Spanish. I had my first taste of the ubiquitous chicken broaster, which went down well at the time but left me with a rumbling tum afterwards. We ended the vening at the Hearts Cafe  - a great project started by a 76-year old british woman to help the local children and old people in dire poverty.

Glorious Ollantaytamba Village and fortress ruins

Good luck offerings on the roofs in Ollanta

Time out in Cusco - 28th Jan 2011

We were up at a reasonable hour to go and buy a tourist ticket for the sites in and around Cusco, but in a pattern that seems set to repeat we decided against it – due in part to prices rising fast when compared to our 10-year-old guidebook (courtesy of my workmate Ingela).

Some of the sites were still available separately, so we visited the Inca Museum then decided we wanted to be out in the sun instead enjoying the scenery. After a modest omelette back at the ranch, we ventured out to try and track down the train station for tickets to the mythical “local train” to Machu Picchu, and to work out what our next steps would be.

We got lost on the way to the relevant train station – and when we found it it was closed and looked like it had been for decades, so we resigned ourselves to joining the tourist hordes. That evening we were feeling like we needed a little relief, and so went out on the town briefly ( always difficult to keep up at 3000 metres above sea level) to a great little bar in the trendy San Blas area, where we were unfortunately the only punters.

The band ‘s singer was a real character, and he had got his friends who ran the venue to record a recent National Geographic tv piece on Inca history, in which he had a starring role. When he appeared the staff in the venue went crazy, especially as he introduced a romantic and completely unnecessary subtext of flirtation into the historical piece which he dubbed Inca Porn. We headed back home, stopping off to hear a great band of Argentian buskers, finally stumbling on a proper folklorica band in a divey pub where we were the only gringos.

Abancay to Cusco - 27th Jan 2011

We awoke early to the sound of traffic and rain in Abancay – but now aware that we were in a dramatic valley surrounded by soaring mountains. We saddled up and headed for the bus station, waiting for two hours while watching Federer get trounced in the Australian Open semi-final.

Abancay in the wet

A 5 hour trip to Cusco was uneventful apart from trying being introduced to choclo con queso (over-sized sweetcorn accompanied by what I think might be llama cheese) - laura liked it but I wasn’t particularly taken. On arrival at the bus station in Cusco we were predictably immediately accosted, and after being touting by even our cab driver, we settled for a  bargained-down room at great place we’d later use as our base for further trips.

In the evening we wandered around the fabulous colonial centre; despite much of Cusco being dominated by tourism it still has a lot of atmosphere and charm. We returned and self-catered – a sure way to deal with the various traveller’s ailments which seemed to be lingering.

Cusco Cathedral and rooftops

Andahuaylas to Abancay

Woke up in Andahuaylas after a night in which it rained solidly the entire time; God knows how much mud there will be on the unpaved roads in and around the town. We were both feeling much improved, so we went for a wander in Andahuaylas which is unsurprisingly geared up for agriculture; the whole region is almost completely undeveloped, dotted with mud brick pueblos and teeming with cattle, goats and campesinos living a completely traditional life, a far cry from Lima indeed.

Aymari woman in Andahuaylas

A local agricultural supplier

Condor strapped to a bull - represents fight against the conquistadors

Our minibus, Senor de Huanca, left mid-afternoon, piloted by a young indigenous guy who stopped periodically to chat with friends as we passed through some of the low-lying villages in the incredibly lush valleys between the soaring Andean peaks. Incredibly, the mountain scenery we passed today was even more dramatic and breath-taking – my pictures will not even begin to do it any kind of justice – and I got a crash course in dealing with vertigo as we trundled along unpaved roads and hairpin bends with dramatic gullies and houses clinging illogically to the sides of the mountains.

Our driver was excellent, dealing with challenging roads, dodging fallen rocks and barely flinching when a bird flew in through an open window and flapped around the cabin; the passengers wanted to keep it in the bus which made me wonder if this is considered good luck in Peru. We arrived in Abancay, our next stop on the way to Cusco and quickly settled in for a noisy night’s sleep in our room fronting onto the main street. We were itching now to get out and get closer to the amazing and ever-changing landscape we had been driving through for the past few days, but we still had further to travel before we could do this.

Ayacucho to Andahuaylas through bandit country - 26th Jan 2011

This morning we saddled up early, negotiated the scrum which always seems to accompany bus stations in developing countries – vendors selling indecipherable things in plastic bags, animals running around etc – and boarded our bus, me bunged up with Imodium as a safety precaution. A sensible one as it turned out the bus had no toilet, and would prove to make very infrequent stops – usually when the passengers mutinied when we had been stopped on the road. This happened frequently as travelling through the Central Highlands of the Andes the roads are rarely paved and just wide enough for one vehicle, so there is a lot of reversing and negotiating when we come across anyone else.

Blurred view of the Andes from the bus

Once we were away from the city we started to climb again, and soon enough we were rewarded with some of the most spectacular mountain scenery I have seen anywhere in the world. Huge looming mountains covered in mist surrounded us as we dipped in and out of the clouds, revealing breathtaking canyons and deep gullies, the tops of the Andes covered only in heather or grass in some points bizarrely reminding us of the brecons in Wales.

The landscape changed constantly, with lower areas peopled and with herds of pigs and cattle sometimes blocking the road; where agriculture could actually take place (ie not at the highest altitudes) there were picturesque pueblos made of mud and brick huts, with mountain people in their brightly coloured, knitted finery.

Stopping for lunch en route

After a quick lunch stop where Laura and I tentatively nibbled on some boiled rice and crackers, we were off again into this staggering scenery. However we were starting to learn that travel is not straight-forward in South America, particularly not during the rainy season when rock and mud slides are not uncommon. First we were diverted from one area which had been blocked off, then some 45 minutes from our destination, the tiny rural town of Andahuaylas, all vehicles on the diversion road also ground to a halt as this had been blocked too.

This was a good test for our developing Spanish as we tried to understand from the bus driver what was going on; we pooled our resources with the only other gringo we’d seen for a couple of days, a mad, elderly German guy who it turned out could understand less than us. Meanwhile the rest of the passengers had scarpered down the hill to meet the replacement bus at the bridge, a 30 minutes hike. In a bit of a panic we gather up all our luggage and strode after them as darkness fell in the middle of nowhere.

All ended well however as we were picked up on this remote road by an unmarked colectivo taxi (as it turned out), who stuffed us and all our luggage into the boot of a station wagon; not the most comfortable ride but we didn’t care as it meant we’d not be spending the night shivering on the bus. From our vantage looking out the back window we passed another small town before Andahuaylas which was having a celebration too, and the fiesta included fireworks and a giant fussball tournament with about 10 tables all lined up, a strange sight in this backwater.

Arriving in Andahuaylas we struggled through pouring rain to find a cheap hostel, most of which were pretty nasty, then headed out for a satisfyingly gringo supper of pizza. We had a good chat to some nice locals in a shop who warned us against using the big bus companies for the next leg of our journey, then hit the (odd-smelling) sack.

Last day of recuperation - 25th Jan 2011

Bit of a write-off today as altitude sickness and diarrhoea combined to keep us in the vicinity of the hotel. Laura was a bit better and visited the market, and we risked a meal in the evening despite needing to run to the loo periodically. We walked back through the town which seemed to be celebrating something as fireworks were going off periodically and there were a few, lairy drunken Peruvian guys staggering around. We were feeling ok by bed though and ready to move on.