Superwoman, huh?

I have to laugh at myself. So tough, so strong, huh? I am supposed to be camping in the woods right now and instead I am recovering from one of the worst cases of altitude sickness and the flu that has ever been documented. (I do feel strong enough to make that assertion.) I need to get you all caught up. Let´s back up to Chile.

First, I have to mention the most darling little restaurant ever, which you must visit if you are ever in the Chilean Lake District. It is called La Cocina de la Abuela - The Kitchen of the Grandmother. It is the quaintest, classiest of places that Natasha and I just happened to walk by one evening. There was nobody inside, but after the warmest welcome from our waiter, we couldn´t walk away. We shrugged at each other and thought - why not? There was one other gentleman behind the bar who warmly welcomed us, and one woman who peered at us with a smile from the kitchen - the Abuela!

We began our meal with a pisco sour - the deliciously dangerous alcoholic concoction of the land - and then the waiter offered us a brilliant bottle of wine. Just before, Natasha caught the owner behind the bar whispering to the waiter, Enzo, teaching him how to say "May I recommend..." in English. So darling. We had a delicious meal, perfectly prepared by the grandmother. I had pumpkin apple soup and grilled salmon. Throughout dinner, we were praying that other customers would arrive - this place was just so darling, and these people deserve success! Alas, it is slow season in Pucon, and nobody came. Natasha and I continued to get mushy about it - and the pisco sours plus half a bottle of wine each did not help the estrogen overflow. Then, to make us fall in love with them harder, the owner took a picture of us with his digital camera and displayed it on the computer screen at the bar. He asked us to sign his guest book and include our email addresses so that he could send it to us. The guest book went back several years and was just filled with warm remarks about other wonderful meals that people have enjoyed at this lovely restaurant. We felt like we had been welcomed into their family for an evening! Here is what we received in our inboxes the next day:

Dear friends Katie & Natasha: Here you may find one picture when you visited La cocina de la abuela of Pucon, Chile, on april 06, 2008. Thanks a lot for visit us and for your friendship. Thanks a lot for your warm words in our Guest Book, you are great. You are invited to come back, visit our web site www.lacocinadelaabuela.cl and recommend us, if you could. We'll stay waiting for your news. Your friends of La cocina de la abuela. Sincerely Victor & Kika

Yes, Victor and Kika - you most certainly have our recommendation! We cannot wait to go back there someday. It came time to leave Pucon, and here is where our lovely fairytale plot thickens. We needed a way to get to Cusco, Peru that did not take four days on a bus. We also did not want to spend the money to fly internationally - and flying out of Santiago would involve an 11 hour bus ride anyway. We thought that our best option would be to fly into the northernmost Chilean city - Arica - check out Lauca National Park, which is relatively nearby - and then bus it into Peru from there. Problem: the most well-known airline in Chile is super expensive. Next problem: the number two airline in Chile is still kind of expensive, and their website doesn´t work. Next problem: no other airfare websites will let us complete this purchase either. Another freaking problem: the one travel agent in town is never open, and when he finally is open, he claims that the airline will not accept credit cards, and that we have to pay him in cash. Hell no. Ergh. What the heck do we do?

We decided to take our chances and literally showed up at the Temuco airport without tickets. We got there and the airline counter wasn´t even open for another two hours. We were losing precious bus time if this plan didn´t work out. There was no internet cafe in the airport, which was a problem because we needed to book accommodation in Arica if we were indeed to be arriving there that evening. Then, there was the necessity to figure out a way to get to Lauca National Park the following day. We asked the airport police officer to pray for us in Spanish, which must have helped because we were indeed able to purchase tickets - and with credit cards no less! The catch - the journey involved two flights. No problem, I´ve done layovers before! Haha, no there´s more: the first flight involved two legs, and the second flight involved three legs. Let me put it differently - we would be taking off and landing five different times that day, over the course of 8 hours. We would be in six different Chilean cities that are each hundreds of miles away from each other. Put differently: this flight is like a damn bus that hops up the country, making stops along the way. Seriously? My lord. My ears were so confused and clogged by the end of the day that I could barely hear Natasha say, "OK - so where are we sleeping?"

We ended up sleeping in a darling hostel owned by a Kiwi expat who was helpful in the morning with regards to getting our asses to Lauca. We signed onto a one and a half day private tour with our own tour guide - Carlos. The several hour drive there was so neat - huge mountains made of sand, ancient etchings, weird magnetic fields that pulled the car when put in neutral, and enormous candelabra cacti. We passed through a tiny village of 20 people where they still practice a pre-Columbian farming technique called terracing. There are stone walls built into the side of the hill that create broad, wide steps. The farmers grow things on each step and irrigate from the top, and the water flows down the terraces somehow. They grow corn and celery and oregano, and many other things. Carlos picked off little pieces of oregano for us, and my mouth immediately started watering as I was transported to the pizzerias of New Jersey. So far away, yet so close to home.

We arrived before sunset in the village of Putre, where we would have dinner and sleep before exploring the park the following morning. What a darling place. Women walking around with colorful textiles wrapped into napsacks carrying vegetables, or babies. Men sitting in clusters, talking about the day, or working together to paint the new swingset in the townsquare. Little kids running around, laughing and playing and kicking soccer balls. The sky starts to get a bit orange, and the cell phone rings - I get to talk to my parents. I feel revived and connected to the ones I love. Natasha and I sit on a ledge, and then she points across the square - look at those little girls dancing! We decide to move closer to sit on another ledge that is closer to them. They are about seven years old, and they have a tiny boombox playing the latest in Latin upbeat R&B: best description I can offer. There are six of them, in two rows, and they clearly have a routine - they must be practicing for some kind of performance or talent show. The sky starts to get orangey purple over the mountains, and these little girls are laughing and dancing in total adorable harmony. I am officially melting in delight. What a beautiful life. I am so lucky to be able to witness so many different ways, in so many different places, in which people are pursuing happiness. In the end, these ways don´t look all that different.

Lauca National Park is quite simply stunning. Many say that it is Chile´s most beautiful national park - and Chile is really beautiful, so that is saying a lot. There are miles of open grazing fields with endless amounts of local fauna - alpacas, llamas, vicuñas, guanacos...they all kind of look like the llama, and they are all amazing. There are tons of birds, ducks, and geese. There are many snowcapped volcanoes in the near and far. At times we could see both Bolivia and Peru while standing on Chilean soil. The volcanoes are set behind many reflection lakes and salt lakes. We completed a few short treks, and the elevation put us out of breath. One trek took us onto moss pads as we neared one of the salt lakes. There was a flock of flamingos standing on the water. When we got close, we got to see them fly away. The moment was absolutely breathtaking. Carlos prepared a delicious picnic with the ripest tomato and avocado, and by the way, we managed to carry on conversation with him in Spanglish throughout the entire two days. I am going to be so good at charades by the end of this trip!

On our way out of the park, we stopped for a dip at one of the many natural hot springs in Chile. Essentially, natural spring water runs off of the mountains, and then it is heated in the ground by seismic activity. The heated water ends up spouting up somewhere; the locals pipe the water into little pools at the source, and voila - the springs are so relaxing and healing. And cheap! At around 1PM, we dried off and began one of the longest journeys of my life. We had no idea what we were in store for. We arrived back in Arica at 4:30 PM, when we learned that the standard way of crossing the border into Peru is by collectivo taxi. Basically, a driver takes you and others in a pooled taxi, helps you fill out the paperwork, and then drops you off at a bus station on the other side. Perfect, we thought, because we wanted to buy bus tickets for the following morning. We planned to stay overnight in the city of Tacna, Peru because it is not so safe to travel Peru by night bus - there are many robberies.

We arrived at the bus station and saw a sign in the window upstairs - Bus, Cusco, Arequipa, Puno. Great, because Cusco was the destination. There were two ticket offices. We did some comparisons and found out that the prices were the same. Problem: there was no direct bus to Cusco in the morning. Second problem: the morning bus would get us to Cusco at 3:30AM the following day. Ergh - we are going to be traveling by night in the end, either way. The morning bus would be arriving in the middle of the night: don´t like the sound of that. Other option: leave at 7:00PM this evening, which would get us to Cusco at 3:30PM the following day.
We weighed our options. It is better to arrive during the day, versus in the middle of the night. Let´s just go now. I point to a bus poster that is on the wall for a company called San Martin - the bus is a double decker tourist bus, like the ones we are used to traveling on. They have bathrooms and an attendant. I point to the poster and say "semi cama?", which means a seat that reclines with a footrest. The guy nods and nods. Perfect, let´s do it. The office is pretty nice, with computers and free internet. We check our email while we wait to depart.

The guy helps us with our packs and we walk downstairs into the bus station. We get in a taxi, and I think - great! - they must be dropping us off across the street so that we don´t have to walk! The taxi drives a few blocks and I look at Natasha - um, where are we going? Shit. We pull over to the side of the road where there is a tiny bus stop that looks like a place where you would catch a ride across town. There are tons of locals in traditional type dress piling onto this bus. Not a single tourist in sight. It is dark. We freak out at the ticket office guy. This is NOT San Martin! NOT tourist bus! You lied to us! Take us to San Martin! He mumbles something about this bus being "same" - "semi cama" - and we are like HELL NO this is NOT the same! We are near tears. I think we were in tears. We are hyperventilating. We have nowhere to stay and just dropped all of this money on bus tickets. The guy says something about "No San Martin tonight, only tomorrow, different ticket," and then all of a sudden he doesn´t speak any English anymore. We are so scammed. We are so screwed. If we wait until morning, we are going to get to Cusco in the middle of the night anyway. SHIT.

We look at each other in disbelief. What the hell do we do. We look at each other again and hand our packs over, fatefully, to the bus driver. He tags them and puts them in the midst of everyone else´s luggage - wrapped up cardboard boxes, tied up sacks and plastic bags. Everything around us smells like urine. We stumble onto the bus. It is SO hot and SO crowded. It is SO loud. We make our way to the back of the bus where we are sitting together (thank God) in seats 40 and 41. There are people standing everywhere, with bags in their seats. There are people shoving to get by each other. Everything smells.

We sit down. I have never seen a look of horror like I saw on Natasha´s face.

We aren´t moving. There is an old woman with two braids tied together at the bottom, a meter long, wearing a petticoat. She is shoving her way up and down the aisle and stops to talk to us. She is holding one solitary winter coat and is trying to sell it to us, right then and there. She is trying to sell a winter coat in the middle of the aisle.

The girl across from us is fishing through a bag that contains all sorts of miscellaneous items wrapped in newsprint. She is trying to sell things too - it looks like those are...flashlights? My God. Are we going camping? What is this?!

A guy makes his way up and down the aisle, screaming (singing) and trying to sell candy. He puts it in your lap, regardless of whether you want it, and then makes a second trip to collect money (or to take the candy back). I refuse the kid, and Natasha gives me the look of death: "Katie, what the HELL are you thinking, pissing these people off? Take the damn candy." We are the only gringas on this bus and stick out like sore thumbs. Our luggage below, I remind you, also sticks out like sore thumbs. SHIT. Then, the baby behind us starts crying, and we smell a dirty diaper. I start hysterically laughing at the ridiculosity of this situation. It is too damn funny.

Finally, we start moving. Bright lights stay on. I put on my ipod to drown out the chirping, as the candy kid is still going at it. Shortly thereafter, we stop at some kind of check point. We look out the window. You have got to be kidding. A San Martin bus pulled up beside us. Natasha and I look at each other in disbelief. It is three-quarters empty. We were so scammed. We should have known something was wrong when they would not accept a freaking credit card. Dammit. I tell her - listen, the other bus might not even be going to Cusco. Let´s just tell ourselves that. We pull ahead of the bus, and we both can´t help but look back. There it is, a bright and shining light on the front of that San Martin bus - CUSCO in beaming neon. I die laughing once again. Priceless. Seriously - joke or bad dream?

We stop again, and this time more people get on the bus. Are they going to be standing in the aisle all night? Oh no - this time the new people are selling food. The entire stuffy bus begins to reek. They are selling taco-like things wrapped in foil and are holding USED WATER BOTTLES that contain the salsa. The salsa is being squirted out of the sports nozzles. I am HYSTERICAL laughing, but under my breath because Natasha looks like she is going to strangle me if I make a single peep. She seriously looks like she is going to vomit. The only things missing from this bus are the chickens.

Finally, we take off and the lights go out. Natasha proclaims that there is no way that she is going to sleep. OK, I say - well I am going to try. I put on some mellow rock and all of a sudden I find that I need to turn up the volume - they have put a movie on, and the sound is SO LOUD. This is no normal movie. Typically, South Americans watch movies from the US or UK with subtitles - but we doubt that the average passenger on our bus knew how to read Spanish. Instead, we were watching some kind of Peruvian telenovella. It was like a bad soap opera, but set in the Peruvian countryside with cows and chickens and traditionally dressed farm workers. Then, of course, evil gangs of bandits were trying to keep the lovers apart. Oh my lord. Please please please grant me some sleep.

Every time I would stir and take off my blindfold, we would be going around a steep bend, and Natasha would be biting her nails, looking out of the window. In the morning I asked her what she had been doing for the past 12 hours, and she said: "Katie, I literally said the rosary the entire night. I said thousands of Hail Marys. Every time I would doze off, I would jolt awake and say in panic ´OH, forgive me Lord! Hail Mary, full of Grace!´ and begin again." Seriously? Natasha?!?! Oh WOW this is too funny.

Well, it´s funny now because we made it to Puno (where we have a two hour layover) safely, with all of our bags. I knew it would be funny on the other side. I got to see an incredible sunrise over Lake Tikicaca. We found out that the second leg of our journey was on a double decker bus. Great! Oh, except that our tickets bought us a place in the back of level 2, with no leg room. We sadly walked by the other backpackers in the front, happily yapping away, legs extended against the windows.

God was watching over us because we did end up safely in Cusco with all of our belongings, and we have a great story to boot. We have been staying at an amazing hostel. Cusco is beautiful and has a great nightlife. We have been dancing until dawn and making lots of friends. On Monday morning, we left on our Machu Picchu trek. And oh, the plot thickens once more.

After an amazing morning of trekking (like badasses with our 25 pound packs), everything starts to get harder in the afternoon. We have been walking for hours. My back and hips are aching from the weight - why didn´t I just give in and rent an extra horse? It starts raining, and it is cold. We reach camp at 5:30PM after walking for eight hours. As soon as I stop moving and my adrenaline stops pumping, my head starts throbbing. All of a sudden: extreme nausea. How could this be elevation sickness? I have been acclimating for days. I am so nauseous. I cannot eat. I climb into our tent and ask Natasha to bring me bread. Twenty minutes later, there is no way I can eat anything. I am gasping for breath at the elevation and am shivering in fever. I am so nauseous. My stomach aches. My body aches everywhere, and I don´t know if it is from the day of trekking or from the flu.

Oh my lord. I threw up five times throughout the night - at first in a plastic bag, and then directly outside the tent. Whenever I had to get up to use the "bathroom" (yeah right), I had to struggle not to step in my own vomit - not to mention the fact that the campsite was covered with spots of cow and horse manure. Seriously, I have never felt more disgusting. There were two wild dogs at our camp who were rustling and making sounds throughout the night. At one point I peaked out of the tent to see what was going on - "Oh......my GOD. Natasha...the dogs are LICKING my throw-up. They are EATING my vomit." Are you kidding? Bad bad bad dream. It was absolutely freezing outside. I did not get a wink of sleep. Neither did Natasha, who was the best friend I could have asked for. Thank God for having her there with me.

In the morning, we made the obvious call that I would not survive a nine hour day of trekking to even higher elevations. However, remember folks - this is Peru. The contingency plans here are not ideal. Essentially, I had to walk for 45 minutes in the morning cold, across streams and through piles of manure, before I realized that the guide carrying my pack was planning on HITCHING me a ride into a tiny town, where I would then somehow find a taxi. Literally, there was an eight wheeled truck with an open top, containing about thirty farmhands, that he tried to get me to ride on. HELL NO. I was in so much pain, and I was so cold, and I was so scared. Please please please, do not leave me here. I am in the middle of nowhere, Peru. I go: "No taxi, no solo!" If you don´t get me a taxi here, I am not going alone!

Miraculously, a taxi rode by going the opposite direction and told us to wait twenty minutes for his return. The driver took me all the way back to Cusco, which took three and a half hours along steep, bumpy roads. I laid in the back and prayed the whole time, trying to keep it together. I was able to call my hostel and get a private room. Thank heaven. I am so lucky.

I am taking a train tomorrow morning where I will be reunited with my group. I will get to see Machu Picchu, the great lost city of the Incas, on Friday. The plot has thickened, the story has changed, but in the end, fate has its way. I fall, I get up, and I am stronger for having survived it all. I think that I will continue to fashion myself as superwoman if that´s ok by you.

I can´t wait to tell you about the majesty of Machu Picchu from the other side. I will talk to you (and see some of you) very soon. Much love from Cusco. Besos!