Salta, Argentina

We heart Argentina!  The air is clean, the smell is sweet, and the wine is cheap.   The people are friendly and the desserts are indulgent.  An intriguing cultural aspect is “siesta,” which appears to occur at ALL businesses from about 1 - 4pm... everything is closed for naptime!  Seriously, I wonder if this phenomenon could be instituted in the U.S.?  Another difference is dinner time: 11pm!  Hello, who eats dinner this late?  Well, everyone in Argentina apparently.  We attempted dinner at 9pm, which is incredibly late for us (trying to fit in with the locals, you know); however, by the end of our dinner (nearing 10:30pm) the restaurant was just starting to fill up.  We’ll try to get on the same clock in Buenos Aires.  One final laugh we’ve been having is regarding cambio (Spanish for “change”)... we can’t figure out why, but there aren’t small bills or coins in the country, so everyone lines up at the bank to exchange bills.  Around every dark corner, figures lurk with deep voices whispering “cambio,” enticing us to use their services (mostly to distribute their fake bills we’ve decided).  

Another update: our credit card number was stolen.  $1,000 worth of purchases were made in Massachusetts at the Home Depot and Dunkin’ Donuts within the last three days... (ha ha, Jason Kaufman was it you?!?).  Just glad Capital One caught the discrepancy so quickly and Ken’s mom is helping us expedite a new card.

Villazon, Bolivia - The Border

Train Ride from Bolivia to Argentina

Southern Bolivia reminds me of frontier Wyoming: desolate and expansive.  We enjoyed the snail’s pace towards the border to Argentina seeing mud brick houses scattered, broke down rusty trucks, and (sadly) spewed garbage (plastic bottles and old tires) along the railway tracks.  A young boy waved at us from his front yard, surrounded by his chickens.  

The toilet on the train was but a seat with an open hole to the tracks below.  Looking through to the ground moving beneath me, I pondered: 1) it doesn’t seem very hygienic to poop on the tracks, 2) there is no other option, and 3) here goes nothing.

Trains may be the best way to travel.  Scratching along at 10 miles per hour we took in the country, a luxury for those who could afford to waste time.  I never took a train in the U.S., I was much too hurried to get to the next city, the next meeting, the next destination.  Always taking the direct flight, I was anxious for an on-time arrival.  Here, our train broke down twice: it didn’t bother me though, it was a relief.  When people ask us where we’re going, I now find pleasure in saying “I don’t know.”

We crossed the border into Argentina, hopping on a bus for the town of Salta.  After traveling for 21 hours, we arrived, smiling and pointing: look paved roads! wow, no dust storms!  we’re in a real city, let’s order a hamburgesa!

Uyuni, Bolivia - The Salt Flats

We took a night bus from La Paz to Uyuni (12 hours) to visit the world’s largest salt flats (4,700 sq miles).  The prehistoric lake dried up and left behind the blinding white salt.  An uneventful bus ride until 2am, the bus transferred from a paved road onto a dirt / rock path for the remaining five hours of the rockiest ride ever.  Somewhat like being inside a popcorn popper with overhead bins utterly dangerous from falling baggage, sleeping was impossible.

Arriving in the tiny frontier town we joined a three-day tour group that departed at 11am.  Our group of six (including one English girl, one Swedish girl, and a couple from Dominican Republic) piled into a 4x4 jeep along with Ishmael, our driver who spoke no English and had a tendency to speed.  (We can’t technically confirm this since the speedometer in the jeep was broken).  After driving all day over the breathtaking salt flats, we checked into our hotel... made entirely of salt!  Yes, the walls, the floor, the chairs were all salt blocks.  The hotel cook’s daughter was six-year old Guadalupe.  She cheated at cards like a shark while giving an innocent “aren’t I adorable” look... so cute. We drank Bolivian liquor (Singani) and played card games (of course ending badly with everyone licking the walls for amusement, yuck!)  We screamed with laughter, “if only we had tequila, salud!”

After two days of driving through the desert we ended up REALLY in the middle of nowhere, some no-man’s land between Chile, Argentina, and Bolivia... spotting flamingos, volcanoes, lagoons, geysers, and hot springs at 15,000 feet.  Clouds of dust billowed behind us choking our breathing.  Blistering sun beat down reflecting off the salt... there were no roads, only faint tracks in the gravel where previous vehicles may have crossed.

The coldest night experienced in Bolivia, we slept six people to a room with no heat.  The temperature was below zero, electricity only available via generator from 7-9pm.  We bundled into every piece of clothing we had and exhaled seeing our breath.  In our mummy sleeping bags with only eyes exposed, we shivered in the darkness fantasizing about space heaters, hot chocolate, and toilets not at the end of a frigid corridor.

Three days and three flat tires later we arrived back to Uyuni exhausted and dirty.  Who knew you could patch a flat tire with toilet paper and a manual bike pump?

The Death Ride, Bolivia

Mountain bike racing in Bolivia with the Israeli army... just a typical Wednesday for us now.  Since the “World’s Most Dangerous Road” is located between La Paz and Coroico, we couldn’t help but join the adrenaline rush of racing down 39 miles of an 11,800 feet vertical decent (with 2,000 foot cliff drop-offs) gravel road.  Besides the English girls our biking group had ten Israeli’s, all of whom the word “kamikaze” comes to mind.

To check out the condition of our bike ride, check out this hilarious YouTube video from Top Gear

Confession: the next day we snuck into the La Paz Radisson lobby for a little taste of home... a western toilet, that is.  Dear Bolivia, the toilet situation is atrocious.  I now carry toilet paper in my purse instead of lipstick... the sign of a true traveler?

Isla del Sol, Bolivia

Screaming donkeys awoke us at 6am, so we decided to hike and explore the island.  Because of the time, our hotel front door was locked.  We found a window in the common area and escaped out.  We climbed to the island lookout: did I mention we were at nearly 14,000 feet?  Altitude is a bitch!  We munched on sugared cereal (30 mini packets purchased for $1) and took in the vast view of the mountains and lake.  We scurried down to sea level, caught the rockiest boat ride ever back to shore, and climbed on a bus to La Paz, the capital of Bolivia.  Half way to La Paz, we were instructed to get off the bus and pay 21 cents.  Completely confused, we couldn’t understand why the bus had stopped en route.  Laughing tears rolled down our faces: there was no bridge so we had to hop yet another rickety boat to cross.  Our massive tour bus rolled onto a wooden plank (with tires for flotation) and nearly tipped over into the lake.  Bolivia’s version of a proper ferry crossing was ridiculous.  Arriving in La Paz (an immense city nestled in a valley between two mountains), we discovered an eclectic restaurant serving a mixed fare of Arabic, Indonesian, Indian, and European food: perfect!

Sun Rise on Isla del Sol

To Bolivia

Bolivian Border

We hopped an early morning bus to Copacabana, Bolivia; we selected a tourist bus to decrease the border complexity.  Everyone on the bus was allowed free entry to Bolivia except us.  Being American we had the honor of paying $US 270 (along with residents of China, North Korea, and India... thanks American foreign policy).  The bus stopped on the Peru side and everyone filed off the bus.  A hectic mix of local market, mariachi band, and frantic foreigners, the border was a sight to see.  Stop 1: We queued up in a long line for a stamp.  Stop 2 (next door): We queued up in another line to get a second stamp.  Stop 3 (across the street): We queued up in another line to exchange Peruvian Soles for Bolivian Bolivanos (we needed 14 cents in Bolivian money to cross the border).  Stop 4: We queued up at Bolivian Immigration to obtain a visa.  Dashing back onto our bus in Bolivia, we took a short ride to Copacabana, a strange hippy backwater town, where we grabbed a boat to Isla del Sol, an island in Lake Titicaca.  In Peru and Bolivia they love charging random taxes and fees.  Even though we had already paid our ticket to the island, in order to get off the boat, we had to pay again!  The island has 2,000 residents, zero cars, no proper water/sewer, and a million donkeys.  With our backpacks on, we proceeded to climb “240 Incan steps” up a cliff to where the town resided.  Local boys haggled us the entire climb (partially so they could carry our bags for a fee, partially because they were just really annoying); our English friend was so annoyed she nearly knocked one out.  Arriving atop the cliff at a hotel with sweeping views of the lake ($13/night) we scarfed down trout dinner at an outdoor restaurant in a donkey pasture. 

Puno Continued...

All Six of us Chillin at the Rasta Bar

Puno, Peru was a favorite town, mostly because the locals ignored us.  Along with the English girls, we found a “real” bakery with fresh bread, scouted out a laundry (yikes, our clothes were foul from the Inca Trail), paid $1 for Ken to get the most meticulous haircut ever, raced the English girls on tuk tuk’s across the city (cross between a motorbike and a taxi), and shopped for pants.  You see, Ken brought ten pounds of electronics on the trip, but only one pair of pants.  The shopkeepers laughed at us: no, they did not carry “mas grande, mas gordito” pants that would fit Ken.  Finally, feeling slightly desperate we found a merchant who carried 4XL Nike track pants: perfect!  We hopped to the harbor and negotiated a two hour tour with a local boat captain.  Grabbing a case of Cuscena (Peru’s favorite beer), we set off on our dilapidated boat.  In a Gillian’s Island remake, the boat broke down three times until the driver finally dumped us on a small rock island while he fixed the lawn-mower engine.  The mini island was covered in bird feces so we lovingly named it Bird Shit Island.  Sun-stroked, we made it back to shore and set out for a local Rasta bar to meet up with a French couple from the Inca Trail.  The  “pizza” that night was awful but we doused it in ranch dressing so it was edible. 

Tuk Tuk Racing

Ken Chillin on the Lake

Hill Hopping on the Boat

Puno, Peru

Our New English Friends

We hooked up with our two new English friends and hopped on a seven hour bus ride to Puno, Peru located on the bank of Lake Titicaca.  We planned to take the $50/person tourist bus (comfy with an English-speaking guide) but the girls convinced us to take the local bus for $6/person (we were the only white people on the bus).  The driver was slightly crazy, dodging between lanes and overtaking slower vehicles.  About four hours into the ride, we made a quick stop for a girl to jump on.  She carried a large purse.  She proceeded to whip out a huge butcher knife, open up her purse which contained some kind of large animal carcass, cut the meat, and hand out chunks onto butcher paper to bus passengers for $1.50/person.  In shock and wide eyed, we declined the meal, instead munching on our granola bars and secretly wishing we could pull out a camera to capture the moment.  Unscathed, we arrived to Puno and found a nice private hotel room for $20/night.

Inca Trail, Peru

The spectacular Incan ruins of Machu Picchu sit atop the Andes Mountains.  The site was re-discovered in the early 1900’s by an American historian and restored by UNESCO in the 1980’s.  The 26 mile Inca Trail trek by foot to reach the site would prove to be four days we would never forget.  Our tour company Peru Treks picked us up by bus at 5:20am along with 14 other half-asleep hikers and two local guides.  After five hours we arrived at the trailhead and handed our bags over to porters who carried our bags for the four days at $45/person (best money ever spent!).  The porters (local men aged 18-50) also carried our tents, food, water, and supplies of up to 50 pounds each.  These men had truly amazing stamina to run the trail as we trekkers huffed and puffed up the mountain with only our day packs of water, camera, and sunscreen.  See our video:

The first day was an “easy” hike of 6 miles; the second day a killer 6 miles straight up to 13,900 feet; the third day, called the “gringo killer,” was 11 miles of the steepest rock stairs possible; and the fourth day culminated as we arrived to the ruins in the morning after two hours of hiking.  This trek was truly about the journey not the destination: the views of mountain peaks, cloud forests, dry deserts, and Incan settlements was unforgettable.  The altitude and endless climbs were relentless; the friendship of our fellow trekkers made the experience hilarious.  A few highlights:

In case of emergency on the trail, the evacuation policy was via donkey.  Not joking!  We laughed endlessly about who would be hauled out by donkey and would our insurance cover donkey evacuation.

No showers for four days and keyhole squatter toilets.  No explanation required.  

Climbing to the summit with limited breathable air, we felt dizzy, with hearts racing, and headaches forming.  We laughed uncontrollably, as our brains stopped functioning properly: sentences were difficult to form.  One girl started seeing and swatting at imaginary spiders, another couldn’t speak coherently saying things like “my hot is hat” and “ching chong” instead of Top Gun.

After exploring the mystical ruins (and surviving a two hour guided tour in the relentless direct sunlight), we arrived in Aquas Caliente.  We ate guinea pig and drank beers with our new friends: a couple from Chicago who got engaged at Machu Picchu; two hilarious English girls with incredible hiking stamina; a French couple who kept telling people they were from Peru, which was ridiculous; and two American brothers who had a million dollars worth of REI equipment at their disposal.  Exhausted and stinking we sat outside a 7-11 type market drinking while three of the guys (including Ken) got $12/hour massages (they negotiated down because $24/hour was too expensive).  Grinning ear to ear, exhausted and drunk we hopped on the four hour combo train/bus ride back to Cusco.

Summit of Inca Trail, 13,900 Feet

Machu Picchu

Along the Trail

Our New Friends from the Trek

Cusco, Peru

We departed Lima on Taca Airlines (which we loved because it’s in the Star Alliance so we were upgraded to first class due to Hillary’s status on United).  Flying into Cusco was odd: a one hour flight from sea level to 11,000 feet, so we essentially climbed the entire flight.  Hello altitude sickness!  (We were actually fine though since we took Diamox).  Cusco is steeped with history: it’s the continent’s oldest continuously inhabited city with massive Incan built walls and cobblestone streets.  There was a definite tourist vibe in the Plaza de Armas (most tourists prepping for their trek up to Machu Picchu), but overall the city still maintained its local charm.  First impressions: limited breathable air, much slower pace than Lima, archeologist’s dream, wild swings in temp from 30 at night to 75 in the day with bone-dry air and intense sunlight.  We stayed at a nice hostel right in the center of town; oh yeah, many more people speak English in Cusco because it’s so focused on tourism, gracias!  P.S. We’re only on our fourth full day in Peru and Ken already has diarrhea, yikes, was it the water?  We’ll never know.

By Popular Demand...

...The Chrome Dome

And as a special bonus...

...The Only Pair of Pants Ken Has With Him

New Favorite Drink

Is that a Pisco Sour in your hand...you know it is.

Hillary’s new drink is the Pisco Sour!   Ken and Hillary’s San Francisco dinnertime = 5:30pm.  Ken and Hillary’s Lima dinnertime = 7:30pm.  It’s still early for Peruvian dinner, but it’s progress!

Lima, Peru - Day 1

Museo de Sitio Huallamarca

After a red-eye on a Tuesday night, we arrived in Lima on Wednesday morning --- land of smog, crazy drivers, and one third of Peru’s population.  Our hotel driver picked us up from the airport like a breeze and we were pleasantly surprised by our accommodations at Peru Star, an upscale B&B in the San Isidro district.  We began exploring the city.  Our first impressions (remember we’re in an affluent neighborhood): 1) too many car horns, 2) amazing homes with cool wooden garage doors, and 3) an uplifting encounter with a telecom vendor.  Speaking NO spanish, we enquired about purchasing a pre-paid SIM card for our GMS phone (even with dramatic hand gestures the vendor stared blankly at us, not understanding).  With catlike reflexes he produced a laptop with a screen open to Google Translator, prompting us to communicate with him via his laptop.  We loved it!!!!  We might be non-Spanish speaking Americans, but we got the SIM card we wanted and had a laugh in the process.  Thanks technology!

It's Packing Time

We had 24 hours in LA before departing to Lima.  In that time, we stuffed our bags (28 pounds for Hill, 35 for Ken), shaved Ken’s head (since he’s a vagabond now and can’t deal with societal expectations for haircare), and ate good old American BBQ chicken with Sheila and Roy.  We’re off to the airport!!!!!

Back to L.A.

We departed Kauai for Los Angeles with a layover in Maui (changing airlines from Island Air to United).  Because we had to re-check our baggage in Maui, we missed our flight and got bumped to the next flight two hours later.  Upon boarding that flight, we were informed our plane had computer issues and would be re-routed to Honolulu, which had a longer runway and more planes.  Three islands in one day, not bad!  Plus we saw Pearl Harbor twice.  Anyways, we and our luggage made it back safely to LA.

Kauai, Hawaii

Jumping into Kauai

We made it to the enchanting garden island of Kauai!  On our last trip here seven months ago, we got engaged... so this island has a special place in our hearts.  While we explored the entire island on that trip, this visit we focused on one major feat: hiking the Kalalau Trail along the northern Napali coastline.  Our friend Andy (aka mountain man) agreed to accompany us novice campers and lead us with his expertise and expensive REI equipment.  After a short day hike in Hanalei with Aunt Margie, we settled in at Margie and Myron’s house, eating scallops, drinking mojitos, and plotting how to avoid the rangers on our upcoming camping trip.  Given we did not have a fully valid permit, we brainstormed: claim ignorance, use bribery, (or my favorite) present an illegally Photoshopped permit.

Day 1: We nervously began our hike, stopping at the two mile beach and befriending a local hippie named Dev.  Dev who lives on the Napali coast, assured us that the ranger situation was all hype, they didn’t patrol except once per month, and they flew in on helicopters... and if they did come, just hide in the bushes.  Our anxiety immediately subsided, knowing our adventure would not land us in the Princeville jail.  We planned to only venture 6 miles on the first day, but energized we surprisingly pursued on for the 11 miles of switchbacks, vertical climbs, and rock cliffs: it was a strange mix of Jurassic Park meets Mash (due to hovering tourist helicopters).  We arrived about 6pm and set up camp on a flat, elevated cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean... the sunset was unrivaled.

Hill along our little stroll

Every switchback was more beautiful than the last.

Andy along the treacherous "7 Mile" stretch 

Day 2: We moved our tent to a tree-shaded grove about 5 minutes above the beach.  A previous camper not wanting to port his tent the 11 miles back, left it free for anyone to use; we nabbed it given we only had one tent (note: three people in a tent the previous night in 90 degrees was like a sauna).  Dev meandered over and told us to follow him... he led us two miles up the mountain to a secret community garden and swimming hole.  Exhausted and overheated we all jumped in to the ice cold water and then munched on guavas.  Back at camp, we roasted brats (all agreed the best we’ve ever had) and s’mores.  It was a picture perfect day, that was until the rain started at 10pm and didn’t stop...

The three of us enjoying the most amazing spot we have ever seen

Can't leave out our boy Dev

Day 3: Given the downpour, circling gray clouds, and violent waves we were ready to get out of there!   We tried to hop on a boat that would speed us back to the trailhead; unsuccessful, we begrudgingly started on the 11 miles back home.  With rain drenched packs we barely made it across a red-clay cliff that was essentially a Russian roulette slip n slide along an 8 inch narrow peak overlooking a 500 foot drop to the ocean.   Mentally shaken and physically exhausted we set up camp at the 6 mile point.   

Day 4: The mud-caked trail was marginally easier on the final 6 miles.  We arrived to our car exhausted, fantasizing about showers, Myron’s famous slurrr-garitas, and dry shoes.  Climbing into our  rental car we noticed our tank was on empty: someone had cut the line to our gas tank and siphoned us dry!  Praying to the automotive gods we drove to the nearest gas station about 15 miles away, brainstorming hitch-hiking techniques and AAA negotiations.  Given that our tank was punctured, our primary option was a police report, followed by a two hour wait for the rental car company to drive us a new car, followed by a headache given we declined the insurance.  I won’t tell you how our gas-station-attendant-slash-mcgiver concocted a workaround, but I will tell you he “fixed” us up, allowing us to drive again within 15 minutes.

Finally we made it back to the trailhead after our 26 mile journey

A few Kauai highlights that made us laugh:

Dev talking to us on the trail: “They’re having a pig run through here on the 22nd.”  About ten minutes later, Hillary to Ken out of Dev’s earshot: “Why are they running wild pigs along the trail, I don’t get it?”  Ken to Hillary: “Are you serious, he was referring to the rangers.”

Andy (full name Andrew who also goes by Drew) drenched in sweat referring to the humidity as Drew-midity

Andy (acting like the bumble bee car from the movie Transformers) singing theme songs along the trail at the applicable moment: ex. cloudy and pouring rain = The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow; near the trailhead on our way out = The End of the Road by Boys II Men.

Shout out to our wonderful Aunt Margie and Uncle Myron for their gracious accommodations, dinners, drinks, laughs, and company.