Here was me thinking that I was the only person tight enough to haggle over 1 sole. But as I got off the bus from Lima once arrived in Ica I started talking to this girl, who it turned out regrettably was French. But it was pretty clear just by looking at her that she was going down to Huacachina as well. Because if you're carrying a backpack around the Ica area, you're damn sure not going to Ica. Why the fuck would you? You're going to Huacachina. So we may as well split a taxi.
And luckily for me, she spoke perfect Spanish. And was more than happy to stand there arguing with the taxi-driver over 1 sole. Split between 2 people, that's about... maybe 11p. But yet here we were together. The only white people in the world willing to argue for such a cause.
I thought that I was the only one.
This was an unusual paradox for me to be in. I liked this girl and she was hot. And yet she was French. Confused the fuck out of me. And it reminded me of something that I'd seen in Lima.
One night after having a few beers, I had gone up to my dorm which, right next to my bed had open sliding windows taller than I was. If there were no curtains I would have effectively been sleeping outside. And as I'm readying to go to bed at some retarded-hour, I hear voices outside, so lift up the curtain to see this American getting out of the taxi. And the first thing I hear him say when conversing with the driver, is "90 dollars! I thought you said 90 soles..." before proceeding to hand over 90 dollars to this taxi driver, and then in typical dumb-traveller fashion, thinks that if he speaks really loudly in English, a spanish-speaking person will understand.
He couldn't have looked more green if he was The Hulk. And had just paid more than $60... US dollars, more than he should have done for this taxi. I bet the driver couldn't believe his luck. So the next time that I hear an American calling the French pussy's, I'm going to think of this guy, just handing over $60 because someone asked. And I'll think of this French girl, standing in the street arguing over 1 sole. And I suppose that it is for people like this American that you hear so many stories of extortion of tourists. Because if they have even a chance of pulling it off, they're going to try.
For me though it was funny. And I am one, not even speaking Spanish, that is more than happy to argue over 1 sole. So it doesn't bother me so much. But my God. He just handed over $60, just because someone asked for it. It really does blow your mind the retardations of some of the people you encounter.
And arriving in Huacachina after the taxi, this hot French girl I've just met wants to share a private room. Now how often does that happen? So please tell me exactly what was running through my mind when I say that I'm going to go and check-out the campsite next door? Which I didn't even end up staying at, because let's just say that I harboured some security concerns. And by the time I'd gone back to that first hostel... she was gone. Please tell me my logic at that exact moment. And in the end I end up in what is a 19-bed dormitory. Though at this time there is only one other person staying in it, so I may as well have been in a private room. But still. That's not quite as good. Even if she was French. Sometimes I need my fucking head tested.
And man, back in Lima I had voiced some concerns about the levels of luxury that I was having to endure staying in my posh hostel in Miraflores. That I simply don't feel comfortable with unnecessary luxuries. I don't need them and I don't want them. So to arrive at this hostel, the staff were rude. Almost didn't seem to care. The place was dirty. There wasn't even any toilet-paper.
I felt right at home.
And one thing that I noticed, was that I think the girl working the front-desk got some kind of kick out of seeing people's distain to her level of service. But after that first interaction when I probably seemed to get-off on it a little, she actually became really nice to me.
She was still a bitch to everyone else, but to me she was always smiling. I think because she likes to provide the worst level of service to everyone. And she could see that I was someone that didn't like good service, so she provided it, just to get to me. So she was friendly and lovely for the rest of my time there. Bitch.
You know why I like this kind of hostel though? You know why I like rude staff and dirty rooms? Because it just gives you that freedom to be you. You know?
In a place of manners. Politeness. There are so many social fucking formalities that you have to adhere to that you can't just relax and be yourself. You have to be considerate in what you're saying to the staff because they're considerate in what they say to you. You have to be careful with your actions because everything is so classy. So clean. It's kind of like being in a social straight-jacket.
Here though. A place like this. You don't have to watch what you say. You don't have to watch what you do. You can just do whatever the fuck you want, and no one's going to batter an eye-lid. And pehaps that is one of the things I was really digging in Colombia. To the typical person on the street, you had that freedom. There were very few norms to adhere to.
This would actually continue the next day, as my first morning in Huacachina, a dog just comes into the dorm at about 7am. Starts climbing on random beds.
The hostel dog? I don't think so. Just a stray. But no one working at the hostel would care. I didn't care either, I thought it was a cool dog. Though that didn't transfer over to what was then the 2 other people in my dorm. They were obsessed with getting it out and keeping it out the room... so uptight.
That was nothing though compared to if you came into my dorm at about 12:30pm everyday (it happened on both afternoons that I spent in Huacachina). You would find the 3 cleaning ladies sleeping in the dormitory in any of the beds. Now I fucking loved that! How could you even get away with that anywhere else in the world. Just having a siesta everyday in someone's hotel room for a couple of hours.
Man it was beautiful. There were no social-retardations to adhere to here. Anything goes, and I fucking love it.
My dorm had even been built at a very noticeable gradient. It was in itself a hill. Sleeping on a hill...
Love it.
Oh. And even better, there was a very, very loud disco, a part of the hostel, right next to my dorm.
At first glance to the typical person, that might not be a good thing. To me though, this was fucking great. Because it meant that I could keep a bottle of rum and coke in my room. I would go to my dorm, chug a quick drink, then go to the disco. Then 10 minutes later, I'd go back and do the same again, and so forth was one fuck of a cheap, drunken night. Because I didn't have to buy any drinks from the actual disco. I just got my rum at the shop next door to the hostel that worked out at around £3.50 for a large bottle.
And even more, I could take photos of this night because I could keep my camera in my room and just get it for each photo. So I didn't even need a specific drinking camera. And seeing as I'm unwaiveringly the last person to leave a party... who gives a fuck if it's loud?
By this time though, I'd met a couple of Aussie's. We'd had a drink at the hostel bar in the afternoon. Then we acquired some American's that they'd met earlier in the day. Then a German appeared, and we went and sat down by the oasis for a while. Which was my first view of this ominous oasis, though it didn't quite share its beauty at night-time. And then once we arrived at the hostel discotec, we kept on acquiring more and more. And from what I remember, it was a fucking awesome night.
I say from what I remember. I thought I remembered it all for once. Until I looked at my camera and there's definite bits missing from my brain. But I do remember the end, because I had the common-sense to chug about a litre and a half of water before bed.
The American's, they were on spring break. The Aussies were Aussies. And I was definitely up for a night, so a lot of alcohol was had. And it turned into a fun, fun night. Even if the disco only seemed to peak at about 20 people.
In a town of 200 on a Sunday night, you can't really ask for much more.
This was planned to be my only full day in Huacachina (I know that I've said that before). And when in Huacachina, there are two things that you do.
The first is see the oasis. The second is go sand-boarding.
In this town of 200 people built around the oasis, seeing it really doesn't take too long. Very pretty, and kind of bizarre. This lake in the middle of the desert. But that took me all of about 10 minutes to get to, to appreciate, photograph, enjoy, and then get back to the hostel. And so I signed up for the sand-boarding in the late-afternoon. A bit of an investment at a whopping 40 soles. But whenever anything seems that way to me, I just think that's what? £8 or something. Who the fuck cares? Especially when booking through the hostel, my stay gets cheaper by about 10 soles anyway.
And this all meant, that on what was a minor hangover day (definitely aided by the water drunk before bed), I would pretty much be hanging around the hostel pool all day.
Oh yes, my hostel has a pool.
The Australian's were gone by this point. But the American's were still about. As were seemingly a butt-load of English's that I acquired through the day. But this turned into a day, despite just chilling by the pool, that could be very, very, key in the direction my travel takes over the coming months.
Earlier that morning having breakfast, I'd met this couple. They were heading North. So they spent the morning picking my brains about places to go, places to stay etc. But even on only a minor hangover, I wasn't in an especially inquisitive mood, so I didn't really take the opportunity to talk to them about where they had been. Come the afternoon at the pool though, I could really tell from talking to them that these really weren't the typical wet behind the ears gringo's that are a dime a dozen and I'd meet everyday at the moment, and whom get wowed by the fact of how the fuck can I have been away for 16 months. They had some balls. They knew what they were doing, planning on 2 weeks on the Amazon river to get over to Brazil. So ok. Maybe they can tell me something I don't already know.
And they had one experience that they spoke of, saying that out of all their travelling, this was the one thing that hold dear. This was the one memory that they'll never forget. It was the one thing that really meant something.
Back in Bolivia, they'd spent a month voluteering at a big-cat sanctuary.
By voluteering, that means you have to pay. But at US$350 and including all food and accomodation for a month, it's not ridiculous. And you go to this sanctuary, out in the Bolivian jungle. No electricity. Apparently about 6-hours from the nearest ATM to give you some idea. And you will work seven days a week looking after these big-cats. Presumably orphaned as kittens, these cats, pumas etc., have had human contact since they were young, so although still harbouring some minor tendencies to maul, they are in general very safe and very comfortable in human company. And you would spend your days looking after these cats. Taking them for walks like you would with a dog.
Is this a holiday? No. This is working 7 days per week. No alcohol on most of these days because they can't have people coming in to take a jaguar for a walk hungover. No electricity. This is hard-graft helping out at this sanctuary. Keeping the camp running, cleaning toilets etc. To make the mistake of thinking this would be fun would be an error. But in talking to this couple, and listening to how they valued the experience, it's something that I will for sure be looking into.
And the longer you stay, the cheaper it becomes. What's stopping me staying there for 2 months? 4 months? If it's an experience I'll treasure as much as they say, why would I want to leave?
Perhaps it was a mistake on my part not to take their contact details. But I did write down in great detail everything that I would need to know before going there. So this, if I do it, could take a significant chunk of time of my coming months. And this would really be something different that not every gringo would do.
Off the grid? Absolutely. Apparently a village nearby has Internet access. But you'll only have the time for that maybe once a week. And would I really want to get online? Because I like the idea of forgoing Internet for a while. Forgoing news. Forgoing Facebook. Forgoing football scores and fantasy football. Forgoing this website. Just getting away from all of that for a bit, it appeals to me, it really does. Because everyday right now I spend a couple of hours catching up on news, sports, emails, Facebook, Couch-surfing messages etc etc. And that's before I start on website updates. It clusters up my days. And God forbid I have to go a day without Internet, I'll have to spend even longer the next day catching up with everything.
I think it will be good for me to live a life without Internet. Without electricity. Even if only for a month or so, I think that people are starting to forget life-fundamentals because of their surroundings. And getting wholly off-the-grid for a while, living in the jungle at a big-cat sanctuary... it's a definitely possibility. And it really would be something different. Something different to the typical gringo travelling through South America.
This was one way how this day in the pool could have an impact on my coming months. But it was within about an hour of meeting this English couple that I met another English guy. And speaking to him, he could have an even more significant affect on how I go for here.
I've always considered working in the US to be a non-issue. Because post-9/11, what's the fucking point? Getting the necessary visas issued, that's just not even a possibility.
But I spoke to this guy. And on multiple occasions now, he has been working ski-seasons at this resort up in Utah. And from what he tells me, they love to get foreign workers and even come on recruiting trips to South America. And there will be a lot of British people working there. Add to that the fact that I have mountain experience, and there really is no reasoning that they wouldn't help me to get a visa. Particularly now he's given me the email address of the HR manager there.
My previous thinking had been to go to New Zealand by May this year to work the ski-season. But recently I decided that was simply too soon for me so I'd postpone it a year and hopefully find English-teaching work instead. And although that was what I was planning, an extra year in South America sounded almost too much. Even for me.
If though, if I could get work in the US from November... that would be fucking perfect! 8 more months in South America. That could then include the big-cat sanctuary for perhaps 2 or 3 months. Or it could include a few months teaching English in Chile, but nothing too long. It would just be fucking perfect for me. And it would mean that I could work a season in the US. Then as soon as I'm finished there, I hop on a plane, and withouth skipping a beat, work the ski-season over in New Zealand.
Now tell me that doesn't sound fucking perfect.
Is it feasible? I hope so. The only obstacle I envisage is that they might have some retarded requirment (as does Canada), where you have to be in your home country at the time of application. There's ways to work around this though. And getting travel-insurance (which I would really want for the US. Particularly skiing), again when not in the UK, could be a problem. But there are work-arounds.
If this is feasible, then this is the way I envisage going. And like with the cats, I have taken all the necessary information. And now it's just a case of making it happen.
It's strange how these things can all happen at once. But within about an hour of each other, I'd talked to a couple of people that could significantly influence the path that my travelling takes. And again my plans change. But if feasible, both of these seem solid. They fit.
Going to New Zealand this ski-season, it was too soon. It was always too soon. I was just hoping to work around it. Going next season was too far. This fits. This sounds perfect for the amount of time that I need to have. Then 2 consecutive seasons working on the resorts... the next 18 months could be starting to take shape. And if it works out, what an 18-months it could be.
And so, after what was a productive few hours by the pool, it was onto the sand-boarding.
I'd heard about this before I was even in South America. There was a guy that I knew from Miami who'd come down to Peru. And he'd been telling me about this even back then.
The reputation of this town of 200 stretches a long way.
And the consensus was, fuck the sand-boarding, you do this for the buggy-ride.
And my goodness gracious, you could not be more right. The driver was a fucking homicidal maniac. Taking this buggy off jumps, over ridges at full-speed, skidding in the sand to avoid stationary buggies, up damn-near vertical dunes.
It takes a lot to get my blood-pumping nowadays. I was bored of roller-coasters by the time I was about 10 because they just didn't have any real rush for me. But this. This was fucking intense. And as I'd been told, the sand-boarding was simply secondary.
On any other day, man that would have been fun on it's own. But sandwiched between rides in the buggy, sliding down huge dunes on these bits of wood, picking up some pretty spectacular speeds, it just wasn't such a rush.
Fun, yes. Especially going face-first laying on the board rather than trying to stand-up. Because that way you could get some serious speed. But the whole time you're thinking "Yep. This is fun. But I hope that we finish soon so we can get back in the buggy."
And on the way back, the driver was even more psychotic. And there was one moment he took the buggy into the air, and we just flew.
I was thinking this before one of the other guys on the trip said it, but he says to me "that moment when we were up in the air. Those few seconds are perhaps the best moment of all of my travelling."
Adrenaline pumping, I was also thinking the same thing. However ridiculous that sounds. And all of a sudden this 40 soles was seeming to be some money that couldn't have been spent better. Man that was some fun.
The American's on spring-break from last night were still here. And we'd met a butt-load of people throughout the day that included 2 girls from my dorm in Lima, so this was another night where the alcohol flowed.
Perhaps it wasn't quite so much fun as the night before, but these nights in Huacachina, these were some fun times.
Leaving tomorrow, I still wasn't sure where I was to be going when I left Huacachina. I knew people that would be in Cuzco and I knew people that would be in Arequipa. Both were places that I now wanted to go. And both were similar distances from Huacachina, and both equal distances from where I'd want to go next. So it was really just a case of randomly deciding which I wanted to do. And I settled on Arequipa. Although with night-bus hijackings not uncommon on the road to Arequipa, this would be a journey where I really didn't want my luck to run out.
I was to know at least 4 people that would be in Arequipa though. And this included the hot French that I'd met on the first day. And I somehow conned her into giving me her details.
What I was really feeling about Peru now, aided by my most recent stop of Huacachina, was that this place was simply immense.
Máncora, Chiclayo. It wasn't the best way to start. But since then... since then. Huanchaco was, with good reason the longest stop that I've made in South America. I met some people there that I'll stay in touch with for life. Lima, the same. I met people I'm still talking to and planning on meeting up with as I continue through South America. Huacahina was simply immense. For only having 2 nights here, I'd met some people that I know I'll be seeing again. I'd had a couple of banging nights, and that sand-buggy. That'll stay with me for a while.
The only place that I've been between all of this, has been Huaraz. Good socially? No. It was shit. But that was more than compensated for by the things that I saw on my day hiking out to Laguna 69. And when I think of these 4 places that I've been since leaving Chiclayo. Man! Peru has more than lived up to the best that I could have hoped for. It has been, fucking immense. Just incredible. And I think of the money that it's cost me. Basically none... man. This is the life. This is really the life.
Could it perhaps rival Colombia? Maybe not quite yet. But it's getting close. This is a special, special place. And it's probably somewhat telling that I was only planning on a week in Peru and it's already been a month with more to go.
Man... Huanchaco to Huacachina. That's a period of my life I'm never going to forget.
I wasn't quite done yet though, as I had the daytime to kill in Huacachina before my night-bus. And getting chicken-fried-rice for breakfast (hangover breakfast), guess who walks into my cafe?
The same girl that I've now seen in Taganga, Tayrona, Cartagena and Huanchaco, you can now add Huacachina to that list. And it's now just getting freaky how often I'm seeing her.
Everytime that I do, we hangout for a while. Which included most of this final day in Huacachina. But despite the amount that I see her, I still don't even know her name yet. Because I'm not big on names because that's one more thing for me to forget, and I guess that neither is she. But it's probably gone past the point that I could just ask now.
Ah well. We're fairly obviously going the same way. So I'm sure that I'll have the opportunity to find out at another time.
This last day was another pool day. And another day of meeting people that I'll be doing what I can to ensure that I see them again. I've built up one Hell of a contact-list recently. Leaving Huacachina in the evening though, I head to the bus station in Ica for my night-bus to Arequipa.
Wow I was shocked. I was travelling with Cruz del Sur. This is a company I've heard a bit about and that appears in Lonely Planet a lot. But I've never travelled with them before. And I walk into the bus station, there's just loads and loads of white people. It's disgusting! I don't want to be on a bus with white people. If I was going to hijack a bus, then I'd be sure to pick the bus with all the white people. Especially ones that looked as green and wet behind the ears as these did.
As crazy as it sounds, I feel safer on a bus full of Peruvian's than I do bus full of white's. But luckily... luckily, Cruz del Sur also do a luxury service to Arequipa, which left the bus station about an hour before my bus. And thankfully all the fucking white people got on that bus. Which answers the riddle of how the fuck white people travel anywhere in this country. Because I never see them.
Well it turns out that they all get luxury buses with beds, where as I always get the cheapest buses with the locals. I really am at the bottom of the barrel.
The good thing about drinking so much in Huacachina though, is that it really didn't matter if I had a bed or not. Because I was going to be sleeping damn-near all of the 13-hours to Arequipa.
I'm staying at The Point. This is a hostel here, similar to the Loki's in that it is a party hostel, although much, much smaller. And there is maybe even the possibility of working the bar here if I see fit. Though I doubt that I will as I want to get onto Cuzco, onto Lake Titicaca and onto Bolivia without hanging around too long. But it's nice to know that it's there.
And I arrived yesterday, and I went to bed. Slept for a while, before getting up, being conscious for a bit, and then going back to bed.
I'm sore, hungover, tired and sun-burned since Huacachina. So it was necessary. And you try carrying a 15kg backpack with sun-burned shoulders. Not fun.
Then today, having been without wi-fi for a while, I've spent the morning uploading photos and writing this blog. So I really haven't seen shit of Arequipa yet despite being here nearly 24-hours. Which kind of works out, because on arrival here, I was thinking 3 nights, barring the Colca Canyon which I may or may not do. But as a March promotion, stay at this hotel 3 nights and the 4th is free. Obviously I'm not going to forgo a free night. So this way it gives me the time that I want in Arequipa, and I've been able to catch up on some stuff as well.
Huacachina though baby. I couldn't have asked for it to be any better. And how have my plans for the next 12 months now been altered?
It might have only been 2 nights. But it was quite a 2 nights! Love Huacachina.