Hullo everyone,
As I´m sure you can tell by the title, I´m writing this blog mere hours after my return from the defining aspect of the trip. I´ll be honest, mastery of words aside, I doubt I could possibly convey to you the sheer amazingness of the experience. Staring at the screen right now I´m finding it exceedingly difficult to choose any adjectives from my extensive arsenal that are in any way applicable. I will, however, try my best. This past Saturday morning we woke up at 5 am, as I whiningly mentioned last post, and were picked up by our travel group in a van. The other members of our group were an extremely friendly German couple, an American electrical engineer from D.C., and a 24 year old British girl. As it turns out our group of seven made a perfect combination for the trip. Sorry again, but words are just slipping from my grasp as I type this.
There are some experiences in life that seem to become memory literally as they occur, captured in snapshots and sent into the subconscious because they are just too amazing to fully process at the time. As I walked the Inca trail and drank in the incredible sights around me I watched as each breathtaking image followed each breathtaking image until I was completely saturated with unbelievable views and once in a lifetime experiences. The hike itself was so impossibly glorious that we were immediately jaded, convinced that Macchu Picchu, the summit of our hike and our entire trip to Peru, could not possibly live up to the journey to it. Challenging as it was, and trust me it was extremely challenging, the sense of triumph in every step was worth every single drop of sweat (the exact value of what I´m proposing will be more understandable once you see my pictures). The sights that we were confronted with were so rare and stunning that I was actually loathe to use my camera, knowing full well that my digital camera, the product of an extremely advanced society, could not possibly capture what I was seeing with my naked eye. Don´t worry though, I still took plenty of pictures. I´m sorry if I´m not being my usual descriptive self. It seems I´m stuck articulating how impossible it is to articulate what I just did.
Macchu Picchu, despite our preparedness for dissapointment, was unbelievable, and looked exactly like it did in its online pictures. The only difference now I´m in those pictures.
Expect another post in about 3 days (after our white-water rafting trip). I promise that the next one will be far more satisfying once I put some time in between myself and the experience. It´s amazing-I´ve never been this speechless.
P.S. Happy Birthday Dassi!!!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
And One For My Fallen Homie
Tonight´s blog is unlike any other, and I feel it must begin with a libation. For all you honkies who don´t know what that is, let me hit you with some knowledge. A libation is the ritualistic pouring of liquor for one´s fallen homies. Now before you get too concerned, nobody has died on Darom America 07. Yet. However, our trip will be suffering the loss of a member. But to hear the beginning, youré gonna havta wait till the end, Memento style. That´s right, as a perveryor of words I´m choosing to mess with chronology. Sue me.
We left you with a tale of Jed´s ineptitude, and the similarity between the usefulness of Jed and Avi´s "international" phone. So, we pick up the story at roughly 8:59:59 last night, where we find Avi Nimmer, floating adrift in a sea of doubt as to the outcome of his future, and in need of some relief. And so, we took to the streets (completely ignoring the compelling pull of Snatch being viewed at the hostel) in search of a hooka cafe that had been vaguely referred to on Wikipedia. After about an hour or two of searching, we came to the realization that A) Not knowing spanish is a major obstacle in the hunt for a foreign substance and B) Jed trying to convey what we meant by hooka through pantomime was more than slightly homo-erotic. We felt a moment of hope when a friendly Peruvian standing outside a bar stopped trying to get us to come in for happy hour and picked up on the word Sheesha. With recognition in his eyes, he informed us that we could find "Cheecha" about a block away from where we had given up our quest. Delighted, we followed his directions, and then the directions of at least 10 more Peruvians, until we were standing outside a dark archway that lead into an alleyway of some sort. Undaunted, we entered into this dangerous cliche´and asked the woman in the strange bar/restaurant if she was in fact a proprietor of this so called "Cheecha". Our happiness at her nod of understanding was short lived, as she procceeded to dip a pitcher into what appeared to be a trash can and lifted out a strange, pinkish slop of some sort. Luckily, our amusement at the miscommunication outwieghed our shattered hopes and we left in high spirits.
The next morning, we awoke at 8 am (that´s right, I said am) and prepared for a day of mountain biking (that´s right, I said mountain biking). We spent most of the day speeding along dirt paths through unbelievably gorgeous scenery, from mountains to lakes to rivers to villages. At one point on this glorious tour the guide and I stopped and looked behind us, and saw that Avi and Jed were nowhere to be found. When they arrived about ten minutes later they told us that one of the many friendly villagers along our path had invited them to try some Cheecha. As curious as I´m sure you all are, I asked them what it tasted like and what it was made out of. Turns out the accidental object of our star-crossed quest was a liquid form of fermented corn, and, according to Avi, "tastes like donkey piss". For those of you who are wondering why Avi knows what donkey piss tastes like, you´ll havta ask him yourselves, since I decided that´s a detail of Avi´s life I´d prefer not to know.
And now to the meat of the issue. Our epic mountain biking ride produced more than just epic views and epicly friendly villagers. It also produced some epic injuries. Namely the potential breaking of Avi´s wrist. Now I saw potential because there´s no way to be sure exactly what a Peruvian doctor means when he starts mumbling in spanish after you ask him, using improvised sign language of course, whether or not the bone had actually snapped. To give "The Doc" as we came to know him by some credit, he seemed to be the only professional in the hospital, and dealing with three idiotic American tourists who can´t speak a word of his native language in his native country cannot be easy. And so, with Avi reduced to invalid status we were faced with a major dilemma. After having already booked our 3 day white-water rafting trip and with Avi incapable of cutting his chicken or even spreading deodorant under his left armpit (both tasks that fell to Jedoune and myself respectively), we had to decide what we were going to do with the rest of the trip. After much deliberation (and by this I´m referring to Avi´s personal battle with the voices inside his head-namely, David and Marcia, pronounced Mar-see-ah in Peruvian), we decided that Avi would make a solo return journey to Los Angeles after hiking Macchu Picchu. And so, one for me, and one for my fallen homie.
P.S. If you were amazed at our 8 am wake-up, you´ll be sadistically pleased to hear that tomorrow we need to drag our gringo bums out of bed at a whopping 5 am to catch our ride at 5:30. *Fill this gap in with some ululating cry of agony and frustration at being forced to actually witness this ungodly hour*
We left you with a tale of Jed´s ineptitude, and the similarity between the usefulness of Jed and Avi´s "international" phone. So, we pick up the story at roughly 8:59:59 last night, where we find Avi Nimmer, floating adrift in a sea of doubt as to the outcome of his future, and in need of some relief. And so, we took to the streets (completely ignoring the compelling pull of Snatch being viewed at the hostel) in search of a hooka cafe that had been vaguely referred to on Wikipedia. After about an hour or two of searching, we came to the realization that A) Not knowing spanish is a major obstacle in the hunt for a foreign substance and B) Jed trying to convey what we meant by hooka through pantomime was more than slightly homo-erotic. We felt a moment of hope when a friendly Peruvian standing outside a bar stopped trying to get us to come in for happy hour and picked up on the word Sheesha. With recognition in his eyes, he informed us that we could find "Cheecha" about a block away from where we had given up our quest. Delighted, we followed his directions, and then the directions of at least 10 more Peruvians, until we were standing outside a dark archway that lead into an alleyway of some sort. Undaunted, we entered into this dangerous cliche´and asked the woman in the strange bar/restaurant if she was in fact a proprietor of this so called "Cheecha". Our happiness at her nod of understanding was short lived, as she procceeded to dip a pitcher into what appeared to be a trash can and lifted out a strange, pinkish slop of some sort. Luckily, our amusement at the miscommunication outwieghed our shattered hopes and we left in high spirits.
The next morning, we awoke at 8 am (that´s right, I said am) and prepared for a day of mountain biking (that´s right, I said mountain biking). We spent most of the day speeding along dirt paths through unbelievably gorgeous scenery, from mountains to lakes to rivers to villages. At one point on this glorious tour the guide and I stopped and looked behind us, and saw that Avi and Jed were nowhere to be found. When they arrived about ten minutes later they told us that one of the many friendly villagers along our path had invited them to try some Cheecha. As curious as I´m sure you all are, I asked them what it tasted like and what it was made out of. Turns out the accidental object of our star-crossed quest was a liquid form of fermented corn, and, according to Avi, "tastes like donkey piss". For those of you who are wondering why Avi knows what donkey piss tastes like, you´ll havta ask him yourselves, since I decided that´s a detail of Avi´s life I´d prefer not to know.
And now to the meat of the issue. Our epic mountain biking ride produced more than just epic views and epicly friendly villagers. It also produced some epic injuries. Namely the potential breaking of Avi´s wrist. Now I saw potential because there´s no way to be sure exactly what a Peruvian doctor means when he starts mumbling in spanish after you ask him, using improvised sign language of course, whether or not the bone had actually snapped. To give "The Doc" as we came to know him by some credit, he seemed to be the only professional in the hospital, and dealing with three idiotic American tourists who can´t speak a word of his native language in his native country cannot be easy. And so, with Avi reduced to invalid status we were faced with a major dilemma. After having already booked our 3 day white-water rafting trip and with Avi incapable of cutting his chicken or even spreading deodorant under his left armpit (both tasks that fell to Jedoune and myself respectively), we had to decide what we were going to do with the rest of the trip. After much deliberation (and by this I´m referring to Avi´s personal battle with the voices inside his head-namely, David and Marcia, pronounced Mar-see-ah in Peruvian), we decided that Avi would make a solo return journey to Los Angeles after hiking Macchu Picchu. And so, one for me, and one for my fallen homie.
P.S. If you were amazed at our 8 am wake-up, you´ll be sadistically pleased to hear that tomorrow we need to drag our gringo bums out of bed at a whopping 5 am to catch our ride at 5:30. *Fill this gap in with some ululating cry of agony and frustration at being forced to actually witness this ungodly hour*
Thursday, May 24, 2007
A Series of Unfortunate Events
Good choice, I´ll start with the bad news. Apparently, the Copacabana of legend is actually located in Brazil and not Bolivia. I know, I know, you expected more of such experienced world travelers. Trust us, we were more dissapointed than you are right now, despite your claims of vicarious living. Bolivia was an experience, however, and if anything the exchange rate alone was worth the trip. I´ve never felt so wealthy in my entire life. The next unfortunate event was the bus-driver strike that swept across Bolivia the day we arrived in Copacabana. Our plans to travel to La Paz, the capital, were more or less ruined, though the new forbidden fruit status of that particular trip left us a little dissapointed. We did stay on the Isla Del Sol, an island on Lake Titicaca located an hour and half boat ride away from Copacabana. And when I say boat ride, I mean friggin boat ride. We were traveling at maybe 5 miles an hour over what must have been 5 to 10 foot swells. The island was beautiful and entirely worth the slightly nauseating trip, though the hike up to our hostel nearly killed us. That´s not an exaggeration. I saw God.
Anyway, the next day we took a boat back with some Quebequois and Vegas-ites. We greatly enjoyed hearing U2, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, the Eagles and Greenday destroyed by a heavy french canadian accent. Needless to say, I helped out on most of the lyrics (apparently pronounced lie-riks).
After the boat ride we got on our bus to Cusco, which turned out to be the most stupendously horrible bus ride any of us had ever experienced. The bus stopped multiple times for at least 20 minutes each time for reasons I just could not decipher, despite much effort. We were also forced to endure Predator 2. But not just any viewing of Predator 2. A Shwarzenagger-less, black and white, spanish version of Predator 2. On the Isla del Sol I saw God. On the bus to Cusco I saw Satan himself. I´ll also mention that I spent the majority of the bus ride standing, as 50 percent of my seat was occupied by a mammoth Peruvian woman, the kind of woman who changed the airplane ticket law.
After that bus ride we found ourselves in various states of Code Black!* We grabbed a taxi to our hostel, ate some quick street vendor food, and passed out in the first dormitory style hostel of the trip.
We awoke to a terrible discovery- Jed had screwed up big time. The surprise was not in Jed´s inherent worthlessness, but more in the nature of his mistake. Jed had confused the dates of our registration for Machu Picchu, and so we spent a frantic morning trying to locate a street that, according to the locals, seemed to exist in every single direction. Luckily, the strike in La Paz had prevented us from traveling there, which had ensured our early arrival to Cusco, which then saved us from a rather obnoxious loss of money and potentially missing the trek altogether. Thanks Jed.
*Code Black- Based on the American terrorist warning system, which we do not fully understand and are pretty confident is completely arbitrary, we have been using a color system to articulate our intense needs to either intake or export food in its various stages of digestion. Now maybe you have some idea of how we felt after that god-awful bus ride.
Anyway, the next day we took a boat back with some Quebequois and Vegas-ites. We greatly enjoyed hearing U2, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, the Eagles and Greenday destroyed by a heavy french canadian accent. Needless to say, I helped out on most of the lyrics (apparently pronounced lie-riks).
After the boat ride we got on our bus to Cusco, which turned out to be the most stupendously horrible bus ride any of us had ever experienced. The bus stopped multiple times for at least 20 minutes each time for reasons I just could not decipher, despite much effort. We were also forced to endure Predator 2. But not just any viewing of Predator 2. A Shwarzenagger-less, black and white, spanish version of Predator 2. On the Isla del Sol I saw God. On the bus to Cusco I saw Satan himself. I´ll also mention that I spent the majority of the bus ride standing, as 50 percent of my seat was occupied by a mammoth Peruvian woman, the kind of woman who changed the airplane ticket law.
After that bus ride we found ourselves in various states of Code Black!* We grabbed a taxi to our hostel, ate some quick street vendor food, and passed out in the first dormitory style hostel of the trip.
We awoke to a terrible discovery- Jed had screwed up big time. The surprise was not in Jed´s inherent worthlessness, but more in the nature of his mistake. Jed had confused the dates of our registration for Machu Picchu, and so we spent a frantic morning trying to locate a street that, according to the locals, seemed to exist in every single direction. Luckily, the strike in La Paz had prevented us from traveling there, which had ensured our early arrival to Cusco, which then saved us from a rather obnoxious loss of money and potentially missing the trek altogether. Thanks Jed.
*Code Black- Based on the American terrorist warning system, which we do not fully understand and are pretty confident is completely arbitrary, we have been using a color system to articulate our intense needs to either intake or export food in its various stages of digestion. Now maybe you have some idea of how we felt after that god-awful bus ride.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Fall of Team Cali Caliente
Turns out computer access is more of an option than we expected, you lucky readers you. I´m sitting at an internet cafe (which, like all other forms of business in Peru, is in someone´s home) right outside Puno´s international bus station. O, so you picked up the word international. My, how clever of you. The three of us have decided to extend the adventure across the border into Bolivia. Our first stop will be the famous Copacabana, and from there we´ll see. We´re spontaneous folk after all.
Now that the ateed is covered lets get out some avar. The past two days have been incredible, and I´ll do my best to do them justice. I´ll start with two nights ago. After some form of activity that escapes my foggy memory, we passed what appeared to be some kind of festival outside the main cathedral. The locals were dancing to a huge live band and passing around some form of warm, homemade, delicious alcohol. Now when you hear me say delicious and alcohol in the same sentence, you know its the truth. We were pulled into a circle dance, where our jewish upbringing came quite in handy. Jed of course was in his element.
The next morning we decided to go to the floating island, Uros, and spend the night. When we got there we realized that as awesome as these islands are (woven out of reeds, the islands float in the middle of Titicacca), there didn´t seem to be much activity on the first one we stopped at. However, after we made up our minds to go back to Puno, the boat took us to another little island that had woven huts that we could sleep in, a quaint little restaurant and at least some amount of life. We changed our minds again and decided to try a tribal, authentic floating island stay. After about an hour on the island, a local offered to row us around for a little. Our response was immediate, and despite some buyer´s remorse we chose to accept the offer. He ended up rowing us to a nearby island that was in the midst of a volleyball tournament. We happily agreed to join, and played a few games against the local girls. I´m not at all ashamed to admit that they destroyed us, to Avi´s great frustration. After that we returned to the island and spent the night, however, the beauty of the starlit lake and the lights of the distant Puno were somewhat lost on us as we all went to bed early with headaches. For a complete account of how terrible we felt, give Avi a call, as he´s still recovering from a fitful night of vomitting, fiery diarhea and a monstrous headache. Ever the optimist, he did mention that vomitting into the lake was the most scenic bout of nautia he´d ever experienced.
Now that the lovely image of Avi firing out of both ends is lodged unmercifully into your brains, I will bid you adou until my next opportunity to frustrate myself enormously with foreign keyboards.
Now that the ateed is covered lets get out some avar. The past two days have been incredible, and I´ll do my best to do them justice. I´ll start with two nights ago. After some form of activity that escapes my foggy memory, we passed what appeared to be some kind of festival outside the main cathedral. The locals were dancing to a huge live band and passing around some form of warm, homemade, delicious alcohol. Now when you hear me say delicious and alcohol in the same sentence, you know its the truth. We were pulled into a circle dance, where our jewish upbringing came quite in handy. Jed of course was in his element.
The next morning we decided to go to the floating island, Uros, and spend the night. When we got there we realized that as awesome as these islands are (woven out of reeds, the islands float in the middle of Titicacca), there didn´t seem to be much activity on the first one we stopped at. However, after we made up our minds to go back to Puno, the boat took us to another little island that had woven huts that we could sleep in, a quaint little restaurant and at least some amount of life. We changed our minds again and decided to try a tribal, authentic floating island stay. After about an hour on the island, a local offered to row us around for a little. Our response was immediate, and despite some buyer´s remorse we chose to accept the offer. He ended up rowing us to a nearby island that was in the midst of a volleyball tournament. We happily agreed to join, and played a few games against the local girls. I´m not at all ashamed to admit that they destroyed us, to Avi´s great frustration. After that we returned to the island and spent the night, however, the beauty of the starlit lake and the lights of the distant Puno were somewhat lost on us as we all went to bed early with headaches. For a complete account of how terrible we felt, give Avi a call, as he´s still recovering from a fitful night of vomitting, fiery diarhea and a monstrous headache. Ever the optimist, he did mention that vomitting into the lake was the most scenic bout of nautia he´d ever experienced.
Now that the lovely image of Avi firing out of both ends is lodged unmercifully into your brains, I will bid you adou until my next opportunity to frustrate myself enormously with foreign keyboards.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Puno Stinks! (in a good way)
Due to the combined factors of my increasing laziness and my sneaking suspicion that the only people reading this are my parents, i´ve found the inspiration to blog diminishing exponentially. Now if you´re wondering if it´s possible for something to diminish exponentially I must admit that I don´t have the slightest idea. I´m a writer.
Despite these newfound obstacles on my blogging path I´ve decided to overcome adversity and spanish internet to give you all (and I use that term loosely) some form of update. We are now in Puno, a city with a funny name on the banks of a lake with the ultimate name, Titicacha. Despite (or because of) their comedic titles, we´re having a great time here. Puno is a beautiful, bustling city built into the surrounding mountains with a rich, active cultural life. Unlike our previous experiences in Europe we´re finding every one of our stops to be very authentic, with the locals eating in the same restaurants as us, using the same transportation, and generally engaging in the same activities. Today we actually went down to the lake, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. Deep blue water, open skies and scenic mountains and islands are in every eye-full, and it is difficult to look away. We also went to see some Incan burial ruins, and a long the way saw some agricultural ¨towns¨with classic south american casas and amazingly friendly inhabitants. The amount of poverty is sobering, and I experienced some heartbreak at the sight of small, dirty children hounding tourists for a few Soles (3 to 1 on the American dollar). I often find myself explaining to every single person who asks for money exactly why I can´t give any, to the extreme amusement of Avi and Jed at my broken spanish.
Now that I´ve sufficiently depressed you I´ll leave my pangs of conscience to myself and tell you about the rest of our day. After our return to the city we stopped into a restaurant and had some Alpaca steak (which was sadly unimpressive) and enjoyed some live entertainment. The performers were pretty bad as performers go but Jed and I did join the female dancers in some classic Peruvian dance. That is, I did...Jed showed off some of his Hora dance skills and even tried some bump in grind (and almost succeeded).
Overall its been a good day. Keep posted for some more great stories.
Despite these newfound obstacles on my blogging path I´ve decided to overcome adversity and spanish internet to give you all (and I use that term loosely) some form of update. We are now in Puno, a city with a funny name on the banks of a lake with the ultimate name, Titicacha. Despite (or because of) their comedic titles, we´re having a great time here. Puno is a beautiful, bustling city built into the surrounding mountains with a rich, active cultural life. Unlike our previous experiences in Europe we´re finding every one of our stops to be very authentic, with the locals eating in the same restaurants as us, using the same transportation, and generally engaging in the same activities. Today we actually went down to the lake, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. Deep blue water, open skies and scenic mountains and islands are in every eye-full, and it is difficult to look away. We also went to see some Incan burial ruins, and a long the way saw some agricultural ¨towns¨with classic south american casas and amazingly friendly inhabitants. The amount of poverty is sobering, and I experienced some heartbreak at the sight of small, dirty children hounding tourists for a few Soles (3 to 1 on the American dollar). I often find myself explaining to every single person who asks for money exactly why I can´t give any, to the extreme amusement of Avi and Jed at my broken spanish.
Now that I´ve sufficiently depressed you I´ll leave my pangs of conscience to myself and tell you about the rest of our day. After our return to the city we stopped into a restaurant and had some Alpaca steak (which was sadly unimpressive) and enjoyed some live entertainment. The performers were pretty bad as performers go but Jed and I did join the female dancers in some classic Peruvian dance. That is, I did...Jed showed off some of his Hora dance skills and even tried some bump in grind (and almost succeeded).
Overall its been a good day. Keep posted for some more great stories.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Buenos Dias Gringos
Hey everyone,
As a disclaimer, anyone trying to reach mel´s phone will be sadly dissapointed, as he is currently locked out of it. After several failed attempts at guessing the pin number, the phone decided he was a foreign threat and shut down his access. As of right now it seems our emails and comments on this blog are the only way of contacting us.
Now for the good stuff. We are in our third city of the trip, Nasca, after a morning of sandboarding and dune buggying in Ica, the previous town. For any of you planning to visit Peru in the future I highly suggest trying sandboarding cause its frigging awesome. Right now were just killing time waiting for our night bus that will take us to, yes, you guessed it, Lake Titicacha. As I´m sure most of you have guessed we are very excited for this particular stop on our journey, and not just for the ability to say we´ve been to Lake Titicacha. Next stop on the trip is the famous Machu Pichu, so it may be a few days before we have computer access. So enjoy your computer desk chairs while I suffer on an overnight bus. Asta Lauego or however you spell it.
As a disclaimer, anyone trying to reach mel´s phone will be sadly dissapointed, as he is currently locked out of it. After several failed attempts at guessing the pin number, the phone decided he was a foreign threat and shut down his access. As of right now it seems our emails and comments on this blog are the only way of contacting us.
Now for the good stuff. We are in our third city of the trip, Nasca, after a morning of sandboarding and dune buggying in Ica, the previous town. For any of you planning to visit Peru in the future I highly suggest trying sandboarding cause its frigging awesome. Right now were just killing time waiting for our night bus that will take us to, yes, you guessed it, Lake Titicacha. As I´m sure most of you have guessed we are very excited for this particular stop on our journey, and not just for the ability to say we´ve been to Lake Titicacha. Next stop on the trip is the famous Machu Pichu, so it may be a few days before we have computer access. So enjoy your computer desk chairs while I suffer on an overnight bus. Asta Lauego or however you spell it.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Prologue
Good evening sports fans,
Looks like the adventure is about to start, and unfortunately for you your participation is limited to a more passive, second-hand approach. Thats right, were the guys out doing and you're the poor homebodies stuck reading about it. Ok, now that this particular moment of gloating has been caught and sent to obnoxiousness jail ("and i woulda gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for those meddling kids...), we can begin properly. Please hold all applause, jeering, shouts of pain or pleasure and overall glowing appreciation until the end. Thank you.
Peru's the name and travelings the game, and while you all inhale sharply through clenched teeth at my unashamed corniness I will proceed to proceed to introduce ourselves to you.
Three travelers, two cameras, and one action packed thrill ride into the depths of the unknown, pushing themselves to the limit and beyond traversing the great wide world on their (loosely defined) healthy, youthful legs. So sit back and enjoy the sporadic blog posts and breathtaking pictures with their dirty disheveled features grinning back at you. This trip is not yet rated.
Looks like the adventure is about to start, and unfortunately for you your participation is limited to a more passive, second-hand approach. Thats right, were the guys out doing and you're the poor homebodies stuck reading about it. Ok, now that this particular moment of gloating has been caught and sent to obnoxiousness jail ("and i woulda gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for those meddling kids...), we can begin properly. Please hold all applause, jeering, shouts of pain or pleasure and overall glowing appreciation until the end. Thank you.
Peru's the name and travelings the game, and while you all inhale sharply through clenched teeth at my unashamed corniness I will proceed to proceed to introduce ourselves to you.
Three travelers, two cameras, and one action packed thrill ride into the depths of the unknown, pushing themselves to the limit and beyond traversing the great wide world on their (loosely defined) healthy, youthful legs. So sit back and enjoy the sporadic blog posts and breathtaking pictures with their dirty disheveled features grinning back at you. This trip is not yet rated.
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