With my suitcase in my hand.

Somewhere I´ve got a clean Karma slate. Bad luck and blues. Found myself saying "today is not my day" a few times - but not to worry, nowhere near self-pity. Illnesses, bad news, robberies, even run-ins with exotic hoofed mammals.

Following my last (substantial) blog entry, I became violently ill, up until dawn, as some bad bit of food smuggled some insurgent bacteria into my lower intestine that ordered everyone to evacuate. Find the nearest exit. Freezing cold in Cuzco at night, without heat (my guess is mid-40 degrees Farenheit), I sat on the john and held a plastic bag in front for multi-directional purgations, shivering. I turned on the hot water in the shower to warm up the bathroom a bit, which worked for the temperature but also filled the room with steam. The skin slaps and heavy breathing coming from the bathroom next door made for a very upsetting (from my end) juxtaposition, and I felt well enough at one point to switch bathrooms so as to turn off the "fucking" soundtrack and puke in peace.

The following morning I was to set out on a two day white water rafting adventure with my three Canadian friends, but could barely walk 30 feet. I slept all day and did manage to make the second day, which was amazing. We carried the raft down a steep cliff and tossed it 15 feet down into the rapids, climbing down to jump into the raft ourselves and immediately hit rapids rated 4+. Extreme. Men. At one point we were in a hole for several seconds, the raft flipping and righting again. I was sure I would die. Somehow that equals a lot of fun. I still didn´t feel incredible, but a little adrenaline goes a long way.

I stayed in Cuzco a couple more days, until I was back on "Team Solid" and well enough to hit the road again. I was sad to leave my new friends, the three Canadians, two awesome Swedish girls named Sara and Ellie, and a fine Irish (and Irish-speaking) bastard named Osgar. An overnight bus trip 12 hours to Arequipa was incredible, as I was on the second floor of the bus in front, a huge window displaying a million stars - there isnt much light pollution where there isnt much infrastructure, turns out.

Arriving in Arequipa at 6 am, a 6000 meter snow-capped volcano towering over the white-washed cathedral in the main plaza was a spectacular welcome. I found the hostal my canadian friends had recommended, napped, and checked out one of the town´s main attractions, the Monastery of Santa Catalina. Love was in the air - or perhaps that was just the ubiquitous pair of 30-something Peruvians who were making out in some former nun´s kitchen when I walked in. Something about a few hundred years of (supposed) celebacy that must have turned them on. Mildly disturbing. I did run into the Irish couple from the Inca trail, a great pair who I lunched and later drank with; I also met a nice american girl, a twenty-five year old vegetarian from Minneapolis who was to be my sole companion for the next four days.

Katrina and I happened to be the only two people staying in the dorm in a very out--of-the-way hostal, the Casa de Yael. She was considering trekking in the Colca Canyon, but had no one to accompany her. After some drinks, a very predictable movie (Amor en Juego - Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore falling for each other during the Red Sox miracle run... the only english film they were playing, and Katrina doesn´t speak spanish) and some wandering around with her, I decided I enjoyed her company enough to join her on the trek, which we did over 4 days, the two of us and our very accomodating 22-year-old local guide, Mirta. We were unable to catch an early bus into the canyon, as throngs were grabbing the local transport to attend the festivals in the small towns in the canyon the day we were to begin trekking. Upon arrival to Cabanaconde, a town at the top of the 3000+ meter-deep Canyon, we learned that half the town- the half in which we were lodged- was not receiving water due to some rain-induced water main breakage. No worries. Filth was to ensue.

You know you are living a good life when you get deja vú while turning the corner on an amazing mountain path. The hike was incredible. We stopped in one pueblo, Tapa, to appreciate the festival of the Candlabra Virgen. A very kitchy alter/float, a speech by the town´s priest, a dance around the plaza by elaborately dressed old women (of the family that had contributed the funds for the party) and a competition between two brass bands kicked off the party. The bands, one clad in red, the other in blue, were all men, playing mostly baritone-like instruments or trumpets - with limited percussion. The two groups played very similar renditions of upbeat traditional tunes while failing to dance in unison, vying for the 500 sol (about 150 dollar) prize, decided by audience applause. Ultimately, the competition was declared a tie (though I think the blue team was clearly better), and the 500 soles were split, to be converted into bottles of beer for the participants over the next several hours. Ultimately, the holiday in Colca canyon on February 2 was far cooler than our custom of groundhog-watching. (I did check in on Phil. More winter, eh? I´ve no stake...)

We finished our hike to the bottom of the canyon at a riverside oasis, at the Paradise Lodge, in the cold and pouring rain. We were supposed to arise at 3am to ascend 1000 meters in altitude and catch a bus back to Arequipa, but I wanted to see Paradise when it was nice outside, so I opted to stay another day. Mirta lied to another guide in the canyon, saying I was too sick to climb, so that he would call the travel agency and postpone my bus ticket to Ica (which I had somewhat foolishly bought beforehand) for the next day. I made a series of ridiculous puns involving our stay in Paradise, and Katrina and I exchanged a few hours of sarcastic commentary before hitting the sack at 11, when the men of the family that runs the lodge returned, drunken, from the party in Tapay. I slept soundly, despite continuing difficulties between my knees and nipples and the pouring rain. It was amazing, though, sleeping in the thatch-roof shack with a dirt floor, listening to the river and the rain, writing by candlelight. I set my alarm for 3am so that we could wake up and pat ourselves on the back for deciding not to leave then (a playful pair, we were...), but I didn´t wake up until the mornin´ come. Atean entire, fresh, amazing Avocado for breakfast, with my daily Maté de Coca and bread/butter/strawberry jelly combo.

The next day morning was paradise, lounging in the pool and fishing in the river with Sebastian and Carlos, who I had met (drunk) the night before. I cought the trout I ate for lunch and ate, feeling like San Francisco, as I was surrounded at the eating table by several chickens, a dog (named Jean Claude VanDam), a donkey, a kitten, and an Alpaca. Later, I attempted to interact with the Alpaca, fittingly named "Alpaca", for a photo-op. Do not look an Alpaca in the face while he is chewing. He spit a mouthful of grass and ruminant saliva all over my face. Me and Alpaca are not friends. Cantankerous andean asshole. Anyhow, I digested and hiked out of the canyon into the clouds. Grimy as hell, we were not pleased to find that all of Cabanaconde was now without water. Ouch. Everything I had was crusty, sweaty, filthy dirty. I smelled. And yet it was somehow satisfying.

I will take this interlude to mention two problems - thinly veiled - I was (and maybe still am...) having that one should most certainly not talk about on a blog.
1) Because of the most prolific pooping period of my life and having to Hold It on a few long bus rides, I had to leard the spanish word for Hemmerhoids. It´s a cognate, should you be curious. A nasty little problem, involving blood Down There, a phenomenon a man is certainly not used to. I now have increased sympathy for those who might go through something similar on a monthy basis. And my body chemistry wasn´t all changed up - or at least not through something resembling a menstrual process.
2) I have been master of my domain for far too long. Dormitories. Misfortune.

I was happy to reunite with my friend from Wisconsin, Ryan, a couple of days ago in Huacacina and head out for an amazing dune-buggy and sandboarding excursion. (yes. men. Extreme. my virile meter is rising...) The desert was amazing. And there was a lot of sand in my pants. We hit the town near Huacacina, Ica, for dinner and bars, but nobody was around.

On the bus trip from Ica to Pisco the next day, a clever bastard theif managed to lift my Ipod, Digital camera, and eyglasses out of my backpack. I checked it and realized it upon arriving at our destination and chased after him, but with no luck. To make matters worse, I didn´t realize we were in Pisco at the time and got back on the bus. The driver made us pay 2 more soles a piece for the half hour trip to the next town, Chicha, where we had to buy another ticket to get back to Pisco. I swore a bit and hit the seat in front of me, but settled down in time. Nothing I could do. And its only stuff. And the camera was broken, as was the Ipod (damn battery. wonder what that is worth on the black market...). Glasses should be cheap to replace here in the developing world. Ryan and I then got ripped off in Pisco trying to use internet and make a phone call, respectively. And the in-your-face attitude of peruvian menu or product-hawkers was pushing me to extreme annoyance. I´ve given myself three whole days to be as cynical as I want to, due to the crappy things that have consistently been happening. After that I´ll just be cynical now and then.

The main reason for heading to Pisco was as a set-off point for the Paracas wildlife reserve (the "poor man´s Galapagos") and the Islas Ballestas, which was a worthwhile excursion. Slapping on the sunscreen, we headed out early to the coast where we boarded a rickety old boat which only stalled a couple of times on the way out to the islands. Hundreds of Sea Lions lounged about making a horrible ruckus, and all kinds of unique birds - Humbolt Penguins, Cormorants, Terns, Vultures - were clucking about and diving for fish. At one point we were surrounded by hundreds of boobies, and I made about five wisecracks. Thats all. Paracas itself was not as instantly spectacular, mainly a bunch of desert knocked up against the coast, but a walk along the beach with huge yellow cliffs diving down onto the black beach had me thinking I was strolling along one of the most beautiful spots in the world. After the trip, we packed up and got the hell out of Pisco, en Fin! An 11 sol bus trip up to Lima, passing the time with some Jennifer Lopez movie. Monster-in-Law. Heartwarming.

Now in Lima, crappy latin discoteca pop on the radio in this fine internet cabina, Ryan and I are awaiting a bus up to Huarez, where we´ll do some trekking in the Cordillera Blanca with the tent we bought at the flea market for 20 dollars this afternoon. A good night of drunkenness at our amazing hostal on the cliffs above the beach (kitchen, grasssy patio, bar, ping pong, pool, laundry...) was healthy for me, and my first run in about a month has me feeling pretty good about things. The flea market this morning was also a trip; all kinds of ripped off consumer products: apparell, toys, electronics, there was even an entire hallway of exotic film dealers, everything from "Ass 5" to "Snack Bar Budapest". And yet, I was unable to find what I was looking for: dental floss and some cool band pins. I always feel more alternative with a couple of lapel pins in my possession.

After this day, though, I should be good and tired for the overnight bus up to Huarez. And with any luck, there will be a Jackie Chan movie or two. They love Jackie Chan here. They put some classics on these inter-city busses. Rambo III was on when my Ipod was stolen...

Whoever said "parting is such sweet sorrow" was too concerned with alliteration and not concerned enough with reality.. I´m not actually missing my Ipod that much. Really. Until next time.