10. Señor Tango and the grand finale which included identical twins singing 'Don't Cry for Me Argentina.
9. Waking up at 2:30 AM for a bus to the Colca Canyon and still being late when it showed up at 3:00 AM.
8. Hiking in snow frosted bamboo forests in Pucon and Bariloche.
7. Hot chocolate in southern Chile!
6. Wandering the market in Cuzco looking at all the random meat, beauiful flowers and colorful stalls.
5. Watching condors soar in the Colca Canyon.
4. Bike riding in La Quebrada del Diablo outside San Pedro de Atacama.
3. Sitting at the Sun Gate looking down at Macchu Pichu.
2. Alex getting launched onto her horse's neck while horseback riding.
1. Mark leaning over Alex to vomit out the window of our bus.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Boobies and Bones! (the trip gets interesting)
Penguins.
Rooting for 'La U' at a game in Lima.
Bones in a well below a church in Lima. Apparently 70,000 people were buried here until 1820. Now you can take a tour of the catacombs.
Last bus ride!!! Now just that long ass flight.
Ten feet of personal space, people.
Look at all them boobies! Blue-footed boobies to be exact on las Islas Ballestas.Saturday, August 15, 2009
Taking Peru by Storm
Machu Picchu. Bam.
We get happily adopted by a family on Amanati Island on Lake Titicaca where we reign as giants.
Tres Ventanas at Machu Picchu.
Plaza de Armas in Cuzco.
Cuzco.
Alexandra finds her true calling.
Evening in Arequipa.Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Adventure´s in Food Poisoning
On the morning we were set to leave for Puno, Alexandra and I woke up to the unwelcoming sense of nausea. We both had the pleasure of experiencing our first bout with food poisoning. We identified the culprit as being a bag of peanuts we ate for dinner the night before.
We dragged ourselves to the bus station in order to wait for our bus in the hot sun. We were very punctual in our arrival, but unfortunately (maybe very predictable seeing as how our day started) our bus showed up an hour late. When the bus finally arrived, we endured a 45 minute speech by a salesmen about vital information that seemed to hold the secrets of the world in the books he was selling for a small fee.
I was achy and burning up the entire ride to Puno. I could not find a comfortable postion, so I settled with rubbing my head and quietly whispering curse words to myself. My stomach felt like the inside of a volcano, ready to erupt. I made a hopeful pilgrimage to the bathroom which was met with blank stares by the passengers and the shaking head of an older women. This I quessed was the universal sign for ¨tough luck.¨ After several futal attempts at sleeping, the bus driver announced that we would be making a stop in an hour. We certainly stopped, but we did not stop anywhere near a bathroom. In fact, we weren´t anywhere near a town. Each of the hostile passengers elbowed and pushed their way out of the bus to find a spot behind the nearest rock pile to relieve themselves. Alexandra and I had other plans. We needed to empty our stomachs of all its contents. I took one sip of water, which was enough to trigger the eruption. We sat near an old abandoned house for 5 minutes, which in puking time felt like an hour. As we were making gagging and gurgling sounds, the bus was revving its engine to signal our departure. We got back on the bus looking pale and sweaty, but also a bit rejuvenated. After another 45 minutes of a salesmen describing the benefits of his herbal remedies and another hour of quiet curse words, I began to hear my stomach communicating with me once again. It was saying, ¨Find me a bucket, garbage, or paper cup because you will need it soon.¨ Alexandra at this point was sound asleep. Without any clear understanding of when we were going to stop again and after repeatedly pounding on the window behind the driver in desperate hopes of receiving a trash can, I decided my next best plan of action would be to lean over Alexandra and alleviate my stomach out the window. In the process, Alexandra woke up with an elbow in her face and a heaving torso hanging out the window. This lasted another miserable 5 minutes. As I settled back in my seat and collected the disgusted looks from each passenger, I curled up into a tight ball and got some sleep.
I woke up 15 minutes later to the sound of passengers yelling ¨Vamos!¨at the bus driver during an unscheduled stop. It turns out that somehow along our journey we hit a 2 hour detour. That is the only rational explanation because I would like to revisit this number, we were 2 HOURS LATE! How does that happen? I could see maybe a half hour or 45 minutes, but 2 hours is a bit ridiculous, especially when you feel like you are suffering from what feels like arthritis, your sweating profusely, you can´t swallow because your mouth is drier than the Atacama desert, and your stomach is bubbling with yesterdays dinner. It is safe to say that the bus ride to Puno was the most miserable experience of the trip...but on the positive side, it made a great story.
We dragged ourselves to the bus station in order to wait for our bus in the hot sun. We were very punctual in our arrival, but unfortunately (maybe very predictable seeing as how our day started) our bus showed up an hour late. When the bus finally arrived, we endured a 45 minute speech by a salesmen about vital information that seemed to hold the secrets of the world in the books he was selling for a small fee.
I was achy and burning up the entire ride to Puno. I could not find a comfortable postion, so I settled with rubbing my head and quietly whispering curse words to myself. My stomach felt like the inside of a volcano, ready to erupt. I made a hopeful pilgrimage to the bathroom which was met with blank stares by the passengers and the shaking head of an older women. This I quessed was the universal sign for ¨tough luck.¨ After several futal attempts at sleeping, the bus driver announced that we would be making a stop in an hour. We certainly stopped, but we did not stop anywhere near a bathroom. In fact, we weren´t anywhere near a town. Each of the hostile passengers elbowed and pushed their way out of the bus to find a spot behind the nearest rock pile to relieve themselves. Alexandra and I had other plans. We needed to empty our stomachs of all its contents. I took one sip of water, which was enough to trigger the eruption. We sat near an old abandoned house for 5 minutes, which in puking time felt like an hour. As we were making gagging and gurgling sounds, the bus was revving its engine to signal our departure. We got back on the bus looking pale and sweaty, but also a bit rejuvenated. After another 45 minutes of a salesmen describing the benefits of his herbal remedies and another hour of quiet curse words, I began to hear my stomach communicating with me once again. It was saying, ¨Find me a bucket, garbage, or paper cup because you will need it soon.¨ Alexandra at this point was sound asleep. Without any clear understanding of when we were going to stop again and after repeatedly pounding on the window behind the driver in desperate hopes of receiving a trash can, I decided my next best plan of action would be to lean over Alexandra and alleviate my stomach out the window. In the process, Alexandra woke up with an elbow in her face and a heaving torso hanging out the window. This lasted another miserable 5 minutes. As I settled back in my seat and collected the disgusted looks from each passenger, I curled up into a tight ball and got some sleep.
I woke up 15 minutes later to the sound of passengers yelling ¨Vamos!¨at the bus driver during an unscheduled stop. It turns out that somehow along our journey we hit a 2 hour detour. That is the only rational explanation because I would like to revisit this number, we were 2 HOURS LATE! How does that happen? I could see maybe a half hour or 45 minutes, but 2 hours is a bit ridiculous, especially when you feel like you are suffering from what feels like arthritis, your sweating profusely, you can´t swallow because your mouth is drier than the Atacama desert, and your stomach is bubbling with yesterdays dinner. It is safe to say that the bus ride to Puno was the most miserable experience of the trip...but on the positive side, it made a great story.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Work in Progress...
This is all we could get up before the snail-like pace of the internet caused Alexandra to go into a full rage and had us forcibly removed from the internet cafe. 
On one side of the Colca Canyon looking across.
Condors swooping low to eat the small children.
On one side of the Colca Canyon looking across. Condors swooping low to eat the small children.Donations for Alexandra's bail can be sent to Mark on Isla Taquile via Puno, Peru. Thanks.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Operation Desert Storm
Machuco, Chile
Stomping out liquid hot magma.
Minutes later, we ate freshly grilled llama. They taste better than they look.
Sunset outside of San Pedro de Atacama.
She finally gets her revenge.
Geysers de Tatio
Valle de la Luna
Roadkill
Contemplating life.
Street view.
Here are some more pictures from Valparaíso. This is a view from 21 de Mayo.
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