Friday, October 10, 2008
Monday, 9.29: Cusco to Lima
I felt a little better the next morning when our alarm went off at another ungodly hour (which we definitely felt the brunt of, having slept in the previous morning). We were out the door before 6 to catch a cab to the airport for our 7:30 flight. Since the Cusco airport is relatively small, I figured we’d be fine arriving just an hour or so before our flight, but it turns out that I seriously underestimated the number of tourists who would be fleeing Cusco first thing in the morning—the check-in line at LAN was huge. It didn’t help that a horde of Japanese tourists managed to get in line right in front of us, although their Peruvian tour guide’s outfit (a striped velour tracksuit with a cartoon dog appliqué) did provide us with much amusement as we fretted about whether we’d make it on the plane. Somehow, we made it through the check-in line, the airport tax payment line, and the security line just in time to dash onto our plane before they closed the gate. (The only casualty was Heather’s red windbreaker, which she accidentally left in the security bin.)
The plane was late taking off, though, so I continued to fret about whether Heather would have time to make her connection in Lima to her Miami flight. Fortunately, her backpack was one of the first off the belt, and the check-in line at the Lima airport wasn’t nearly as long, so she was able to get away just fine. Once we’d seen her off, Bri and I decided to head back upstairs to the food court to regroup and see if we could find a hostel for the evening. We’d decided that we wanted to stay in Barranco, which was supposed to be a hip, artsy neighborhood along the coast, but when I called our first-choice hostel, they didn’t have any rooms left. I moved on to our second choice, which did have a double room available, so we grabbed a taxi from the taxi stand (“I think this is the first actual taxi we’ve ridden in during our entire trip,” I told Bri as we pulled away from the airport) and headed for our backup choice, The Point.
Bri had sent me a link to The Point before our trip, but I’d pooh-poohed it because it seemed like too much of a party place. But the guidebook’s description of it (rooms in a colonial mansion, hammocks in the courtyard, free breakfast and Internet) seemed decent enough, so I wasn’t concerned when we ended up having to book there. Once we arrived, however, it was immediately clear that my first impressions of The Point were correct—it was a total party hostel. And not just a party hostel, but the type of party hostel where everyone’s so intent on partying that they don’t care if everything around them is dirty, shabby, and broken. In other words, the kind of place I wouldn’t have chosen at 19, much less 28. But we were already there, so I decided to give it a chance.
I consoled myself with the thought that at least we had a private room. Our private room, however, was not in the guidebook-specified colonial mansion, but rather in a rudely constructed shack on the edge of the courtyard, adjacent to a ping-pong table. (Bri: “I could have built this myself.” Me: “I could have built this myself this afternoon.”) The rickety little room barely had space for two beds, and neither the industrial carpet covering the floor nor the dim bulb encased in an old wicker shade did much to add atmosphere. Nor, for that matter, did the permeating smell of mildew, although it did lead us to nickname the room “The Mildew Shanty.”
Needless to say, we were eager to get out of the Mildew Shanty as quickly as possible, so after helping ourselves to the less-than-appetizing dregs of the free breakfast and doing a quick e-mail/Facebook check (during which we looked at pictures from my 10-year high school reunion, which had happened while we were at Machu Picchu), we decided to head to the Cruz del Sur bus station to see about buying tickets for our trip to Ica the next day. We probably could have waited and bought tickets just before departing, but we didn’t want to take any chances, and besides, it’s not like we had much else planned for our time in Lima.
After we purchased our tickets, we decided to take a taxi to Larcomar, an upscale shopping center built into the edge of a cliff over the Pacific Ocean. It was pretty nice, so we spent quite a while there, looking around in the different shops (which were a little too pricey for me to justify buying anything) and grabbing a snack at the food court. Since we knew our hostel was relatively close, we decided to walk back along the road bordering the ocean.
When we arrived back at the Mildew Shanty, I was pretty tired after our walk (which ended up being a little longer than I’d bargained for) and was ready for a nap. However, while paging through the guidebook trying to find ideas for dinner, we realized that the one thing we’d been looking most forward to in Lima—eating ceviche—would soon be impossible, as cevicherias tend to only be open during the lunch hour. I located one a few blocks from the hostel that was open until 6, so although we were pretty tired and not all that hungry after our food-court snack, we booked it over there for an early dinner. (This proved to be a good decision, as the ceviche was delicious.)
On our way back to the hostel, we wandered around the neighborhood a bit to see if we could find a place to buy towels, as neither of us particularly wanted to remember our time in the Mildew Shanty with the towels emblazoned with The Point logo that were for sale for a pretty penny at the reception. Our search didn’t turn up any good results—the only towels we could find were kitchen towels at the local grocery store, but they were cheap enough (6 soles, or $2) that we could use them and then throw them away, so we each bought one.
After making some calls home and checking e-mail again (the free Internet was the only redeeming feature of The Point, so we were determined to use it as much as possible), we decided we weren’t ready to face a night in the Mildew Shanty just yet and regrouped to go back out for a nightcap. Unfortunately, though, the cool bar we’d read about in the guidebook was seemingly nowhere to be found, so after wandering up and down the street a few times, we finally ended up at some sort of coffeehouse/artist’s co-op store where we were practically the only patrons. After a beer for me and a fancy coffee for Bri, we reluctantly headed back to the Mildew Shanty…only to find that in our absence, the bar, which was just across the courtyard from us, had been turned into a nightclub, complete with throbbing dance music and flashing lights. Awesome. Thankfully, the combination of earplugs, a sleep mask, and a dose of the cough syrup with codeine that Bri had bought at a pharmacy in Cusco was enough to drown most of it out so I could sleep.
Continue to Day 12: Lima to Huacachina
I felt a little better the next morning when our alarm went off at another ungodly hour (which we definitely felt the brunt of, having slept in the previous morning). We were out the door before 6 to catch a cab to the airport for our 7:30 flight. Since the Cusco airport is relatively small, I figured we’d be fine arriving just an hour or so before our flight, but it turns out that I seriously underestimated the number of tourists who would be fleeing Cusco first thing in the morning—the check-in line at LAN was huge. It didn’t help that a horde of Japanese tourists managed to get in line right in front of us, although their Peruvian tour guide’s outfit (a striped velour tracksuit with a cartoon dog appliqué) did provide us with much amusement as we fretted about whether we’d make it on the plane. Somehow, we made it through the check-in line, the airport tax payment line, and the security line just in time to dash onto our plane before they closed the gate. (The only casualty was Heather’s red windbreaker, which she accidentally left in the security bin.)
The plane was late taking off, though, so I continued to fret about whether Heather would have time to make her connection in Lima to her Miami flight. Fortunately, her backpack was one of the first off the belt, and the check-in line at the Lima airport wasn’t nearly as long, so she was able to get away just fine. Once we’d seen her off, Bri and I decided to head back upstairs to the food court to regroup and see if we could find a hostel for the evening. We’d decided that we wanted to stay in Barranco, which was supposed to be a hip, artsy neighborhood along the coast, but when I called our first-choice hostel, they didn’t have any rooms left. I moved on to our second choice, which did have a double room available, so we grabbed a taxi from the taxi stand (“I think this is the first actual taxi we’ve ridden in during our entire trip,” I told Bri as we pulled away from the airport) and headed for our backup choice, The Point.
Bri had sent me a link to The Point before our trip, but I’d pooh-poohed it because it seemed like too much of a party place. But the guidebook’s description of it (rooms in a colonial mansion, hammocks in the courtyard, free breakfast and Internet) seemed decent enough, so I wasn’t concerned when we ended up having to book there. Once we arrived, however, it was immediately clear that my first impressions of The Point were correct—it was a total party hostel. And not just a party hostel, but the type of party hostel where everyone’s so intent on partying that they don’t care if everything around them is dirty, shabby, and broken. In other words, the kind of place I wouldn’t have chosen at 19, much less 28. But we were already there, so I decided to give it a chance.
I consoled myself with the thought that at least we had a private room. Our private room, however, was not in the guidebook-specified colonial mansion, but rather in a rudely constructed shack on the edge of the courtyard, adjacent to a ping-pong table. (Bri: “I could have built this myself.” Me: “I could have built this myself this afternoon.”) The rickety little room barely had space for two beds, and neither the industrial carpet covering the floor nor the dim bulb encased in an old wicker shade did much to add atmosphere. Nor, for that matter, did the permeating smell of mildew, although it did lead us to nickname the room “The Mildew Shanty.”
Needless to say, we were eager to get out of the Mildew Shanty as quickly as possible, so after helping ourselves to the less-than-appetizing dregs of the free breakfast and doing a quick e-mail/Facebook check (during which we looked at pictures from my 10-year high school reunion, which had happened while we were at Machu Picchu), we decided to head to the Cruz del Sur bus station to see about buying tickets for our trip to Ica the next day. We probably could have waited and bought tickets just before departing, but we didn’t want to take any chances, and besides, it’s not like we had much else planned for our time in Lima.
After we purchased our tickets, we decided to take a taxi to Larcomar, an upscale shopping center built into the edge of a cliff over the Pacific Ocean. It was pretty nice, so we spent quite a while there, looking around in the different shops (which were a little too pricey for me to justify buying anything) and grabbing a snack at the food court. Since we knew our hostel was relatively close, we decided to walk back along the road bordering the ocean.
When we arrived back at the Mildew Shanty, I was pretty tired after our walk (which ended up being a little longer than I’d bargained for) and was ready for a nap. However, while paging through the guidebook trying to find ideas for dinner, we realized that the one thing we’d been looking most forward to in Lima—eating ceviche—would soon be impossible, as cevicherias tend to only be open during the lunch hour. I located one a few blocks from the hostel that was open until 6, so although we were pretty tired and not all that hungry after our food-court snack, we booked it over there for an early dinner. (This proved to be a good decision, as the ceviche was delicious.)
On our way back to the hostel, we wandered around the neighborhood a bit to see if we could find a place to buy towels, as neither of us particularly wanted to remember our time in the Mildew Shanty with the towels emblazoned with The Point logo that were for sale for a pretty penny at the reception. Our search didn’t turn up any good results—the only towels we could find were kitchen towels at the local grocery store, but they were cheap enough (6 soles, or $2) that we could use them and then throw them away, so we each bought one.
After making some calls home and checking e-mail again (the free Internet was the only redeeming feature of The Point, so we were determined to use it as much as possible), we decided we weren’t ready to face a night in the Mildew Shanty just yet and regrouped to go back out for a nightcap. Unfortunately, though, the cool bar we’d read about in the guidebook was seemingly nowhere to be found, so after wandering up and down the street a few times, we finally ended up at some sort of coffeehouse/artist’s co-op store where we were practically the only patrons. After a beer for me and a fancy coffee for Bri, we reluctantly headed back to the Mildew Shanty…only to find that in our absence, the bar, which was just across the courtyard from us, had been turned into a nightclub, complete with throbbing dance music and flashing lights. Awesome. Thankfully, the combination of earplugs, a sleep mask, and a dose of the cough syrup with codeine that Bri had bought at a pharmacy in Cusco was enough to drown most of it out so I could sleep.
Continue to Day 12: Lima to Huacachina
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