It was 2020 when this once-pipe dream started. What better time to dream about traveling big than that year. Due to the severe limitations of what we could do every weekend, JM and I transformed our hopes of a restriction-free future into a tangible spreadsheet detailing one of our dream destinations – South America.

We’d set up a call every two weeks or so, always my morning and JM’s evening. Since both of us were planners by nature, we systematically went through several countries we had in mind to decide on our mutual favourites, looking at the places and activities of interest, food to try, and other practical considerations. Frog juice in Peru was a source of temporary contention – it was a “no” for me while JM mulled it for awhile. We eventually settled with a realistic plan of going on a two-week holiday to 3 countries. The plan was to start in Peru, cross to Bolivia and finish at Brazil before we parted ways – me to Singapore and JM back to California. We plotted out a target date in the future and started fleshing out a detailed schedule of the places we’d pass through, alongside the mode and duration of transportation between each. We even listed out the things we wanted to eat and voted on places of interest to include in our shortlist. Of course, even with all that planning, the unspoken sentiment was that I was not convinced we would ever be going on this trip. There were very different things happening in both of our lives. We were coming from different continents and how would we even coordinate a 2-week holiday. My own future was unpredictable, what more involving another person’s. But all in the name of having something to look forward to, we were able to create our Ola spreadsheet masterpiece within a few months.

As the way of life during the pandemic started going back to normal, so did our previous social lives. It was more difficult to schedule calls, and there were plenty of other things that held our attention, versus this trip that was bordering on fictional. Even as it became possible to travel as usual again, JM and I went to other countries separately rather than pursue our dream together. Because we had strongly agreed at the onset of our planning that this was a no-pressure and no-stress plan, we treated it that way although we spoke about it in passing from time to time.

Fast forward to the end of 2023, my heart was in pieces and the only thing I was sure I wanted to do before I gave up living was to finally go on this trip. On the other hand, JM was on the tail-end of her PhD. I asked JM for dates, I modified our original plan, booked my flights, and I prayed fervently that JM would have the courage to book hers. I knew it wasn’t easy to book a long holiday when you’re on the final year of your PhD.

It begins

It took me more than 40 hours to traverse Singapore to Lima in my all-green ensemble – not intentional. From Singapore, I flew to Qatar, where I spent way too much money when my trip hadn’t even started. This is the peril of having too long a lay-over. A sweet-looking lady in the food court talked me into buying lamb shank biryani that cost me twice of what I thought it was worth. Then, there was the matter of getting lured into the Läderach stand. Not a chocolate person myself, but the slabs of chocolate made me buy a tin can. I planned on giving it to my aunt in Ohio, even if I still had 6 destinations in between. From there, I made my way to Madrid, where even with a full stomach from the in-flight meal, I convinced my stomach to make space for a bocadillo. It was heaven, but it was heavy. I didn’t eat on my flight from Madrid to Lima, not that the entire situation was inviting. In that particular Spanish airline I used, I saw the stark contrast of their idea of what a flight attendant should look like and act like, from what I witnessed in Asia and the Middle East. The lady assigned to our area seemed to have forgotten to brush her hair, and definitely forgot to serve my row our food. I could be a flight attendant in that airspace.

Lima

The sun greeted our plane as it touched down in Lima. I couldn’t wait to turn on my data the minute we landed. I had to know whether JM made it to her connecting flight, for which she had to sprint in order not to miss it. My phone pushes out a notification that she’s made it, and I was amazed and grateful at how everything had worked out. Now the only thing left was to check if all my bags made it. They did, and I soon walked out to where JM was waiting. There she was in the flesh. We were both actually in Peru. Our plans from 2020 were about to come true.

JM and I’s friendship go back to university. We were classmates in back-to-back classes of Calculus and Analytical Chemistry, that were a kilometer apart. Our initial friendship was forged from conversations during those brisk walks and the experience of always arriving a few minutes late to calculations of pH. I would say our introversion and love for food were our strongest similarities, though what kept us friends in my opinion was my impression that I made her laugh, even if she always complained I’m masungit (grumpy). “That’s how I show affection to my close friends”, I would explain. Of course, that was only true for the friends I knew who would find that side of me amusing. It had been 8 years since we last saw each other, and the first 3 of those we weren’t on speaking terms. Of course, a hug was in order. We left some of our luggage at the airport and excitedly hopped on an Uber to our first order of business: breakfast.

The length of the road that ran along the coast of Lima offered breathtaking views of the South Pacific Ocean. The waves were formidable and the water was blue; a strange mist seemed to perpetually hang over it – entering the city to bring a sudden gush of rain, and disappearing just as quick. By the time the Uber dropped us off, the reality still had not sunk in. For one, it was far too early in the day and we were both exhausted from our long flights.

Being a coastal area, the neighbourhood beside the Malecón de Miraflores looked affluent. Malecón translates to “boardwalk” or “pier” in English, and it was exactly that, where one side was always flanked by the view of the ocean. People were taking their morning strolls, a number of them with their dogs. At one lookout point, a group was doing sun salutations. “I wouldn’t mind waking up to do sunrise yoga on this spot”, I said while thinking of the sunrise yoga situation April and I attended in Singapore. While I agreed to take a few photos with JM, my true agenda was to sink my teeth into breakfast. After all, I skipped my meals on my last flight with a purpose. After a few minutes of walking, we eventually spotted a creperia, where I got myself a savoury one and JM ordered a sweet one. She couldn’t fathom eating a savoury crepe, which was how I felt before I had my first taste years ago. It was perfect – the crepes, the view, and the weather. Just a few minutes after we left the area, the coast was engulfed by darkness and rain poured. This was our first taste of Peru’s variable and unpredictable weather.

JM and I had a few tasks to get through in Lima. Breakfast was ticked, and the next priorities were to exchange our USD and buy altitude sickness pills. JM had pinned in the map a nearby foreign exchange shop and so we headed there while marvelling at the nice houses along the way, trying to understand which style of architecture they looked similar to. Right before we arrived at the forex place, we saw a health center that looked like they offered vaccinations. JM also wanted to get her yellow fever vaccination in Lima, after I told her my vaccination cost 300 SGD in Singapore. “I’ve read it’s free in Peru”, she said after I texted her that I’ve just taken mine and how much it set me back. This was more than month before our trip. “Sana sinabi mo sakin (You could have told me that)”, I asked her aghast at her withholding literally valuable information. “I searched after mo sabihin na mahal lol (I only searched for it after you said it was expensive)”, she answered. We went in and an old man who only spoke Spanish asked us what we were there for. We first attempted to communicate in English, but it wasn’t working so I searched for the translation of “yellow fever” on the internet. The man told us they didn’t offer it. “Va-cu-na con-tra la fieb-re a-ma-rilla“, both of us trying to practice how to make it roll faster in our tongues so we could use it in the next encounter. We proceeded to the forex and exchanged what turned out at the end of the trip as the perfect amount. We did not need to exchange ever again, though I believe credit is due for my shopping, otherwise we would have had lots of excess. Right beside the forex was a pharmacy so we also purchased altitude sickness pills for JM. I had brought Diamox for myself from Singapore, which was purely synthetic, whereas the pills here were herbal and mostly made of coca leaves. We tried our practiced vacuna contra la fiebre amarilla at the pharmacy, however the lady directed us back to the health center. “I guess you have to take it at the hospital later”, I told JM.

Our next stop was a walk around the Barranco Art District. I was trying to wing it at this point, so we walked aimlessly along the mural-ed streets without any particular destination in mind. I thought we’d run into some nice shops along the way, but we eventually reached the end of the colorful street without anything eventful. It was too hot to try and get lost so I suggested to JM that we go to the hospital for the vaccine, then grab lunch. We hailed another Uber and this time, our driver spoke some English. I spoke some Spanish too, thanks to Duolingo, so it was good practice both ways. Once we left the area near the coast, the surroundings became more similar to Manila. Heavy traffic, vendors walking in the middle of vehicles when they were stalled, second-hand clothes being sold on the pavements, small shops and cement buildings, and of course, the increasing heat. I was glad I opted to wear a sleeveless top under my jacket because my body never regulates temperature well. Before our driver dropped us off at the public hospital, he warned us to keep our bags close because there could be pickpockets in the area. Another similarity to Manila.

We ended up at the wrong entrance of the hospital, so the guard directed us to walk down to the other gate. Once we were there, we delivered our rehearsed vacuna contra la fiebre amarilla and finally got the confirmation that it was inside. But in which direction? One of the lady guards kept saying something in Spanish, but her directions were not clear, so JM and I kept trying to point in the direction we thought she was saying to get her confirmation. She proceeded saying whatever it was more forcefully in Spanish, and kept repeating it in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter how many times you repeat your instructions, we don’t understand Spanish”, JM and I said to each other while laughing. We started walking ahead because she seemed to be close to losing her top at us at any moment. Thankfully, it didn’t turn out that hard to find, and JM finally got her free vaccination within 5 minutes. What a treat, but not for me! It was a first-hand experience of how institutions like WHO and PAHO supported health infrastructures to combat epidemics.

The last priority we had that day was to eat ceviche. We went to a random restaurant that served it, and in hindsight, JM remarked that we were so brave to eat that on the first day. The combination of lime with the different textures of ceviche we had was perfect. Eating that with beer on a hot day was just how I envisioned ending our first day in Peru…until we both developed bad stomachs. JM had a haircut before we headed back to the airport for our flight to Cusco. I waited for her while watching Shrek dubbed in Spanish. By the time we reached the airport, it was getting tough to keep myself awake.

Cusco

It was almost 7pm when we arrived in Cusco. As we waited for our bags at the conveyor belt, JM checked how much it was on Uber to get to our hotel. It was around 20 soles, and to compare, I asked one of the drivers peddling their services by the door. I heard him say 16 soles, so JM and I agreed to take that instead. “It’s a surprise the taxi prices at this airport are reasonable, unless it was actually 60 soles,” I joked and immediately felt dread after saying it out loud. To my chagrin, the driver did demand for 60 soles upon reaching our hostel. JM was incensed and did not want to budge as we tried to haggle our way down back to 20. The driver was adamant, but I was tired and needed to go to the bathroom, though really apologetic that I made the mistake of not confirming what he said with my phone’s calculator. JM was clearly peeved, but her resolve to get the fair price was not as high as mine. That was one of our differences in traveling. While I started out like that as well, over the years I’ve become less bothered about how much more profit sellers were able to get from me. Not because I don’t care about money, but just because I recognize they’re also trying to earn a living and supporting local people in a place I’m privileged to visit is something I see positively. This is also probably why I easily shopped way more than JM. “If Marge and Gale were here, believe me they’d be buying way more than me”, was how I justified why I kept buying souvenirs.

Cusco was going to be our longest stop, so we intentionally set aside our first day to rest. Sitting at an elevation of 3,400 m, it was higher than Machu Picchu. The best advice we got was to take the possibility of altitude sickness seriously. I got up a bit early on our first morning because I wanted to take another shower. I was so sleepy the previous night, after having not slept on a bed for 3 nights, that I didn’t bother drying my hair to a state that would look decent in the morning. The first thing I noted about our breakfast was the bread was not hot, or heated, before serving. “The bread is cold?”, I told JM. “Put it on top of your hot drink to warm it up”, JM suggested when I was already more than halfway through it. Other than that, everything else was good. Even the coca tea, which I was afraid would taste very medicinal, was actually tolerable. JM and I then set out to explore the cobblestoned alleys of Cusco. First stop was of course the plaza – and most towns in Peru have one, thanks to Spanish influence. Plaza de Armas is a large square, where two large cathedrals were also located. There was a park with a large fountain in the center, featuring a rather new statue of Inca Pachacutec. Before this plaza was transformed into the center of Spanish control during colonial times, this was the heart of the Inca empire. Naturally, the conquistadors razed it to the ground and replaced it with their own temples.

Cusco was brimming with people: locals, tourists, and local tourists. “Ola, senorita”, they would call out to ask us if we were interested in tours. Aside from people, dogs dominated the streets. Strays, but all very cute. It took a long time before we spotted any cats on this trip. After walking around the plaza to our satisfaction, JM and I made our way to San Pedro Market, and even if it wasn’t such an exceptionally long walk, I could really feel the altitude’s effect.

JM and I both loved markets. When I visited her in Japan, we made it a point to go to the famous Tsukiji market to witness the tuna auction. Even if it necessitated trying to survive the cold streets of Tokyo overnight, just to make it to the 4 am call time. The market in Cusco did not disappoint – it was full of life as we had expected. Giant pumpkins, multi-colored knits, a plethora of novel dishes whose identities were lost in Spanish signs, dead and skinned guinea pigs (a local delicacy), and alas the cold breads. I spotted them from a distance, like a sinister secret that was intentionally kept from us. They were varied in shapes and sizes, but they were definitely not piping hot from the oven. I think what confused me was that their breads were shaped and almost tasted like the Filipino pandesal, which is served hot.

After the market trip, I already felt like resting. But we still had something we needed to do – book a tour for that day and tomorrow. Options were everywhere, so we simply had to start somewhere. We went in the first shop we saw and asked how much was the price to go to the Moray ruins and the Maras salt mines. I had reviewed all the sites included in the Boleto turistico and suggested to go to those two on the first day. JM was fine following my suggestion. The lowest price we got in the first shop became our benchmark for the next shop. Because of the taxi situation the night before, I allowed JM to do the haggling. She was quite relentless, but we eventually settled at a price we were satisfied with. Instead of a normal tour, we found out that we could do one with an ATV ride that very afternoon. The altitude sickness seemed to hit me harder, so I parted ways with JM to get some rest before the tour’s departure.

After a few hours apart, JM and I made our way back to the tour site. We had a few minutes before it started, and it was to our luck that we spotted a lady selling guacamole sandwiches. She used what seemed like a plastic organizer with the perfect number of compartments to house tomatoes, onions, lime and a mixing area for the actual guacamole. It was a mere 0.40 USD a piece, but that was one of my favorite meals for the entire trip. The tour started almost an hour later than agreed. This is probably the manifestation of the discount, we both thought. While waiting, JM made friends with Christian, who was a Peruvian doctor. He grew up in Lima but was in Cusco for his family medicine residency. Luckily, Christian was very friendly and he helped us translate a few times during the tour.

Moray & Maras

It was a 2-hour drive to the ATV site. Upon disembarking the vehicle, two large dogs greeted us into the enclosure where they housed the ATVs and a small practice circuit. The owner started assigning us ATVs and instructing us how to practice. It was my first time driving one, so I didn’t want to be too fast at the risk of throwing myself into the wet mud. As a result of my often inadequate acceleration, I struggled in steep inclines. At the end of the 10-min practice session, the owner told me it might be better if I ride with JM instead. JM was hesitant, worried about having difficulty managing our combined weight. So the owner sent one of his men to ride with me instead. I was honestly displeased that my skills were deemed insufficient, so before it was too late, as my ATV chaperone didn’t seem to speak English, I called out to the owner to say I want to drive for some parts too. He agreed and communicated this to the guy in Spanish, and finally we were off.

The road to Moray was perfect for ATVs – it was all dirt, and with the rains on and off during the time we were there, there were lots of mud patches. After 15 min of taking videos behind the guy, I got bored and felt confident I could handle driving in this terrain. I tapped the guy in the shoulder to get his name (something I’ve regretfully forgotten now because I’ve put off writing this blog for months), introduce myself, and ask him to let me switch with him instead. He agreed but kept a close watch of my driving, so close that he needed to have a hand on one of the handles at all times. Once I started driving, it didn’t feel that daunting after all, and I felt proud of myself for insisting on doing it even if I wasn’t fully confident of my skills. While the first segment was along towns, eventually we reached a road that opened to green fields bordered by blue mountains from a distance. It reminded me of the opening sequence in Abbas Kiarostami’s film ‘Taste of Cherry”. Bumpily speeding along the dirt and feeling the wind on my face – for the first time in what seemed like a long time, I actually smiled to myself and felt happy.

JM and I spent a short time at the Moray ruins. The concentric terraces were a sight to behold, but as we didn’t have time for a proper tour, I can’t say we properly appreciated its significance. Apparently, one of the fascinating facts about this site was that due to the design of the terraces, there was a 5°C difference from the highest to the lowest terrace. We wrapped up our Moray visit rather quickly as we had to go back to the ATV site to make it to the Maras salt mines before sundown. On our way back, my ATV chaperone received a call and eventually suggested I drive faster. I was following the road signs to keep to 40 kph, so I thought I was doing everything as expected. Once we disembarked to switch back to the van, I asked JM if I was driving too slow. “You could be going faster”, she said. “Don’t you need to slow down for the potholes?”, I countered. “It’s called an ATV for a reason”, JM smirked.

An hour passed before we reached the Maras salt mines. As the van descended the mountain to reach the entrance, we saw the multitude of salt ponds filled with pinkish water. The brine supplying the salineras comes from an underground spring, and thanks to engineering established more than 500 years ago, water fills each of the salt ponds to create ~3,000 tons of pink salt each year. It was almost sundown by this time, but I was thankful we made it with enough light to see the actual pink tint of the ponds. Our local guide spoke to Christian in Spanish, and after every paragraph or so, he would motion to Christian to translate for me and JM. Christian happily recounted what he heard in English. There were a few steps to descend and ascend, however during the short ascent, I started to struggle with my breathing. As I felt my heart’s rapid beating, our guide noticed and went over to one of the shops to ask for something. The lady from the shop motioned to extend my hand out, rub between my palms the liquid she dropped, and inhale it. I followed her instructions, and in a matter of a few seconds, I felt my chest relax and my breathing become easier. “What is that?”, I asked with piqued curiosity. “This is agua florida, it’s good for the altitude.” As I recuperated on a chair, she continued to show her other products – namely the different salt products from the mine. I purchased a few bottles as souvenirs for some of my family, but I made sure to remember to buy agua florida once we were back in Cusco, it was bound to be cheaper there.

The drive back to Cusco took 2 hours. Once we reached, we said goodbye to Christian and proceeded to his recommended steakhouse for dinner. They served alpaca at the restaurant, but as we weren’t hungry for both a beef and alpaca steak, we ordered steak (beef), and a salad tossed with some smoked alpaca. I then started to notice JM subtly grimacing and I had no idea what was wrong. I felt myself tense up because I was wondering if she was expressing annoyance or displeasure over something I did. My mind works that way, and as soon as I caught what I was doing, I knew I had already been triggered. JM and I sat there in silence waiting for the food, as I tried to find it in me to re-process what my brain had already assumed. I suddenly recalled how I was the same with Gurj before. I would go silent or moody if I wasn’t feeling well, even if it wasn’t his fault, but obviously he’d end up feeling he did something wrong. I should have communicated how I was feeling at that time, and I thought so should have JM, but here we were in our dream holiday having reached a trying moment that I had committed to preparing for before this trip.

When I said JM and I weren’t in speaking terms for 3 years, it was because of having spent a good amount of time together traveling in Myanmar. I can’t say I can really remember why we ended up not talking for such a long time, but it was something along the lines of very different travel styles. She was the slow type, and I was the fast type. She was fine with anything, and I got tired of feeling like I had to choose all the time. After parting ways in Singapore, we both allowed our friendship to lapse – the way most adult friendships waste away to die. So when we finally picked it back up, traveling was both a dream and a well known sore point. I was committed to be more mature in this trip, so I had to manage my trigger.

I calmed myself down, and soon enough JM spoke to say “My shoulders are really sore from the ATV”. It wasn’t about me after all. “That’s what you get for not slowing down”, I joked in an effort to lighten the mood. I wasn’t sure if she found it that amusing, so I proceeded to discussing how to best alleviate it. We decided to drop by the pharmacy on the way back so JM could buy some pain killers. To show my full support, I offered to dry her hair after her shower since I knew she could barely raise her arm, what more with the dryer. I was glad we ended the night on a peaceful note.

Pisac

We had an early start the next day. As part of the packages we negotiated yesterday, we also booked a half-day tour to Pisac. Rolando texted JM bright and early to let her know he was picking us up that morning. I woke up way ahead of our call time myself because I wanted to bring all my soiled clothes to the laundry while we had the chance. Especially after the ATV ride yesterday, when the mud splashed on everything below my face.

Rolando was such a cheerful person, the moment he welcomed JM and I to his car with “Ola, chicas“, we were sold to voting him as our favourite driver. It was a sunny drive to Pisac. Rolando barely spoke any English, but he kept talking to us anyhow. Even when we only paid for his driving services, he passionately shared his tour guide spiels, unfortunately in Spanish. “Naiintidihan mo ba (do you understand what he’s saying)?”, JM asked me as I indulged Rolando with Si‘s and very basic Spanish. “Barely”, I answered. I already told him “Yo no hablo Espanol (I don’t speak Spanish)”. “Poquito (you speak a little)”, he insisted. He clearly wanted to take his chances with the little Spanish I knew, so I allowed him to continue. I held on to the few Spanish words I managed to catch periodically to carry a conversation. It was no use taking out our phone to translate because the data signal struggled for most of the way. JM reminded me yesterday to download the English-Spanish translations, but I had clearly forgotten. Truth be told, I would forget to do it until our trip finally ends. But I would get so used to saying “Si” that I would carry this habit back to Singapore for a few months.

The drive down to Pisac was very picturesque. Once we reached, Rolando told us we had 2 hours to spend. Pisac is a comprehensive Inca site, featuring large terraces in its agricultural zone, but also featuring military, ceremonial, and residential zones. While we could have gotten a guide, we had already agreed beforehand to do the tour on our own. The site was clearly marked with the path to take so it wouldn’t be a concern to get lost. The exploration of Pisac mostly consisted of climbing up and seeing a more breathtaking view progressively. As we worked our way without a guide, we could only guess what each structure was for. Nevertheless, the terraces and structures were a marvel – imagining how such concentric and geometric structures were carved out of the land, and how precise their stonework was. It was soon noon, so we made our way back to the car. I bought boiled corn on the way out, because I’m fond of boiled corn from the glutinous, non-Japanese sweet variety. Unfortunately, the one I bought was not glutinous, and it was funny how large the kernels were. It took me double the usual amount of time to chew them. I couldn’t finish it so JM offered to help out.

After walking around the Pisac ruins to our satisfaction, we headed to the Pisac market. We were only planning to stay there for 15 min so we could make time to eat cuy (roasted guinea pig), however we ended up spending an hour roaming the market. Pisac market had more unique products from local artisans, so it was alluring to keep walking along the alleys. Luckily or unluckily, the size of my bags physically prevented me from carrying too much, so I needed to make hard decisions of what to buy, and what I had to forego. Since JM was much more intentional about haggling, I allowed her to make the transactions for me. I reaped the benefits because she barely did any shopping for herself, though I could tell she was satisfied whenever she secured me a bargain.

Once we were done, it was past 12, so I wasn’t sure if it would still be okay for Rolando to accommodate one more stop. When we said we’d treat him to lunch too, he got very excited as it seemed like cuy was one of his favourite dishes. I only realized on the way back that we actually had to drive further away to go to Lamay, which is famous for cuy. Rolando took looking for the right place for cuy very seriously. There were numerous options after all, and the road that ran through Lamay was lined with either guinea pig images, statues, or the roasted rodents themselves. I admit I find guinea pigs really cute and to most people I recounted the experienced to, they winced and thought me mean. But I’m all for trying most things once. As it’s a local Andean delicacy that I’ll probably never be able to try again, I was honestly looking forward to it.

Rolando finally made a choice, and when we got to the restaurant, we were the only ones there. One lady ran the whole place and proceeded to take our order. JM and I decided to split a cuy, while we encouraged Rolando to order one for himself. It took awhile for the cuy to arrive, and we could hear the lady busy in the kitchen preparing our dishes. To accompany our wait, she served a pitcher of chicha morada con fresas (purple corn drink with strawberries). Rolando poured some on each of our glasses, but motioned for us to hold off drinking. He raised his cup, said something in Spanish, and proceeded to tip a bit of his drink to the ground. “Por que“?, JM and I asked surprised. “So that nothing harms us, nothing happens in this land, and you can return to your country in peace, without any illness and in good health”, was Rolando’s reply on my translation app. According to Rolando, it was customary to do that before drinking – offering some to the earth to ask for protection. The drink was intoxicatingly good that we ended up ordering another. The cuy finally arrived and it turned out our request to split a plate was lost in translation, and we each had one. It was served combinados style, with a side of spaghetti, a fried stuffed chili, and several small boiled potatoes. As the cuy was served in its entirety, I had to avoid looking at the paws and the face. It tasted like lean lechon (roasted pig), but there was barely any meat. The spaghetti and stuffed chili were both very tasty, but there was too much food on each plate for JM and I. We definitely would have preferred splitting one. Over lunch, Rolando showed us a few videos of himself and his kids. Though we struggled with the language, we mostly understood each other by facial expressions and hand gestures. It always feels nice to make a more meaningful connection. As I finished the flesh around the bones of the cuy, I peeked inside the skeleton and asked Rolando if the dangling organ left was the corazon. I had known the translation for the heart because earlier I was trying to translate how to say ‘heartbroken’ in Spanish.

The bill arrived and the cuy was more expensive than we expected. “Do you think Rolando regretted eating his tip?”, I asked JM after Rolando finally dropped us back at Cusco. “I think he enjoyed himself”, was JM’s reply. We bade Rolando farewell and were thankful for the productive tour from himself. JM wanted to go for a massage whereas I wanted to collect the laundry and rest in our hotel. As I was about to hand our money to JM, she declined and asked for the exact amount for the massage. “But you might need extra?”, I contested. JM told me she didn’t want to have any extra on her to avoid buying unnecessary purchases, but I eventually convinced her to take 50 (the massage was 30).

As I made myself comfy in the hotel, I remembered we needed more altitude sickness pills because the Diamox I had didn’t seem strong enough for me so I was eating into JM’s local supply. I texted JM to buy some at the pharmacy on the way back. When she finally reached, she told me she didn’t have enough money left for the medicine, so she bought a beer for us to share instead. “Instead of buying medicine, this is what you got?”, I laughed. “Priorities”, she grinned. And so we decided to watch some stand-up comedy instead, drinking the beer alongside the cured meat I bought from the Madrid airport and the chestnuts I got from Singapore. I’m not entirely sure if this, or the cuy, was the cause, but from that moment on, my diarrhea started.

Palcoyo

The rainbow mountain was one of the places I definitely looked forward to in this trip. There are two places to see this – the more famous site is at Vinicunca, but the hike there was longer and steeper. Since JM and I decided to do a hike at Machu Picchu by opting for the route with Huayna Picchu, and as I correctly predicted that we may still struggle with altitude sickness on our 3rd day in Cusco (though it was mostly me struggling with the altitude sickness), we chose Palcoyo. The hike at Palcoyo was shorter and easier, or so I expected.

We had a very early start that day – the pickup from our hotel was scheduled at 4:30. This was because the drive to Palcoyo was 2 hours. It was a rainy morning so we were worried if we would be able to see the colors of the rainbow mountains in its full grandeur. We were also skeptical about what to expect from the tour. We managed to find a very cheap tour online before going to Peru and decided to book it. It was a good 60% cheaper than other tours we saw, so we were again anticipating some drawbacks to the discount.

Abel arrived in a taxi a little before 5 am. “Is it just the two of us? Aren’t they going to lose so much money on us?”, I whispered to JM in Filipino. JM was surprised herself, but it was so early in the morning that we just made ourselves comfortable. As it turned out, Abel was just collecting all of the participants to a central location where the larger van was parked. And so once we were all there, we made our way as a group of 7 to Palcoyo.

It rained almost the entire way. At the halfway point, we stopped for a simple breakfast buffet. We got to know our companions over tiny pancakes and cold cuts. There was a young French couple, an elderly Turkish couple, and an Austrian woman traveling on her own. The elderly Turkish couple was very well traveled and regaled everyone with the countries they’ve been to. Even within Peru, they seemed to have gone to all the possible places of interest. They’ve been enjoying their retirement by traveling together. Both of them took tons of photos so I asked them what they did with all of it. The Turkish lady replied that they invited their friends over to see a slideshow of their photos. Not a bad idea, I suppose. The French couple compared their experiences in Peru with the Turkish couple. It seemed like everywhere they went, they had bad weather. “He has bad juju”, JM whispered to me in Filipino. “Who has?”, I asked perplexed. He motioned towards the French guy. JM’s theory was that they were the ones who brought the bad weather with them. I laughed because we have after all been blessed with great weather until that day. We’d know in a few hours whether this was true or not.

On the last stage of driving to Palcoyo, we snaked around mountains alongside a gushing pink river. The rain made the road so muddy that I was amazed the van didn’t get stuck in the steep climbs. At one point, we found ourselves in a valley between mountains where houses were made of the abundant pink clay in the area, the same reason the river was stark pink. While we were so obsessed with spotting alpacas during our previous days, in those mountains the alpacas were so numerous that we couldn’t even count them. We finally reached the start of the hike and the rain had not let up.

“Family, this is the last chance to use the toilet”, Abel announced. Abel called us all “family”, and while at first JM loved the endearing term, it eventually made her cringe having to hear it all the time. People were huddled up near the restrooms. It was the only area with a shade. I wasn’t particularly worried as the hike was just supposed to be 45 min and there was a clear trail to follow. What I was worried about was if we would even see the colors. It was cold, windy, and wet. Abel slowly led our group up. Though our pace was gentle and Abel stressed we weren’t in a competition, I lost my breathe just as easily anyway. After a few minutes, Abel stopped and asked all of us to reach out our hands. He then took out a bottle of agua florida and gave us a few drops each. It was a different color to the one I bought. Agua florida quickly became my saving grace. Every time I inhaled a fresh batch, my lung capacity increased somehow. It was a drug I craved. As we walked through the trail, we could see the gentle slopes with muted multi-colored gradients from a distance. It seemed like we were within a cloud of mist that colored everything within sight with gray. Even if the entire landscape was gloomy, it felt vast and magnificent. Something our cameras wouldn’t be able to differentiate from just a very gloomy day. The rain lightly tapped on any exposed surface, never too heavy but incessant. Along the way, there was a rock formation that looked like Mordor from Lord of the Rings. “That’s the stone forest”, Abel explained.

Soon enough, the final lookout point appeared – this was the locally-appointed best place to take a photo from. The rain was getting less, but with the clouds still hovering, the colors were impossible to capture without serious post-editing. A local with two alpacas stood at the lookout point, welcoming tourists to take photos with his animals without specifying any required amount. I asked JM if she wanted one, and she happily agreed. After all our solo and group photos, all of us started the walk back, a bit sadly because we weren’t granted any sun. At the top of the hill, Abel asked us to stop and huddle around him. He gave us another dose of a different agua florida – at this point I felt like he had 6 different bottles in his bag. Once we all took a whiff of it, he invited us to close our eyes and breathe deeply. Soon after, we heard him play his piccolo. The experience of being there, enveloped by the cold breeze, and both the agua florida and the notes from Abel’s piccolo soothing our weary lungs from the altitude and putting us in a sort of trance was magical.

I thought that was it and we were going to do the easy walk back to the van, but then Abel said we could all go up to the stone forest. It was a short 25 min hike, albeit a steep one. The elderly Turkish couple readily agreed to go, and I was not letting my young 35 year-old body embarrass herself by electing to skip. We slowly made our way up, and eventually JM and I were lagging behind the group. I felt my heart beating loudly into my ears and my breathing rapidly became harder. As I tried my best to push myself to the nearing peak, my vision started getting fuzzy and spotty. I almost completely blacked out had I not sat down to compose myself. I told JM I wasn’t feeling well at all and she told me to just rest it out until I felt better. Abel came down to help and gave me another agua florida. In a few seconds, my lungs felt a bit more spacious again and thankfully my heart stopped pounding like a drum. “Wow, that was close”, I thought to myself. When I felt much better, we completed the last few steps to the top, got the mandatory photos, and proceeded to go back down again. And right when we got back down to the point where you could see the rainbow mountains, the clouds magically revealed the sun and we were treated to the magnificent colors we have been anticipating. It was a few fleeting seconds of ecstacy, and it was all back to gray again. Looks like we managed to beat the French guy’s bad juju enough for a photo.

The van ride home was mostly all 7 of us asleep. It was still a rainy ride, and we bade the alpacas goodbye on the way down. Once we got down to Cusco, we bade goodbye to the “family” and separated ways once again. JM and I had another 1-hour taxi ride to catch to Ollantaytambo, where we planned to spend our night, so we walked back to our hotel to book a taxi. The name of the driver we had this time was Freddie.

The drive to Ollantaytambo was through a very dark road. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, the roads in Cusco are quite dark. There was barely anyone before or after our vehicle. I guess it was more common to do that drive during the daytime, versus what we were doing. JM told me I was completely knocked out during the ride and she had already started contemplating what she would do if Freddie stopped the vehicle at a random spot and tried to rob or kill us. I laughed thinking at how peacefully I was snoring as she strategized how to survive. So when we reached Ollantaytambo safely without any incidents, JM was so amazed and grateful at Freddie. I was too, after all, there was no assurance that he would get another passenger to go back to Cusco, yet he charged us a very fair price. We gave him a tip as gratitude before he dropped us off at our new accommodation.

Ollantaytambo

Nicole welcomed us once we alighted from our taxi. She was such a bubbly and sweet girl. Even with her short stature, her personality packed a punch. Together with her husband, Antonio, they ran their Ayllu B&B. It seemed quite newly constructed, although the room we got was rather cramped and less comfortable than the one we had at Cusco. “I miss our other hotel”, JM said once she got into our new, tiny bathroom. JM had an exam to proctor that night over Zoom, since she was also a teaching assistant while doing her PhD. On the other hand, I had a call for a potential job offer. But we had some time for dinner and we were both a bit hungry. We asked Nicole how to get back to the Plaza de Armas where all the restaurants were, and she helpfully suggested we take a tuktuk for just 3 soles. She hailed one for us, and within 10 minutes, we were at the town square. There were a few similar looking places, so we picked one randomly and settled in. It didn’t seem like there were a lot of tourists.

Ollantaytambo is somewhat of an in-between town to Cusco and Agua Calientes, which was the drop-off point for Machu Picchu. One can go straight to Agua Calientes from Cusco via train, and Ollantaytambo was an optional stop-over as there was also a train station here. When I saw the photos of Ollantaytambo while we were doing our planning, I got convinced on sparing more than a night for this place, however it was just out of the question given the schedule. While it was not to the advantage of the businesses there, it was to the benefit of the town that fewer tourists ravaged their beautiful paradise. This was the last living Inca village in the world.

The restaurant we entered took a long time to serve our food. And when we finally got our orders, it tasted like the chef went mad with the salt. I thought it was just my burger, but even JM’s trout was covered in saline. We only had 10 minutes to sit there until we had to go back for JM’s exam so we tried our best to eat whatever was palatable and subsequently left. The tuktuk we got going back charged us 6 soles when we alighted, so once again JM was adamant it was just 3 soles. I forget now how much the final bill was since we were both in a hurry for our calls.

Our room was small and for some reason, both of us couldn’t make it work with our headphones. JM was on her tablet with a student taking a final exam, and I was on my phone trying to negotiate my potential future salary. Her call lasted longer than mine, and when the student was about to submit his work, he asked whether what he was hearing in the background was a job interview. Months later, JM told me she wished she took down notes during my call because the time had come for her to negotiate her own salary.

That night was cold as our hostel was beside a creek. We no longer had the luxury of the portable heater from our previous hotel, so both of us wore multiple layers to keep warm.

I woke up quite early the next day. JM was fast asleep so I made my way out as silently as possible, quite excited at the prospect of having a morning walk on my own. The main door was bolted with a complicated lock that took me a good 10 minutes to figure out. Once I did, I congratulated myself for not giving up and eventually cracking it. However as soon as I got out and closed the door behind me, I realized I had locked myself out. Genius.

Right across our hostel was a wide expanse of field that Nicole told us serves as the venue for the annual bullfight. As we were not located within the main town, I walked towards it while greeting numerous cute stray dogs along the way. The view was perfect because right in between almost every alley, I could see the mountains. A system of canals built by the Incas continue to run within Ollantaytambo, offering the melodious sound of running water at all times. This place was considered a center of administration during the time of the Incas. It was one of the few sites where the Incas successfully held back the Spaniards. The narrow streets were filled with cobblestone from the floor to halfway up each house. Colorful and vibrant flowers and greens that peeked into the public space from each house offered the perfect accent. I wished we picked an accommodation within the town, but later that night we’d realize it was smart we didn’t for the roads inside were not accessible by tuktuk. Nothing was open yet at that time, so I contented myself with watching children make their way to school in their uniforms while contemplating the job offer I received the night before. It would entail leaving a job I was good at, friends, and the flexibility of always working from home and not having strict timings. On the other hand, it was the chance to try something new, something out of my comfort zone, and something that paid higher. I tried to kill as much time as I could until I felt it was a decent enough time to call JM and ask for her help to let me in.

JM and I had breakfast at the lovely rooftop of Ayllu B&B. Each side offered unobstructed view, so Antonio pointed at different directions as he told us what their town had to offer. They served us a generous breakfast of local popcorn, fruits, yogurt, eggs, and of course, the cold bread. I excitedly told JM how beautiful the town was to motivate her to eat breakfast faster. We eventually got ready and made our way to the famous ruins which was a multi-level hike up from the bottom. We took photos at every two level for the first few levels, but once we got tired, we decided to just save the photos for the top. The view from the ruins offered a spectacular oversight of the surrounding land and the houses below. You could almost imagine how it must have felt like in the past. Whether it was to rule such an empire or to even just inhabit a spectacular environment. Only for righteous foreigners to destroy everything and impose what they think is better. When we reached the top, we met JM’s nemesis and favorite character for the rest of the trip: Rebecca.

This wasn’t of course the rich lady’s name. We knew she wasn’t a normal traveler because she had brought her personal assistant along to take photos with her and her husband. She was wearing what looked like a cashmere poncho and kept dragging her husband for a photo. She never seemed to get enough of herself on that camera of hers and at one point, because of her impatience that we get done with our photos, they insensitively blocked the view of where we were trying to get a photo. They also seemed to keep going to the same place where we were taking photos. JM got pissed and started to make a back story for her. “This is a last ditch effort to save their failing marriage”. “What could the guy’s name be?” “David, David and Rebecca.” Up until we got back to the bottom of the ruins where there was a local souvenir market, we continued to see her, so JM took the opportunity to slyly take a photo right beside her. The woman was funnily looking into the camera as well.

We ate my favorite lunch that day at a random restaurant we entered, which by some stroke of luck had available balcony seating that allowed us to have a view of a stream and the town below. We ordered a steak platter that included cow, alpaca and lamb so we took the chance to play a guessing game. Potatoes, or papas, as the locals call them, were often the main carbohydrate with steak. “Una taza de arroz“, I ordered. I always prefer eating rice with my steak.

We were taking the train to Aguas Calientes that night, so the rest of the day was just to go around any other ruin we wanted to see. There was one particular ruin I wanted to visit, but we ended up getting lost and taking the wrong turn no matter how many people we asked. Eventually, we found ourselves walking towards a school. Numerous children happily released from mandatory education greeted us at the end of the path we followed. No ruins unfortunately, seems like no one was notified the access to the ruins has been closed. So we decided to look for another site, Pinkuylluna, JM was particularly interested in. We navigated using Google maps instead of following the map that Antonio had painstakingly drawn for us that morning. It felt easier than reading the map. Google took us deep inside the town, and along the way we saw a lovely accommodation called Apu Lodge that opened up into a courtyard with some hammocks. JM casually walked in and brazenly occupied one of the hammocks. “They might ask us why we’re here”, I whispered to JM. “Just act like you’re meant to be here”, JM replied. She made herself comfortable, and after a few minutes, I finally relaxed and laid on the hammock myself. After a much deserved rest after walking aimlessly under the sun, we finally continued our way to the alleged ruins. Once again, Google led us to a dead end. Or was it? Although it was clearly the end of a path well trodden, there was a way to cross a stream and forge a way into a small hole in the concrete wall that eventually led to vegetation. “Just make sure we don’t get lost”, I called back to JM as she continued to walk on. Eventually, we reached the backside of a mountain that seemed to have experienced a recent landslide. Numerous loose rocks covered the entire face. JM wanted to climb until the top, whereas I wasn’t sure if I wanted to risk getting an injury. With the early hike we had tomorrow for Huayna Picchu, my bad stomach, and my weakened stamina due to the altitude, I didn’t feel like risking it. I settled with watching JM from below, but eventually the fear of missing out got into me and I started following her slowly up. The condition of the slope soon enough convinced JM that it was indeed quite dangerous, so she started walking back down.

Our train tickets were for 7 PM, so we decided to rest the remaining 3 hours. Although we were already checked out, Nicole was tremendously kind to offer us to rest in our original room for free. JM and I were immensely grateful for this because there was nothing more comfortable than being able to lie on a soft bed and get access to clean toilets. From my years of traveling, this was the only place that offered me such a simple luxury yet remarkable generosity. Both of us were able to take a short nap on a soft bed before we had to leave for the train station. It is such unreasonable hospitality that always leaves a lingering impression.

Aguas Calientes

Right before we alighted the train at Aguas Calientes, I asked JM if we could hire a tuktuk to our hostel. Though the train ride was comfortable, we got delayed for several hours due to some issues, and it was quite late at night when we reached. She checked how long the walk was from Google maps, and it said it was a mere 7 min walk, so JM suggested we just try walking the distance. I was inwardly disappointed because I already felt tired from my stomach situation that until then had not fully resolved. However, it was true that 7 min didn’t sound that far, so I yielded to her suggestion. Much to my horror, the entire 7 min walk was a hike up. And it did not take 7 minutes. The town of Aguas Calientes was a short trek from the base of Machu Picchu. While it was cemented with multiple stairs, JM and I did not do enough research to have known we ought to have left majority of our load at Cusco or Ollantaytambo. I was carrying all 20 kilograms of my things and faced hundreds of stone steps boasting a steep incline. Most of the other people carried daypacks. The amount of exhaustion at every step was indescribable. I had practically ceased caring about my suitcase as long as it went along the direction I wanted. JM was not having a walk in the park herself, but she was carrying less than I was. I had with me things for my succeeding US trip whereas she only had her things for Peru. The hostel JM booked seemed to be at the very end of the stretch of restaurants, cafes, bars and hostels we passed by. I was panting like a tired dog when we finally escaped all of the noise and the lights to find ourselves at the doorstep of El Mistico. This would have been a lovely spot in other circumstances, one where JM and I only had a daypack with us. It was far from the hustle and bustle, right beside the flowing Rio Aguas Calientes river, and the rooms were quite nice. But this wasn’t that circumstance, and I was livid when we finally reached. Although it was not JM’s fault, I had little self-control left to conceal my anger at the situation we just went through. I was mostly peeved that she didn’t offer to help me on the way up, and how she remained calm at the situation. When we finally checked in our room, I gave her an annoyed shrug when she asked me if I wanted to take a shower first. JM confronted me why I couldn’t just reply properly, and I told her I was dead tired from the unexpected hike up. Our stonewalling then began. It was already close to 10 in the evening, and our schedule was to wake up at the 4 am the next day for the grand entry of this trip: Machu Picchu. JM used the shower first, and as I sat there trying to calm the anger that I felt inside, I was also highly aware that I did not want this to be the prevailing story of our Peru adventure. We already had a minor altercation, so if we were to emerge from this situation, one of us had to do swallow the task of apologizing.

I decided to get a hair dryer from the front desk as an initial step towards peace. We would both need it, so I decided to save her the trouble. I can’t say it was easy to let the anger pass. I tried to remember what I learned about emotions. That they only need to be felt and understood. I was simply tired, and any hesitation to apologize was fear of being rejected. When I got out of the shower, JM was already in bed. I approached her and tapped her to wake her up. I apologized for being cranky and told her I was just so tired, but I didn’t want our trip to be ruined like this. She hugged me immediately without saying anything and I felt all the tension I was holding melt away into relief. I was glad we could both sleep without that grudge. The Aguas Calientes river ran the entire night, and somehow I had strange, vivid dreams until my alarm for 4 am sounded the next morning.

Machu Picchu

We had a long day ahead. We were going to Machu Picchu, hiking Huayna Picchu, taking the train and van back to Cusco, and taking an overnight bus to Puno.

We got up in better spirits that morning. We walked the long stairway down, back to the train station where the bus station to Machu Picchu was also situated. We tried to bring as less as we could, to ensure the least discomfort on the hike. Tickets to Machu Picchu get sold out rather quickly. I never figured out whether this was because resellers are able to buy all the available tickets to tout for higher prices. We had no choice but to do it this way (through PeruWays), even if we checked for tickets 4 months ahead. JM and I agreed in advance to look for a guide at Machu Picchu itself rather than doing it in advance. It’s prohibited to go inside the UNESCO World Heritage Site without a local guide, which made a lot of sense given the invaluable history contained in the ruins, and how people can be quick to abuse and destroy without proper guidance. The massive foot traffic from tourism placed areas of Machu Picchu at risk of sinking. We reached the bus stop rather early, they implemented a scheduled system to control the amount of people inside Machu Picchu at every moment. This meant you had to follow the correct bus schedule to bring you there. There was a guy at the bus stop, who introduced himself as Elvis, offering his tour guide services, however he couldn’t speak in English. So he recommended his friend, Raul, instead. JM and I took an instant liking to Raul. He told us learning Spanish is easy by quoting the song, Despacito.

Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito
Nos vamos pegando poquito a poquito

(Step by step, soft little
We are getting closer little by little)

Raul was well versed with the history of the Quechua people. He carried a clearbook filled with colored prints of images he used to talk about the Inca civilization. From him, I learned that the ubiquoutous French brand in Decathlon was in fact the correct term to describe the Inca people – they were ethnic Quechua people. Over time, people started referring to them as Incas, which is supposedly a term to refer to the rulers of the Quechua people. Together, we took the bus from Aguas Calientes to the entrance of Machu Picchu. We waited a few minutes for our slot to be cleared in, and we finally stepped in the revered and once unfound secret of the Incas.

The purpose of Machu Picchu remains unconfirmed to this day. Raul shared with us that archeologists unearthed bones of people from other areas, making it seem that Machu Picchu may have been somewhat of a university, a mecca for learning in the region, where master artisans were sent to train and teach. According to stories, when Cusco fell to the Spaniards, the Inca ordered the people to abandon Machu Picchu so that the city would be left untouched. No one was to speak of it, and true enough it remained undiscovered for more than 300 years, until an American explorer discovered the site.

The sensation of realizing we were finally at Machu Picchu was indescribable. I was in awe of mankind’s capabilities. To be granted the chance to witness the beauty from a civilization now gone. To imagine how they performed calculations, even to my modern mind, far advanced to execute such a majestic creation. They created meaning and symbolism from a combination of what they made and the nature that surrounded them. Needless to say, it was incredible to be there.

After going around the site and learning about the different hypotheses researchers have based on what remained standing, we bade goodbye to Raul since he wasn’t going to accompany us up to Huayna Picchu. The trail was well marked – you followed the same path up and down, often with steep angles as high as 60°. JM told me to take my time. While we had a train to catch that afternoon, we figured we could make it at a tempered pace. I definitely took my time. Thanks to my previous experience of trekking in Nepal, it honestly didn’t feel that bad after all. I realized I had scared myself by reading how treacherous the hike up was, but since I knew it would be over within 1-2 hours, I wasn’t that worried. In Nepal, I had to keep going for almost 6 hours a day. The thick vegetation also helped. You could never really see the top until you reached quite close. This meant you didn’t get the chance to think of how far you still were. All you had to do was deal with the steps right in front of you. Raul said that climbing up Huayna Picchu carried spiritual significance and symbolized a spiritual journey. When you finally descend down, you pass by a tunnel signifying your rebirth.

The vista on top was well worth the tiring hike. From the summit, Machu Picchu looked so small, and from there its famed condor shape was visible. The condor was one of the 3 sacred animals of the Inca civilization, along with the jaguar and the snake. The final hike, also known as the Stairs of Death, was so steep, with one wrong step readily putting you at risk of a fatal fall. I was so happy to have reached the top with JM, at the same time overcoming our misunderstanding the night before and conquering this challenge together. Though JM is a person of few words, I felt she shared the same sentiment.

When we reached town again, we treated ourselves to a hearty meal at one of the restaurants along the stairways of Aguas Calientes. JM ordered trucha (trout), while I had the popular lomo saltado. We lingered for awhile over lunch, recounting the precious memory we had just secured together. A testament to a friendship lost and found, just like the ancient city of Machu Picchu.

It was a total of 13 hours of travel from Aguas Calientes to Puno. A combination of train, van, taxi, and bus. That was right after the hike to Huayna Picchu, without so much as a shower. While mostly tiring, I loved the dark bus ride. You could see the multi-tiered lights from the cities, showing the mountainous landscape even in the darkness. The stars were numerous and visible, I had my playlist of choice, and I was right where I needed to be to feel the pain in my heart.

My breakup with Gurj was the catalyst to this trip. For that, I am grateful. It was a necessary break to figure things out, to gain a new perspective, and to find my way back. Most especially, it was a chance to once again feel like anything was possible.

Puno

When we reached Puno, I told JM that I really wanted to take a shower. We just had to wait for another 5 hours to be able to check in to our floating accommodation right in the middle of Lake Titicaca, but I just couldn’t go on in that state of grime. We found a hotel that accepted us for 2 hours just to freshen up. When JM and I once again reunited in Singapore months later, she told me she observed that I was less relaxed than before. “Yeah, I have more non-negotiables now. Like that time I wanted to take a shower at Puno”, I told her in agreement.

Puno was a quiet town. We wanted to end here, to experience the Uros culture that remains alive at Lake Titicaca. Using dried totora reeds that grow in the lake, they weave man-made floating islands where they have houses, shops, schools, and even churches. In the same way, they make reed boats. The yellow from the dried reeds, combined with other colors, provide a vibrant pop of color to the deep, blue, misty lake. Our agenda here was just to relax, before we caught our flight back to US. JM to return to her waiting PhD, and I to visit family and a friend. We booked an accommodation on the lake itself. Through solar panels and a water filtration system, they are able to provide a shower and a toilet. Our room had glass panels that made the room feel like an oven during the day. I had to protect my Läderach chocolate from melting by putting it outside, where the cold wind chilled us enough to necessitate a blanket. I struggled regulating my temperature, shifting between indoors and outdoors constantly throughout the day because it was too hot inside and too cold outside.The landscape was a beauty to behold. You could see Bolivia from a distance. Though that was part of our original Ola plan, I had to forego it to take this rare chance to see my family in the other half of the globe.

The night at Lake Titicaca was cold, but we had enough layers to keep us comfortable. Vidal, our host, supplied us with a generous amount of blankets. Together with his family, they prepared a simple yet delicious dinner that evening. JM even remarked that was her favorite meal from the entire trip. In the morning, we left to transfer to a hotel in the mainland and just while away our remaining time in Peru.

We both flew back to Cusco before finally separating. We had a long layover so JM and I took advantage of it by dining at a fancy Nikkei (Peruvian Japanese fusion cuisine) restaurant (we looked out of place as hell but we didn’t care because we paid the bill), go to a salon, and buy some alfajores.

We couldn’t believe it was ending, just as we couldn’t believe when it began. I was grateful for JM who was patient with me throughout the trip. I asked her at one point why she bought a large gallon of water for us when we were at Cusco when I observed she barely drank water from her bottle. She told me that she noticed I drank a lot of water , which was true (I consumed more than a liter of water every day). Since she was the one who carried that heavy water bottle for us, it made me realize how she accommodated me in more ways than I saw.

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There is another part of this trip, of which I wished to write about. Hopefully another time. Right before I boarded my flight from LA to Singapore, I accepted the job offer. The next day, I was back at work, and submitted my resignation. This is partly why it took 6 months for me to write down this entire trip. Unfortunately, to the detriment of the finer details and with that, the quality of what I have written. Nevertheless, I hope I have done some justice to this trip worth commemorating.