Heading for Bolivia

Photo by Washi Gibaja, a friend for life..

A friend asked me two days ago how I first landed in Peru. It's a long story, and this isn't it!  But the question promted  a search  to see if I'd blogged about it.  

I hadn't, but discovered this,  my very first ever blog post, written soon after arriving in the country that would steal my heart. 

That was 9 years ago, pre Facebbok ( for me), pre cancer, pre Brexit, pre Trump.

I've added some photos, sadly lots of the originals have got lost, so I've added a few from Pinterest to 'paint' the bigger picture..

 

 Happy Easter dear friends. 

Love coming over the mountains to you all wherever you are, and hugs to those having challening times. 

Os quiero mucho.

Having been buffeted by altitude sickness for the past week, last night everything changed ! It coincided with a huge storm and torrential downpour over the fascianting city of Cusco where I've been staying for the past few days. I'm trying to aclimatise before my trip to Bolivia tomorow.

An unusally 'well made ' main road north of Cusco, heading for the village of Ccapi.

Last night my inner bonfire which seemed to have died, was set ablaze !! Yeah. Back on track. An email from Ivan from his arts center in Bolivia. We'll meet very soon.

Ivan Nogales arts centre for street kids in Bolivia.

This is the first time I've written a blog ! I set it up before coming to Peru in March, but couldn't figure out how to use it! Now with the help of ever -patient -with- me- Ken, who's now managing my webistes, here goes.

Children from the village of Ccapi.

If I were reading your blog I think I'd want to know what funny things were happening t o you on your travels , who you were meeting, what lovely surprises were coming your way, what challenges you were having, what sights and insights were attracting your attention. Most of all I'd want to know what was touching you.

9 yaers on this litle girl will be a teenager now.

So, I'll try now to share some of the above with you because while travelling , my experince is that you just do it, you live it while it's happening.   It's afterwards the words colour and process the experince, usually, except when there's a near crisis. Then the brain seems to throw up lots of expletives and possible dramatic senarios, like when I nearly lost by backpack at the bus depot the other day ! OMG!!!  More about that later... maybe!

Funny things...

Well, not too many yet because altitude sickness seems to snuff out humour very quickly. So I suppose the funiest thing so far is my neurosis for clutching my tummy in any crowded location .

The money belt containig my passport etc is the last thing I want to loose. Carlos ( Sharon's right hand man on the ground here for the charity) warned me not to go out of my hotsal after 8pm, that ladrones ( robbers) knew immediately who was carrying money, they have a special antanae he said.

The sketch of the woman wearing dark glasses was a very clever thief I met in Bolivia !!!

So the funny things that have happened have been temporarily burried by the fuzz of alitiude sickness.

Lovely People I have met so far :

First, at Madrid airport the exuberant Peruvian nurse with an Irish passport, who plonked Green Irish hats on both our heads an photographed us, causing great laughter at the departure gate. One of the laughing crowd turned out to be her childhood friend she hadn't heard from in 35 years.

Sorry no photos  for any of this section.  This was 2009, sadly pics lost.

Secondly, after the 12 hour flight, the welocme from the wonderful , kind, long -white-haired grandfather wizard Walter, at his higeltipigelty , charming, minute, hostal in Lima by the sea.

Then the hostals receptionist poet Fransico, who fell in love with my book of photos and paintings and wouldn't stop putting his head on my chest, and hugging me , asking if I'd like to draw him too, and what did I think of his eyes etc !

a lovely grand house nearby

Then the taxi driver who took me back to the airport for the flight to Cusco, who had had many mystical experinces since joining AA 14 years ago. He invited me to spend Christams with him.

this part of Lima ( Baranco) is full of street art and funky cafes...

 famous  cafe in Barnaco, Lima

Then I met Carlos in Cusco, handed over the money we'd raise for the charity, and ate lunch in a restaurant which was a decorated warehouse. He had chunky fish spoup, I had trout with its head still on. When we'd finished eating, two musicians arrrived and started to play to the 25 empty tables.

Two hours later the altitude sickness kicked in. My head felt like it was going to split, my heart was pounding, and I could hardly walk I was so exhausted. Very like Cronic Fatigue syndrome again. So I fled to a lower altitude quickly, the area called the Sacred Valley leading to Machuu Picchu, and felt slightly better.

Pinterest pic of The Sacred Valley leading to Machu Picchu.

Ollantaytanbo, so many memories...

Another wonderful photo by Washi Gibaja.

Lake Titicaca, another journey...

More children from the village of Ccapi

The next four days were packed with unforgettable moments and hours.

Meeting Wither ( a young local unoffical guide)  in Ollantaytambo,  was without doubt the highlight.  

So many wonderful stories are attached to this meeting.  The  subsequent fundraising, after a few years, sadly, very saldy  went pear shaped. 
Many lesson were learned, but the privilege of meeting his 'brothers and sisters' in the high mountains will never be deminished.

No pics for this section either.

We spent unforgettable hours together taking about his adventures taking the food aid up to the high mountain settlements. I can't discribe the love he has for his indiginous brothers and sisters as he calls them. We shared some tears of passion together. He has Inka roots himself though he grew up for his first years in the jungle with his single mum who worked at a camp for gold miners.

He told me the people up there want to meet me. He said they won't called you 'mamita' as I call you.

Pinterest pic

In their language, Quechua, words carry a special sound, and always a message. When they call you 'mother,' he said, the message will mean 'we love you'.