Case of the Ruins

I first titled this post as "Why I will never return to Peru" but I think the title I chose is better suited. As many of you know, I took a trip to Peru with my long time buddies Marshal and David. Marshal had gone on a 6 month hiatus to South America and we decided to join him in Peru. Let me start the story off properly:

Special undies
While preparing for this trip, I decided to go to REI and buy some camping equipment (the last time I went camping it was in a 6 bedroom cabin with a pool table and hot tub). I bought myself a fleece, backpack, and came upon a special item. A $25 pair of special underwear that you can wear for 4-5 days stating that they are durable and don't absorb odor/moisture. Some of you may know where this is going. Happiness Level: A+

Cocoa Tea
We arrive in Peru. After seeing Maroon 5 in a layover in Panama, I knew (thought) this was going to be a special trip. Upon arrival I already notice the slight elevation sickness that everyone talks about, and continue to drink the forbidden Cocoa Tea (made from pre-Cocaine leaves), which is supposed to dull the pain. Instead of the euphoric, drug-leaf-ridden tizzy I was hoping it would put me in, it made my stomach do jumping jacks while my upper intestine fell asleep with the door shut. Happiness Level: A-

Soup and nasty meat
As our travels in Peru continued, we ate at various local Peruvian diners. Trying dishes that I'm familiar with from my favorite Peruvian diner in LA, expecting a "homemade" experience. After eating 5 local meals I came to the conclusion that it doesn't matter what you order in Peru. You're guaranteed two things: Soup and nasty meat. Let's see, I'll order the Lomo Saltado, steak with french fries. Yum-o right?! Yum-oh-@#$*-no was more like it. A big bowl of bacteria friendly luke warm chicken soup, with various hard bits at the bottom to break your molars. Then a freeze-dried piece of steak, which was somewhere in between the process of making steak into jerky. That way you can't enjoy it at either end. Not to mention the side of carrots and peas that made me want to run to the nearest Kaiser Permanente cafeteria on a Tuesday. Happiness Level: B+

The Trail
Our journey continues as we go into town looking for a tour group to hike the famous Macchu Picchu trail. We discover an amazing 4-day tour called the Inca Jungle trail. This included a day of hiking, a few days of mountain biking, sleeping in a covered hostel each night and an air-conditioned bus ride to the top of Macchu Picchu. We do not take this trail. Instead we take the Salcantay trail, which is the hardest possible trail to take to Macchu Picchu. This includes an all inclusive path to Hell: 5 days of hiking by foot, sleeping in thin tents in 20 degree weather, and a 4am wakeup call to scale the cliffs of Macchu Picchu to the top. But hey, we're all soft San Diegans who complain when it's 65 at night, this should be easy.
The first day is amazing. Fresh air, a cool breeze with the sun beaming down. I'm so excited for the trek that I don't even mind the soup and nasty meat the tour chef slops out. We arrive at the campsite, taking photos of the Andes in the distance. This is what life is all about, sharing great experiences with friends in remote places. Then it starts to hail.
Happiness Level: B

The Flood
The tour group is excited to have made it to the first destination, laughing and monkeying around the campsite. The night sneaks up on us as the porters set up our tents. We all barrel into a nearby shack as the cook serves us up our final meal of the night. S and NM per usual. Then it starts to pour rain. And by "pour" I mean it. The three of us run to our tent and zip up the flap as soon as we can get our muddy boots inside. We setup our backpacks and try to sleep on the rocky ground. Soon the storm turns into a bloody monsoon and water floods down the mountain under our tents. (Yes the tents were setup at the bottom of a hill). The water soon turns to ice and freezes at the bottom of our tents. Sorta like sleeping on a waterbed in a freezer. THEN on top of it all, the water starts to seep INTO the tent, creating what I like to call a Cluster-Freeze. At this point our sleeping bags are ruined, sopping with Peruvian rain water. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Happiness Level: F

The Huddle
We unzip the tent and run to the shack where we had eaten dinner. We scour for blankets or a place to sleep. At this point we realized that the shack (with no doors) was colder then the tent. We grab 3 of the small stools that we had used for dinner and rush them back to the tent. Into our shivering madness we knew we had to do something. It was time for "the Huddle". We position the chairs into a triad and sat facing each other and went into an awkward huddle. David smartly suggested that we put the one non-soaked sleeping bag over our heads, which we did. Unfortunately all 3 of us are equipped with blazing-ly fast digestive systems, and when I say blazing, I mean it. So here we are, recreating a scene from Mel Brook's Blazing Saddles where they eat beans around a campfire. Each horn that blew caused for a retreat outside of the blanket, which caused us to come up with a new game plan. At this point we're tired, wet, and delirious so I don't exactly remember who came up with the next set of strategies. We decided to mix it up, three in a row side-by-side, triangle position back-to-back-to-back, sleeping bag over top, sleeping bag over the legs. Nothing was working. Desperate times call for desperate measures. We ended up 3 in a row as if we were riding a 3-man-motorcycle. 3 full grown men sitting on small child size stools like the 3 stooges in a canoe. It couldn’t get any worse. Happiness Level: F-

The Hamster
No one ends up sleeping that night as we brave the storm in our soaked tent. We finally come upon good luck in the morning as 2 French women are taking a 2-hour taxi ride from town to the campsite. We take the taxi back and enjoy a 2-hour ride on a road with no pavement and plenty of slippery rocks. That night we decide to hit the town's nightlife and enjoy our freedom from the horrible trials of hiking in nature. We heard that it's common for the locals to eat "Cuy" or as we call it "Guinea Pig", "Hamster" or "Herbie". We found a wandering chef who took us to his favorite local restaurant that served the pet delicacy. After our bowl of soup, the Cuy was served. Rice, potato and a big brown ball of hot hamster served on a plate. I ate my hamster in silence as our chef tour guide stared at us eating. Thankfully the little guy didn't have much meat, just tons of little bones that I could hide under the pile of rice. Sorry Herbie, you don't taste that good. Happiness Level: D+

Wannawhat?
The day arrives, after a night of eating late night pizza with questionable cheese and dipping hardly fried fries into spicy yet tasteless green sauce. We wake up early and decide to walk up the mountain trail to Macchu Picchu, hopefully regaining some of our dignity and questioned manhood. The view is amazing, beautiful ruins made of rock and green grass. My stomach starts to rumble, leading to a verp of chocolate energy gel, acid and Hamster sauce. I stay positive and take it as a sign of my digestive system doing it's magic. We decide to climb the highest mountain in Macchu Picchu called Wannapicchu. It's about a 45 minute climb but at a 45 degree angle up the side. As we climb up, I start to notice how tired my legs are and start breaking out into an undeserved sweat. We reach the top of the mountain and I look down at my stomach. It gives me the middle finger as it gurgles the stew brewing below. Then it hits me. It was time to "go". I tell the guys that I need to go back and rush down the hill. I glide down the mountain, clenching my backside harder and tighter on each bumpy step. There is a pack of German tourists blocking my path, who decide to do a half-walk, half-stand-in-your-f#$%*-way while shooting off-center pictures of plants. I duck through their unwashed bodies and make my way to the start of the path. My stomach taps me on the shoulder and says, "If you're not going to poop..." as I proceed to puke up water onto a patch of ancient rocks. There is a lady at the front of the bathroom, collecting 1 Sol ($0.30) to go into the bathroom. I nearly punch her in the face as my wallet is in the storage bin. Thankfully I found a Sol in my pocket and proceed to take the best seat in the house. I say my final goodbyes to Herbie. Happiness Level: B to F to A+

Case of the ruins
I stay sick for the next 3 days, bed-ridden for one, popping antibiotics like popcorn and praying to survive our final days in Peru. We need to train back to Lima to spend the last days of our trip. The train is leaving in 10 minutes so we run to the station. As we arrive to the gate, I decide to let out one of my sickened farts outside of the train. Then as I let the bugle sound, the world stops and I feel my shorts fill up, as if I had made a smoothie from my ass. "Never trust a fart" my wise friend had once told me. I trusted, and now I have sharted. I run to the bathroom, lock the stall and pull my pants down to exam the damage. I had been spared. From all of my crappy life-threatening experiences during the trip, I finally came up on top (pun intended). My special durable REI underwear had saved me, acting as a nest, holding in all of my "eggs". I threw the $25 diaper into the small trash bin in the stall and thanked the Gods of REI for sparing me as I had gotten a case of the ruins. Happiness Level: D- to A+

There are many other stories in this trip, such as when we stayed at a $9/night hostel in which the ceiling leaked anytime you flushed the toilet and when we took a bus back to town during a rainstorm and possibly hit a person or burro. But to be honest, I wouldn't trade this experience for anything in the world. Ok maybe a few things...

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