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Jason & Ricky's Gaycation
  • Jason and Ricky 's Gaycation

Jason & Ricky's Gaycation

A 350-day adventure by Jason and Ricky Read more
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  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Gotta Go to Crazy Cuzco

    January 22, 2018 in Peru ⋅ ⛅ 14 °C

    After a seven-and-a-half-hour bus ride from Puno, we arrived in Cuzco, once the capital of the Inca Empire. We travelled with Transzela on one of their VIP buses. VIP is a euphemism for a bus that is in working order and it isn't a rust bucket on wheels. We both agreed that we would trade our jobs to be the hostess of the bus. She poured a few drinks and turned on the TV and then spent the rest of the journey lazing around in the back of the bus. Oh, she did get up to change the movie on the TV too! She'd obviously moved from short-haul to the long-haul journeys and was lapping it up VIP-style, forgetting that she was supposed to be the one waiting on the passengers.

    Throughout our five-day stay in Cuzco, there were two constants: rain and crazy drivers. The rain did not deter us from experiencing the sights and sounds of the city. The loco drivers, the second constant, kept us on our toes as they drove as if they were playing a real-life version of Carmageddon, mowing down pedestrians as they walked across the roads. The drivers certainly didn't slow down and instead sped-up. No doubt, it would be double points for striking down a gringo.

    On our second day, we set out to explore the historic centre of the city, with its colonial style buildings. Before the thunderstorm interrupted, we wandered around the narrow laneways and the Plaza de Armas. Somehow we ended up in a biker's pub without knowing it. There, we met two Peruvian guys, Carlos and Tony, who didn't look like they rode a motorbike, although who knows what they did in their spare time. After a drink, and riding out the storm in the biker's pub, we ventured back home, a thirty minute walk from the centre of town. But not before stopping off at our new home, Torta, a cake shop situated less than a hundred metres from our accommodation. Also, for the first time, we got to try Inca Kola, marketed to the locals as a unique favour with a name that conjures up images of their Inca ancestors. But in reality, it is just (yellow/golden) creaming soda with a Coca-Cola marketing twist.

    The following day, we picked-up on our adventures from the day before and ended-up at Qoriancha, which was once an Incan temple but was destroyed by the Spanish conquistadors and converted into a Christian church. Our pick-a-path adventure then lead us to one of the most important stones in Peru, the Twelve Angled Stone. And in true Cusqueño style, the sky opened up and pelted down rain, leaving us to take refuge in the nearby museum entrance. What better way to spend the rest of the afternoon but to graze our way home, taking shelter when needed.

    Our previous drinking habits had turned into eating habits, with most days centred around what new tastes we could discover: Inca kola, churros and cake. On our third evening, we caught up with Dave and Terrie, a Canadian couple who we had met in Mendoza. They introduced us to their new American friend, Sam, the animal conservationist, who entertained us over dinner with tales of his travels to exotic parts of the globe. Of course, the discussion, at one point, focussed on Australians overseas and US politics. Insert Donald Trump jokes here (and jokes about drunken, dumb Aussies). And of course Canada stayed neutral!

    The following day, we met up again with Dave and Terrie and hung out for the afternoon. The first priority was to find food, and luckily they like to indulge as much as us. Dave desperately needed to get a haircut, as advised by his personal stylists, Jason and Terrie. So after lunch we headed to hairdresser street for Jason to check out the talent and give his seal of approval, as if he was sweaty Betty, the Queen of England (Australia and Canada). A hip and happening salon was selected and Dave was primed for his Cuzco cut. Jason, Ricky and Terrie sat back and observed the shenanigans that were going on in the salon, as the barbers cut hair and watched a Peruvian-style Jerry Springer on TV. Then, out of nowhere a loud bang was heard. A couple of the boys muttered something in Spanish to which Jason replied in perfect Spanish some expletives that shan’t be mentioned. The response from the barbers was priceless. Clearly, they were not expecting such language from a gringo. Let's put it this way, if Jason was given a report card on his Spanish it would go something like this: “Jason has improved his Spanish communication skills but has exceeded all of his classmates in mastering expletives and offensive language.”

    Ricky decided that if Jason was a Little Miss character that he would be called Little Miss Potty Mouth or Little Miss White Privilege. When Jason had used up all of his mobile data on his phone, Ricky thought that it was the end of the world for Little Miss White Privilege. Not another day could go by without internet access while out and about. There might be an emergency (on Facebook or Instagram)! Heaven forbids if one of Jason's posts went viral and he was unaware of it. But after five days in the Inca capital, connected to the worldwide web, it was time to move on and to delve deeper into the Sacred Valley of the Incas in search of our next adventure.

    Next stop: Ollantaytambo.    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler
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    Onto Ollantaytambo

    January 27, 2018 in Peru ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C

    Like the Incas trying to escape the Spanish conquistadors, we retreated into the Sacred Valley to a small, old Inca town called, Ollantaytambo, almost two hours from Cuzco. Around mid-morning, we caught a taxi to the central “bus terminal”; that is, a place where mini-vans and Über drivers (minus the Über app) called collectivos congregate. As our taxi pulled-up at the terminal, crowds of men swarmed around our car, all calling out prices to go to Ollantaytambo or Urubamba. For some reason, we thought that it would be much more comfortable getting a car over a crowded mini-van. Though, we really should have considered the size of the car and the size of the other passengers. The car was the size of a match-box, smaller than something Mr. Bean would even drive. Ricky called shotgun and spent two hours with his knees lodged in the dashboard, while Jason rubbed blubber with the oversized Latino guy and his girlfriend in the back seat.

    We arrived in Ollantaytambo in the afternoon with plenty of time to explore the small town of eleven streets, four longitudinal and seven parallel. The town is surrounded by imposing mountain ranges and the remnants of Inca ruins. The ruins on Temple Hill, misnamed the Fortress, were actually part of the estate of the Inca Emperor Pachacuti, who also built Machu Picchu. The complex includes a number of terraces and ceremonial structures, including the Temple of the Sun. While at the temple, some teenage girls asked us to pose for a photo with each of them. It was as if we were the latest boyband to come out of Peru X-Factor. Anymore attention and we won't be able to return to our former life!

    The maze-like ruins were difficult to work-out, with little signage around the complex. We were like rats with a bad sense of smell in search of cheese. So instead of frantically running all over the place, we asked one of the workers on how to get to one of the temples. He misunderstood the temple we wanted to visit and we ended up on a long expedition up the mountain to the peak. Ricky, who has a phobia of heights, gripped onto whatever he could to prevent himself from sliding off the cliff-face. Although filled with fear, the view from the peak, overlooking the entire town was breath-taking and worth the cuts and scratches from the cacti and gravel goat-track. After climbing down off the edge of the cliff, we rested amongst the family of alpacas. Or as Jason would say “Alpacas, llamas, Aztecs, Incas. Same, same but different”.

    In the small town of Ollantaytambo, there are no traffic lights, but there are traffic police armed with a whistle and a baton, which they had stolen from a ping-pong player from the summer Olympics. Some of the traffic police got a bit overzealous with the use of their whistle and it sounded like we had stepped into the final quarter of a netball game. Others seemed less enthusiastic and could barely raise their baton to direct the traffic. The small town was well-worth the stop-over and probably deserved even more time before our next stop.

    Next stop: Machu Picchu.    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler
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    Magical Machu Picchu

    January 29, 2018 in Peru

    One of the main reasons for visiting Peru (or even South America) for many people is to see Machu Picchu, the most famous icon of the Incas. Machu Picchu Pueblo (Aguascalientes) is located in the Sacred Valley of the Incas, one-and-half hours from Ollantaytambo by train (via Inca Rail). There was a definite change in atmosphere compared to our previous stop. The street-hawkers were much more aggressive in their approach and, in low season, they seemed prepared to offer all kinds of discounts to entice customers. Two-for-one offers were outdone by four-for-one offers. But these offers often came with a catch in the form of an automatically-added-tip disguised as a service tax. Almost every meal came with a discussion about “the service tax”. Jason was adamant that he needed to teach them that Australians do not tip, particularly when there is non-existent service.

    Immediately, Ricky noticed another difference: hairless dogs. Many of the dogs roaming the streets were hairless; smooth as a baby's bottom, except for a small tuff of blond hair on top of their head and sporting a great nana knit to keep them warm. We soon learnt that this breed of dog is native to Peru, the Peruvian Inca Orchid, although they pre-date Inca cultures. For a moment, we thought they all had the mange.

    On our first night, we decided to eat at the restaurant that was situated at the front of the hotel. When the waitress came to our table, she rabbled off a series of words that were too fast for us to understand. Ricky replied by requesting that she speak slower. She then began speaking as if she was in slow motion, with over-exaggerated facial expressions. Her voice became louder and she spoke so slowly that it was if she was teaching her dog to beg. She didn't even bother to speak to Jason. He was persona non grata. Funny thing was that we still didn't really understand everything that she said.

    It became apparent early the next morning that our neighbour was unable to resist the four-for-one offers, as we awoke to what we imagined was him hugging the porcelain bowl and regurgitating last night's pisco sours. There were bouts of silence punctuated by sounds of moaning and flushes of the toilet. Good morning!

    Then, it was time to prepare ourselves for the ascent of Machu Picchu. Firstly, we took a small bus, which weaved up the narrow switchbacks to the top of the mountain. The bus off-loaded all of the passengers and we set out for the Sun Gate (Inti Punku), as if we were in search of the lost city of gold, el Dorado. We had arrived at Machu Picchu on the 30 January, one of only two days in the year where the Sun does not cast a shadow on the Sun Gate. The Sun Gate was not only the gateway to the sanctuary and probably guarded by the Incan military but it served as a kind of timepiece.

    We trekked along the Inca trail, clinging onto anything in our way to avoid sliding off the cliff. But like the lost city of gold, we couldn't find the sundial in the Sun Gate. After almost an hour of hiking, the weather had become overcast and the Sun had retreated behind the clouds. But the view from the monument overlooking the valley and the main complex of Machu Picchu was worth the blood, sweat and tears. There were a number of moments that we were going to turnback if the Sun Gate wasn't around the corner. It was only afterwards that we read that only those with some fitness and those who aren't afraid of heights should attempt the trek. The worse part was the return trip. It involved a bit of sliding along on our bums as we descended down the mountain. We came to the conclusion that the Incas definitely didn't want some things to be found easily.

    While we were in Machu Picchu Pueblo, Jason’s compulsion to shop became difficult for him to resist, although he has absolutely no space in his backpack. He even learnt the Spanish verb, gastar “to spend” and, like a broken record, repeated the phase ad nauseam. Before heading out, Ricky leant over and said to Jason “to save time, if you have any questions today, the answer is “no”. There's nothing here for people like you”. The budget had definitely been blown by the visit to Machu Picchu, the residence of the Inca Emperor Pachacuti, but it was well-worth the visit, although Jason was slightly disappointed when he found out that most of the structures have been reconstructed in the twentieth century.

    Next stop: Lima, via Ollantaytambo and Cuzco.    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Livin' La Vida Loca in Lima

    January 31, 2018 in Peru ⋅ ☀️ 23 °C

    We had travelled into the depths of the Sacred Valley of the Incas and now we had to traverse back via Ollantaytambo and Cuzco to Lima. For the hour-and-a-half train trip to Ollantaytambo, we sat across from a (slightly younger), Spanish Anna Wintour wannabe, with a face full of fillers and botox that made it difficult to gauge whether she was happy or sad. We're fairly certain she wasn't happy with the snack and drink that was provided on Inca Rail – probably too many carbs, gluten and definitely more calories than dust or air.

    We arrived at Cuzco Airport with about an hour to spare. As we checked into budget LC Peru, we were offered an earlier flight if we could get to the gate immediately. Taking off, we bolted to the gate to wait in line for another twenty minutes. So much for that earlier flight! The so-called earlier flight ended up arriving at the originally scheduled time, minus some of our luggage. When we collected our baggage, Jason noticed that his bag felt lighter. It wasn't until we arrived at our accommodation that he realised that his bag had been opened and he was missing his “valuable” toiletries bag. Maybe the baggage handlers really needed the clippers and tweezers to do some manscaping. Or was it the washing powder that they mistook for Peruvian marching powder (a.k.a cocaine). Whatever prompted the theft, they certainly won't be retiring on their bounty, unless three cotton buds, some band-aids, washing powder, clippers and tweezers fetch higher prices on the black market.

    The area of Miraflores in Lima became our home for the next ten days. For the first two days, we spent time hanging out with our Canadian friends, Dave and Terrie, who we had met in Mendoza, and wandered the streets almost aimlessly in search of bakeries, restaurants and anything to (try to) satisfy our insatiable appetites. In comparison with most other parts of the city, the area appeared much more affluent, though it still had the same traffic problems. The drivers in Cuzco had nothing on the driving abilities of the Limeños. It seemed anything goes on the road. But there is one thing that is for certain, the cars need good brakes and a loud horn to tackle the mayhem and chaos. Even at night, we were kept awake by the tooting of the traffic and the general hustle and bustle on the streets. There is a clear hierarchy on the streets, with cars and motorbikes at the top and cyclists, runners and pedestrians at the bottom (in that order). Pedestrian crossings exist throughout the city but they are merely a suggestion and purely ornamental. Don't think for a second that a motorist will stop for you, even if the little “green man” is flashing at the traffic lights. The roads are more like an arena for bullfighting with pedestrians used as the red flag. Pedestrians are lucky if they hear the car horn as the driver speeds towards them.

    Within the carpark that is Lima traffic, there are some oases in the form of parks, so-called places for people to rest and play. As we walked through Kennedy Park in Miraflores, we overhead a man on a nearby bench call out: “you're too tall for here. Where are you from?”. We just ignored him and kept walking until he continued yelling insults at us, calling us arseholes. A few days later we ran into the same guy who opened with the same line again but with a added twist: “welcome to the neighbourhood!”. Over the course of ten days, this wouldn't be the only odd experience we had with one of the locals.

    As we walked around the historical centre of Lima, admiring the colonial-style buildings, we ran into another local, Pedro, who spoke English. The conversation started off innocently enough with questions about where we came from and how long we were in Lima. Then, Pedro asked if we were brothers or friends. To make things simple, we just said friends. We've come out of the closet enough in our lifetime; there wasn't a need to do it all over again with a stranger. Pedro then went on a rant about how people in Lima were open-minded and then asked how long we had been together. He proceeded to say that he had been married and has a 27 year “child” but was now “like us”. He certainly didn't mean fair and tall. Maybe he meant travelling itinerants! By this stage, we were fairly certain that at some point he was going to hit us up for money; that is, before he hit on us. Pedro complimented Jason on his Spanish. He then turned to Ricky and said he liked Ricky's arse, and with those words slapped him on his arse. Violated on the streets and then violated again on the crowded bus as we squeezed on-board to get home.

    The next episode involved an interaction with a guy who was a cross between a Peruvian Dustin Hoffman from rainman and Eddie McGuire from the game show Who Wants to be a Millionaire. The guy started to ask questions and immediately Jason put his head down into his phone and ignored him, leaving Ricky to do all the talking. Ricky and the game-show host covered all kinds of topics from geography, language, Australian imports and exports and even famous performers. At one point, Ricky needed to phone a friend but that friend was unfortunately unreachable (or just ignoring the call for help), leaving Ricky stranded and without answers or an escape route. The security guard in the park even got concerned and positioned himself nearby but never offered a lifeline, just like the phone-a-friend. After a while, we excused ourselves and said that we needed to be elsewhere. Almost immediately, we ran into another guy who asked where we were from and, by this stage, we had become sceptical of strangers and made a quick exit back to our hotel.

    On our sixth day in Lima, we were booked into different accommodation but we had not heard back from our Airbnb host. We started to get concerned and so we walked around to the accommodation to confirm that it actually existed. We happened to see someone entering the apartment complex, who turned out to be the sister-in-law of our Airbnb host. She made a few calls but she wasn't able to connect with our host. Things were not looking good and we started to mentally prepare ourselves that we might be sharing accommodation with the refuge cats in Kennedy Park. It turns out that the host denied receiving our booking. Apparently the host had not been recently seen by her family and was not well. We suspect that this was code for “she’s gone on a drug-induced bender and had gone AWOL”.

    The last few days of our stay in Lima were spent Indiana-Jones-style exploring the ancient ruins of Huaca Huallamarca and Huaca Pucllana, which were built by the Lima culture between the third century BCE and the third century CE. Most of the ruins have been reconstructed but the colossal pyramids give a great perspective on previous cultures in Lima and a great perspective of the surrounding city. We followed up our exploration of the ruins with a trip to the Larco Museum, which houses some of the most important artefacts from the previous civilisations of Peru; most notable and interesting were artefacts with “erotic” decorations. Most people are familiar with the Inca civilisation, but until the early to mid-twentieth century little was known of the other 20+ cultures from the past 12,000-10,000 years that have left material remains in Peru. Surviving the temple of doom, without being a human sacrifice to the gods, it was time to pack-up once again and hit the road.

    Next stop: Trujillo.    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Transit in Trujillo

    February 10, 2018 in Peru ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C

    After our stay in Lima, it was time to continue our adventure and head to the north of Peru. One of the possible stops along the way was Chimbote but, with some research from our Canadian friend, Dave, it seemed that this may not be the most ideal stopover. According to Canadian Dave's trusty travel guide, the town is known for its fishing industry, which apparently can be smelt miles away. Chimbote was ruled out, not only because of the smell of fish but also its crime rate. All of the guidebooks even warned against staying overnight. That squashed those plans! But Jason was adamant that we were not travelling inland to higher altitudes and cooler climates. Instead, we decided to suck-up an “eight-hour” bus trip direct to Trujillo. Well, as direct as it can be in South America.

    Early in the morning, our Über arrived and we headed to the bus terminal in Lima. Fifteen minutes into the journey it became clear that the incorrect address had been entered into the Über app and we were heading in the completely wrong direction. After asking the driver to stop, we tried to explain, in poor Spanish, that we needed to go to a different location. While it took some time, we got there in the end and communicated the correct address. We may have added some buffer time to our timeline and told the driver our bus was leaving half-an-hour earlier than it was actually scheduled. Speeding through the streets of Lima, we arrived with plenty of time. A fare that was supposed to be a cheap, quick trip ended up about three times the price. And in typical Peruvian fashion, the bus departed late, which meant that we arrived into Trujillo late – THREE HOURS LATE!

    Along the way, the bus drove at a snail's pace, stopping regularly, even though the route was supposedly direct. The desert scenery barely changed for the entirety of the journey and driving at 20 kilometres an hour definitely wasn't so the passengers could soak up the scenery. It took almost two hours to get out of Lima traffic and onto the highway to Trujillo, passing through stinky Chimbote as we sat on the bus next to the stinky old man polluting the bus with his body odour. At this point, we realised that we probably wouldn't arrive at the scheduled time. Surprise, surprise.

    Eventually, after eleven hours, we arrived at the bus terminal in Trujillo. The taxi driver who took us to the hostel warned us about the neighbourhood and cautioned us about wandering the streets after dark (and it was already pitch black). The first priority, after check-in, was to seek-out sustenance, because the slop served on the bus was neither satisfying nor tasty. Our short leash extended around the corner from the hostel, where we ate hamburgers with cold chips/fries. It seems almost every meal in Peru (and Bolivia) is routinely served partially cold.

    With only a day in Trujillo, we had limited time to wander around the historical centre and to admire the brightly-coloured colonial buildings. While Trujillo is the third most populous city in Peru, it has a small town feel to it. According to one of the taxi drivers, a mafia-like gang controls the entire city. The driver mentioned that he has to pay a small daily fee to ensure his safety and the safety of his family. It was probably for the best that we continued on to our next stop.

    Next stop: Huanchaco.    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Hanging Out in Huanchaco

    February 11, 2018 in Peru ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C

    Huanchaco is a coastal town, about twenty minutes from Trujillo by taxi. The journey was actually faster than our negotiations with the taxi driver to get us to Huanchaco, as we struggled to communicate that we didn't want to leave immediately. We tried to explain that we wanted to leave later, around lunchtime, to give us time to explore Trujilo's historical centre. In the end, we got our message across and seemingly both parties understood.

    We arrived at our hostel in Huanchaco and discovered a veritable Noah's ark living in the complex. We were greeted by the friendly cat, Fidel, who had been abandoned, along with the hostel for over twelve months. Apparently Fidel approved of the hostel renovations and decided he would stay put and become the hostel guard cat. To keep Fidel company, there were also two tortoises and three rabbits, including one intersex bunny with a wonky eye like Paris Hilton. The beach and ocean could be seen from the hostel balcony, with perfect sunsets over the Pacific ocean.

    After checking in, we wandered down to the shore to check-out the local delicacies on offer. As we sat eating our lunch, we partook in some people watching, observing some of the unique fashion on display by the locals and the itinerants passing through town. Jason pointed out one woman who was wearing such tiny shorts that Ricky was unable to see them because her handbag was bigger than her shorts. There was certainly more material used to make the handbag than the rest of her outfit. At this point, we saw a familiar sight in the distance in the form of our Canadian friends, Dave and Terrie, who joined us for lunch and who would be our neighbours at the hostel for the next six days and nights.

    On the first evening, we discovered a secret that Terrie had been keeping from us: the cake man. Each night at 7pm, one of the local bakeries traverse the streets of Huanchaco selling their cakes, tarts, biscuits and all kinds of delicious sweets. We had heard the sounds of a horn but Lima had desensitised us to all kinds of tooting and beeping. We suspect Terrie wanted to kept it a secret to get in first and clean out the cake man. We made up for missing the cake man over the next five nights. We could have opened up our own bakery with the bounty that we returned with. Each night, we waited patiently for his call to action and at the slightest sign of him we scurried down the steps, fearing that we may miss out on the tasty sweets. All nightly activities revolved around the schedule of the cake man. It was as if we were possessed by Marie Antoinette and took her suggestion to eat cake to the extreme.

    Sweets had quickly replaced the liquid calories of beer, caiprinihas and pisco sours. There's no wonder that our waistlines have expanded faster than you can say “let them eat cake”. Even our families have noted the extra kilos of our pastry baby bulges but, like crackheads looking for another hit, we are addicted and can't inhale the sugary sweets quick enough. To counter the excess calories, we enrolled in the yoga classes on offer at the hostel but we’re afraid that the horse has already bolted. Maybe we can get liposuction in Mexico before we return home. But in the near future, it may be necessary to fatify our clothes [to adapt clothes to accommodate an expanded waistline, usually involving sewing an extra panel of material into the clothes].

    After exploring the historical areas and clearing out every bakery in sight, we adventured further afield and took a day trip to Trujillo, along with Dave and Terrie. We split up with Dave and Ricky heading to the Huaca de la Luna, a Moche monument located about twenty minutes from Trujillo, while Jason and Terrie remained in Trujillo to shop and to see the sights. The evening was capped off with more food from the street vendors in the centre of town, a first for Terrie who has been placed under the evil influence of Jason. The kebab sticks, papa rellenas and picarones became a staple part of our diets for most of the time in Huanchaco, along with the cheap two course menu del dias.

    The next day, we wandered to the outskirts of the town to explore the streets and to walk off some of the excess calories, or more to the point to make room for more calories. The town didn't have a supermarket but we lost count of the number of shops selling baked goods. We stumbled across one bakery and got roped into being photographed wearing a sash in front of a painting. At first we thought the store owner wanted a picture to put on their social media site showing that gringos had frequented their establishment. But this wasn't the case and he ended up taking the photo with Jason’s phone. The store owner pushed and shoved us into place as Jason, Ricky and Terrie stood around wondering what was happening. We had no idea why the store owner insisted on taking the photo; we never asked for it and it just left us puzzled.

    Apart from surfing and yoga retreats, the other attraction in Huanchaco is the historical site of Chan Chan, about ten minutes from the main part of the town. The complex was the capital of the Chimu civilisation and was used as the residence of the Chimu royalty. Most of the complex has been destroyed by natural forces as well as by the Spanish conquistadors and only a small section of the twenty square kilometre complex, the Nik An, is open to tourists. From Chan Chan, we took a taxi to the Huaca de la Esmeralda before picking up supplies in Trujillo and then returning home, via the Chan Chan Museum, to eat more cake.

    On our last morning, we weren't greeted by Fidel the friendly cat, which had been commonplace over the previous five nights. Later, we found out that Fidel had been poisoned and had gone missing. Eventually, after a number of hostel guests went in search, Fidel was found alive but in a bad condition. The poor thing had spent the night vomiting, hidden away from the rest of the world. Fortunately, the worse was over for him and he was able to receive the care he needed. When it came time to leave, we had to tear ourselves away from the cake as well as the calm, chilled-out surroundings of Huanchaco.

    Next stop: Chiclayo.    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Chicos en Chiclayo

    February 17, 2018 in Peru ⋅ ⛅ 29 °C

    From Huanchaco, we arranged for a taxi to take us to Chiclayo, about three hours north of the coastal town, along with our friends, Dave and Terrie, who we have affectionately nicknamed “Team Canada”. Team Canada have joined us on our amazing race across Peru. But the amazing race almost came to a halt an hour before we were ready to leave Huanchaco, when we received a message from our driver saying that his car would not make the journey but that he had sourced other transport at a much higher cost. Team Australia and Team Canada went into crisis recovery mode and went in search of alternative transport. After some negotiations between the teams, we settled on a car that would actually make the 100 kilometre journey.

    We arrived in Chiclayo in the late afternoon, before the sunset, giving us and Team Canada time to explore the centre of Chiclayo, around the Plaza de Armas. During the evening we were awoken by the roar of a wild animal. At first, we thought Team Canada had brought with them a hibernating brown bear with sinus problems. Coming from the land down-under, we've never dealt with a bear before, other than the gay, hairy type found in most pubs and clubs, so we stayed still and pretended to be dead. Turns out the brown bear's name is Dave.

    Chiclayo is the fourth largest city in Peru with a population of around 750,000 and with almost as many ancient ruins, much to Jason's displeasure. With so many sites surrounding the city, we went in search of available tours, along with Team Canada. We were recommended a particular tour company but, when we arrived, we found the shop closed. But at that very moment, a mini-van pulled up directly in front of it. Terrie noticed a guy from England, who we had met in Huanchaco, named Kev in the mini-van. We found out that he was taking a tour of Sicán, Túcume and Lambayeque. We also knew that we couldn't delay our tour because all of the museums would be closed the next day. Before the lights went green, we had agreed to join the tour and took off in the mini-van.

    The first stop was the Sicán National Museum. Sicán is the name attributed to a culture that lived in the Lambayeque region between 750 CE and 1375 CE. Debates amongst archaeologists continue as to whether Sicán culture is separate to or part of Moche culture, which preceded this period. The next part of the tour continued onto Túcume, where 26 pyramids and mounds surround La Raya Mountain. Apparently the area, nicknamed purgatory by the locals, are still frequented by local sharman healers. Some of the items used in their rituals, such as “voodoo dolls”, can be seen in the on-site museum.

    The final stop, after a quick bit to eat, was the Royal Tomb of the Lord of Sípan. The story of the discovery of the royal tombs in Sípan in 1987 is almost as interesting as the contents of the tombs. Apparently the archaeological discovery only became known after tomb robbers had a disagreement and informed the police, who in turn notified a prominent archaeologist who had been working in the area. Locals supposedly didn't appreciate the work of the archaeologists and tried to scare them off by propelling objects at them in the hope that they would go away and then they could continue the pillaging that had began earlier.

    The Royal Tomb of the Lord of Sípan is considered by some archaeologists as one of the most important discoveries in South America in recent times, due to the fact that the main tomb was untouched by the tomb robbers. The body of Lord Sípan was found inside the tomb along with numerous funerary items. According to archaeologists, the Lord of Sípan was 1.63 cm tall and about 35–45 years old when he died. Apparently the royals of Sípan practised incest and the lord was found to have had deformities of the feet. Buried alongside the Lord of Sipán were six other people and a dog. One of the males, identified as a warrior, in the tomb had his feet amputated, presumably to prevent him from leaving the tomb. In total, there have been fourteen royal tombs discovered.

    The next day, along with Team Canada, we headed to the Mercado Modelo, a large market on the north side of the city. Within the mercado, there is section called the Mercado de Brujo, the Witch Doctor's market, where all kinds of potions and antidotes can be purchased. One of the main ingredients used by many of the ancient cultures in Peru is San Pedro's cactus, which is psychoactive and when consumed causes hallucinations. San Pedro's cactus was given to the “victims” before they were sacrificed to the gods. Its seems that there is still a demand for San Pedro's cactus if the Mercado de Brujo is anything to go by. Fortunately we all made it out of the market without being drugged and taken hostage as a sacrifice, and we could continue on with our journey to the north of Peru.

    Next stop: Piura.    Read more

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    Piura: the Eternal City of Heat

    February 20, 2018 in Peru

    The next stop on our north Peruvian expedition was Piura, known as the eternal city of heat. Or is that the city of eternal heat? The weather is reasonably constant in Piura with the minimum temperature rarely dropping below 20 degrees celsius in summer. For Team Canada, Dave and Terrie, who had joined us on our journey northwards, the heat was a stark contrast to the bitterly cold weather of their hometown. But for us, it felt like another summer's day in BrisVegas, although less humid.

    Piura is three hours by bus from Chiclayo and is the fourth largest city in Peru, with about 180,000 people. We were prepared for the bus to arrive later than scheduled but it seemed that the driver was on a mission to get us to our destination. For the fast, three-hour journey, the driver tailgated anything that got in his way. It was a wonder that the cars didn't end up becoming a decoration for the front of the bus. And we had front row seats! Every time the driver went over 90km per hour, there was a loud beeping sound, which could still be heard long after the trip. It's possible we're all suffering from tinnitus now. At least, we got to our destination on-time and alive. In recent times, there have been a number of buses that haven't made it to their destinations.

    Our time in Piura was spent mainly feeding our food addictions and exploring the centre city, around the Plaza de Armas. We were accompanied, as partners in crime, by Team Canada, who were staying 10 minutes away. We’re not sure if they were entertained or wanted to slowly slip away into the sunset, when we had an altercation with a street vendor selling cold drinks. Jason handed the vendor money to buy a cold drink but soon discovered that the woman wanted three times the price of a restaurant or supermarket. He politely told the woman that he didn't want the drink and that we would like his money back. This turned into a saga with the woman refusing to give the money back. Things soon escalated and a nearby security guard came over to investigate what was happening. In the end, we called the vendor a thief and walked away, as the woman continued to argue with the guard. After our time in Piura, Team Canada is probably sighing with relief to have rid themselves of the “rogue” Australians who made them traverse across the maniac streets of Peru, narrowly missing the cars as we weaved in and out of traffic to secure our next treat.

    After spending the last eleven days with Team Canada, we said our farewells as we went in different directions. We already miss the sound our their Canadian accents while we are “oot and aboot” and decked out in our toques. But we are sure that they will think of us when they are home amongst all the snow and ice, drinking their hot homo milk. We even started to speak Canadian and will be able to fit in like natives when we go to Timmies [Tim Hortons, a Canadian coffee and donut shop] for a timbit and a double-double. We tried to teach the Canadians some Aussie slang but it was all too much for them. Maybe we will try again if we get to meet up at another destination.

    Next stop: Loja    Read more

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    Little Loja

    February 22, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 22 °C

    Our first stop in Ecuador was a small city in the south of the country called Loja, about eight and a half hours from Piura in Peru. Founded in 1548, the town is proud of being the oldest city in Ecuador. The climate, at 2060 metres above sea level, is cooler than the hot desert of northern Perú and with much greener vegetation. The border crossing at La Tina and Macara was straightforward and relaxed. Immigration officers did not seem to be too concerned about national or bio-security. Well, they let through two Australian itinerants and about eight other people with little hassle, only rummaging haphazardly through a couple of bags.

    Once we crossed the border, this was when the real fun began. The bus went round and round the mountains, switchback after switchback. Within thirty minutes of the rollercoaster ride, we both started to suffer from motion sickness. Neither of us had ever experienced motion sickness before but then this bus ride was like nothing that we had experienced either. Ricky was almost concussed as the bus threw him from side to side and propelled him out the toilet door, hitting his head on the overhead compartment. This did nothing for the motion sickness. For four hours, we sat trying not to vomit and hoping for this journey from hell to end. Finally we arrived in Loja around 8:30pm and took a taxi to our hotel situated in the downtown area. Even at the hotel, we felt as if we had been taken out the washing machine after the turbo spin-cycle. A cup of tea and a lie down was in order, although the very, small double-bed could hardly fit two six-foot-plus guys.

    After a night's rest and recovering from the motion sickness, we set out to explore the downtown area. Much of the city seemed to be under construction with road works but at least the traffic didn't seem to be stuck in a game of Carmageddon trying to mow down pedestrians. The downtown area is filled with a number of plazas and colonial style buildings: Central Park, Cathedral of Loja, San Francisco Church and Park, San Sebastian Church and Simón Bolivar Park. The downtown area of the city is only small so it was easily traversed within a few hours.

    We only intended to stop in Loja for a short period to break up the journey to the north of Ecuador and after two nights it was time to move on. As we checked out of the hotel, there seemed to be some confusion about the hotel bill. According to our reading of the booking information, the total amount should have been less than the requested amount. We have become accustomed to people trying to pull the wool over our eyes to take advantage of the ignorant tourist. We questioned the amount and after a few exchanges we were still no clearer on the difference. We left paying what we thought was the correct amount and which matched the advertised rates behind the check-in counter. It wasn't until later that we re-read our booking confirmation that we saw in small fine print that the taxes were excluded from the total costs. Once we became aware of our error, we contacted the hotel to apologise for the misunderstanding and asked how we could rectify the situation. However, their response made no sense to us, even after using Google Translate. So we are no closer to resolving the situation. The booking was in Jason’s name so we hope he isn't hauled off to an Ecuadorian prison to become the top dog's bitch.

    Next stop: Cuenca.    Read more

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    Cruzin' around Cuenca

    February 24, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 15 °C

    We had only just recovered from the journey to Loja and then we set out for Cuenca on what seemed to be groundhog day. The rickety bus went 'round and 'round the Andes mountains like a merry-go-round on amphetamines. This time we were prepared with motion sickness tablets, although Jason questions whether they were placebos or simply sleeping pills, because Ricky slept for most of the journey. After a five-hour bus ride, without feeling ill, we arrived in the quaint, old city of Cuenca. The architecture and vibe of the city was different to many other South American cities, with more of a European flavour to it. This in part is due to the many colonial buildings that survive from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

    Although the city of around 700,000 people was larger than some of the places we had passed through, there was more tranquillity in the air. The roads seemed much more civilised with traffic signs and lights to direct the flow of traffic instead of the Mexican standoff that was commonplace in Peru. The attitudes of people also seemed to be more liberal, as we immediately noticed the diversity. We stayed in the downtown area and there seemed to be a significant trans* community in Cuenca. Sexuality too seemed to be considered much more fluid than Western hetero-homo paradigms. We met a Canadian guy who had set up a foundation working with people affected by HIV and AIDS. From his perspective, he said that it was not uncommon for woman to have four children by the age of twenty and for wives to be unconcerned about whether their husbands were having sexual affairs with other women or men. Some of the statistics that he quoted about HIV infection rates in the city were concerning.

    Originally, we had only planned to stay three days but this extended to ten. This gave us an opportunity to enrol in more Spanish classes and to get to know the city better. We met an American-born Ecuadorian, David, who had returned to his ancestral homeland two years previously. Immediately, Little Miss Pottymouth (a.k.a Jason) was at it, trying to brush-up on his las palabrotas (swearwords) with our new found friend. Ricky assured Little Miss Pottymouth that the priority was to understand the language so we could communicate more effectively, not to become a fishmonger and his wife.

    Our first lesson at the Spanish School commenced with a general conversation in Spanish. We think this was to gauge our (poor) level of Spanish. The teaching method at this school was focussed on learning through conversation rather than hours of grammar (grammar lessons were saved for homework). It wasn't long before the conversation took a turn and the teacher started explaining some of the differences between Latin American Spanish. She told us a story about when she was in Central America ordering cake and how she used a word that was a slang word for vagina without realising. The story was intended to reassure us that even native speakers are not familiar with every word or every Spanish-speaking country. Little Miss Pottymouth looked at Ricky as if to say “did she just say vagina”. If it wasn't already clear that she was talking about vaginas, she started pointing to her nether regions, which made Little Miss Pottymouth squirm in his seat. The conversation then got diverted to Tinder and how to find a good gringo man. Five minutes earlier and we wanted to swipe right out of the conversation.

    Over the week, we had two different teachers, both of whom found our accent intriguing. At times, both of the teachers tried to mimic us but didn't quite hit the mark. One of the teachers told us a story of another Australian student that when he spoke she had to ask him to speak English. The teachers probably learnt just as much about Australia and Australian culture as we did about the Spanish language.

    The next seven days were spent immersing ourselves in the Spanish language, in between hunting and gathering amongst the streets of Cuenca for new delicacies to contribute to the ever-growing waistlines. And of course it wouldn't be a trip to South America without us running into a protest. This time all transport in the country was on strike. Fortunately, we had decided to extend our stay because we were due to travel on the day of the strike. Our Canadian friends, Dave and Terrie, formerly known as Team Canada but due to our Spanish immersion have been renamed los Canadienses, were not so lucky and had their bus cancelled. This meant that their arrival to Cuenca was delayed.

    When los Canadienses arrived, we went in search of the best BBQ slow-cooked beef burger that we have ever tasted. But the illustrious burger alluded us for days as we wondered all over the streets like water diviners trying to find water. It wasn't until our final night, after some detective work using Google Maps, that we found the tasty burgers. The burgers couldn't escape our salivating mouths, like Pavlov’s dogs, as we devoured the food in nano-seconds. We've definitely noticed a correlation between the increase in food intake and the decrease in the number of steps each day and the increase of our waistlines. Soon, they will be rolling us out onto the tarmac to get us onto the plane.

    While los Canadienses were in town, we headed to the artisanal markets to partake in one of Terrie and Little Miss Pottymouth’s favourite pastime: shopping. During the course of the day, we stumbled upon a shop that sold all kinds of products made from tagua nut, marketed as ecological, sustainable and cruelty-free ivory. It looks and is as strong as ivory but grown on a tree with no need to kill animals for their ivory. We got the low down (as well as the high down, side down and every other angle) about how it is made and all of the many different uses – and all in Spanish! We walked out the shop proud that we had a conversation and for the most part understood it, más o menos (more or less). We continued practising our Spanish outside of the shop and were overheard by another shopkeeper who just smiled and chuckled to herself. It was probably las palabrotas that were coming out of Little Miss Pottymouth.

    We could have easily stayed longer in Cuenca and it was difficult to tear ourselves away but other adventures are still awaiting us further north. Loaded like pack mules, we headed to our next destination, accompanied by los Canadienses.

    Next stop: Riobamba.    Read more

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    Skipping through Sigsig and Chordeleg

    March 4, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 13 °C

    Two days before leaving Cuenca, we took a bus to Sigsig and Chordeleg, along with los Canadienses, Dave and Terrie. The bus was crowded with people standing in the aisle and, as we went past police stationed alongside the road, everyone standing was instructed to duck down to avoid the gaze of the police. After almost two hours, we arrived in the town of Sigsig and immediately los Canadienses commenced their search for Panama/Ecuadorian hats, which are worn by many of the indigenous people in the area. We were given three different instructions by five different people on how to find the famous hat shop. We figured the two that correlated were our best bet and to ditch the bum steers.

    After a few purchases by los Canadienses in Sigsig, we headed to Chordeleg, renown for its silver and gold jewellery. And it wasn't difficult to see that silver and gold were the main commercial activity of the area with the town overrun by jewellery shops to the point it was difficult to see anything but jewellery. If the Spanish were still looking for more Incan silver and gold to steal they needn't look further than Chordeleg.

    Next stop: Back to Cuenca    Read more

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    Rushin' through Riobamba

    March 6, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C

    Heading to the north of Ecuador, we decided to break up our journey and stop in Riobamba for a night. One thing that we have learnt is that if the bus company says that the journey will take four hours, it is likely to take at least one to two hours longer. We've also learnt just because there is a toilet on the bus it doesn't mean that passengers can use it. It's kind of like a good room in a house that never gets used, except on important occasions with important people who need to be impressed. We had to almost plead to the bus attendant to use the toilet and reassure him that we only needed to do a number 1. We are surprised that he didn't make us sign a contract on the non-existent toilet paper. So after six hours on the bus, we were ready to jump ship. Lucky, we had been monitoring our location as there was no announcement that we were at Riobamba. If we had not asked, we would have ended up at the next main town, about an hour away. As it was, it felt as if we were out in the sticks, on the outskirts of town.

    We were able to flag down a taxi, who took us to our hostel. When we got to the hostel, we surveyed our surroundings and came to the conclusion that we were staying on the wrong side of the tracks – quite literally. After playing a game of “what nationality are these gringos”, we were handed our keys. One of the staff leant over to the woman behind the front desk and said “Alemanes” (Germans) and pointed in our direction. Immediately Ricky interjected with “no, somos Australianos”. We are often mistaken for Germans, French, twins or German/French twins. And often the question is asked whether we want two beds rather than just one matrimonial bed. Sometimes the question is asked repeatedly.

    With the limited time that we had, we headed directly to the historic centre of the city. But along the way, we stumbled upon a shop that had a unique speciality: sports shoes in one section and sex toys in the other. The window display included some interesting merchandise that wouldn't be permitted in Australia but here no-one seemed to blink an eye. We continued on our way to the downtown area. The downtown streets are lined with colonial-style buildings. For a small city, the streets were a hive of activity, with cars and people going about their business. Looming in the background is the Chimborazo volcano and other mountains, which look down on the Chambo River Valley from far above. At a little over 2700 metres, we had expected that we may have had problems with the altitude but it seems that we've acclimatised to high altitudes. We didn't need to get used to the altitude for too long as we were off to our next stop, lower down in the valleys.

    Next stop: Baños.    Read more

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    Bumming around Baños

    March 7, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    From Riobamba, we travelled to Baños via Ambato, which, although it was only a short distance away, took most of the day to get to our destination. Baños de Agua Santa is a small town situated at the foot of the active volcano, Tungurahua, and is known as the “gateway to the Amazon”. We had conjured up all kinds of stereotypical images of the Amazon jungle with head-hunters wearing traditional costume, shrunken heads and blowguns. Instead, we entered the world of adventure tourism, with bungy jumping, water sports and mountain adventures.

    The small town, with a population of about 15,000 people, can be easily walked in a few hours. Even within the small town centre, there are impressive waterfalls cascading down the sides of mountains, steep gorges dropping to the Pastaza river below as well as the famous mineral-enriched thermal springs. Anyone would have thought that it was paradise, except for the loud, pumping techno music that was blasted across the town. We suspect that practice for the local school eisteddfod was in progress as short snippets of music got placed on a perpetual loop.

    The town is also known for its many hiking trails, so, along with our little brown Canadian bear, Dave (a.k.a one half of los Canadienses), we set out to traverse one of the nearby mountains. Not long into the walk, the little brown Canadian bear morphed into a little Canadian mountain goat as he took-off up the mountain, skirting around narrow pathways to make it almost to the top. After a short breather to take in the views from far above the town, we made our descent. The next day our bodies ached, most likely out of shock that we had forced physical exertion rather than loading up on calorie-laden pastries from the panadería.

    The following day, we, along with los Canadienses, travelled “deep” into the Amazon to a town called Puyo. In the depths of Puyo, we traversed through the concrete jungle to find the local coffeeshop, before setting out on a trek through the Amazonian jungle in search of shrunken heads and sloths. At the coffeeshop, we planned our strategy. It was there that the little Canadian mountain goat told the barista that los Australianos were loco (crazy). To which Ricky replied “No, los Canadienses están locos porque viven en el hielo y sus cerebros congelan.” [No, the Canadians are crazy because they live in the ice and their brains freeze]. We all chuckled and went on our search.

    The little Canadian mountain goat was determined to find himself a shrunken head and Ricky continued to hunt for the ever allusive sloth. But to their disappointment neither were found along the well-constructed walkway, in the shallow-end of the Amazon basin, along the Puyo river. There were no threats of being ambushed by a cannibalistic, headhunting tribe looking for some gringo heads to shrink or a slow-moving sloth falling from a tree. The only threat we were likely to encounter was salmonella poisoning from food purchased along the way. We certainly would never make it as contestants of the reality TV show “Survivor”. After the “gruelling” fifty minute trek through manicured pathways, we jumped on-board the next bus to Baños to prepare for the next part of our adventure.

    Next stop: Quito    Read more

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    ¿Qué Pasó en Quito?

    March 10, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 22 °C

    From the shallow-end of the Amazon in Baños, we travelled four hours by bus to Quito, the capital city of Ecuador. We arrived at the bus station and it appeared that there were very few people catching our bus. No more than five minutes after we commenced our journey, the bus stopped and hoards of people got on, filling up every available seat, with a few left to stand in the aisle. Then came the “late night” infomercial on-board the bus with hawkers selling their goods. But these hawkers were unlike others who normally sell baked goods, drinks or other snacks. They even had a suitcase filled with all kinds of odds and ends. They had everything from hair straighteners, solar-powered lamps to sunglasses; everything except the free steak knives. Pero espere, hay más (But wait, there's more). The sales pitch went on for about twenty minutes, with one spruiking and another handing out the goods for people to look at or try, except they didn't bother with the gringos. The language barrier was obviously too much for them. Phew! One of the rare moments where lacking the language skills, or at least appearing to, has been to our advantage.

    When we got to Quito, the bus dropped us at the terminal in the outskirts of the city and we then had to make our way to the downtown area by taxi. Not long after we arrived at the terminal, we ran into los Canadienses, Dave and Terrie, who had taken a slightly later bus but managed to arrive around the same time. Dave went out to the taxi rank to enquire about the cost. But by the time that we got back out to the taxi rank, the price had increased from US$8 to $10. The extra cost was either inflation or a gringo tax. We jumped in two taxis and headed for the centre of town. There was no way that we would have all fit in one taxi, along with all the luggage and shopping that the los Canadienses had brought with them.

    When we arrived at our hostel, we quickly unpacked and went to explore our surrounds. And while we felt there wasn't much in the area by way of food and drink, we were able to sniff out tasty treats. We were able to combine both alcoholic beverages and dessert in one treat in the form of alcoholic lollies. The lollies were filled with a small shot of alcohol that burst in the mouth. Unfortunately, the delicate sweets needed to be consumed immediately – there was no way that they were going to survive the next part of our trip. What a shame!

    We continued to graze our way through Quito but, according to Jason, he felt that despite the lack of exercise and the increase in calories that we had lost weight. Jason assumed this on the fact that he needed to wear a belt. However, Ricky crushed his wishful thinking and offered an alternative hypothesis; could it be that our clothes have simply stretched? If we were to stand on the equator near Quito, our bellies would be in the northern hemisphere and the rest of body would be in the southern hemisphere. Do they sell lite and easy meals in South America? We certainly haven't seen a Jenny Craig Weight Loss Clinic anywhere in South America – just many panaderías selling sugar-laden desserts.

    In between snacks and meals, we caught up with los Canadienses, who joined us in our gastronomical adventure through Quito, before they continued on their journey of Ecuador. We spent the next few days wandering around the downtown and historic areas of the city, admiring the colonial-style buildings. According to UNESCO, Quito is the largest and best-preserved city in all of the Americas and became a World Cultural Heritage Site in 1978. Being within one kilometre of the equator and at an elevation of 2850 metres, the city is the second highest capital city and the closest to the “middle of the earth”. Fortunately, the elevation of the city means that it has a cool, subtropical highland climate. After four days in Quito, we decided it was time to move on to lower, warmer weather.

    Next stop: Guayaquil    Read more

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    Stopover in Guayaquil

    March 14, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 30 °C

    Guayaquil is the largest city in Ecuador and became our home for a night before heading to the Galapagos Islands. We had not planned on going to Guayaquil but, when cheap flights to the Galapagos became available, we took up the opportunity. It meant making a stopover in Guayaquil for the night, which we were more than willing to do for the discounted tickets. However, after we purchased our flights from an Australian online travel website, we started to read and hear horror stories about foreigners purchasing tickets that were valid only for Ecuadorian citizens. Online forums reported foreigners arriving at the airport and being whacked with a fee for travelling on the incorrect fare. Immediately, we sought clarification from the travel agency only to be provided with a generic response that failed to answer our query. And still we wait for a competent person to respond to our query. Fingers crossed we aren't fined and we get to our next destination.

    Next stop: Galapagos Islands.    Read more

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    Going to the Galápagos

    March 15, 2018 in Ecuador

    We arrived at Guayaquil airport early in the morning, anticipating that we may need to pay a fine for purchasing the incorrect fare. Fortunately for us, there were no issues with our tickets. But there was a queue a mile long at the customs counter. All checked baggage had to be scanned by customs and we had to pay a departure tax before we could check-in to our flight. Instead of all of the transactions being processed at one central point, we had to line for customs and then stand in line to pay the departure tax. We split up and one scanned the bags while the other stood in line to pay the tax, before checking in with the airline. After an hour in line, eating breakfast and striking up a conversation with a Croatian couple, who live in Panama but holiday in the Galápagos, we reached the front of the queue and had just enough time to check-in and get to the gate before take-off.

    We were prepared for the Galápagos to be expensive but we had heard such amazing stories about the islands that we thought that it would well-worth it. It's supposed to be a trip of a lifetime to an area that is full of unique wildlife and landscapes. David Attenborough’s documentary and indeed Ecuadorian tourism market the islands as a special place on earth that (helped) contribute to Charles Darwin's theory of evolution. And while the history of the island and the scenery are interesting, it really fell short of all the hype, particularly for two Australian boys who have seen blue, crystal-clear water and plenty of unique wildlife in our own backyard.

    We were told by one of our tour guides that the first inhabitants were only interested in making money from the island and it seems hundreds of years later very little has changed, except much of the wildlife have been reduced or disappeared due to human activity and the introduction of foreign flora and fauna, changing the eco-system of the islands. Immediately on arrival, foreigners are required to pay $100 each to enter the Galápagos, which if it was directed to the protection of the island and providing infrastructure we would have had no problems, but our impression was that only some of this money is being directed to these causes.

    Only four of the islands are inhabited by people so to see more remote areas it is necessary to go on a cruise or tour. Our first day on Santa Cruz Island was spent roaming from one travel agent to another trying to find the best last-minute cruise. We had heard of some people spending US$4000 for a seven day cruise, which works out to be a five day cruise, because most boats don't leave port until late in the evening on the “first day” and return early in the morning on the “last day”. We were convinced by one travel agent that we would be better off doing day trips to maximise our time without compromising on the opportunity to see a variety of animals and scenery. It also worked out to be a cheaper way to see many of the islands.

    Our first tour was to Pinzón Island to go snorkelling with the sea lions, sharks and fish. At first, snorkelling took a bit of getting used to, as neither of us had experienced anything like this before. Despite growing up in a beach culture, neither of us had really been water babies. Apart from a few sea lions, the wildlife that we saw was fairly scarce and was unlike the David Attenborough documentary. Maybe it was the wrong season or maybe we went to the wrong islands. Our first impressions were that we could have seen more on the Great Barrier Reef. However, we did meet some great people on the tour, particularly a German couple, Jenz and Sandra, and their two children who had recently visited Australia and couldn't stop raving about their adventures. At first, Jenz spoke English with a thick German accent, but, by the end of the day, he had switched to more of a British crossed with an Australian accent. His wife, Sandra, was fluent in Spanish, so we tried to brush up on our Spanish with her; that was in between Sandra and Ricky vomiting over the edge of the boat as it bounced across the ocean.

    The following day, we had a spare day to wander around on dry land to the Darwin station on Santa Cruz Island, along with one half of the los Canadienses, David, while the other half of los Canadienses, Terrie, got pampered at the local spa. Unfortunately, the Darwin station was not as impressive as we had expected, except we somehow missed the turtle breeding centre. We did witness, on a number of occasions, sea lions making themselves at home on park benches and seats along the shore or begging at the fish market for any off-cuts on offer.

    After being land bound for a day, it was time to hit the seas again. This time, we headed for Santa Fe for some more snorkelling and the promise of seeing more wildlife. Unfortunately apart from a few fish, a manta ray, a stingray and a few sea lions, the two-legged creatures on our tour were more interesting and made up for the lack of wildlife. We spent most of the day exchanging travel stories with Nynke and Erik, a Dutch couple and practising our Spanish with Eylen and Carlos, a Colombian couple from Medellín. We all hit it off so well that we ended up continuing the party with some cocktails afterwards. We exchanged contact details and vowed to catch-up. In fact, we caught up with both couples numerous times over the next few days.

    After four days on Santa Cruz Island, we travelled to Isabela Island, where we spent the day wandering along the beach. Unlike Santa Cruz, Isabela was less touristy but more polluted. We couldn't get over the amount of rubbish that littered the Island. It certainly wouldn't make for a great postcard picture and it didn't feature in David's doco.

    Our second day on Isabela commenced with a tour to the Túneles, which are volcanic lava formations situated in the ocean. We almost didn't make the tour because the tour group had forgotten to pick us up. In hindsight, it was a sign of what was to come. Unfortunately, we weren't lucky enough to be part of a fun, social group, which had been our previous experience. Instead, we were faced with a rude, overweight Spaniard and his wife. The man was so arrogant that he thought the rules of the island didn’t apply to him. On the tour, we were fortunate enough to catch sight of three blue-footed boobies, which are native to the islands. Insert boob joke here. Except the Spaniard couldn't understand that we shouldn't intrude upon the boobie's territory and remain at least two metres away. Maybe he wasn't familiar with the metric system. But, when we were snorkelling and a huge sea turtle swam by, he couldn't stop himself from grabbing the turtle by its flipper. This kind of behaviour continued throughout the day, despite being told not to by the tour guide. At the end of the tour, he went up and close with one of the sea lions. But the sea lion wasn't having any of it and stood up and roared at him. Pity the sea lion didn't make a meal (or two or three) out of him. Obviously, even the sea lion thought he tasted a bit off. The day finished on a brighter note when we met up with Nynke and Erik, los Hollandés, for more drinks, along with a Canadian couple, Debbie and Irene, who we kept crossing paths with.

    The final day on Isabela Island was spent on a tour to the volcanos. Again the tour group almost forget about us as we waited and waited for the old, converted truck to arrive. As we jumped on-board, we immediately saw two familiar faces, Pierre and Gita, another Canadian couple who we had crossed paths with in Huanchaco in Peru and Baños in Ecuador. The volcano tour was actually more interesting than expected, mostly because the tour guide was knowledgeable and informative. After the tour, we caught up with los Hollandés once again for drinks and dinner, but only after Jason cut Erik’s hair. The end result was a Dutchman with a German haircut, just like us. Instead of craving herring, Erik is now likely to be on the search for some sauerkraut or currywurst.

    Early the next morning, we boarded our boat back to Santa Cruz Island. Unlike the boat on the way over, this one was no larger than a small fishing boat and only slightly bigger than a dingy. From the moment that we left the harbour, the boat bounced and crashed against the waves. Jason assured Ricky that once we had passed the breakwater that things would settle. However after almost two hours, our stomachs ended up in our throats. Thankfully the motion sickness tablets kicked in and we made it to dry land alive. We have whinged and whined about some of the flights along our journey but none of the flights come anywhere near this experience. Even an industrial-sized washing-machine-cum-plane couldn't spin and toss as much as this boat trip.

    We were looking forward to getting to dry land and were expecting to take a tour to see the giant land turtles in the highlands. When we got to Santa Cruz Island, the tour agent claimed that this was not included in our package, when we were under the contrary impression. Lesson learnt. Make sure to get a detailed itinerary in writing before agreeing to the tour package. So we made our own way to the highlands to see the turtles. Afterwards, we couldn't get off the islands quick enough to return to the mainland and continue on our journey. Despite many of the negatives, if we hadn't of visited the Islands we would’ve never formed great friendships. The two-legged creatures on the islands were definitely far more interesting.

    Next stop: Quito    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler
    1

    Quick Stopover in Quito

    March 22, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C

    From the Galápagos Islands, we returned back to Quito for two nights, staying close to the historic centre. Our first day back in the second highest capital city in the world was spent revisiting some of the sights in the historic city, punctuated with bouts of eating. At lunch, we couldn't help but notice a number of sex workers and their pimp plying their trade up and down the street. The sex workers, wearing skimpy short skirts and sporting Kim Kardashian-style buttocks, strutted as they waited for their clients. In the evening, we meet our new Colombian friends, los Colombianos, Eylen and Carlos, for a drink and a bite to eat. After practising our Spanish with los Colombianos, we vowed to hunt them down in Medellin and then returned to our hotel to prepare for our next destination. There was nothing more to see here. Time to move along now.

    Next stop: Otavalo    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Out and About in Otavalo

    March 24, 2018 in Ecuador ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    We travelled two hours by bus from Quito to Otavalo in the north of Ecuador. Otavalo, while only a small town of about 40,000 people, is famous for its Saturday market, which seems to cover most of the centre of the town. We got to Otavalo and quickly set out to explore the stalls that lined the streets. Stalls selling jewellery, ponchos, shrunken heads and much more filled every available space. It was impossible to see everything in the one day. But what was possible was running into a Canadian couple, Pierre and Gita, who we had meet in a hotel in Huanchaco (and ran into in Baños and the Galápagos Islands). Now we were all staying at the same hostel again. It seems this (small) world, at least Latin America, has been overrun by travelling Canadians oot and aboot in search of warmer climates.

    While the Canadian's tried to avoid the cold Canadian winter, we continued in our search for the world's greatest pastry (or was that the greatest ice-cream or dessert). It seemed we couldn't go from one corner to the next without testing the local produce. The fruit salad laden with cream and cream-cheese was justified because, hey, there's fruit in it. At one point, Jason became possessed by one of the Real Housewives of Melbourne, Lydia, and kept telling Ricky that if he wanted to gorge himself he would and if he wanted to go on a diet he would. The latter is inevitable.

    The next day, we were awakened by the chiming of church bells and a procession of people filing into the church carrying cuttings from their crops. We stood outside looking on as most people adorned themselves in traditional costume. Most women wore white embroidered blouses with laced sleeves teamed with a dark coloured skirt and matching bands around their waist and hair. Many of the women also wore gold beaded necklaces, with the number of necklaces and size of the beads indicating age and wisdom. Men, on the hand, wore white pants with a blue poncho. One of the processions (yes, there were many throughout the day) included a re-enactment of Jesus on a donkey and people chanting in the background. For two atheists, it was a fascinating ritual to witness before heading to our next destination.

    Next stop: Ibarra    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler
    21

    In and Out of Ibarra

    March 26, 2018 in Ecuador

    From Otavalo, we set out for Ibarra, about forty-five minutes away by bus. The plan was to stay one night in Ibarra and then get up early the following morning to cross the border into Colombia. The only real criteria for our lodging for the night was that it was close to the bus terminal, cheap and clean. Well, one out of three isn't the greatest success rate. The hostel looked as if it had barely survived a nuclear attack and the cockroaches were the only survivors, along with the local addicts who use the space as their drug den-cum-hostel. We were surprised that instead of the free toiletries that the hostel didn't supply syringes and a spoon. The large, spacious room couldn't make up for the stains sprayed all over the walls and the dark dank smell in the corridors. The pictures certainly didn't match the dump that we were offered. Although there was very little within the city, despite being one of the largest cities in the north of Ecuador, the streets offered more than being cooped up in the Bates hotel waiting to be the next victim of some psychopathic drug addict. Needless to say, we exited as soon as we could.

    Next stop: Ipiales    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler
    1
    1

    One Night in Ip Ip Ipiales

    March 27, 2018 in Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 13 °C

    Early in the morning, we headed from Ibarra to Túlcan on the Ecuadorian-Colombian border to try and beat the rush hour. We had heard horror stories from friends who had waited eleven hours to cross the border, due to the overwhelming number of Venezuelans fleeing their homeland. The bus took us to the terminal at Túlcan and then we shared a taxi with an Argentinian girl that we had met on the bus. Once we arrived at Ecuadorian immigration, the fun began with a two hour wait to simply stamp our passports. This gave us time to get more acquainted with our new Argentinian friend, Maria. Fortunately for us, Maria spoke English quite well. She punctuated her sentences with “fuck” but, with her Argentinian accent, it sounded more like “fark”. Sometimes the placement of “fark” sounded odd and out of place but it made us chuckle.

    While we were in the immigration line, we were mistaken for refugees by the Red Cross, as they handed out care packages to people.Once we finally got to the front of the queue, it took all of one minute for the immigration officer to stamp, scan and hand us our passports so that we could walk across the border and stand in line for another three hours on the Colombian side to repeat the process. Bags were not inspected or scanned. In fact, most of the cars crossing the border were not even inspected; some were sprayed with chemicals, presumably to prevent biohazards from crossing the border, but even this seemed random and when customs officers could be bothered.

    We joined the end of the queue on the Colombian side of the border and settled in for the long haul. A young German boy in front of us struck up a conversation, telling us all about his travels in South America during his gap year. Soon, the German boy disappeared and was replaced by one of his friends. It felt like groundhog day as we relived the same conversation with the second and third friend, with slight variations on the same theme. At least it made the three hours in line go by a little quicker.

    The next challenge was to find a taxi from the border to the town of Ipiales, the city of green clouds (la ciudad de las nubes verdes), only a short distance away. Somehow when we got to our hotel, the price had increased from the originally agreed price. We thought he had said that the price was 4 each, and we assumed he meant 4000 pesos each (about AUD$2 each), which is the normal price. At the hotel, the price became US$10 until we questioned the amount in front of the concierge. Miraculously, the price went down to 10,000 pesos, which was still 2000 more than a local would pay.

    After a night in Ipiales, we got up early to travel to a nearby church, las Lajas, which is built in the canyon of the Guáitara River. The church was built on the spot where the Virgin Mary was said to have appeared to a visually and hearing impaired girl and her mother in 1754. Legends claim that when the young girl died, the mother returned to las Lajas to pray to Mary and miraculously the daughter was revived and came back to life. Over the centuries, this place became a pilgrimage site before the current church was built in 1916. Still today, many people go in search of miracles or place plaques to ask for a miracle to occur. While we respect the belief's of others, each to their own and everything, for outsiders/atheists, we couldn't help but think that in any other context these behaviours or beliefs would be construed as a mental illness. It's all about perception!

    The non-believers, observing from afar, retreated back to their hotel, without experiencing any visions of “sacred” dead people or witnessing any miracles. It was a miracle that the church remained standing after two gay atheists entered the “holy” grounds. From an architectural perspective, the neo-gothic structure is breath-taking as it sits wedged at the bottom of the gorge, overlooking a waterfall cascading into the river below. It's not hard to see why las Lajas is a popular tourist destination for both believers and non-believers.

    Next stop: Pasto    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    A Pause in Pasto

    March 28, 2018 in Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    We arrived at the terminal de transporte in Ipiales and found the only way to get to Pasto was by collectivo / small minivans, sometimes referred to as microbuses or megabuses, depending on the size of the vehicle. We had eyed-off a transport company that had buses that were bigger than a matchbox car. But as we have become accustomed in South America, you never get what you think you are getting and we ended up squashed into the back of a “megabus”. The megabus was supposed to hold eight people but the child sitting on his grandmother's lap didn't count as a passenger.

    After about two hours of driving around mountains, watching the constant flow of Venezuelan refugees heading to the border, we were dropped off at the Pasto terminal de transporte. Pasto is the capital of the Nariño department, with about half a million residents, but surprisingly with very little on offer by way of tourist attractions. Our intention was only to stay a night to break-up the northbound journey and to take a pause from the endless bus trips around the Andes mountains.

    Next stop: Popayán.    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Passover in Popayán

    March 29, 2018 in Colombia

    Northwards bound we headed from Pasto to Popayán, the white city (la ciudad blanca), a two hour journey by bus. Popayán is considered as one of the most conservative and religious cities in Colombia, so what better time to visit than Easter, or as the Spanish call it, Semana Santa. When we arrived at our accommodation, we realised that the city centre was a twenty or thirty minute walk and that very little existed outside of the gated-community that would be our home for the next two nights.

    On our second day, we wandered around the city centre amongst all of the white, colonial-style buildings. Popayán was filled with people walking all over the place, many of whom were on a pilgrimage to the main Cathedral. Tagging along, we made it to the top of the hill, slightly out of breath, to witness a procession along the Stations of the Cross, situated around the church. It was at this point that Little Miss Pottymouth unleashed a tirade of profanities and blasphemous remarks that, if we had been seeking shelter in a church, it would have crumbled into a thousand, million pieces. Fortunately, most people wouldn't have understood much of the tirade other than perhaps the word Jesus and considering it was his day of days it didn't raise any eyebrows.

    After our brief religious experience, we headed back into the centre of town in search of the famous el Viernes Santo (Good Friday) procession. We ended up stumbling upon the floats for the parade, housed in a nearby church, but not the actual procession. As we wandered aimlessly, a Police Officer struck up a conversation with us and we queried her about the procession. We didn't quite understand whether the parade was supposed to commence in the day or night. It turns out the procession didn't start until 8pm that night.

    As we waited for the procession, in all its glory, another Police Officer began chatting to us, in broken English and we responded in broken Spanish. As we acknowledged that both parties lacked the skill to have a conversation, others listened into the conversation. We're sure the stickybeaks were thinking “oh, how lovely, the Gringos are trying to speak Spanish”. With a few well-wishes from the Police Officer and those eavesdropping, the Police Officer went back to his post and we waited in anticipation for the procession to commence.

    The procession was headed by a high-ranking religious figure followed by a number of altar boys and girls, in addition to the military police band, pounding out an eerie and haunting melody and drumbeat. For the first half an hour or so, the procession was entertaining but after two hours we had had enough of the seemingly endless floats depicting the trials and tribulations of Jesus on his death day.

    While our Spanish still needs a lot improvement, we found that we were able to have some basic conversations with some of the local police and a guy, Jose, who lived in the same gated-community. We'd been practising our Spanish tongue-twisters almost daily and when we regurgitated the rhyme, Jose confirmed we spoke like a six year child. But compared to four months ago, this was significant progress for us. Unfortunately, we couldn't hang around longer and we had to keep moving to reach our next destination.

    Next stop: Cali    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Cautious in Cali

    March 31, 2018 in Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 25 °C

    After a three-and-a-half-hour bus journey, we arrived in Cali, the salsa capital of the world. As we approached our apartment in the downtown area, we noticed that the streets were almost deserted except for a few homeless people, who had set up their temporary abode outside our apartment building. It was Easter Saturday but it felt as if the World had ended and Armageddon was approaching. Most of the people on the streets appeared to be under the influence of some kind of mind-altering substance, as they roamed about like zombies; some sat in broad daylight as they pulled out their pipe to fed their addiction or laid on the ground sniffing fumes in a plastic bag. It was if the outside world didn't exist and they lived in a parallel universe.

    We had been warned, especially by our Colombian friends, that we needed to be cautious in Colombia because our pasty-white skin and tall stature would be a dead giveaway that we were gringos. And to many, gringos equals a walking ATM (cajero automatico) with lots of cash at their disposal. The murder rates in Cali also didn't fill us with a sense of security, even though police and private security guards were seen throughout the city. Some neighbourhoods even hire watchmen, armed with a large machete, to keep guard over the street. Apparently, the municipal government of Cali spends much less on public security than any other major city in Colombia. And it is evident on the streets.

    During the daylight hours, we were courageous enough to venture out into public, avoiding any areas that looked as if we might be express kidnapped. At one point, we needed to make a quick detour to avoid a young guy who whipped out a machete from his bag. And as we walked through Parque Simón Bolivar, we heard a voice call out in English. At first, we ignored the voice and continued to walk. The voice started getting louder, so we turned and acknowledged the man. The man began shouting words that we’re fairly certain were intended to be welcoming but the tone had the opposite affect. We simply thanked him and continued on our way.

    On Easter Sunday, we happened to stumble upon a church service and tried to sneak in the back entrance. Insert crude joke. But we only got to the door of the church before the parishioners started wishing each other a Happy Easter and, as they filed past us, they started shaking our hand and muttering some words. Exit stage right before the place goes up in flames. In fact, it was exit stage right out of the city before we were express kidnapped or sold into human slavery to become drug-addicted prostitutes.

    Next stop: Armenia    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    A Couple of Nights in Armenia

    April 3, 2018 in Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C

    Before arriving in Colombia, we thought the only Armenia that existed was the country that borders Turkey and competes in the Eurovision Song Contest, but, it turns out that it is also the name of a “medium-sized” city and the capital of the Quindio Department in the Andes Region. Armenia was a three-hour microbus journey from Cali and is one of the main coffee-growing regions in the country. Jason was in heaven to finally experience some “good” coffee.

    When we arrived, we wandered around the city in search of food, fun and some coffee for Jason. We walked away with full bellies but unfortunately there wasn't a great deal of beauty or fun to be found in the city. Two out of three ain't bad. Unlike Cali, our personal security didn't feel threatened; well, relatively unthreatened. Though, the streets had its fair share of dodgy characters.

    The next day, we went to the nearby theme park dedicated to coffee, Parque del Café. Well as they say, when in Rome. The theme park is about 12 kilometres from Armenia and occupies an area of 96 hectares that includes rides, shows, two telefericos, a train and a small coffee plantation. One of the aims of the theme park is to promote and to keep alive Colombian coffee culture. One of the attractions includes horse-riding and, like a child at a country fair, Jason mounted the horse and joined his new riding club. At first, Jason thought that he'd been given the grumpy, old horse with attitude, as it bucked a bit to begin with. But Ricky thought it was probably a match made in heaven. Jason survived the adventure and made it back before the torrential rain set in, bringing an end to our day and bringing an end to our stay in Armenia.

    Next stop: Salento    Read more

  • Jason and Ricky 's GaycationJason & Ricky's GaycationTraveler

    Short Stay in Salento

    April 5, 2018 in Colombia ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    Twenty-four kilometres up the road from Armenia is a town called Salento, not to be confused with the more famous region in Italy. While the journey should have only taken about half an hour, on this occasion, it was more than an hour on a collectivo, mini-van. When we arrived, we quickly dumped our bags in our room and took off to see the Cocora Valley, home of the Quindío wax palm and national symbol of Colombia.

    To get to the Cocora valley, we needed to get a jeep from the main plaza of Salento, a short walk from our hostel. We were able to secure two of the five seats inside the jeep, while the rest of the passengers hung on for dear life on the back. The trip took about twenty minutes to get to the valley, before embarking upon a short trek to the mirador, which looks out over the valley with the tall wax palms lining the landscape. The palms can grow as high as 60 metres, with most growing to about 45 metres, and are the tallest monocot in the world. After getting a bird's-eye view of the valley and its tall palms, it was time to make our descent. Dragging the doubting Thomas down the hill, Ricky needed to convince Jason that he was heading in the right direction. And of course Thomas needed an ice-cream as a reward for completing the trek, even though the number of calories in the ice-cream far outnumbered the calories burnt. Diet, what diet?

    Rolling into the jeep, we fortunately got a seat and weren't made to hang off the back like tin cans on the back of a newly married couple's getaway car. We arrived back in one piece and immediately went in search of more food. That half-an-hour hike must have really worked up our appetites! After a bite to eat and a coffee, we returned to the hostel to rest before the next leg of our journey.

    Next stop: Medellín    Read more

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