I will still be sharing stories, photos and videos from my journey, but for now, I would like to leave you with a glimpse of some of my favorite moments from Peru.

These are 2 variations of the traditional reed boats on the floating islands of Lake Titicaca. Each boat is made entirely of dried reeds and filled with empty water bottles, and is steered with paddles and a Eucalyptus pole. Floating down the lake on one of these handmade boats is a surreal experience.

Hiking along the Inca Trail was an incredible journey, one that was mostly due to it’s scenic views. Whether I was gazing out at the close enough to touch cloud formations, or tentatively crossing a narrow mountain pass, my jaw was constantly dropped in amazement. Watching the Llamas frolic around the lawn of Machu Picchu was the perfect ending to this life-changing experience.

From the pebbled shores of Lima’s surf to the small fishing village of Chala, to the magnificent sunsets over surfer paradise Huanchaco, each beach that I visited in Peru had it’s own unique story. Watching the waves rise and fall was a calming, constant reminder that although I might not return for a long while, I would still have the memory of Peru and its waters, deeply ingrained in my mind.

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• How to Choose a Tour Operator for the Inca Trail (anamericangirlintransit.com)
• Photo of the Day: Traditional Duds on the Floating Islands (anamericangirlintransit.com)
• Adjusting Expectations on the Inca Trail (anamericangirlintransit.com)
• Blame it on the Altitude (anamericangirlintransit.com)

Located high among the rising sand dunes, Huacachina, Peru houses a giant oasis at its center; life bubbling forth amongst the miles of nothingness. Just a 15 minute mototaxi ride from Ica, this little resort town is the perfect layover on your journey down south to Cusco. Hostels and streethawkers compete for your business in sand board rentals, dune buggy rides, and neighboring day trips.

Rent a board for the day and spend the sunny hours hiking to the highest dune and racing down, snowboarding style. Enjoy the afternoon from a boat and paddle around the lagoon, or just enjoy the view from the surrounding eateries. An hour before sunset, grab a bottle of Pisco and a trek up as far as your legs will take you. Watching the sun change from red to orange to pink as it dips lower and lower is an incredible sight.

As you toast to good friends and a good life, make sure to take a few moments and get lost in the undulating peaks and neverending sand. Time stands still on these dunes, and it is a rare moment to experience such breathless clarity.

I couldn’t have been more wrong! Warm and woolly, my sweater held up marvelously against the finicky Andean weather.

The rest of the day was spent exploring the numerous Inca ruins, and marveling at the glorious pop of color against the bleak landscape.

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• Photo of the Day: Traditional Duds on the Floating Islands (anamericangirlintransit.com)

The women all wear brightly colored outfits from softly draped skirts, to warm, woolen sweaters, to pom pom accessories. I styled mine as a necklace, but this piece is typically worn as a fastening at the bottom of each woman’s long braids. Rocking the Peruvian kicks I picked up in Cusco, and with my jeans peeking out, I look like a typical Gringa!

What do YOU think of the local style?

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While traveling through the Sacred Valley region of Peru, I had been given the change to visit the tiny town of Rumira, high up in the Andes mountains. Accompanied by Threads of Peru, an NGO dedicated to the preservation of the traditional Quechua weaving traditions, I had the rare opportunity to meet and speak with the women of Rumira, talking about their daily routines, the process of weaving, and raising children while working such a laborious life.

As the van rumbled to a stop on a precariously large mound of wayside rubble, I tried to keep an open mind. I looked around at the handful of handmade huts comprising the village, the dogs running around, and the children covered in the dust of the nearby construction zone.

This was definitely not in my Lonely Planet guidebook..

I was shocked to see many of the women working in the construction zone alongside the men, while still in their traditional outfits consisting of long skirts, wool sweaters, and bowl-shaped hats. As my guide Urbano gathered all the women together to speak to me, I started noticing little details about the scene in front of me. One woman, who could not have been older than 20 was breast-feeding an infant while sitting on a pile of dusty rubble­­, a gang of four little boys were swinging around a metal pole, clearly the favored toy of the day, and two little girls, no older than eight, were staring and giggling shyly at me.

Clearly, my hiking boots and muted Uniqlo fleece did not fit in with the local love for bright colors, and traditional garb.

While the women were obliging in abandoning their work for a few hours, it was clear that they were eager to get through this interview and back to work. With the help of Urbano, a native Quechua speaker, I was able to learn about the current project in Rumira. The community was working together to build pipes, so that they would have running water for a communal bathroom. When I realized that each hour I detained them was an hour without a toilet, I tried to speak as succinctly as possible. The women explained that their first priority is assisting the men with the farming. Men in this region tend to work in one of two occupations: agriculture, or as a porter on the Inca Trail. The women are expected to help out with the farming, as long as help is needed, and then with the local community construction.

Weaving is actually more of a luxury, than a job, with many of the women citing this as their favorite pastime. Each woman was adorned in a brightly colored, traditional outfit, personalized with unique details and beading. Young girls observe their mothers at this practice, and tend to start fully learning to weave at around the age of 10. Each garment has a particular style, specific to the region. In Rumira, Urbano explained that the women would buy wool from the markets, usually pre-dyed to a bright fuchsia or neon green, and then sew on the geometric patterns. Each woman’s sweater and shirt were also typically purchased at a local market, but the hats were designed by hand. In Rumira, the traditional hats were a rounded basin shape on the crown, secured with a thick, white strap around the chin. Each woman would bead patterns along the band, creating beautiful patterns of birds, Inca kings, and local fruits.

While the women are off farming, cooking, building, or weaving, the children are left mostly to their own devices, creating toys and amusement from items around the house. Cereal boxes, empty bowls, and water bottles can create hours of entertainment. With such a busy life in Rumira, the children tend to grow up quite fast, helping out with the rest of the community by age ten.

Despite my knee jerk western reaction to judge the lifestyle of Rumira, i found myself noticing the peace in the air. The women all seemed very content with their life, and were eager to continue working on a project that would greatly improve their quality of life. They seemed to enjoy the slow pace, and as the day wore on, so did I. The noticeable lack of traffic sounds, and mindless chatter was replaced by the splashing of the nearby river and the calls of the surrounding wildlife.

There was life happening all around me, surviving over 12,000 feet in the sky. Life here in Rumira was simpler; the locals did not ask for much, and they did not take much in return. Seeing people, animals, and nature coexisting in harmony was truly a breathless experience, one finally not induced by the high altitude.

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• Peruvian Weaving Traditions (anamericangirlintransit.com)
• How to Choose a Tour Operator for the Inca Trail (anamericangirlintransit.com)
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Image via Wikipedia

An American Girl in Transit will be partnering up with Compass India this April 2012 to bring more awareness to the beauty of India. Compass is a luxury touring company offering set or personalized tours through all of India. Highlights include Ayurvedic spa treatments, wildlife safaris, elegant train rides across the country, and sampling some of the finest Indian cuisine.

I am so excited to explore this mysterious country and share the sights, sounds, tastes, and smells with you.

Leora

In 2001, the Inca Trail became heavily regulated, due to the high number of independent travelers passing through each day. The campsites were overrun, the trail became littered with garbage, and the Peruvian government feared the slow demise of their prized jewel, the lost Inca city of Machu Picchu. Now, travelers are required to book with a tour agency and can only hike the trail with a registered tour group. Each group is led by a trained guide, most of whom are Peruvian locals, and are accompanied by a fleet of porters who transport the tents, food, and other equipment needed for the hike.

With these new regulations being instituted, needless to say the Inca Trail tour market widened, and the streets of Cusco became cluttered with tour offices hawking treks to Machu Picchu. With this huge influx of companies, choosing a tour operator to guide you through the Inca Trail has become increasingly more and more challenging. Each tour seems to offer the same package, with some charging exorbitant fees, while others seem suspiciously low.

Before you hastily sign yourself up for just any tour operator, its important to understand a few things about the tour industry itself.

1. Not all agencies are licensed tour operators:
There are two types of companies that will sell you an Inca trail package: registered tour operators and middle men also known as endosars. The registered tour operators are a handful of companies that run, sell, and operate their own trail packages. Companies like Apus Peru, Llama Path, Peru Treks, and G Adventures are all licensed operators who will personally take you on the trail. The representatives that you speak with are the ones who you will be working with directly, so if you have an issue, you can go straight to the source.

Middle men on the other hand, are companies that sell the trail package for each day, and then pool all these people together. So for example, if you buy a package through company X, they may send you along to tour operator Y or Z, where you will be joined by others who might have booked with Company A or B. So if you are having an issue on your trail, or would like to register a complaint, its much more challenging to report. Do you contact the original company you booked through, or go through the channels to find the office of the tour operator you were eventually placed with?

This also means that during the high tourist seasons you can be thrown together with much larger groups than are ideal. Registered tour operators will typically run tours every day, no matter how many people they have registered. If you are looking to join a smaller or larger group, you can always contact them to see what they have scheduled for your available dates, while with middle men operators you never know what you will end up with.

2. You get what you pay for:

One perk of booking with these middle men, is that they tend to offer much cheaper rates than the licensed operators. This can be great for the budget traveler, as well as the experienced trekker, who does not need much hand holding along the way. However, consider what things you may be giving up in exchange for about $100 or so.

Registered companies offer superficial perks like group t-shirts, and uniformed porters for a more polished feel. They also tend to serve higher quality food, arrange personalized transportation from Machu Picchu, and will accommodate most dietary and religious requests.

With middle men, you usually don’t know which company you are being placed with until the start of the trail. So its much more challenging to make special requests. The overall experience is decidedly less glamorous, and less reliable.

3. Additional Perks

Certain tour operators have additional perks to booking with them. Apus Peru for example offers not only a secure and reliable tour, operated locally in Cusco, but also provides the chance to participate in an eco-friendly and sustainably aware trek. Additionally, for each booking they receive, they donate $15 to Threads of Peru, an NGO that supports the local Quechua weaving community.

If you are looking for a truly budget Inca Trail experience, and have relatively few demands, you may be fine using a middle man touring company. Just make sure you are completely informed on what you will be experiencing, prior to booking your tour. However, make sure you consider the things you may be giving up for a better price. At the end of the day, it all comes down to you, your priorities and expectations for this trip.

The Inca Trail is all about YOU. Why not have the best possible experience?

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• Adjusting Expectations on the Inca Trail (anamericangirlintransit.com)

To say that I am not an athletic person would be a huge understatement. I have tried joining gyms, and just could not motivate myself to actually go. In the summers I play tennis, but that doesn’t extend past New York’s all too short summer. I’ve tried yoga, pilates, cardio barre, you name it.

I simply do not like to excercise.

So when I signed up for the Inca Trail, I’m not really sure what I was thinking.

If you are not familiar with the exact details of the Trail, you’re not alone. I had no idea what I was really signing up for. In my mind, hiking was really just walking. I could go as slow as I wanted, enjoy the scenery, and then end the day by sitting around a campfire sharing stories with my group.
As soon as I arrived in Cusco, I started getting an inkling that I was in for more than just a few days stroll in the park. As each day passed, I watched fellow hostel mates gather up the necessary gear and food, and leave at 6am each morning. The day before my hike was scheduled, I headed out to buy all the recommended items. I rented a sleeping bag, bought a 2.5 liter water bottle and sling, stocked up on candy bars and nuts, and laid out all the clothes I was sure I would need.

Once my bag was fully packed, and my sleeping bag was tied to its straps, I hoisted it on my back to test out the weight.

SHIT.

This was really heavy! But I NEEDED everything in my bag. How could I hike for four days straight and not change my outfit every day?

I figured that my bag would get lighter each day as I continued to eat all my snacks.

Day one came and I was feeling good. I had gotten a good nights sleep and was ready to start walking. Our bus drove for about an hour and a half up the mountains towards our starting point. We passed through the mandatory checkpoint, took our group photo in front of the Camino Inka sign, and we were off! Immediately we started walking uphill. The first few minutes went by and the loud chatter that had filled our group before was slowly replaced with the sound of heavy breathing. Walking around in high altitudes is one thing, but hiking uphill, with a heavy load on your back is an entirely different game.

After ten minutes of forced yoga breathing, and shouting every expletive in my head, we finally reached a flat path. Too tired to cheer, I plodded ahead, each step heavier than the last. Finally, we reached a little shelter and everyone dropped to the ground, throwing off their backpacks with huge sighs of relief.

“We must be at our lunch spot already,” I thought. “That actually wasn’t that bad.”

Too bad our guides informed us just a few minutes later that this was just the first break of many. We had only been walking for 45 minutes, and had at least five more hours to go.

The day passed by in a blur of panting, heavy breathing, gulping down water, and basically just forcing my feet to keep moving ahead. “Just a few more steps,” I would try to convince myself, as I inwardly cursed my decision to do this trail. As hard as day one was, everyone kept issuing warnings about day two: dead woman’s pass.

I crawled into my tent, too tired for dinner and curled up inside my sleeping bag. The fact that I had a rock for a pillow made no impact on me and I was asleep in seconds.

The next morning the air was filled with anticipation as our group set out for the hardest day of the hike. We were told we would be hiking a minimum of five hours uphill, and then two hours down, before reaching our campsite. The day started off at a fast pace; we immediately began our uphill ascent that would take us to more than 12,000 feet above sea level. As the first hour came to a close I was towards the end of the group, panting for breath with each step. My bag felt like it was growing heavier by the minute, and I didn’t see how it would be possible to reach our lunch spot, let alone Machu Picchu.

The guides saw me struggling and approached me with a suggestion. They told me that at the next rest stop, it would be the last chance to hire a porter to carry my bag. At 80 soles per day, roughly $35, I could rid myself of my heavy load, and perhaps enjoy the trail a bit more.

I was torn.

On one hand, I wanted to complete the trail in an authentic way, carrying my pack and feeling like I really earned my entrance to Machu Picchu. On the other hand, if I continued this way, I really wasn’t sure that I would make it. I decided to hire a porter for that day and see how it went. I had carried my bag for the first day, and could continue carrying it for the 3rd and 4th days if I felt up to it.

After lunch, I handed over my bag, and headed back to the path. immediately I felt a huge difference. No longer was I miserable, resenting each step, angry with myself for signing up for such a strenuous hike with no training. The uphill walk was still difficult, and I had to continue focusing on my breathing, but now I was able to stop occasionally and take photos of the landscape. I could feel myself smiling, and enjoying the slow pace through the mountains.

As we approached the last hour of uphill climbing, the skies suddenly opened and we were drenched in a torrential downpour. Now at the highest peak of the hike, we had to fight for each breath. Whereas before, we could rest on the side of the trail whenever we felt faint, now, taking a break meant sitting on the mud splattered rocks while being rained on.

It was better to just keep moving.

We reached the top of the mountain just as the rain turned to a light mist. Celebrating our victory with cheers from the group and photos against the giant mountain peaks and surrounding clouds, we quickly continued our journey. The air was still wet, and our pants were soaked from the previous rainstorm.

Walking downhill on the slick rocks should have been challenging, but after walking uphill for five hours, it felt like a welcome respite. I flew down the mountain, with thoughts of my warm tent and a hot meal propelling me faster and faster.

Splash.

My foot slipped on one of the rocks, and slid to the ground, my right leg submerged in a muddy stream adjacent to the path.

Ok, so maybe I needed to slow down a bit and actually enjoy the hike.

I reached the campsite forty minutes later and decided that day three would be a slow one for me. Day one had been about making it to the campsite, day two had been focused on just finishing in one piece, and I wanted day three to be about actually looking around and marveling at the beauty of the trail.

I couldn’t have picked a better day to decide to enjoy myself. As I left my walking partners and continued down the path by myself, I felt like I was experiencing the trail for the first time. Butterflies flew around me, birds were calling to each other in a symphony of sounds, and the fresh smell of flowers and trees was perfumed in the air. As I continued on the winding path going up and down the mountain route, I felt lighter, happier. I was really hiking the Inca Trail, something I never thought I could do! This was happening, in this moment, and I felt a strange sense of empowerment.

They say that the path to Machu Picchu is a spiritual journey, and being a natural cynic I am not sure I believe that. Yet something happened to me on that trail, some sense of calm washed over me on the third day, and I felt like a new person. I needed to let go of the fear that was holding me back from doing so many things. Pushing myself felt better than I could have imagined, and if I continued to do so, who knew what else might happen?
I reached the camp that day earlier than the previous two days, and yet I felt lighter and more relaxed.

The next morning, with just two hours to reach Machu Picchu, I knew that this journey was coming to a close. As my group approached the sun gate, I stood in the stone archway overlooking the Inca city we had worked so hard to reach, and just stood quietly for a moment, surveying the scene around me.

Some people were laughing, taking pictures and high fiving each other, while others were staring dreamily off into the unknown, still out of breath from the trail’s last challenge; a set of almost vertical stairs that seemed to extend forever.

I stood there, letting go of my anger from the first two days, embracing my calm from the third, and trying to combine all my emotions on the fourth, for a truly memorable welcome to Machu Picchu.

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We woke up fifteen hours later, blinking through our sleep induced haze.
The next four days passed by in a blur of sleeping, eating, and resting. Although the altitude never made me as sick as it had on that fateful bus ride, I felt incapacitated on a daily basis. Just climbing the stairs was an effort, one that I rewarded with a long nap in our hostel’s centrally located hammocks. Instead of feasting on Ceviche and Aji de Gallina, I found myself craving pasta, pizza, and every carbohydrate I could lay my hands on. My body felt like it was working overtime to compensate for the lack of oxygen.

When we finally felt rested enough to venture outside our hostel and check out the local markets, what should have been a ten minute walk took twenty five. Everything felt slower, and took more concerted effort.

Over the next two weeks, as we explored Cusco, hiked the Inca trail, and headed to the floating islands on Lake Titicaca, my sister and I started noticing many little differences in our daily routine. Whether it was needing to apply chapstick every ten minutes, or having a constant cold, despite sitting in the blazing sunlight, we would blame it on the altitude.

If I felt starving in the middle of the day, and ate an entire can of pringles in a crazy fit of hunger, it was because of the altitude.

If I needed to moisurize my hands several times a day, it was because of the altitude.

When my sister’s ankle suddenly became swollen, totally out of the blue, it was because of the altitude.

When I felt hungover after one Cusquena beer, it was because of the altitude.

When I had a bad hair day, it was because of the altitude.

I don’t know what we’re goint to blame things on when we get to lower ground...

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30 minutes passed quickly and I kept craning my neck, looking for our bus to come. Another 30 minutes passed and I started getting nervous. I flagged down one of the station workers and began to ask in broken spanish, “Donde el autobus a Cusco”? The workers assured me that my bus was coming, and I sat down again to wait. As the daylight started to fade and 30 minutes turned into two hours, I thanked my lucky stars that I was not alone at this deserted bus station. Besides for my sister and I, there were two older gentlemen in one corner, getting into a heated discussion, and a family of four, eating dinner from one of the many street carts. The light grew darker and darker, and as I checked the time, I realized that the bus was four hours late. “Maybe this is just Peruvian time,” I thought nervously as my sister and I waited in tense silence.

Just as we were debating whether it would be safer to go back to our hostel and try to take a morning ride, our bus chugged into the station, casual as ever. Grabbing our bags we ran onto the bus and up the flight of stairs to our reserved seats on the upper level. Overnight buses in Peru are dual level, and have options of cama and half cama (full or half-reclining chairs). Our friend Marijus, who had already braved one of these night buses, had advised us to book the cheaper half-reclining seats on the upper level. He told us that the views were spectacular, and the difference in comfort was minimal.

As the bus pulled out of the station, we finally took a deep breath and began to settle in and relax for the start of our 20 hour trip. The journey from Ica to Cusco is not only challenging due to the length, but also because of the change in altitude. Cusco is 11,600 feet above sea level, while Ica is only 1,332 feet above sea level. We thought that traveling by bus would give us a gradual transition to the higher altitudes, rather than taking a flight, and being thrust from one extreme to another.

If only that had been the case…

About two hours into our trip, I began to feel strange. My body felt like it was floating, and my head was pounding. I took in some deep yoga breaths, trying to calm down and relax. When that didn’t seem to work, I decided to stretch my legs and walk downstairs. As soon as I reached the bottom of the staircase, I felt the full movement of the bus, as it wove through the mountain roads.

OH. MY. GOD.

I ran up the stairs, back to my seat, ripped open my backpack and grabbed the plastic bag I had the foresight to pack. I made it just in time, and won the honor of being the first person on my bus to throw up. I lay weakly back against my seat, and willed the nausea to leave my body. I must have fallen asleep because I woke up, what seemed like a few hours later to the sound of numerous people throwing up. I looked behind me and half the bus was puking. “Great,” I thought, as the smell started to spread throughout the bus. Suddenly I felt something wet on my jeans. I looked down and saw that my plastic bag was leaking.

PLEASE JUST KILL ME NOW.

Using my Burberry scarf as a mop, I wiped up what I could, and resigned myself that this would just be a bad memory in just a mere fifteen hours. I plugged in my headphones and a few more hours passed in a dizzy haze. About halfway through the trip, I heard footsteps running from the back of the bus towards the front. Looking up I saw a little boy, running towards the bathroom. As he reached the stairs, he stopped and threw up all over the staircase. With ten hours to go, I was trapped on a bus, covered in my own throw up, and surrounded by the smell of other sick people around me.

It was so crazy, that all I could do was start laughing.

Finally, with about four hours until we reached Cusco, the bus pulled off the mountain road onto a small side street and stopped. We were informed that the driver wanted to eat breakfast, so we would be stopping at a roadside restaurant for 45 minutes.

I stumbled off the bus and blinked against the bright sunlight. After sitting down for so long, my legs wobbled for a few minutes as I wandered around the countryside. Having no appetite after that nightmarish ride, I just sat in the sun and snapped pictures of the gorgeous mountain views. We were already high up in the Andes, and I had never seen such incredible views. The air was thin, but it was fresh and clean and what little I managed to breathe in felt cleansing and pure.

Finally, we piled back into the bus and prepared for our final hours towards Cusco. The views kept getting better, and finally we rounded a corner and I could see the cluster of buildings, making up Cusco’s central district. Desperately needing a shower, a hot meal, and a change of clothes, all thoughts left my mind as my face peered out the window.

I had arrived in Cusco, and the next chapter of my time in Peru was about to begin.