In which Roz and Layla enjoy a new lake, plan a new holiday, and list their holiday reading

by Roz

We went from sipping mohitos (where we left you last time) to dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant overlooking the lake where we had a truly lovely meal with fabulous bruschetta (with capers which I love but realize I haven't had since leaving the UK a year ago), homemade pasta and nice wine.  We strolled the two minute journey back to our hotel congratulating ourselves on an excellent day.  

Next morning we were awake early again (sigh) and having again rejected the hotel breakfast in favour of pancakes in a pretty spot we contemplated our plans for the day.  Layla had originally been thinking of a canopy walk but I had been such a wuss over the brief encounter we'd had with swaying bridges in Pana that it was time for a rethink.  The lake looked tempting and so we decided that a boat trip was in order (after morning ice creams naturally). First, we had a half hour boat ride to a tiny village called San Andres which was just lovely. Hopping off the boat, our inadequate Spanish and the boatman's inadequate English meant we "agreed" we would see him later, in another village a little bit along the lake shore "next to the water park". We started off by a small exploration of the village, but since this only revealed mangy looking dogs and the odd small child we didn't linger too long, but started off to walk to the next village along the lakeshore. And it turned out to be one of the prettiest walks either of us had ever done.  No cars on the road, brilliant blue sky and water, and just a sort of idyllic-ness that was completely unexpected. The tranquility of it made it all the more surprising when we stumbled across small children swimming in the water - or indeed tuk tuks sitting on the lake edge to make it easier to wash them. We meandered along, contemplating the future and all the fun places we could live. 

Arriving in the village (which was somewhat larger than the first one we'd been to, and with fewer hungry looking dogs), it was time for lunch and we stopped off at a very pleasant cafe for sandwiches and lemonade - and then settled down to read, occasionally glancing down at the lovely lake.  And so a very pleasant hour or so passed, after which we decided to start trying to hunt down the water park and our boatman. This proved much easier than I had feared, and soon we were gliding through the beautiful water en route to our next stop, which apparently had ruins and a pretty look-out spot. Further examination of the guidebook, once we had arrived, revealed that the ruins were in fact not visible to the naked eye (but instead presumed to be there because of the otherwise inexplicable big mound than we proceeded to walk up).  The look out spot was lovely though (and well worth the climb up the really rather high mound) and we stayed up there until we heard the voices of some other tourists when we hastily beat a retreat.  

It was only a short boat ride from there back to Flores - but all in all it had been a very satisfactory excursion.  We then headed to the cool cafe / bar, where we had spent time the day before, to read more. The experience was all the more novel since it was certainly the first time Layla opted for beer whilst I opted for lemonade... Time marched on and we were conscious that we had a mid-evening flight back to Guatemala City and no opportunity for dinner other than a very early one. And so we found ourselves back in the Italian restaurant of the night before, this time watching the sunset as we relished bruschetta and one portion of pasta to share.  From there, we headed to the airport and flew back to Guatemala for our final night.  We arrived late and decided to head out for a late drink. We originally hoped to find Frida's - which we had looked for the last time we were in Guatemala City - but failed again and so ended up in a mad Mexican restaurant near the hotel with mohitos.

We woke up unpleasantly early again and headed out for breakfast in a delightful cafe / restaurant recommended by all the guidebooks but pleasingly not seemingly frequented by tourists (or not western ones) where we debated the merits of Christmas and our enthusiasm (or not in my case) for it over pancakes and fruit.  We then wandered to a lovely bookshop and contemplated their selection of books before settling down for a mint tea in the bookshop's cafe where we wrote postcards and read.  Eventually Layla was too antsy to sit still and we agreed, sadly, it was time to head back to the hotel and to the airport. And now it is from a very comfy business class seat that I write this, sipping a gin and tonic and awaiting lunch - suspended until our next adventure away.  Which, might, I suspect, be a cycling trip to Burma. 

Books read by Roz whilst away: Astray (Emma Donoghue), Like Water for Chocolate (Laura Esquirel), Bring Up the Bodies (Hilary Mantel), No Highway (Nevil Shute), Dominion (CJ Sansom), The Shuttle (Frances Hodgson Burnett), The Penelopiad (Margaret Atwood), plus substantial progress made into The Day of the Scorpion (Paul Scott) and some progress into Merivel (Rose Tremain) - the latter being an audiobook.

Books read by Layla whilst away: The Secret People (John Wyndham), The Vanishing Act (Mette Jakobsen), The Penelopiad (Margaret Atwood), French Revolutions (Tim Moore) and the final quarter of Middlemarch (George Eliot), and have just embarked on Shikasta (Doris Lessing). 

In which Layla and Roz cycle round a pretty lake and visit Maya ruins

By Layla

We meandered out and up the Main Street for dinner in Circus, a very cool little quirky cabaret bar where we dined on pizza and wine, and listened to various musical efforts, followed by some G&Ts at the bar. Roz mocked me for being shy of the place - have I become too mainstream??!

The next day we were up early and - to our delight - enjoying a delicious hotel pancake breakfast, before our cycle tour around the lake. Now, those of you with an eagle eye will have noticed that on our bicycle tour of the Antigua countryside resulted in Roz falling off her bike and injuring her arm. We decided to gloss over that... And off we set with our bikes and a cheery guide on the local ferry across the sparkling lake, along with some Mayan girls, a house painter, and assorted other locals. After stopping at several tiny, pretty landings, til we reached ours. We vaguely helped heave our bikes onto the tiny wooden jetty, then found ourselves on the road that goes all around the lake. Sadly, my enquiries in Spanish as to the flatness of the road before we booked the trip must have been flawed - never did any road go up and down so dramatically or so often. If it hadn't been for the astoundingly beautiful views over the lake, and the charm of the villages we cycled through, it would have been hard to forgive. Especially because Roz's arm proved unwilling to endure either steep slopes upwards or downwards. And of course, I'm not fit enough to go uphill for more than 5 seconds. I suspect we were a great disappointment to our guide. At San Paolo we visited a women's weaving cooperative and I bought a scarf, and some horrible chocolate. Then at San Pedro we wheeled our bicycles over another little wooden jetty and climbed aboard another ferry for a beautiful half hour cruise back to Panajachel.

After changing our clothes to make ourselves presentable, we made a beeline for a pretty-looking deli in a courtyard garden for a tasty lunch, over which we lingered with our books... And then we went for a stroll along the waterfront, culminating in mohitos at the aptly named Sunset Bar, where we enjoyed a glorious pink sunset over the lake and volcanos. 

But enough of that and down to the serious business of dinner. We walked up the street and after much indecision, chose Casablanca, where I incongruously had French onion soup and Roz had pasta. And then ice cream. Punctuated by my jaunt to a local pharmacy, as Roz mentioned she was in agony post-bike ride. And then G&Ts at Circus. Other than the aforementioned agony, a really excellent day.

We got up early the next day, because we had a shuttle to Guatemala City Airport booked for 11.30 and wanted a morning activity. One look at Roz's grimaces told me that kayaking was out, so after another delicious round of breakfast pancakes, we caught a tuk tuk to Atitlan Nature Reserve. This pretty much deserted park was really beautiful. We went on an hour-long hike along well-maintained tracks with the added excitement of several suspension bridges which were nearly the end of poor Roz, as she shook, suspended on rickety wooden slats above a waterfall far below, unable to use her arm to hold on. But the views were excellent... 

When we got back into town, I deposited Roz in the Deli Llama del Fuego where we acquired licuados (sort of fruit smoothies) and take away sandwiches, and I went on a hunt and acquired a sling for her. Feeling a tad worried, I emailed doctor friends to enquire as to whether I ought to be doing anything more serious. Luckily the diagnosis: dunno, but prescribe painkillers and mohitos. Not cycling or kayaking though.

And thus with sandwiches in hand and arm in sling, we boarded the shuttle minibus to Guatemala Airport, destination Flores. However, a journey that usually takes 4 hours took only 2 hours. We ended up being dropped off in Guatemala City where we left our luggage at a random hotel, and went for a little wander in Zone 10. Our quest for a bar marked in our guidebook was in vain, and after wandering the streets which mostly comprised large hotels and bars that would be popular later, we found ourselves in an incongruous, posh little design shop (there were no other shops around), as their only customers, drinking giant jugs of pink lemonade and eating banana cake with chocolate sauce, sitting on their posh for sale chairs. Quite surreal, but both cheery and tasty.

I made Roz go to the airport too early (as usual) so we spent the next while in the charm-free departure lounge (a particular treat was when it got dark and the airport didn't switch on lights...), but our flight was on time and after an hour of flying, we found ourselves on the pretty island of Flores. 

By the time we checked into our less than glamorous hotel (I'd like you to note it was number 1 on Tripadvisor!) it was sufficiently late that restaurants were winding down. Nevertheless, having purchased shuttle ticked for the next day's trip to Tikal, a Mayan ruin, we settled ourselves in a nice restaurant, drank mohitos, and had a quick dinner, then some wine, til it was bedtime.

Noting sadly that every day is an early morning day, Roz and I sloped downstairs for a quick hotel breakfast before our 8am shuttle today, only to find that the hotel breakfast was so rubbish that we had to go elsewhere. Cue a mad dash to last night's restaurant where we inhaled emergency pancakes and orange juice, in time for the bus. I'd got myself in a flap about the bus as I'd heard it was subject to an armed robbery a couple of months ago, so had left all valuables at home, which was rather inconvenient, and thankfully the trip was absolutely fine. 

Tikal is thought to have been the capital city of the Mayan empire, and is the most impressive Mayan ruin, we were told. I'd been once before, 9 years ago. It was lovely to go back. The site is deep in the jungle, but in a civilized way that requires lots of walking up nicely cleared paths through the jungle to the various pyramids and temples scattered around a large site. We visited pretty much all of them, including the more obscure ones, and climbed a couple for cool views over the jungle. But of course, true to form, while we enjoyed the Gran Plaza and such, we really liked it when we were the only ones there so we could feel like Indiana Jones... And thus we enjoyed one out of the way temple complex, a 20 minute walk from the others, til another pesky couple appeared, which spurred us to leave our explorations and continue along the road.

About 15 minutes into the 25 minute walk between temples, we suddenly froze. Just ahead, we heard the most bloodcurdling roars and snarls you can imagine. We clung to each other in terror - what on earth could it be? We looked at our map/guide to the site for lists of animals that resided within. Could it be a jaguar? It sounded more like a lion... We decided to move forward, then heard it again, louder than ever. And again. And thus Indiana Jones became Indiana Wuss as we lurked, willing the other couple to come round the corner. Eventually they did. With anguish we indicated to the ongoing roars. At which point they tittered: "howler monkeys". And sheepishly we walked on, to the next temples...

We had a lovely four hours of exploring this really excellent site, before having sandwiches at the visitors' centre, and catching the shuttle back to Flores. Again, no bandits: phew!

Having watched the sun set over the lake with an ice cream in hand, and wandering round the promenade that circles Flores, we are now installed in what can only be described as a funky cafe, with mohitos. Medicinal, you know...

In which Roz and Layla enjoy the countryside by bike, foot, and boat, and Roz sustains a bike injury

By Roz

We headed out for dinner, promising ourselves to resist the lure of the delicious and jolly Mexican place we had been for lunch (Frida's) and agreeing that it was about time we sampled a little rice and beans - in other words, some Guatemalan food.  And so we ended up - with some hesitation - in a small local restaurant. To our amusement / bemusement, rice and beans were strangely absent form the menu, and so we resigned(!) ourselves to starting off with guacamole... Layla showed her continued commitment to local cuisine through ordering a rather dubious sounding vegetarian option which turned out to be potatoes and something brown, with plancha and rice on the side, whilst I went for "typical" Guatemalan cheese fondu. It didn't take us long to demolish these, and we then wandered over to a nice wine bar called El Sabor del Tiempo, photos of which were immediately - and oddly - recognized by friends on Facebook. We then called it a night in anticipation of our bike ride into the valley the next day.  

Awake slightly too early for a holiday, we consoled ourselves by nice waffles up on the roof terrace where we had jacuzzied the night before, looking at the volcanos and hoping that our bike ride wouldn't entail riding up anything so steep. We headed round to the office where to start the bike tour to find only to find that we were to be joined by a third person on the tour, a girl called Alice.  Pleasingly she turned out to be very nice (and even carried a fair amount of our stuff for us, given that our handbags were vigorously discouraged by the bike tour people). We set off through cobblestoned streets which were very pretty if not optimal for cycling. We cycled through villages - including passing a street that had been modeled to look like Jesus' site of cruxifiction (having disappointed the tour guide by telling him that none of us were Catholic). All was going well, despite a steep hill which caused Layla to breathe more deeply than she might have hoped, until disaster struck. Well near disaster. Turning my head to listen to the end of the tour guide's sentence "what you need to know about this trip is...", I fell off my bike. I slammed against a nearby wall and got generally tangled up with my bike.  A few moments of confusion later and it became apparently that I had done something to the muscles in my shoulder / arm and other than that just had a few cuts and grazes. I hate missing out on something fun, so suggested to Layla et al that I take some painkillers and we just press on and see how it went.  It turned out that all was well unless I needed to break or to go uphill (I never realized that I use my arms for going uphill before). This made for a reasonably exciting journey for me.  But the scenery - with the volcanos in the background - was lovely and there is just something fascinating about travelling through the countryside on a bike, getting a small snapshot of local lives. In one village we passed through there was a giant bath in the centre of the village square, where people from miles around came to do their washing.  Well, I say "people" - unsurprisingly I mean women (there was one lone man) and it was somewhat depressing to realize how few people here have running water. 

We stopped at a macadamia nut farm and had quite an interesting time learning about macadamia nuts and how they are farmed. Tasting some nuts - it would have been rude not to - it was striking how different they are from that which we get in either the UK or the US. Much more flavorsome. The experience was somewhat marred by the slightly creepy owner of the farm who insisted on rubbing macadamia nut oil into our hands / arms. But when he put his arm on my injured shoulder and I let out a howl of pain Layla shouted at him in a pleasing - if slightly excessive - fashion. They then had a fun exchange when he said he knew how to fix my arm (by rubbing macadamia oil on it) since he's a paramedic - and Layla responded that he might well be but she was a doctor... (She didn't mention that she's a psychiatrist...) But as I sit here writing this blog now, eating nuts we bought there and drinking a beer, I still can't believe how good the nuts taste.  

As we were about to leave the farm, the tour guide tried to persuade me to get a car home given my arm and they did make me quite anxious with their descriptions of the very bumpy terrain we were about to encounter. I was about to give in - which I loathe doing - when our companion for the day chipped in so encouragingly, telling me she would be happy to walk if my arm got too sore, that my resolve strengthened and off we set. And what a fabulous part of the trip it was. We went through pretty woods and through walking tracks through fields, passing kids playing football and farmers working and villages far from the nearest road.  It felt exceptionally far from home... Stopping off in a village before a final and very significant hill (which I would mention that - despite walking my bike - I was the first to reach the top of) we stopped off in a textile museum and market which was quite fun though as ever Layla and I felt guilty about not buying anything (I dislike acquiring useless things we will never use, but recognize this isn't the right attitude in this scenario) and made it home after our 28 km cycle in time for a late lunch.  

The three of us headed to the nice cafe where we had had key lime pie the day before, and I had beer and clutched ice to my arm (not least in honour of a friend who thinks ice is the solution to all injuries). We had a very pleasant time and then headed back to the hotel for a shower. Post shower, we headed to a cafe to read our books and hope my arm would magically and swiftly heal.  It didn't but both of us managed to terrify ourselves with what we we reading and so headed back to our hotel for another jacuzzi slightly early and in some terror. Post-jacuzzi we headed out to dinner at the Rainbow Cafe (not gay, but instead hippy) which was very pleasant and then met our cycling companion from earlier for a mohito or two in Frida's. A very pleasant evening ensued and then we headed home, all planning to get the 8am shuttle to a place called Panajachel.

Up early again, we had an early breakfast (alas no waffles this time) and then hopped on the shuttle. It was a good journey, through fab scenery. Best of all was our first sighting of Lake Atilan, which Panajachel is on the shore of. The lake was a brilliant blue - looking the colour of the Mediterranean at its best - and the ever present volcanos were as always spectacular. We said goodbye to Alice (who was only visiting for the day) and checked into our hotel and contemplated our plan of action. As ever when in time of doubt, we opted for a very pleasant lunch (no guacamole this time) and then headed off on a hike / walk to another village on the lake shore, a few miles away.

The walk turned out to be lovely - the lake in clear view pretty much all the time, and with pretty hills and so forth. The undulating road started off being crowded with cars, but a couple of kilometers along, there was barely any traffic; just trees, flowers, and sparkling water. We stopped at the first village, Santa Catarina Palopo, for a lemonade and a read of our books at a cafe overlooking the lake, then pressed on to San Antonio. By the time we got there, we were dreaming of taking a boat ride back to Panajachel... But sadly the last ferry had long gone. Faced with the option of a pick up truck, we managed to negotiate chartering a private ferry, and so it was that we cruised back to town, across sparkling blue water, with volcanos on one side, and pretty towns and evidence of our 10km effort on the other. We felt very extravagant (though it was in fact not very expensive), and climbed out, feeling like celebrities. We booked a bike ride for tomorrow and are now sitting on our hotel balcony planning our dinner. And feeling quite full of macadamia nuts...

In which Layla and Roz cook marshmallows on a volcano in Guatemala

By Layla

Having been to Guatemala once before, in 2003, I worried about the intrepid quotient of us going there on holiday yesterday. My fears were allayed by the check in woman at National Airport in Washington who, upon enquiring as to our final destination, queried "Guatemala? Is that in Mexico?" Though to be fair she also claimed not to have heard of Britain, so it wasn't entirely reassuring that Delta would get us to Guatemala City at all... but get there we did, inexplicably in business class no less, and as we sipped mid-flight mimosas, we felt we were starting the holiday in grand style.

An hour and a half of taxi fighting through dreadful traffic, and we stepped out into the sunny, colorful, cobbled streets of Antigua, a beautiful little colonial town. Since we were too early to check in, the first order of the day was clearly a search for late lunch (glossing over my early lunch courtesy of business class!). We strolled a few paces to the very attractive main plaza, with greenery, fountains, and churches galore, then walked up a restaurant-lined street with our mouths watering. We settled on a cute little place where we acquired mohitos and guacamole, and were very cheery indeed - til some Googling got us anxious about difficulties of getting cash in Antigua, dodgy cash machines, etc. And so, feeling like a very good wife indeed, I left Roz with her mohito while I embarked on a quest for cash. Four cash machines later, and several conversations with bank type men holding guns, I procured 2000 quetzales, which I felt was a vast sum of money. The exchange rate is killing me - I just can't do rapid sums that require dividing by 7.8! Luckily I have now told Roz she's in charge of money...

After our guacamole, and checking into our cute little boutique hotel, we embarked upon a further food and drink mission. We had mohitos on a rooftop bar, then some tasty wine and bruschetta in a second, charming establishment, then local beer (Gallo) and tacos in a third establishment. And after all that we rolled home to bed, anticipating our 6am start the next day...

Today, up bright and early, we seized packed breakfasts from our hotel and climbed aboard a minibus with 10 others, bound for the Pacaya Volcano. It's an active volcano, so we couldn't go up to the crater, which we saw steaming, but we could and did have a fab hike up through countryside, then across fields of black lava grit (familiar from our Nicaragua volcano surfing experience), and finally to a hot hole in the ground where we roasted marshmallows with volcanic heat, and munched them while gazing at the really glorious scenery, of lakes, craters, steaming volcanos, and a range of peaks like the way I drew mountains in childhood art classes, all under a brilliant blue sky.

We bused back to town, then set out for lunch. We had a pleasant panini in Cafe Barists, overlooking the square, then we went to a travel agency to book a bike ride for tomorrow. And then it was time for our customary Lonely Planet walking tour. We wandered down pretty cobbled churches and admired copious churches and monasteries. Antigua really is a beautiful town. We came across a little bookshop and Roz bought Like Water For Chocolate. And then proceeded to read the whole thing, first over mint tea and key lime pie in a beautiful sunny courtyard cafe, then beer and chips at a second pretty courtyard cafe. So far, this holiday has not been slimming...

We returned to our hotel at 5 as we'd booked an hour in their rooftop jacuzzi. This turned out to be lovely - they'd left robes on our bed, and sprinkled flowers in the water. We enjoyed the jacuzzi while gazing out at the nearby volcano - a fabulous view. And now we are getting ready for dinner. A relief, as we are definitely in need of more food urgently. 

In which Layla and Roz embark on a mystery minibreak to Charleston

There are few things that excite me more than a surprise mini break, and it's delightful that at least once a year, I get that thrill. This weekend it came in the form of a pile of sealed envelopes, each stating a designated time for opening. The first? 3.30 on Friday. The second? Upon arrival at the airport.

I skipped to work with my suitcase in my hand and a thrill in my heart. As soon as it was 3.30, I opened the envelope - I needed to be at the airport within the hour. I dashed off and finally upon arrival at National Airport, and upon meeting Roz, the mystery was revealed in the second envelope: Charleston, South Carolina!

On arrival it was hot and humid and we had a very fancy hotel. Or to be more accurate, a fancy modern apartment with all my favourite exposed brick and pipes, right in the very heart of the city. The hotel presented us with a glass of wine each and we exchanged gifts on the sofa (it's 5 years since we got together), drank our wine, and headed out to a cool restaurant Roz had found after vigorous research - FIG, aka Food Is Good. We acquired cocktails and since it was so late and they weren't fantastic for vegetarians, we shared three excellent appetizers, followed by cheese. We stumbled home sleepily, having had an excellent evening.

The next day, after a picnic basket of tasty breakfast items delivered to our apartment, we set out to explore downtown Charleston. First stop was their famous farmers' market which was picturesque and cheery and I had to halt Roz in her temptation to buy a giant picture in the arty crafty section! We then strolled down the lovely King Street, admiring the pretty palm tree-lined road of quirky independent shops and nicer-than-usual-appearance chains, in this absolutely charming Colonial city. We walked down to Rainbow Row, a row of posh, historic, brightly colored houses, then veered into a bakery for drinks and cakes and shelter from the blazing sun. And then it was off to the Waterfront Park (Charleston is made up on a peninsula and islands so there's water all around) and in particular its mad pineapple fountain. The whole area was beautiful and quirky and we were very cheery. We popped into Tsatsiki for lunch, and after a quick falafel, strolled up through the 'French quarter' (nothing obviously French that I could spot) towards the harbour.

With the sun blazing, we searched in vain for a shop selling sun lotion. Eventually we went into a chocolate shop to ask the shop staff for advice on where we could buy some. And thus we experienced it. Charleston is officially the most mannerly city in the US and the guidebook stated that everyone experiences their own example of the famous Charleston hospitality. Ours came in the form of the chocolate seller. She couldn't think of anywhere nearby to buy sun lotion. "But wait, I have some in my bag!" she announced, and before we knew what had hit us, she had dashed to the back office, retrieved her own sun lotion, and insistently gifted it to us. We were speechless. And grateful!

Next we walked up to the harbour and boarded a boat to Fort Sumter, considered to be the place where the civil war started. We had a nice cruise, though I was sad not to see the much promised dolphins, and had a potter around the fort before sailing back and dashing home to glam up for the big event: a 9 course tasting menu at McGrady's, one of the world's top restaurants (and one of the main reasons for Roz choosing Charleston). I am delighted to report that it lived up to her hopes: a really excellent, 4 hour experience with paired wines that left us charmed, impressed, and quite full. Alas we could 't manage the Gin Joint drink Roz had planned - we practically rolled home to bed through the sultry evening.

Up bright and early this morning, we were off for a jog - I'm training for a 5k (my first!) and Roz for a 10 miler. We jogged down King Street, past all the lovely colonial homes, to the waterfront and Battery park. And back up again. Roz then deposited her wheezing wife at the hotel and returned for more running. We recovered with our picnic basket of breakfast before heading out to Blossom for, ahem, brunch. Very tasty, and enjoyed the mimosa carafe too...

Our final event was kayaking. After spluttering at the cost of a taxi (everyone has a car), and enjoying the view from one of the world's longest suspension bridges, we were deposited at the kayak office. And so we launched on a tandem kayak into a scenic shrimping creek. I have rarely giggled so much as when a shriek from behind alerted us all to the situation that a shrimp had leapt out of the water and into Roz's lap. It was a beautiful kayak out into the bay and over to an island populated by pelicans, down little watery alleys past gracious colonial homes, prancing crabs, and numerous types of birds, and then back into the original creek where dolphins were now frolicking. The sun beat down, a soft breeze blew, and we felt very cheery indeed.

Alas we were there not for a holiday but just a weekend. The kayak tour guide very sweetly drove us back to the hotel where we had some free cheese and wine, popped next door to Yo Burrito for a cheeky burrito for dinner, then sped to the airport in time for our flight back to Washington. Bravo Roz: a fabulous mystery weekend and a fitting celebration of 5 years together.

In which Roz and Layla go off piste on Incan hiking adventures, make chocolate, and look at the stars

By Layla

We ventured out on our first night back in Cusco to the well-reviewed Korma Sutra, up the hill in San Blas. A rather tasty meal was a fine welcome back, and the next morning we woke up feeling cheery in our new hotel. Alas, it was straight back to the Sacred Valley - there are some fantastic ruins at a little town called Pisac, and Thursday was also market day. How could we refuse! We spent a good 45 minutes trying to find the bus stop, but eventually we did, and at last we were off!

An hour of beautiful countryside later, we hopped off the bus - where we'd been the only tourists and had been stared at with much curiosity, and wandered to the market. An extravaganza of touristy tat (though no tourists!) if you like that sort of thing. We retreated rapidly to the Blue Llama cafe for lunch, and were feeling a bit irritable with Pisac, til we took a taxi the 10km up the mountain to the Pisac ruins and fell in love.

The Pisac ruins had a lot of things going for them: they weren't crammed full of tourists so we could explore by ourselves, they had lots of different types of buildings, so there was lots of variety, they were in a picturesque position with views over the valley, and best of all, you could walk all the way back to Pisac town along a pretty little descending path past lots of different Inca ruins and agricultural terraces. Having climbed all over the fort at the top, we set off, along this occasionally marked path, through a tunnel, up and down hills, weaving our way over 2 hours, multiple ruins, fabulous views, grassy terraces, and having a fantastic experience. Loved it, and felt very proud indeed (and just a little bit tired) when we found ourself back in Pisac town. We rewarded ourselves with cake and beer at a nice little psychadellic cafe called Ulrike's before getting a collectivo (shared minibus) back to Cusco in time for dinner.

As our holiday moves into its later days, our zeal for good food only increases, and to this end we found ourselves in Baco, the best restaurant we've found in Peru. We revelled in potato skins (Peru has over 3000 varieties of potato), pizza and fancy dessert. A fine end to what might have been our favorite day of the holiday.

The next day we skipped our disappointing hotel breakfast for fluffy pancakes at local US style diner Jack's, and then strode with confidence towards yesterday's bus stop. This time we were only going part of the way, to the furthest of four Inca ruins outside Cusco, Tambomachay. Our plan was to walk back to Cusco via the four ruins. Tambomachay was simple and elegant, one of the few working examples of the Incas' sacred water fountains. We strolled around it, then walked down the road to Puca Pucara, an old Inca lodge, which was quite pleasant. It was then that we hit a conundrum: we'd wanted to walk to the other ruins and assumed there would be a scenic path through the hills and fields; in fact everyone we asked told us we would have to walk along the side of the busy road. We were very disappointed.

At this point, we noticed a little path across a field behind Puca Pucara, and decided to follow it. We walked awhile past lots of young children flying kites, and got to a sign: this way to Temple of the Moon. Alas said temple didn't feature in the guidebooks, but it did feature in a description of a country walk we'd printed from the Internet. We decided to set off.

Soon we encountered a Peruvian man and two women off for a stroll. "Templo de la luna?" I asked him. He nodded and pointed down the deserted semi-obvious path. What followed was a comedy walk where we'd walk down the path, through the fields, and every time we reached a cross roads, would try to find an excuse to pause til this poor man turned up. "Templo de la luna." "Si, Si, abajo" he'd say, pointing the way, looking increasingly less charmed by our winning smiled. It was quite a long walk - we almost began to worry. But then, around a corner, there it was: the temple of the moon. Also known as a big rock where children were again flying kites. We ate our picnic - acquired from Cusco and carried to this point - in the sun, grabbed our piece of paper from the Internet, and guided ourselves home to town, along an old Inca trail. We were very proud of ourselves indeed.

That afternoon we had some drinks in a lovely sunny cafe overlooking a pretty square while everyone in Cusco passed by, trying to sell us Peruvian handicrafts and suchlike. It was relentless! It reminded us of a blog Roz read where someone wore a t-shirt that said "No gracias" as a wry joke re these being the most frequent words uttered by tourists in Cusco. Also of note on the square was the huge flapping rainbow flag that is absolutely everywhere in the Andes. Alas this is not a joyful expression of gay pride - in fact it's the Inca flag, but it's hard to remember that when surrounded by these flags!

Next, we ventured into the Choco Museum. Seems the Incas were as keen on chocolate as the Mayas, and we had some chocolate tea, read about the history of chocolate, bought a sneaky truffle, and signed up for a chocolate making workshop the following day. But we couldn't linger, because we were waiting for the clock to strike 5.40. When it did, an astronomy professor appeared in the square holding a sign for the local planetarium. Hooray! Along with a few other tourists, we boarded a minibus which took us into the hills and to a 'family planetarium'. Very cute, if a tad chilly. We listened to a talk about astronomy, then went outside with blankets and hot mint tea to look at the Southern Cross in the sky, and at various stars and planets through their rather good telescopes. Quite excited by the rings of Saturn! Finally we had a little show in a planetarium dome about Inca constellations (I liked the big black llama) before being conveyed back to town. And I'm afraid to admit that we succumbed to temptation and returned to that delicious restaurant of the previous night. All I can say is mmmmm.

I had a ridiculously insomniac night for no obvious reason, so it was with much yawning that I got out of bed on Saturday morning at an early hour to go horse riding in the Sacred Valley, Urumbaba to be precise. The company, Cusco For You, is rated top on Tripadvisor, and we did have an excellent time on a 4 hour ride through the mountains, past a glacial river and extremely beautiful scenery, to an obscure ruin of an Inca house. I'm never quite sure how much I love horse riding but despite the sore legs, and Roz's terror in going steeply downhill, it's a lovely way to see some of the countryside.

We took a collectivo back to Cusco just in time for a quick bite to eat and a dash to the chocolate workshop, which was really quite enjoyable - two hours of roasting, peeling and crushing and grinding cocoa beans, making different types of Inca hot chocolate of varying deliciousness, and eventually making our own chocolates with various fillings. Great fun! We went back to the hotel where I collapsed, exhausted on the bed while Roz went out like a hero back to the museum to pick up our chocolates when the were ready. And then we met in Cicciolina restaurant, which was fancy and nice but not as good as Baco. Alas. Roz had rather hoped to go salsa dancing with our chocolate workshop friends, but I was so tired that she was obliged to take me home and watch Jiro Dreams of Sushi instead. This holiday, for all its fabulousness, hasn't stood out as a party holiday!

This morning we skipped the hotel breakfast for more fluffy pancakes at Jack's, then we meandered back to the market to join the locals on little white plastic stools drinking fresh fruit juice - delicious. We're about to fly back to Lima for our final night. Surely not!

In which Layla and Roz have startorial shame at Machu Picchu and biking shame in the Sacred Valley

By Layla

We had a pleasant evening of pizza in a cute little restaurant, and iPad film viewing, before an early bed for the next day was to start at an early with a visit to the most famous Peruvian sight: Machu Pichhu. And we'd booked a train for some ungodly hour. This was made worse by the lack of hot water in the shower, and a delay in the hotel providing our promised breakfast bag - so it was with some harassment that we leapt into a rickshaw/tuk tuk type thing and zoomed to the train station.

Of course I always worry too much - we had time to spare, but soon we were off, admiring the lovely scenery and watching it change from farmlands to more jungly/mountainy. And the weather change from bright and sunny to grey and rainy. We looked down at our sandals and felt a bit silly. The train arrived 90 minutes later, and with toes that were rapidly turning blue, I pulled Roz over to a stall selling alpaca socks, laughed in the face of her sartorial disapproval, and purchased a woolly pair to wear under my sandals - desperate times call for desperate measures. As I'm sure Roz would agree, had she not forbidden me from discussing any desperate sartorial choices she may have made herself.

We eventually found the buses to Machu Pichhu itself - it's a ridiculously expensive hassle to get there with obscenely expensive trains, expensive entrance tickets, and now $17 obligatory buses! Sigh. I was preparing to find Machu Pichhu an overrated, tourist-filled disappointment. But hooray, it was not to be. We entered the complex, high in the mountains with clouds swirling around us (thank goodness for the alpaca socks!) and climbed for 15 minutes to a lookout point over the whole ruins - a spectacular and compelling sight. After the obligatory pictures, we descended and spent the next couple of hours wandering around this massive complex - nobody's quite sure what its purpose was, but it's like a small city. It was quite fascinating. After we'd had our fill of the royal quarters, tombs, sacred stones, civilians' quarters etc, we climbed high above the ruins into the mountains and went on a little hike to an Inca bridge which was really lovely.

All of which, of course, is hungry work - so we descended by bus to the little touristy town at the base of the mountain, and headed to the Tree House, a posh-ish restaurant, where we feasted on quinoa, falafel, and squash soup, then retired to another cafe for ice cream and internetting til it was time to take the train home to Ollantaytambo. And what a train it was! First we were given snacks and drinks. Then a man dressed as a brightly coloured lion started dancing up and down the carriage to very loud music. Next, the music changed to that of a fashion show as the train staff donned various alpaca-based garments and walked up and down the cabin, to the music, while all the passengers clapped (including the lion). A completely surreal experience.

We had dinner at a lovely restaurant near the station, then went home via a tour place to organise a bike ride for the following day. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into...

This morning we turned up for our bike ride in pretty tops and sandals - only to meet our 3 Lycra-clad biking companions who looked at us askance, and enquired as to our mountain biking experience. It turned the bike company had ignored our information about being beginners. It started off well, with a drive up into the mountains in the sun, and our first stop at Moray, a weird Inca ruin of concentric circles, thought to be used for agricultural experimentation. Interesting. Sadly it went wrong at that point - we hopped on our mountain bikes and within moments our companions were but dots on the horizon. We got to grips with the unfortunate fact that we're too unfit to cycle up steep hills, too scared to cycle down steep hills, and the entire thing was steep hills. We did a lot of walking. The altitude sucked away Roz's breath. We barely noticed the spectacular scenery as we staggered onwards. We were a panting, sorry pair by the time we caught up with the others. Eventually we got to the little mountain town of Maras, at which point it was clear that we were not mountain biking gurus. Our guide firmly loaded our bikes onto the van and told us to hop in - then while the others cycled to the salt flats, we were driven there. The shame.

The salt flats (aka Salineras) were actually extremely cool - row upon row of square water enclosures at varying stages of salination. White and cool, like snow. We were able to walk along a little ledge through the salt baths or whatever they're called. Our concern was that at the start the Spanish speaking driver had pointed vaguely in the distance and told us to walk to the village where he'd pick us up. No village was in sight, but we set off gamely. After walking the full length of the salt flats, we found a little path, and followed it as it wound its way down the mountain. At last we were able to really enjoy the scenery as we hiked down the hill, feeling cheery - tempered with a fear that we'd never see our tour group again. On and on we walked, getting increasingly nervous that we were lost forever. We entered what seemed to be a totally deserted village. A hen popped out from the village shop, which appeared to be closed, judging from the chair in the doorway. On we walked, and then suddenly, unbelievably, our tour group appeared. Looking a tad battered and bloody and proclaiming the technical difficulty of the ride. A beginners' route it clearly was not. We felt smug at having enjoyed the alternative plan so much.

A tasty lunch at the Coffee Tree on Ollantaytambo's main square, overlooking Inca ruins, and it was into a shared minivan and back to Cusco, where I'm writing this from our new hotel. Dinner time now!

In which Roz and Layla see a march and Inca ruins

In which Layla and Roz start their Inca adventure properly.

By Layla

A quick return to the hotel room to grab some warmer clothes and we strolled down a cute little pedestrianised, cobbled street examining our various dining options. We settled on a nice little pizza place that was full of people - always a good sign - and had a very satisfactory dinner before heading home to bed.

Up bright and early the next day, with me still barely able to walk post-canyon, we decided to spend the day in downtown Cusco. This turned into a cheery day. First, we found ourselves in the main square in the midst of a major parade, whose purpose we failed to ascertain despite my best Spanish efforts. A small platform held some uniformed men, elevated above the procession of police, army, schoolchildren, and inexplicable others, almost all goose stepping and saluting as the passed the platform. We hopped into a little cafe overlooking the square, but no matter how much we watched, we never did manage to figure it out.

Next, after a wild goose chase thanks to Google Maps, we bought the ridiculously expensive tourist tickets needed to see any of the main sights in and around Cusco, and proceeded to the first - the museum of popular art. This museum is populated by the work of local artists who compete for the privilege of being featured every year. It was fairly rubbish, but also quite cheery, and we rather enjoyed going around the artworks, using our own grading system. 

All that mocking is hungry work so we retired to Jack's Cafe for pumpkin soup (Roz) and a big avocado and tomato wrap thing (me), and a long scrutiny of Ellen and Portia's glamorous Beverly Hills home, as featured in a random Architectural Digest magazine near our table. And then we headed to the big Inca site of Cusco - Qorikancha. This was originally an Inca temple, then the Christians built their temple on top of it, so it's an intriguing combination of styles. It was filled with tourists, so we skipped upstairs to see their quirky modern art collection, mocked their art installation of plastic juice bottles filled with the fluorescent yellow Inca cola, and pottered in their little garden, before heading back up one of these cobbled streets. 

We found ourselves in a bar/restaurant called Los Perros and settled ourselves down for what turned out to be the entire night, fuelled by wine, beer, potato skins, sandwiches, wontons, dominoes, and Scrabble with about 4 bags of tiles crammed into one. It was a long game. I won with a seven-letter word over the triple word score; Roz was unimpressed.

This morning we had breakfast at the hotel, then left, dragging our suitcases up and down streets til we got to the place from which I'd heard one could get a minibus to Ollantaytambo. Sure enough, one appeared, and conveyed us to this sunny little mountain town en route to Machu Pichhu, in what's known as the Sacred Valley. We were immediately charmed by its cobbles and quaintness, and our nice little hotel. We had some tasty sandwiches in Hearts Cafe, run by an NGO that improves local children's nutrition - apt, considering my current job. We had a stroll round the main square. And then the main attraction: Ollantaytambo's Inca ruins. These are quite impressive - essentially a massive fortress with a temple at the top, surrounded by glorious mountain scenery. I forced my aching leg muscles into compliance, and we climbed all over the ruins, including a pleasant 20 minutes perched on a fortress wall, reading our books. 

After having a lovely time, we returned to the main square, then to Hearts Cafe, where Roz had tea imported from the UK with scones, and I had banoffee pie. An excellent conclusion to the afternoon.

In which Layla and Roz take a bike ride and fall in love against their will.

Having checked into our delightfully upgraded room, we went out in search of dinner.  Our first stop was to hunt for a potato restaurant, well reviewed on Tripadvisor and which we had failed to find before. But this time Layla was "sure" she knew where it was. Having, yet again, failed to find the potato restaurant, we contemplated a couple of options before admitting that what we really wanted to do was to go to the delightful creperie in the Alliance Francais. Once we had admitted that to ourselves, life got a lot easier, and we both indulged ourselves.  But I should explain that this creperie is no ordinary place - it is a lovely combination of wine bar / cool place for trendy Peruvians to hang out / top date choice.  We people-watched and I drank delicious mohitos whilst Layla looked more abstemious with her local beer. And it was very jolly.  We headed back for the night, contemplating without immense enthusiasm our relatively early start for cycling the next morning.  

Next morning, Layla was barely able to walk. To get downstairs, she clutched the banisters and did an excellent impression of a very old lady.  Possibly an old lady who had recently broken a leg and was afraid of falling.  But, naturally, that wasn't any reason not to cycle - and so I assured Layla robustly.  We met a very cute boy in reception who had come to take us on our cycle tour.  He hid his perplexedness at Layla's crippled state moderately well and we hopped in a cab to go to his partner's house to pick up our bikes.  A 15 minute cab ride later and we were in the depths of Arequipa's suburbia.  And delightful it was - pretty pedestrianized streets and so forth. Bikes were brought out for us by his partner who told us that "there are a few hills in this ride...have no pride, get off any time you want, he has all the time in the world". We found this reassuring. Not that I have a lot of pride when it comes to cycling up big hills anyway...

And so we set off, with Layla barely able to mount the bike due to her sore legs.  The ride started off through the suburbs of Arequipa and I was struck / traumatized to find that it doesn't seem to be the mission of every car driver in Arequipa to kill 

passing cyclists.  Revelatory! We then headed off-road - my first experience of doing so.  I would like to say that I took to it like a duck to water, but I must confess that I couldn't get used to the idea that mountain bikes are built to go over rocks and therefore squealing when approaching a large stone isn't absolutely necessary... We wove our way by the sides of very pretty fields, with the picturesque volcanoes as our backdrop. Very lovely.  Less lovely was heading back on to the road and going sharply uphill.  This was a moment where I was able to demonstrate my lack of pride.  As was Layla (who definitely had more excuse than me, being still able to barely walk). At the top of the hill we found ourselves at the top of some terraced agricultural land which had been created by the Incas, who had put in place the irrigation, the walls and, frankly, everything. The majority of the rest of the ride was weaving our way through these terraces, by the side of people still working on the fields now, together with llamas, sheep and other random animals.  We also passed a water mill (and we both cycled through water for the first time).  Very jolly indeed.  Going downhill was not unpleasant either... 

Depositing our bikes after a brilliant morning, we got a taxi back to town and assured ourselves that it didn't matter if Layla's legs were a bit more broken after the cycling.  We then headed out for a delightful lunch of falafel and hummus and so forth, lingering over a beer / fizzy water to contemplate our plans for the rest of the holiday and reading a little.  Eventually we headed back to the hotel and asked them to recommend somewhere for a massage - my guilt at Layla's sore legs suggesting to me that something needed to happen. An appointment was booked for us and we were soon whizzing out to what turned out to be a moderately posh spa where ladies who lunch in Arequipa go for their massages / pedicures and so forth.  We both opted for a massage (my legs, though not as bad as Layla's, were not unaware of the demands that had been put upon them) and we found ourselves being massaged simultaneously by two very pleasant ladies who then told Layla that her legs were sore because of sunburn, not exertion.  Whilst I was entirely willing to believe this might be a contributing factor, I did rather doubt this...but who am I to argue. We ordered a cab back to town and whilst waiting for it amused ourselves with translating Peruvian magazines covering the Royal wedding...

Back at the hotel, eventually, we decided to have one last attempt at finding the much looked for potato restaurant.  Against the odds (poor google mapping and so forth) we did indeed find it and had a very jolly night in this hole in the wall place, packed with locals for at least part of the time who were watching the Peruvian equivalent of X Factor. Wandering home at the end of the night, passing lots of beautifully tempting looking bars and restaurants, we bemoaned the fact that we were leaving Arequipa the next day - and resolved that we definitely wouldn't like Cusco, our next destination, nearly as much. After all, we told each other, the weather isn't as good there and it sounds much more touristy. And so, resolved to dislike Cusco, we went to bed.  

And yet this morning we were up bright and early for our flight to Cusco. We touched down here at 9.15, to find ourselves in a chilly and grey place.  We told ourselves we had been right to bemoan leaving Arequipa.  Having arrived at our hotel, we decided to settle down in a nearby coffee shop with books. And then we couldn't find an appropriate coffee shop. "Aha", we said "not nearly as good as Arequipa". We ended up taking refuge in a very pretty Starbucks, to take advantage of their wifi to try and plan our time over the next few days.  We then meandered in the direction of an odd sounding cafe, which was essentially a bit like entering a children's story book - on crack. In a good way.  We had a delightful lunch and I had a fabulous time reading my book, until Layla reminded me we had seen nothing of Cusco yet.  Having dumped some of our stuff in our hotel, we then embarked on a Lonely Planet walking tour of the city.  And - against my will - I found myself entirely seduced by the place. Even though it rained a bit.  And even though it was chilly.  We wandered through cobbled streets to a market (where we seemed the only tourists and we ordered fresh juice mixes to be whipped up for us) and then past the Justice Palace (I had missed the one in Arequipa, to my sorrow). We meandered past Inca walls, and staggered (in Layla's case anyway) up pretty alleyways. We speculated where Cusco reminded us of and then agreed that it was a mix of the prettiest old European capitals - Montmartre mixed with old Amsterdam, mixed with Rome.We stopped for cocktails in a cool bar and played dominos and then walked home in the twilight admitting that, after all, Cusco is really very lovely indeed.  

In which Layla and Roz climb into (and out of) one of the world's deepest canyons

By Layla

We left you in the Kuntur Wassi hotel, with me clutching my head and wailing in agony, convinced I had finally succumbed to the famed altitude sickness (we were at 3300m, having been at 4950m earlier in the day). Roz masterfully strode out into the dark of the night to find medication that would save me. Accompanied thankfully by our tour guide, she braved giant dogs and multiple closed pharmacies before ending up at the local hospital and procuring some paracetamol for me. She returned a hero, and within 10 mins of taking the tablets I felt fine. Roz peered at me suspiciously: "your face is the colour of a tomato - are you sure it isn't sunstroke?" Ahem. I shamefacedly joined Roz, our guide, and our driver for a dinner that would have been more pleasant if not forced into impossible social niceties, before retreating to our room and watching the first part of the movie Giant before falling sound asleep.

Up bright and early, we had a tasty hotel breakfast with last night's loquacious dining companions before setting off with our guide and a random dog on our expedition - to the bottom of Colca Canyon! This bad boy is far deeper than the Grand Canyon and at the very bottom, the dusty cliff face gives way to an unexpected oasis - Sangalle - and it was to this oasis - currently a spec of green far, far below - that we were headed. Cue a rather nice 3 1/2 hour zig zag down the face of the canyon (overtaken by old ladies who live there - this cliff face is their main access to Cabanaconde, the tiny village that to them is the big city). The scenery was fab, the sky a brilliant blue, and the path quite pleasant, in a knee-crunching way. Indeed, by the time we eventually got to the bottom, I was clutching my knees in agony and feeling very old indeed.

The oasis at the bottom of the canyon was a treat - lovely swimming pool surrounded by grassy areas, with the massive canyon wall looming just beyond. We had a quick swim, then read our books in hammocks. Followed by a quick lunch, more reading, and then a realization that the oasis lacked electricity, it was a cloudy night, and our "bungalow" was a stone hut with a bed on the mud floor, a pitch black walk down a rocky stairway to the eating area and the toilets. Clutching our torch and each other as we made our way to these destinations once more made me feel old. En suite bathroom with light, please! We watched the rest of Giant in our pitch black bungalow, had some dinner, got huffy with our guide who made us buy our own water for walking up the canyon despite having promised to the contrary, played some cards, and finished the evening reading our kindles by torchlight.

This morning our alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 5.15 (and only after a fight - our guide wanted to leave at 3 or 4!) and hauled ourselves in the darkness out of bed and to the start of the trail. What is with people wanting to trek in darkness! I was rather dreading it - I'm not that fit and struggle to climb big hills, and there was the option of hiring a mule, but Roz wanted to walk, and her little plaintive face persuaded me that I should too. It was just as unpleasant as you might imagine an unfit person climbing steeply uphill for 5 hours would find the experience. I thought I was going to die. Roz, sporting a splitting headache and horrible cold, fared little better. By the time we finally staggered out of that picturesque canyon, it seemed we had a competition as to who felt worse. We dispatched the guide back to the hospital to get Roz some painkillers, and replenished ourselves at a dingy cafe with triangle bread and cheese.

Onwards, past glorious, spectacular scenery, to the Caldera Hot Springs, which were just what my protesting leg muscles wanted. We floated dreamily in the outdoor hot swimming pool, with hot water from the local volcano, and mountains all around - beautiful. And then had some lunch in Chivay before the long drive back to Arequipa, punctuated by llamas, alpacas and vicunas. We were met by the owner of the travel company who had been advised of our discontent over the water - a man who is clearly obsessed with his Tripsdvisor rating! And then retired to our new room at Los Tambos - a much appreciated upgrade: hooray! Tomorrow we're going cycling. Hope my legs start working in time!

In which Roz and Layla try to give themselves psychosomatic altitude sickness in city and country

Our first move on Monday morning was, naturally, breakfast. So we headed upstairs in our hotel to find ourselves offered a delightful selection, including pancakes made with quinoa (which Layla had) and a yoghurt, fruit and granola combination (which I had) together with some delicious local "triangular" bread (which only disappointed by not being triangular). Have lingered a while, we headed down to reception where we were to meet Carlitos, the man who runs the top rated tour company on Tripadvisor who was to be taking us to the Colca Canyon over the course of the next three days. Carlitos arrived about ten minutes late, and it was immediately apparent that his top rating on Tripadvisor was not something he wore lightly - he apologized for being late many many times, giving some complicated but very reasonable excuse as to his lateness.  He then took us to a cafe and bought us coffee (again the guilt at being late) and talked us through our tour.  In some ways it was a little odd - the information he had come to impart was all information that had already been covered before we booked. And in many ways it was a shame that we had to confirm - again - that we really did want a "matrimonial" bed whilst on the tour. But quite funny.  He then asked (with some horror) if we would mind delaying our tour of Arequipa (included in the price of the tour) until later on in the day, due to some medical emergency.  Fearing that this rather over-enthusiastic man might start giving us unfortunate details of his medical issues, we quickly agreed. As it happened, we had no plans for the day except acclimatizing to the altitude (which Layla had managed to get us both over-worried about). So he pointed us in the direction of the Santa Catharina monastery, built centuries ago, telling us it was well worth seeing, and hurried off.  

So with no other plans in mind, we did indeed head over to the monastery, which turned out to be this huge complex (the size of a city, we were told) whereo nuns had once lived.  This confused the Catholic schoolgirl in me (I thought nuns' habitations were always convents) but I was later able to prove my schooling in correctly identifying a "monstrance" and explaining its purpose to Layla.  Strange the things one feels proud of...  It was fun going round the place, contemplating that these nuns, at least, had fairly spacious "cells" and unexpectedly stumbling across pretty views of the city and surrounding mountains / volcanos.  

After this, assuring ourselves that we needed to take things easy to help with the acclimatizing, we headed to a pretty courtyard for a crepe and a salad in a place affiliated to the Alliance Francaise.  We also drank a remarkable amount of Coca tea, allegedly excellent for altitude sickness, and this proved an excellent excuse for sitting in the lovely warm sun under a brilliant blue sky and reading our books.  Eventually we tore ourselves away and headed back to the hotel for our city tour by the excitable Carlitos.  

A apologetic Carlitos turned up again late to find us somewhat grumpy (not least because we'd been enjoying our books) but he then did take us on a very pleasant wander round the city, taking in views from a pretty bridge and  satisfying my urge (albeit in a very dodgy location) to purchase earphones (having left mine at home). But the highlight was undoubtedly the market which he took us to: bustling, full of locals and with more variety - of everything - than I've seen before.  Having shuddered at the animal foetuses which were being sold at the medicine stall, marveled at the number of variety of potatoes which exist, neatly avoided going to the meat part of the market (whole guinea-pigs not being either of our cup of tea) we headed to a juice stall where I had a fabulous juice made largely of fruit that I hadn't heard of before, whilst Layla struggled over a drink also made of a mysterious fruit (but which tasted of cold caramel custard, which she somewhat struggled with). During the course of the juice stop, Carlitos made a quite sweet but very awkward reference to having a gay employee (and a pink music player myself) having clearly just put two and two together about us.  Cute.

Having left Carlitos, Layla put in a plea for a "normal" drink to take away the taste of her custard-ish drink, and so we headed back to the Alliance Francaise creperie, to linger over drinks and ice cream.  This delightful experience concluded somewhat abruptly when I finished my book and began to sob my heart out at the apocalyptic ending - clearly time to head back to the hotel.  I distracted myself when at the hotel, by contemplating food options for the evening (which was fast approaching) and was almost back to normal when we headed out, in search of a potato restaurant (which gets very good reviews indeed).  Alas Lonely Planet let us down in its mapping of the restaurant, and so we wandered the streets somewhat at a loss.  But we then stumbled across the fanciest restaurant in Arequipa, and persuaded them to let us in (they were almost fully booked) and to serve us a potato quinoa gnocchi item (preceded, I am not proud to admit) by some cheese. But we enjoyed ourselves immensely and stumbled across the potato restaurant on our wander home - something for a future night.  

Neither of us slept well (my sleep was disturbed by random dreams of the world coming to an end - I must choose my holiday reading more carefully in future!) but we woke up excited at the prospect of our 2 night / 3 day tour of Colca Canyon - almost the deepest in the world (for a while it was thought to be the deepest - but then two deeper ones were found in Japan, though it sounds as though this isn't something which the Peruvians have necessarily come to terms with yet!). After another delicious hotel breakfast, we met our guide and set off.

Having got out of Arequipa (morning traffic being more exciting than one might have expected) we began to head up into the mountains.  Both of us immediately developed psychosomatic altitude sickness symptoms. The mind is a curious thing.  But we didn't let these distract us from the remarkable landscape - it was like nothing I have ever seen before.  At times it felt as though we were in the desert - until you looked up and saw snow-capped volcanos, getting ever-closer.  And previous eruptions had left their mark, with massive cliffs of stalagmite randomly popping up every now and then.  Although it felt warm, the few bits of water which there were had turned to ice and it was fun to see birds skating around... We stopped often to take far too many photos, particularly of llamas, alpacas and vicunas, but nevertheless arrived in Chivay (the largest town in the Colca area) in time for an early lunch. Apparently almost 1000 tourists descend on Chivay every day, which is all the more remarkable when you contemplate that the town itself has a population of around 5000. But we had arrived before any of them, which had the double benefit of not feeling as though we were somewhere touristy and also of getting first dibs on the really excellent buffet which we'd come to for lunch.  During lunch, our guide informed us that we definitely didn't have altitude sickness - first because he'd be able to tell, and second because we would have fallen "like chickens" to the ground at one of our stops (almost 5000 meters) if we had.  We then went for a meander round a blissfully tourist-free Chivay before hopping back in the car / van. 

Continuing though the strange landscape, we hopped out for a small-ish hike of an hour or so along the side of the canyon which we will be hiking down tomorrow.  At the bottom of the canyon are some small villages, which can't be accessed by road - which must make for a strange life.   Both Layla and I looked increasingly nervous as we saw the steepness of the descent to the bottom of the canyon and Layla began to talk of hiring a mule to take her up again on Thursday.  We'll see... It was a very pretty hike, and at least we were able to blame any out-of-breathless when going uphill on the altitude.  Or at least we were until we saw the only tourists we've seen so far, who had come by bicycle.  I felt inadequate.  We also saw some giant birds, called Condors, which seem to be the national symbol of Peru (or something like that). They have a wingspan of 3 meters, are black and generally look quite menacing.  But they don't have claws, so they can't kill anything that's alive.  Intriguingly if they can't find any dead meat, their approach is to swoop down on prey and scare whatever it is into jumping off a cliff - for their enjoyment at the bottom of the cliff...

Back in the car for the final hop to a small village where we are staying the night, we were intrigued to pick up a local who was hitch-hiking (we hadn't seen another car for ages, and I'm not sure the cyclists - however hardcore - would have been able to help). And we are now in our room, where Layla is lying on our matrimonial bed with a hideous headache - presumably altitude-related.  I'm not sure that writing a blog is absolutely the way to show sympathy, and so with that I will leave you...

In which Layla and Roz travel to an other-worldly city and eat pancakes

As we stepped onto the Lima-bound plane in Miami at midnight, I couldn't help but wonder if I'm getting too old for a night flight. But we managed a bit of sleep and when we arrived at the fancy Miraflores Park Orient Express Hotel in Lima at 6am, I felt rather pleased that we'd worked on Friday, and yet were ready to start our holiday the very next morning. We showered and changed in their business centre and then ascended to their top floor for a delicious buffet breakfast that foiled our diet but made us feel significantly better about being up so early.

After breakfast, we stepped out into white skies with a touch of grey - a particular feeling for which the only appropriate description is the Scottish word 'dreich'. Apparently Lima has this weather for over 8 months of the year - when it was established as the capital of Peru, it was a rare sunny month and the founders didn't realize what it was like the rest of the time. The slightly otherworldly ambience is carried on with the Pacific Ocean with its waves vigorously crashing onto the beach - and reflecting the white sky in a weird beach scene sapped of colour save for the intrepid surfers' wetsuits. We strolled along to Lacomar, an outdoor shopping centre cut into the cliff by the sea, and took refuge in Starbucks, the only open and warm establishment, til the clock struck 11, the shops opened, and we rushed to buy warm fleece jackets, having failed to note the midwinter nature of our current holiday destination, and then returned to the hotel to find our room ready for check in.

As regular readers of this blog know, we always book into a posh hotel for our first night of holiday and this was a nice example of the genre. With our minimal sleep the night before, we sank into the bed for a nap strictly alarm clocked to an hour... Then decadently changed to 2. At that point greed triumphed and we leapt from the bed and proceeded out into the city in search of lunch.

Miraflores is one area of Lima, and apparently the least stressful one. It's a fairly middle class area where Lima dwellers shop, eat and play. We found a restaurant called Mezze and were lured in by hummus etc, before heading up to the main square, or more accurately, to the main triangle. When we got there, in addition to a beautiful Colonial church, a million stray cats, a grassy mini-park and various art sellers, we were delighted to find a sunken amphitheater in the middle of the park, where a brass band played clearly popular tunes while hundreds of older locals, in what appeared to be a Saturday afternoon social tradition, sat on the steps watching, and leaping up to dance. Their dance style was both understated and quite joyful and the scene made us so happy that we stayed watching til we realized we should perhaps walk back to the hotel before it got dark.

Having changed, hadna drink in the hotel bar to live piano music, and identified a nice-sounding Japanese restaurant, Maido, we walked to dinner contemplating how whenever we go somewhere we tend to say 'Oh, this reminds me a bit of Spain', or Japan, or Ukraine, or wherever it happens to be. Lima, in contrast, reminded us of nowhere. The closest I could imagine was perhaps Iceland, but not really. Lima has a strange, otherworldly vibe. At first I mistook it for bland, but then I saw it was just subtle. And increasingly delightful.

Our dinner (one of the world's top 50 restaurants apparently) was quite nice if not remarkable, and we tasted our first Pisco sour - the national drink before wandering tipsily home to bed to watch a film on Roz's iPod before sleep.

The next day we indulged in another delicious breakfast - made all the better when Roz realized she could order pancakes, and we headed out to the main sight of Miraflores - Huaca Pucllana, a 2000 year old per-Columbian tomb and temple, standing incongruously in a residential suburb. As we walked past the main triangle, we found some of the roads had been closed to cars that morning, making way for a festive amalgamation of hopscotch players, skipping rope jumpers, volleyball players, and roller blade renters. It was absolutely charming.

At the temple, we enjoyed a quick salad for lunch, overlooking the ruins, while awaiting our private tour - the only way to see this site, which is mid-excavation. Our guide was lovely, and transformed our scepticism over the ruins - we thought they'd been poorly restored - to wonder - in fact what we'd assumed to be restoration was original. And we also learned that it never rains in Lima. Literally - the city has no street drains! And thus a temple built from vertical mud bricks 2000 years ago is still standing nicely bizarre. We also learned that the pre-Inca culture didn't worship the sun as it was based in Lima where there is very rarely any sun.

After our fun at Huaca Pucllana, we walked back to the hotel, grabbed our bags, and got a ride to the airport and the start of our next stage of our adventure - Arequipa. This city in the mountains is known as the White City as all the buildings are made from white volcanic stone. A bad start when the hotel driver didn't turn up to take us to the hotel, but a taxi dropped us off without drama and soon we were wandering through the beautiful main square, or Plaza de Armas, as all main squares are known here, to Zingaro, a pretty restaurant where we had our first Peruvian food - quinoa tabbouleh for Roz, stuffed avocado for me. And then, amid psychosomatic altitude symptoms, yawned our way home to bed.