jhubbel

Inka's Rest is a little hostel that I found on Hostel Bookers, and the manager is really who makes the place. It's an oddly organized hostel, but there is huge common room with dorms and the big single room she upgraded me to (which I have now come back to twice). That was the best in the house. Surprisingly although this room is long the noisy hallway I have had little trouble getting a solid night's sleep.

I landed a bit tired after the long day of travel, threw my baggage in the room and promptly headed out to get food for my trip. Gilda provided me with excellent directions and down the street I headed for the big supermarket. Without thinking much about it I added Ritz crackers and cheese like product sandwiches to the supply thinking this would be a good item for the island stayover along with boxes of yogurt. And then while packing that that night I indulged in a few for dinner as there was so little time to prepare for the next morning's pick up at 7 am. Yeah well. And the last time I ate processed food was what year?

At about 2 am the 17th I woke up so ill with a mega migraine and a very unhappy tummy, treated it as best I could, then stumbled out of bed at 6 am to greet Gilda who was already at the desk. She kindly took care of my travel plans (no way today!) and I crawled back in bed to sleep a total of 11 hours. When I got up she plied me with coca tea and her excellent kind company for a few hours while the tea did its fine work. The upshot of all this was that I was able to replan my trip to the islands and utilize Gilda's contacts which were both far less expensive and a great deal less touristy, and for my part in many ways a better experience than had I gone through an agency. Which I shall share, along with contact information for anyone wanting to do a home stay.

Puno does not have a great deal to recommend it other than it is the central step off point for all the great areas that surround it, there is so very much to do, and you can largely take care of business in town to the extent that you need to refurbish. I was able to replace reading glasses (at a much greater cost here) but not at all able to find a saco or jacket which I'd been hoping to find at a local mercado. I was sent on quite the walking tour for about three hours as I described what I sought, was sent to Bellevista market,. down to a major street area, back to Bellevista, then to the touristy artesanal market where I knew it would not exist. Ultimately I never did track it down so my chances were better in other areas. However walking the city was a fun process, as was walking the main markets, and the main streets with their street vendors, so while I didn't find my jacket the interactions were fun and it was a great way to explore Puno. I loved the local traditional clothing and the warm greetings, people were open and friendly, the street police were quick to help, which I can't say about the Vea folks who weren't big on customer service. I found better produce on the street than in that big store but yogurt was only available in Vea.

jhubbel

Sorry about the double entry, don't know what happened there.

The 18th dawned, and Gilda sent me off into the waiting arms of Abad, who was to make sure I got connected to my family on Taquile Island. Abad was very busy. Abad was very very busy. Abad had a lot on his mind. We had a very full bus, and I had to move over multiple times to accommodate "just one more" (memories of Thai buses here) and we careened off to the piers. We get out and Abad puts his hand in the air to make sure we can see him. We follow like a group sheep watching a staff. There are many, many people, it is Easter weekend, it is insane. Abad is preoccupied with phone calls and a great deal more. I check in with him and he says "no worries, no worries!" Ok fine. We march down on the pier and he starts to separate us. There are four of us from Inka's Rest and for some reason he separates me from the other three. I ask him again. Cheerily he says "No worries no worries!" He points me down a long line of boats with the rest of the group and begins to walk off. I ask him one more time and I get the same answer. No worries. Now I am worried. Because this doesn't feel right and my gut is a really good indicator.
Suddenly we're all moved down about six boats to sit in a big one, some guy sits us down and another guy starts playing pipes. However I won't sit down and I find the guy who seems to be in charge and ask him what the hell is going on. He makes a phone call, looks at me, and says Abad has just made a mistake. Oh. Well. Geez. His boat has already taken off for Taquile Island and they are long gone. So we are on the tourist boat tour for one day, and No Worries Abad is hurtling along at full speed with three of his four charges in tow. Hey, well, my instincts were right but now I'm on the wrong boat.

Well, whaddya do. So I go sit down in my seat and we head off for the floating islands, which, BTW, wasn't on my agenda. Hey, this is a bonus so why not? After a sleepy ride over, we come into sight of the floating reed islands, which is pretty intriguing. This is a highly controlled visit. You land and stay in a staging area where people with some extremely friendly kids greet you. The President of that particular island and your guide do a nice job of presenting information about the islands, the way the culture works, the life around the reeds, all of it. In the meantime, these very cute chubby cheeked kids run rampant in and out of the reed seats we're all in and either fight, climb on us, take part, show us fish or otherwise charm the hell out of everybody. They do a very nice job of it. We take a quick catamaran ride in the - and the only way you can describe this is that their boat reminds me of something designed in Asia or otherwise in the mind of a Disney Imagineer- the catamaran takes us in a big circle, and then we are to take off again but only after the women ply us with their trades. Lovely all, but things to hang or stand or put on top of shelves. The kids of course help with this, they are expert salespeople. I get a killer shot of one of the little girls pointing a finger at my face and that's my souvenir.

Soon we're back in the boat and off to Taquile Island, another long haul and this time my seatmate and I are in a long conversation about how she's from Portugal (she has a Russian accent which stumps me completely until she reveals she has a Russian roommate and it's been rubbing off on her and we both laugh). Since Portugal is on the travel list we have a great chance to discuss this lovely country and the time passes sweetly.

When we arrive, we unload and grab our stuff and start heading up the long stony ramp that leads to the market square. Apparently up there is where people split into groups where some families pick people for overnight stays and others do their thing for the rest of the day and then make the long trek to the other harbor. My adopted guide who has really been kind and has done a nice job of trying to track downwhere I'm supposed to be has by now identified my family and they are going to meet me in the market square. We climb up and up, the island increasingly revealing its terracing tracing back to pre-Incan days for agriculture, and its homes dotted here and there, marked with eucalyptus trees from Australia in the 1950s.

Soon we've all make the hike up the hill and the bright Cerulean blue of the lake, now so like the ocean, so vast, and the sky dotted with just a few clouds, is laid out before us. The island is charming. There are no dogs here so little sound. Cows, sheep, no donkeys or horses. Very pastoral, and on the way, our guide has done a nice job of explaining the traditional clothing so that we know who is single, who is married, and what hats signify a person of authority. By doing this we instantly know what we are seeing right away. I later learn about skirt colors and other key identifiers as it comes to the community.

jhubbel

After the groups split up my new guide points to a pleasant faced man approaching us in traditional clothing and introduces him as Celso, who is the head of the family that will be hosting me for the night. Celso speaks virtually no English but he does speak Spanish, and I am going to find out how well I can understand and speak it over the next two days. He's kind enough to speak it slowly for me to discern the words and I'm able to follow along well enough to comprehend him perfectly.

Cedeso is thirty one, has a young son and a very pretty wife, Juana. Here, the men have to prove they can weave, which they demonstrate by weaving these perfect hats for themselves. This is of great interest to the women. The hats are white at the top when the men are single and there is intricate stitching around the head area, and the colors against the maroon bottom can be quite bright. The women are identified when wearing the traditional black shawls by the size of the flower like and brilliantly colored pom poms by the size of these pom poms. Great large ones for single and more tame ones for married women. As Juana would explain later, each woman wears a series of multiple layered gathered skirts. Depending on age or marital status, the skirts could be yellow, pink or red for kids, or teal, green, black or purple for married women.
Celso picked up the bags of fruit and yogurt I'd brought with me (mostly to share with the family) and we began our trek up the pathway towards his house. The house passes though the father's side down as the sons get married, and his house looked over the valley from a perfectly ideal position. It took just minutes, some with a little puffing while climbing, to make the way to his clay colored and blue-accented house with a guest room to the side. There was a garden of maize and lima beans and lovely views of the ocean and the houses and valley below.

Celso shows me to my comfy little guest room- a twin and a double, both loaded with great layers of heavy hand made blankets, and Juana comes out to say hello accompanied by their very active son Wilfredo who is about 7 or 8. He is a very engaging kid, loves marbles, totally engaged with human beings and not devices and as such, great fun to be around.

In short order I learn the flow of things- how to utilize the toilet (you pour water in to make it flush) how to lock my door, other basics. The table has been set for lunch and some charming little girls are joining us. Meanwhile Celso has already shown me some local bushes that are used for medicine and tea, and pretty soon he has a cup of coca tea brewing for me.

jhubbel

In no time we are sitting in their cheery dining area, the windows looking out over the valley and the stone wall lined trails that lead in all directions, the bright flowers of summer and the bright sunshine. We have a big soup that is redolent of spices and mine is full of quinoa, everyone else's full of potatoes, the main staple of their diet. We get a second course too, chicken and rice and quinoa, and I have brought big oranges for the family.

That afternoon Celso and Juana invite me to dress up in local clothing and join Celso for a walk. I don't quite yet know what I'm in for but I'm game. Juana brings down three brilliantly colored skirts in marigold, red and purple, a white decorated top and a black scarf with big pom poms. I also have a huge belt which she will assist with, and I head off to my room to give it all a try. A try is a good word. In seconds I'm calling Juana for help and she comes down and helps me with these enormous skirts and soon I'm feeling like a Peruvian Barbie doll. Juana shows me how to arrange the scarf for warmth, and Celso takes our photos. I tower over petite Juana but she sure looks more at ease in this clothing than I do. And off Celso and I head, over some rocks and down a path, and we begin to explore the island.

Along the way he coaches me in the local greetings which I sometimes remember and sometimes don't. I do my best to listen to him and emulate. We walk into agricultural areas that are still being developed that date back thousands of years. The rock walls were built by the Incas, yet there were civilizations here before them. Up and down the path goes, sometimes newly built, often not. As we cross over the island the lake stretches outward to the west where we see huge dark clouds and the lake has gone steely in color, a sure sign of rain tonight. It's still warm as we walk but the rain is marching for us, as the wind is heading our way. We're walking a steep descent as we point towards the lake, which is still hard to think of as a lake, considering how vast the water is in the distance.

Every so often I catch and hold my shawl clumsily to keep it out of my way when I have to hoof it up some tough spots, and it gets in my face in the wind. Celso limps a bit, and he explains that while playing soccer he twisted his knee badly. We are both gimping a bit but it doesn't slow down our pace. At one point we sit to watch fishing boats far below, and the clear waters in the light wind. The clouds loom large now, and the sun is just atop them. The bellies of the clouds are black and they are rising high. Celso gets up and continues to head south to the end of the island where the path is rocky, slippery and the view is breathtakingly gorgeous. Here from the outcropping we can see both sides, and the sheep graze lazily nearby. The beach is just hidden to our left and Brazil holds forth not far away. His hat has begun to fly in his face and the only part of me that is consistently warm now is the part protected by heavy layers of the three skirts, so we begin our journey back along the way we came.

By now the wind is seriously blowing and since I'm about the size of a gnat fart and these clothes are like sails I'm having visions of being lifted up off this island and whirled away to Buenos Aires to land in AvRooster's back yard, which would startle both of us, but save me a plane trip, but then I really would have lost a lot of stuff. Celso is walking double fast and the wind is buffering me to and fro and that big black scarf is acting like a World Cup racing boat but at the same time I am now MUCHO FRIO, so I do my best to reel it in and tuck it where it's supposed to be so that I get the most warmth possible. I am a hopeless idiot in this regard and am losing ground to Celso who doesn't care for the cold wind any more than I do and is quickly disappearing in the face of this impending storm.

To hell with the shawl, I wrap it any way I can, and walk as fast as I can to keep up and once apace, stay apace. Celso is cold. I can definitely relate. His wonderful hat is also trying hard to take off for Bolivia and he's having the same problem I am keeping various things under control. So we are striding, and some of our striding is going straight uphill, which is winding us both, given the altitude, and when we get to the top of one wicked hill we have a wind break and take a bit of a breather. Then we see the clouds and get back to business. By now the sun has bid us good night and the temperatures have dipped considerably, and with that, the wind gets downright nasty. Any notion of trying to look like a local with this shawl is over and done and I'm struggling to find a way to wean as much warmth as possible out of its length.

Taquilian women pass us going the other way, clearly chilled, and they have their scarves fixed in place, which makes a mockery of the slip sliding mine is doing. Celso is now taking me on what would normally be a charming roundabout walk through the town square, and there are two advantages to this. He gets to see the soccer game, and at least now we are down in the protected valley, the winds are less invasive.However the temperatures are plummeting even more now and my fingers are frozen in place. Rather claw-like. He stops to watch the soccer game, and when I see him make that slip the hip gesture that says he's settling in for a while, I put my frozen finger to his cheek with the words "Soy frio, por favor." After I helped him climb back down from the branch he landed in after I touched him he seemed to get the general point and we continued our journey back to the house. A tour of the square? NO. The winds were whipping about the square and by now, up the skirts. A view of the lake from here? Nah. Want me to put my hand on your cheek again? Let's keep walking. It was right chilly when we made it back and Celso immediately made me some very hot coca tea, which didn't last five minutes, and he announced that dinner would be ready at 7:30. That gave them some time and me some time, so I climbed under the several happy tons of blankets in the twin bed and fell instantly asleep. Good thing I set the alarm for 7:10.

Juana served up another big bowl of lovely spiced quinoa and chicken soup and a big omelet for me for dinner and joined us for the main meal. Outside the storm blew in, and hit just after we got to bed shortly after eight. Because of the cold, Celso explained, breakfast wouldn't be until 8 am, at which point the sun would be hitting the doors of the house, the grey cat would be sunning itself and the food would be good and hot. We all said good night and I crawled happily back under the sweet weight of those great wool blankets, and slept deeply until 5:30 am.

jhubbel

Yesterday I woke up at 5:30 to lots of grey clouds and made the requisite trip. It wasn't as cold as it could have been, but it was enough to encourage muy rapido, and I went back to bed until about 7. By then the sun was cheery and outside was looking promising. Lights were on in the dining room and the cat was indeed licking its paws in the bright sunshine of the opposite walls. I put on all the layers and walked outside to take photos, especially of the flowers in all that brillant high altitude sunshine. There is no pollution here, the air is so sweet and good.

At about 7:55 Celso knocked quietly at my door, and I joined them in the dining room. There, Wilfredo, there son, engaged me with several games of cards (some pretty obvious, some not so obvious) and he whacked me at all of them.

At one point there were several oranges on the table, Celso was sitting next to me and Juana was in the kitchen. Now first you have to understand I'm a little busty or this story has no meaning at all. Wilfredo grabs the oranges, sticks them into his shirt so that poke out in very obvious places and prances around the room. I look up and see this, and poor Celso is doing his best to control his son when I start giggling, because I can't help it, so Wilfredo heads out the door still wearing his D cups, and I've got my face in my hands and Celso is so very concerned and when he looks at me I've got tears streaming out of my eyes and I can't keep the laughter under control any more. My mother's horse laugh comes tumbling out, and he realizes that not only am I okay, I am finding this damned funny, so he allows himself to crack a smile, and soon he's finding this pretty funny too. We sit and have ourselves a good howdy do chuckle at his son who finally peeks around the corner to see if a spanking is in order and when he sees us laughing he realizes that things aren't so bad but he's also smart enough not to parade the oranges in again. They make their way back to the table quietly by sleight of hand.

I had brought yogurt for the family and Wilfredo was downing his first of three cartons by the time our breakfast was served: big warm fluffy pancakes with jam, and a few more oranges from yesterday with several kinds of tea. One of the neighbor's sons came by and we took photos.

Because I had expressed an interest, and perhaps because they do this for all their home stay guests, Celso brought in a selection of weavings for me to choose from should I want to purchase anything. It happens I did- and Juana was particularly talented in her loom work so the manta he presented at $400 soles was mine the moment it landed on the table. I also had fallen in love with the bolsa that Celso was wearing for our entire day the day before, and this way I didn't have to ask him where to buy one. He handed Juana the bolsa to finish it for me before I left and I later scored a charming photo of her smiling at me as she finished the edges.The only problem that we ran into was that among the charge for the night, and the charges for all my purchases, I ran out of money $65 soles short. They couldn't take credit cards and there was no bank on the island. Celso offered to let me pay Gilda the remainder, to which I said of course, since they are so close with her at Inka's Rest. Problem solved. We wrapped up the goodies, I crammed them into my backback, and handed over the rest of the yogurt to Juana for Wilfredo. It didn't last long.

Celso walked to the market square to ensure I had a proper ride with a group secured back and a time for departure. The rest of the time, Juana and I spoke quietly of things that matter, enjoyed the sun, I watched her work, stole photos of her and her interactions with her son, and enjoyed the birdsong and gentle movement of time at her casa. Ten minutes before we had to leave. We took formal group photographs, which hardly expressed how I felt, and then we hugged, which did. Juana's gentle and lovely face, her warmth and kindess, the sweet humor Celso used in all his dealings, and the patience he expressed. He asked me to recommend him and I do, for in all ways this was off the beaten tourist path and a quiet, easy, gentle experiece that I could happily have extended two or three more days which they would have accommodated. That is all arranged through Inka's Rest or directly through Celso Huatta Marca and Juana Machaca Huatta, and Celso's phone number is 051 970928993. Remember he does not speak English, Gilda does speak workable English, and if you book through Inka's Rest she can handle all the rides to the island and the stay with Celso. They are very close friends. The cost per night is $50 soles, all meals included, and Gilda was very good about helping them understand what I eat and it was all fine. Inka's Rest has won many awards on Hostelbookers and I love being here, am writing from here now.

Celso walked me down to the square, and made sure I was in good hands with a new guide. There I found a kind travel writer who warned Celso that 1)we were going to take a photo and 2) I was about to give him a great big old hug. This time I got the photo I really wanted. He stayed with me until the guide sent me down the long path to the depature harbor, and we wished each other very well, and I was most sorry to end what was feeling like the beginning of a lovely connection. If any readers get the chance to go to Ta

jhubbel

whooops Taquile and spend the night, I most heartily recommend this family's home stay. This will work if you eschew the tourist tour mill, and you just want to be quiet, be present, feel the world turn as it turns, see the island, eat the food, and learn about it. In Spanish. You will find that if you have any knowledge of Spanish you will be able to do this. Celso is careful not to speak too fast, and you can always bring a dictionary. It's well worth it.

The final walk is a nice sunny hike north to the last harbor, about forty minute's worth. It's a cheerful walk, with a few ups and downs, and it's a well kept up walkway. Pee before you go. The next bano is one sole at the harbor.There you wait for your boat, and it can be a long wait. But then the boat is fast and you're back in Puno around 4:30 or 5 and ready to hit the local market for food again.

avrooster

"I'm having visions of being lifted up off this island and whirled away to Buenos Aires to land in AvRooster's back yard". OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

jhubbel

Boy I feel forgotten over here. Nice to see someone is reading this! That would be a fun thing, tho, wouldn't it? Land with a thump in your back yard and no visa?

sartoric

Hey JH, I'm reading along too. Wish I was riding along too !

avrooster

Well, JHubbel, you don't need a visa for Argentina and your reciprocity fee is valid for ten years, so just go ahead and "land with a thump in my back yard." LOL!!!

jhubbel

Good morning and Sar very glad to know you're there.AvRooster was kind enough to gently admonish me for the size of my entries and I bow my head to his wisdom, although I have other reasons for writing so much.

Right now it's about five thirty am in the charming surfing town of Pacasmayo and I am seated by the open window of my third floor great big room, where I was upgraded to due to my friendship with Jorge Cockburn. Jorge is the friend I met back in Tanzania, because of him- and his lovely hyperactive mother whom I met yesterday- I have already had two lovely rids on Pasos in two different towns, and am off again to ride in Jetepeque.

The long and short of two days ago was that I was in Trujillo at Residential Munay Wasi, a little hotel which I won't spend any time on because I'm not going to recommend it. It's a little pricey for what it offers given where I've already been in Peru,and while the owner is quite nice I think you can find better deals. A driver swept me up early in the morning and drove me to the crumbling little town of Paijan which surrounds a perfect gem- and I mean a real gem- of a breeding operation owned by Lucy Vasquez. My guess is that Lucy is in her sixties, perhaps seventies, hard to tell.

When I got there Lucy wasn't feeling well and was being attended to by her doctor. I was let in to her simply magnficent house through a huge gate by her staff, and left t look in awe at her house. Huge beams, the colors ranging from green to purple to green to marigold. Each room sported a rainbow color, and massive antique furniture. The huge house was built around a central open tiled area warmed by the sunshine. In the shade were many many tables and chairs, horse tack, the hundreds of championships her horses had won, photographs, old sidesaddles and the pellon, the heavy braided saddle pad unique to the Paso. Various rooms ranging from the lovely tiled kitchen, a formal dining room, a big bedroom and office, a bar, guest rooms all surrounded this warm tiled square. Staff bustled about, and off to the west, two men rode a couple of Pasos who were showing their gait to perfection. There was much to look at, for the porch that overlooked the big grassy area itself had tables and chairs for at least forty more people, and overlooked the stables, where a magnificent breeding stallion held sway.

Lucy was finally able to join me for a few minutes and in no time she had me up on one of her Pasos along with Javier and another young man, and we were off and riding along the many many roads that surround the Paijan area.I was looking forward to more time with Lucy!

Almost always the first time out the guide you are with is going to keep a careful eye on you to make sure you're not going to abuse the horse, fall off or do something foolish, so a goodly bit of time is spent just walking. That is until you get a little frustrated with the pace, especially since Lucy made it clear that galloping was perfectly all right with her Pasos (and that is NOT okay with all owners as it tends to affect their paso llano gait). So at one point I asked Javier if we could please speed it up. Not without trepidation, he agreed. Well his speed it up and my speed it up were a little different, and happily my horse got the message. He willingly gave me a nice swift paso llano, and we were moving right along, and as soon as we turned onto a nice soft dirt road I asked for and got a lovely canter. Javier was riding a pretty grey Andalusian and it was his job to make sure that I didn't end up in a bush somewhere so he joined me, and that was that- once he was comfortable we went for long canters, and again these animals are smooth as silk.

At one point Javier sent the boy and me forward where there was a house and two very loud and aggressive dogs. I didn't know this until the dogs came out and sent my horse sideways. Javier was behind us. Now, was this a setup? I don't know- he knows this area perfectly well. The point is that it's been my experience that sometimes guides will test you to see if you come off your horse when it shies, or rears, or runs, to see if you really can keep your seat. This isn't a problem- it's a good way to earn regard from male horsemen-it's just annoying to have to do it over and over every time you ride with a new guide. The assumption, as Lucy explained, is that the men assume that women cannot ride. Augh. Even though her own daughter has been riding since she was tiny. Those prejudices run so very deeply.

There are a myriad of roads, and they run past asparagus fields, the mountains rise in the near distance, and the weather in this area is in stark contrast to the rest of Peru. The morning might have been in the high 60s and with a light fresh breeze off the ocean which was about 8 km away. And so much oxygen! We came back the main road which was lined with great overhanging trees, and Javier left me off at the main house with her staff.

Then came a comedy of errors. Her staff spoke Spanish so quickly that I couldn't understanding and Sra Lucy was sleeping. I was hungry, and needed something to eat, and was perfectly happy to walk to the town market to get it. Multiple questions about food were met with a barrage of rapid fire Spanish and shrugged shoulders and pointing and great confusion and trips to the kitchen to spaak with the cook. In my simple Spanish I explained I wanted to go buy fruit at the market (which was farther away than I realized) and that seemed to cause upset, but Sra Lucy was sleeping because of her medicine, and oh what do we do? What do we do?

I was pretty much headed out the front gate by that time when Lucy appeared, looking a little worse for wear, and we sorted out quickly that I would indeed go to market with one of her staff. Easily done. She apologized for the state of the market but it's like any other town mercado, dogs eating chicken skin, kids running around, that sort of thing. I loaded up on fruit and brought back bags full of tangerines.

Cook and her staff busied themselves trying to make formal what is informal: cutting a papaya in half and scraping out the seeds, and scooping the meat out to eat it. I was placed in the formal green dining room, given place mats (two), perfect china, lots of utensils but no spoon, and three staff members all trying to figure out how to formalize this process and make it appropriate for the setting. There is no way to do that with a big fat papaya. I finally got my spoon and did my thing, the seeds were summarily removed and the staff removed themselves from the dining room to allow me to destroy the papaya.

Lucy was up and moving around again when I was done and we had some time to speak about her family and the horse business. She built this house herself and it is her dream, and she also bought the land across the street to make a quite lovely hotel. She's asked me to stay there when I come back through on the 28th (you BET) and this will allow us much more time to speak. ucy is one of those remarkable women of stature and story that you don't just meet once and run. If you get a chance you sit down and talk for hours- she is true friendship material. If I am truly fortunate, this is a woman I will continue to know for a very long time. She is smart and engaging and she has lived an amazing life. Like so many others especially in the horse business she has a spine of steel and that makes her especially interesting.

In the afternoon Javier showed up again with the same horse and his son, who rides a donkey. Cutest thing in the world, the kid's saddle was nearly bigger than the animal. And he was a terrific rider, too. We filed out of the ranch and took off down the road, and immediately the kid and the donkey took off in front of us. Bounce bounce bounce. Kid has no problem with trotting for nearly three hours (I sure as heck would have) so off we go. The only thing the donkey can't do is keep up with the canter, which we periodically do again. By about four pm I am starting to feel the effects of nearly six hours in the saddle and my knees are singing hello there, and so I so some stretching exercises and also share some of my tangerines with my riding partners. Javier has no English at all and his accent is tough to understand, so I have to take what I can get from our limited exchanges. Most of this six hour day is spent in the magnificent experience of riding an animal whose paso llano gait is unmatched for its comfort and ease.

The one thing that is my flat forehead slap. I own, and almost brought, a sheepskin saddle pad for endurance riding. In lieu of that I brought my chaps. Due to the perfect weather and the local conditions, the chaps are superfluous. I need the sheepskin badly. The chaps are useless. By the end of six hours, oh. my. god. I slid off my saddle and thought, where the hell is a hot bath. Nowhere close to here, that's for sure. I do have menthol cream which comes in a close second, but a hot bath sure would be welcome. My butt is so skinny the bones ride right on the hard leather. It's actually quite funny. And for those who are curious about such things, the Pa

jhubbel

sorry Paso saddle holds your body in a unique position so that your legs are a bit more forward and you are sitting a little more back in the saddle, and I found this put a bit more pressure on the knees. Nothing that the occasional stretch didn't help. But six hours? Oy. Part of this is, is the pure joy of learning new gear, tack and horses, and how much this sack of meat can take in a day. Entertaining at the least.

mlgb

Thanks for posting all of this, jhubbel. Although there is a lot here that doesn't interest me, and I'm not into reading it at the moment, I'm sure I will be able to mine some gems for future travel.

I have to say I feel sympathy for the poor tent-mate on the IT. Would love to read HER blog!

jhubbel

No worries. She and I had a lot of connections around the writing piece,since she's just starting out and I'm a wee bit more established. I think that might have helped. It's the luck of the draw for me too- I don't know who I'm going to end up with, either.

jhubbel

Okay so if you're uber conservative, a prude, or you don't like bawdy humor, kindly skip this post. I don't want anyone reading this and getting all huffy because I didn't warn them. There. That's your spoiler.

So yesterday morning (now keep in mind I'm riding six hours a DAY) I am up at four a.m. and I leap out of bed such as a 61 year old can do after repeated six hour a day rides, and I take a nice long hot shower. I then grab my jar of EFAC cream- those of you who accompanied me to Tanania will remember its uber healing super menthol properties for athletes- and commenced to grab fingerfuls of it to apply to challenged areas on inner thighs and legs and calves. With great energy. Ahem.

Well any man who has ever been in a sports locker room who has done what I did will tell you that the application of a menthol substance to Certain Areas will produce Sudden and Extreme Reaction, which in my case was the one legged naked Masai Rain Dance, which also involved pained facial expressions, considerable energetic cursing and a run for the loo where I grabbed sanitary wipes and a wet washcloth. Very stupid move. All that did was spread the agony around, and the millions of very angry nerve ends are now billions, and I am hurtling around this (happily very large) hotel room to try to get some soothing wind Down There.

Now I will report that I did find this extremely funny despite the extreme discomfort, once I was able to control the distortions of my face as I did laps around the beds, especially when I reread the jar which admonished me that the EFAC was "long lasting" and that my morning exercise routine might take a while.

The good news, which any many will tell you, is that no, nothing falls off or shrivels, it all recovers, but one is then in the future rightly cowed by the power of mighty menthol, and takes great pains to apply the damned stuff where it belongs and NOT where it doesn't.

I will continue to tall anyone who is in the slightest bit intersted that EFAC cream is the best stuff on the market for MUSCLES. If you're idiot enough to put it where it doesn't belong then you deserve what you get.

avrooster

I'm not a prude, but where on Earth is "Tanania"??????

avrooster

Just kiddimg, I know it's a typo. LOL!!!

Jhubbel: haven't you considered doing the "naked Masai Rain Dance" for a living?

Just more kidding. ROTFLMAO!

jhubbel

My dear AvRooster, I hardly need to do it for a living, by god given the habit I have of bodily injury to myself it seems that I provide adequate entertainment as it is. I accept all responsibilities for typos for anything I write prior to 6 am, if I am so determined to get up before God does, but I will say that the view of the surf coming in so early out my third floor window is quite lovely. Even the motos aren't out this early in the morning which is good given my habit of turning the light on and forgetting that clothing was optional.

We are riding to San Jose today, and after writing a lengthy blog just now and managing to erase it (notwithstanding another friend's suggestion that I do it on Word first and then cut and paste, and she's right, I should, not the first time that's happened since I type so fast) I am just now organizing for the long day. It rains at night, we often have sprinkles in the morning and it clears for sweet days. What a gorgeous climate.

avrooster

Well, I wish I could do the Masai Rain Dance for a living, but, among other non-qualifications, I have a bad knee! LOL!!

BTW, I second your friend's suggestion you write anything lengthy (well, ANYTHING, LOL) on Word and then cut and paste it.

After all, we certainly wouldn't want to miss any of it, would we, jhubbel??? LOL!!!

Have a wonderful ride in San José and be sure to tell us ALL about it no later than tomorrow at dawn!

avrooster

Oh, just one more piece of advice:

DO be careful with that EFAC, jhubbel!!! LOL!!!