We start out early today (at least by our standards), and by the time I normally get my posse out of the hotel, we’ve already made our way to the airport, boarded a flight, flown an hour, and are touching down in Cusco. It’s a much different feel than Lima, with things seeming to move much more slowly (although that could just be lack of oxygen to my brain). Incan influence is far more prevalent here, with narrow stone streets and meticulously carved walls, many of which have simply been incorporated into newer construction.

After checking into the hotel, we step out to get a lay of the land, and find some lunch. Since we don’t have anything in particular to do, our outing is quickly hijacked and turned into a shopping extravaganza. Without mentioning any names, suffice to say the majority of our group is beyond bored from looking at scarves and sweaters.

The combination of early morning and high altitude has us dragging a bit, so after a few hours we head back to our room for nap. While this would often be the end of the story, today the fun is only beginning.

While catching up on a few emails, Sammy wanders by on his way to bathroom looking a little green. This is soon followed by him screaming in pain, and when we come around the corner, a skin tone normally reserved for dead people. He’s completely inconsolable, and when he says he can’t see, Mom comes unglued.

An ice pack on the neck seems to bring him back around a bit, but by then a doctor is already on his way and quickly diagnoses altitude sickness. The treatment (aside from the medications that he started the day before) is an evening with an oxygen tank, which I think Sammy finds kind of cool. It also means we’ll be taking it easy for the next day or two, so thankfully, our tickets to Machu Picchu are not for another 5 days, which should be plenty of time to acclimate.

Keeping our fingers crossed that all is back to normal in the morning.

We have one last full day in Lima and the plan is to spend it in the old part of the city, where most of the colonial buildings were constructed after the Spanish arrived. It turns out to be just a few blocks from our hotel, so after breakfast we load up and head out. The difference between this part of the city and Miraflores is evident almost immediately, as the streets are more crowded with locals and the sidewalks lined with street carts. One of the famous foods here is ceviche (raw fish marinated in lime juice), so it has been on our “must do” list. How then could we turn down the opportunity to not only try uncooked meat, but to do so from a dingy box on wheels. A+ to Sammy for staring botulism in the face and not flinching.

A few blocks further is the main square, Plaza de Armas. On one side is the Presidential Palace, and by sheer coincidence, we arrive as they are going through the daily changing of the guard. Adjacent to that is the Archbishop’s Palace, where after a quick look a the church, we are approached by a man selling paintings (his back story is that he teaches art to kids in Lima, and of course, has a good friend in Seattle). As he is flipping through his portfolio of original works, poker-face Sam gives him a big thumbs up whenever he sees a picture with a llama, and comments how the prices are pretty cheap. Not surprisingly, we end up with a painting of Machu Picchu that contains llamas, but for only twice what we probably needed to pay.

Just off the square is a restaurant recommended in our guide book, so we stop there for lunch, including some less sketchy ceviche, yuca fries, and fantastic rice pudding for dessert. It is definitely the best food we have had so far, and probably a spot we would come back to if we were staying in Lima longer.

Like Asia with all of its temples, it is easy to get “churched out” here, but one I did want to see if the Monastery of San Francisco, primarily because you get to walk through the catacombs and see the 70,000 people that are buried there. The rest of the tour is very engaging though and includes a room full of priceless painting by Peter Paul Rubens that you can walk right up (no sheet of plexiglass or ropes 5 feet from the wall), and a stunning library with over 25,000 texts going back over 500 years.

For the rest of the afternoon, we just wander around town, checking out the various markets and trying different snacks here and there (note the ever present Inca Kola). It’s crowded, noisy, and admittedly a little infectious, but after a few hours we are ready to get back to the hotel and relax. Tomorrow we are off to Cusco.

After spending a full days cooped up in airplanes flying to Asia, the 8 hour trip from LA to Lima was a piece of cake. As always, I used a good chunk of the time to catch up on movies from the past year (since movie night at the Roberts house typically revolves around such blockbusters as Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2), while Sam refused to waste a single minute of being in total control of his own TV. Angela slept (shocking, I know).

One of the particularly nice things about traveling South instead of East, is that the time zones aren’t a whole lot different. We will be on Central Time, so when we arrive in Lima at midnight, thankfully we’re tired and can go straight to bed, instead of staring at the ceiling, wide awake, for hours.

Given the late night, it is no surprise that we start of a bit slow the next morning. I’m a little antsy, as usual, but nothing here seems to open before 10am anyway, so that keeps me from annoying my travel companions too much (at least for today). After a quiet breakfast and a few hours at the cell phone store trying to buy a SIM card in broken Spanish, the high point of my day thus far has to be this exchange:

Angela; “Sam, get away from the balcony, I don’t know how sturdy it is. Let your Dad go.”
Sam: “How come Dad can go, but I can’t?”
Angela: “Because your Dad is smart.”

We know what she meant (even the dull one), but couldn’t resist the opportunity to bust her chops a bit for how it came out.

Finally geared up and ready to go, we head to an area called Miraflores, which is the affluent area of Lima. We have no particular agenda, other than the check things out and get a feel for the city. As the uppity part of town, prices are higher, but we manage to find $3 lunch, most of which we recognize. Sammy also discovers his new crack cocaine – Inca Kola. There must be a good story behind how something that tastes like liquid bubble gum and looks like a trucker bomb became so popular, but nonetheless, it is all my son can talk about (he starts making beeping sounds when the bottle is almost empty to let us know he is running out).

There are a few sights in this part of town, but nothing overwhelming, and by dinner time we are powering down. With none of the restaurants in our guide book close by, we break down and pick the first place we see. One uninspired meal later, we decide to call it a day, and head off for a nice walk back to the hotel (or at least where we believe the hotel to be).

Overall, a good first day. As capital cities go, Lima seems very clean and orderly. Traffic is bad, and horns are blaring all the time, but there is still some structure to the whole experience versus the outright chaos we found in places like Cairo and Delhi. The people here are extremely friendly, and thankfully very patient with the scraps of broken Spanish I have to use to communicate. English is less common here than other places we have been, but so far we’re getting by.

No matter how far in advance we start talking about where we’ll go next, the night before always ends up being a chaotic scramble to get things in order. Sammy has talked about going to Peru for 2 years, our flights were all booked weeks ago, yet here we are burning the midnight oil again, in a panic about what we are forgetting. However, time stands still for no one, so ready or not, come 8:20am , we are wheels up on our next adventure.

This is, of course, the second chapter in our grand plan to introduce our kids to the world outside of Redmond. Sam has spent the past few months figuring out all the things he wants to see and do in Peru, and after thinning it down to a manageable level, our plan is as follows:

3 days in Lima
7 days in Cusco/Machu Picchu
2 days in Puno/Lake Titicaca (what 11 year old boy could refuse a place with both “titi” and “caca” in the name?)
4 days in Nazca/Paracas
7 days in Galapagos Islands (a bit of a cheat since it is not part of Peru, but given how animal-crazy he is, we couldn’t come this far and not let Sam experience it)

While connectivity should be good in many of these places (Lima and Cusco in particular), in others, like Puno (where I’m going to try and convince my road warrior wife to home stay on a manmade island) and Galapagos, probably not so much. That said, documenting this journey may come in waves, but hopefully I can keep up.

Vámonos.

There was a big article in the paper here about the amount of energy wasted by the server farms powering the Internet, so purely in the interest of being green, we decided to spend all seven days in Goa doing pretty much the exact same thing. Because of our sacrifice, I am able write just one blog post and then tell people to read it seven times, thereby saving countless amounts of CO2 from entering the atmosphere – I know, I’m a giver.

Our routine can be summed up as follows:

8:30am – Wake up, Skype the boys
10:00am – Breakfast on the verandah overlooking to ocean, with the best Mango Lassi ever

11:00am – Pool chair
12:00pm – Walk the beach

1:00pm – Pool

2:30pm – Lime soda in the Club Lounge
3:00pm – Pool chair
5:30pm – Watch the sunset (which are stunning)

6:30pm – Tapas in the Club Lounge

We do manage to tear ourselves away one of these days to take a trip to the nearest town (Panjim) in search of some gifts, and then on to the more well-known of the beach areas (Candolim). The town is a pretty big disappointment, as the choices are poor and the prices much higher than Jaipur. It is also unbearably hot, being far enough inland to not get any of the offshore breeze.

The beach on the other hand is spectacular. It is wide, powdery, and lined with small restaurants where you can enjoy a cold drink and listen to the waves. Unfortunately, it is quite crowded, with this being the start of the busy season, and while there are parts of me that would be tempted to stay in one of the no name guest houses that are common here, I have to admit that to solitude of the Hyatt has grown on me.

Our beach, while nowhere near the same quality as that at Candolim, is virtually empty – save for the occasional fisherman pulling his nets in the morning and the groups of locals playing soccer in the evenings – and it is hands down the best beach for collecting shells we have ever been one. Not a single day goes by that Ang doesn’t say she isn’t picking up any more, but returns with both hands full of new treasures (those of you getting shell wind chimes for Christmas, I tried to talk her out of it). I also managed to find a nice gift for Sammy – pair of shorts to go with the free, size 10 garage sale shoes he is hiding in his closet until he is big enough for them to fit (shhhh, don’t spoil the surprise).

All too soon it is time to go, and it doesn’t feel right having to pack up. We’ve become part of the scenery here. Weddings have come and gone (including an interesting one with a steel cage, which I think they put over the lucky couple to keep the groom from running away), the uber-friendly staff knows us by name, and we’ve admired the 200 year-old banyan trees and 16th century church ruin a thousand times.

A good friend told me before we left that India is a place that, when you’re there, you count the days until you get to leave, and when you’re back, you count the days until you get to go back. I think I get that now. In the moment, the sensory onslaught overwhelms the ability to process it all, and you wonder just what you’ve gotten yourself into. But here, in this quiet slice of paradise, it’s possible to appreciate all the very cool things we’ve been able to see and do. I’m not counting the days (plenty of places yet to see before I need to start repeating), but I think I’ll be back.

This isn’t how India was sold to me. We’re out the door a little earlier than usual because of our flight, but that doesn’t explain the ability to see my breath (granted, I could also see it in Delhi, but that was smog). There’s no thermometer handy, but it can’t be much warmer than the low 40s as we wander off to find breakfast. I’m the only one dressed in shorts, but on principle I refuse to cave and switch to pants.

The flight to Goa is about 4 hours altogether, including a stop in Ahmedabad. By the time we arrive in Goa (shortly after 1:00), it is like opening the door to the oven. While the weather in Rajasthan was always pleasant, we wanted to cook a little before returning to the dreary cold of Seattle, and it looks like we found the place to do it.

We get a slight scare at baggage claim, as the place is complete chaos, and one of our bags is nowhere to be found. Slowly people start to trickle away until we are pretty much the last ones left, dutifully watching the carousel. Just when I’m about to give up hope and try and find an agent, we finally see it come into view. Apparently once you find out a backpack s just full of dirty underwear, you just throw it back. And somewhere I suspect there’s a baggage handler vigorously washing his hands.

We’re staying the week at the Hyatt (who says Ang isn’t adventurous?), which sits on it’s own beach and feels like it spans a couple of time zones. It’s away from the tourist beaches which is a blessing and a curse. I’ll admit to being spoiled by my travel buddy’s accommodation requirements, but I still like to wander down the beach and find a local hut serving food and drinks. No risk of that happening here.

By the time we get all checked in, I can already feel myself slipping into a much lower gear. Given our remote location, it’s quite possible we’ll never leave the hotel, and as sporadic as the blogging has been to this point, odds are good that it will get even worse…

We have one more night in Jaipur, but with the hotel we have been at the past few days full, we made arrangements to stay one day at a resort some 20km from town, figuring we could give try something a little different and make a short trip to the airport in the morning for our flight to Goa. Relocation isn’t a good enough reason to interrupt prime shopping time however, so before anything else, we’re headed back to the old part of the city to try my patience.

3:00 brings a reprieve, as thankfully we need to clear out our gear and find a ride to our new place. In pulling out the map to explain where we want to go, one fundamental mistake comes to light, in that the airport is on the opposite side of town from where we are headed. 30 miles in India can take a lifetime, and our plans for a leisurely morning quickly crumble.

The hotel is very nice, and while it will sadly be for just one night, we get upgraded to a suite. I’m thrown for a bit of a loop, as the check in person refers to it as a “suite room”, which I hear as “sweet room”. It seems a little informal, but has to be better than a room that isn’t sweet, so sign me up.

Our last piece of business is to figure out transportation for the morning. Being out in the middle of nowhere, and a long way from the airport, I get the sweats thinking about how much a hotel taxi is going to charge. We passed a town 5km or so back, and figure we can book a driver there much cheaper, and there a few tuk-tuks waiting on the street that will take us the short distance. When we get there, the tuk-tuk driver just calls someone on his cell phone (not sure why he couldn’t do that from in front of the hotel, but then I guess he wouldn’t have gotten paid), and in broken English, we manage to make the arrangements.

It’s dark now, and we’re on our way back, driving down a two-lane divided highway in a glorified golf cart with no lights. I take some solace in the fact that, despite horrendous congestion and the lack of any traffic rules, I have yet to see even the slightest of fender benders, but it still a nerve wracking 10 minutes.

Sweet room or no sweet room, the bed is rock hard, so combined with an early morning flight, the forecast tomorrow is for two very grumpy travelers.

It was a day I knew was coming, no matter how much I tried to put it off with other plans. With only a few days left in Jaipur, and a reputation for great shopping, I can avoid the inevitable no longer.

Our vacation would seem incomplete if we didn’t spend some time carpet shopping, as over the years, that has become a tradition. Aside from that, we could use a couple of additional souvenirs for the boys, and apparently some more of the item Ang has most recently been torturing me with – pillow covers (at just a few dollars each, is it really necessary to look at each individual one of the hundreds the typical store has stacked up?), but those will have to wait.

Having done this several times now, we figure we can outsmart the tuk-tuk drivers that route you to particular shops in order to get the biggest commission on whatever you buy. So instead of telling them we want to go to a rug store, we pick a random place (a Holiday Inn) and have them drop us off at the front gate. Giddy with our cleverness, it takes a few minutes to dawn on us that we are on a random road out of town and that nothing around us looks remotely like a rug store. Undaunted, we head off on foot, using the Force to guide us.

We soon come across a few shops selling pottery and handicrafts, and against all odds, one of the people standing around on the sidewalk not only sells carpets, but has 5 brothers that also sell carpets. And so begins a sordid journey through back alleys, dark stairways, dilapidated “factories”, and residential neighborhoods, as our extra helpful guide takes us from shop to shop, looking at raggedy, industrial rugs that the salespeople assure us are “top quality” (of course you would clean part of a hand-knotted silk rug with bleach, “the color will come back when it dries – it’s no problem”).

Broken after a wasted afternoon, we fumble our way back to the Holiday Inn, which is the only landmark we know in the area. They give us a few pointers regarding some places nearby, and having come all this way, we rally for one more try.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog with an important announcement….Angela has purchased a rug. I repeat, Angela has purchased a rug. After four years, seven countries, and countless hours of his life that her husband will never get back, the quest for the perfect rug has ended. We now return you to the blog already in progress.

Unbelievably, after torturing the poor workers that have to fetch the dozens of carpets and carry them to the viewing room, we are able to settle on a winner. But, like Forrest Gump, having run all the way across the country and not knowing what to do next, we just turn around and run some more. By the time we leave the building (well after closing time, and with the sun long gone), we have not one, but two rugs on their way to Redmond.

In a victorious mood, we take a tuk-tuk to a restaurant that we have seen recommended a few different places, and toast our success over an extremely tasty meal (that it is the first real dinner we have eaten in a few days makes it even better).

Sorry, no pictures.

It’s hard to appreciate our day today without a bit of background about the preceding night. Not long after lights out, Ang starts finding her chest tightening up and it becoming harder to breathe. For the next 5 hours, she’s either up wandering around the room, going in and out of the patio doors, making tea, and or banging away on the computer. I’m battling my own demons, and as a broken down pair, we are getting very little sleep. By the time the sun comes up and it’s time to video chat with the boys, I look as bad as my stomach feels.

This makes our first destination today back to bed, followed by a tuk-tuk ride to the pharmacy, finishing up with a return trip to the hotel.

On a positive note, Ang feels better once we are out of our room, so when breathing gets difficult again on our return, it seems like something might be amiss there, so we ask at the front desk if they can move us. They are able to find us something in the refurbished wing of the hotel, and happily, the breathing problems don’t return, so it seems my travel buddy has an allergy to non-refurbished rooms. This is good to know for the future, and at least now we have some Benadryl in case our next hotel sticks us in something old school. She may try and tell you about the paint fumes from the work they were doing in the lobby, so it’s safest just to nod your head and agree.

That’s really it – a boring day even by Redmond standards. Hitting the markets is on tap for tomorrow, so we’ll try and pick up our game a little.

Momma said “street carts are like a box of chocolates – you never know what you’re gonna get”.

Botulism is on the menu today, and where I usually get to discretely giggle as Ang’s stomach turns on her, karma, as they say, is a bitch. I’m not sure how she managed to get pictures, but at least she captured my good side.

A handful of meds, and a VERY light breakfast, we’re back with our driver to pick up on our sightseeing. We start with the royal cemetery. This one is better kept than Udaipur, and the cenotaphs are grander, but it feels like we’ve already done it before (I guess because we have).

From here, it is back up into the hills to Jaigarh Fort. This complex overlooks Amber Fort (in case one fort just doesn’t feel secure enough), and was clearly designed to be a little more military in function, as it lacks most of the fine details and comfortable courtyards of others we have seen. It is also home to the world’s biggest cannon on wheels (which I can now cross off my bucket list), a 20 foot monster capable of hurling a 100 pound ball 22 miles.

Sticking to the top of the ridge, our next stop is Narhargarh Fort. By now, we’re forted out, so I’ll summarize: cool building; great view; being maharaja is good.

For something a little different, we head to a place our driver keeps calling the Monkey Temple. I’m not sure what it’s actually story is, but it clearly takes it’s name from the hundreds of monkeys that have taken up residence (waiting patiently for a visit from the Monkey Whisperer).

Getting there requires a drive through some very poor parts of town, and a hike up the hill past groups of half-dressed kids begging for rupees, or trying to earn some money selling monkey snacks. As was the case in Delhi, it is difficult to be so close to the poverty, and to not be affected by a child that is happy just to get the empty bottle I was looking to throw away so that she could use it to carry her own water (of the garbage that is seemingly everywhere here, one thing you don’t see lying around is plastic containers).

On the brighter side, we do see Glitzy (who’s going to be the first to admit they watch Honey Boo Boo?), which we know will make Sam smile.

Last on the list is the Hawa Mahal, yet another palace back in the Old City. It’s smaller than most, but famous for its architectural design and so a popular stop on the day tour circuit. It is literally crammed with people, so we take a quick lap and head back to the car, much to the delight of our driver, who clearly wants to be done with us before the evening traffic.