Screws Falling Out Wall

... In the city

My readers experts on the Inca civilization have obviously noticed and I'm sure they are many, so I correct an error which starting today should not have course in the blog of a history teacher's son.

Grand Manco Kapac could never set foot in Machu Picchu because it is supposed to be the first Inca, who, according to mythology was released from Lake Titicaca to create this civilization.

Walls stones which have inspired me his dreams rather go see the Inca Pachacutec.

hope not to have written other historical inaccuracies, and I j'me documents said.

Take care, I give you back the new weekend.

For lovers of reviews (which I am one), I searched in vain, I could not find why it is not possible to put on the preceding article, the mysteries unfathomable computer!

Photo: It is self-evident ... Inca (Pisac)

Polypectomy And Uterus

Inca Altiplano

Lima - Arequipa - Puno - Machu Picchu - Cuzco

The pace changes again, a little faster but it's for a good cause, that it is 5 We leave Lima for three weeks in southern Peru. Fred, Alice, Matthew and Claire rejoind me to share the adventure. Here I am in good company, happy to find old friends and make me happy again. The first thing to discover new entrants are of course the inevitable hour bus ride, single loop solution for a busy schedule to be completed in three short weeks. It soars So for 14 hours because, fortunately cut by a nice break in Nazca and we enjoy a wonderful fried chicken that we digest (not without difficulty) in the soft evening air, sitting on the spot.

But soon up to serious business with a hike in the sport rather Colca Cayon near Arequipa, three days up and down around one of cayon the world's deepest. The climbs are steep and the descents are the thighs and knees strained but amigos, freshly emerged from their offices by m'épatent endurance. Our guide to when it is a real goat of the Andes that we are able to catch has on rare occasions (when he deigns to expect actually) and we get up at 2 o'clock in the morning to go walking!

I find the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca, we rest a bit from Puno to Taquile Island and start again, the journey continues, a little further North West ...

We arrived a little misty morning in Cuzco after a bad night bus from the shores of Lake Titicaca. The faces still bear marks of that chaotic night when we engoufrons still half asleep in a taxi to the Estates San Pedro La station or the train to Aguas Calientes, the small village at the foot of Machu Picchu.

is a very pretty blue and yellow train that lifts us above the city as the fog dispersed, offering us the spectacle of tiled roofs and steeples caressed by the gentle colors of the morning. Can we leave the city, the train passes through a wide agricultural valley now, the sun is high and I head out the window. Winds of happiness and freedom in my hair short and I breathe air that tells me something ... I know it is there in the air that smell wonderful and exhilarating that we breathe on the first morning of summer vacation, when after a short night adventure begins. The sun is still low but it is already Hot in the shade of the bushes we feel this freshness of the night going back ditches, smells of flowers that are still a few drops of dew are enhanced by the excitation of departure towards new adventures ... summer here is the wonderful scent that tickled my nostrils at this moment.

The train runs on the board, but soon the ressere landscape around us, the mountains come closer and gradually we are alone with the stream, winding through the narrow valley. It now floats in the air a smell of mountain trail at the end of August, when the sun heat the crushed plants, trees, herbs and valleys and nature can finally breathe again, the days shorter, the nights longer, warmer temperatures allowed to breathe the wonderful scents that was hidden at the height of the summer, trying to escape the rampage of solar power.

And always head out the train window, the scenery flooded my eyes but my mind is elsewhere, elsewhere in the heart of his family stories so linked to the rocking of trains on the track. I'm here on this train so far away, en route to Machu Picchu, which has undoubtedly been dreaming more than once what the history teacher my mother. And then the train and all those stories, those of my grandfather, son of guard fence and rail and Sunday epops Dreux in Granville, counted as the conquest of the west. My father and his boundless passion for train travel, the most beautiful lines of his early career between snowy Rumilly, Chambery, Modane, Annecy and wonderful stories still train in the snow and happy memories. The adventure continues in this century with my brother - Paris London at once - that cradled her son to 300 km / h before he can walk 4 blocks. Here I am in the midst of all this, head out the window, a few miles from Cuzco in the Andes to Machu Picchu.

The journey continues and over the valley ressere, the more lush vegetation, lush, trees, vines, leaves and a vast swatch of green in full force. Rolling rocks us, the wheels squeal when we attack the curves, the noise changes when we pass tunnels but soon abated and we are entering the small station of Aguas Calientes, we are at the foot of the Incan city!

It still wake up with a story that begins this morning too memorable day. By the light of headlamps we climb in line Indian stone stairs in invaded vegetation. When that day dawns, the road stops and we are at the gates of the city after an hour's walk with his eyes half-closed. Even still half asleep the excitation is at its height, we eat breakfast overlooking the mountains and penetrate into the lost city, perched on a mountain unlikely amid a surreal setting. The site is just incredible and when the mind wanders, a veritable pageant which gets under way. The first men who thought this city, the first stone and the work of tailors, masons, gardeners, architects, farmers and the arrival of Lord Inca, Manco Kapac great with his court, his family, the celebrations in the sun, moon, sacrifices at the precise moment the last rays of sun, incredible festivals at the solstices and daily life, people coming and going, kids crying for the breast, bread oven that smokes in the morning, the joy of births, deaths, the cycle of life, races of the stars ... The emotion that overcame me when I sit in the grass at sunset, resting against the stone walls perfectly joined ...

From sunrise to sunset so we walked the ruins and terraces, perched on Wayna Picchu, this rocky outcrop overlooking the Inca city and then came the last rays and the time to back down to earth and return to his day.

Alice and Fred left yesterday and we leave tomorrow, Claire, Matthew and myself for another lost city of Choquequirao that! The journey is not finished!

And here is a photo of the team thin on the ruins of Pisac (no no Pisaq is not a village in the Dordogne!), A huge thank you for having crossed the Altantic to come and share this adventure and thank you for the good times we spent together.

Gays Mejicanas Folladas

La Paz - Parinacota - Arica - Tacna - Arequipa - Lima

Well I'm not going to make tons and it did not come, it does not come! I have the ideas and images in mind, smells, colors and even the air we breathe too rare up here but impossible to make a beautiful phrase that stands upright. Less pleasant to read but also informative style will then stripped the case this time, unless the writing inspiration comes as Appétit man comes ... Sucks! J'vous book therefore words as they come.

But yet what a beautiful road between La Paz and Lima, is first above this deep crater in the pit and on the edge of which extends to La Paz. The impressive view of the South American megalopolis, asphixiée by pollution, paralyzed by traffic jams but despite that saw ten times more than any European city I have ever visited.

The road runs to the south first and then heading west, right on the mountain range to attack the pass that leads to Chile, at 5000 meters. The scenery altiplano are really special and I lack the words to restore its unique colors. The blue sky, brown sand interspersed with clumps of this lean and flush vegetation low and yellow, white snow eternal volcanoes ... wonderful colors, a super highway.

A border post later I'm back in Chile with a funny feeling to be back at home. I would stop near the border in a small village for a short hike, one last breath the air of the altiplano. My visit was very welcomed by the Lamas, Alpacas and their cousins vicuña among whom I walked and I enjoyed my night in the Parinacota small village, the small white houses clustered around their churches, trying to brave the cold polar entire reign on the altiplano as soon as the evening does the sun disappear in the distance below ...
Low, much lower because 40 kilometers west of here in this vast and crumbling altiplano plateau that extends far up the vast Amazon forest, fall into 100 km of the 4,000 meters altitude at sea level! After briefly lost track of my steps, I rediscovered the joys of stop clinging to this outstretched hand and hoisted myself into the cab of the semi-trailer to carry the famous 100 km with Miguel, truck driver and Chilean altiplano kid who knows the road between Arica and Santa Cruz as the lines of his old hand. The road is steep but the man knows his business, not a brake too, nothing wrong, a professional on Miguel. Loosen his tongue in my right to life story of a boy born up there, fed the little land that is willing to offer such a high altitude, bitter cold winters too long, live so far from all, the intimacy of a village microscopic years of the Pinochet dictatorship from above ...

A final yaw and the Pacific appears to us, bleached by the sun already low. I love the stop! I jumped from the truck at the location Pan American or just rub in Arica, a frontier town, the last port in northern Chile. Still 1000 km to the northwest and I am in Lima.

Peru I attack from the south on a train bringueballant who snorts on a bumpy road amid a virtual desert sand, bordered by the Pacific in the distance lost in the mist. A train that I say, a small motor car windows disjointed, uncomfortable at possible ... but what pleasure, what joy these 60 kms in the early last century! Charm, a poetry rail in two hours of travel time enhanced by the decor unreal.

Lima here I am, I almost reaches the 12th South, but almost does not matter, I would climb no higher. I sleep in the old city in a unique hotel. Charles V would come in person to claim his share of gold in the colonial gouveneur we would not be surprised. It seems that Christopher Columbus had landed last week!

Under the window is a brass band and a few streets away the Panamerican goes on, day and night. The spine of Latin America vibrates a continuous hum, lights yellow and red cross in the night, trucks anonymous and tired but not as much as the men who lead them. America Latin killed at the spot along this ribbon of asphalt that now caress the ocean, sometimes the mountain range, draining misery of men, women and children, filthy, carrying meager annual harvest of potatoes for a family of altiplano to end or 4x4 made in japan, without respite, no Sunday night hours, no holiday.

Lima, his great and beautiful Plaza de Armas, the end of the climb to the north that began in early January against the Cape Horn. It will conclude, it will replace the one I is not found ... Be well

Benoit