Postcards from the Moon

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.  A time to be born and a time to die.  A time to plant and a time to harvest.  A time to kill and a time to heal.  A time to tear down and a time to build up.  A time to cry and a time to laugh.  A time to grieve and a time to dance.  A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them.  A time to embrace and a time to turn away.  A time to search and a time to stop searching.  A time to keep and a time to throw away.   A time to tear and a time to mend.  A time to be quiet and a time to speak.  A time to love and a time to hate.  A time for war and a time for peace.”  Ecclesiastes 3 vs. 1-8

There is a time to see the world, and a time to be content with the little pocket of it that is yours.  This was our time, our season, and during it we have had the experience of so many of these things that Solomon associates with life.  Building; grieving; healing; crying; laughing; embracing; rejecting; loving; warring; searching, particularly searching.  I hope this won’t be our only chance to see the world, for there is so much more of it our hearts long to discover, but, for now, it is time to rest, to start afresh, to build a home.  Though this journey is over, the journey of life continues and it is just as much of an adventure.

In years gone by I fantasised about marrying my dream man (for whom I had a well considered list of specifications), and would wonder where he and I would go on our honeymoon.  Venice?  Hawaii?  Thailand?  Never in my wildest teenage dreams would I have imagined a honeymoon that would take us on ten flights, five train rides, sixty-four bus journeys, five ferries, two camper vans, two river boats, a scooter and a couple of hitchhikes to thirteen countries spanning three continents; literally, around the world.  Of course neither would I have expected that my dream man out would sport a beard and ponytail, but I suppose life tends to turn out a little differently to how the teenage version of our self imagines it will.

Today we say goodbye to South America and to this chapter in our lives, both of which I am sorry to part with, though equally glad in many ways.  This land of many faces has been by far the most challenging part of our trip but also the setting for some of our most valuable and unforgettable experiences.  It is home to the most incredible blend of vibrant cultures, passionate people and a communitarian spirit that we are so lacking in Britain.  We are ready for our return to familiarity, but I suspect unfinished business with this colourful continent, and hope to have the opportunity to return someday to uncover more of its many mysteries.

The journey has been harder than I ever supposed it would be.  Though, before we left, it terrified me, in my head I imagined travelling the world as an endless string of incredible experiences; one after another; never once giving a thought to dingy hostels, diarrhoea and death defying journeys in vehicles that, on occasion, will break down, forcing you to sit on your rucksack on the side of a dusty road, because you just don’t have the ability to crouch on your haunches like the Asians do.  I never imagined the hardships that come with a trip like this; the days when your need for home rocks you to your core and you want nothing more than to change your flights and leave the unfamiliarity behind you.    Yet despite all the struggles, and there have been many, it has also been more wonderful that I could have ever dreamed it would be. 

Before undertaking something like this, you can never anticipate how much it will change you, but I believe that it is impossible to see so much of the world; and the people who inhabit it; and not be changed.   We have come face to face with the reality and inequality that exists in humanity; poverty and privilege are silent neighbours, and the world goes on because it has to.  My heart has been broken more times than I can count, and now, returning home, I know that life will never; can never; be the same again.

 There is no doubt that we have changed physically.  We have the slightly bony appearance of people who maybe haven’t been eating enough; the effect, I suppose, of spending the better part of a year either in the third world or bumming about in a camper van; broke, vegetarian nomads.   Phil’s hair is the length mine was when we left and, with his beard, looks undeniably like Jesus.  I, who couldn’t face the day without the help of my mascara, now can’t imagine a life in which I have to apply it every day.  Wearing the same clothes day in, day out; no one would ever suspect my affiliation to fashion.  But the real change is that of the heart, and this, I hope, will become more apparent in time.

When we try to think back to the people we once were; most often found stumbling, together, around the Dundee Students Union clutching pints of something blue and toxic; it is difficult for us to equate those hazy memories to where we find ourselves now.  Though it wasn’t very long ago, we struggle to remember it in the way one would a bad movie.  It feels like a past life or maybe even someone else’s life entirely.  We are the epitome of the prodigal son, and I can’t help but give thanks to my Creator for his love and grace; always faithful even when I wasn’t.

We feel so incredibly blessed to have had this year; this first year of our marriage; and know that the rest of our life together will be different because of it.  In all that we have seen and experienced, I have come to discover more about myself in this one year than in all the twenty-five preceding it.  I have realised how small I am; how anonymous I could choose to be; an insignificant grain of sand on an infinite beach.  I have also realised by capabilities and capacity to be somebody of significance.  Not through fame or fortune; for I certainly don’t expect nor particularly desire either; but just through being who I was intended to be – a wife, a daughter, a sister, a mother (I hope, one day), an artist, a disciple, a friend.  I was created for a purpose and I no longer fear it.

Through this blog I have shared with you this journey, but also my soul.  I come home with no secrets, to a fresh start in every sense.  You know who I am; I know who I am.  But who are you?   Whether you have read one post or all, I hope that you have found something in my words to inspire you in your own adventure; whether it be to travel or just to embrace the adventure that is life; this journey we are all on from the time we are born to the day we leave this beautiful, incredible earth. 

Three hundred and sixty-four days ago we began our adventure, and what an amazing adventure it has been.  Now it is time for us to come home.

We can’t wait to see you.

Ruby slippers

Our journey takes us to the mythical island of Chiloé, and we find ourselves feeling let down when it doesn’t quite live up to our expectations.  This island has been on our itinerary since before we made the decision to go north instead of south, and so we have had almost four months to build it up in our minds only to find it not to be quite what we had imagined.  But it is, undoubtedly, beautiful.  We spend one afternoon on a beach from which, across the sea, we could see a seemingly endless stretch of snow-covered Patagonian mountains.  We visit ancient churches constructed entirely from wood, and sample delicious Chiloté seafood.  We visit the wild coast and stare at the Pacific Ocean, remembering back to our time in New Zealand when we stood on its coast and looked the other way.  We admire the quirky, colourful stilt houses for which Chiloé is famous, but something doesn’t feel right.  Maybe our hearts just aren’t in it anymore.

Cutting our time in Chiloé short, we spent a couple of lovely sunny days in Valdivia, and, finally, some not so sunny days in Pucón, where we rebel against its reputation as the adventure sports capital of South America with a relaxing couple of days spent horse riding and indulging in a spa day (for who knows when we’ll next have the money to do that!).

Though this last part of our trip has been filled with incredible things, it is hard not to feel like our hearts have not already flown home ahead of us.  We want to embrace and enjoy our final days, but I can’t deny that we’re wishing the time away. 

The journey home is by no means going to be easy.  Tonight it begins with the first of three overnight buses, the last of which ends in Lima.  We have a couple of days to rest and then we’re on the road again, only this time it’s not the road – we will be departing on the first of our three flights from Lima to Madrid, followed by Madrid to London and, finally, London to Glasgow.  If only we were in possession of Dorothy’s ruby slippers and could murmur “there’s no place like home” whilst clicking our heels together three times.  Though I wonder if such magical shoes were available to me, would I have already used them?

There have been so many days during this year that I have wanted to come home, and have told Phil, wholeheartedly, that I wanted to change our flights and make that final journey back to what I know; what is safe.  But now, at the almost-end of our trip I am so incredibly thankful that my level headed husband managed to talk sense into me, and I have not one regret in our decision to extend our nine month trip to a full year.  We are broke, exhausted and 100% in need of our home comforts, but it has been worth it.  For every sight we have seen, every person we have met, every difficulty we have faced has made the journey so wonderfully unforgettable and, ultimately, life changing.

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Over the Andes and into Chile, we are assuming that the landscape will be just like that of the Argentine lakes district, given their close proximity to one another.  What we fail to anticipate is the effect that a vast mountain range will have on a landscape, and so are startled to find that our assumption couldn’t have been more misguided.  Argentina was mountainous, the lakes sparklingly turquoise and the primary vegetation Christmas trees; more than anywhere else we have been it reminded us of our beloved New Zealand.  The south of Chile, in stark contrast, is lush and green; its rolling hills scattered with Friesian cows and apple blossoms.  It reminds me of Gloucestershire, and the only thing to betray its true identity are the three mighty, indescribably massive, snow-capped volcanoes that are visible (on a good day) from just about everywhere.

We have some time off from the long distance bus journeys for a few weeks, and are instead able to potter between the delightfully retro towns of the Chilean lakes district.  The down side is that the Andes make quite a considerable difference to the climate here too, and so we find ourselves stuck indoors passing by a few rainy days reading, watching movies and generally relaxing.  It’s not a bad life, though it’s not what we came halfway across the world to do.  But at this stage in our trip we are starting to drag our feet a little and so the break is a welcome one. 

In Puerto Varas we stayed in a great hostel with lovely staff with whom we spent a few evenings sharing travel stories over a bottle (or few!) of Chilean red.  And so when we returned after a few days of trekking in the beautiful isolation of the Rio Cochamo Valley, they greeted us like old friends, with a welcome so warm that I felt quite overwhelmed.  Not since our time with friends in New Zealand have we been made to feel so appreciated and wanted, and to have a little taste of it from people we have known only a few days’ only increases my excitement for the welcome I know will be waiting for us in just a few weeks.

We have been making lists, one thing a day for a month, of the things we are most looking forward to about home, but in truth I’m not sure that thirty one days will come even close to covering all the treasures I have been storing up in my heart; longing for; over this past year.  I have even, on days, missed the rain, and I hate the rain!

In our room there is a globe, and looking at it reminds me how incredibly far we are from home.  But I know that this year away from it has made me appreciate more than I imagine I ever would have if we had never left.  As incredible at the world is, home is home, not because of amazing beauty or perfect weather or mouth-watering cuisine, but because of the people who make it so.  How often life gets in the way of us spending as much time as we should with the people who matter the most, but I have come to realise that there are few things that are more important.  Bar bathroom breaks and a bungy jump, I have spent every minute of every day of three hundred and forty-six days with one of those people, and I am ready for some serious overtime with the rest.  We will be broke and starting “life” again from scratch.  It’s daunting and a little bit terrifying, but I no longer care because I will be surrounded by the great loves of my life, and that is more than enough.

In two and a half weeks we are coming home.

We are ready.

Peace and love

We arrive in the Lakes District of Argentina heavy hearted, having just heard the news that the same Chilean volcano to disrupt our flight from Christchurch to Auckland in June has erupted again, depositing a fresh dump of ash all over our next destination.  For me it was a tearful bus journey passing by scenery we could barely see, so thick was the air with a fine grey mist that has essentially devastated the surrounding landscape.  Arriving in Bariloche, one could just make out the shadow of the mountains that sit across from it on the shores of Lake Nahuel, and it was so disappointing to have come so far only to be cheated of the views that this region is so famous for.  We deliberated whether or not we should stay, which in the end we did, and fortunately it turned out to be a good decision, for over the next few days, strong winds lifted the ashy smog elsewhere.  It made for an exceptionally chilly cycle around the nearby lakes (of which there are many), but the air was clear and the views of the lakes and the jagged snow-capped mountains that surround them were spectacular.  It reminded us a lot of New Zealand, though the smell of the pine trees was 100% Scotland and, as with any reminder of home, deliciously comforting.  We ended up having a great, relatively ash-free, few days, after which we headed a couple of hours south to El Bolson. 

El Bolson is set in an idyllic valley snuggled between two mountain ranges and is renowned for its reputation as the hippy town of Argentina which is, of course, what attracted us to it, and where we discovered “La Casona de Odile” - hands down the best hostel we have stayed at during our entire year away.  Breakfasts of homemade bread and jam; nightly log fires; beautiful gardens; good company and the most gorgeous setting 5km from the town, with stunning views of the mountains.  Not to mention the home brewed beer, which, I’ll admit, I am getting quite the taste for, and so feeling considerably more supportive of Phil’s plan to brew his own on our return.  We spent six days here, and they were some of the most relaxing we’ve had in a long while.

From El Bolson we took a beautiful but heart-wrenching journey to Chile, through the area most affected by the volcanic ash.  Entire lakes were covered in a grey film, the rivers flow with it, and streets are lined with mounds (some higher than our double-decker bus) that I imagine will take years to clear.  The air is full of it and toxic as a result, and when you see how the lives of the people have been devastated as they have, suddenly a cancelled flight or foggy day seems entirely insignificant.  It was the first day time bus we have taken in a few months and, ash-aside, the scenery was truly breathtaking and, face pressed to the glass, I find myself choked with emotion at the realization that this experience is so very nearly over.  Though I am more than ready for the reunion with family and friends, I am aware that this may be the only thing I am anticipating with excitement.  We have become so used to this nomadic lifestyle and the daily discovery of the incredible wonders of this world.  We have become accustomed to having our breath stolen, on a regular basis, by such startling beauty that one can barely begin to imagine, and of which photographs cannot hope to do justice.  Though I have daydreamed about the feelings that I don’t doubt will overwhelm me the night we touchdown in Glasgow airport, I realise that these things of discovery that have become our life, will soon replace my family as the subject of my daydreams.  There is so much of the world still to see and beauty to behold; I realise that my opportunity to do so is almost over, and only God in heaven knows when another will arise, if ever again.  For though it is true; to quote “The Wizard of Oz”; that “there is no place like home”, the world is truly remarkable and I’m not sure that I am ready to let it go.  Having been so certain that we would be immune to the culture shock and struggle to settle back into “real life”, I suddenly find myself wondering if it is possible to ever fully readjust to the life we, temporarily, left behind, or will I be in a constant daydream, always anticipating the next journey?  Will we ever again feel ready for the certainty and predictability that accompany the nine-to-five life?  Will we be able to adjust to seeing the same things - day in, day out - and never have them leave an impression on us?  Will it ever be enough?

Vino anyone? Yes please!!

We had never initially planned on coming to Mendoza, but after hearing so many complimentary stories from others we had met on our travels, we decided it would be a worthwhile addition to our itinerary.  Unfortunately this meant yet another cross country bus journey, though we quickly discovered that the rumours we true, and that it had been worth the extra cost and effort.  Nestled in the desert to the east of the Andes, Mendoza is deliciously warm, surprisingly green and affords you the most spectacular views of the magnificent stretch of snow-covered mountains that separates Argentina from neighbouring Chile. 

Two of our four days were spent doing what we came here to do; cycling in the sunshine from winery to winery to liquor and chocolate factory to artisan beer garden, sampling fine wines, home brews, olives, oils, chutneys, jams, chocolates and liquors of every imaginable variety.  (Tobacco flavour?  No thanks, I think I’ll pass!)  It was certainly a boozy few days, but not in the sense that it would have been a few years ago.  Long gone are the sorrow-drowning days of old.  Every drop is considered, not guzzled; each glorious burst of flavour savoured; appreciated.  We sample some of the most delicious red wine I have ever had the pleasure of tasting, and become a little better educated on this subject that is so very close to my heart. 

Our favourite of the wineries boasted a huge balcony adorned with comfy couches, and many an hour was whiled away with our feet up, mulling over a fabulous bottle of Malbec, looking out over the vineyards it came from, framed by the breathtaking backdrop of the Andes.  There have been many days of late that I have felt travelling has been wearing me down, and more and more I have been anticipating our return home, and wishing its hasty arrival upon us.  But in those hours I relished in the warm feeling of utter contentment, and was once again able to fully appreciate how privileged we are to have experienced all that we have.  In less than one year we have seen more than a lifetimes worth of two week vacations would have allowed us, and though I am excited for our return to the people and places that remain closest to our hearts, for the first time I feel truly saddened that this incredible experience, and all that is entails, is finally drawing to its inevitable conclusion.

One year!!

Our first taste of Salta was a brief jaunt for just a few days before we disappeared into the wilderness that was Aldea Luna.  Every balmy, sun-filled day was spent enjoying long wine fuelled lunches and lazy wandering; admiring grand colonial architecture in a delightful palette of ice cream colours.  Arriving from Bolivia, it felt, suddenly, like we had returned to the ease of modern life for a sweet, sunny holiday from the stresses of travelling.  Gone were the ski jackets, hats, scarves and out came the summer dresses and shorts that have seen little more than the interiors of our rucksacks since Australia.  We had such an enjoyable time that, after our month in Aldea Luna, we returned for a few more days to celebrate our one year anniversary; on which we enjoyed a delicious dinner and reminisced on how astounding and life changing this first year of marriage has been.  We feel so incredibly blessed to have had this incredible opportunity to discover the world together, but cannot help but hope that every year of our life together won’t disappear with such speed as this one.

From Salta we took our first extraordinarily luxurious bus; complete with la-z-boy style leather recliners, flat screen TVs and a beef and roast potato dinner; to Puerto Iguazu, a small jungle town on the Brazilian border that has not much going for it other than its proximity to the mighty Iguazu Falls.  And, oh, how mighty they are.  We spent a lot of time discussing whether we were prepared to travel the huge distance required to spend just one day in the presence of the falls, and were certainly not disappointed that we had decided to do so.  It’s difficult to really explain how impressive they are, but their awesome power coupled with their tremendous beauty renders most visitors visibly awestruck (and exceptionally wet!).

Yet another luscious bus (this time serving wine and champagne!) transports us the 22 hours to Buenos Aires.  We anticipate the capital with as little expectation as we can muster and a certain sense of uncertainty; it seems that all visitors to BA either love it or hate it and we don’t want to get our hopes up only to be disappointed.  On the day we arrived it was pouring with rain, which can easily put a damper on any city, but even amongst the dreary misery we caught glimpses of the European beauty that has won BA as its reputation as the “Paris of South America”.  And in many ways it is like Paris, but, as we soon discovered, it still brims with Latin American charm, the combination of which is both eclectic and enchanting.  Cobbled streets filled with antique shops and artisans selling their wares, beautiful couples dancing the sultry tango on the sidewalk, little old men in suits and bowlers hats busking for their bread, and gorgeous old cafes that transport you back in time and sell by far the best coffee we’ve had in all of South America.    In a nutshell, BA has character; unique and lots of it; and is unlike any other city we’ve encountered.  We indulged in the popular tourist activities; walking tour, tango show, visit to colourful La Boca, market in San Telmo, coffee in Cafe Tortoni (Argentina’s oldest); but equally enjoyed embracing the portenos way of life – hours spent in cafes and restaurants, reading the paper, a good book, watching the world go.  Though not managing to oust Valparaiso from its top spot as favourite city in South America, Buenos Aires definitely captured our hearts with its efforts.  We may have even fallen in love a little bit.

Little Moon Village

My recent blog absence owes itself to our decision to spend one month of our time in South America volunteering on an organic nature reserve in the Yungas of Northern Argentina.  This served the purpose of stretching our vanishing money over more months, whilst allowing us to embrace the long lost sensation of feeling settled.  Particularly after all the Bolivian-induced stress of late, we were looking forward to some time away from cities and enjoying the unfamiliarity of, once again, having a routine.  I will save you from the boredom of explaining our life at Aldea Luna (though not boring for us, one could not often differentiate one day from the next).  But that was what we were in need of to recharge our long since empty batteries.  So instead I have put together a list of some of the things we learnt during our time in the “Little Moon Village”.

-How to dig a hole.

-How to make bread (and cook it without an oven).

-How to make gnocchi.

-How to make jam.

-How to plant vegetables.

-How to save your organic veggies from preying bugs.

-How to survive showering only twice a week.

-How to make compost.

-The correct ratio for making cement.

-The secret to becoming a ‘Cluedo’ master.

-How to heat water without the use of gas or electricity.

-How incredibly beautiful the stars are. (Though we already know this, it is easy to forget when they are so often blocked out by big city lights).

-Chickens are evil.

-If you eat beetroot daily and in large quantities, things come out the other end a rather startling shade of pink.

-And finally, how to live without...plug sockets, a fridge, an oven, meat, dairy, chocolate, coffee, alcohol, internet, any communication with the outside world, washing machines and washing ourselves!

We had a wonderful time and have learnt a huge amount, but are very glad to be on the road again for the final two months of our epic adventure and showering daily once more.

The roads that test us

Our final taste of Peru was unfortunately sour; with a tour of Lake Titicaca opening our eyes to how much tourism has exploited the lives of the local people.  And so, relieved that it was over, we arrived, enthusiastic, in Bolivia, only to find ourselves faced with the first of what turned out to be a long troublesome string of unfortunate events.  Copacabana - on the shores of Lake Titicaca and by no means a small town - has no ATM, a fact we only became privy to post border crossing and changing the few remaining Peruvian soles we had left, even in cheap as chips Bolivia, wasn’t going to get us very far.  So our plan to visit the Isla del Sol had was abandoned for lack of funds, and we hoped on a bus to La Paz.  Still eager to discover this mysterious country, we remained in high spirits until day two in the bustling capital when I collapsed in the street with a pretty nasty case of altitude sickness.  And so commenced a couple of flu-like days and Phil, wonderful husband that he is, kept me company in my misery.  We indulged in a great deal of cable TV and only ventured out for the necessary task of eating, through which we encountered disaster number three – food poisoning.   As we all know what that entails I will spare you the unfortunate details.  So we were grounded in La Paz for a few more days, during which time we discovered that our next desired destination was no longer accessible due to a roadblock.  It really felt like Bolivia was against us, and more than any other time in our nine months travelling, all I wanted more than anything was get on a plane and fly home; to comfort, familiarity and friendly faces.

Eventually we made it south to the city of Sucre, and suddenly things started to look up.  Beautifully colonial and deliciously warm, we spent six wonderful days basking in sunshine and eating in fancy restaurants (a definite must after recovering from the effects of a dodgy kebab and fortunately exceptionally cheap in Bolivia).  Sad to leave what had quickly become a makeshift home, we headed to Potosi for a gruelling and eye-opening tour of the mines, and finally to Uyuni and the salt flats.  Easily the highlight of our time in Bolivia, the Salar de Uyuni and its surrounding countryside felt like something from another world, and in the three days we spent amongst its unusual beauty, it was easy to forget all the stresses and strains that Bolivia had burdened us with.  It was a blessing and a truly amazing end to what has been the most difficult country we have encountered on our journey.  Now we are saying goodbye and I am relieved, but glad that Bolivia didn’t succeed in breaking me, despite how hard it seemed to try.

The road to Machu Picchu

Cuzco’s proximity to Machu Picchu is the draw card that guarantees its place on the itinerary of every traveller to Peru; however its own ancient charms are what hold people here for longer than they had anticipated.  The landscape that surrounds this city is so startlingly beautiful that one is almost tempted to believe that it’s not real; a fake, movie set view.  Completely unlike Arequipa in every way, Cuzco’s buildings are predominantly brown with red roofs, and at the end of every hilly, cobbled street you are met, once again, with a glimpse of that unbelievable backdrop.  Flanked by rolling hills and staggering peaks, it’s easy to see why the Inca’s claimed this land as their own; a worthy destination for their largest city, and evidence of them is still very much present in its walls.  Despite its tourist hoards and the presence of, what I truly believe must be, the world’s most beautiful McDonald’s, one can easily imagine that not much has changed in the design of this city for hundreds of years.  Within our first day of arriving, Phil has declared that Cuzco is the most beautiful city he has ever seen and, despite my love affair with Valparaiso, I am sorely tempted to agree.

We spend four days exploring as many of its nooks and crannies as we can find, though acclimatizing to an altitude of 3300m makes for very slow going.  Ordinarily Phil and I are exceptionally competent hill walkers, but in Cuzco breathlessness is almost immediate even on the slightest incline, with our hearts beating so fast I fear they may try and make a break for it to explore on their own terms!  But this necessary slow pace suits us quite happily and we enjoy our forced relaxation.  On our final evening we sip cocktails looking out over the spectacular view of the city, trying to contemplate the next part of our journey.  Booked almost a year ago, it has crept up on us unexpectedly and suddenly we find ourselves, a little overwhelmed, facing the road to Machu Picchu.

We have chosen not to do the infamous “Inca Trail” due to the sheer volume of other travellers who walk it daily, opting instead for a considerably more anonymous route:  The Jungle Trail.  It is a beautiful trek, up and down mountains, through exquisite jungle, and the three days prior to us reaching Machu Picchu are a complete joy in themselves.  On the third day, we arrive, exhausted, at the Temple of the Sun, another Inca site from where, in the distance, we get our first glimpse.  All my knowledge of the Lost City of the Incas could not prepare me for the breathtaking beauty of the valley that surrounds it; so unexpectedly green and alive in comparison to the dry, dusty Peru we have experienced up until now.  The cloudless blue sky sets off dazzling snow-covered peaks, that sit behind magnificent tree covered mountains that give way to a vast gorge, and in the centre of it all, nestled so subtly, is Machu Picchu.  It is breathtaking, and so well hidden in amongst this wilderness that it comes as no surprise that it took the western world so many years to discover it.

Describing Machu Picchu in words feels like an impossible task and one that I am not worthy of.  No doubt many of you will have seen the infamous image of this sacred city, but you can never anticipate how you will feel when you are standing within its walls.  You and two thousand other tourists; this is certainly not a place you will find solitude, but instead a glimpse at the incredible capabilities of humanity, and that, in itself, is to be treasured.  Getting lost for hours amongst its maze of walls will give you a good idea of the size of the city; after nine hours I still couldn’t be sure if there was more that we had yet to discover.  Yet nothing could compare to just standing; being; looking down on that view, of the city in its entirety, drinking in the complexity of its structures and its beauty; this incredible creativity realised at the hands of men, and, for me, evidence that we were made in the image of the Creator.  Even at the at the end of such a long day I struggled to tear myself away from that view, and I hope that it will remain in my memory always.

Sunrise Machu Picchu