Pass the Guinea Pig (or It Definitely Doesn't Taste Like Chicken)

The kitchen is in the back parking lot.

There’s nothing like traveling to foreign countries to test your culinary limits.

Fran is an adventurous eater and has even been on the show Bizarre Foods. She once told me that she tried coconut covered caterpillar, but she didn’t like it because of the coconut.

When I was growing up, my grandfather once gave me $100 for Christmas, and I spent it all on pizza deliveries when I didn’t like what my mom made for dinner. That was fairly often. I was pretty picky.

Tonight, I thought back to my childhood and playing with my best friend David Butcher. He got a pet guinea pig when he was about five years old. I was pretty jealous. I had a pet dog, Trouble, but he died when I was three. I spent the rest of my youth without a pet.

Butcher loved that guinea pig, which was kind of a weird fur ball that didn’t seem to do much. I tried to like it, too, but I’m not sure I ever got the joy out of playing with it that Butcher did (for the record, I’ve always referred to him by his last name, and I always will).

Pretty sure he's cozy. I know he's toasty.

That’s good. The reason I was thinking about Butcher tonight was that Fran made me eat cuy. It’s a delicacy in Ecuador. But in American English, it translates to roasted guinea pig.

We had to stop into the restaurant this afternoon to let them know we were coming, because it takes at least an hour to prepare.

After we sat down, the waiter approached the table and asked if we wanted to see how our dinner was prepared. Of course, we said yes.

He led us out a side door and to the parking lot in back. In the open-air kitchen, there were 6-7 guinea pigs roasting on rotisseries over hot coals. It was an amazing sight.

Our dinner arrived on one plate with the entre sliced into five parts. The hind quarters and front quarters were split in two with the kidneys and ribs still attached. And staring at me, mouth gaping open, was the head.

PLEASE stop staring at me, Mr. Guinea Pig.

I tried. I really did.

Fran told me that I should pretend it was chicken. We often buy rotisserie chickens at the grocery store, and I slice them up for a delicious dinner.

“I can’t pretend it’s chicken when I’m holding it by the paw,” I replied.

Then I turned the plate so the head was staring at Fran. I just couldn’t take it, thinking about eating Butcher’s pet guinea pig (yes, I understand there’s irony with the name).

There were delicious potatoes and corn dishes served with the cuy, and I made sure I monopolized the bottle of wine we bought.

Fran kept offering to buy me ice cream. I’m pretty sure it was meant to get the gamey taste out of my mouth, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was her way of apologizing for making me eat something that should have been in a child’s bedroom. Would it have been worse to eat a roasted Teddy Bear? I’m not sure.

Just in case you're in Cuenca and want cuy.

A friend asked me if it tasted like chicken. It absolutely did not. It tasted like rodent. I’ve never eaten rodent before, but it tasted exactly what I imagine it would taste like.

I do not regret trying something new. But please don’t ever serve it to me again.

Does This Bus Stop on 82nd Street?

“Are you going to Quito?” a man asked in Spanish as we entered the bus station.

We told him we were not.

“Macas? Guayaquil?” There were others, too, but his rapid-fire Spanish was too much for me to follow.

We told him, “No, gracias,” and moved past him to the ticket window, which was unusually quiet. It was 7:25 a.m., and the bus we wanted was scheduled to leave for Ambato at 8 a.m.

Finally a woman came back on duty, only to tell us that there was no 8 a.m. bus today. There was one at 9:15 a.m., or another bus company had one leaving at 8:30 a.m.

One of many super awesome statues
we saw from our bus windows.

We figured we would check the other company, but on the way, another man started in on the same spiel as the other. Neither of us thought we were really interested in a guy hawking a bus company, but then he heard us say Ambato, and he got very excited.

“Ambato? Es qui,” he said, pointing past the turnstile and into the parking lot.

Our American instincts said that we were about to get duped. Or mugged. Or something. But others joined the man in telling us to hurry, so we shrugged and headed toward the bus they were all pointing at.

A man grabbed our bags and threw them in the storage compartment. I asked the driver if the bus was going to Ambato. He rolled his eyes, said yes and pointed impatiently to the seats.

We got on and settled in. No tickets? No problem. They’d collect our $8 each about an hour into the ride.

This is how the Ecuadorian buses work, or so we were learning quickly. But there was so much more to it. And almost all of it is entertaining.

Fran and I got an indoctrination into Ecuador pretty quickly after arriving on a flight from Lima to Guayaquil a few days earlier.

It was clear that we were closer to the equator, when the hot air hit us in the face as we left the plane. Customs was possibly the easiest I’ve seen anywhere in the world, and we jumped in a taxi to the bus station/shopping mall complex about a mile from the airport.

We could have flown from Lima to Cuenca, but it would have meant changing planes in Guayaquil and Quito, which would have tripled our travel costs. The key is that buses in Ecuador are dirt cheap.

I checked just about all of the 90-plus ticket windows in the bus station before finding the one for Cuenca. It would be a 4-5 hour ride through a national park, and it cost $8 each.

We loaded the bus, which provided about twice the amount of legroom as a standard U.S. airline (and 12 times the room of a Peruvian airline), although there was no air conditioning.

A fast-speaking guy in a black leather vest (did I mention it was about 90 degrees on the bus?) was walking up and down the aisle. It took a minute to figure out what he was doing, when we realized he was asking trivia questions and passing out pieces of candy for the correct answers. If this kept up, it was going to be a VERY long trip.

He then dropped package of cookies on each of our laps, just like peanuts on a Southwest Airline flight, except he immediately walked back down the aisle collecting a dollar from anyone who wanted to keep them (making it more like Frontier Airline). Almost everyone handed them back.

It seemed strange at first, but soon we realized that something similar was likely to happen at every stop. People got on trying to sell us everything from potato chips to candy bars to toilet paper. Some of them gave a polite but impassioned speech, while others acted just like the vendors at a baseball game, saying whatever it was they had to offer.

After a few minutes, the vendors would grab a seat until the next stop, where they would jump off and wait for the next bus to roll through.

So far, we’ve been on four buses, ranging from very low end to the kind of buses that athletic teams use on road trips.

Three of our buses had movies playing. I’m pretty sure they bought the DVDs at a truck stop’s bargain bin. They’ve all been American but played in Spanish.

I’ve now seen a “film” with Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger in which they are trying to escape from prison. Twice.

There was also something with Kevin James, Salma Hayack and Henry Winkler. James was an MMA fighter, and he won the big fight at the end to win the love of the girl.

Or something like that. I’m not good enough with Spanish to really understand the movies. But something tells me that they’re better that way.

Has anyone in North America seen this
movie? I've now seen it three times.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s something on with Cuba Gooding Jr. and Christian Slater, who’s playing a priest. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be lousy in any language, but I just can’t keep my eyes off it.

Great news: I nodded off during the movie, but they kept the movie on repeat, so we got to see it three times before reaching Ambato. Nice of the bus company to make sure we didn’t miss a suspenseful moment.

We had to get off and catch another bus in Ambato (the one we were on was going north, and we had to continue east). Most cities I have been to in the world seem to have main bus and train stations.

Ambato, it seems, does, too. But that’s not where you catch the bus to Baños. The bus driver rambled something in Spanish, of which I caught “Ambato” and got off.

We wandered across the street to catch a bus in the other direction. There were two really nice buses sitting at the stop when we arrived. Unfortunately, they took off as we were crossing the street.

It wasn’t long before another bus pulled up. It wasn’t quite as nice, but the bus company worker assured us that it would drop us off in Baños.

I should explain something about buses in this country. Unlike in the U.S., where you hand the driver some money on the way in, Ecuadorian buses have a driver and a driver’s helper. The helper loads the bags, collects the money and cues up really bad movies on the DVD player. I should also mention that they wait a really long time before collecting money. I’m pretty sure they wait just long enough for the majority of the passengers to fall asleep. I think they really like rustling people awake.

Try watching Schwartzeneger act
with Spanish dubbing sometime. 

The bus we got on was already crowded, so Fran and I sat about seven rows from each other. More and more people were piling on, including a woman literally holding up her daughter who appeared to have a debilitating disease that prevented her from taking care of herself.

Fran was horrified that nobody was offering them a seat. I would have, but I instead pointed them to the empty seat directly across from me (the girl who was lying across both seats sat up to surrender one).

A few rows back, Fran was seated next to a man who was napping. And taking up most of two seats (even though Fran was in one of them). At one point during the ride, the sleeping man put his hand on Fran’s leg. Fran was not amused.

Another woman, realizing there were no empty seats, reached for a stool so she could sit in the aisle. Seeing that Fran was in the perfect position on the bus, the woman stuck her rump directly in Fran’s face as she reached for the stool. Then she proceeded to sit right next to Fran, literally hovering over her and into her personal space. Fran was not amused.

This trip was only an hour, and I believe that Fran may have disembarked via the window in order to get off as quickly as possible.

Regardless, we made it to Baños (please bring on all the jokes about how appropriate it is that I made a pilgrimage to a place called “Banos”). It only took eight hours and cost us a whopping $23, including two buses and a pair of cab rides.

So, that’s pretty much what South American travel is like. Anyone want to join us for the remainder of our trip?

Finally: Machu Picchu

The morning we were heading to Machu Picchu was like almost every race morning I’ve experienced.

My alarm went off at 4:12 a.m. (side note: I’m weird and set my alarm ending in either 2 or 7 every time. I have no real reason why). We had breakfast at the hotel, but I wasn’t able to eat much, forcing down a little fresh fruit and a roll with jam on it.

People who hike the Inca Trail actually hike straight into Machu Picchu. For most of the rest of us, we take a 30-minute bus ride up the hill from Aguas Calientes.

Despite the dark, early hour, the line stretched about four blocks up a hill. It really was like a bus departure for a marathon. Everyone was dressed warmly in clothes that they would probably start shedding soon after reaching our destination, and jitters were clearly evident.

Some entrepreneurial women walked up and down the street, offering hot coffee and snacks to everyone in line.

The bus ride was fairly uneventful, although it took some energy to keep my stomach in check as we wound up switchback after switchback.

Ruben's classroom was pretty amazing.

Finally, we were walking in Machu Picchu, and Ruben gave us a tour for the first couple of hours.

The place really is magical. And it’s truly amazing to see what people created on the top of a mountain during the 15^th Century. I’ve been reading the book Turn Right at Machu Picchu: Rediscovering the Lost City One Step at a Time by Mark Adams, a hilarious yet informative tale of exploring this area, which gave me part of the history. (Honesty: I have not actually finished the book yet.) It’s unbelievable to think about Hiram Bingham venturing from Hawaii to Peru and finding this lost city in 1911. To say Bingham discovered Machu Picchu is a stretch, considering that he paid some locals to take him to ruins in the area, but give him credit for exposing the world to Machu Picchu’s wonders.

I’ve thought a lot recently about why so many people have Machu Picchu on their bucket list (or whatever you want to call your wish list of places to visit). I don’t have an answer, but I can tell you that I have been to a lot of cool places and done some pretty great stuff, and the Salkantay Trail ending with Machu Picchu may have moved to the top of the list.

Some people say they have achieved a spiritual enlightenment after visiting Machu Picchu. I don’t know about that. However, I can tell you I gained an appreciation of what humans can do. And while the views of the lost city itself are impressive, the views of the surrounding mountains and valleys are among the most incredible I have ever seen. It’s little wonder why the Incas went to so much trouble to establish their secret city there. 

A random couple decided that an impromptu make-out session
at Machu Picchu was a good use of the morning.

After we descended and had lunch, we hopped on a train and rode back to Cusco.

I’m thankful for the eight people I was fortunate to hike with for five days and being able to experience Machu Picchu with them.

When it was all finished, this is how it added up:

Total Days: 5

Total Miles Hiked: 55

Total Number of Microclimates: 3

Elevation Change on the Second Day: 2,800 meters/9,186 feet

Total Elevation Change on the Trail: 3,600 meters/11,811 feet

Total Temperature Change on the Trail: 73 degrees

Total Mosquito Bites on My Lower Legs & Feet: 21

Total Number of Blisters on Fran’s Feet: 5

Total Soon-to-be-Lost Toenails: 1

Total Number of Stray Dachshunds on the Trail: 1

After Machu Picchu, we jumped on a three-hour train ride back to Cusco, and Wayki Treks had someone waiting to take us all back to our hotels.

It had been a really long day, and we had to hike about two blocks to our hostel because the van wouldn’t make it up the steep hill to the front door. We were exhausted and desperately wanted a shower and dinner (it was about 9:30 p.m.).

Me and Fran from Machu Picchu Mountain,
overlooking the Citadel.

The very kind owner of our hostel looked sheepish and said, “I didn’t think you were coming back until tomorrow.”

Fran had reminded his wife of our return date the morning we left for the hike and watched her type it in. Needless to say, the man found the reservation in his computer, but there was a problem.

“I’m sorry. This has never happened,” he said. “But I’m full tonight.”

We were incredulous, but he quickly jumped on the phone and made a few calls.

“I’ve got you booked into a hotel a few blocks away,” he said. “And I’m going to cover your night’s costs. I’m sorry. This really has never happened. The only thing is we are going to have to walk over there.”

With that, we grabbed all of our stuff, which at that point was spread across six bags, and lugged it up two more very steep blocks and over another three.

It turned out to be a very nice hotel, and we were fortunate to find a restaurant open at 10:30, when we finally rolled in. Of course, the owner was clearly put off that we came in that late and he obviously wanted to close for the night.

We ate quickly and walked back to the hotel. We had a morning flight to Lima the next day.  

The Road to Aguas Calientes

The fourth morning started in a strange way for camping.

The start of Ruben's happy birthday.

Flavio somehow made two birthday cakes and delivered them to our dining tents during breakfast. One of the women in the other group was celebrating her birthday that day, and Ruben’s happy birthday was going to be at Machu Picchu the following day. It was a brilliant way to start the day, and it was a kind final gesture by Flavio and his helpers, who would be heading home after lunch. I’ve said it before, but the meals they created while camping were simply amazing. Wayki Trek is lucky to have Flavio. I know we were lucky that he joined us for the week.

The early part of that day’s hike wound along a dirt road, past a pig farm, over switchbacks up a cliff and again along a dirt road all the way to Hidroelectrica, where our lunch was waiting for us (as well as a train ticket to Aguas Calientes, if we chose not to hike the final few hours).

The sun was beating down, and there wasn’t much shade anywhere around. About an hour into the hike, a bus flew by us with the people inside yelling out. It was the other group.

Apparently, there was a fourth option that we didn’t consider. That group decided to hike about 15 minutes from the hot springs into town and caught a bus all the way to Hidroelectrica. In retrospect, it probably was the best option. We were slugging water almost constantly, but we were all pretty much dragging during the final 90 minutes into lunch. Ruben even tried to flag down a few buses, but all of them refused our offers.

The trail from Hidroelectrica to Aguas Calientes

The train to Aguas Calientes wasn’t going to leave until about 3:45, which would have meant 3-4 hours of waiting. And Ruben assured us that the 2-3 hour hike was beautiful.

He wasn’t lying. Our first view up to Machu Picchu was about 15 minutes into the hike. The route followed the train tracks, but walking allowed us to take it in. A river rushed by on one side, and mountains rose all around us.

It was also very well shaded, giving us a much needed reprieve from the sun.

Unfortunately, one of our fellow hikers had caught a bout with bad water and looked somewhat miserable.

Ruben suggested that she find a quiet place off the trail to take care of some business (or “make an offering to the mountain,” as we had been phrasing it all week). She seemed hesitant until he said, “Would you rather go behind a bush or go poo poo in your pants?” We waited as she ducked off the trail.

I felt like I was straight out of a zombie movie as I dragged myself the final miles into Aguas Calientes at the base of Machu Picchu Mountain.

We’d finally made it to town. And hot showers. And a comfortable bed.

The hotel was nice, even if it was a little strange. Our room was on the third floor, overlooking the river. The staircase was slanted slightly backward like something out of Alice in Wonderland. And a view up the stairs to the fourth floor showed that there was no fourth floor. It was a construction zone. So much for the penthouse suite.

Our group of nine gathered for one last dinner together, followed by a trip to a dance club for a drink to celebrate Ruben’s birthday.

Throughout the week, Ruben had been preaching that the nine of us were a familia, and it really did feel like that. Originally, his point was that things happen along the trail that require everyone to stick together, whether it’s because the trail itself gets dangerous or one of suffers from illness or there is an injury that slows someone down. Our familia was sticking together and helping each other. It was a good group from the beginning, but Ruben really helped bring us closer together.

The penthouse suite at our hotel.

The familia wanted to celebrate Ruben, but the night had to end early. Our alarm clocks would be buzzing soon. The bus to Machu Picchu left at 5:30 a.m.

Day 3 on the Salkantay Trail

We had a choice to make:

1. We could follow our original itinerary, doing a fairly short hike to Playa, where we would have the afternoon free and camp that night. The following morning, we would do a fairly intensive hike up a mountain where we would get a distant view of Machu Picchu.

2. We could hike to Playa, then jump on a two-hour bus ride to hot springs in Santa Teresa. After enjoying the hot springs, we could bus back to Playa and do everything mentioned above.

3. We could hike to Playa, go to the hot springs, camp there and hike out from there the following morning. This hike would be almost entirely flat.

Exhausted from the elevation changes during the previous two days, we all decided that Option 3 sounded like a good call.

Day 3 took us through the rainforest, where we crossed a dozen or so Indiana Jones-style bridges, and we even traversed the side of a mountain that was clearly being eroded by landslides.

We hiked through very small communities that appeared to be set up entirely to service the hikers on the Salkantay Trail, offering cold drinks, chips and bathrooms.

I made a few friends on the trail.

Even the “easy” days on the Salkantay Trail are tough. On the third day, we went about seven miles, ending at lunch around 2 p.m. Other than the fact that nearby road construction had shut down the water – and therefore the toilets – lunch was delightful, complete with a cold cerveza.

The bus ride was interesting. We were stopped twice about 45 minutes into the two-hour ride. I didn’t really understand what the passersby were saying, but it appeared that they were saying to turn back. A few miles later, it became apparent.

There was a bulldozer blocking the road ahead. The driver and both groups’ leaders jumped out of the bus to talk the construction crew. I was convinced we were looking at a delay of at least two hours, but the driver jumped back in about 10 minutes later, fired up the bus and started driving. The side door was open right next to me, and as the bus threaded the needle through the construction, I was staring down at a sheer drop just inches to my right. Thank goodness for talented bus drivers. (Note: Do not ask Fran about this because she slept right through it.)

Prior to this ride, Fran and I had created what we referred to as the worst drinking game of all time. Every time you heard a song that was released during any decade other than the 1980s, you had to drink. We’d been in Peru almost a week at that point, and I think we heard one song from the 1990s and one from the 2000s.

The bus driver, however, was blasting recent dance hits. It was a good thing we weren’t playing the game during that ride.

We pulled into the hot springs a little after 4 p.m. Built right into the side of the mountain next to a roaring river, they springs were in a beautiful setting. And we had the added benefit of having women selling snacks and beer just steps from our tents.

After relaxing our aching muscles in the hot springs, we all gathered around some tables, enjoying popcorn and cervezas until dinner.

I’ve mentioned Ruben a few times, but I haven’t gone into much detail. He is the perfect group leader, especially for treks like this. Ruben has Inca heritage, and he cares deeply about learning and teaching the history, while mixing in a good dose of humor and fun. His English is excellent, and he knows the area well, naming all of the flowers and pointing out the coffee, passion fruit and banana farms along the way. He also has a keen eye for spotting things along the way from caterpillars in cocoons to millipedes scurrying on the trail.

During happy hour on this night, Ruben told us about the indigenous people refusing to go out when it’s foggy. Apparently, there have been reports of people losing organs from their bodies, and the local people believe it’s caused by the “foggy.” In reality, according to Ruben, it’s simply bad people who steal the organs to sell on the black market, and it’s easier to do when it’s foggy. Right as he finished trying to scare us, every light at the hot springs went out. It was excellent timing. And, fortunately, when the lights came on, we all had the same amount of organs as we did during the telling of the story.

Hiking into Playa, Peru for lunch.

It was strange to settle into a sweltering heat inside our tents that night, considering we had been on the brink of freezing just two nights prior. The temperature changes also did not do much to help the smell inside the tents. Of course, we probably had something to do with the smell, too. Regardless, I made sure every possible vent was open in the tent, including one that I insisted Fran open with its 1.5 inches of additional air flow, while still keeping it sealed enough to keep the bugs away.

I slept outside my sleeping bag most of the night. And, thanks to one of our fellow hikers, Fran used an over-the-counter super drug from Canada and finally got a good night’s sleep, despite the cough and cold she was still suffering. We later discovered that the “super drug” is called Dramamine in the U.S.

Perhaps one fact helped us sleep better: this was our last night in tents. The next day we would hike into Aguas Calientes, where we would sleep in a hotel before heading up the hill to Machu Picchu.

We were starting to get antsy. But we were ready.

The Salkantay Trail's Longest Day

It wasn’t easy getting out of our sleeping bags on the second day. Ice cracked and fell off the tent flap when the porters delivered the morning coca tea at 6 a.m. It was warmer than the night before, but the sun hadn’t crested the mountains yet.

The highest point of the trek.

After breakfast, we started on what would prove to be our longest day of hiking, climbing for the first hour to the top of the pass at 4,600 meters or just over 15,000 feet.

Coming from Colorado, Fran and I had a slight edge with altitude, but the highest point of the trek was still three times higher than Denver, and I found myself stopping every couple hundred feet to catch my breath, as my heart was beating out of my chest.

When we finally reached the top, we were staring up at Salkantay Mountain, a peak so imposing that no one has ever reached the summit.

There was an audible sigh of relief when the group realized that the rest of the day would be primarily downhill. I did not share that sentiment, however. I’ve run enough downhill races to know the toll it can take on my body, and as I stared out over the distance to where we were heading, I knew we were going to feel every step.

I was excited, though, that we were about to descend through three microclimates during the course of a few hours.

Leaving the Andes and entering the cloud forest.

We dropped pretty quickly, pulling over to the side periodically to let horses pass. About two hours in, we walked through a community of farmers mixed with several group campsites next to one of the rivers we would be following for the next few days.

Throughout the trek, Ruben would stop us every 15 minutes or so and say, “OK, buddies. Everybody good, good? Let’s take a baby break. Everybody water, water.” Clearly he was well seasoned in the hike and knew we needed to conserve energy and remain hydrated.

It was also at this point when Ruben told us that we should reach lunch in “about two hours.”

The downhill march continued. After another 90 minutes, he said we should get to our lunch spot “in about two hours.” Needless to say, we were all starting to get a little hungry and some of us may have edged on cranky.

As I expected, the downhill was doing a number on my quads, and I think all of us stubbed our toes or at least kicked the end of our hiking boots a couple hundred times that day. Fran, coughing and clearly feeling the misery of the cold some idiot gave to her, started getting blisters on her feet and her right big toe was starting to match the dark nail polish she had on it. One look confirmed that she had a 0.002 percent chance of keeping the toenail.

When we finally reached the dining tents for lunch, the whole group was pretty tired, and a few people were really suffering from heat exhaustion.

Not knowing what kind of weather we would experience, we packed for just about every contingency, carrying rain jackets and pants in our daypacks. However, that would prove pointless since the sun shined every day with almost no cloud coverage. As it turned out, the one thing we didn’t pack enough of was sunscreen.

Flavio once again surprised us at lunch, serving up stuffed avocados, soup and meat over rice. I was amazed at every meal with his creativity and ability to cook somewhat lavish spreads while camping. Every meal he made was delicious, and there was never a time I left the table hungry.

My feet were throbbing, and I wanted nothing more than to take my hiking boots off. I was actually wearing my Brooks trail runners because I figured out last year that I liked hiking in them more than I did hiking boots. It was true again, but eventually I started feeling like every rock on the trail was pushing through my sole, and the sides of my feet felt like they had doubled in size.

We had descended 2,000 meters already, and we had another 800 to go before reaching our campsite another 3-4 hours away.

The march continued through the cloud forest and into the rainforest.

Finally we reached a small town, took a hidden trail down to the river and across a bridge before reaching a road. From there we could see our tents in the distance.

There was a second Wayki group with us throughout the five days, but we remained separated most of the time in order to keep the group sizes more manageable.

But when we hobbled up to our campsite, which was actually in someone’s backyard, the other group was celebrating. They were literally throwing their hands in the air and giggling.

“There’s a working toilet, and it even has a seat,” one of them said.

We, too, let out whoops of joy.

Our bathroom at lunch. Yes, that hole you see inside is the toilet.

I know it’s strange, but the thought of an actual bathroom was among the most beautiful sites we had seen during a day when we had seen thousands of beautiful sites.

People don’t talk about it much, but toilets are one of the most common differences between countries.

In Peru, many toilets, including the ones at the Cusco market and at our lunch spot on this day, are simply holes to straddle. I honestly have no idea what the proper way to use that type of toilet. Fran keeps telling me it’s not that hard, you just straddle it. I’m pretty sure I would pee all over my pants while trying and/or fall in the hole.

Most of the ones we ran across in Peruvian cities had basins but no seats. You had better be prepared with your own toilet paper if you need it, too, because almost none of the bathrooms in Peru have it. And, like most places in Latin America, you can’t flush toilet paper because the pipes can’t handle it. Instead, there are small trash cans near every toilet. Needless to say, it all takes a little getting used to.

And, of course, the celebration about the toilet at the campsite was completely justified. To top it off, there was also a shower. It was free if we wanted cold water, or 10 soles if we opted for hot water. Ten soles is about $3.33. Almost all of us made the investment.

Being in the rainforest meant a significant number of bugs. We sprayed most of our clothes with permethrin before we went, and I had sprayed myself with bug spray throughout the day.

However, after I took my socks off and stood in line for the shower, I was bitten 21 times by mosquitos. Every single bite was below my sock line. Mosquitos generally love me, so it was not a big surprise. The bites generally get pretty swollen on me, but these bugs left small, flat red circles with a dark spot in the middle, almost resembling tiny nipples (which must have meant that I had 23 nipples at the time).

Freshly showered, we ate another great dinner and laid out our plans for our third day of hiking.

We were halfway to Machu Picchu.

Celebrating the Life of Vince DiCroce

Due to news I received yesterday, I decided to take a short break from the travel blog and reflect on the life of a friend. I wrote this yesterday, but wanted another day to reflect before posting it. The rest of the Salkantay Trail hike will appear in the next day or two.

I am profoundly sad today. For the past 10 years, my friend Vince DiCroce has been battling brain cancer. We all knew this day would ultimately come, but Vince beat the odds so often over the years that I hoped beyond hope that he would do the unimaginable yet again and beat an unbeatable disease.

I have written about Vince on this blog in the past, and his own blog about fighting a terminal illness was beautifully heart wrenching and always inspiring.

Vince was a man who was seemingly always smiling, even when he clearly hurt, and he was the type of man who made me smile every time I saw him.

In 2004, Vince was diagnosed with brain cancer, and he knew it would one day take his life. However, instead of dwelling on the unfairness of the situation, Vince rededicated himself to getting everything possible out of his time left. If you didn’t know about his condition, you would never have fathomed that this man was anything other than invincible.

One of my proudest moments in running was during the 2007 Tucson Marathon. At Mile 14, I passed Vince for the first and only time in any race. Granted, he was stopping in a port-a-john at the time. I ended up with a finish time of 3:28, still my personal best. Vince ran a 3:24. He beat me even with a stop halfway through. There was really never a doubt that he would, and I was good with it as he smiled and cheered me on as he went flying back by me late in the race.

During the past 10 years, Vince completed 29 marathons and seven Ironman competitions. One of those marathons was a personal best 3:03 at Richmond in November 2012.

I saw Vince at a Runner’s Edge of the Rockies run the following week and asked how he did. He said he set a PR and was pleased with the race. I was ecstatic for him. I’d seen all the hard work he put into his training in order to make himself the best possible competitor he could, and his dedication had really paid off.

Vince seemed pleased as he spoke to me that morning, but he just didn’t seem as happy as I thought he should have. I brushed it off as being early in the morning or maybe he had really wanted that elusive sub-3:00 race and just missed it.

Later I found out that Vince had gone to a doctor’s appointment a few days after that race. Although he felt like he was in the best shape of his life and had defied the odds with his brain tumor, Vince received news that day that the cancer was back.

Just like before, Vince did not let it slow him down. He went through rough stretches of chemo treatments and various ailments, but Vince kept going.

He showed up on Saturday morning group runs. Sometimes he looked like he was struggling, but most times he showed signs of his former self, flying past other runners and tossing out words of encouragement as he went.

Last May, he said he might try to run the Colfax Half Marathon. Instead he ran the full 26.2 miles, crossing the finish line at 3:56. It was nothing short of amazing.

The view from my bus literally changed
from thick fog to sunshine the moment
that I heard Vince was no longer suffering. 

Today, the cancer finally got Vince DiCroce. I was on a bus in the middle of Ecuador when I got the text message. The entire ride had been foggy and cloudy and generally dreary up to that point.

I’d known Vince had been in the hospital, and the doctors had said he would likely not last more than a day or two. When I got the text, I was crushed. But I also noticed something strange happened at literally that exact same moment. The sun broke through the clouds and showed the incredible scenery of the Andes all around us.

I’m not sure what you believe happens after someone leaves this life, but I am positive Vince was checking in on what I was doing at that moment, and he was smiling. His pain was finally gone, and he no longer had to fight the beast that was his brain tumor.

My own summer of exploration was sparked by the realization that I needed a change in my career and a revitalization of my passion for life.

Vince taught me many things during the miles I ran with him, the meals I ate with him and the beers I drank with him. But the one lesson that always jumps out when I think of Vince is that we should never let an opportunity pass us by.

Vince lived his life with determination, kindness, humor and a million other qualities that drew people to him.  

I am utterly thankful to Vince for his friendship and all the lessons he taught me.

I will miss you, my friend.

And to you readers, please take a moment tonight to look around and be thankful for all the blessings in your life, and raise a glass to Vince and all the good he did in this world.