More Backpacker Design

In terms of hostel design, you generally see one of two motifs: local flavor or backpacker chic.  This is an example of the latter, seen at Lima’s Periwana.

Riding the Sand

On our second day in Huacachina, it was time to take to the sand.  We'd arranged for a dune buggy to take us sand-boarding - Huacachina's defacto backpacker activity - and had little idea of what to expect.  We met our driver/instructor - a short, temperamental man prone to muttering - and strapped into the buggy.  Huacachina being as small as it is ((It has a reported population of 96.  There are also warnings on travel websites about seemingly friendly locals luring foreign girls to local wineries and sexually harassing them.  If there's only 96 people in the town, how hard can it be to find these criminals?)) , we were in the desert in under a minute.

A few turns and hills later, we were surrounded by dunes and Huacachina was nowhere in sight.  We felt wonderfully isolated in the desert, truly out in the open.  Our guide unloaded the boards and launched into an explanation of sand-boarding, which no one understood even a small part of.  The miscommunication could be blamed equally on the consumption of last night's red wine by the fluent Spanish speakers and the muttering of our guide, but no one worried.  How hard could it be?  Three of our group launched off the hill at once.

When the guide started screaming we knew we'd missed something.  He was finally able to communicate that the main part of his long lecture concerned how crucial it was that we go one by one; some of the only real danger in sand-boarding comes from crashing into one another.  We were off to a bad start with this guy.

Sand-boarding is a thrilling but brief adventure.  Like skiing, a large part of it involves waiting around but good company and the beauty of the scenery help alleviate the tediousness of waiting for everyone else to finish.  It's fun and creating little games (like seeing who could slide the farthest on a given slope) gave it a competitive edge.  The day flew by and before we knew it we were at our last, and steepest, run.

I was the last to go and, before pushing off, the guide signaled that he'd bring the buggy down to pick us up.  I wish I'd warned him of the severe, bowl-like shape of the sand at the bottom of this particular run, but I had no idea that it might be an issue.

I slid down the quick, steep run and joined my friends at the bottom.  We laughed and discussed plans for the rest of the day as we waited for the buggy.  Our driver came over a hill and we loaded in; sorry the fun was over but ready for a shower.  And then the day took a turn.  We couldn't get out.

Like a car spinning it's wheels in the mud, the buggy simply couldn't handle the steep inclines of the sand surrounding our location.  We unloaded and watched as our driver helplessly tried to circle around the bowl to gain speed to clear the hill, to no effect.  We'd been laughing all morning about it, but now we really were trapped in the desert.

A good group can get you through anything.  We were still loopy from the sun and fun of the day so we sat on the sand, cracked jokes, and watched from afar as our guide drove around in circles.  It soon became clear that this buggy was going nowhere soon, but that didn't persuade him from trying.  It eventually overheated and broke down, which prompted him to angrily walk over a nearby dune and sit in silence.  We jokingly discussed what we'd do if we had to spend the night.  The fact that we'd brought a candle but had broken apart to wax the boards was a source of endless amusement.

It was eventually decided we needed to convince the driver that our buggy was a lost cause.  He needed to call someone ((If he hadn't been caring a cellphone we actually might have been in serious trouble.  Because he was, we laughed throughout the whole situation.  I love technology.)), however embarrassing that may be, and so we needed to find somewhere with cellphone reception.  After marching around the dunes for a while, he returned and was finally able to explain someone named Antonio was coming for us.  We immediately started joking about how funny it would be if Antonio drove right into the same pit our guy buggy was stuck in.  All of the sudden that wasn't so funny anymore.

When Antonio raced by, into the pit, with all of us screaming "DON'T GO IN!", we briefly considered whether we might be on some kind of Peruvian reality show.  Maybe more buggies would come, all of them briefly representing the hope of being saved, before all driving right into the pit, keeping us right we where started.  The pit would fill with buggies, driven by confused Peruvians, all of them frantically calling their friends, who would promptly drive over and accidentally join them in the pit, and then call their friends, thus endlessly perpetuating the cycle.  Maybe we'd become pit people and learn to be great at the niche sport of sand-boarding and eat sandwiches every night for dinner.  Clearly the sun was getting to our heads.

With Antonio now in the pit, we needed to call another buggy driver for rescue.  However, being worried that this 3rd buggy driver might also end up in the pit, I wanted to make the call to ensure that the pit issue was being properly explained.  I suspected the our driver had not fully discussed the pit incident with Antonio out of embarrassment of getting stuck in a pit.  Forget saving face, I wanted to make it clear to the 3rd driver that he should stop as soon as he saw us.

Yet, Antonio was in no rush to call another buggy.  He seemed content to chat with out driver and look around the pit, as if there was anything more interesting than sand everywhere.  "Oh stop these macho head games you damn buggy drivers" I thought "Admit you're stuck in a pit.  I know your boss might give you shit.  But I'm about to throw a fit.  If we don't git.  Out of this pit...."  Just then Antonio revved his engine.  He was driving for the edge!  He was going to try and power out of the pit, as our driver had failed to do.  We cheered wildly as he reached the incline.  Do it Antonio!  Escape the pit!  And just like that he was over the ledge!  He'd done the impossible!  Whether his buggy had a more powerful engine or he was just a better driver was unclear, all I know is that he was a hero to nine sunburned gringos that day.  We drove over the dunes laughing, and learned just how wonderful the sight of an oasis can be.

Wine in the Sand

Drinking cheap red wine in the sand with our Irish and Israeli and American traveling crew

The Oasis

Talk to enough of them and you'll realize that members of the traveling set are prone to exaggeration and easy description.  It's simply common nature among those crowded in the hostel bar.  When everyone is excitedly chatting about where they've just been, happily dispensing advice to anyone who will listen, accuracy is not paramount.  There are no conscious deceptions, its more that people repeat the standards rumors and taglines they heard about the place, whether or not they're perfectly correct.  Popular backpacking destinations become known both by the name of the town and a concise description of what there is to do there:

"Iquitos - city in the jungle."

"Mancora - party surf town up north."

"Huaraz - place to trek."

"Cusco - entrance to Machu Picchu."

These little reputation summaries are both technically valid and totally inaccurate.  They both publicize and misrepresent places.  And they, along with the brief but often outlandish further descriptions that often follow them, cause backpackers to form a certain image of a place before visiting there.

"Huaraz - place to trek.  Surrounded by white-capped mountains, absolutely fucking beautiful man.  Like fucking Nepal man."

Huaraz is indeed a very beautiful place, that can't be argued with.  However, it is not 'surrounded' by white-capped mountains - there are some white-capped mountains that can be seen in one direction, provided it's not too foggy.  And, besides not being overly warm and possessing a few mountains that can be hiked up, it shares very little in common with Nepal.  But, all that being said, the person who provided me that colorful description wasn't trying to deceive me; they were trying to help me.  They likely heard many of those same words from some other backpacker before they went there.  Their only fault laid in repeating easy, unnecessarily extravagant, descriptions of places.  When I showed up to see the real Huaraz, I wasn't disappointed.  It's an amazing place in it's own way, it doesn't need to be fully encircled by Himalaya-like mountains to be worth visiting.  You learn rather quickly that these types of summaries will often be punctuated by the lowest, most outrageous but relatable common denominator.  And so when I decided to go to Huacachina and people told me it was "the oasis town", I expected a standard village with a little sand nearby.  Little did I know this time that this short backpacker tagline couldn't have been more accurate.

Hot, wavy sand as the far as the eye can see and then a tiny lagoon appears out of the nothingness.  Coming from three of four directions, you can't even see Huacachina until you're tumbling down a dune towards it.  That we came directly from cold, mountainous Huaraz only added to the wonder of this new place (to say nothing of proving the incredible diversity of Peru itself).  It seemed that the backpacker summaries had finally described a place perfectly.  Huacachina - fascinating and exactly as advertised.

Chickens

I never realized how accurate those toy rubber chickens were until I encountered this butcher shop in Huaraz.  Is it me or does those chickens look strangely fake?

Don't Mess With These Guys

There are dangerous people everywhere, the trick is knowing who to avoid.  These dudes run Huaraz.

The Glacier

The Pastoruri Glacier, an impressive sight after a short but tiring hike.

Melting, slowly but surely.

High Up

Altitude sickness affects everyone differently, the experience for me felt much like a sadist was trying to scoop out the right side of my brain with a rusty spoon.  I sat, winded, on the side of the path as the lucky unaffected gleefully trotted by, somehow oblivious to the 5,000 meters we were above sea level.  The danger of altitude sickness is like the danger of a riptide- invisible, persistently underestimated, subtlety lethal.  Thinking about it, the glacier trek we were on actually couldn't have been a better introduction to the dangers of altitude.  We were in a highly controlled environment (multiple guides, well stocked on water and medication, a physically easy and flat trek, a large group) and were therefore never in danger of becoming disorientated or lost.  We simply tasted a small appetizer of what can happen at altitude and learned to be over-prepared when hiking up high.

Celebrity

I’ve written before about how being a foreigner can make you feel like a celebrity.  The Facebook-effect has added new evidence to that phenomenon – children insisting on taking pictures with you whenever possible.  It’s weirdly flattering initially but that all wears off rather quickly.  I’d estimate in a single 2 hour trek, our group of 6 gringos took a minimum of 100 pictures each with kids wandering around the national park.  Older Peruvians aren't exempt from wanting photos, I took about a dozen pictures with smiling old women, all of whom owned digital cameras.  They were all very sweet and polite but the constant interruptions became undeniably annoying.  I didn't Sean-Penn-freak-out on anyone, but I now have a better understanding of how that happens.

Giant Cactus

The guide had promised us we’d see “a giant cactus”.  I got out of the bus, looked at it, and couldn't help but tell him “that is….exactly as you described it.”

Trekking

Out on a trek.  The variety of climates in Peru is incredible.  One day you’re on the beach, the next you’re hiking up to snow-capped mountains.

Changing Landscape

It’s easy to forget that northern Peru is a desert.  I woke up on a bus and was happy to see this intense shift in scenery, definite proof we were headed somewhere strange and new.

Kite-surfing

Mancora is a popular kite-surfing destination, but this is an activity ill-suited to the backpacker.  Expensive, difficult, physical, and requiring multiple intense days until any true fun can (maybe) be had?  Most backpackers opt to spend their time and money on a variety of other things.

The Lighthouse

A quaint little lighthouse overlooking Mancora.  Planning to hike up there to watch a sunset and then getting distracted by happy hour is a time-honored Loki tradition.

Loki

"You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave."

Growing up, I remember being confused and infuriated by the idea of a monopoly being illegal.  It seemed to me that the law punished companies for no other reason other than that they were simply too good at what they did, an inherently unfair concept.  It took a college economics course for me to realize that the laws were written primarily to protect the consumer, and in a monopolistic environment, the consumer generally suffers.

As odd as it sounds, it is possible for a hostel to be too good.  Loki, in Mancora, is probably too good.  It has cracked the (admittedly simple) backpacker formula and is reaping the rewards.  It has become bigger and more well-known than the town that houses it, it is an attraction in and of itself.  It is a monopoly, and though it's an undeniable good time, the backpacker-consumer is suffering.

The open secret to a hostel like Loki is that if it provides all a backpacker needs at a good enough quality, they will have no reason to venture outside it's walls.  Lodging, food, drinks, entertainment, and the best crowds - in Mancora, it's all at Loki.  Late nights, fueled by perfectly designed happy hours and theme parties and drinking games, ensure that guests oversleep checkout time.  A varied, reliable menu (with all items purchased on a tab system) destroy any motivation to seek food elsewhere.  Even the lure of the ocean, the main attraction of Mancora, is undercut by a beautiful pool, void of the jewelry sellers that annoy you at the beach.  You hate it and love it, you resent the place for keeping you so sheltered but at the same you just can't stop having fun.

And so, a little time was wasted at wonderful/terrible Loki.  I made good friends there - a group of Australian surfers who may be the happiest people I've ever known, some fascinating rum-loving Chileans on vacation, a Swiss banker considering giving up a life of high salary for a life of tending bar -  and left far earlier than many who get sucked in by Loki.  I formed a strong Irish/Israeli crew and we made a plan to head south, to the mountains.  And after lying to ourselves for a while ("We'll leave tomorrow!") we did just that.

Prohibido Centro Cultural Museum

I never did find out what was going with that statue.  I was headed that way, but got distracted by something called the Prohibido Centro Cultural Museum, a so-called collection of "dark" and "forbidden" art pieces.  Dark and forbidden indeed.  The souvenir skull pictured above is just about the only thing in the self-described "twisted museum" that would be considered appropriate to show on this (or any) website.  However, though the images were graphic, once the shock effect wore off it all became rather boring and repetitive.  There wasn't much interesting content under all the inappropriateness.  Just a lot of sculptures and paintings of revered religious and cultural figures doing things revered religious and cultural aren't normally seen doing, and not much more.