Above all things, reverence yourself...

The following day wachuma had left us a little fuzzy mentally and a little lazy physically.  In fact, it took us until four in the afternoon to action our plan of a walk in the hills.  The idea, which began as a five hour trek along the full length of the island, had been demoted to a visit to the ruins north of Challapampa. There were yet more well-preserved ruins along the way including a stone circle with what appeared to be a sacrificial table, labyrinthine ruins and la Roca Sagrada (the Sacred Rock).  An easy walk on paper was made more difficult by the altitude and intense sunshine.  On our return we headed back to the usual restaurant for more food from a limited menu.  Where's the pizza when you need it?

 

 

Saturday was another chance to work with wachuma, this time we'd decided to approach the ceremony with more reverence.  As before, we created an altar combining offerings of sweets to Pachamama with crystals, incense and images.  Centring ourselves with some meditation first brought us into the right state of mind.  The San Pedro was dispensed into cups as I focussed some positive intention into the water we were to use for mixing.  One by one we drank the liquid which resembled dried spinach in water, it went down fairly well with only a little difficulty.  A little Agua de Florida was used to help cleanse the aura and protect us on our journey.  Once the initial actions had been completed we settled down to wait quietly for the effects to manifest.

The journey, as always, increased in intensity very slowly.  It was only late in the afternoon I realised how strong it was.  It's incredibly difficult to describe in words what is really a felt experience.  One thing which is common to all my wachuma experiences is the altered perception of time.  As we sat on the roof terrace throughout the day I had an increasing sense that other places beyond the shores of Lake Tiiticaca didn't exist.  That only what was in my immediate perception was of significance.  Past and future were irrelevant and all  my attention was in the present moment.  Birds performing acrobatics to catch insects, children flying makeshift kites in the wind, pigs furrowing in the sand for scraps and the occasional hysterical bellow of a nearby donkey.  All motion came together as one giant piece of theatre staged in a landscape that was so staggeringly beautiful it was hard for the eyes to take in.

As the day wore on we became increasingly absorbed in music, particularly that of Snatam Kaur, whom I was lucky enough to see in London before heading out to Peru, a real blessing for the trip.  We discussed thoughts that arose, laughed together, meditated and observed curious passers-by until the sun began to set.  We held the space far more effectively than the previous day and all three of us confirmed we'd got a lot from the ceremony.  However, it's always strange for me in the middle of the day, I much prefer the dark of night.  I felt the calling of ayahuasca once again.

On heading to the beach for a snack we encountered a calf which had become stuck under the ramshackle wooden jetty.  Whilst Chantal tried to calm the distressed beast, Lieve went to seek assistance.  A local treadesman reluctantly agreed to help, however, he was afraid of trouble as he was not the owner.  Despite his fear he trod through the mud and untied the rope thereby freeing the calf.  We bought him a stash of goodies from the shop as a present leaving everyone very satisfied.  There was something about the episode which was enhanced by wachuma.  The distress of the animal was felt far more strongly, empathy for the suffering of others being more intensely felt.

Satisfied and tired we settled down for a meal when I spotted John, an American I'd met in the Museum of  Sacred, Magical and Medicial Plants.  There we'd been talking about San Pedro and here I was, journeying.  Synchronicities like this, as well as phenomena such as deja vu, seem to increase in frequency when working with plant medicines.  We spent the evening together making plans for future journeys whilst the inky black night took over from the blues, greens and oranges of the sunset.  What a day!

The rest of our time on the exquisite Isla del Sol was spent sunbathing, reading, swimming and relaxing before catching the boat back to Copacabana on the Monday.  The island was a rare gem within the Andean Odyssey.  One of those places that, only three years ago, had very little in terms of development for tourism.  Now, it has facilities enough to be comfortable without being over-developed.  Local traditions, of day-long town meetings and weddings at which only one song was played for eight hours straight, are still alive and kicking.  The people are gentle and kind, the pace of life so slow it's difficult to get into initially.  Perhaps that's why so many tourists barely put down their bags, too busy to see the paradise before their eyes.

Costa del Isla del Sol...

After six weeks in Peru it was time to leave.  Not because the many attractions had been exhausted but rather one of the girls I was travelling with had unwittingly become an illegal immigrant and the other two of us had visas which would expire in a matter of days.  The journey from Puno to Copacabana took about nine hours; marred by the fact the bed seats we expected on the coach more like those on the National Express to Hull.  Add to this a sadistic driver who was trying to roast me alive with the heating system and the journey was a touch uncomfortable.

On arrival in Copacabana our fortune changed.  This sleepy little town on the Bolivian shores of Lake Titicaca shares its name with the famous Rio beach but couldn't be more distant in character.  A quick mental calculation of the value of Pounds Sterling in Bolivianos revealed this would be much cheaper than Peru.  Also in the town's favour was the lack of traffic, beautiful scenery and chilled-out people.  Only the food left a little to be desired as we discovered when we ordered nachos and the waitress ran out to buy a bag of Doritos.

The next morning we caught the early boat to the Isla del Sol.  This most appropriately named island is the place where Viracocha is thought to have created mankind for the second time after a great flood.  As a result it is deeply sacred for the Aymará indians who inhabit it.  We headed stright to the north to the small town of Challapampa.  Really little more than a small village, this place had the feel of the wild west with it's sandy streets and roaming animals.

Not ones to waste any time, we booked into the welcoming Hostal Cultural and began to set up for a Wachuma session.  Having all completed some ceremonies in Cusco, we felt ready to conduct our own.  A little altar was constructed comprising the various artefacts we had collected on our journeys.  We then mixed the San Pedro powder with water and necked the vile concoction.  Before long we were under the influence and decided to stagger down to the harbour for apples.  Our mood was one of playfulness and we spent a good hour laughing our heads off at concepts and situations too trivial to mention here.  A little irreverence and arrogance had prevaded our ceremony, perhaps?

Realising we were neglecting the need for quiet reflection, Lieve decided to climb a nearby hill whilst Chantal and I headed for the beach.  Lieve's quest into the hills was courageous; she felt like a puma as she climbed the steep, bare rocks.  Her adventurous spirit took her far and wide and before long she was out of sight.  After a few hours and a very strange encounter with a shepherd, she returned, pleased to be back before dark.  Meanwhile, I summoned up some energy to swim in the sacred Lake Titicaca with Chantal.  The water was a baffling mix of warm and cold currents in the shallow, clean water.  As we bathed, the extraordinary beauty of this stunning place sank deep into our psyches.  Literally lost for words, I gazed at the distant snow covered mountains and glistening water before crawling out to deal with the resulting Raynaud's phenomenon.  As we warmed ourselves in the afternoon sun we watched with amusement as pigs and cows explored the sames waters we had been standing in minutes before.  That evening we recovered our usual state of consciousness in a cosy restaurant over a bottle of wine.  As a thunderstorm rolled in to replace the day's heat we vowed to hold another ceremony with a little more focus.  Whilst the day had been a lot of fun, the moments we allowed ourselves to work quietly with wachuma were lacking.  Whilst they can be fun, the plant medicines are here to help us and are not just for entertainment purposes.

Oi cuy...

Well, it had to happen at some point.  I couldn't travel through Peru and not sample the local speciality... guinea pig.  This small rodent, known as cuy, is ubiquitous in these parts.  The many local houses I've been in invariably have a section used for rearing cuy.  These are usually near the wood burning stoves and ovens which provide the heat needed to keep these little blighters comfortable, thereby allowing them to grow big, strong and furry.

To be honest, I copped out a little bit.  A restaurant in Cusco known as Korma Sutra lists tandoori cuy on their menu.  This appeared to be a more palatable way to approach this culinary challenge.  Most of the cuy I've seen had been roasted in ovens with resulting crispy-looking skin.  This also means a crispy looking face which is very hard for the eyes to avoid whilst eating.  On the plus side, they go straight from cuyeria to the kitchen providing fresh meat from an animal that, to all appearances, has led a very happy life with its friends and family.  However, that knowledge did not help my stomach prepare for this less-than-tempting morsel.

The dish I selected was a half-cuy cooked in tandoori spices... minus the head.  Whilst this avoidance tactic may disappoint some, I'd like to provide some reassurance in the fact the clawed feet were still very present.  The skin appeared dark and greasy but the smell was pretty good, it has to be said.  The waiter instructed me that I could eat using a knife and fork but the best method is always with the fingers.  Always good with me, especially when the clawed legs provided such helpful handles.

As I attempted to sink my teeth into the skin I realised this would be more complicated than I'd hoped.  Instead of the crunching and melting you get with the crisped skin of pork, this was decidedly tough.  As I tried to slice through the skin with my incisors I pulled the leg with all my might but it wouldn't give.  Instead, the rubbery epidermis snapped back out of my mouth intact.  Pulling the skin from the carcass with some difficulty revealed the meat below.  My companions, who had sampled this succulent treat before, assured me that, compared to their cuy, mine was packed with juicy meat.  A slightly raised eyebrow betrayed my disbelief as I examined the oversized hamster before me.

With some dextrous use of fingers, teeth and lips I managed to extract tiny bitesize pieces of the meat from the bones...  and I was pleasantly surprised.  The spices had infused the meat thoroughly but the underlying flavour of cuy was clearly present.  It reminded me of rabbit crossed with chicken.  Really very tasty but just so little of it.  A bit like getting a battered goldfish from the local chippy.  On the whole I was pleased to have faced this food-fear although I don't think I'll be indulging in cuy on a regular basis.  Saying that, if it was served to me in a UK restaurant  off the bone without my knowing its origin I think I'd eat it with gusto.  Kentucky Fried Cuy anyone?