For our final day in Lima (and our final day in Peru), we had something a little different planned. We’d be turning our backs on the local site and the local food to get outside the city (a city we admittedly were not really enjoying) and seeing the other side of life in Lima. Around noon, Edwin of Haku Tours picked us up and we drove out of the city to visit one of the shanty towns built on a nearby hillside.
We drove up gravel roads as the homes became more and more run down. The tour started on a main street of sorts, lined with open storefronts that housed small markets. We learned more about some of the fruit of the area and moved on to a small indoor meat market. The cleanliness of the market was…suspect…but the people were making do with what they had, and I wasn’t going to be one to judge given the circumstances.
After the markets, we walked up steep stairs to see more of the homes jammed in across the hillside, learning that they were cobbled together with whatever scraps the people could find. Despite living in such poor conditions, the people were incredibly friendly and hospitable—much more so than I could see myself being in those situations. The children especially were happy to follow us on our tour and take pictures with us (which Edwin said we should e-mail to Haku Tours for them to print out and give back to the families, as this was one of the only opportunities for them to have pictures of themselves).
We learned about the local life, saw into a shanty house and their “kitchen” and met a few more people. And while it could have definitely started to feel like exploitation—these white people who are rich by any standard applied to the shanty towns, coming to look at their suffering and get a little dose of poverty porn—we were reassured by how much Haku Tours gives back to the community and helps with things like uniforms for the children to go to school. Edwin even gave a young girl a few pesos for a drawing she had made that she offered me, since both the drawing and I had beards.
Near the end of the tour, we came upon a soccer field near the top of the hill, and I was invited to join the children there to play. I was wearing hiking boots at the time, but even without that excuse I’m sure the kids would have schooled me regardless. They were also playing with a partially deflated ball that they had received from a tourist two years prior, but were happy to have that much. Had I known, I certainly would’ve bought a new ball for them in Lima—a few dollars for me would’ve made them so happy.
While it may not seem like a “fun” or “exciting” thing to do with your time, seeing how the less fortunate live in other countries, or how developing countries are forgetting their people, can be a very important part of your trip. Traveling isn’t all eating the best food and staying in hotels; traveling should be about learning and experiencing things, even if those things don’t make the loveliest Instagram pictures.
I would definitely recommend Haku Tours for their knowledge of the area and involvement in the community, and I would also highly recommend bringing something for the people there. A ball for the kids, some clothes you don’t wear anymore, anything to help out. The tour will give back to the community, but you can have an impact as well.
Lima, as a whole, was pretty underwhelming. We saw some nice sites, had some nice food, and probably spent most of the time stuck in traffic – the congestion there was worse than any other city I’ve been in. I can’t imagine a situation in which I’d go back, and it was a largely forgettable end to a great trip through Peru save one thing: Chez Wong.
Chez Wong is run by chef Javier Wong, who is a Peruvian of Chinese descent. And I do mean it is run by him quite literally – he is in the kitchen, and there is one other person who serves as doorman, server, and does some light prep work. Everything else is Wong, who breaks down a massive Pacific sole for the meal and prepares it a multitude of ways.
I don’t even remember anymore how I had heard of Chez Wong in the first place, just that I had wanted to go there. I made reservations well in advance, and via e-mail, because if you don’t make reservations, you won’t be let in. It doesn’t matter if there are tables available – if you don’t book in advance, don’t bother showing up. Which would be a whole different matter, as no one seemed to know where it was, and we finally had to get a helpful woman in a bank to look up directions, print them out, and then explain them to our cab driver.
Once we finally figured it out and were dropped off in what basically appeared to be an alley next to a very busy street, we located the correct door and gave our names. We were scrutinized against what was on the list and I had a momentary panic that I had somehow bungled the reservation, but we were eventually seated at one of the 10 tables – about half of which ended up being filled. After trying to explain in spanish with little success about LeeAnne’s orange allergy, we ordered a bottle of wine.
The first course came shortly thereafter and consisted of a beautifully fresh and bright ceviche of sole and octopus, all with a bowl of chili on the side. Following this was another Peruvian classic, tiradito, which is a close cousin to ceviche – thinly sliced raw fish in citrus. Here, we had more sole, topped with crumbled pecans. Both were excellent ways to start off the meal – light, flavorful, and incredibly delicious. (Note: these descriptions are mostly conjecture, as there is no menu at Chez Wong – just whatever the chef wants to cook.)
For the third course, Chef Wong went to the only cooking surface in the place – a huge burner – to stir fry more flounder. I walked back to the bathroom – which you have to go through the kitchen to get to – and almost couldn’t take my eyes off of his cooking. Not only do I love watching people cook, but he was so close to the massive flame that I didn’t know how his hand wasn’t a burnt husk of nothing. His body must be completely heat-resistant at this point.
The third course was a quick stirfry of sole, mushrooms (I wasn’t sure which kind, but the texture reminded me of wood ear), and snow peas in a brown sauce – the ingredients of which can change day to day based on what food he has on hand. I wish I could convey in words the smell coming off of this dish when it was set in front of me. In the picture, you can tell just a small portion of the glee I felt to get to eat this.
Finally, we were treated to another dish from the wok, this one a spicier take on the sole, with larger chunks of fish, vegetables, and scallions. Just as good as the other dishes, if not better (I like spice), it was a hell of a way to finish off the meal that would be the only plausible reason for me to return to Lima.
All in all, I can’t say enough about the food and the experience. If you’re going to Lima, the restaurant should be a must-do on your list. You get amazing food, plus the added bonus of feeling like a VIP finding a place that apparently cab drivers need help to get to, that has no website or social media presence, and that you have to be on a list to get in. As many great restaurants as Lima has – and the list is significant – don’t let yourself miss this one.
To make a reservation, e-mail email@example.com.
Our time in Peru started with adventure: a few days in Cusco and then the Inca Trail. After that, we were able to spend a few wonderful (and relaxing) days in Arequipa. But after Arequipa our vacation got a bit whirlwind: we’d take an overnight bus to Ica, where we’d hop on a plane to see the Nasca Lines, then we’d get a private van transfer to Huacachina, where we’d spend around 24 hours, and then a trip to Paracas to see the Bolestas Islands followed by yet another overnight bus to Lima.
Being a baby when it comes to heights and water, I wasn’t looking forward to most of this part of the trip, but as always LeeAnne talked me into it (or, rather, planned it and I just went along). We arrived in Ica early and made our van transport from the bus station to the small airport stop at a tiny cafe so we could grab breakfast and a coffee. After that, we made it to the airport, where we checked in, went through “security,” stashed our packs, and were weighed for the flight.
After all the formalities were out of the way, we took a seat in the airport while a documentary about the lines played over and over on the airport televisions. The story of the lines, at first, is fascinating: the Nasca people, it is believed, made these huge drawings in the area by removing the top layer of red soil and revealing a white layer beneath it. The area that the lines cover – 450 square kilometers – is massive. The drawings themselves are huge.
The are in which the lines are drawn is also fortuitous: with almost no wind and being in one of the driest deserts on earth, they have been preserved almost completely naturally since they were drawn. How lucky is that? But when you dig further into the mystery of why they are there, you come up with a resounding shrug of the shoulders and a “dunno.” While this may make the mystery even more enticing for some, I had a similar reaction: a shrug of the shoulders.
After sitting in the airport a while, it was finally our turn to take the flight. We shared the small plane with three other sight-seers, a pilot, and a co-pilot. The crew did a great job, once we were in the air, of making sure we saw all the highlights – the monkey, the condor, the spider, the hummingbird, etc. We flew around, tipping the plane to either side so both seats could get a good view, and then headed back to the airport. The flight was about 30 minutes, and being such a small plane with no cabin pressure, LeeAnne’s altitude sickness started to creep up while we were in flight. If that is a problem for you, beware.
After all was said and done, the lines were interesting, but nothing to jump up and down about. If it hadn’t been a reasonable stop on the way from one point to another, I wouldn’t have been sad to miss them. They are another box I can check off on my travels, but really haven’t been anything more than that. And for $100 per person, I would say your money was best spent elsewhere. Unless you really want to see some lines drawn in the sand.
To quote Jim Gaffigan, “I’m what you would call ‘indoorsy'”—but when my then-wife LeeAnne suggested we take a vacation to Peru to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, I agreed instantly. I’ve always had a thing for seeing historical sites, and Machu Picchu is right up there among the best of them. The fact that we would have to hike for four days to get there just added to the allure of the place.
As the Inca Trail is well protected, there are a limited number of passes issued to hike the trail each day, and you must go with a registered guide. We picked Intrepid Travel based on a friend’s recommendation, and they were great. From our tour guide Elias to the unbelievable porters, the trip was made much better with them in it.
We began with a day and a half in Cusco to get acclimated to the altitude. At the time, we were both smokers and had had almost no experience at altitude (we did all of our practice hikes outside Philadelphia), so the day and half was not enough. But we made it work with plenty of altitude medication and coca tea.
The night before our trip, our guide dropped off the bags we were to give the porters with extra clothes, snacks, or whatever else we wanted during the hike as long as the bags were under 6 kg. We could also carry our own backpacks with whatever we wanted to have on us. He went over the route and what we could expect from day to day, and then we were left to pack up. The hotel we stayed at would be stashing most of our stuff while we were away, so we’d be bringing minimal gear with us. From Intrepid, we were able to rent sleeping bags, a sleeping mat, and hiking poles. Everything else, we had.
And then, just like that, it was time to embark. The hotel let us in the breakfast room early so we could get some food before we left, and that’s when it hit me: diarrhea. That’s right: I had felt fine the past few days, and then just as I was about to embark on a long trek where I’d be outside in the middle of nowhere for four days, I get hit with a bad case of the tummy struggles. I went from excited anticipation to absolute dread. Was it the nerves? The aji de gallina I’d had the night before? The alpaca burger? All the coca tea I’d been pounding? Who knows. Who cares. This was about to suck.
We took a two-hour van ride with our guide to the small town of Ollantaytambo, where we stopped for a more substantial breakfast, a few trips to the bathroom, and to meet up with the rest of our group. There were eight of us total, and we’d be joining a group that was on a longer Intrepid trip. They were nice enough people, but we didn’t end up spending much time with them outside of our camps each night.
We drove up to the trail entrance, had our passports stamped, and were underway. The first day was hot and arid, mostly uphill. I made the mistake of trying to keep up with the more fit non-smokers on the trip and ended up getting winded pretty quickly, and the altitude (even though we were nowhere near as high as we would eventually go) was getting the best of me. It wasn’t long before I fell behind. Luckily, LeeAnne was there to keep me going, because I almost immediately wanted to give up. I absolutely hate the feeling that I am holding someone back, and I didn’t want to feel like that with a group of strangers the entire time.
We stopped to see some ruins, and then we stopped for lunch. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but I ate what I could in order to have as much energy as possible, and then took a quick nap in an adjacent field. One of our follow hikers gave me some coca leaves to chew on. They weren’t as good as the tea, but they definitely helped. Now, the coca leaf is indeed the raw material for cocaine, but the amount in a leaf is miniscule. The leaf itself is a mild stimulant that combats thirst, hunger, pain and fatigue, but is nothing like cocaine. Although I did become pretty addicted to coca candy while I was in Peru.
Day two started with a great breakfast and I was feeling much better, but our guide sent us out with one of our companions a bit early so I could get a head start. It wasn’t long before the rest of the group caught up with us, though, because we kept going higher and LeeAnne started developing some altitude sickness. We were slowed immensely by this, and now it was she that needed the convincing not to turn back. She stuck it out, though, despite having to stop every few meters on our climb up to Dead Woman’s Pass, which tops out at 4,215m/13,829ft above sea level, the highest I’d ever been outside of an airplane.
At some points, our guide had to make LeeAnne smell rubbing alcohol to keep her wits about her, and it took us way longer to get to the pass than everyone else. It was also a complete climate change from day one, being freezing cold and windy at the top of the pass. Having not prepared as well as I should have, our guide lent me his gloves.
After a brief rest, we went down the other side of the pass to where we were supposed to stop for lunch. Recognizing that we were struggling—as well as a few others in the group that had some problem—Elias made the decision to camp there for the rest of the night. This did, however, mean that the porters who had gone on ahead to set up camp for dinner would have to break down the camp and come all the way back.
It should be noted that these porters are nearly superhuman. They wear sandals for the entire trip and carry 50 kg of gear on their backs and practically run the trail in order to get to the next stop, set up camp, and cook the next meal. And the meals were not your typical camping food—they were miles above what any reasonable person would expect on a trip like this. Watching them get through the trail was awe-inspiring, and if you do it be sure to bring enough cash to tip them well. They are amazing.
Day three, our guide had LeeAnne and I get up even earlier. This time, we set out with a porter to accompany us and woke up while it was still dark and while everyone else was still asleep to get a 2-3 hour head start. It was slow going, and we were able to meet pretty much everyone else on the trail with us because we had to stop so frequently and all the groups passed us, making sure we were okay. Right before our lunch stop (which was supposed to be our dinner stop and camp the night before), the rest of our group caught up with us. Right after we stopped atop the high pass for the day for some yoga.
Just kidding, we only watched other people do yoga. After lunch, Elias and a porter accompanied us once again as the rest of the group went on ahead. We were slow as cold molasses, but we made it through to camp eventually—tummy struggles, altitude sickness, and all. Luckily, even though we were there right on the edge of rainy season, it didn’t rain at all. The combination of being wet and miserable with being on slippery rocks next to some pretty heady cliffs (I’m afraid of heights) would have made the trek that much more nerve-wracking. We heard later from some folks who had experienced rain on the trip that it made everything excruciatingly worse.
On night three, we had one last group dinner and tipped out our porters, who would be leaving the next morning in order to get a train back to the city. That morning, we woke up early—probably around 3am—in order to get in line to get into the actual national park that includes all of the sites. We climbed along cliffs, up higher, finally coming to the “gringo killer” stairs that lead up to the Sun Gate, which are so steep they basically need to be climbed like a ladder.
It should be said that, with all the struggles we were having, I was pretty nonplussed by the idea of seeing Machu Picchu at this point. I stopped caring and figured it would be anticlimactic at best. At the Sun Gate, which looks down upon Machu Picchu, the clouds were still in and we could see nothing. We stopped for a brief snack, and at one point the sun came out and the clouds parted and we could see it, and I was immediately enthralled. The whole thing was so incredibly impressive, it was almost breathtaking. Once I saw it, all the hard work and the talking myself out of leaving and the diarrhea and everything else suddenly became worth every minute.
We took the walk from the Sun Gate down to Machu Picchu, where we got some touristy pictures and proceeded down to tour the city. I immediately hated all the people who had taken trains and buses to get there—the ones in jeans, wearing perfume or cologne, the ones who had clearly bathed in the last three days—they didn’t deserve this! They didn’t suffer for it! Jerks.
Though I don’t have much hard going to compare this to—running a marathon probably comes the closest—hiking the Inca Trail was without a doubt the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. With everything we had to deal with on top of the altitude, it was a struggle to say the least. But the struggle paid off with one of the most impressive sites I’ve ever seen, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. If only to prove that I could do it a little quicker.
After leaving Machu Picchu, we grabbed lunch in Aguas Calientes, the town below, and then hopped a train back to Ollantaytambo where a van drove us back to Cusco. Back at our hotel, it was immediate showers, followed by devouring two massive Peruvian pizzas and a long, hard sleep. By morning, of course, my tummy struggles had ended—but not my love of coca tea.