This summer, I traded in my oversized suitcase for a backpack and went on the road for two months (without a single regret about what I packed!). A lot of people have asked me how I comfortably lived out of a backpack for two months (and still looked cute in all my travel photos…obviously).
At what point does the tourism industry completely overrun and obscure the landmark? Is it possible to have both without devaluing the experience for either the tourists or the locals? Opening up a culture to tourism will taint it … but when does it go too far and where is the balance? Are you really experiencing this world if you are only visiting the tourist-ready version?
Nora and I arrived at the airport, ready and excited to take our tour in what turned out to be a glider, a six passenger aircraft (including the pilot and co-pilot) with propellers on the front. Although I’ve never been afraid of heights or flying, I started to feel a little nervous while waiting for our turn. I assured myself that those feelings would subside as soon as we took off safely.
I spent a week volunteering in the rural Amazonian village of Yantaló, Perú, and it changed my life.
Through the grapevine of travelers and the good ol´ Interwebs, the news of this countryside treasure started surfacing: Cajamarca is Perú’s capital of both cheese and Carnival. Swoon. I instantly thought it would be worth deviating from my ever-so-sacred plan.
It feels cliché to say “there are no words to describe Machu Picchu.” As a writer, that phrase — “no words” — leaves an even harsher sting.
Between Cusco and Machu Picchu — a 76-mile route that only took the Incas four days to travel on foot — Mom and I took a bus to one stop in the Sacred Valley, where we caught the train and another bus to finally reach the entrance gates. Because it’s not only about the destination, but also the journey, here’s notes from our trail.
