Time for a challenge - Day 2 of the Inca Trail

It´s one month since we left for our world tour. It feels like we have done so much already, but these 2 days have been like a definition of why we would do such a trip.

Last night we slept comfortably in our tent – warmer than sleeping in our hostel. At 5am, birds and cockerels awake us and after breakfast and packing up, we steeled ourselves for the ¨challenge day.¨

The walk started upwards in cool weather and a good feeling from the bond growing amongst the group. After our guide Percy had explained the day ahead of us – in short, hard and steep – we knew we would need each other´s support to get us through the day.

And what a day. We walked up steep mountains constantly for the first 4 hours. The terrain and valleys between the mountains was beautiful – but I have few pictures of the first part of the day because at times it was just a matter of getting one foot in front of the other.

We followed the porters who of course know the most efficient methods up the paths. The trail is quite wide in places with a lot of steps and the porters always took the smallest upward part of each step and walked on slopes at the side to minimise energy loss and impact on knees and ankles. We took their lead.

Nicki and I took a steady speed and as the others stopped for a rest after an hour, we pressed on feeling that we had hit our pace. The sticks we had bought proved extremely helpful, at times I was leaning heavily on them to get the next step up, and as the path came out of jungle-like surroundings after another hour we took a rest with the whole group. Resting places were populated with wise old women from the local area selling water and Gatorade, and they were shrewd business people. A large bottle of water in Cuzco costs 3 Soles (2 Euros/ 1.80 GBP) but on the first day, it reached 8 soles, here it was up to 10. The higher the walk, the higher the price...

We headed up for the last stretch towards the summit, on the exposed side of the mountain. That´s when the rain came in, and for the first time I started to feel the effects of the altitude. Breath was hard to catch and we struggled along in all-covering poncho´s. Percy had warned us that the last 20 minutes up to the summit would be heavy – he was not joking. As Nicki described it, ¨I knew all the way that I could make it to the top but there were moments when I wished I wasn´t doing it at all!¨.

Two of our group who were ahead of us waited at the summit, despite cold wind and rain. They shouted encouragement to us as we hit the last gruelling steps – incredibly steep, rain pouring hard – and Nicki and I made it to the top, together.

The only pity was the lack of a view – the clouds obscured all – but we consoled ourselves that we had done it, trekked 4200m high and didn´t need any sunny pics to prove it.

And then the descent – in some ways as hard as the ascent. The rock steps were slippery and steep, so we took our time to get to the bottom. 15 mins from camp, the rain came in hard again and didn´t stop for 3 hours as people arrived one by one. Despite the difference across the group in fitness and experience of hiking, everybody made it through the ¨challenge¨ day.

Embarrassingly, the porters clap each person as they reach the camp. These guys, who climb over the same terrain with back-breaking loads, arrive in advance to prepare our tents and food – they clap us. Clearly it should be the other way round. ¨Porter-lore¨ holds stories that the record for covering the Inca Trail´s 28 miles stands at 3 hours 45 mins. We take 4 days. Incredible! Apparently some professional runners tied the same some years ago and their best was 6 hours. The porters are just amazing.

As a group, we shared stories in the communal tent as each of us arrived - what was the hardest part, at what moment we might have wanted to give up, and what it was like to reach the summit. We get closer and closer as we share this experience.

And I´m so happy that Nicki and I reached the top together. We have different paces at different times (she´s usually quicker than me) but we got to that high point together and made the full descent together.

Now it´s 5pm and I write this with an incredible view. The campsite is cut off from the sun but in the distance we can see the mountains inbetween wispy clouds. Every now and again, the cloud comes up the vally and obscures the view, then it ebbs again to give a new aspect to the stunning view.

Macchu Picchu & The Inca Trail - Day One

We have had enough of our hostel. Leaking roof, leaking sink flooding the bathroom, bits of roof falling on top of us, plus cold showers - yes, it´s ¨all part of the experience¨ but this is too much! We´re even looking forward to camping on the Inca Trail, it will be better than the Mirador Del Inca hostel...

The Inca Trail is a 4-day, 3-night hike of 28 miles, through valleys and over mountains to the sacred Inca site of Macchu Picchu. the Inca empire is fascinating. lasting just 330 years from around 1200 to 1533 when the Spanish conquered them. They developed unique technologies in building and even astronomy, and gained all kinds of knowledge from co-operation with other countries. (To read more about the Inca´s, click here.)

This is the major reason we came to Peru so we´ve been looking forward to it since we left. We´d been told that the first day is ¨easy¨, the second day a ¨challenge¨, the third day hard but easier than the 2nd, and the 4th day would be an easy saunter down to see Macchu Picchu. We spent a lot of time preparing and ensuring we had all the right gear and back-up clothes and medication.

They also warned us of the altitude - on the second day we would reach 4200m (13,000ft) above sea level. We´ve been struggling for breath at 3300m in Cuzco, so we´re prepared with a lot of water, snacks and altitude sickness tablets just in case.

Our day started with being picked up at 5:30am and we took the bus through the hills to Ollantaytambo where we bought sticks from the locals to make walking easier. On to the start of the trek where we gave part of our stuff to the porters. These guys carry 3 x 6kg of tourists´ belongings plus around 5kg of their own stuff and as the tour unfolded we all became utterly amazed at the abilities of these porters, some of whom looked no heavier than 50kg. Carrying at least half their body weight, they run across the stones in flip flops - making a mockery of our boots and tiny backpacks holding a few bits and pieces. More on the porters later.

We set off on the trail, stopping regularly to take in the scenery. It is true to call the first day ¨easy¨, because we walked on the flat or on gentle upward slopes. But what I realise is that the Inca Trail is not about the walk. Gradually, the 15 person geoup of tourists starts to interact and we learn that people came from New York, Chicago, Washington, San Jose, Santa Cruz, Belgium, England, Scotland and Brazil. This was anything from a 7-10 day trip to part of a larger world tour for different people. As we walked along at different paces, we got talking to different people and as the trek developed, we became a tight-knit group, supporting each other and enjoying the journey together.

Our guide is Percy, a wiry, happy guy who gives us great explanations of the Inca sites and draws diagrams to explain with his stick into the gravel. He spent 6 years studying to be a tour guide (¨it normaly takes 5 years,¨ he said with a smile, ¨but sometimes the professors go on strike...¨) I said that it seemed a great job to do and he waved his arms in the direction of the fantastic valley around us at that moment and said ¨welcome to my office¨.

The countryside, very simply, is stunning. I have never been anywhere like this. Huge, lush green mountains, rushing rivers and beautiful valleys with air that is so incredibly fresh (especially appreciated after the Cuzco smog!) The sheer size of some of the mountains is daunting, knowing that we will scale some of them. We catch a glimpse of a snow-capped mountain in the distance, but sadly these sights (which the Incas considered Gods) are rare nowadays, due to Global Warming. As the years go by, there is less and less of the sacred snow to be seen on the way to Macchu Picchu.

The Inca Trail and Macchu Picchu are in protected land - you have to sign up for the tour months in advance as only 200 tourists per day are allowed on the trek to minimise erosion to the paths. We are priveleged to be able to do this.

Amazingly, the Peruvian crew of 22 porters and 1 chef rustle up Avocado salad,pasta soup and fish and vegetable for lunch. Unbelievable that they do this in the middle of nowhere.

The trekking is indeed relatively easy but we prepare oursleves mentally for the second day. We sit together with the group, sharing travel stories and jokes, as the crew prepare our dinner.

A Journey Through The Sacred Valley

We decided to get out of the city and take a tour through the Sacred Valley. These are parts of the historical sites of the Incas.

We piled into a comfortable minibus for around 30 people, and our enthusiastic guide Leo embarked on a great commentary on the sites we were to see. Clearly he is proud of the history as he told us passionately of the first principles of the Inca people – No Lazy People, No Liars, No Thieves. The Incas only lasted for 40 years and just 12 men led the people. It is seen by the people as a kind of “Golden Age” and Leo compared the most famous Inca leader, Pachacutec (“He who unites the world”) with Alexander the Great.

The journey took us through incredible mountains and valleys all day. The size of the landscape, and so high up, is amazing. Cuzco is 3,300 m above sea level and we travelled up to 3,700 m above during the tour. Incredibly, the land on the hills and mountains is often cultivated. One major impression of the life in the countryside was simply hard agricultural work – an old man pushing a bike-trolley with flat tyres, another old man carrying a bundle of materials on his back walking from what seemed nowhere to nowhere, many people coming back off the fields in the evenings. No wonder people come to the city offering cheap gifts and paintings to the tourists.

We also stopped regularly at toilet or tourist spots with stands and locals offering handmade gifts and woollen jumpers and hats. The most successful salespeople were the young kids in traditional costume, holding onto a Llama. They charged 2 sols per picture (around 60 Euro cents/50 english pence) and the tourists lapped it up. We also realised that we were one of literally 100's of similar tours, seeing bus after bus at different roadside spots.

The first real stop was to walk along the mountain-side and see the Inca ruins of Pizac. We have been surprised to find Guinea-Pig on the menu of many restaurants (around 3 times the price of a lamb or beef dish) and here we heard that many Guinea Pig remains had been found on the huge step-terraces of the Inca town, as it seems they were bred and used for fertilising the ground, as well as eaten as a delicacy. The Incas delighted in making their cities or sculpting their terraces in the shape of sacred animals and the whole area of Pisac is shaped like a Condor, a bird considered to be the messenger of the sun.

Walking for just some minutes at a time at such altitude was a good little practice for the Inca Trail. We both struggled with shortness of breath for the first few minutes but got into our stride and adapted to the reduced level of oxygen pretty well. We know the trail itself will be a test but we are looking forward to it.

The other major stop we made was to Ollantaytambo, again a hugely stepped town with a great terraced area overshadowing the city. This time the stepped areas and the town are made in the shape of a Llama, another odd delicacy often found on the menu in Cuzco. The myth here is that Ollantay was great fighter. In return for his efforts, the ruler Pachacutec said he could have anything. Ollantay, having fallen for the daughter of the ruler, asked for her hand in marriage. The ruler was incensed – no common man could marry his daughter, no matter how good a soldier he was! – and refused. Ollantay started a rebellion but was crushed easily and had to retreat to this city – hence the name of the town, Ollantaytambo, is translated as “Ollantay's refuge”.

Driving was an experience the whole day. The roads were often populated by tuctuc-like contraptions (Nicki described them as “a motorbike carrying a wendyhouse) as well as tourist buses and a few cars. Our fearless driver thought nothing of overtaking 50 metres before a blind bend. I closed my eyes and assumed he was still alive because he knew what he was doing.

Our day ended with an amazing drive across beautiful countryside to Chinceras, another beautiful town this time with a great church at its top. Clear messages said all over the church “no photos” – we were amazed at how brazen people were to ignore repeated requests not to break this rule. All around, locals offered goods again – a hand-made jumper for 10 soles, around 2.3 Euros/ 2 pounds, incredible.

Leo's emotional and excitedexplanation of the Inca history gave an image of a golden age of perfect people. On the other hand, we felt some contradictions, such as the sacrifice of humans – young girls, to be exact – to the Sun whenever phenomena such as famines or drought ocurred. He also claimed the Inca's were huge people, and there is apparently a picture of a 7' 2” (2.18m) tall descendent of the Inca's, taken in 1929. But all the real locals we have seen have been much smaller than average European heights... It seems Leo is a master of the romantic notion of all things past being better than now.

Our feeling about the day was mixed. We had enjoyed seeing the Inca sites, but observing the people and the way they live in the countryside feels almost voyeuristic. We both felt something a bit distasteful about “rich” people like us (at least in comparison to the locals) gawping from the comfort of minibuses at the struggles and toils of the country people. The tourism element is intrusive, but we are able to see these things because of tourism and development of the life in the countryside is possible thanks to the constant push of goods by the street-sellers. We have no right to complain and I follow Nicki's idea which is to look the people in the eye, smile and say politely “no gracias”. At least if we don't want to buy, we can be polite in our rejection.

Now we take a couple of days to prepare for the Inca Trail. It's 4 days and 3 nights of trekking across the mountains, camping in tents, taking the elements as they come and taking in some amazing scenery.

Life in Cuzco, Peru

We finished our Spanish Classes and now can proudly (albeit a bit grammatically inaccurately) ask for most things and make ourselves understood in small conversations with the locals. 3 days, 6 hours per day study was intensive but worth it.

As we look around us in these few days in Cuzco, we see a life that seems to be several decades behind western countries in terms of material life and infrastructure. We see it in our hostel now. It's clear that furniture and fixtures were once good – cash was somehow cobbled together to buy them – but when something has broken, money hasn't been spent replace or fix it. Any available cash seems to have been spent on “luxuries” like a TV, fridge, computer or washing machine. These are ancient too – the fridge is at least 30 years old – there is a sticker on it for The Police album, “Ghost in the machine”, released in 1981... The TV is an old Philips thing with a dial to tune the channels and sliders for brightness and contrast controls. The result is a house that looks about 70 years out of date with a few modern items time-transported in around 20-30 years ago.

Our room has a few eccentricities. A bathroom with a leaking sink (we took a further step toward becoming real travellers, cutting a water bottle to catch the worst of it in a makeshift bucket.). The ceiling also leaked a little when the rain was heavy and a few crumbs of ceiling plaster came with the water.

Electricity is a luxury too. Our room has some sockets, none of which work. In our schoolroom, the electricity connection you see in the picture is not an uncommon site.

As I was writing the above sentences, the following happened – really. A large chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling, narrowly missing Nicki's head but scratching her side as she was sitting next to me on the bed as I wrote. Most of the plaster landed directly on the laptop which miraculously works fine after a good brush off. We showed the owners the plaster-covered bed and chunk of bare ceiling. They casually apologised, mentioned how hard the rain falls and that they had another room. We've just moved all our stuff there. We are both OK, but were quite shaken for a few minutes until we could laugh it off as “all part of the experience...”

After spending the whole week indoors, on Saturday we wanted to get out and took a walk up the hill directly behind our hostel. A breathless stagger up the steep steps gave up breathtaking views across the city as well as a glimpse of how the people are living – in a very simple way with very few amenities. It also confirmed that houses are being made of mud and plaster (maybe wattle and daub as we would know it?). Ceilings, as we saw clearly by recent experience, are made of reeds and plaster. It is a work-intensive, low cost way of building houses, and clearly the income from tourism is one of the ways that people in the hills are able to have some basics – electricity and a bit of warmth, plus a mostly-dry roof over their head.

Another interesting little insight into the way things are done was seen today. We have made friends with an Argentinian guy, Adrian – a very interesting guy who has played semi-professional Rugby and is a journalist. He's opened a small shop and café in our favourite square, San Blas, and he explained that the other morning a couple of Brits staying in a hostel above him had woken to find a drill coming through the wall – which is 1.2 metres thick. The owners of the next-door building are illegally building a hotel and are just going ahead with the work without any planning permission. When quizzed on this work, the contractors said it was a “mistake” (drilling 1.2 metres through a wall, a mistake...?) The next incident came when next-door's owner announced to our friend that he is knocking one wall down. As we sat drinking coffee, a posse of officials from the city and local law firms came to look at the wall and debate the rights and wrongs. It seems much bribing has been done to avoid planning permission, but still they have claims against them for all kinds of misdemeanours during the work. The outcome is not yet known, but Adrian seemed confident that right would prevail.

The city itself is beautiful in the main tourist centres, but with the major downside of traffic-pollution. We hadn't really noticed it too much until it had not rained for a whole day (it rains every day for 8-9 months in Cuzco and we are in that period...). We walked through the city centre and could barely breathe oxygen. There are not so many cars – mainly tiny Daewoo's – but the concept of a catylisator is clearly a thing of the distant future. I sit here now in a café on a balcony, and just the fumes from one minibus are very noticeable. We walked through the streets after dark and could see very visibly in the car headlights the ever-present fumes we had been breathing in.

I read this back and it sounds like a negative picture, but that's certainly not our experience. Cuzco and the surroundings are absolutely beautiful, food has been very good and inexpensive (a good meal for two with a couple of caipirinhas each costs around 15-20 Euros max.) and the atmosphere in the city is very much alive. The picture here shows the day we saw an incredible rainbow, arcing over the church in the main square.

The people have been incredibly friendly, hopefully helped by our enthusiastic attempts at speaking Spanish.

First impressions of Cuzco, Peru

Flying from Los Angeles to Lima was an 8-hour journey on a great plane – loads of legroom, plenty of great movies with personal screen in economy class. I guess we will get to appreciate such things as time goes on.

One odd moment was when we realised we should have got money before going through security. Nicki went back through the exit and I sat at the gate hoping for no problems for her to exit, get the cash and go back through security. It was the first time we have been really separated for the last 3 weeks.

We arrived in Lima and went to the Airport hotel on clear roads. The following morning we returned for the flight to Cuzco in full roads – absolute chaos! No concept of “lanes”, every bit of traffic battled with everyone. And that's just at the airport...

Our first impressions of Cuzco on landing are like this. High altitude – short breath all the time (Lima was at sea level, Cuzco is 3300m above sea level!). Chaos – roads are a mess and clearly not made for cars, too narrow for a car and a person to walk down, maybe designed for people and Horse/carts? Cheap – we paid a max of $2.75 for a bottle of water in S.F., here it's 30c, and a full dinner is 15 euros, it was at least 40 in S.F.

It's also a beautiful, fantastic place, a city of 300,000 people based in a valley surrounded by mountains. The buildings are so old and full of character, relatively unspoilt, I have never been to a place like it. You see a number of sun-hardened, small Inca people offering various crafts and self-made goods, clearly having walked from the hills down to the city to make some money. The gap between the westerners and their lifestyle, and the original people of the area is incredible and a little disturbing.

In the city centre, every 50 metres you are offered “massage” (“are there so many people with tired limbs”, I naively ask myself...) and goods and tours are pushed on every corner. It is a pity because it is bothersome, but then, tourism is why we are here, and why shouldn't the locals get the most out of it?

We have tried to find small places with some locals to have dinner, and have found our small smattering of Spanish to be a big help in the little terracotta-walled “restaurants” a few steps down off the little side streets that we have eaten in. Cheap and well prepared food, friendly smiling service and cosy atmosphere is at a big contrast with the bigger places near the main square, with prices the same as in Europe and restaurant design to make you feel you could be anywhere.

We started our Spanish classes on Wednesday, in San Blas Spanish School. It is an experience to go to a school with cold, tiny little classrooms and creaking doors, a building site at the back and no real facilities, plus a non-flushing toilet with a vat of water and a bucket to compensate. I can remember some people at my last job complaining about work environment – I hope I remember how these teachers are working wherever I work in the future. And of course, this is the relatively rich side of education, classes paid for by foreigners. What on earth would state-run schools be like?

Small insights into the life here – like walls made of plaster covering earth-bricks, with strands of grass poking out – make you realise that life is simply hard work for the locals here.

We are incredibly privileged to be able to come here as a tourist for pure enjoyment. It's a fascinating place.

Wine Country Walking and Coastal Highway Driving

(halfway through this blog, pictures stopped uploading. More pics on Facebook, email me if you are not a member of facebook and I can send you the link to the pics.)

With just 3 full days left in USA, we awoke again to stunning sunshine and set off for a walk through Sonoma valley in California's wine country (Napa is more famous, but our bible “Lonely Planet” book said “if you only have time to visit one, visit Sonoma”). Again, we found people so friendly – every time we have asked directions, people asked us where we are from, how we like California and what our next plans are. I don't remember that happening much in our own countries.

Walking in the valley, we headed towards the hills and found ourselves surrounded by vineyards turning a beautiful, unexpected auburn. I had no idea that vines would change colour in Autumn.
The strongest impression I've had of this part of the world is how pretty and ordered it is. The people are happy and calm, in no hurry, they live in a place where the weather is great (20 degrees plus in mid-November?), houses are lovely, and there's space and time. I can imagine it's a great place to live if you are a placid and even-tempered person (and rich). For me, what's missing is the contrast – there seems no “edge”, no rough side to make you appreciate living in such a place. I would become complacent living here. Only one thing gave us a different view – the sign warning “Absolutely NO Trespassing. Violators will be shot.”...

The following day, we headed out towards the Pacific Coastal Highway, driving along the coast from Santa Cruz towards Los Angeles. Blue sky all the way, easy open road, and we stopped at lovely villages by the sea. Especially Capitola was cute with multicoloured little cottages by the beach, and from its pier we saw a sea-otter floating on its back and chomping away at a starfish.

Heading South and stopping off in Monterey, we drove up a slope on the highway and viewed a different world ahead. The green hills and mountains of the Los Padres National Forest stretched out in front of us and we spent 3 hours driving with endless stunning views of cliffs and sea on one side and beautiful landscape on the other. It's a famous drive for good reason, and seeing the Autumn sun setting across the views was incredible.

As soon as it got dark, we stopped at the Gorda Springs motel, with a view over the ocean. No phone signal, let alone Internet connection – a remote spot indeed. The next morning started with a great run along the warm coast and we later sat on a picnic blanket on the cliff, looking out to the deep ocean, reflecting on how lucky we've been to enjoy this time in America.

As we carried along the coast, the scenery in bright sunlight was again incredible. We'd been advised to look out for the Elephant Seal viewing spot and it was amazing to see over a 100 hulking, content-looking animals wallowing and lazing around in the sand.

Another amazing sight was the birds of prey in the trees – sunbathing. Yes, they were really sunbathing, spreading their wings out and facing the sun.

We hammered on down the highway, windows open, Rolling Stones blaring, Nicki with a Thelma-and-Louise-like headscarf arrangement to keep her hair in place. Arriving at Santa Barbara, a quaint little place with a long beach and happy people wandering around, once again the orderliness and simple, happy lifestyle struck us. Even the parking charge was an “honor payment system” – you noted your lot-number and stuffed 3 folded dollar bills into a quaint old panel with numbered slots.

And then the contrast...

Finally we reached our hostel at Venice Beach, a few miles outside of Los Angeles. Wow! Lonely Planet says “If aliens landed on Venice Beach's board-walk, they would fit right into the Human Zoo that is Venice beach.” The place is just mad. Street performers, tattoo parlours, smoke shops, stalls selling way-out art, a beggar with a sign saying “beer $ wanted”, a skateboard park on the beach with hair-raising stunts being done by fearless kids. As we walked along wide-eyed, we heard a drum beat coming from a big crowd in the middle of the beach. We approached it and found around 100 people either banging bongos and drums or dancing to the beat. The aroma of pot was strong! It was an absolutely buzzing atmosphere. What a find.

We carried on to a restaurant and were assailed by a guy with dreadlocks explaining how “America is a 200 year old experiment” and telling tales of meditating on Acid opposite the Dakota building in Central Park (John Lennon's last home). As his stories became more convoluted and harder to follow, we realised that he was an unusual, drug-addled and unique character. We toasted with him to loving life and enjoying the moment, and headed back towards our hostel...

On the way back we met young drunks wielding bottles of tequila, shouting “this is our time, man” and passed an Asian girl playing a guitar and singing as we walked on. There was not a “normal” person on the board-walk. I loved every minute of it.

It was a welcome end to our 3-week stay in USA. It's been a fantastic way to start the journey, to learn more about America as a continent and not just as a country by seeing so many aspects. The calm of Maine, the bustle and sky-scrapers of Manhattan, the neighbourhood feel of Greenwich Village and San Francisco, the peace and beauty of the Wine country, and the ocean at Cape Cod and the West Coast – all brought into stark contrast again by the madness of Venice Beach.

And now we turn our thoughts on to Peru, our 2nd country and 2nd continent. We know it will be incredibly different to USA, but then we are feeding from the additional light that contrast brings to each new experience.

Prison and Freedom in California

Obvious tourist sights are not normally top of our list, but the former prison on the Alcatraz island was an exception. It is such an iconic place and you see it from everywhere you look around the bay of San Francisco. It was a must-do.

Weather again was on our side, a glorious sunny day met our ferry trip across the bay, giving amazing views of the Golden Gate and the city. Alcatraz itself was fascinating. We learned what it was like to be an inmate – you lived a tantalising one and a half miles across the water from the hustle and bustle from the city, able to see it (and even to hear the city's sounds echo across the bay) but having forfeited the chance to be a part of it. Meanwhile your cell, a tiny, clanging metal space, provided almost nothing. But then they said that “if you break the rules, you go to prison. If you break the prison rules, you go to Alcatraz.” If you were there, it was generally for good reason.

It was opened in the 1930's when gangster crime was rife thanks to the last years of prohibition in the USA and the public were calling for a new kind of prison to make the country a safer place. Famous inmates included Al Capone, who was there from 1934-39. Nobody was known to have escaped, although there were numerous attempts. One famous try was captured in Escape from Alcatraz (we downloaded it from the net and watched it in our hotel room that evening), Clint Eastwood played Frank Morris masterminding a 3-man exit via the ventilation ducts. They swam into the deadly freezing currents of the sea between the Rock and San Francisco. Their bodies were never found and they were never caught. Who knows, maybe they're ending their days in Mexico...?

A fascinating incident which we had no idea about was a long occupation of the island by native Indians, 6 years after the prison was closed by JFK. There was much dissent among Indians because the government had reneged on agreements regarding Indian territories and in 1969, the lobbyists were looking to make a statement. 400 Indians floated across on various boats and set up a community on the island. Their idea was that by establishing their settlement in the heart of the bay, all ships arriving would know that the first land they saw was Indian. Despite being ejected from Alcatraz, their 19-month stay was one of the steps for new agreements with native American leaders. As one of the occupants said, “Quiet people who follow the rules don't create change in the world”.

We left Alcatraz, took one last drive North over the Golden Gate Bridge and headed towards the Wine Country. Most people think of Napa Valley as the main area but we had been advised advised that Sonoma Valley, close to Napa, was the place to be. We headed straight for Sonoma town, an incredibly calm, cute and laid-back place, and chose a couple of wineries to do some tastings. We set off in stunning light as the Autumn sunshine moved towards dusk and gave the hills amazing colour and shades.

Our motto for the trip is now “It's All About The Contrast”. The two wineries we visited couldn't have been more different.

We started at BR Cohn, who was the manager of Californian rock band The Doobie Brothers for 30 years. The tasting office was very plush and decked out with Silver and Gold records from the Doobies' career (in case you're not a fan like me, you would recognise “What a fool believes” and “Long Train Runnin'”). We were greeted with a 10-dollar price for tasting 4 wines (no fee if you buy a bottle), so we went ahead and went through the list. Great wines, but not that great. Nicki knows more than me and can tell the difference between a good'un and an average one, whereas I am happy if it says “wine” on the bottle... Our tasting guide was not much help as she seemed mostly interested in the sale rather than the experience – I felt we were “tourist-sneered”. It was a stunning winery in a great location with some good wines. But we left feeling it had been a nice place to go but it wasn't very personal – we were processed through the experience.

Thanks to Lonely Planet, we found the Loxton Vineyard – what a difference! We entered a very basic shed with racks of oak barrels full of the ageing wine which was the tasting place and met a young guy who introduced us – for free – to all of the wines from the tiny winery (3000 bottles per year production). We felt really welcome as he explained to us in words that we could understand what differences there were with the wines they made, what tastes and aromas to look out for, and some small details of the process of production. He brought us in and made us feel like we were meant to be there, not just another tourist.

He had been a business student and came five years ago to understand how the wine business worked. He stayed for a harvest and didn't leave. Understandable – Loxton's location was stunning, off the main road and with clear views across hills and hills of vines. We left it happy, knowing more and with a delicious wine under our arm.

We headed back to Sonoma and stayed at the lovely El Pueblo Inn – great bed, free coffee and toiletries, gym and heated outside pool! We sat with salad from the local supermarket and our bottle of Loxton wine, listened to music on the ipod and travel speakers and reflected on a really happy day.

"Think Global, Eat Local"

The Golden Gate park in San Francisco is a beautiful, rolling piece of greenery almost solely enjoyed by the City's Chinese population. As we ran through it, we saw groups of elderly Tai Chi activists, and almost every couple walking through were Chinese.

San Francisco was a tiny place up until the mid-1800's, when gold was struck. The Gold Rush enticed Asian immigrants and 150,000 Chinese people made their home in the Bay area. No surprise, then, to find a strong asian, as well as a strong Hispanic influence on the city. In the area we stayed, the Mission district, almost everywhere had signs either in Spanish and English – or in Spanish only, the predominant language heard on the street. A big contrast to the Irish, Italian and Jewish (and everything else) influences on New York.

We took a trip to Bolinas Bay in the afternoon, 40 miles over the Golden Gate Bridge. Lonely Planet describes it as a “home to writers, musicians and fisherfolk and is deliberately hard to find”, because the locals take down the road-sign directing you to the town every time the authorities put one up. Totally understandable. The village is a real throwback to a time when town life was about being connected with your neighbours and not much else. There's the small Coastal Café (with the slogan “Think Global, Eat Local”) and a store selling almost everything, a surf shop and a book shop. We walked out to the sea and drenched ourselves in the afternoon light, watching the surfers, dogs and the odd seal enjoying the long beach at the bay.

In the evening we headed to the centre of San Francisco and sought out a dive bar where they play Blues music. Last time I was there, a guy called Johnny Nitro had played – great name for a musician and his band lived up to it as the female saxophonist in her mid-40's played while standing on the bar. This time it was rather more sedate as the band was just too Blues to be true. A lead singer with a walking stick and a bad limp. A lead guitarist who was blind. A bass player who looked like a conservative politician on his night off. And a drummer who looked, well.... cool. Their music was fantastic.

Back at Bolinas near the surfer's car-park, there was a long wall edging the beach with paintings and graffiti, and a section was dedicated to poetry. The one below sums it up.

Beautiful Sausalito and Relief from Recession – how about some good news?

As we arrived in San Francisco, Immediately the contrast with New York and its surroundings hit us – Nicki said it looked like the Mediterranean more than a big city. The scenery is bay, hills, few skyscrapers and calmer streets. Of ocurse, we have flown 6 hours across America – same country, but incredibly different city.

We picked the car up and headed straight for the Golden Gate Bridge.It is such an iconic place as a piece of American history – a place we've both seen so many times in movies and on TV series – and we loved driving over it.

In February 2007, I was exhausted from working and travelling too much. I came away to San Francisco for relief and the first place I was lucky to find outside the city was called Sausalito, the first turning after the Golden Gate. I needed some calm and I found it there. The happy memory guided me and we headed there directly from the airport.

It's a beautiful little town that was once a hippy retreat but now seems like a carefully preserved village with a harbour full of small yachts, beautiful local shops and art galleries, and fantastic views across the bay to San Francisco. In case you're interested, Fleetwood Mac recorded their album “Rumours” there too...

The bay of Sausalito is full of Pelicans soaring across the sky and suddenly darting at an almost zero degree trajectory into the water after some fishy prey. Especially at dusk, the sky is full of them. As we sat and enjoyed the evening coming down, we also caught sight of seals poking their heads out of the water.

Accommodation has been a thing of contrasts even in these two weeks, and San Francisco is no exception. We are staying at Jimm's place, via a website called AirBNB.com. It's his apartment and we have a bedroom and a bathroom in it. After the milkcrate-bed in New York, we have a memory-mattress which seems to hug you to sleep – luxury. After a good sleep, I sit in Jimm's beautiful apartment at a classic wooden dining table, sipping Earl Grey and looking over one of San Francico's many hills, with space to move and feel comfortable in a real home.

San Francisco is a further 3 time-zones East (we are now 8 hours behind UK, 9 hours behind Amsterdam) so at 7pm we were tired and ready for bed. But as a jetlag buster, we headed to a Sky Lounge bar recommended to us by Jimm. We sat in an almost deserted bar with a peaceful view across the San Francisco skyline when a bunch of about 40 young Americans came in, excited and ordering champagne. Who celebrated on a Monday in this town?

On talking to the people, it turned out that they work for an Internet start-up called AdMob.com, and they were celebrating just being bought out by Google. The excitement was immediately understandable and it seemed we could almost feel relief as well as joy. It was like their own personal recession had come to an end. They popped the champagne, apologised to us for spoiling our quiet evening and pured glasses for us too. We loved being a part of their celebration, and to feel some good news around us.

Epilogue. The following morning I checked up on this Admob acquisition. It was a $750m buyout! One of the biggest in Google's history, amazing considering the company are 140 people and started just 3 years ago. It seems we were there at a real San Francisco success story.

Central Park in the Sun

New York finished for us on a beautiful sunny day. After cold wind through the whole trip, we woke to temperatures in the mid-20's and headed to Central Park. We sat quietly and enjoyed being in such an iconic place on a Sunday afternoon in the sun.

That afternoon turned into a lovely feeling of New York. As we wandered through the park towards dusk, people were out in crowds enjoying the great big natural space in the heart of the city. A full jazz band played what would have been noise anywhere else but became “atmosphere” in the open air.

100 years ago, there were no high rise blocks around Central Park – it was seen as definitely not the place to be. Interesting how cities shift their centre of gravity over time, isn't it? It seems gradually the richer types moved from the southern tip of Manhatten to what is now Downtown and further North around the park. The first high-rise building was just off 72nd street, and this was the place John Lennon had found peace in the late 70's.

He and Yoko moved there as refuge from England and the pervasive fame of the Beatles legacy. In early 1980, I remember there was a series of interviews with them on the radio by a DJ named Andy Peebles, recorded in New York. John and Yoko seemed incredibly at ease, a happiness which prompted his song “Feels just like starting over”. It was a poignant set of transmissions, because just a few weeks later, he was shot dead outside his home.

A small part of the park is called Strawberry Fields, The understated, circular memorial to John Lennon that lies there is absolutely appropriate, and there are always fresh flowers laying upon it. It's a lovely site where people go every day and remember a man who was only really interested in peace and love – he talked and sang of little else. We stood in the gorgeous Autumn fading light and enjoyed our good fortune to be there together at that special place, at that moment.

We walked on through Amsterdam and Columbus Avenues, the streets abuzz with so many great restaurants, shops amazingly, still open at 6pm on Sunday evening. Americans have so much less holiday time than us, so we assume they make the most of every moment of their weekends, and the shops capitalise on that. We even found a street market just before closing up. We felt like we had seen how the people are living their normal lives.

New York has been great and we leave it with a lot of happy memories from our short stay. We learned a lot about the city and its people, and now we remind ourselves how lucky we are, and turn our minds towards California.

Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island

Friday morning began with a pure luxury as we ran through Central Park in clear blue sunshine. We feel incredibly lucky to have the freedom to do such things. And freedom was a theme of our day, as we headed to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

Obviously I paid no attention to History at school, because I had no idea that the Statue was a gift from France in the late 1880's. The idea was both a tribute and a provocation, as certain French thinkers believed France had lost its concept of Liberte, while America increasingly stood for it. The gift was meant to give praise to America for its values and to push the leaders of France to embrace freedom as a fundamental value again. It was a great surprise to us that Gustave Eiffel was involved 5 years before he even started work on his tower in Paris, and funds were raised by Joseph Pulitzer (same guy who inaugurated the Pulitzer prizes for Literature, Peace etc).

There is something dramatic about the Statue of Liberty. We learned that it was built to a size 22 blocks high, at a time when most of New York was just 5 stories high. It must have been an amazing and imposing sight at the time. The statue's view to the “old world” was deliberate and it became the emblem of hope for the immigrants in the late 1800's and early 1900's – the first thing they saw as they came in their 1000's by ship. Today, it is probably the most familiar icon in the world.

We took the audio tour around the statue on Liberty island, and went on by ferry to Ellis Island – the place where 12 million immigrants were “processed” at the turn of the 19/20th century. The majority came from East and West Europe, as well as Mexico, Canada and Asia, as America at that time was a place of hope and opportunity. The exhibition at Ellis showed pictures of people arriving in droves having arrived by Steerage class (the lowest and cheapest way to travel), jammed into the lower decks with almost no air or sanitation and plenty of illness rife over a journey that could take between a week and a month.

It seemed amazing to us that people would take such a voyage – imagine leaving Poland, Italy or Ireland to a land which you had never seen a picture of. Probably they had only heard the vaguest stories of the possibility of a better life in America, and those people took their belongings in one case, got onboard, and hoped. It made us wonder what made them so desperate and it became clear from the exhibition that especially the persecution of Jews in Eastern Europe, which was standard and legal, was a big factor. Italians seem to have left because of continual upheaval in the country causing increasing poverty and hardship.

The amazing thing about the immigration process is how many were passed to come into the country – 98% of people were accepted. There were all kinds of tests – physical, mental, legal – and yet there must have been an incredible leniency at the time. So many people made it through.

It was a fantastic trip for us to learn about this incredible history – the whole tour was around 5 hours - and it was a reminder that America stood for both a Country and a Concept. The concept of the country was all about freedom, as expressed by Roosevelt in 1941 – Freedom of Speech, Freedom to Worship, Freedom from Want and Freedom from Fear. As we have been around New York, we've been amazed at the diversity, there seems to be no typical New Yorker as there is every race and colour possible (although admittedly with the exception of an obvious Muslim group, at least not obvious to us). So the other concept was definitely an acceptance of diversity. Despite the Ellis Island immigrants being from numerous locations with almost no grasp of the English language, the country welcomed them as possible contributors to the its growth. The value of freedom and opportunity flourished as numerous immigrants over generations turned starvation and poverty at home into millionaire success in USA.

We wondered how that idea of Freedom and USA's image across the world as “Land of the Free” has been lost. The Vietnam war – played out on TV throughout the world – bombings of Libya, attacks on Iraq and Afghanistan, an amazingly damaging 8 years of presidency from G.W.Bush (how on earth was he re-elected?) – all of these have played their part. The hope that America has in Obama is surely to change that image and restore the value of America which is certainly still there. Only yesterday, a health bill was passed that “aims to extend health insurance coverage to 36 million more Americans and provide affordable healthcare to 96% of Americans.” It seems his domestic changes are genuinely targeted towards improving the lives of average Americans, and his foreign policy to repairing the damage done since 9/11. You can feel the hope in Obama posters, car stickers and T-shirts all over the city.

My own feeling after the visit to Ellis Island and on seeing the Statue of Liberty against a beautiful sunset was that I had been reminded what a privileged position I've been in to have such freedom all my life. I was born in a country which has not been occupied in recent history, I grew up with loving parents in a peaceful democracy where education was available and basic freedom was a given. I've been able to choose to change country and take all my belongings with me, when I chose to do it – not due to starvation or escape from a repressive regime.

The immigrants to New York had not experienced any of those things and America afforded a place where the basics that we take for granted became precious opportunities.