Runkurakay – “Pile of Ruins” This Inca building is thought to have been a tambo or inn, a stopping point for couriers on their way to Machu Picchu. For us, it marked our second pass in a long, hard day of walking the Inca Trail.
The Inca Trail is a 45 km (26 miles) trek from Piscacucho, a locality 82 km (51 miles) from Cusco, to Machu Picchu. The path follows a small part of the larger UNESCO-listed Qhapaq Ñan, the Inca-built network of roads and tracks through the Andes Mountains. The classic walk is usually done over four days, coming down into the 15th-century Inca citadel through the Sun Gate on day four.
Unfortunately, during the rainy season in 2006 – the year we walked it – part of the trail to the Sun Gate was washed away. This meant that we had to detour down to the town of Aguas Calientes and climb up to Machu Picchu from there.
This made our Day Two – the dreaded day that takes in two mountain passes – even longer than normal.
Our group of six trekkers, thirteen porters, and two guides had survived a rainy 14 km (8.7 m) walk the day before (see: The Inca Trail Day 1), but Day Two was going to be the test. We agreed to break camp at Wayllabamba (2943 m / 9655 ft) in the dark and walk two hours to Llulluchapampa (3800 m / 12,500 ft) before breakfast so that we could start the assault on our first high pass early.
It was a beautiful morning. The rains had washed the countryside clean.
From Llulluchapampa, it was a steep climb to the top of Warmiwanusca Pass (akaAbra de Huarmihuañusca or Dead Woman’s Pass), which was our highest point (4270 m/14,000 ft ) and where the winds wrapped cold, wet clouds around us. We picked our way carefully down steep stone steps to the Pacamayo River (3600 m / 11,811 ft) and lunched where we were originally meant to have camped the night. I was grateful we weren’t staying there – as pretty as the campsite was, reaching the toilet block meant winding through the bushes and crossing two small creeks, using a single-plank wooden bridge in one case, and slippery rock stepping-stones in another. I couldn’t imagine making the trip safely at night, even with a head-lamp flashlight!
Instead of staying at the Pacamayo campsite, we pushed past the one at Runkoruoay (3760 m / 12,335 ft) and through to Sayacmarca (3625 m / 11893 ft).
As the day wore on, the rains and the ups and downs took their toll. The gap between the fastest walkers and the slowest widened dramatically. This was in the days before mobile phones, and at the agreed end point, most of our group waited in the dark campsite, cold, tired, and hungry, and wondering what had become of our second guide and remaining trekkers. Eventually they staggered into the evening camp by torch light, as the rest of us breathed a sigh of relief.
Fortunately, dinner, when we finally got it, was superb. Our crew of kitchen staff and porters could not be faulted, and we all went to sleep exhausted, but warm and with full bellies.
Morning has Broken It is still cold and dark in our campsite at Wayllabamba as the dawn sneaks into the skies over the surrounding Andes.
The Huayruro River at our Feet The pre-dawn forest is noisy with the sounds of rushing water as we start to climb.
Locals and Porters The track rises steeply, …
The River Below … and before long, we have left the little river behind.
Tangled Vegetation The sub-tropical jungle is dense, and I am grateful for the well-constructed Inca pathways.
Andes in the Clouds We get glimpses of mountain peaks disappearing into the hovering clouds.
Inca Steps The stone steps seem to rise forever! Gabe and Elvis wait for us slower folks.
Run-Off Channel The Inca understood water – they built runoff channels into the pathway.
Peruvian Mother and Child At our breakfast stop at Llullucha, a Quechua woman and child greet us.
Our Staff In addition to our guides, we have kitchen staff and a crew of porters. They generally get to our stopping-places before us to set up our meal tables and/or tents.
Llulluchapampa The little village nestles in the lee of the steep mountains.
Llamas Grazing On the hills around us the llamas graze on the puna, the grasslands.
Quico – Bidens Andicola Asteraceae There are wildflowers all around us; …
Seed Pods … most of the plants are unknown to me.
Quechua Woman Many years ago, the Peruvian Government rolled out restrictions on numbers along the trail.
Quechua Guide Only licenced guides can operate; it was nice to meet one who was a female!
Dead Woman’s Pass (4215 m) It’s a 1215 m ascent to the Abra de Warnmi Wanusca– Dead Woman’s Pass. When we finally made it, we were enveloped in cold swirling clouds and buffeted by winds. They claim the name is because that’s what the mountain looks like – not because that’s how you feel once you get there!
Down After conquering the ascent, we start on the descent. The steps down might be easier on the lungs, but the knees get a work-out!
A Welcome Toilet This was not in the guide book! We were all very excited to see this little toilet in the middle of nowhere – it was the first one that we had seen in 2+ days that wasn’t a squat, and it was actually clean!
Waters Flowing Down After a wetter-than-usual rainy season, it is not uncommon to see rivulets flowing down the mountainside.
Wild Plants against the Mist The mountain clouds are settling in all around us.
Wild Bush
More Wildflowers
Lunch Tent Finally we reach the Pacamayo River (3600 m) where our tent is set up for lunch. This was meant to have been our campsite for the night, but because of the early start, we were pushing on over the next pass.
Raining Again In spite of the rain, we start climbing again through more grasslands, …
Runkurakay … this time, up pass at Runkurakay (3950 m).
Runkurakay We pushed past the campsite next to the ruins of this ancient Inca inn, into the mists and …
Sayacmarca – Sayaqmarka … down the darkening mountain towards our campsite near Sayacmarca (3625 m / 11893 ft).
Sayacmarca is Quechua for inaccessible – place you can’t enter.
Certainly – arriving there after dark, and after a very long and arduous day, we weren’t even going to try! Time enough to explore this sacred area dedicated to the mountains in the morning.
Dwarfed by Uluru Uluru / Ayers Rock rises up 348 metres (1141 feet) from the flat red rocky sands in the centre of Australia. The path around the base is 10.6 kilometres (6.6 miles) – giving walkers plenty of time to admire the rich variety in the surface of this amazing red monolith.
At a distance, it made me choke up with emotion. Close up, it was simply awe-inspiring!
Uluru. Ayers Rock. The heart of Australia.
It sits almost dead-centre of a very large land mass, a long way from anywhere else. Formally recognised by UNESCO World Heritage for both its natural and cultural values, it has been home to the Indigenous Anangu people for as far back as they can remember – back to the arrival of their mythical ancestors, the Mala (rufous hare-wallaby) people. Anangu creation stories, called Tjukurpa, tell how each feature of the rock was formed and explain how the marks on the landscape that are still seen illustrate these stories, and lead to laws to live by.
Uluru feels older than time – and is as old as the Australian continent itself. The origins of the rock date back more than 500 million years, to around the same time the whole continent was forming. The sand that became the arkose sandstone of Uluru was dumped at the bottom of a pre-historic mountain range, and resurfaced from under an inland sea some 400 million years ago.
Today, it rises 348 metres (1,142 feet) out of the surrounding plain, sitting 863 metres (2,831 ft) above sea level, and extending for at least another 2.5 kilometres (15 miles) under the surface. The rock is about 3.6kms (2.2 miles) long and 1.9kms (1.2 miles) wide, with a circumference of 9.4kms (5.8 miles). The Uluru Base Walk skirts wider, to keep people away from the most culturally-sensitive places; although it is listed as being a 10.6km (6.6 miles) walk that will take about 3.5 hours, if you detour into the waterholes (as you should!) it will take you longer.
This is desert country, where temperature extremes are to be expected. My SEIT Uluru trek started very early on the easternmost side of the rock at Kuniya Piti. As much of the north side of Uluru is sacred to Anangu men under Tjukurpa, the Anangu religious philosophy that links the people to their environment and ancestors, we were not allowed to take pictures of the rock there. So, it was ideal to finish this section of the walk in the low light of dawn.
Join me on a counter-clockwise walk around the sacred rock that is the very heart of Australia:
Sunrise in the Trees Our day started early! We left the resort in the dark, and the sun was just breaking over the horizon and through the desert oak trees when we reached the approach to our walk.
Approaching the Rock : Kuniya Piti It is not yet 6am on an October (mid-Spring) morning. The air is chilly, and that magnificent rock is bathed in red light. A small covered stand exhorts us to drink more water: dehydration and heat exhaustion are real risks in this area any time of year!
Long Morning Shadows Photographs of much of the north rock face of Uluru are are not allowed, as this area is culturally sensitive to the Anangu people. I kept my eyes – and camera – on the track, and into the rising sun.
The Mighty Rock Our path skirts wide around the rock until we are out of the most sacred sections. The tall, long-tap-rooted desert oaks (Allocasuarina decaisneana) scatter across the flat ground in front of us, and black algae marking on the rock show us where waterfalls race down the face during the rare rainfalls.
Kulpi Minymaku Just before 7am, our track meets up with the Mala Walk, and we stop to explore the ‘Kitchen Cave’.
Kulpi Minymaku – Kitchen Cave There is something surreal about knowing that women have been grinding grain here more than 10,000 years.
Rough Surface Even more surreal is the age of the rock itself! How does one grasp the concept of 500 million years? Contrary to my expectation, most of the surface was not smooth: it is flakey with bits of rock left behind after water and oxygen have decayed minerals in the rock. While the underlying rock is grey, the distinctive red outer layer is due to iron oxidation.
Outside the Caves The textures have another-worldly feel – as if we are on the moon, …
Cave Textures … ore even Mars!
Pathway This section of the Mala Walk takes us to Kantju Gorge, the site of one of Uluru’s semi-permanent waterholes. You can just see the black stripe where less than a week before my visit, rare rainwaters were rushing down the vertical drop.
Kulpi Minymaku Boulders The path to Kantju Gorge takes us in and back the same way, giving us a different perspective on some of the caves we have already seen – like the kitchen cave.
Mala Walkway
The Mala Story in Stone Inside the Kulpi Watiku – the mens’ cave – the story of the Mala (rufous hare-wallaby) people is illustrated in the stone: this is where they camped when they first arrived at Uluru, and where the senior men prepared their ceremonies.
Kulpi Nyiinkaku – The Teaching Cave Since time immemorial, boys on the brink of manhood, or Nyiinka, spent time here with their grandfathers and away from the rest of their families, learning hunting skills, self-reliance, and discipline. The elders illustrated their lessons on the cave walls.
Red Rocks and Flakes
Like a Another World The rock-shapes we pass as we continue around the base, are just incredible!
Home of the Marsupial Mole Only very resilient plants and animals survive in this rugged environment.
Crested Pigeons – Ocyphaps Lophotes It is almost eight in the morning when we reach the Mala Carpark, where benches allow us to stop for breakfast. I enjoy watching the pigeons almost as much as I enjoy my morning coffee.
Please don’t Climb! Back when people climbed the rock, with the aid of a chain-link hand-rail, this is where they did it from.
Climb Sign It was a year to the day that climbing had been officially stopped: the scars on the rock were still visible.
Pock-Marked Rocks Continuing around the base, we pick up the Lungkata section of the walk.
Rock Markings According to the Anangu people, the various markings on the rock face show the journeys of the ancestors, and in many places around the rock, markings are part of complex creation stories.
Admiring the Paintings Kulpi Mutitjulu (the Family Cave) is where generations of Anangu families camped.
Kulpi Mutitjulu Cave Paintings Anangu families told stories around the campfire, illustrating them on the rock using paints made from ochres, charcoal, and ash.
Mutitjulu Waterhole An absolute hush falls as we contemplate this spot, home to a wanampi, an ancestral water snake.
Hearts at the Waterhole Everywhere I look, I can imagine my own stories in the rock markings.
Split Stones near Kulpi Mutitjulu
Kuniya As we come back around to our starting point, we pass formations whose name I couldn’t find, and learn the complicated story of how the battle between Kuniya, the python woman, and Liru, the poisonous snake man, helped create this landscape. Kuniya is still here, somewhere, protecting and avenging her family, in the rocks.
View of the Rock On our way back to the resort, we stop at the viewing area for a last look at the giant rock we have just circumnavigated. It looks so different from here – as it does from the air (see: Over the Red Centre).
Roasting Mustard Seed In the medieval Newari town of Khokana – just south of Kathmandu, Nepal – mustard oil is produced in the traditional way.
The terraced fields of the Kathmandu Valley were bright green and yellow with blooming mustard plants the last time I visited (see: People of the Rice Bowl).
I couldn’t help but wonder what it was all being used for! I’ve always thought of mustard as a condiment, designed to add piquancy to an Austrian/SlovenianKransky and sauerkraut, English bangers and mash, or an American hot dog. What I didn’t realise, until I mistook Australian fields of canola for mustard, was that the plants are related, and both are grown to produce cooking oils.
I find it fascinating to see how food gets from the fields to our tables. So, I was pleased to learn that – as part of a photographic workshop in Nepal with Jack Kurtz (sadly, now deceased) and Gavin Gough – we were visiting the historic Newar village of Khokana, 8 kilometres (5 miles) south of the capital Kathmandu. For centuries, Khokana was the centre of mustard production and oil extraction, and the name is still synonymous with the most sought-after cooking oil in Nepal (e.g.: OnlineKhabar Khokana).
But, even in these small villages, times have changed.
Today, less mustard is grown in the surrounding local fields; with the ever-expanding population in nearby Kathmandu, there is more profit in fresh vegetables. Most of the locally-grown seed is used by the farmers themselves, and commercial oil production requires seed imported from other regions, and from India, Australia, and further afield. Only two workshops using the traditional Newari methods remain in Khokana: one is a community-owned collective, and the other is the private enterprise that we visited.
Photographing inside the factory was challenging! It was hot and dark and noisy, with small streaks of sunlight sneaking in at odd angles. The few workers employed there were busy, and the sorts of Occupational Health and Safety Regulations we take for granted in the West were absent, making it pretty important to watch where you put your feet. And, there were a few of us, so we had to take turns staying out of each other’s way.
Because various stages in the process were happening at the same time, it took me a while to figure out the actual sequence of production. Even so, I have left the pictures roughly in the order in which they were taken, rather than sorting them according to method.
I love these naturalistic peeks into the everyday lives of other people, and I hope you enjoy them too. Join me on the factory floor:
Mustard Factory The brick and wood factory floor is rough hewn and crowded. Many oil mills in this region were damaged by the 2015 earthquake; I don’t know if this one was, but prior to that, it was closed for thirty years before being re-opened by the current owner (see: Khokana’s Famed Tori-Ko-Tel).
Shovel in the Seed Today, the seeds that go into making traditional mustard oil are sourced from India, or further.
Roasting the Seed One of the first steps in the process is roasting the mustard seeds.
Funky Worker This young man – an employee of the mustard-oil factory – had/has an eye condition, and was, therefore, wearing his sunglasses in the dark factory interior.
Newari Woman Given this woman’s proprietorial air within the factory, I assume she was part of the organisation.
Khokana Gabu Jaaysha Those woven sleeves are what the roasted seed goes into before being manually pressed.
Oil Can Around the factory floor there are interesting colours and shapes.
Oil Expeller Yes, that is what it is called! This electric press is used last, when no more oil can be extracted mechanically. This second pressing is considered lower grade, and is used as a massage oil.
Shovelling Seed Seed is shovelled into wicker baskets to be ground up.
Still Life Found
Pouring Seed
Newari Press The traditional Newari mustard press is unique: the metal sleeve containing roasted seed is placed between two huge wooden beams …
Spinning the Press … and these are squeezed tight by turning a wooden wheel.
Straining the Fresh-Pressed Oil This valuable first pressing is collected below …
Bottled Oil … and bottled for sale as premium cooking oil.
Old Machinery The first step in the process is to grind the seed before roasting it.
Seed-Fall I was mesmerised by the flow of seed coming out of the grinding machine.
Old Machine Like all the other machinery in the factory, this unit looks old and heavy-duty.
Quality Control
Tending the Roaster Each step of the process was repeated multiple times: several batches of seed were roasted while we watched.
Pounding Fibre When all the oil has been extracted from the seeds, the remaining cake is broken up and sold as animal feed or compost.
Pride The workers loved sharing their time with us, and showing off the age-old traditions. Tourism – local and international – helps offset the increased costs of producing oil in this traditional manner.
Naturally, I couldn’t leave without buying some oil to take away: a couple of large bottles for our hostess, and some smaller ones to take home with me.
Common Hawthorn – Crataegus Monogyna Commonly known as the mayblossom or maythorn, the blooms on the hawthorn tree signal spring in the Northern Hemisphere. They were all around me in the delightful Buttertubs Marsh Park in the middle of Nanaimo, BC.
It was an unseasonably cold, wet spring this year in Nanaimo on Canada’s Vancouver Island.
I was experiencing cabin-fever after being trapped too long in a too-small-space by the inclement weather. It was time to ignore the forecast and get out for a walk! According to GoogleMaps and AllTrails, a park I was looking at was closed on Sundays; it wasn’t, but how was I to know?
Instead, I made my way to Buttertubs Marsh Park, a nearby bird and wildlife sanctuary. I’d walked there before, and remembered the two kilometre (1.2 m) loop trail around the marsh as being flat and well surfaced – so even if the skies opened up, the walking would be easy and relatively dry underfoot.
According to a signboard in the park, wetlands account for less than 7% of British Columbia’s land mass (according to current official government statistics (see: Wetlands in BC), this is now down to 5%), which is what makes this area so important. In 1975, the Nature Trust of British Columbia bought 46 acres (18.7 hectares) of the 100-acre (40 hectare) marsh and formed the Buttertubs Marsh Conservation Area. Over 120 species of birds – some rare or endangered – have been spotted in the marsh, and western painted turtles nest in one little corner.
Of course, the turtles remained completely hidden, and the birds were elusive to me. Still, for the most part the rains abated, and it was a most enjoyable stroll.
I’ve posted autumn pictures from other local parks taken on a long-ago trip (see: Walks in the Woods), but not from this one – so I’ve included some of those old shots here for seasonal comparison.
Walkway around Buttertubs Marsh The 2 km walking path was as beautifully groomed as I remembered.
Mayflowers Everywhere I look, the very pretty common hawthorn was in bloom. Spring has finally arrived!
Haws The last time I was here it was fall: many of the hawthorn leaves had succumbed to frosts and the pectin-rich berries, or haws, were in fine form.
Yellow Flag Iris – Iris Pseudacorus Yellow flag iris were scattered all through the marsh waters. If they were already as prolific during my last visit, they weren’t in bloom, and so were less noticeable.
Yellow Flag Iris in Bloom As beautiful as they are, they are considered an invasive species.
Standing Tall The name flag iris comes from the middle English word flagge, meaning rush or reed. Unlike other irises, they love boggy ponds, swamps, and waterways, and can outcompete against other wetland plants. To make matters worse, the beautiful plants are irritating to the touch, and toxic to wildlife if ingested.
Development at the Boundaries Competition for land also comes from development, especially around the edges of the lake, and the Nature Trust is trying to buy up privately owned land. (iPhone12Pro)
The Marsh All the caveats aside, the view through the native Garry oaks and across the irises, bulrushes, and the lake, is beautifully calming.
Garry Oak Leaves Garry oaks are the only native oak species in Western Canada.
Garry Oak – Quercus Garryana They are considered endangered, with many of the remaining trees on private lands which are slated for development.
Autumn Leaves Of course, these deciduous broad-leaved trees lose their leaves in autumn: leaves were underfoot everywhere when we last visited.
Common Snowberry – Symphoricarpos Albus Snowberries are attractive – but inedible. Part of the honeysuckle family (Caprifoliaceae), the berries have been crushed and rubbed on the skin by various Native American tribes to treat burns, warts, rashes, and sores.
Autumn Snowberries What surprises me is that this picture, taken in October, looks fresher than the one taken in May. Clearly, the berries have a long season.
Across the Wetlands Housing and industry might push at the edges of the preserve, but I feel like I am miles away.
Golden Shower Tree – Cassia Fistula Another beautiful invader, the Indian laburnum puts on a beautiful spring display. I know it a Thailand’s national flower, the ratchaphruek (ราชพฤกษ์).
Across the Marsh From another direction, views over the marsh lead the eyes to the distant, still-snow-capped, mountains in the west.
Duck on the Waters Several species of ducks make their homes here – they are all too far away for me to identiful properly.
Ducks in the Reeds Or, they hide in the reeds where I can’t get a clear view.
Canada Geese – Branta Canadensis The last time I visited, the waters were full of Canada geese – which are much easier to identify!
Nanaimo and the Hills Behind
Red-Winged Blackbird in the Bulrushes The air is full of beautiful, trilling song as the red-winged blackbirds mark their territory in the cattails (Typha latifolia) and watch for insects.
Red-Winged Blackbird – Agelaius Phoeniceus I found another one, high in the trees nearby, …
“Little Brown Bird” … and I think this might be his mate?
A Quiet Moment The park is well used, and people were out walking or running – or just sitting.
Textured Tree Trunk along the Path I think this is red alder – but I’m happy to be corrected by someone who actually knows!
Flat Path The path winds through the spring greens of the deciduous trees; …
Bigleaf Maple – Acer Macrophyllum … … their leaves turning gold and red in autumn.
Archimedes Screw Around 234 BC, Archimedes described one of the earliest hydraulic machines to raise water – although the system is thought to have existed long before his time. When this area was still private farmlands, this rusty antique example was pulled by a tractor to draw winter waters off the marsh to allow for earlier spring planting.
It is only a short circuit – which is why some of the walkers and runners I passed actually did more than one lap – but it was a delightful break from the city and the rain.
And, it is always good to know these inner-city preserves are being guarded into the future.
Fat Little Fish In the Barka Fish Market, lots of fish (that I can’t identify) from the Sea of Oman are in bundles, ready for auction or sale.
As any visitor to these pages knows, I love markets!
Under the care of a guide, I and another solo-female traveller were on our way to visit some of the adobe fortresses for which the Sultanate of Oman is famous. I knew that that would result in history-overload – so, I was especially pleased that our first stop of the morning was at the local fish and vegetable market in the little coastal city of Barka.
In its heyday, Barka was an important port, and under Ahmed (Ahmad) bin Said al-Busaidi, ruler of Oman between 1744 and 1783, the city was the capital for a period of time. Like the current capital Muscat – about 80 kilometres (50 miles) to the east (see: Between the Mountains and the Sea) – Barka is bordered by the Sea of Oman and the Al Hajar mountains.
These days, the town is best known for its old fort – and the lively fish market were are about to visit.
Men Around the Table The auction is in full swing when we arrive at the wet market.
Auctioneer I don’t understand a single word, but I admire the men’s intense focus. I love the different patterns on the men’s kuma (كمة) caps. The hat style originates in Zanzibar and is believed to be a direct result of Oman’s historical ties to its former colony.
Dried Anchovies There is a wide variety of seafood for sale – …
Fish for Sale … – I have no idea what most of the fish are.
Scales
Large Fish
Fisherman The fish couldn’t be fresher: boats pull onto the beach outside, and the men bring the catch into the market.
Bagging the Fish Customers leave with their haul.
Yellow Fish
Chopping Fish Everywhere you look, there is something happening.
Cutting Habbar The pharaoh cuttlefish (Sepia pharaonis) is the most abundant cuttlefish species in the Oman Sea, so I assume that’s what this is.
Cutting Fish Some of the fish are huge!
Sorting Sea Bream Several types of sea bream are available – and it is even farmed in the waters of the Gulf.
Meaty Chunks Probably yellowfin tuna, which is one of the most important sources of livelihood for Omani fisherman. Recent production has increased markedly (see: The Times of Oman).
Thumbs Up I love people’s willingness to be photographed. I personally avoid it at all costs!
More Little Fish
The Mouth of a Fish
Boats on the Beach Outside, the boats come and go, and the work continues.
Lifting the Motor The shoreline is quite shallow; the fishermen lift their outboards and come to a stop on the sand.
Man Carrying Pink Perch The men carry their precious catches straight into the market building.
Master of his Boat When they have finished their business at the market, …
Fisherman in the Water … they push their little boats off the sand …
Leaving Port … and drop their motors in preparation for leaving the harbour.
Heron A heron watches – ever hopeful for pieces of fish.
Another Fisherman Omani fishermen typically turn their keffiyeh (shemagh) scarves into turbans called masar.
Fresh Food Market Outside of the fish market, the road leading to the beach is lined with fresh fruit and vegetables.
Fresh From the Farm The produce section is less formal than the fish market: trestle tables and tailgates do the job.
- Performing the Ganga Aarti from Dasaswamedh Ghat, Varanasi
- Buddha Head from Shwedagon Pagoda, Myanmar
- Harry Clarke Window from Dingle, Ireland
- Novice Monk Shwe Yan Pyay Monastery, Myanmar
Packets of 10 for $AU50.
Or - pick any photo from my Flickr or Wanders blog photos.
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Until next time,
