“Life went on as normal. We were so far away from it all. Until one day, it was imminent that the virus was coming here too.”
Early March, and we were still making fun of Covid with our Belarusian friend. This whole thing was a joke we’d say, a scam to get people to buy masks and hand sanitizer. When she left back to Belarus, she said that things were turning mad in Europe. In Cusco, where we were – quiet. Life went on as normal. We were so far away from it all. Until one day, it was imminent that the virus was coming here too.
I thought about going to the coast to our Russian friends in Mancora (North Peru) where we stayed for a month before. Until this thing settles down, we’ll at least be on the beach, I thought. Then it became apparent that in Peru they might have a lockdown, as they were already having in Italy and other places in Europe. Maybe we should look for some place close to nature, not far from Cusco. Ideally somewhere from where we can do day-trips to beautiful spots.
Then… without warning, the state of emergency was announced. Together with a full lockdown. It would last 2 weeks, they said. We had one day to find a place near nature somewhere, if we didn’t want to be stuck in the concrete jungles of Cusco.
I thank my lucky stars, God, karma - whoever or whatever. We found a wonderful little house in Urubamba a small town in the Sacred Valley Of The Incas. It had a garden, a view of the Andes from the window, and a couple of dogs.
The 2 weeks of initial lockdown, of course, turned into 4 weeks. Then, 2 months, 3 months… As this uncertainty continued, I realized how ridiculously lucky we actually were to be stuck in a little mountain paradise. The rains had cleared by late April and above is the kind of view we were greeted with from the bedroom window every morning. It certainly made the situation less depressing, even if we had no clue when things would open up again.
Mia made friends with the little dog Candy and she played in the garden in her magical little world. Whenever I felt like absolute shit, I’d look at her and think to myself - “Be like Mia. Be in the moment. The moment is great. Don’t worry yourself with what-ifs, or potential doomsday scenarios.”
“Photographing… not so much those mundane objects around me, but light, shapes. And, in doing this, I understood, just how therapeutic Photography can be. ”
Initially, I was too uninspired to photograph anything. Those “quarantine diaries” on Instagram seemed stupid to me. The most banal, mundane things, and this talk of the new normal… How irritating. But then, I realized, for many of these photographers, making images of their mundane existence in this horrible situation was therapeutic.
I started making photos of my surroundings. Photographing… not so much those mundane objects around me, but light, shapes. And, in doing this, I understood, just how therapeutic Photography can be.
As long as you have your family with you, you have some photographic subjects, and, there are countless nuances. I even photographed myself, chilling, waiting… pondering…
I do have to keep it real though. As much as this type of photography is therapeutic, it isn’t what I live for. It’s is wonderful. it’s an amazing exercise of awareness of the world around you. But, if it’s not a part of something bigger… I don’t know how long I could keep up with it.
As the days were going by, it was hard to believe that we’d ever be able to go anywhere outside of the market and back. It’s strange that so much of the world probably shares this feeling. That feeling of hopelessness, of uncertainty like never before in those first weeks of the lockdowns.
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I remember this day very clearly. It was pretty miserable, cloudy. It rained and then, the clouds parted, the sun came out, and we saw this wonderful rainbow. If that’s not a sign of hope, well, then you’re even more cynical than me.
As I scoped out our surroundings and realized that not all areas were patrolled by the police and the army, I realized that there were a couple of places where we could still go.
While Mia and Tanya were getting slightly sick of not seeing anything except for our garden, I was feeling like I was suffocating. I was desperate to get out of our bubble. To see if a world outside of my walk to the market and back, and the area of the house where we were staying existed.
“Where the road ended, a path began. The path followed a river, it went through a magical forest, the smell of which reminded me that I was still alive. That the world hadn’t ended. ”
I found a road going up the mountain, through the village, where life didn’t seem too abnormal. It went and up and up, to I didn’t know where. I followed the road, until I reached its’ end.
Where the road ended, a path began. The path followed a river, it went through a magical forest, the smell of which reminded me that I was still alive. That the world hadn’t ended. And, that everything was gonna be alright… well… as long as I wouldn’t have to be locked down in some apartment in a concrete jungle somewhere.
More phototherapy in this forest. Noticing little details, playing with shadow and light. Like a meditative experience. Photography is a great excuse to stop, to look closer, and to appreciate the beauty in things we might not usually notice.
I heard this kind of talk before. I don’t know if I ever believed it, until the pandemic took everything we know as normal away from us.
“Who knows where they came from? Who knows if these strangers were gonna bring the virus to their little village and destroy their entire community. ”
After some exploration on my own, my girls would join me on these walks through the forest. We’d end them by a little pool of water, which was coming from further up. The walk up took about 30 minutes from where the road ends, if you walk very calmly.
For a while, this was the only place we would go to, outside of the market and back. In the early stages of the pandemic, many of the local villagers were scared. They were particularly scared of a family of foreigners. Who knows where they came from? Who knows if these strangers were gonna bring the virus to their little village and destroy their entire community.
I talk about this fear because I did experience it first-hand, a couple of times. I’m very thankful that I can speak Spanish and that I could reason with the scared villagers. I’d explain that we’d been in their region since this whole thing began. We had as much chance of having the virus as them, maybe even less so, because I’d been going to the market, to any kind of place with people less often than them.
“The so-called beach turned out to be a construction site, but the railway tracks proved to be perfect for long walks, at a time of no trains. ”
A little later on, I discovered another place we could visit. As they say - Seek and you shall find. I’d been searching for a road that would lead me to Urubamba river. After not being very successful with Google Maps, I finally asked the owner of the house we were renting. He told me that there was an entrance, by the railway tracks and a beach near a village a few kilometers up the road.
The so-called beach turned out to be a construction site, but the railway tracks proved to be perfect for long walks, at a time of no trains.
“One of the strictest and most promptly arranged lockdowns in the world was proving to be one of the least effective. The numbers were sky-rocketing, but… one day the government decided that the virus was no longer as contagious in most of Peru. ”
After 3 months of being locked down, I truly started to ponder if we were ever going to be able to expand our bubble. There were talks of Macchu Picchu opening up to local tourism, but those talks were hard to believe, considering that everything seemed to be going to shit in Peru.
One of the strictest and most promptly arranged lockdowns in the world was proving to be one of the least effective. The numbers were sky-rocketing, but… one day the government decided that the virus was no longer as contagious in most of Peru. It seemed that to open up at that particular moment was against logic, but, one day we found ourselves… relatively free.
“For the first week or two though, I couldn’t believe it, I always had the feeling that someone was going to stop me and to turn me back. ”
I felt like an animal who had been set free from a cage. I think I was also a little traumatized by the police check-posts which would limit where we could go for almost 4 months. Suddenly those posts weren’t there anymore, and we could drive around without hindrance. For the first week or two though, I couldn’t believe it, I always had the feeling that someone was going to stop me and to turn me back.
“Some of the Andean people still worship the mountains, called Ápus. It’s not hard to see why. There’s something very powerful about their overwhelming, towering presence. ”
I could now see the mountains I’d been seeing from my window from higher up. From a mountain which was behind our house. I wanted to go there from the first day that we came to Urubamba, but… only after 4 months did it become possible.
I made the above photo during one of the full-moon evenings. I believe that the snow peak belongs to a massive mountain called Chicón. Some of the Andean people still worship the mountains, called Ápus. It’s not hard to see why. There’s something very powerful about their overwhelming, towering presence.
Our new-found freedom led us to explore our surroundings. By this stage, Mia was happy to be able to run through wide-open spaces too.
One day we drove to a lake not far from Urubamba. Lake Huaypo. A tranquil place with some trees and fields around it. And a beautiful view of the mountains, if you find the right angle.
I’m not exactly sure how children’s rationale works, but, I like it. Mia decided that our lake picnic would be a good day to dress up as a fairy, a dancing fairy. She danced and jumped, and she ran up a hill, so far that I felt out of breath running after her. Life was feeling almost normal after all these months.
If you get high enough above the lake, you can see over the fields and the trees, and appreciate the view of the impressive snow-peak mountains in the distance.
It’s when we were able to at least explore like this, that I stopped feeling like a fool for not having rushed back to Australia at any cost. The thing is, I didn’t want to leave here. I couldn’t, unless I wanted to part with my car and my plans, and my dreams to explore South America.
“Once you seat at the table, you can take off your face-mask, as can other people. You look around, and… it’s like a regular day in a regular pre-covid world. ”
Eventually, the restaurants and the cafés began to open up. This was another step towards normality. Here, Tanya and Mia are in our favorite café in Urubamba – Da Colektor. I know for a fact that I have not spent more time in any café in my entire life.
As weird as it might seem, coming to this place gave me the much-needed illusion that everything was normal. Once you seat at the table, you can take off your face-mask, as can other people. You look around, and… it’s like a regular day in a regular pre-covid world.
As time passed and things eased up more and more, we explored further. For the fist time in many months, we went back to the town of Pisaq. I saw a few lakes above the town on the map. I love lakes, and for some mad reason I thought it might be great to bathe in one of them.
We drove towards the big lake, at the bottom of the image (above) and, it’s possible to walk up to the smaller lake above it, towards the top of the image, but… who needs that when you have a drone.
Even the lower lake is at an altitude of over 4000 meters. It was incredibly windy that day. Cold, piercing kind of wind. Not the kind of wind you want to be hit by when you come out of icy cold water.
I still looked for a way to enter the lake, but I couldn’t find anywhere that wasn’t very muddy or full of plants. One part of me wanted to test myself against nature’s elements, but another part was happy that there was no suitable place to get into what would surely be ridiculously cold water.
Juan was the first non-family-related human I photographed after the pandemic began.
"How have you been up here?” I asked Juan. “We’re good, but economically, we’ve been hit hard.”
“People survive thanks to a system called “ayni” (in quechua) where villagers help each other, by sharing whatever resources they have. ”
Turns out that Juan is a community leader. His village has a home-stay system which was starting to flourish. Now, there was nothing. Everyone is working on their land. Cultivating crops. There’s no income. People survive thanks to a system called “ayni” (in quechua) where villagers help each other, by sharing whatever resources they have.
Juan said that they’ve been forgotten by the government. They’re prevented from carrying on with business as usual, but there’s no financial help, which seems to only reach the cities.
Suddenly, all the places in the area we thought about visiting were actually possible to visit. So, every other day we’d drive and explore. These wet dogs near Abra Malaga are waiting for passing cars to throw them some food.
We went to this place forgetting how cold the mountains can be. And, cold it was. Amazingly, this place is just a bit over 100km from Urubamba, which is much warmer and much sunnier.
One day I decided to drive towards the hot sprints of Lares. I had no idea if they’d be open. Google maps said they were, and I called and a voice confirmed this. I was skeptical, but I drove towards Lares. Not so much because of the hot springs, but because I was told that the way there is spectacular.
With dramatic snow-peaks, blue skies and alpacas, there was nothing to complain about. I wanted to absorb as much of this beauty as possible.
I even photographed more humans along the road. Everyone I met was at least slightly puzzled when they saw me. Most people knew that flights outside of South America were still banned, but they hadn’t thought that a foreigner could have gotten stuck in Peru when the pandemic began.
My photos of people, for now would be from a distance. The nature of the virus demands us to be extra cautious and to take responsibility seriously. The last thing I’d want is to get some elderly villager sick and to cause havoc in one of these remote communities.
I spent the most of the day on the road to Lares hot-springs and… of course… they were closed. There were plans to open up very soon, but, as I later found out, no one knew exactly when the opening date would be.
Because I stopped so many times along the road to make photos, I now had to rush to my girls in Urubamba to make it before the 10pm curfew.
My thirst for more travel continued. But in these times of uncertainty, in times when we don’t know if there will be a hotel to stay for the night, I decided it’s better to explore some places alone.
I went towards Manu national park. It’s a jungle area. I had no idea what parts of it I could explore, but I just wanted to go somewhere completely new for me. I made a VLOG about my experience HERE.
The area going towards Manu National park is one of the most bio-diverse in the entire world. It goes from high mountains into much lower jungle. As the altitude changes, so does the flora and the fauna… every few hundred meters.
“In Peru, there’s no need to get upset if one plan doesn’t work. There’s always something else that’s amazing, maybe in a different way, but still amazing. ”
I wasn’t able to go too far into the jungle, and Manu National Park was closed. I didn’t care too much. I simply wanted to drive around, and to re-assure myself that the rest of the world still existed.
I stopped for the night not far from these Chulpas – ancient burial towers that date to pre-Incan time. In Peru, there’s no need to get upset if one plan doesn’t work. There’s always something else that’s amazing, maybe in a different way, but still amazing.
Actually, the photo above is taken from the exact spot where I parked my Land Cruiser and stayed for the night. I greeted this woman as she passed my car with her sheep. I asked in Spanish if it was ok to spend the night there. She didn’t understand a word (some people speak only Quechua). I smiled and waved. She kept going.
The next morning, I drove past the Ausangate mountain range towards another part of the Peruvian jungle. I have a VLOG about that too, which you can find HERE.
Most of the way up to the mountains pass was miserable and rainy, with some fog in-between.
I do love the fog, so I made sure to fly my drone and get some images of alpacas, which were grazing on semi-frozen glass.
A regular site along the roads. I’m still a bit divided about how to approach photographing people during these times. I have no issues making photos from a distance, where it’s as much about the surroundings as it is about the person, but more intimate images? I’ll hate to wait and see.
It’s quite mind-boggling how quickly the cold, rainy, foggy landscape with mountain peaks on the horizon changes to this. In just a couple of hours, I descended from a mountain pass of over 4000 metres to find myself in the sweaty, humid and very green flatlands, at about 500 meters above sea level.
I followed a little dirt track from the main road and found this cosy place by an almost dried out river. This is where I decided to spend the night.
You forget the hustle and bustle of city life, even of life in a small town, when you spend the night in the jungle. If you haven’t seen it already, check out the last VLOG, where you can hear all the sounds that I heard as the sun set and darkness took over. Magical.
“The world outside of the valley where I’d stayed for 8 months still exists. It’s still as fascinating and as wonderful as I remember it. ”
The mornings, with fog clouds over the trees are no less magical than the nights. Once again, I didn’t make it too far into the jungle. There were road works. I’d promised Mia that I’d be back on that day, so… I decided to turn back.
I had my taste of adventure, and proof that I so desperately needed. The world outside of the valley where I’d stayed for 8 months still exists. It’s still as fascinating and as wonderful as I remember it.
These small trips gave me hope and have inspired me to continue traveling. But, I want to do it in a different way. I want my family and I to become almost fully nomadic. So… to achieve that, I set out for Lima.
I’d be going to Lima for the first time, in almost a year. To be honest, I hadn’t missed Lima, or any big city during this time. I can only imagine how horrible it would have been to be stuck in a big city during the lock-down.
Of course, on the way to Lima, there are some spectacular places. Deserts…. something I was surprised I found myself missing. But, here I was, enjoying the enormous expanses and some of the quietest nights possible on the planet.
I found this place in Nazca, Peru, while hoping to fly the drone over some of the lesser known Nazca lines. Those lines weren’t very visible, and turned out to not be worth flying over. But, a magically calm and quiet evening was guaranteed.
Back in Paracas… The national park was open only days before I visited. Speaking to a ranger who lives in the area, Paracas was the first place on my way to Lima which had actually been hit by Covid. Almost everywhere I’d stopped almost didn’t believe that Covid exists. Paracas on the other hand started out well and then… people started getting sick and dying.
The plan for the national park was to see how everything goes, how people co-operate before deciding whether to keep it open or not.
A night in a desert by the ocean. The sound of waves and… some birds that I couldn’t identify. How much I missed this. How much I want to keep experiencing this.
Just before I left for my short trip to Lima, I got some bad news. Our landlord had rented out the house where we were staying for the holiday period. I told him that I planned to leave the mountains once the rains came, but I didn’t confirm that we’d actually be leaving. A miscommunication which seemed like would take us away from our little paradise in the mountains. But… remember “Seek and you shall find.”
After my searches on real estate websites and Faceboook groups came up empty, I was ready to give up. But then, a chance encounter, a conversation with a couple of foreigners living in Peru and… had hope again.
They were living in a village not far from the beach by a river and the railway tracks where we’d go for walks during the lock-down. Next to them, they said were houses, which were being rented and there was no one living there at the moment.
And so… that’s where we find ourselves now. A place even more quiet and perhaps equally as scenic as the one where we lived for the past 8 months. And, there are amazing nature walks around us.
I’ve set the wheels in motion to make one of my biggest dreams come true. I hope that my lucky stars, God, or karma help me out with this one and that we’ll soon be on the road again, traveling like we never quiet traveled before.
That’s for 2021. For now, I wish everyone a very happy new year! One that’s better than 2020. That shouldn’t be hard. :)
