I'd been thinking about driving through the Southwest, stopping at all sorts of beautiful national parks, for a while. But I never had the time—such a trip requires at least two, preferably three weeks, and where would I find that time? And the kids might not enjoy the long drive. Finally, it all came together: the kids had grown up and moved away, I had more vacation time, working remotely allows me to work from anywhere, and my new car was just waiting to prove itself on a long road trip. So off we went.
Some statistics:
Miles/Kilometers Traveled: 5500 / 8800
Days: 22
States visited: 12 (of which one, Utah, was only visited for a few minutes, in a place called "«Four corners«)
«ЭТИМ ПОЛУКРЕСЛОМ МАСТЕР ГАМБС начинает новую партию мебели. 1865 г. Санкт-Петербург.» (И. Ильф, Е. Петров)
В этом году у нас появились новые возможности путешествовать. А раз появились, надо ими пользоваться — что мы и проделали. Мы затеяли большую «гибридную» поездку по Европе: Вена — Венеция — Милан — Cinque Terre — Верона — Флоренция — Рим. Гибридную, потому что две недели — это отпуск, а ещё три недели — это новое слово «workation»: поскольку я работаю удаленно, то почему бы мне и не поработать из Италии?
Ниже предлагаем отчет о нашей поездке — он будет пополняться.
When Denis wrote about the long day, he didn't yet know that it wasn't the longest. The longest day was the last one. I'll explain my theory about why that happened. The day before, we'd been hiking along a picturesque section of the Salkantay trail, with magnificent views, wild strawberries, and pastoral meadows near tropical farms. The farms sold freshly squeezed fruit drinks. How could we refuse? Well, we drank a glass of orange and mango juice. We bought some juicy mango and avocado. Everything was fine until the evening, but then my temperature spiked, my stomach started churning, and I started acting up.
The next morning, things only got worse, but I still had to keep going. I had to shove down some of my breakfast with a couple of pills and exert myself once again. After saying goodbye to our hospitable host, Freddy, we set off. Soon, our trail merged with another—the Inca Trail. It was especially crowded in the morning because everyone had already gotten up, eaten breakfast, and packed their bags by around seven (some even earlier). Over time, the groups and individual tourists dispersed. But before that, we'd been walking at the same pace with some young people from Germany for a long time. Their pace spurred me on, and I was sweating, but I didn't slow down. The Peruvian guide even complimented me on my progress. We passed each other in a clearing, and suddenly, all our strength gave out. The only good thing about this was that the climb to the pass was over. Then came a long, long descent, because I could barely drag my feet and kept stopping to rest and drink water. Near the hydroelectric power station, the trail turned toward the railroad. At first, I thought, "How stupid to suggest tourists follow the railroad!" But it turned out to be extraordinarily beautiful, covered in thickets of heliconia along the sides and the sacred Urubamba River on the right.
While we were having a snack on the riverbank, we suddenly discovered the ruins of ancient walls visible on the other bank. Armed with binoculars, we spent a long time examining the ancient structure. It was likely part of the Machu Picchu Archaeological Reserve, inaccessible to tourists.
As we walked, it rained from time to time, then suddenly it cleared up as if nothing had happened and it became hot, the air was filled with the scent of unknown herbs.
We spent the last part of our journey along a road crisscrossed by tour buses, ferrying countless tourists to Machu Picchu. Naturally, there were no sidewalks or even separate paths. Once again, I thought about how nice it would be to create a more comfortable route for hikers. It may be a narrow valley, bordered by a river and steep cliffs, but a traveler doesn't need much. And walking along the paths, constantly crossing them for various reasons, is unsafe, as is the narrow dirt road with no shoulders.
By the end of the journey, I was so tired that I was moving my legs automatically. There's nothing worse than being in poor condition during a long journey! And most importantly, there's no regular transport there, only scheduled trains and tour buses, which aren't allowed to pick up travelers.
- I need to rest a little, -
I said when we checked into the hotel room, lay down on the bed and plunged into blissful idleness.
Only later, about two hours later, did I find the strength to take a shower. But I still didn't have enough strength to go to a restaurant to celebrate the end of the journey. And Denis, although he complained about the long journey and said he was tired, ran out for pizza, organized tea, and life began to improve.
What did we do after dinner? We rested, rested, and finally fell asleep. That's what our tired bodies needed.
Machu Picchu: the town and the archaeological site.
We arrived at the town of Machu Picchu (officially called Aguas Calientes) in the late afternoon. We were really tired because the day had been arduous and challenging.
I can't say I liked the town, especially at first. Gray skies, a muddy, unpaved road toward Machu Picchu (the town itself was paved, after all), and a drizzle... Later, the rain stopped, but the sky remained gray.
But the hotel was quite comfortable, and there was hot water (true to the town's name: Aguas Calientes - Hot Waters / Hot Springs), internet, and the electricity never went out during the two days we spent there. Pure luxury!
Of course, our main goal was to visit Machu Picchu. That's not easy.
Firstly, the number of tickets is limited. If you want to have a choice, you need to buy tickets several months in advance. I bought them five months in advance. You need to buy them on official website.
Secondly, you can't just buy a ticket "to Machu Picchu." There are several routes, and you need to buy tickets for a specific route.
As a result, I bought tickets for two routes:
The most popular route is #2
Route #3 with the addition of Huayna Picchu.
Together, these routes allow you to walk around the entire Machu Picchu, and the mountain is an added bonus.
The internet suggested spreading the two visits over two different days to increase the chance of having at least one in good weather, but I looked at the travel time and decided I didn't want to do it twice. So I scheduled the visits back-to-back: at 7 a.m. to catch the morning light 😀, and at 9 a.m. I must say, this decision turned out to be a very good one: on the day of our visit, the weather cleared up just in time for the second route, but the next day it drizzled from morning until 2 p.m., when we left for home.
There are two different ways to get to the place:
Most people buy bus tickets. Buses run regularly, cost $12 each way, and the ride takes about an hour, including waiting in line.
Some especially brave ones choose to walk. One end takes at least an hour and a half, and the walk to Machu Picchu is quite difficult, as it involves a long, steep climb up stairs.
In the end, we chose the combined option—take the bus there and walk back. So I went to the bus station to buy bus tickets. Then I came back and went again 😣—it turns out these wonderful people need a passport to sell tickets.
I even understand why they need a passport: tickets are cheaper for Peruvians, and a passport is needed to identify who is Peruvian and who is not. But I was already buying the most expensive ticket for the "gringos." Apparently, they thought I was actually Peruvian (well, yeah, you can't tell me apart from a Peruvian) and was maliciously buying the most expensive tickets. And a photo of my passports on my phone didn't satisfy them—only originals, only hardcore.
Of course, I can't be bothered to walk to the hotel and back—the town is small, and the walk takes ten minutes at most. But this incident, I think, is typical for Peru: they love senseless controls.
For example, there were several checkpoints along the trail where you had to write down your last name, country, age, and passport number. At first, I thought they were trying to extort money from tourists, but they do it completely for free. And no one checks the information: I had the idea of registering in Russian as Emperor Maximilian I. I was too lazy to look up passport numbers, so I simply didn't write them down.
At hotels, too, they scan your passports when you check in, and then you have to fill in your last name, first name, age, and passport number on a form. Heck, you have a scan—so just fill it in yourself if you need to! But no, that's how it's supposed to be.
I wonder if this passion for control stems from the traditions of the Inca Empire, where control was absolutely total: North Korea, compared to that empire, would be a den of anarchy. Perhaps it was precisely thanks to this total control that 168 (in words: one hundred and sixty-eight) Spaniards took over a country with a population of 10 million in just a few years: all they had to do was seize the center and start issuing new commands, and the population, accustomed to obeying, didn't even utter a word.
But I digress. I did buy tickets for the second trip, so we got our tickets, raincoats, and passports ready and went to bed.
We woke up early this morning (we're always early on the trail, so it wasn't hard), and by 5:30 we were already having breakfast. Breakfast at the hotel, by the way, starts at 4:30—everything here is geared towards tourists visiting Machu Picchu.
Around 6:00 a.m., we went to the bus stop. A light drizzle was falling, and the line was long. The mood was so-so: neither one nor the other inspires enthusiasm. But I can't help but notice the resourcefulness of the Peruvians: street vendors stood in the doorways between the buildings near the line, offering raincoats. We don't need them—we have our own.
The line moves pretty quickly: a bus pulls up, a few people quickly board, and we move forward. Soon we're on the bus, taking us up a steep, serpentine road.
By the time we got off the bus, the rain had almost stopped. However, the golden morning light was gone—everything was obscured by fog. This, however, only added to the mystique of this amazing place.
It's hard to talk about Machu Picchu because you just need to see it bearded joke. The scale of the structures and the way they fit into the surrounding landscape make a great impression.
I can't help but mention the topic of polygonal masonry that occupied me in Peru. The fact is that here, as in many other places, two completely different stone laying technologies are used: the extremely high-tech polygonal masonry, where each stone (and these stones can be VERY large: in Ollantaytambo, for example, some stones weigh hundreds of tons) are processed in such a way that the gap between one and the next is about a millimeter. How a Stone Age civilization (they had bronze and copper tools, but in extremely small quantities and sizes) could fashion complex three-dimensional objects from solid andesite (and in Ollantaytambo, granite) blocks with such precision (they weigh from hundreds of kilograms to hundreds of tons—trying and adjusting them is impossible; everything must be done at once and then put in place) remains a mystery. It also remains a mystery why they had already lost this technology by the time the Spanish arrived.
There is also a much rougher masonry, where more or less suitable stones are connected with mortar:
The official theory is that the Incas used polygonal masonry for particularly important structures, and rough mortar for simpler ones. But this doesn't explain why one wall might begin with polygonal masonry and then continue with rough mortar:
Before my trip to Peru, I listened to a lot of YouTube shows (I actually listened to them while jogging), including some crazy theories from a Russian group of alternative-themed researchers who believed that polygonal masonry was the remains of an ancient high-tech civilization, while the rougher mortar-based masonry was the work of the Incas, who, as best they could, restored and completed the dilapidated ancient structures they inherited.
Despite its absurdity, this theory explains well the inconsistencies in buildings with combined masonry, in which the mortar masonry is ALWAYS higher (and therefore later) than the polygonal masonry.
However, I will not insist on this theory - it is too non-trivial and changes all existing ideas about the history of the development of world civilizations.
Bonus: Huayna Picchu Mountain
Our second route included a visit to the mountain Huayna Picchu. Before you reach the top of the mountain, there's another checkpoint where you need to write down your name, passport number, departure time, and something else.”Socialism is, first of all, accounting.” (V. Lenin). Although, in this case, keeping records is justified: it's easy to fall over on the mountain, so using the logbook (upon returning, you need to find your entry and check in) you can determine who went there and never returned.
Not everyone climbs this mountain because the mountain is high and the trail is steep:
But we did:
And we didn't regret it. Besides the mountain itself being interesting (and filling us with a sense of accomplishment), it offers excellent views of Machu Picchu. Just in time, the weather cleared up briefly, and the sun even appeared at times.
At the very top of the mountain there is a small platform where you can sit and take photos of the surrounding fog:
And then we went down the steep and slippery steps.
Although only a small percentage of the total number of visitors climb the mountain, there are still quite a few, and among them are some truly colorful characters. For example, at the summit, Natasha encouraged a bald, older man—he was flushed and steaming; he must have been struggling. Later, on the descent, this man overtook us as if we were standing still: he practically ran down the steep, slippery steps, easy and effortlessly. It seems he's significantly more physically fit than we are, and the steam coming off him was because he was also running up the mountain.
Or this colorful group of either Japanese or Koreans:
Overall, the climb up the mountain left me with no less of an impression than Machu Picchu itself. If you go there, I highly recommend it.
End of the day.
After Machu Picchu, we walked for a long time down steep old stairs from the mountain. At the very bottom there is Machu Picchu Museum, entrance to which is also covered by our ticket. It's not crowded because most tourists are returning on buses and don't notice it.
Well, then we had a rest, sat in the rain in hot spring, took a shower, and went to a nice restaurant to celebrate our wedding anniversary:
The next morning, breakfast was at 6:30, a downright decadent affair. Over breakfast, the host explained the next stage of the trail, and we set out around seven. The going is easy, but boring: a dirt road. However, it's a chance to observe the unwritten rules of local driving: they honk before blind turns. The roads are narrow, so if you come across an oncoming car around a bend, you could end up slamming into it. Incidentally, the notion that Peruvian drivers are extremely aggressive on the roads doesn't seem true to me: they simply often drive not according to written rules, but "by convention." But more on that later; we'll have another chance to test this out in practice.
Meanwhile, a family from Spain caught up with us, and we were chatting with them over dinner under the pass. We were exchanging impressions of Peru when we reached the bridge over the river. Here, the route splits: you can continue along the road, or you can turn onto a hiking trail along the other side of the river. We took the trail and didn't regret it.
It would probably be easier to walk along the road: the trail goes up and down all the time. But there are strawberries here. Just ordinary wild strawberries, which don't grow here in Michigan. We hide them as we go, pick a few berries, and pop them into our mouths. That alone made the trail worth it.
There are also streams here, flowing into the river. New metal bridges, painted bright green, span them, sometimes next to older wooden ones. It's clear the trail is being maintained.
We come across beautiful waterfalls. We stop at one of these spots to make coffee. It's a bit of a luxury, of course, but why not treat yourself?
Further on, the trail passes a campsite. The grass is trimmed and there are friendly dogs (they're everywhere here). There's also a kiosk selling freshly squeezed juices and fruit. My Spanish is enough to order a glass of juice, a large mango, and an avocado. We drink the juice right there and take the fruit with us.
Finally, we reach a small town. There's civilization here: a store, restaurants with clothes hanging over tables to dry, and a school with a school orchestra rehearsing in the courtyard.
We cross a suspension bridge and soon reach our overnight stop: a coffee plantation. The electricity is out again (a common occurrence here), but there are hot showers. Also on the agenda today is a tour of the coffee plantation.
Coffee plantation tour.
When we checked in, Freddy, the owner (or manager) of the hotel, said there would be a plantation tour at 4 o'clock.
We had already taken a coffee plantation tour in Hawaii, so I thought I knew roughly what to expect.
However, I was mistaken. Firstly, the difference was in Freddie's personality. A very artistic person, he reminded me of Celentano in the film "The Taming of the Shrew.".
Freddy showed us his coffee trees: he has two varieties, Arabica and Brazilian, and there are also bananas, avocados, and coca. And all of this is not just there for nothing: the bananas and avocados provide the coffee trees with much-needed shade. He didn't say what the coca is for. Probably for the peace of mind.
Then we collected some coffee berries and Freddy tossed them into the bath: they'd need to soak for a few days. He gave us some already soaked ones from previous guests.
Then, using a special mechanical device, we separated the coffee beans from the husks and roasted the beans in a wood-fired oven. Finally, we ground the freshly roasted beans using a hand grinder with an attachment.
We woke up as the pre-dawn light began to filter through the transparent roof of our hut. Time to get up; a long day lies ahead. We need to cross the 19 kilometers of the pass.
We quickly pack our things into our backpacks, get dressed, and head to breakfast. We go fully dressed, because it's around freezing outside, and the cafeteria isn't much warmer.
We set off at six. Directly ahead is Salkantay Peak (6,721 meters), but we're not going there, we're heading to the pass of the same name. It's only 4,600 meters high, and local guides call it Gringo Killer. Well, let's see...
We're moving up slowly but steadily. We're probably a little slower than the current this time, but we're not in a race here. Eventually, we'll all get there…
Here's the pass. We're a bit tired, but very much alive.
The view of the peak from here is magnificent…
Well, time to go down. On the way, we heard what sounded like a train passing nearby. A small avalanche had descended from the peak. Far from anyone, no one was hurt. A reminder that it's not a good idea to relax in the mountains...
A few hundred meters from the pass, according to the map, there should be a water source. Here it is: a stream thoughtfully channeled through the neck of a plastic bottle. Thank you, unknown innovator! It's much more convenient to collect water this way.
We stop to make coffee. We have a stove, we bought gas in Cusco, and we've got a coffee maker to go…
While we're cooking, people are walking by. And some are riding: a group of reckless cyclists has climbed the pass.
After coffee and a rest, we're noticeably stronger, and we head downhill briskly. And then we discover that many people don't know how to descend properly. We have friends who enjoy trail running—running in the mountains. We can't do that, but we can do a few things. Specifically, when descending a moderately steep and non-slippery trail, you don't have to fight gravity, maintaining your balance after each step. This takes a lot of time and energy. It's much better to maintain dynamic balance, where instead of falling, you take another step. In practice, this is a semi-run with slightly bent legs, somewhat akin to skiing.
Of course, you need strong legs and good balance. And the chances of falling are higher, for example, if your foot keeps sliding downhill on a slippery surface after each step. That's why we have poles: they can help correct problems like these. In fact, I think poles are a game-changer on downhills and greatly increase speed. Some people simply fold them up and hang them on their backpacks. Wild (and very slow) people...
And so we reached the almost horizontal trail. The altitude was 3,400 meters, like in Cusco. The air was so thick, it was so easy to breathe! And then there were the restaurants…
Here we are—yet another shelter. It even has a shower, right in the room, with hot water! Hooray!
And the view from the gallery is beautiful...
We put our phones on charge and take a shower. Soon, a heavy rain begins.
It's a good thing we completed the route in eight hours, not the ten the map suggested. But the slower hikers got soaked; we were talking about this very thing with a family from Spain the next day.
It's spring here now, which means the rainy season is about to begin. We've already been getting light showers daily. But we've been successfully avoiding them. And now it's pouring. And we're under the roof of a small hut for hikers on the Salkantay trail.
Luckily, today's route was completed two hours earlier than the map indicated; otherwise, we would have been soaked. The rain had already terrified the hikers today, and they had to get out their raincoats, but then it changed its mind and let the sun shine for a while.
The Salkantay Trail leads to Machu Picchu, an ancient Inca city. Denis came up with the idea of hiking it as a great alternative to organized tours. Knowing they were paid for it, we still didn't want to use the Sherpas. But it was hardly a real hiking trip either, as we were traveling light, with practically no food, tents, or sleeping bags. Such journeys have long been practiced by wandering people, but for us, it was a new experience.
A visit to Machu Picchu was meant to be the highlight of our trip, so we prepared seriously. After arriving in Cusco, we spent two days getting used to the thin mountain air, walking through the historic part of the city.
Of course, the streets are up and down, just the way we like them, which should help us on the trail. We're temporarily leaving our hotel. Our suitcases with civilian clothes are in storage. Our light backpacks are packed.
Very early in the morning, we boarded the minibus that would take us to the trailhead. I thought I'd get a nap, but it didn't work out. Very soon, we found ourselves on steep, serpentine bends. I started to feel nauseous. Since we were in the back seat, we were bouncing around more than the others. Denis moved to the center and started looking straight ahead, saying it was the best way to get over motion sickness. I mitigated it with mint gum and wiping my face with cold condensation from the window. Don't blame me for that, I was really sick then. When we stopped for breakfast in one of the mountain villages, I was completely hungry; I couldn't even swallow a bite. But Denis, I noticed, had recovered and was tucking into some fruit. Later, we decided that this had been the hardest part of our journey.
How good it was to get out of the stuffy car and breathe in the clean mountain air!
A couple of about thirty-five years old joins us on the trail. They speak English, and we exchange a few words. We head in the same direction and agree to meet later at camp.
The trail immediately climbs steeply. In the thin mountain air, my head immediately starts to ache and I feel slightly nauseous. Perhaps it's the effects of driving on mountain roads, or maybe altitude sickness is taking its toll. We continue along the trail, and Mount Salkantay looms ahead, as if encouraging us.
The trail leveled out, and for a long time we walked along a narrow channel filled with water. But you can't drink it. We've been warned. In these parts, only bottled water is allowed because there are a lot of livestock, which can carry diseases.
About two and a half hours later, we reach the Surayapampa tourist camp. Here we'll spend the night in a small wooden cabin with a proper bed and a transparent roof.
In the meantime, we can relax in a wooden chair and drink some coca tea. The taste is pleasant, but it didn't overly perk us up.
We met the same guys who started with us there, and we finally got to know each other and even started chatting over a glass of tea. They're Molly and James, from Australia, they've been saving up for three years for a big trip and are now exploring Latin America for seven months straight.
Our cultural program for this day also includes a visit to the sacred Humantai Lake.
There's only a short climb left, but reaching new heights is challenging. There are a lot of day trippers from Cusco, so the trail is crowded. One large group of tourists is already descending. They encourage us, telling us in various languages that it won't be long now.
The lake, with Mount Salkantay in the background, was beautiful. We were advised to climb the hill near the lake.
Indeed, the water, viewed from above, took on shades of blue and turquoise. Fortunately, the sun came out, and the colors sparkled even more vividly. The glacier was reflected in the lake like a white tongue. The lake is sacred; one is not allowed near the water. Here, as in Hawaii, flowers are brought to sacred sites. A bouquet of yellow gladioli looked strange against the cold water.
And who brings them? Surely not Catholics, or Peruvians? Who are these pagans? But perhaps they're still preserved somewhere along the ancient Inca Trail.
We return to camp. The walk back is much easier. Just as we enter our hut, it starts to rain. What luck! We rest, stretched out on the bed. It gets rapidly colder by evening, but it's good that there are at least four blankets. A little later, they feed us dinner. The warmth from dinner dissipates instantly as I brush my teeth outside with cold water in the thick evening twilight, with the temperature around zero. Quick, under four blankets! I need to make another effort and put on thermal pajamas. Through the glass roof of our hut, I can see the sharp teeth of Salkantay suffused with a purple twilight.
It's warm under four blankets, but my hands are cold because they're holding the phone. There's a book on the phone that I'm reading before bed. But I can't read for long because there's no power and I don't want to waste the battery. And why is there no power? Because, as it turns out, the electricity in the sockets comes from solar panels. No sun, no current. It's good that the light bulb is powered by another source (probably batteries). If only I'd known, we could have charged the phones earlier in the day! I put the phone aside and close my eyes. The warmth of four blankets induces drowsiness. It's still incredibly early, about seven in the evening, but considering we woke up at 4:30 in the morning and have to get up at five tomorrow, it's probably not that early. The fatigue of the first day is catching up with me, and I fall asleep thinking about how, on our summer trip, with the same air temperature, we felt great in a tent, in a sleeping bag. And here, with four blankets, it's not that hot.
There are many different ways to get to Machu Picchu:
The most popular way is by train. There are PeruRail , and IncaRai, It costs about the same. But it's relatively quick and convenient: many don't even stay overnight; they'll go there in the morning, run around Machu Picchu, and then straight back.
Cheaper, but much more troublesome: by bus to Hidroelectrica station, then just 10 kilometers on foot along railroad ties, and you're there. It's only $20 one way, but it takes a whole day: seven hours by bus, then a three-hour walk.
Hiking the classic Inca Trail. The downside is that you can't hike it on your own; you must join a group with local porters. It's expensive (starting at $1,000 per person), and I just don't like the idea of porters running ahead with heavy backpacks to set up camp before I arrive. I'm not quite ready for the role of a white sahib yet...
And the route that Natasha and I chose: hiking theSalkantay Trek. The advantage is that you can hike on your own or with guides, spend the night in the tent, or rent rooms along the way... We hiked on our own and chose the most common option: four days of walking, three overnight stays along the way, arriving at Machu Picchu on the fourth day, and spending the night there. Looking at the map, I was afraid that a significant portion of the route would be along the sides of roads, but that's not the case: almost the entire route follows scenic trails. If you want to cheat, you can cut corners—on the first day, ride directly to Lake Humantay instead of the trailhead, and on the third and fourth days, you can take a minibus or taxi for part of the way. But we completed the entire route with flying colors.
Weather
In Peru, there are two seasons: dry: May - October, and rainy: November - April.
We went in October, at the end of the dry season. Despite this, it rained every afternoon, and in Machu Picchu, it rained almost constantly. You need to be prepared for this and keep raincoats handy at all times.
Route and overnight stays
You have to understand that everything here is quite modest; a hot shower is a luxury 🙂. I liked all the accommodations and recommend them. In all three places, we had problems with electricity: during our first overnight stay, the power in the outlets simply went out after dark, even though the lamps were working (it turned out the outlets were powered by solar panels). In the other two places, the power went out for several hours in the entire village. So the first thing you need to do upon arrival is charge your phones.
All links lead to Booking.com. As it turned out, it wasn't necessary to book in advance (we went during the "low season").
Soraypampa Hostel (Soraypampa) is not a hotel, but a very basic shelter. All the accommodations there are pretty much the same, because Soraypampa isn't a residential village, but a point where the road ends. We had a small, unheated hut, but with warm blankets, so we didn't get too cold at night. The advantage of our shelter is that it's located right on the trail to Humantay Lake, so you don't have to waste time walking to the lake's trailhead. They also helped with transportation, which is convenient. Breakfast and dinner are available for an extra fee.
Salkantay Hostel Chaullay — It already feels like a real hotel, there was even a hot shower in the room 😀 Nice place with a wonderful view. Breakfast is included in the price.
Lia B&B Lucmabamba — The most comfortable place we stayed. Situated on a coffee plantation. Freddy (the owner/manager of the hotel) gave us a fascinating tour of the plantation, showing us all the stages coffee goes through, from berry picking to brewing. Hot showers, breakfast, and dinner are included in the room.
In the city of Machu Picchu we spent the night in a hotel Panorama B&B. It's a nice, comfortable place, although quite expensive (the most expensive on our entire trip). But Machu Picchu is a completely touristy place, and everything there is much more expensive than elsewhere in Peru.
Ugh, it's so cold here in the mornings! Warm clothes, a cup of coffee, and the knowledge that in a couple of hours it will feel like summer again are enough to warm you up. Quick, grab a hot cup of coffee and get going! Fog spreads across Lake Lewis like pink cotton wool. Again, the fisherman's vague silhouette in the same spot. Maybe he's always here?
A deer with powerful antlers cautiously crosses the road. We slow down for a moment and wait. About ten minutes later, the road turns toward Yellowstone Lake.
The scenery here is magnificent, too. Now we're driving along the coast. This time, without stopping, we pass the nearest geyser field. The sun shines through the clouds of steam. It's absolutely beautiful! It feels like a special place, like a place where clouds are born.
In the slanting rays of the morning sun everything sparkles: the water, the wet rocks, the dew on the grass.
This morning, we're incredibly lucky with our encounters with wildlife. We see pelicans splashing around on the lake, and then we encounter a large herd of elk. They're large and unhurried. They're used to the close attention of people and the fact that no one will bother them here. The most important thing for everyone, human and animal, is to know their limits. The information brochures say that the distance between you and a moose should be at least the length of two buses, and if you encounter a bear, the distance should be tripled.
Let's move on - and here's another gift from nature!
A bison stands like a mighty boulder beside the road. He's enormous and imperturbable. The beast's size is impressive. A monolith! A colossus! Naturally, we stop on the side of the road and, without getting out of the car, take photos of the animal right from the open window.
River and canyon
Today, a significant portion of my time is devoted to the Yellowstone River. It can't simply be described as "wide and majestic" or "turbulent and wild." It takes on a unique character in different sections of its course.
At the next stop, from the high, steep bank, you can see the steam from the hot springs rising above the wide river. Here, the water is calm and peaceful. But around the next bend, the banks narrow and the current becomes swift. And the river is unrecognizable. Just ten minutes ago, it was flowing leisurely, but suddenly, as if it had gone berserk, foaming and angry, bursting into a narrow canyon with a roar.
It's amazing how diverse the landscapes of Yellowstone National Park are! Besides geysers and hot springs, there are high mountains, high plateaus, and numerous cold, clear lakes. It even has its own Grand Canyon. That's where we arrived that morning.
Since there were no tables nearby, we had to settle down on large flat stones near the parking lot and have breakfast there.
A clear, sunny morning promises us a multitude of beautiful views. We follow the trail leading to Lenta Lake. The section that runs along the edge of the canyon is incredibly picturesque. I want to capture every outcrop of yellow rocks, every bend in the river below, in the deep gorge, every tree leaning precariously over the canyon's steep slope. There, at the bottom, the morning fog still lingers, but the slopes are already illuminated by the morning sun.
In the morning, there aren't many tourists yet, so we continue along the trail alone. The mosquitoes were just waiting for this. Starved by the solitude, they attacked us with all their might. The power of a single mosquito isn't great, but when they gather in an army, you have to fight them off in earnest. Despite everything, we conquered this trail, reaching an elongated lake overgrown with leaves. Our reward was a large porcini mushroom.
Waterfalls
By the time we get back to the parking lot, it's already quite hot. We take off our excess gear and head to the waterfalls, which are also located on the Yellowstone River.
The Lower Canyon is wider and lower, the Upper Canyon is higher and more powerful, each beautiful in its own way. Numerous observation platforms allow us to see this natural wonder from different angles. In one place, a steep but well-trodden path leads almost to the very bottom of the canyon near the waterfall. In another, you can stroll along a trail further upstream, where numerous small rocky islands, each with a single tree, are scattered throughout the river's center.
At the third and fourth observation decks you can see the waterfall from the very edge of a picturesque cliff.
Mud volcano
On the way back, we stop for lunch at Muskrat Creek. This rest area is a great place to take a short break. In the green valley, under the shade of a spreading tree, you can set up a camp stove on a table and cook some soup. We need to refresh ourselves and gain strength before heading to another interesting spot. About forty-five minutes later, we head to a spot called Mud Volcano (or Angry Volcano?) to see the murky puddles pulsating under the pressure of steam from the depths of the earth.
This, surprisingly, is also quite spectacular! At the foot of the hill, steam erupts from a crevice with a distinctive raspy sound. Water the color of liquid cement ripples and creates a small wave. This geyser is called "Dragon's Mouth.".
Nearby, slightly larger, murky lakes sigh and gurgle. Each one imagines itself a sea and produces a powerful surf. This large movement of low water is disorienting and even a little frightening. Moreover, the smell of sulfurous fumes is much stronger here than in other places, making it difficult to linger for long. But the bison lying nearby apparently doesn't care.
He's used to the smell of rotten eggs, but we aren't. The world of geysers is so diverse!
Evening
In the afternoon, passing the Fisherman Bridge, we decide to stop at a tourist village on the shore of Yellowstone Lake. There's a small museum there with taxidermied animals native to the park. We take in all the exhibits in about fifteen minutes and then head to the lakeshore. It's time to kick off our sandals, go barefoot, and soak our tired feet in the warm sand! By evening, the sand has warmed up, but the lake remains as cold as ever. Nevertheless, Denis decides he absolutely must take a swim. You can't last long in this icy water, but three minutes is enough for him to casually remark, "Yeah, I swam in Yellowstone Lake too."”
We've seen so much today! To say we're tired is an understatement. Full of impressions, we head to the campsite to rest. Looking forward to potatoes with mushrooms for dinner.
It turned out to be strong and resilient: it traveled with us all day without spoiling. When I cut it open, it was still crisp and white inside, without a single wormhole. But even half a mushroom was enough to fill my stomach. What to do with the other half? Saving it for tomorrow wouldn't make sense. Roast it? I didn't feel like doing anything else but resting. So I simply cut the mushroom into pieces and scattered them among the nearby stumps. It was our little tribute to the forest deities. I checked in the morning—almost all of it had been eaten by the local creatures. We're not the only ones who love mushrooms!
July 13
Norris Basin
In the morning, we pack up our camp. It's quick and easy. Everyone knows what they're packing. I'm responsible for the tent and everything inside it, and Denis is responsible for the camp kitchen. I'm responsible for collecting trash and keeping the campground clean, and Denis packs the bulky items into the car: the cooler, camp chairs, and the backpack with the tent, mats, and sleeping bags.
On the way to the next valley of geysers we stop by a waterfall (Gibbon falls).
Because it's only seven in the morning, it's completely hidden in shadow. Unfortunately, there's no time to wait for better light; we take a few photos and move on.
Early in the morning we arrive at Norris Basin, another large area with geysers.
It's divided into two unequal halves. First, we head to Porcelain Meadow. Like other similar places, there are wooden paths here. This meadow differs from the others in that the geysers and hot springs have a cloudy, milky-white hue.
The opal-colored water contrasts stunningly with the green streams that spread widely across the whitish, brown-streaked, and occasionally yellow and orange, earth. A veritable feast of color and beauty!
And above all this colorful joy, numerous geysers steam. It's noticeably warmer here, and the air is so saturated with moisture that you need to remember to wipe your camera lens. Otherwise, everything turns out hazy, like fog.
As we walk to the other side of the clearing along the Black Trail, we notice that the spacious parking lot is already completely occupied. Cars are parked even where there are warning signs warning that rocks from the erupting geyser may reach these areas.
Yes! They do exist! Park staff can likely monitor their activity and close dangerous areas promptly, otherwise there wouldn't be such an influx of tourists. They say that in the past, people sealed one such violent geyser with stones. Modern scientists consider this an act of violence against nature. Since then, the geyser has ceased to pose a danger. But who knows, maybe one day the "champagne bottle" effect might occur, where the cork can burst with redoubled force under the pressure of the gases.
As we pull out of the parking lot, our spot is immediately taken by others eager for a spectacle. It's a good thing we arrived here early in the morning.
Upper and lower terraces
The last point we wanted to visit in Yellowstone National Park was the Upper and Lower Terraces.
They are stepped formations of white and yellowish-brown flowers. This is another interesting example of the park's diverse landscapes. July 13th was probably the hottest day. Moreover, we had to climb up and down numerous steps connecting the different levels of the terraces.
My strength began to rapidly evaporate along with the sweat. To top it all off, there was no shade anywhere. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. When we descended the mountains, it became clear it was much hotter below; the thermometer on the bank building showed 37 degrees Celsius.
A good way to combat overheating is to drink a bottle of water and eat some ice cream. That's what we did a little later.
Yellowstone Park left a lasting impression on us. We'd traveled and seen so much before, it's hard to surprise us anymore. But geysers, a unique natural phenomenon, were our first experience. And like children, we wandered around and marveled at everything. We took an incredible number of photos, which I'm sure we'll look at again and again.
Needless to say, we rose early again the next morning. It had become a tradition, and we'd developed certain traditions that we'd stick to throughout the trip. The weather forecast wasn't promising this time: rain for most of the day. But what could we do? We had to get going. After all, tomorrow we'd leave Glacier, and today we'd have to cross Logan Pass again and reach the park from the other side. There should be some beautiful trails there, too.
The weather is gloomy.
Mists and clouds drift between the mountains, making it gloomy but still very picturesque. The promised rain hasn't arrived yet, and the "Going to the Sun" mountain road is easy to drive at a normal pace. We cross the pass without difficulty, pass by Lake St. Mary, arrive at the park gates, and are turned away. Apparently, the same rules apply here: if you can get in before seven, go ahead; if not, you must schedule a time in advance.
We eventually found other trails. One of them turned out to be particularly sad to walk because it passed through a burnt forest.
These areas were probably devastated by large fires 10-15 years ago. They destroyed a significant portion of the forests on this side of the mountains. As we climbed higher, we could see the skeletons of dead trees sticking out for miles around. The only relief was that young pine trees were already clustered around them, and raspberry patches and blueberry fields carpeted the previously scorched slopes.
And yet, we left the trail and headed toward the waterfall. By this time, it was already raining, fortunately not very heavily. The narrow trail leading to the waterfall was lined with tall grasses, enough to soak us waist-deep in just five minutes. After a while, our boots began to squelch. We decided to walk to the waterfall despite the weather. This area boasts a stunning combination of rock colors. Rock outcrops of dark red, burgundy, and brown are interspersed with unexpectedly vibrant, greenish-blue inclusions. A stunning contrast of cool and warm tones!
The waterfall turned out to be pretty, though not very tall, yet turbulent. And then there's the color. The water here shimmers in every shade of green. Even on a rainy day, it seemed vibrant—emerald, covered in lush lacework of white foam.
By this point, we were practically soaked from head to toe. It was a relief to return to the car, find dry clothes, take off our wet boots, and put on flip-flops. We could adjust the warm air and head back. But we'd have to drive more carefully now, because the steep turns of the mountain road were glistening with rain, and Logan Pass was completely hidden in the clouds.
The road from the pass
We take our time, occasionally entering thick fog, slowing our already slow speed. But sometimes, suddenly, the clouds part and a patch of gloomy landscape opens up. Sometimes distant mountains are visible, their peaks seemingly existing on their own, surrounded by clouds on all sides. Even below us, there are clouds.
Despite the bad weather, we stop at various interesting places on the way back.
We drove along this same road yesterday, but we were so tired that stopping anywhere else would have been difficult and wouldn't have been much fun. In one beautiful spot, for example, there was a snowfield, eroded by a stream from below, forming a low tunnel. But you can't walk through it because the heavy, compact snow could collapse at any moment. Around another bend was a long rock wall, down which a small but wide waterfall flowed, as if licking the stone. It was so close that the spray flew right onto the road. A beautiful and dangerous place! We didn't stop at the numerous viewpoints because visibility on that cloudy day left much to be desired. Moreover, the day before, we had had such a wonderful opportunity to see so many picturesque landscapes that it made no sense to get out in the rain. But we decided to stop at the triple arch.
It's part natural, part man-made: a road tunnel was dug into the rock where a natural arch already existed. A small stream flowed next to one of them, forming a miniature waterfall. Luckily, the weather had cleared at that moment, and a beautiful view could be seen from the natural arch's opening. It's amazing! We saw so many of them during our trip, we never got tired of them!
The Last Trail
When we descended, hope rose that the weather would finally improve. We decided to have lunch at home, rest a bit, and then head out somewhere else in the late afternoon. Around four o'clock, the clouds dispersed, the sun dried the grass and trails, and we set off along another trail. Here, we were promised a forest lake and a good chance of seeing wildlife. The lake turned out to be small and charming, surrounded by tall spruce trees and a beaver lodge on the far shore. But we weren't particularly lucky with wildlife; we only saw a partridge.
But her behavior was downright textbook, just like Charushin's. When she saw us, she didn't fly away, but began quietly clucking. At first, we didn't understand why the bird wasn't flying away, but upon closer inspection, we noticed: one chick under a stump, one in a hole, one behind a knot. Another, the bravest one, stood on a fallen tree trunk and cheeped. I took a photo of it and said:
Naughty boy! Do what your mother tells you! Hide quickly!
And we quickly moved on along the trail so as not to upset the partridge, especially since it was getting close to sunset, and we still had half an hour to drive along a bumpy, winding dirt road.
Well, our time in Glacier Park is ending, and it's time to pack up and head back. For seasoned travelers like us, it's a matter of twenty minutes. One last night in our temporary shelter—and then we're on our way home.
July 20
Last morning at Glacier
So, the things are collected and packed into the car.
Early in the morning, we regretfully leave Glacier National Park. It's so beautiful here! And even the morning chill and yesterday's rain didn't spoil the overall impression.
It seems as if yesterday's clouds haven't drifted far away, but have lingered in every valley and mountain fold. We make our way through the gray fog to admire the sunrise over the mountain lake for the last time.
Majesty and tranquility. Trite, yet so true, words that can describe the state of nature at the moment when the sun rises over the mountains.
Just before the park gates, we see a black bear leisurely crossing the road from the car window. It's a good sign! Montana's very nature has given us a parting gift. We should definitely come back here, since it's been so kind to us...
Blackfoot Tribe
We drive for another two hours through narrow valleys between the mountains. The sun rises higher and the fog reluctantly creeps into the lowlands, toward the rivers and lakes. The slopes become more gentle, and after a while we find ourselves back on the prairie. Around nine o'clock in the morning, my stomach is clamoring for breakfast. On the plain, at the foot of the mountains, we decide to make our first stop and eat. We found a suitable place—a park on the Blackfoot Indian Reservation. A large cultural heritage center has been built nearby, but due to the early hour and the weekend, it's closed. While breakfast is being prepared, I manage to look at the metal figures nearby.
It turns out these are characters from a Native American creation legend. It's a familiar story: a bored Creator was amusing himself, fashioning a moon, sun, and stars from mud, and creating humans and animals. He settled them all on Earth. But humans (once again!) proved treacherous and unworthy. Then, enraged, God abandoned them on Earth and, accompanied by his "stars," flew off to the heights. Beforehand, he caused a flood to undo the results of his failed project. The wise old man Napi remained on Earth. This assistant of God's brought everything back to order. He climbed a high mountain, caught clouds with a rainbow rope, stopped the downpour, and asked the animals to retrieve some mud from the bottom to recreate dry land. Possessing special powers, the animals could take the form of humans.
Unlike previous generations, they were righteous and began a new life on earth. They were the ancestors of the Blackfoot tribe.
Much time has passed since then. The righteous have become lesser, otherwise they wouldn't have left so much trash in the park where we had breakfast. And the gas station seemed somehow unkempt. Only legends of former greatness remain.
Echoes of a Legend
And again, we're driving all day across the Great Plains. The weather, sunny at the start of the journey, is starting to deteriorate. Ahead, across the deserted, arrow-flat road, a storm front is visible. We even had to change our next overnight stop because we didn't want to set up camp in the rain. We decided to keep going, especially since there was still plenty of time before sunset. And so we bravely drive into the storm. At times, it pours so hard that we have to slow down to twenty miles per hour. We drive leisurely in the rain for two hours, and even the thought occurs: "“
Probably the Indian god has once again decided to send a flood, it seems that it is not enough for him.”
When a rainbow appears on the horizon towards evening, the feeling of the presence of a legend arises again.
Apparently, old Napi himself stretched out a rope—a rainbow—to disperse the clouds. So the rain will soon end.
And so it turned out. When we arrived at the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers campsite, near the dam and Fort Peck, it was warm and dry. We pitched our tent without any problems, made dinner, and even managed to stroll along the banks of the Missouri River at sunset.
Only recently did I have a brilliant idea: the name "Montana" could be translated as "mountain country." It's so obvious, how could I have never realized it before! It's just strange that this Spanish word has penetrated so far north. From the windows of our farmhouse in Helena, large mountains were visible only in the distance, on both sides of a large valley. But as we approached Glacier National Park, we realized the state's name wasn't given without reason.
It was a strange day. We had to leave the cabin by ten in the morning. Denis "left for work" early. I made breakfast, packed my things, and carried them out to the car.
We then moved to the back of a large Costco store. It was deserted, and we could set up a camp chair for Denis, who immediately "went into a work meeting," pulling out his laptop and putting on his headphones. Meanwhile, I walked around the building and went shopping, picking up groceries for the rest of the trip. Then we gassed up and moved to a small park, where Denis continued working while I strolled around the neighborhood.
Gold was once mined in these areas. The surface of the earth has been dug up and ground down. Large piles of stones still lie there, a reminder of bygone times. Now, paths for joggers and cyclists run between them. People walk their dogs where a gold vein once ran. Now there's a golf course where warehouses and barracks once stood. And flax and sunflowers grow in the rubble.
We had lunch in the same park and finally moved on. Once again, our route crossed vast deserted areas with scattered livestock farms. There were no high mountains here yet; these were treeless, sun-baked hills. Big mountains lay ahead.
Arriving at Glacier
We reach Glacier National Park in a few hours. Our accommodation is ten minutes away. Housing prices within the park are several times higher, so it's more economical to stay outside. We also don't have to pay entry fees each time because we have an annual pass to all the national parks.
The exterior of our place is rather modest. It doesn't look like a hotel, with just five separate rooms. I think "rooms" would be a more appropriate term. But inside, everything is organized efficiently, like a studio: one large space for all amenities except the bathroom. One corner is partitioned off for the kitchen and dining area, another for a large bed and nightstands, and a third, near the entrance, has a coat rack and a small sofa. In short, it has everything necessary for a temporary stay. We spent three days there quite comfortably.
Although "lived" isn't quite the right word. When you're there to eat, sleep, and shower, but spend a significant portion of your time in the mountains, it's hardly a full-fledged "life.".
After dinner that evening, we still had a little time to walk around the area, eat our fill of the irga (serviceberry), which had ripened in huge quantities, and go to rest.
July 17
Morning in the mountains
On the morning of July 17th, in the middle of summer in Montana, our hands are freezing from the cold, and we're wearing long pants, sweaters, and jackets. It's a shame I didn't bring a hat; it would have definitely come in handy, and gloves wouldn't have hurt either, because it's around freezing outside again. The mountains are beautiful, but it's so cold here in the mornings!
First we head to Glacier to watch the sunrise at Lake McDonald.
A number of morning landscape enthusiasts have already gathered on the shore near the tourist village. Everyone is dressed warmly, some are warming up with coffee bought right there at the coffee shop. The lake is picturesquely nestled in a narrow valley between the mountains. The bluish pre-dawn twilight is slowly dissipating, and the first rays of sun are appearing over the peaks. It's beautiful! It was worth getting up at six in the morning for.
But this is not difficult for us, because we continue to live on Michigan time.
For those long morning contemplations of the mountain lake, people not only come warmly dressed but also bring blankets and throws. They probably find it comforting to meditate, wrapped in an extra warm layer, but for us, it's getting too cold to watch the sunrise. We want to get moving, to finally warm up. Hurry, hit the trail!
Two trails. McDonald River.
Despite the early hour, we didn't immediately find parking at the trailhead; almost all of it was occupied. The Kedrovaya Trail is quite small, barely accessible even in a wheelchair. Wooden paths and bridges cross a mountain stream on the damp, marshy soil. A miniature canyon has formed here. The stream, squeezed between rocks, churns and foams, creating whirlpools. The clear water glistens with an emerald green sheen. You can gaze at the flowing water for a long time, but then it gets cold again, and you have to move on.
The second trail, "Avalanche," is longer and leads gently upward. It should have been called "People's Trail," because so many people were constantly walking along it. At the end of the trail is a round green lake.
It's beautiful, but we'd already seen similar ones in Grand Teton and weren't particularly surprised. Then there was another trail we tried, but turned back because it wasn't anything special. Perhaps we were simply becoming jaded by the beauty of nature.
There were other beautiful places that our friend and advisor, the artificial intelligence, recommended visiting. We got in the car and drove off in search of picturesque landscapes.
For some time, the road ran alongside the McDonald River. Every turn begged to be painted: green, clear water, small waterfalls, rapids and riffles, forested rock folds, scattered boulders, and pebble banks. Small parking areas along the roadside offer a place to stop and admire the beauty.
A cow elk stood in the shallows, browsing on leaves from a bush. A crowd of people were curiously watching and photographing this wonder. I was watching not so much the animal as the observers. It was very much like a royal diner surrounded by vassals! They were all afraid to make a loud noise or make an unnecessary movement, walking on tiptoe, while the cow elk sipped leisurely, paying no attention to anyone. She was the queen here!
The Rocky Cape Trail“
We decided to return home, as it was approaching two o'clock. After lunch and a short rest, we set off on the Rocky Cape trail, which led us to the other side of Lake McDonald. It had become quite warm, even hot. The air smelled richly of herbs and sun-warmed pine trees. The bushes of serviceberry, wild strawberries, and thickets of blueberries made our journey even more pleasant.
And we had a wonderful dessert after dinner!
On the shore, far from the tourist spots, we suddenly encountered a group from a "pioneer camp" with cold-hardy children of local descent. Although the water temperature was around 15°C (60°F), these children splashed happily in the lake until the camp counselor blew a whistle to call them to shore. Some of them were dissatisfied with the time it was time to leave. Even Denis couldn't swim for more than three minutes, probably because he's not a pioneer from the Montana mountains. And I just watched the whole thing from the shore.
From Kamenisty Mys we saw the lake from a slightly different angle.
And it turned out to be incredibly beautiful, too. Surrounded by mountains, everything looks beautiful, doesn't it? On the way back, we hung out in the blueberry patches some more, stuffed ourselves with berries until we were sick, and decided it was time to go home. At some point, it became clear we'd covered quite a bit today. Denis glanced at his smartwatch and said we'd walked almost forty thousand steps. In my head, like Winnie the Pooh, I composed a marching-style "walker" song, which I immediately played loudly, for the entire forest to lift my spirits.
We have walked forty thousand steps! And we'll go another forty thousand, Because we, because we, Because we are strong And the two of us!
There were more verses about our heroic deed, but they come easily and are easily forgotten. Besides, Denis doesn't encourage my poetic experiments. He's shy.
We slept well that night. Physical activity and prolonged exposure to fresh air are beneficial for sleep. Denis later remarked more than once that he slept better in the tent. The idea was born that at home we could set him up in the backyard, in a tent, and let him inside to shower, eat, and go to work.
Today we're leaving Grand Teton National Park and heading to Yellowstone. It's not far. Most road trippers plan to visit these two places together. But before we leave, we thought we'd take a dip in a hot spring.
The morning, as we know, is quite chilly in the mountains. That didn't stop Denis, and I, shivering, decided against taking a dip. At first, there was a dewy trail, then a river blocked our path. For some reason, there was no bridge, so we had to wade across. It wasn't much fun in a temperature of +9°C. When we arrived at the spring, a fan of morning hot baths was already soaking there. He sat relaxed in the spring, looking out at the mountains bathed in morning light and listening to country music.
He was middle-aged and potbellied, with a drooping mustache and long gray hair. He was also completely naked. Closer to nature than ever. He greeted us casually and struck up a light conversation. Easy chat. Who we were and where we were from. He was from Idaho, came here often, and loved this place. Denis climbed into the spring, and I waded in ankle-deep and also tried to enjoy the morning view of the mountains, but it didn't work out because I was attacked by a swarm of wild, vicious mosquitoes. I immediately decided to do my exercises standing in the spring, as I had left my mosquito repellent in the car.
Dear friends! Let's begin our morning exercises: arm rotations, torso rotations, head rotations, and slapping the bitten areas! Okay, good! Be more alert! Be more energetic! Let's move on to water treatments! Oh, yes, we've already moved on.
Denis, apparently, was also bothered by the mosquitoes or he felt sorry for me, he didn’t sit for long and we drove on.
Popular science
Yellowstone is just a stone's throw away; half an hour and we're there. That hot spring was the first sign that the geysers were very close. And then it was like we were in a science fiction film.
And indeed, this park was well-known long before we arrived in America. It was probably the unforgettable Senkevich, host of the "Film Travelers' Club," who told us about it on TV. It was a great show. I remember circling it in a bold oval in the paper TV program guide, along with cartoons and "In the Animal World." Later, in the 1990s, it became possible to watch National Geographic films. You can almost hear the announcer's voice behind the screen:
Yellowstone National Park
Founded in 1872, Yellowstone National Park is the world's first national park, renowned for its geothermal landscape and geysers. The famous Yellowstone National Park is a biosphere reserve and, thanks to its unique topography, is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
We enter the park from the "West Thumb." The first impression is that this place has a life of its own. The geysers are both beautiful and dangerous. Filled with a wonderful turquoise hue, they gurgle and sigh, emitting mists of sulfur.
We later learned that the bluer the water, the hotter the spring. Getting too close is prohibited. We walk only on specially constructed wooden walkways. The crust that covers the spaces between the geysers creates the illusion of solid ground, but in reality, you could fall into hell, into a fiery Gehenna. Bison, however, apparently are allowed in. Their tracks are visible in large numbers from everywhere.
Geysers are like people: no two are alike, even if they look similar. This depends on a variety of factors: depth, temperature, rock and soil composition, age, and much more.
Some geysers are coloured in the brightest shades of blue-green and orange, others are pale, with a whitish edge, and others are turbid, like clayey slurry.
Some release occasional bubbles, others seem to boil, and still others gush with varying frequency and power. Many simply "breathe" steam.
The place where we first saw geysers is on the shore of Yellowstone Lake. Crystalline water fills the caldera of a volcano so huge and ancient that scientists didn't discover it right away. The diameter of the crater measures several square kilometers of lake water and forest (85 by 45 km). It's hard to imagine how powerful the volcano must have been in its youth. Incidentally, volcanologists haven't ruled out the idea that Yellowstone will one day awaken. Imaginative filmmakers have long since dreamed up a horror story about it.
Enchanting
We arrive at our next destination around midday. The large parking lot is filled with cars, and we park on the side of the road, quite a ways from the trailhead leading to the overlook. It's located on a hillside overlooking Yellowstone's crown jewel, Prismatic Hot Spring.
This is one of the largest, and therefore the most vibrant and visited, springs. It's a magical sight: bright turquoise water, edged in yellow and orange, the size of a small lake. From afar, people can be seen walking around it on a wooden platform.
It is not customary to linger at the observation deck for long: take a few photos and leave, because more and more people keep arriving.
The flow of tourists thins out if you follow the trail from the observation deck to Fairy Falls.
And only a few people reach the Imperial Geyser. And completely in vain! The trail is easy, with no elevation changes. The only downside is that it winds through open space for a long time. The trail first leads to a tall, but not very powerful, waterfall.
The stream has carved a shallow cave in the rock, creating a small pool. Those in the know bring bathing suits. How pleasant it must be to find yourself in a shady waterfall on a hot day! But we decide to move on. The trail then leads us through the forest and becomes more pleasant. Eventually, we come to an orange stream that flows into an orange swamp.
This brings to mind a song about everything being orange. And the water was warm. Walking along a path alongside a stream, we come to the Imperial Geyser. This is one of those geysers that gush with remarkable persistence. The geyser is located away from popular spots. It's not fenced off by a walkway, but you don't want to get any closer, it's so violent.
The trail continues up the slope, leading deep into the sun-baked hills. We decide to just take a look at the geyser from above and turn back. Near the stream, Denis suddenly gets the idea to soothe his poorly cracked heels in the hot, and presumably healing, water. Even though we've already had a hot bath today, another one won't hurt. I waste no time, fortifying myself with wild strawberries and serviceberries and "singing orange songs.".
This time, our temporary shelter is a campsite near Lewis Lake. Previously, we camped on the shores of Jackson Lake. I note again that very few Native American names have survived in Wisconsin and Montana, but it's a different story here in Michigan. The hot day quickly turns into a cool evening as the sun sets. After dinner, we manage to admire the sunset over the lake before retiring to bed.
