But hey, let's not get bogged down in gastrointestinal details. The graceful creatures below, grazing in the shadow of the ominous Mt Misti, are vicunas. And they're worth their weight in gold. Seriously, their hair is so fine that a coat made of the stuff will set you back Euro 60,000.
Which is why Mei is wearing good ol' bred in NZ/spun in China sheep wool.
"What a desolate place this is". Rock keeps a watchful eye out for incoming Jawa crawlers. Or at least a local Coka Cola oasis.
Deserts aren't so bad when you have a nice comfy air conditioned bus waiting for you, just behind the cameraman.
All aboard! This isn't the type of place you want to temp fate by being the last one back on the bus.
It's official. This is the middle of nowhere (which means Palmy is finally off the hook). A tiny outpost in the middle of the vast, windswept volcanic plateau is all that separates man from... well, his hard earned Soles.
Salud! Three cheers for the magic potion - coca tea. Not only does it cure altitude sickness, eliminate cavities, and provide all the essential vitamins and minerals one needs when living in the middle of nowhere, it's also made from the same plant as cocaine. Salud!
One of the immutable laws of travel is that the deliciousness of a ham and cheese toasty is directly proportional to the distance from civilization.
Team J00ster before the dark times. Before the I-knew-it-was-a-stupid-idea-to-leave-the-pandadol-behind times.
The next Lonely Planet cover photo. (Ed: Hang on, we can't use this, that would mean we actually visited the place we're writing about - how very pre-Google).
From the desert to the glaciers. That's what you get when you go up a vertical kilometer in an hour.
Careful chief, looks a bit slippery out there. Jared goes prospecting for Incan ice mummies. Once you find one you can charge a whole busload of suckers 20 Soles each to gawk at a glorified ice cube.
You can almost hear Rock cracking cringe-worthy so who's cool now jokes. You can almost hear Devan's well-worn rebuttal. I'll give you a hint, it contains the words "suck" and "you", not necessarily in that order.
Out here in the wilderness, the biggest danger is getting run over by a herd of alpacas. Or catching Rock's bug.
It will take more than a bit of ice to take down the mighty TeamPhatJ00ster. Well ok, it won't. All it will take is the same insidious weapon that brought down the mighty Incan empire - biological warfare.
The Three Amgios: Encore Edition.
The village of Chivay, nestled at the bottom of the Colca Valley, is tonight's overnight stop. The Colca Valley is the Diet Coke version of the mighty Colca Canyon.
The last of the day's activities is a strenuous climb up an old mountain trail to see some Incan tombs. Think of this as the prelude to the main event. Which is a bit of a disconcerting thought seeing as half the party was wiped out after a mere hour's toil. Come on team, on the Inca Trail there's six more hours where that came from!
Our intrepid guide keeps a vigil over an ancient Incan tomb perched on the mountain slope. Grave robbers have long since stripped the graves bare, leaving only the sun-bleached skulls as an erie reminder of a lost age.
Smile while you can my friends, smile while you can.
Sure there's water inside. But somehow I don't think that's the optimal way to get at it.
Epic vista. This is back before epic vistas became blasé.
Unwinding during dinner with a bit of local tradition. Yes, you know, the age old tradition where locals gleefully dress up in folksy costumes and rake in the Soles for every twirl.
John Travolta's part is safe for now.
Jared getting his ass whipped and looking disturbingly happy about it. Apparently it's a local tradition. It's also a local tradition to cover dessicated pancakes in molasses and call it a dessert. And charge lots of Soles for it.
Day two dawns with the gaping depths of Colca Canyon. Apparently it's twice as deep as the Grand Canyon.
Keep your eyes peeled, we're not here to admire a hole in the ground folks.
An Inka Cola to the first man to spot a condor. If you'd tasted it, you'd probably want to close your eyes.
They start as specks on the horizon. Oh wait, that's just 'cause Rock hasn't worked out how to zoom the camera.
Ah, that's better. Now if they'd just stay still... whaddya mean they can't hover? One wonders what tourists did before the digital age? Trying to get the perfect shot is an exercise in the law of large numbers.
Incoming! So that's why they call it Condor Crossing. And you thought that was just a cunning use of alliteration to make a boring title sound slightly less so.
Rock does his best to stand upright long enough for a quick see-I-am-still alive photo. Condors only feed on the carcases of the dead, so Rock is doing an exemplary job of luring them into photo range.
See, here they come! Come on Jared, by the time you get that behemoth of a camera up they'll be long gone.
Majestic.
The brotherhood of condor hunters is a tight knit club. The only membership requirement is that you are failing miserably to get a decent condor shot.
With a wingspan of three meters, you'd think it would be easier to take their darn picture.
Talk about killing two birds with one stone. Hur hur hur.
Mission accomplished. I came, I saw, I got a sort of decent condor photo.
Last stop on a two day odyssey - the roof of the world. Better know for housing the aforementioned highest toilet in the world (a claim which Rock finds slightly dubious - what do they do, hold it in all the way up Everest?).
But that's the end of the road. Ok, it's not, as you can clearly see below. Deepest canyon in the world? Been there done that. Worse alpaca steak in the world? Check. Most hilarious ass whipping in the world? Roger that. Highest lake in the world? That's a story for another day (or week, given Rock's glacial update speed).
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