Here come the bulldogs!

There's a dash of yellow in Central Park's dense summer foliage, and just the slightest hint of a chill in the morning air. And the swarms of peak-season tourists in Times Square are suddenly a little less dense (in numbers, not IQ and certainly not body mass index). Which can mean only one thing. It's autumn in the big apple. And more importantly, it's football season again!

So what better time to continue the Tour de Ivy than on the eve of another year of epic victories and crushed dreams in the cauldron of college football. Ok, fine, so Yale's Bulldogs aren't exactly setting the AP Top 25 alight, and most the students are probably more interested in dissecting the finer points of Sotomayor's (LAW '79) rulings than arguing the relative merits of Florida versus Texas, but one mention of Harvard Crimson and suddenly we've got a game on our hands.


Cahan (PHYSICS, 'never) and Zhu (IT, 'never) wonder why they never made it through the hallowed gate.

Founded in 1701. Stop and think about that for a second. This storied institute was handing out degrees before Massey even had a country to be put in.

The Master is in the House.

Oh look, a water feature other than a big puddle outside the MUSA shop after another soggy Manawatu day.

Yale Law School. Notable alumni include Bill and Hilary Clinton and Robert Rubin. Notable visitors include the J00sters.

Lux et veritas! Light and truth!

One of the extracurricular activities at Yale is the Guild of Carrillonneurs, charged with ringing the bells in Yale's many imposing towers. At Massey you can usually find a rusty cow bell or two in the paddock out the back of Ag Hort.

Talk about building brand equity.

This is just a library, not the library. Yale has 22.

How do you say nice digs in Latin?

Watch out for those crafty Slytherin boys. They might try to snatch you snazzy EliBucks(tm)swipe card before you can secure tonight's Thai red curry rotation.

Attendance always spikes before finals. Or before Yale and Harvard football go head to head in "The Game".

Hurry up, you'll miss today's all important "why Harvard sucks" lecture.

Believe it or not, this is one of the student dorms. No wonder graduates from this fine institution barely blink when they misplace a billion or two of shareholder funds - why it's just pocket change.

Peru Part Ocho: Houston, the Condor has landed

I was going to say that day four, the final day, dawns with a palpable sense of anticipation, but actually it doesn't dawn at all. Well, not for a while anyway. Because the campsite closest to Machu Picchu was already booked out, TeamPhatJ00ster camped a further two hours out from the fabled ruin. Which meant a 3am start in pitch darkness in order to still arrive at Macchu Picchu just after dawn. Perhaps a lesser group of mere mortals might have complained about such a turn of events, but TeamPhatJ00ster is made of sterner stuff. Two hours to descend 2,000 near vertical stairs in total darkness using only the pale light of the moon and a dying flashlight? Bring it on!

Remarkably, dawn is the only thing that breaks on the harrowing descent. As the sun rises on a picture perfect day, the pace quickens. Surely it's just over the next hill.

For the record, no it wasn't over the next hill, or the next one, or even the one after that. But finally, after four days, 45km, and eight long-drops, the journey ends.

The first shots of a lost civilization. Ok, they're not the first, but they're the first that Rock managed to get right.

Machu Picchu, lost city of the Incan empire. If you're gonna walk for four days, you better make sure you end up somewhere cool at the end. And you better make sure they serve ice cold coca cola.

I wouldn't get so close to someone who hasn't showered for four days... and only brought two pairs of underwear.

Whew, posing for all these generic tourist snaps is hard work. Come to think of it, so is walking up mountains for four days.

A full moon? Why surely that requires a sacrifice? Luckily history dictates that chicks always seem to draw the short straw.

Luckily for Mei, it looks like the gods aren't hungry today. They must have tried the alpaca steak too.

Victory is sweet. But that coke at the bottom will be sweeter.

One amigo.

Two amigos.
The Three Amigos!

Lots of amigos.


Machu Picchu from perhaps the most famous angle of them all. One of those rare occassions where the real deal looks just like the postcard. Unlike, say, Hawaii, where postcard promises of bronzed topless babes cavorting in tropical waterfalls morph into a bunch of chain-smoking, burger-gobbling land whales from Oklahoma City.

Rock tries to go for the mysterious look by pointing his camera straight at the sun. Next time try to remember to keep the camera between the sun and your retina.

That looks suspiciously like a blue screen. Quick, someone check the post-production suite for a Mr Lucas.

The good news is that each successive terrace sends another 10% of the day trippers scurrying back to the comfort of their air conditioned train. The bad news is that we've climbed quite enough stairs already, thank you very much.

Stand by for a sequence of generic ruins shots. Rock's first rule of photography: when it doubt, snap a ruin.


Things are looking up in the swine flu recovery ward.

Finding an angle with no tourists is harder than finding a restaurant that doesn't serve alpaca steak.

The Temple of the Condor. Where's Indy when you need to spice up your shot with a few decomposing mummies or poison arrows? Oh that's right, he's been sucked into some bizarre alien hive mind with a bunch of glow-in-the-dark ET wannabes.

Guide Victor has just one more trail to point out: which way to the pizza?

Archaeologists like to sit around and debate what Machu Picchu was actually used for. Was it an almost impenetrable fortress, the last bastion of a proud civilization? Was it a temple to the mighty apus of the mountains? Or, if the shot below is anything to go by, perhaps it was a really expensive jungle resort?

Come on, enough photos, civilization and a hot shower beckons. As does the end of this blog.

Breathe a sigh of relief folks, it's the last ruins of Peru 2009.


Not another backpack! Where's my handy porter when I need him?

And that folks really is the end of the road. Now you can cruise on over to http://twophatkiwis.blogspot.com to read all about it again. You know, like an encore.

Peru Part Siete: The dead woman's pass!

Today is the day! No, not the day this laboriously drawn out blog finally finishes, so don't get too excited. It's time to face the legendary Dead Woman's Pass. The ominous name says it all. 4,200 long, lonely meters of wind swept desolation at the top of the world. Those who reach the summit march triumphantly into Machu Picchu at dawn on the fourth day. Those who don't... well, let's just say you might get a pass named after you. Let Day 2 begin.

Hey, aren't we supposed to have the same genes? Why the heck am I buggered while that dude powers up with half the team's luggage?

So you're only stopping to admire the view? A likely story.

Base camp. This is it. The final staging area for the grueling final push.

It doesn't look so bad from down here. Why it's a mere hill!

Come on team, I'm not seeing much movement here. That mountain ain't getting any shorter.

At this altitude, every step is a victory. In this blog, every word is a victory. It's a bit hard to build up suspense when the next photo is from the summit. The problem with no oxygen is there's not much energy left for extraneous details like taking photos. Or standing upright. So let the record show TeamPhatJ00ster made it, and they made it in style. A finer group of adventurer you'll never find.

Better enjoy the view. And more importantly, better enjoy that kilo of chocolate that you hauled all the way up here. Victory is sweet. So is genuine Cadbury milk chocolate, the likes of which this land has never seen.

You can't blame them for lingering at the top of the world.

This is what you climb for. This and the ice cold Coka Cola that's waiting down there on the horizon in Machu Picchu.

4,215m. You feel every one of them.

Take that Dead Woman! Mei doesn't get what all the fuss is about.

Mei just manages to push past 4,216m... on tiptoes.

It's a lonely road down the other side.

Gravity goes from being your worse enemy to your best friend. Must be a chick.
Someone's gotta keep the spirits up on the long, cold descent.

Swaggering down a mountain never looked so good.

Victory over nature gives you the right to poke sticks at people.

The carnage. It's tough up there, but it's tougher down here when the euphoria wears off and leaves just the aching muscles.

The three need no introduction. If you don't know them by now then... we'll you skim read this blog like everyone else.

Just 'cause we're half way to the sky doesn't mean there's no pressure. High stakes at high altitude takes nerves of steel. And a handy gas light.

Serenity at dawn. Until Mei has to be dragged kicking and screaming out of her tent.

Worth waking up early for? You be the judge.


Day 3 is all about enjoying the fruits of yesterday's labor. A leisurely walk across mountain faces and past misty ruins.

Leisurely? Rock takes issue with the commentator's blase attitude.

The second highest point on the trek measures up at 3,950m. Which is high enough to break out another chocolate bar. Of course, Rock's critics will point out that that's 3,949m higher than necessary.

Spot the only person who didn't have to carry their own gear over the hump.

Jared plots the quickest course to the coke fridge.

Another ruin emerges through the mist of the cloud forest. To bad Rock spoils the mood with another disparaging seen one seen em all remark.

Mei leads by example. Luckily she remembered to put her bag on long enough to inspire the troops.

An ancient outpost, the last link in a chain of mountain messaging posts that relayed messages to the final frontier: Machu Picchu.

Careful, any closer and you'll get my swine flu.
The ancient walls still echo with the lost voices of the mighty Incan warriors who once stood guard over their domain. Hang on, that's the annoying yankee tour group trying to find the drive thu window.

Spooky.

Who says you can't climb in style?

A lost city emerges from the mists of time.

Coaxing a bunch of gringos up and down mountains is hard work. Our guide takes a breather at the half way point.
None shall pass. Rock doesn't need a fancy magic staff to keep the balrog out.

Each peak brings a view better than the last. The same can't be said for the commentary.

Romance on the mountain.

Bromance on the mountain.

What a spot to contemplate the deep issues. Like whether the first meal back in civilization is going to be a juicy burger or a steaming plate of fried rice.
Mei works the runway. Too bad the only paparazi is more interested in taking a whole memory card full of cloud shots.

How many roofs does the world have? Welcome to Roof of the World III.



Team Phat calling Team J00ster, over. The test run of Incan signalling theory peters out when no one can remember the universal sign for You Suck.

How many trailers for Machu Picchu are they going to put out?


Now this is a campsite. It doesn't get much better than this. Sure it's freezing, sure the tent is probably going to blow off the mountain in the middle of the night, sure we have to get up at 3am to ascend 2000 stairs in pitch darkness tomorrow, but gosh darn it, this is the coolness.

You'd think after all they've been through these chaps would be able to handle a little mountain breeze. Come on, it's only five below.

Unbelievable! If the next Master Chef challenge is to bake a gourmet cake whilst climbing a 4,000m meter mountain with 40 kg on your back, then our legendary head chef is a shoe in.

The support crew do all the hard work, and get none of the glory. If you can call the dubious honor of appearing in J00ster (and ten years later in Two Phat) glory. But thanks to their hard work, our hard work was much less hard.

So that brings us to the finale. And what a finale it will be. One of these days.