The time in Cusco was over; the four nights in the Rumi Punku were the longest stay of the trip, as all others would come to just 1-2 nights each. The next destination was Lake Titicaca. I could be more specific and say Puno, but nothing in Puno interested me. Puno was incidental, as my purpose there was to see and sail on the Lake. And we would get there by train.

Belmond Andean Explorer    As we said in 2017/9 under the title "Grand Plan": In the 1870s, the Peruvian government connected . . . Matarani on the Pacific with Arequipa by standard-gauge rail. The route then went to Juliaca, where it split, going both north to Cusco and south to Puno on the lake. At Puno, the former ferries we've discussed would connect across Lake Titicaca for a connection in Bolivia to La Paz.

Now that we're about to ride part of that route, we have more details. Corresponding to the narrow-gauge Santa Ana Railway to Aguas Calientes in the opposite direction, this standard-gauge route was built under the name Ferrocarriles del Sur, or the Southern Railway. However, as we said when discussing the Santa Ana, in 1999 there was a change, and now: Both routes are run by PeruRail, which is a joint venture owned 50/50 by the family of a Peruvian entrepreneur and Belmond Ltd. This explains why each route includes a Belmond luxury train.

The Southern Railway was completed from the coast at Matarani to Arequipa, then on via Juliaca to Puno, in 1876. Although the extension from Juliaca to Cusco was begun in 1872, it wasn't completed until 1908. It's this section that goes over, and has a station at, La Raya Pass at 4,313 m (14,150 ft), making this the fourth highest railway in the world and the second highest I've been on, after Tibet.

I'll admit that I wasn't aware of this train, or even this route, until I heard about it on the website of the Society of International Railway Travelers (SIRT) run by Eleanor Hardy, who we discussed a bit when on the Belmond Hiram Bingham. She's always promoted the train to Machu Pikchu, and included as a possible add-on a trip on the Andean Explorer from Cusco to Puno, then flying home from Juliaca. You may recall, she wasn't interested in helping me get from Puno to Bolivia. But my interest was using the Andean Explorer, not only as a tourist train, but as actual transportation to Puno, where I'd continue on to Bolivia, so I scheduled that trip from early on.

Now for years, the Andean Explorer was a simple day train. It left Wanchaq Station (the other Cusco station, still actively in use) about eight in the morning and got to Puno in the early evening, after which you'd go to your Puno hotel. This is comparable in time to leaving New York on the Adirondack to Montréal or the Maple Leaf to Toronto. So in making my plans, I scheduled the Andean Explorer to Puno. It was only about six months before leaving that Coltur informed me, via Jim at Amazon Adventures, that things had changed.

Instead of the standard Andean Explorer, there was going to be an overnight luxury train with sleepers, now called the Belmond Andean Explorer. Not only that, the new service was going to start in May 2017, the very month I was planning to use it. Again, I'd postponed this trip from Autumn 2016 and went on the Erie Canal because I didn't have the required six months left on my old passport to satisfy Bolivia—otherwise I'd have missed the fun new train.

I readjusted my plans, not only to allow for a night on the train, but also to adjust the entire two week trip around the limitations of the departure dates of this train. But I was working totally blind. Since everything was new, PeruRail and Belmond only had the old information on their websites. I had no pictures, no rates, no schedule, no idea where on the route the overnight took place—nothing. Coltur Tours in Peru said there were two types of sleepers a Pullman upper and lower and a double bed suite—and I couldn't check. I now know there is also a twin bed suite in between the two. I was told that all compartments have an en-suite bathroom, with shower. (!!) I decided that, for the one night, the Pullman would be fine, if I could get it for single use, which I did. It's very rare that I took on a big project with so little information.

While still in Cusco, with the train trip looming, I tried to go online and get more information, and I struck gold, as more information began to appear online about the new operation. It was only at that very last minute that I found some amazing information. The train was Australian! I couldn't believe it! Here's THAT story, which you can follow on this map (click):

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Established along the east coast of Australia between Queensland and New South Wales was a luxury train called the Great South Pacific Express, run by Queensland Rail and Venice-Simplon Orient Express (the original name of Belmond) from 1999 to 2003. Its route started in Kuranda, northwest of Cairns, and ran down to Sydney. The train accommodated 100 passengers in up to 21 carriages. They were built to operate on both Queensland narrow gauge and NSW standard gauge, with a bogie change in Acacia ridge in the southern suburbs of Brisbane. But the train accumulated losses of about $12 million dollars over those four years and went out of business. Queensland Rail sold its interest to Orient-Express Hotels (Belmond), and in February 2016 the carriages were sent by ship to Peru. They landed, quite logically, at the Pacific port of Matarani, then went via Arequipa and Juliaca to Cusco, where they were refurbished in the Cusco rail yards for use by May 2017 as the Belmond Andean Explorer.

It was not until I reached the station and showed my ticket at the podium did I get a brochure which told just what the services would be, and I was surprised and pleased to see the variety. You can follow on this map:

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There are two different routes on alternate weeks, so, depending on direction, four possible trips. Belmond is announcing this train as South America's first luxury sleeper train. That's perfectly true, but you must see through the hype. South America is not known for its rail service, and certainly not long distance service. I can't imagine there's ANY sleeper service anywhere, let along luxury sleeper service. So they're technically right, but they're laying it on thick. (As a reminder, the Tren Crucero in Ecuador had no sleepers, and nights were spent off-train in hotels. Wonderful ones.)

The longer route Belmond is offering connects Cusco-Puno-Arequipa and involves two nights on the train, so three days of travel. On the first day it leaves Cusco at 11:00 and, after various activities, arrives at Puno at 22:15, where you sleep on the train at the station. The next day has Puno activities, then a departure at 17:00. It goes back to Juliaca (unnamed on the map, but at the junction) and continues part way to Arequipa, but stops at a local station to overnight. The third day has activities, including seeing Arequipa at 16:00 on the way to the airport.

The shorter route Belmond is offering is the one we're taking, simply connecting Cusco-Puno and involving one night on the train. It also leaves Cusco at 11:00, about three hours later than the old train. Before I saw the brochure I had no idea if we'd spend the night en route somehow, but no, we also arrive at the Puno station at 22:15 and sleep on the train right at the station, detraining after breakfast the next day. There were also optional activities in Puno for those interested.

The reverse, inbound trip for both routes is similar, but clearly inferior, shaped to fit into the outbound schedules. I hope they charge less because f that. In both cases, returning to Cusco the overnight is in some local intermediate station. If we were talking about a vinyl record, the reverse trips would clearly be the "Side B" selection.

It's clearly obvious Belmond had its toy to play with and was looking for something to do with it. Sleepers in Peru make sense only on the two-night trip including Arequipa. On our trip, spending the night at the Puno station is a little odd, and forcing the issue, making use of a sleeper simply because you have one instead of having the passengers move on to a hotel. Actually, even on the Arequipa trip, overnights could have been in hotels, like on the Tren Crucero. Do not misunderstand. The train trip was wonderful, I recommend it, and I'm glad I got to do it. I just like to look at all sides of the situation and see things as they really are, sans tourist hype.

Day 7: Belmond Andean Explorer    Erick and the driver appeared after breakfast for the short drive to Wanchaq Station in the southeast area of Cusco for the day of moving on. But I'd had a dilemma that I was concerned about the whole time in Cusco that I had to solve. I did so that morning, but the solution wasn't ideal. Readers might have handled it differently, but I felt I had no choice.

It's the old matter of getting a gift you can't use and don't want, and is particularly awkward in the middle of a trip. It involves not the upcoming train, but the previous one, the Belmond Hiram Bingham. I had known from what I'd read that, passengers on that train would be given a "travel bag", but I figured it would be something sensible like a tote bag, which I could fold up and put in my wheeled bag to take home, where I could always use a tote bag.

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But the moment I'd gotten off the plane from Lima and Erick met me, he handed me a rather large, bulky package he'd been given in advance. When I opened it, it turned out to be the "Belmond Hiram Bingham travel bag", a large, black, canvas duffel bag, as in the first picture. It was big enough to smuggle a violin somewhere—no, larger—a viola. And the reason I said I had to open it was that it was inexplicably wrapped in a large, black canvas carrying case, as in the second picture. The gift was of obvious quality, and weighed a ton.

I was dumbfounded. I have absolutely no use for a duffel bag, since I always use one of my wheeled bags, the mid-sized one I had with me or a small one for quick trips. I thought if I took it home, I could give it away. But that wasn't the problem. I travel light, and use just the one bag. This was an additional, heavy piece of luggage, which would remain empty. Even if I were going right home from Cusco, it would be a bulky object for the plane, but I was only mid-trip, and I didn't want to take an extra piece of luggage all the way to Bolivia. I must also say it's a good thing Belmond gave it away in advance of the trip. I wouldn't want to have carried it all around Machu Pikchu. What a misguided (though well-intentioned) idea for a gift!

As I packed to leave the hotel, I wondered how to solve my dilemma. I couldn't just abandon it in the room, as the hotel would feel obliged to get it back to me. And then it struck me. In the car, this white elephant was on my lap. I asked Erick if he wanted it, and he was glad to get it. But apparently I'm not the only passenger who didn't want it. I found several for sale on e-Bay for good money. That's where the second picture above came from—take a close look at that link.

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With that weight off my shoulders, both figuratively and literally, we arrived at Wanchaq. We were a little early, so Erick seated me in the waiting room, then left. When it was time, I went out on the platform to see the waiting train and the check-in podium. In the near distance, I could see some passengers, as above, already watching the folk dancers, whose music came ringing through.

It all started right at the beginning, at the above podium, where Christopher took my ticket (that's NOT Christopher in this particular picture). And with Christopher, I really didn't need to dig—he regaled ME with backstage information! this is how it happened.

Several years ago, Eleanor Hardy (see above) distributed to people she'd been working with a very nice, blue cloth jacket. Talk about gifts that DO make sense! I've used it on every single trip since that have been described in these postings. The large SIRT logo on the front of the right shoulder often starts conversations, and did it ever this time. Christopher took my ticket, then looked up, saw the logo, and his face brightened as if he'd seen an old friend. "Miss Eleanor was on the train last week!" He was so pleased that he reached into his pocket and took out the SIRT pin she'd given him (Javier later mentioned that he, too, had one). This started a conversation that yielded answers to a lot of questions—also remember, it was only at the podium that I was given the brochure detailing the trips the train makes.

I knew the train had just started running that month, in May, but from Christopher I pieced together the following details. The first trip was 4 May, a short run to Puno, then back. Then came the first longer run, to Puno-and-Arequipa, which is the one Eleanor took. It apparently had just come back from there as I was boarding on 23 May to take what I now learned was just the second run to Puno by itself. Thus the train had been running for only 19 days, or under three weeks. Also I found that there was on the current trip 33 passengers out of a capacity of 48, which I later calculated to be an occupancy of just 69%. But of course, things were new.

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With my head full of new information, I moved beyond the passengers and dancers to look back in the direction of the podium. While enjoying the music, I was handed a refreshing beverage by a waiter from the train. I asked him what it was, but didn't understand the name. After a while, I took a second one from the tray a waitress was holding, and started to talk to her about it. I got the name, and a lot of details about what we were drinking. (Was I the only passenger curious enough to find out what it was? There was no language barrier, as the crew spoke very good English.) Because I was interested, she was kind enough to say she'd get me the recipe, which she did, later on the train. It's just as well, because some of the information involved in the recipe (in Spanish) was for things I was just learning about.

Frutillada Cusqueña    Let's first attack that name, Frutillada Cusqueña. What I learned online was that, although a strawberry in Spanish is a fresa, which I knew, in the Central Andes it's also known as a frutilla, which is a diminutive of fruta, and therefore literally means "little fruit". Then, just as in English you take "lemon" and add "-ade" to form "lemonade", this is frutill[a] plus -ada forming frutillada, literally "strawberry-ade". Cusqueña simply means "from Cusco". So so far we have, literally, "Cusco Strawberry-ade". I've read that the strawberries here come from the Urubamba Valley, a pleasant fact to know after our visit, and also that the other main ingredient, also from the Valley, is chicha de jora, which her recipe also pointed out. That needed more research.

Simply put, chicha de jora is corn beer, in other words, beer made from maize/corn. Most beer is made from barley that has been allowed to malt, that is, to first germinate by soaking in water, after which germination is halted by drying the barley with hot air. But other grains can be used, notably wheat, and, as we see, corn, which has always grown in abundance in the Urubamba Valley. Malted corn is jora and the beer made from it is chicha [de jora]. It's been made for thousands of years in the Central Andes, and mills in which it was probably made have been found at Machu Pikchu. For the Incas corn was a sacred crop and chicha a sacred drink used in ceremonies. Maybe that's the basis for the name "Sacred Valley".

I haven't tasted it just by itself, but I understand it's supposed to taste like hard apple cider, and can be ordered in small shops all around town. It's now understandable that it was indeed chicha that was the beverage in the painting of the Last Supper along with the cuy/guinea pig. This is a glass of chicha de jora and here it's being served in earthenware.

Finally, let's take a look at a refreshing glass of Frutillada Cusqueña (All three photos by Dtarazona). Sources I found in Spanish say it's a popular drink in Cusco usually served in the summer months of November to January, meaning serving it now in cool May was off-season, but enjoyable nevertheless. And now that we know its other main ingredient, we can modify "Cusco Strawberry-ade" to something more appropriate. I suggest "Cusco Strawberry-Beer Punch".

The recipe she gave me also includes another local product, jarabe de airampo / airampo syrup. I find that the airampo (Opuntia soehrensii) is a cactus found in the Andean region, similar to a prickly pear, and has many popular uses. We last talked about prickly pears from species of opuntia cactii, which are native only to the Americas, in the Galápagos (2015/13) where there were seven native species and numerous varieties, most of which are confined to one or only a few islands. Darwin's natural selection comes back to mind, and here we have another opuntia species on the mainland, airampo. It grows wild in valleys around Cusco, and is also domesticated. It has pink, edible fruits, like prickly pears (see below). The seed is used to color drinks (!), sweets, and fibers into a beautiful magenta color.

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Her recipe says (I'm not showing the amounts) to combine in a blender, strawberries, chicha de jora, dark beer (!!), airampo syrup, and ice cubes. On top, add a dash of ground cinnamon and ground coriander seed (see earlier picture). We don't have most of the ingredients here abroad, so you'll have to go to Peru to taste it.

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Boarding the Train    After the music and punch we boarded the train, and found ourselves in one of the lounge cars, in the center of the train. The other lounge car is part of the observation car at the end. Both bars are open 24h with all drinks included. Note the piano bar setup here as well. As it turns out, at this point I sat down in the first seat on the left, near the bar. But bringing us here seemed a bit odd, since you'd expect we'd go right to our cabins. Javier was introduced as the train manager, he talked for a while, and we pulled out of Cusco on schedule at 11:00. Yet still we sat.

Only the squeaky wheel gets oiled, so I asked someone about the delay, and was told that not all cabins were cleaned yet. This was a further indication that the train had just come in from Arequipa, but to me, it showed that not all the operational bugs were worked out yet. After I fumed for a few minutes, things improved and people started to be taken individually to their cabins. The above picture looks forward, and my cabin turned out to be further forward still (others were to the rear), so since I was sitting at the beginning of the car, I was among the first. As we walked along, I was told I was getting a complimentary upgrade to the next type of cabin. Was I taken among the first—with an upgrade--because I was sitting nearby, or because I was a squeaky wheel? Only once I started writing this I began to wonder of a third possibility--was it because of the SIRT jacket? I emailed Eleanor once I got home about that suspicion, that they might have felt she was the one who had booked me onto the train, bringing them business so soon after her own visit. Although I saw no need to disabuse them of that thought, I don't think so. I don't know how many others got upgrades, but with this early occupancy rate of only 69% they could certainly afford to be magnanimous with upgrades for the good will of the passengers. I just don't know.

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Cabins    First note in the above plan that all cabins, regardless of size, come with their own en-suite bathrooms, including shower. Although it had been suggested to me by Coltur I had two choices, you see there are actually three. The shamefully oversized ones on the diagram listed as Suite/Double Cabin I since saw listed as consisting of two Deluxe cabins and six Junior Suites. Later in the trip I walked past one, which looked something like this:

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My biased opinion is that these are the height of conspicuous consumption, and that no one should build—or use—such elephantine, gargantuan facilities on a train. You may disagree.

At the bottom of the diagram you see the Bunk Bed configuration, a Pullman with an upper and lower bed, of which I now learn there are five on the train. This is what I booked ("blind" with no diagrams), for single use, but I never got to see one "live", because of the upgrade I got. It seems to me to be quintessentially cozy, especially for single use, for just the one night—or even for two.

The upgrade I got is in the middle, listed here as "Twin", one of what I now know are 11. There's a comfortable single bed with nightstand on the corridor side, and under the window a table-cum-desk with armchair on one side and bag storage area on the other. For solo use, disregard the nighttime configuration, where all of the latter somehow converts to a second bed. Below is this pleasant cabin at night, so you have to judge what the window side looks during the day:

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I got settled in the cabin, and, as I usually do on a new train, toured the train. Being toward the front meant a very long walk to go anywhere, especially to the observation car at the end. We'll have details of individual cars later, but for now, let's look at these:

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The first picture shows most of the train, though not all. See how many cars you can count behind the double diesel engine. We'll give the actual complete total later. Walking in a bouncing train is always difficult, and the altitude problems made it even harder to walk these long distances. In any case, I think the blue-and-white livery is outstanding. The second picture emphasizes the rear of the train, particularly the observation car, whose front, as we said, contains the rear lounge. The observation deck itself, detailed in the third picture, is, I think, of the highest style and affords great views. However, it's less practical than you may at first think. Unlike the deck on the Belmond Hiram Bingham, it's totally open with no protection from winds, which can be strong when the train really gets going. It may get a bit more use in the warmer weather, but the mountain air in late May with the southern winter approaching is not the best time to be out there. Let's step back in and take a long walk back to one of the two dining rooms in the middle of the train, since lunch is at 12:30. It's three courses and has been referred to as "gourmet". I met a nice couple there from Naples FL and had some good, long conversations.

Raqchi    To be brutally frank, while there's nice scenery in this valley, there's little else. To be brutally cynical on top of it, Belmond now schedules a stop at the Inca ruin at Raqchi in order to fill in time. You can guess that everyone on the train has seen the sights of Cusco, and most probably went to Machu Pikchu as well. Raqchi is nice, but has nothing of the zing of the others. But right after lunch, at 14:00, there's an included tour of Raqchi, and so it's an excuse to get off the train and stretch your legs.

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This small map of our trip estimates where both Raqchi and La Raya are located on our route. The train stops at the miniscule village of the same name—on the upper Urubamba, by the way—and several buses are there for the five-minute ride to the site. Cynically, again, you can see why the nearness of the site appealed touristically to Belmond. Jimmy, the train's guide, leads the group onto the grounds and through the ruins, which are meager.

This is an overview of Raqchi (Photo by AgainErick). The most prominent structure is the Temple of Wiraqucha/Viracocha. If you have a memory for Inca names, that was the deity whose name the 8th Sapa Inca took on for himself as well. We also noted how Cusco Cathedral is built partially over the corresponding temple in town.

The Temple in Raqchi was an enormous rectangular two-story roofed structure 92 m (302 ft) by 25.5 m (84 ft). Before it was destroyed by the Spanish (!!) it had what is believed to be the largest single roof in the Inca empire. The temple remains show a central adobe wall (Photo by Ed88) about 18-20 m (59-66 ft) high, with windows and doors. The tiny protective roofs presently on top of the wall show how the original roof peaked there. Look carefully, and you'll see the bases of round columns on either side. Those two rows of columns were intermediate supports, since the roof stretched out further, some 25 m (82 ft) on either side of the central wall. Now look carefully at the unusual architecture needed to build something of this height. At the bottom of the central wall, the foundations, coming to about 4 m (13 ft), are the same classic high Inca stonework we've seen everywhere else. The entire upper sections are adobe. The columns were built the same way, except only their foundations remain.

Before long, we're back on the train and on our way to Afternoon Tea at 15:30. You see how neatly Belmond slips Raqchi in between lunchtime and teatime.

Talks with Javier Carlavilla    I've said I learned a lot from talks with Javier Carlavilla, and it must have been after tea that we bumped into each other, sat down, and had our longest talk, lasting maybe an hour and a quarter. Javier is Belmond's Gerente de Trenes de Lujo / Manager of Luxury Trains, in other words, both Belmond trains we've been on in Peru.

TRAINS: I mentioned to him early on about the train being from Australia. He was a little surprised that I knew that, and he filled me in on additional details. He clarified how it had been shipped from Australia to Matarani, the port for Arequipa, then sent by rail to Cusco, where they refitted it in the Wanchaq rail yards.

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I brought up the lengthy walks necessary on the long train, particularly the walk from my front cabin to the observation car from which we'd disembarked in Raqchi. This is where he gave me information on the train. Check the above picture of the entire train and this time count the cars behind the double diesel locomotives. The train is a full 305 m (1,000 ft) long and consists of 16 cars: 8 cars of cabins, 2 lounge cars, 2 dining cars, 1 kitchen, 2 staff cars, and 1 storage. As I was trying to take all that in, he surprised me by saying that the following month, June, a 17th car would be added—a spa car!! I told him how much I liked the train, but really thought a spa car was going over the top, and, in my opinion, was unnecessary. (I did NOT mention that I thought having a spa car on the train is just as wildly hedonistic as having those largest cabins, and that neither belonged on any train of merit.)

He seemed sincerely interested in what I had to say. He told me he was very pleased about one thing I was doing on my side of the conversation. I told him what I liked, and told him what I thought could be improved. I pointed out that it was constructive criticism and he said he was delighted to get the feedback, contrary to what many passengers parrot back to him.

He seemed to find most helpful my comments on the train layout, which frankly, was hodge-podge. Walking to the back of the train involved passing the kitchen, storage car, and staff cars, which was an inefficient layout. I described how the service cars should be up front behind the diesel, ending with the kitchen; then should come the dining and lounge cars as a transition between staff area and passenger are, then the passenger cars at the end. That seemed to make sense to him. It should have, since it wasn't my idea, but is how other trains usually do it.

While his English was close to perfect, there was one rail term in English he was misusing. He kept referring to the lineup of cars on the train as a "convoy", a literal translation from how Spanish would say it. I pointed out that "convoy" is used in English as a military term, usually referring to lineup of trucks on a highway or of ships at sea. I explained that the word "trainset" describes a lineup of rail cars, and, on an email to him later from the Puno hotel, which he thanked me for, how the word "consist" says the same thing, but is tricky. As a verb it's con.SIST, but as a noun in the rail sense it's a CON.sist, as in: "The trainset (or CON.sist) of the Andean Explorer is longer than that of the Hiram Bingham."

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EL TORITO DE PUCARÁ: This was another subject I spoke to Javier about. At one point I went back to my cabin and found a pleasant surprise. On my table there was a little cardboard box, with its lid raised, showing a figurine inside, a gift from Belmond. The above picture shows how my cabin would have looked with two boxes on two beds. I was totally enchanted with the little ceramic figurine of a bull, so tiny that you could half-hide it in a closed fist, as the size of the box in the picture indicates. A tag explained that it's called El Torito de Pucará / The Little Bull from Pucará and looks similar to these two pictures:

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Obviously, different makers make them slightly differently, as mine is slightly different from these pictures. But I think it's a cute thing to have, a very nice gift for Belmond to give, and my Torito now sits next to my desk. Of course the little tag didn't explain enough, so I've since found the following. Pucará is a little town almost halfway between La Raya Pass and Puno. The Torito is typical of this entire southern region and has become an identity symbol for the Peruvian Southern Andes. This makes it all the more ideally appropriate as a Belmond gift. It's apparently sold all around the region in local craft markets (Photo by Diego Delso, delso.photo, License CC-BY-SA), apparently in all sizes shapes, and colors (click). If I were walking through one of these markets (as I had in Pisaq) I would have ignored these as useless tourist tchotchkes. But as a very appropriate gift from Belmond symbolizing the region, I'm very glad to have it. By the way, I see that almost everything about the Torito is symbolic, but varies between different ones. What I particularly like is the typical on all of them, the lengua / tongue sticking out. It symbolizes the appropriate use of lenguaje / language, so that words that do harm should not go out from people's mouths, such as lies, anger, insults, or pride.

Such an appropriate gift as this contrasted sharply with the duffel bag from the other train, and, since Javier managed both trains, I wanted to talk to him about it. I asked him if giving the Torito was his idea, and his diplomatically gave credit to his entire team, which was admirable. I told him how much I liked it, how appropriate it was as a local symbol, and how conveniently it could be packed to take home. As to the duffel bag, I frankly told him I had no use for that type of bag, and anyway, how its large size made it totally impractical to take home. He raised his eyebrows when I told him I'd reluctantly given my duffel bag to my Cusco guide, and that something charming and packable like the Torito would be so much better on the other train as well. I hoped he would consider this as constructive criticism.

LA RAYA: While the stop at the high-altitude station of La Raya in La Raya Pass was an activity like Raqchi, I'd rather include it here as part of my conversations with Javier because of the quirkiness of how it all worked out. To understand that, we need to compare past and present, that is, the original Andean Explorer and the present Belmond Andean Explorer.

The original Explorer, which didn't stop at Raqchi, did have its one and only stop at La Raya (Photo by Hugh Llewelyn). This is apparently what the tiny station looks like. Though this line is the fourth highest in the world, La Raya Station is considered de facto the highest station with regular passenger service in the world at 4,313 m (14,150 ft). You may recall Tanggula Station in Tanggula Pass in Tibet on the way to Lhasa (2014/9) as being technically the highest station at 5,068m (16,627 ft), but it's really more for show, since the area has such low habitation, and the trains don't really stop there anyway.

This is the former Explorer at La Raya Pass with snow-covered mountains (Photo by CmdrGravy). Here it is making its scheduled stop in 2007, showing market stalls and the local church (Photo by Hugh Llewelyn). Click to see for later reference how very close the church is to the back of the train. Finally, this is a full station view (Photo by Nils Öberg). Click to read the name again on the tiny station building and to see the church. Anyway, that was the situation in the past.

The schedule said that at 16:45 (4:45 PM) we were to have a sunset visit at La Raya. When I saw that, I knew immediately there was a problem. I cannot imagine what Belmond had in mind. The original Explorer would leave Cusco three hours earlier in the morning than we did, and didn't have a stop at Raqchi. It reached La Raya in daylight. How could we do the same, especially with winter coming and the days getting shorter?

I was sitting chatting with Javier as we were approaching La Raya. I regret that I didn't note down what time it was, but it had to be later than 16:45. I've since looked up online when sunset was in Peru on 23 May 2017, which was at 17:49 (5:49 PM). It also had to be later than that when we were there. In other words, as we looked out the window it was night, and we saw NOTHING. It was that black, black moonless rural Andean darkness we'd had on the Hiram Bingham, though perhaps worse, because there was a mild drizzle falling. Not that you could see the drizzle in the blackness, but you could see drops on the window panes. In other words, there was no way we'd see in La Raya anything like in the pictures above.

It was at this point that Javier started to think out loud to another train official passing by that maybe we should skip La Raya. Whoa! Did I ever speak up at that point! I told him those of us interested in rail wanted to be at the highest point on this line. I pointed out how de facto, Poroy is the highest point on the other line, which means that on Saturday I'd been at Poroy and on Tuesday I was at La Raya, adding two rail lines to my list of highest routes in three days. I'm not saying I got Javier to stop the train. I'd rather say I talked him out of cancelling the stop.

We were getting close, and I hurried forward in the train to my cabin to get my jacket—you know the one—then slogged much of the length of the train to the observation car to detrain when we stopped. It was, of course, pitch black. I could almost say that, if you had an ice-cream scoop, you could gather up scoops of blackness to put in a dish. I can definitely say I only know what was there because of the above pictures. We saw no snow-covered mountains. We saw no station house, which would have been, if you remember the pictures, at about the mid-point of the train. We saw no rows of vendors' stalls.

Now remember that little church near the rear of the train that was very close to the tracks, maybe no more than 20 steps away. THAT we did see—not the outside, but the inside. We saw it because there was a bright (!!) light on inside, where a few vendors had spread their wares out on the floor. In the very short distance between the church and the train, several of the train's employees were standing along the short path, each shining a flashlight down on the ground. The scene of the lit path leading to the lit church interior was otherworldly in the otherwise totally enveloping darkness.

I couldn't see the mountains or the station house. I didn't want to peruse the trinkets. I didn't want to get too wet in the mild drizzle. I could see as much of the unremarkable church as I wanted from the train. But I wanted to be at La Raya. So what I did was this. I climbed down the four steps from the train into the drizzle, stamped on the ground with each foot and said to myself "La Raya", then turned immediately around and got back on board. Mission accomplished.

In my SIRT jacket I felt only a mild chill from the night air in the mountains, but stepping back on the train, I was handed a welcoming glass of warm almond punch. What a nice atmospheric touch!

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I wanted to include a picture of Javier Carlavilla, the manager of both Belmond trains, and that's him on the right. At first it bothered me that someone else was in the only picture of him I could find, and then I read further. I now think the other guy is more famous than he is. It turns out that the guy on the left is Diego Muñoz, Chef ejecutivo / Executive Chef of the Belmond Andean Explorer. I assume he was not introduced because he wouldn't be on board every run of the train. His online bio claims he's "Widely renown as one of the world’s most talented and creative chefs" and "belongs to the new generation of chefs promoting the spread of Peruvian Cuisine and Latin American heritage around the world." He was trained at Le Cordon Bleu in Canada and Paris. He's worked at famous restaurants in Spain, Australia, and Lima. He was considered by the New York Times as one of the four nomadic chefs to watch. In addition to this post on the train, he has a Peruvian restaurant in Miami, one in Lisbon, and is opening a Latin American restaurant in Copenhagen. So that's why the food was so good.

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By now it was 18:30, the time scheduled for pre-dinner Cocktails, and I was glad I was still in the observation car lounge to take advantage of that without another long walk. The picture looks forward in that lounge; behind us are the doors that close off the open observation deck, from which you'd see nothing but blackness, anyway, and it's cold and drizzly. I can tell you that I sat down on that second bar stool from the left, and this is where I asked to sample the Pisco brandy. The barman found two kinds for me, and as I mentioned, I got into a conversation with a guy from Minnesota on my right that keeps Pisco at home. Pleasant conversation.

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19:00 was time for dinner, so I made my way back mid-train to one of the two dining cars, as above. I sat again with the same couple from Naples FL and continued our conversations. As always, there was a printed menu of the three courses being served, and I saw a problem. I didn't care for two of the three because of the kinds of meats being served. I mentioned that to the waiter, and it was no problem at all—the kitchen made changes for me without the slightest bother. For the main course they were serving duck breast, and instead I got a nice serving of pasta. Before that, for the starter, they were serving alpaca tortellini, but I got vegetarian tortellini. Only now, when researching Diego Muñoz, did the bio say a specialty of his is "tortellini de alpaca". Well, instead I got "tortellini vegetariano", and it was just fine.

After dinner, I really wanted to spend some time in my cozy cabin before going to bed. At 22:15 I finally saw lights appear outside in the darkness as we pulled into Puno Station for the overnight stay. I never did get to see the station house, but the train yard was illuminated outside my window, which was a pleasant break from the darkness.

Day 8: Lake Titicaca in Peru: The Lakeview    As I said right at the beginning, while Puno was the train's destination, it wasn't really mine. Puno dates from 1668 following silver discoveries, most likely in the famous Bolivian silver mines at Potosí, so perhaps Puno always was on the route between there and the coast for shipping to Spain. But perhaps it hasn't fared that well. Frommer's guide lists Puno as being "messy, ramshackle, unlovely, bleak, unimpressive". and I will not disagree.

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On the other hand, Frommer lists Lake Titicaca among its "Most Unforgettable Travel Experiences" in South America, specifying viewing it, sailing on it, and its islands, although I didn't need them to tell me that. Keep the above map for reference for our time on the lake, as it shows everything we need. For now, just study the western end. You see the train symbols in Juliaca and Puno. You see how Puno is on the Bahía de Puno / Puno Bay, which includes the Uros floating islands. Also note the more distant location of Taquile Island, and the alternate spelling of the name of the lake.

We've already discussed the geography of the lake. We've risen in altitude from Cusco at 3,402 m (11,160 ft) to Puno, and therefore also the Lake, at 3,826 m (12,552 ft). At this altitude, the rays of the sun are stronger than ever, passing through the thinner air. As for cultural heritage, it should be understood that local legend has it as the birthplace of civilization, and that the sun, moon, and stars rose from the lake. On the Bolivian side, you'll notice Isla del Sol/Sun Island (a destination of ours), and Isla de la Luna/Moon Island, which show what we're talking about. And the Aymara also call Sun Island Titi'kaka, implying that the Lake gets its name from the island associated with the sun. A local belief is that the first Sapa Inka, Manco Cápac, emerged from Sun Island as the son of Inti, the sun god. Thus, the lake, and particularly Sun Island, is an essential part of local culture.

Well, if you're here to see the lake and not Puno, the choice of hotel is more critical than usual. Booking.com listed several in town, but pointed out that the Libertador (li.ber.ta.DOR "liberator"; full name Libertador Lago Titicaca) is directly on the lake with a panoramic lakeview from every room. Being in a hotel town means seeing the town, not the lake, so I looked into the Libertador and found a good price on booking.com. I find it amusing how it worked out. I informed Coltur of the rate I could get, saying I could book it separately, on my own. They got back to me saying they'd reached their contact in the hotel, "and for this special case, we will be able to offer you the same price". Nice. Bargaining can be fun.

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This is a decent map of Puno. Click to find the Train Station near the top where the train lay over for the night. You see where the dock is for our trip tomorrow to the Uros floating islands. At the top, is an arrow showing the Libertador is in the northern end of town. We'll be in town just three short times, arriving and going to the hotel, for the boat trip, and for leaving through town to the south. So much for Puno.

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This much simpler map is more to my liking. It shows that the Libertador is actually IN Lake Titicaca, on Esteves Island just offshore, connected by a tiny causeway. While hotels in town might be a tad cheaper—or not—if you've come for the lake, this is the place to be.

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The first picture seems to be from the northwest side of Puno. Click to follow the causeway and see the inland side of the hotel. Also note the proliferation of reeds in Puno Bay. The second picture, also showing the reeds, is from the water and shows how all rooms have a panoramic lake view. I was on an upper floor towards the right. The large picture windows further down in the center are the hotel restaurant, so even when you dine you can watch the lake, assuming it's not dark.

After breakfast on the train and a last talk with Javier, I detrained, and the local guide was waiting for me, with his car there in the trainyard. He also did the driving, since we were just going to the hotel, not more than five minutes away. I settled in for the balance of the day, resting, writing, and periodically checking out the lake. Put it this way. The last day in Cusco was a solo walking tour. This was a solo hotel day, during which I could "sightsee" right from my panoramic picture windows. I consider that a win-win.

While at my laptop, I decided to review the next day. I'd arranged for the tour to the Uros floating islands in the morning, and from what I rechecked online, it looked like a great thing to do. However, since many also extend their day to go to that other island we pointed out, Taquile, I'd figured I could do that in the afternoon tomorrow. But I checked it again, and didn't like at all what I found.

Not only does it make for a much longer day, the point of the island apparently is to visit the traditional native village up top with people in native dress. But I'd be doing that on the Uros and later on Sun Island. Worst of all, it said the way from the dock onto the island involves struggling up a stone staircase of 550 steps amid terraced hillsides. The alternative was hiking up a long, sloping path around the island to the top. There are no vehicles and no electricity on the island. I got tired just reading about it, and phoned Coltur to cancel it for the afternoon, after which I felt much more comfortable about my plans.

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I offer this picture as a good example of the lake view from the Libertador. I would say this view is later in the day, when the clusters of reeds are taking on a golden glow from the afternoon sun. Shortly afterward it would be sunset. While the setting sun would be behind us, and in the mountains, the glow already developing on the lake would intensify. As for those reeds, be sure to note the small-boat channel between them allowing easier access to and from of Puno harbor, unseen on the right. We'll be there tomorrow.

Talking about viewing the lake and about the sun, let's talk about sunrises and sunsets. The lake is famous for them due to the thin air, which allows the sun to be extraordinarily intense. From the Bolivian side (see map), I imagine you'd see a nice sunset over the lake, with the sunrise behind you in the mountains. Here on the Peruvian side, with the sunset behind you, it's the sunrise you'd look forward to. Therefore, let's jump ahead a bit and discuss both early mornings now.

The first morning was the day of the boat trip. I'd looked it up online, and dawn on Lake Titicaca was to be at 5:35, with the actual sunrise at 5:58. I wasn't sure I'd get to see either. Fortunately, a call of nature got me up in time to see dawn on Lake Titicaca (Photo by Diego Delso, delso.photo, License CC-BY-SA). I watched it for a while, with the water and reeds (and channel) just as gold as the horizon, but I didn't wait to see the actual sunrise, and went back to sleep.

I saw the actual sunrise—more or less—the next day. It was the departure day for Bolivia, so I had to get up early. I again saw the dawn at 5:36, then showered and went to breakfast. I knew I'd be sure to see the sunrise itself at 5:59 through those large restaurant windows. From the breakfast buffet and from my table, I watched the light intensify as the time approached. And then was I ever surprised! I have more experiences with sunsets than sunrises, but I know that when the sun is just barely appearing (or disappearing) on the horizon, you can look at it with no problem. But when the sun broke over the horizon at breakfast, there was no looking! That first little bit of sun sent a blinding blast of light that flooded the restaurant. You could imagine that someone had turned some floodlights on, or maybe compare it to when the eye doctor sends a bright light into your eye during an examination. People immediately stood up to lower the translucent shades to cut the brightness of this "sudden sunrise". So did I see the sunrise on Lake Titicaca? Yes and no. Compare the picture below which does show the sunrise, but with clouds on the horizon shielding the strongest effects of brightness. All in all, seeing dawn twice was better than seeing the actual sunrise once!

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Since we're speaking of breakfast in the restaurant, I went there for two dinners as well. I'll just report that one night I again had a quinoa soup, of a style from Juli on the lake (see map), which we'll pass through going to Bolivia. I also ordered for the first time a refreshing Cerveza Cusqueña (Photo by Sigoise), or Cusco [brand] Beer, on the left, billed as the premium variety of the company.

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I read in Spanish Wikipedia that Su diseño rinde homenaje a la cultura Inca, "Its design renders homage to the Inca culture" so I dug up a clearer picture of the label. It seems to show Machu Pikchu, with a view of Wayna Pikchu. It also says 100% Pura Cebada, "100% Pure Barley", just to make sure you realize you're not drinking corn beer!

But most unique was dessert one evening. They listed three flavors of ice cream. Two were familiar, mundane ones, most likely chocolate y vainilla, but the third was lúcuma (LU.ku.ma). Who could resist? It was great, and tasted like maple syrup. Afterwards, I had to look it up. Lúcuma (Photo by OtterAM) is also known as lucmo, which is how the waiter repeated it when I ordered it. It's a subtropical fruit native to the Central Andes—how local could you get? I read that, when eaten raw, it's a bit dry, so in Peru, it is more commonly enjoyed as a flavor in juice, milk shakes, and especially ice cream (Photo by Dawei20)—so I'd hit the nail on the head. I understand the color can vary from pale yellow to the deep orange in the picture, and that the taste has been compared to maple syrup (!), sweet potato, or butterscotch.

Day 9: Lake Titicaca in Peru: Uros Floating Islands    This was the day for the boat ride on the lake in the morning, then resting, writing, and further lake viewing in the afternoon. The guide came and picked me up and we drove into town to the dock in Puno harbor, where we met the tour guide waiting at a shared launch, with two other couples in our group, and off we went. This picture shows our wake in the small-boat channel (Photo by Diego Delso, delso.photo, License CC-BY-SA), with Puno in the background (click). That rock outcropping on the right is apparently part of Isla Esteves, meaning the Libertador is just off the picture. The guide pointed the Libertador out, and when I told him I was staying there, he raised his eyebrows. But it is NOT so very expensive.

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This map shows that the Islas flotantes de los Uros / Uros Floating Islands are in Puno Bay and not so far away—about a 25-minute ride, with Taquile being considerably further. While the name of the Uros ethnic group inhabiting the islands often has an O, they are also called the Urus, with a U, as on this map.

Ethnicity & Culture    The Uros are an indigenous, pre-Incan people who live on a number of self-built "floating islands" in Lake Titicaca. While they do float, calling them islands is hype. Pleasant hype, but hype nevertheless. If you built a hut on a floating piece of plywood, would that plywood be an island? Substitute a floating tangle of earth and reed roots from the lake bottom for the plywood and build your hut on that, and that's what we have here. But it's still great fun and should not be missed, as long as you recognize the hype. I've never seen anything like it anywhere else, and it's such uniqueness that a traveler should look for, like a cuy in a Cathedral painting.

The original purpose of living on these floating islands was defensive, which is understandable. Living on any island away from enemies on the shore is always safer. But these islands could be moved incase of a threat (like a boat?). But the Uros traded with the Aymara all around Lake Titi'kaka (!), then intermarried with them, and, about 500 years ago, abandoned their original Uru language to speak Aymara. Historically, most of these islands were located near the middle of the lake, roughly 14 km (9 mi) from shore, but there was a major storm in 1986 that devastated the islands, at which point many Uru shifted their islands closer to shore, here in Puno Bay. I cannot get accurate statistics. I've found quotes saying there are 1200 Uros on 42, 45, or 60 islands, while the guide said there were 1900 Uros on 87 islands, so take your pick. But you have the idea.

Totora    Totora is a reed, a subspecies of the giant bullrush. It's found in South America, notably in Lake Titicaca. Of course it is. We've been watching clumps of it from the hotel windows, and just sailed through a channel cut through those clumps. Although the reed can grow to 6 m (20 ft), it commonly reaches 4 m (13 ft). In Lake Titicaca it's found in water of a depth of 2.5-3 m (8-10 ft).

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This is a cluster of totora reeds, just like what we've been sailing through, followed by an individual harvesting some reeds. Note the white bottom to the stalks, which is edible. This is a group effort at harvesting (Photo by Christophe Meneboeuf).

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Visiting a Floating Island    Our launch soon arrives at a floating island looking a lot like the first picture above. It looks solid, and it is, but it's a little weird pulling up to a bunch of protruding reeds (click) on the side of the island. The launch sidles up and docks, and we step out, to two sensations. The first sensation involves the fact that you're stepping, sponge-like, almost ankle-deep into the drying reeds that have been scattered there to form the surface. The simultaneous second sensation is exactly like when you step off a boat, not onto a fixed wooden dock, but onto a floating dock. It's firm, but you can sense you're not on solid ground.

Over on the right in the picture is a pile of still-greenish reeds waiting until they're needed to replenish the surface as it dries out and gets worn down. There are Uros waiting near their huts. But over on the left is a demonstration table made out of a "piece of the island". It's surrounded by a semicircle of rolled reeds (second picture; also note the reed surface of the island) to serve as seating for us (third picture, at a typical demonstration in the background). This is a world of tortora reeds.

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The guide also explained about the white base of the stalk (first picture) being edible. It's also used for medicinal purposes, being high in iodine. He peeled back the outside of a stalk for each of us (second picture) and we each had a taste. A little like celery, maybe. Perhaps asparagus. As the reeds on the surface dry out, they break up more and more as they are walked upon. They start to rot, and a new layer is added, usually weekly. A lot of maintenance is required. The larger islands house about ten families, while smaller ones house only two or three. The islands last about thirty years.

Apparently it's not just all a show, since many Uros continue to live on the islands (Photo by Cmunozjugo). I understand there's a church and a post office. Early schooling is done on several islands. Later schooling and university students attend school on the mainland, often in nearby Puno. Some islanders go to Puno for business. They do not reject modern technology. Some houses have solar panels to run appliances, such as TVs. Some people have modern boats (Photo by Elemaki [José Porras]), some boats having motors. But the old way survives, too, because in addition to using reeds for building islands (and just about everything else), the Uros use bundles of dried totora reeds to make the reed boats (Photo by User: [WT-shared] Shoestring at wts wikivoyage), in all sizes, that Lake Titicaca is famous for—Thor Heyerdahl's Kon Tiki was built here, which we'll discuss a little more when we're on the Bolivian side.

After the very interesting demonstration, the locals each corralled us individually to show the inside of their huts and their wares outside (Photo by Antonio Velasco). Following that, we were led over to a large-sized reed boat (Photo by User: Bgabel at wikivoyage shared) and were rowed—rowed!—over to another island where we met the guide again. Unfortunately this last bit was the worst of tourist traps, with a full-sized bar made out of reeds (!), so I told the guide I'd be ready to leave at any time. Back on the dock in Puno harbor, I looked over to my left and, sure enough, there was the refurbished former ferry, the MS Ollanta (Photo by Alfredobi), whose last crossing of Lake Titicaca to Bolivia was in 1986.

Day 10 (very early): Lake Titicaca in Peru: Driving the South Shore    This day was mostly a Bolivia day, and the bulk of it will be continued in the next posting. But pickup time was 7 AM for a ride well under two hours to the border, so that's why I got to see (?) the sunrise. If the Ollanta were still sailing, I could have gotten to Bolivia that way, but no matter.

Jim had found Coltur for me in Peru, but for Bolivia, I'd told him that I'd already found online the well-reviewed Crillon Tours in Bolivia, and he agreed—he might have chosen them himself. They had a set program I wanted to follow that included a (shared) pickup in Puno for a transfer to Bolivia, which surprised me, but delighted me, because that's how I'd be moving between the two countries. However, I was a bit naïve, because at the last minute I found out that turf is turf. It wasn't Crillon themselves that would reach over the border to come to Puno, but they arranged for the local Coltur agency to bring me to the border. I didn't realize to what extent a business on one side of the border kept hold of its turf so thoroughly from one on the other side, rather than each side continuing with its clients in the other country.

The shared transfer didn't turn out to be all that shared, because again, this was the off-season. A guide named Abad, with driver, picked me up in a medium-sized van, and shortly after leaving the Libertador, we stopped at a rather pleasant-looking hotel where Brian and Maureen from London got on—and that was it. I'd be chatting with them through this evening at the first hotel in Bolivia.

Take another look at the lake map from earlier. We drove through Puno and along the south shore of the lake, with occasional nice views (Photo by Alex Proimos). We passed through Juli, where that quinoa soup from last night was from, and then reached a divide in the road. Most commercial traffic at that point takes the right fork to La Paz, crossing the border (red dashes) at Desaguadero (with its river draining the lake), and passing through Guaqui, where the ferry from Puno used to end up. But we were here to see the Bolivian side of the lake, Copacabana, Sun Island, Moon Island, the Strait of Tiquina, and Huatajata, before going to La Paz (somewhat off the map), so we took the left fork to the border crossing at Yunguyo. The drive up to this point couldn't have been any longer than 1h45.

But I really hadn't anticipated how things worked out at the border. First, I thought it a little odd, though attractive, that the international border at Yunguyo (click) had a graceful archway over it (Photo by StarbucksFreak). But we didn't cross. We not only stopped, but got out of the van with our luggage, and the van parked. This was going to be a bit odd. First, I found out that in both Peru and Bolivia, you "check out" of one country first, which is not unheard of, but somewhat unusual. I'd be doing it here, when leaving La Paz at the airport, and when leaving Lima again to go home. OK. No problem.

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This is the little control station in Yunguyo where Abad brought us, and we got our passports stamped to exit Peru. I thought then we'd get back into the van, but no. As it turns out, this border crossing was one of very few where I'd be walking across an international border, which is really quite unusual. Not everybody does—I'm sure commercial buses, after the passport check here, just drive through, as would locals. But I fully realized that we continued to have that turf problem. The Peru guide is on this side. The Bolivia guide is on that side. It almost seemed like a prisoner exchange, with me being turned over, except no one was coming in the other direction. A hostage release?

Despite the altitude, Brian and Maureen walked faster than I did and crossed over to meet their guide. Being British, they may have had less red tape with Bolivian immigration than I knew I'd be having as a US citizen; I saw them next later in Copacabana. And so, Abad and I walked uphill through the arch, much as below (read also that the link mentions walking):

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I have since found out that the monumental arch with carved stones is part of that church, but I have no idea why it crosses the road, particularly right at the border. And it was indeed exactly at the border, because as we walked under the arch, Abad, wheeling my bag, pointed down to a geodetic survey button in the pavement the size of a large coin that said "Peru" on the near side of a line and "Bolivia" on the far side. Look at the backpacker in the picture. Is someone in Bolivia waiting to meet him? I don't know. But Abad did walk a few steps with me into Bolivia (!) where a guide named María was waiting. It turned out she'd be with me from now through La Paz. How she got me through the red tape of Bolivian immigration will appear in the next posting.

Walkover Borders    Walking across this international border was unusual enough that I've decided to make a summary of the very few others (four) I've done traveling over the years. Two of them are historical and no longer exist, but I think all are of interest. They're in chronological order.

1) 1962: Ex-West Berlin to Ex-East Berlin (Checkpoint Charlie)    As you know, after WWII, Berlin was divided into four sectors (no attribution) by the Allies. I assume it was because the Allies had held back and had allowed the Russians to enter Berlin first that the Soviet sector was so large, including 45.9% of the city. Another advantage the Soviets had was that the Bezirk (borough) known as Mitte, literally "Middle", but meaning Downtown, the area of most historical significance, became part of the Soviet Sector. That's that large red bulge you see in the center. The Bezirk just to its south in the American Sector, in light blue, is Kreuzberg.

Checkpoint Charlie (Map by Ericmetro) was the name given by the Western Allies to the allied crossing point between the Allied and Soviet Sectors. It got that name because it was the third checkpoint established: Checkpoint Alpha was at Helmstedt at the Helmstedt/Marienborn border between West and East Germany, Helmstedt being in the West, and Checkpoint Bravo—on the above map—was at the Dreilinden/Drewitz border between East Germany and West Berlin, with Dreilinden on the West Berlin side. All three were checkpoints, meant for the military, and later, for non-Germans, to check in with an Allied representative before venturing in an area of Soviet occupation, either East Germany or East Berlin.

Where West Berlin bordered East Berlin, before the wall there were no other checkpoints. East Berliners—and East Germans who went to East Berlin—could just walk across any of the streets on the invisible border to flee to the West. They could also use the U-Bahn (subway) or S-Bahn (commuter rail). This is the situation that became intolerable for the East German government and Soviets.

Checkpoint Charlie functioned in the original manner until construction of the Berlin Wall started on 13 August 1961. (That happened while we were just completing the six-week, "no-English" summer session at Middebury, in Vermont, preparing for our study year in Mainz.) The wall altered somewhat the function of Checkpoint Charlie. For the 14 years from 1947 until 1961 it functioned in the original manner, for people crossing the invisible border, but for the 30 years from 1961 until the wall came down in 1991, it became the de facto entry through the wall, exclusively for the Allied military and for non-Germans, to the new East Berlin checkpoint facing it in the wall. Some of the other crossing points on the last map were exclusively for West Berliners, others for West Germans.

This picture of Checkpoint Charlie was taken on 1 May 1977, thirty years into its 44-year functioning existence. The East German checkpoint was there for 30 years from 1961 to 1991, so this falls at about the midpoint of its existence. We are standing in Kreuzberg, in West Berlin, looking north into Mitte, in East Berlin. We are in the middle of Friedrichstraße, a traditionally major shopping street, scruffy-looking here, although today it's its old self again. Checkpoint Charlie is located in a traffic island in the middle of the street, so we're in the northbound lane. It was never more than what you see, temporary, trailer-type buildings. Click to see the famous "You Are Leaving the American Sector" sign, located just where the street sign tells you that Zimmerstraße forms the border. As you see, pedestrians are checking in, and will shortly walk up Friedrichstraße and enter the East German checkpoint. I have done the same walking, by car, and by bus, and I know that, right behind the distant checkpoint there are crossed steel-girders buried in Friedrichstraße as tank traps, do dissuade people in the East from trying to crash through to the West. When I drove through, I had to weave around the tank traps like on a slalom course. If this seems surreal, that's how Berlin was in these years.

I have two more views, both taken in 1982, five years after the previous picture. This is the view north from the southbound lane, showing both sides, and the view north roughly from the northbound lane, with a better view of the other side (Both photos by Lyricmac at en.wikipedia).

Historically, the neighborhood had been Friedrichstadt (Map by Jwnabd) ("Frederick City", hence the name of its main street, Friedrichstraße, "Frederick Street"). It was as of 1688 an independent suburb of Berlin (located to the north and northeast on the map), annexed in 1710, and is now just a historical neighborhood of the city itself, named after the Prussian king Frederick I. Its original part is above the curved blue line, and its extension (Erweiterung) is below it. The other line shows that today, Zimmerstraße is the border at this point between Mitte and Kreuzberg.

Beverly and I have been to Berlin many times, by bus, train, and car, and crossed at Checkpoint Charlie several times. But I wanted to find the time we walked across. It turned out to be on my very first trip there, in 1962. We'd taken the train from Mainz to Frankfurt, and, since it was cheaper for impecunious students, took a long-distance bus, crossing at Helmstedt ("Checkpoint Alpha") and Dreilinden ("Checkpoint Bravo") to West Berlin. Our travel diary pointed out something I didn't recall. After visiting West Berlin, we first took a four-hour bus tour from West Berlin to East Berlin, but the western guide had to get off as we crossed at Checkpoint Charlie and, across the border, an eastern guide got on, whose talk was clearly peppered with propaganda.

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Three days later, on 16 June 1962, we went back to Checkpoint Charlie, two decades earlier than the pair of previous pictures. We got off at the Kochstraße Station of the U-Bahn, on Friedrichstraße a half-block south of Checkpoint Charlie (see above map). We then walked over and, as pedestrians, checked in—that was its purpose—and then walked over to the East Berlin checkpoint. I remember it was a good 15-20 minute walk up a relative barren Friedrichstraße with few buildings and many empty lots remaining from the war years up to an area of activity on Unter den Linden (barely visible in yellow on map), but even there, only some seedy, Soviet-style reconstruction has taken place, and there were few people. We walked back later in the day, making Checkpoint Charlie the only walkover border we ever did round-trip—and, as a day trip, obviously without luggage.

2000: Walkover Update    After our lack of international travel for the entire decade of the 1990s because of retirement, moving, and Beverly's health, the first time we were in Berlin after the wall came down on 9 November 1989 was 5-9 July 2000, having driven from the west across no-longer existing borders—nothing at Helmstedt, nothing at Dreilinden. I wrote about the 2000 Berlin walkover update experience by car after-the-fact in 2005/10 during the next Berlin visit in 2005: I headed for downtown Berlin, and I’ll never forget the feeling I had when, with dropped jaw, I rode north on a Friedrichstrasse filled with traffic, past a replica of . . . Checkpoint Charlie, and saw blocks and blocks ahead of me of a perfectly normal street. The buildings were in traditional German [and also more contemporary] style and had already been around for the better part of a decade, so didn’t look over-new. I’ll say it again: Things were so normal! I went around the block and drove up the street again just to confirm that that wasteland we remembered was a normally functioning city. I see now I turned east down Zimmerstraße (see map), then came back west on Kochstraße to Friedrichstraße, just to confirm I was seeing right. But even by going around the block I realized I'd just crossed the site of the former wall twice. It was exhilarating.

Take a look. This is a northward view up Friedrichstraße in 2008 (Photo by Eisenacher), eight years after I saw the transformation. The U-Bahn entrance/exit for Kochstraße is in the foreground, and the sign indicates this is station you come to in order to see where Checkpoint Charlie was. Click to see the replica of Checkpoint Charlie in the traffic island. This is an even closer view in 2005 (Photo by Colocho). Not only is the red car crossing the bit of Friedrichstraße right where the wall had been, with tank traps just beyond, the black car is in Zimmerstraße, driving along the former path of the wall. This is the replica of the famous multilingual sign (Photo by Norbert Aepli, Switzerland) also visible in both previous pictures. It had always struck me odd how the sign had obviously been written just for Allied military use, in three languages for the four Allied powers, with German seeming to have been added later as an afterthought.

1a) 1962: Passing UNDER Checkpoint Charlie    Since we're talking about border walkovers, this doesn't strictly speaking belong here since it involves riding, but it fits in and is far too good a story to ignore. We'd said that the East Germans and Soviets were unhappy about escapees crossing over border streets, but also about their using the U-Bahn to reach the West. The wall closed the street route, but what happened to the U-Bahn?

The Berlin U-Bahn ("Untergrundbahn"/Underground Railroad) was begun in 1902. By the postwar year of 1948, the year of the Checkpoints, the system looked like this:

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It's postwar, and Berlin is divided, but not yet with the wall. This is a good 14 years before my first Berlin visit. I'm used to the U-Bahn lines being numbered: U1, U2, and so on. I'm surprised to see here they were lettered at that point in time. You can see how everyone could move easily between East and West. So, in addition to the wall, the East Germans and Soviets had to do something about the U-Bahn. So they split it in two.

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These are the changes (click) after the wall went up, and it's the U-Bahn map I first came in contact with on my first visit in 1962, just ten months after it happened. With the construction of the wall, some subway tunnels were also sealed and the U-Bahn system became two systems, East, West, plus a fascinating mixed bag.

Only now do I realize that most of the lines, by pure chance, actually were located in the West, whose system this map shows. Only the easternmost stop on the green line, then and now Line U1, ended up across the border and was therefore closed down. It was then called Warschauer Brücke / Warsaw Bridge; today, reopened and rejoined to the U1, it's called Warschauer Straße / Warsaw Street.

Compare the two maps we've seen, and you'll see that the only lines clearly in the East were Line E in its entirety, plus much of the eastern spoke of the three-spoke Line A. Thus those two Lines became the full extent of the East Berlin U-Bahn system. Since Line A was the only line that was divided, let's take a closer look at that separation (Map by Sansculotte). As of this map showing the situation in 1988, Line A was still called that in the East, but was now known in the West as Line U1, since it was now considered the other end of the upper spoke to Ruhleben, by that time already considered Line U1 in the West. (You can see that the south spoke to Krumme Lanke has been separated, and is now Line U3.) You can also see where a piece in the middle was kept out of service. But have no fear, it's back together again today under the new name of Line U2, with extensions.

But by far the most interesting is the mixed bag situation. Go back to the two maps and check out the only two north-south lines, the former Lines C & D, which on the second map are Lines U6 & U8 respectively, which they still are today. We saw that Mitte formed a bulge in the border and therefore a bulge in the wall. And therefore these two Lines each start and end in the West, but travel through the East. I wondered how that had been worked out, and now find that West Berlin paid the East an annual fee of 20 million marks to allow these trains to pass through East Berlin. However, these trains were not allowed to make any stops in the East for fear that escapees might try to board them, so the stations in the east were closed, but were dimly lit, and were patrolled by heavily armed East German border guards. These stations, X'd out on the map, were referred to as Geisterbahnhöfe / "ghost stations". There's one exception to this. Find the station called Bahnhof (Station) Friedrichstraße, on modern maps now just called Friedrichstraße. It's always been a major rail intersection and the U6 trains were allowed to stop there, not at all for non-Germans, but for Germans who had a need to connect to the East.

So this is what we did. The day before we walked up Friedrichstraße on the 16th THROUGH Checkpoint Charlie, was 15 June 1962, when we went up Friedrichstraße crossing UNDER Checkpoint Charlie on Line U6. Follow on the second U-Bahn map. We'd gone to Tempelhof Airport to see the monument to the Luftbrücke/Air Bridge. Going north on the U6, instead of cutting across directly to our hotel further west, we took the long way around. We stayed on the U6 to Leopoldplatz and came back down on the U9. Beverly wrote in the travel diary: "On the way home we took one of the two subway lines running partially through the East. The stations were dark with Eastern soldiers on guard."

Let me supplement that. When we got to Kochstraße, where we'd be getting off the next day for our walkover, we stayed on the train. Similar to highway signs we've all seen saying "last exit before toll", there was an announcement made that this was the last chance to get off before East Berlin, and a mild hush occurred. We then went north below Friedrichtraße under Checkpoint Charlie, afterward passing through two dimly lit stations with armed guards on the platforms, then stopped at Bahnhof Friedrichstraße. I don't really recall if anyone got on or off—one or two might have. We then went through three more ghost stations before arriving back in the West at Reinickendorfer Straße, at which point the mood on the train noticeably lightened. This presumably would be the atmosphere on train after train on these two lines over these years.

2000: U-Bahn Update    Just two days after the wall came down on 11 November 1989, the first former ghost station reopened, Jannowitzbrücke on the U8, as a border crossing between East and West. On 22 December, Rosenthaler Platz (U8) reopened; on 12 April Bernauer Straße (U8). Finally, on 1 July 1990, all the others opened. Then two lines had to be tied back together. In 1993 Line U2, the former Line A that had been divided, was rejoined. This is the updated Line U2 (Map by Sansculotte), all in one piece again (with extensions). In 1995, the easternmost stop of Line U1, now called Warschauer Straße, was reconnected.

I need to refer back again to the Berlin trip of 2005, when I described in 2005/10, after-the-fact, our experience during the Berlin trip of 2000, our return to Berlin for the first time since the end of the wall and since Beverly's illness. I wrote: I really wanted to see how the S-Bahn was being rebuilt and re-connected, and also the improvements to the U-Bahn, so I got a day ticket for both of us and a map of the wheelchair-accessible stations, and we spent an afternoon zipping around town. It goes without saying that we connected to U-Bahn Line U6, and watched it stop, after Kochstraße, at beautifully refurbished stations at Stadtmitte, Französische Straße, and the others. This map of Line U6 (click) illustrates it in detail (Map by Sebastian Gollin). As is often the case, a dashed line continues to show the route of the former wall. All the connections are shown, to the S-Bahn as well as the U-Bahn, but two are notable. Stadtmitte ("City Center") which used to be a ghost station, now reconnects with the reconstituted U2 we just saw. And there's a "new baby" in town. Look how a new station at Unter den Linden is being shoehorned in on the U2 between two familiar stops to connect to the U5. Look at the modern U-Bahn map to see why (Map by User:My Friend). That old stubby Line E that used to be exclusively in the East is now Line U5, in brown. It's already been extended considerably to the east, and is now moving west. A disjointed part has already been built at the western end, temporarily called Line 55 until it's joined with the rest. Note how it already connects Berlin Hauptbahnhof (2006/2), the new Central Station; the Bundestag (2013/4); and the Brandenburger Tor/Brandenburg Gate (2005/10). When the U5 is finished, it will also connect at the new station (not named here) with "our" U2.

2) 1965: Prewar Jordan to Prewar Israel (Mandelbaum Gate)    This walkover border took place on our very lengthy, 9 ½-week 1965 trip around the western, central, and eastern Mediterranean, including a number of countries in the Middle East. We sailed to the eastern Mediterranean from Venice on the Hellas (2013/7, Voyage 4), and returned from Haifa via Naples to Nice on the Bilu (2013/7 Voyage 5). Within the Middle East, the condensed version of the trip is that we flew from Beirut to Jerusalem. However at that time, the West Bank and "East Jerusalem", including the Old City, were part of Jordan, so the flight was actually from Lebanon to Jordan.

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At the time, Jerusalem was still divided east-to-west between Israel and Jordan, as on the above map (click) and had been so since the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. There is irony here in that Berlin was also divided east-to-west, and also as of 1948. The only point of crossing between the sides was the Mandelbaum Gate on the north side of the city (see map). In those years, the name was very familiar and regularly in the news; it's probably well-forgotten by most people today.

Except for official use, Jordan only allowed one-way passage, from Jordan to Israel. Anyone who'd been to Israel under any circumstances in the past and had an Israeli stamp in their passport was not allowed into Jordan, which explained the one-way passage. Therefore, planning any Middle Eastern trip to several countries would have to have Israel as the last stop, which is what we did, leaving afterward on the Bilu from Haifa back to Europe.

So after we'd stayed in Jordan for a few days and visited the Old City and West Bank, on 20 August 1965, Beverly wrote in the travel diary "At noon we crossed the Mandelbaum Gate with no difficulty." In Israel we visited western Jerusalem, Tel Aviv/Jaffa, and Haifa.

This is what the Mandelbaum Gate looked like in 1964, a year before we crossed there. Only now do I learn that it was named after that house, which a family named Mandelbaum had built in 1927 on what ended up being a fateful location. Based on the location of the sign (click), both the house and "gate" seem to be on the Israeli side. And it's perfectly obvious that the Mandelbaum Gate is not a gate at all, but a fenced-in passageway.

We weren't told in advance just how it works, but my recollection is this. Our Jordanian guide drove us up to the "gate", but not too close. We all got out, he put our bags on the ground, and indicated that we were to pick up our bags ourselves and carry them down that passageway. In my mind's eye, I still see plenty of barbed wire on both sides of that passageway, although it doesn't show in the picture, so my mind's eye can be hallucinating. When we reached the other side near the back of the house, our Israeli guide was waiting with a car to go to our hotel in western Jerusalem.

The Mandelbaum Gate existed for almost two decades between two wars, from the close of the 1948 Arab-Israeli War until the Six-Day War, 5-10 June 1967. That was, of course less than two years after we were there on 20 August 1965, to be precise, a year and ten months.

The Gate became a symbol of the divided status of the city. After the Six-Day War, both gate and house were torn down. I understand a plaque now marks the site.

3) 2007: United States to Mexico    In 2007, I wanted to take the train up Mexico's Copper Canyon, and then revisit Mexico City for the first time since studying there forty years earlier, in 1967. Although I'd be flying within Mexico, I wanted to get there overland, and I also wanted to visit New Orleans after Katrina (2005) on the way. I took the Crescent to New Orleans and later the Sunset Limited to El Paso, arriving in the evening and staying overnight (2007/1).

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After dinner at the hotel, I walked down S El Paso Street to the Santa Fe Street international bridge to Juárez (see map), showed my passport, and used the pedestrian walkway to walk over to take a look. That was just a test run, so I turned around and walked back. I'm not counting that one. The next day, 21 January 2007, I got a lift with my bag from the hotel to the bridge, did the formalities again, and walked across. I don't remember any amount of car traffic either time. On the other side, I took a taxi to the Juárez airport—I already had my ticket--where I flew to my next stop in Mexico.

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The picture shows the Santa Fe Street Bridge with El Paso on the far side and Juárez on the near side. This was the only time I casually walked across an international border solo, with no one else, and no guides on either side.

4) 2008: South Africa to Botswana    The next year, in 2008, I took the Rovos Rail's Pride of Africa through several countries, starting in Cape Town, stopping at Victoria Falls, and ending in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. There were several stops at wild game preserves, and the most memorable one was at the edge of South Africa, near Botswana.

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In 2008/11 I described how the train dropped us off in Zeerust (see first map), from where we were bused to the Tau Game Lodge for two nights, for days of very memorable game watching. The Lodge is within the Madikwe Game Reserve (see second map), which abuts the international border with Botswana.

The reserve is only one kilometer from the border, and, when we left, as I reported, the "buses got us in no time to the border, where we left the buses to walk across the border to Botswana". That was on 3 July 2008. It was a surprise that the buses didn't cross with us, but blithely dropped us off and went down somewhere else to cross while we showed our passports and physically walked over ourselves. The buses then met us on the other side and brought us to Gaborone (first map), where we rejoined the train.

5) 2017: Peru to Bolivia    So this was the fifth time I've walked across an international border, the fourth one-way walkover, and, after Africa, the second surprise walkover. It occurred on 26 May 2017 from Yunguyo, Peru, to Copacabana, Bolivia, as described above, to be completed in the next posting.

Continental Quintet    By the oddest of coincidences, I've just realized that each Walkover Border event mentioned turns out to be on a different continent. Odder still, they seem to have occurred in order, first in the "Old World": Europe, Asia, Africa, then in the "New World": North America, South America. It's almost as if the Peru-to-Bolivia walkover were predestined to complete the set. And walkovers couldn't have happened when I was in Australia or Antarctica, since Australia is a continent with no international borders, as it's all one country, and Antarctica is frozen.