Thursday, February 01, 2007

Talking Milkshake Shuts Down Boston

Number One In The Hood, G
The REAL Terrorists

And we're back...

The city of Boston was brought to its knees yesterday when an television show advertisement which had been on display for three weeks was finally spotted by a brainless idiot, who thought it was a bomb and called police.

Eager to show off their brand new "terror-fighting" capabilities, the police chose to mobilize all their units in a citywide sweep to remove the advertisments, which look nothing like bombs, except maybe in the weird fever dreams of Ms. Pacman.

Aqua Teen Character
The Ads, Still Called "Bombs" On Fox News, Depicted This Character

Then, after needlessly shutting down bridges and highways, and after wasting nearly a million dollars in taxpayer money removing the harmless ads, the city of Boston decided to waste more money by arresting and charging the lowly paid hippies hired by the ad agency to put up the ads.


"We're not going to let this go without looking at the further roots of how this happened to cause the panic in this city," Attorney General Martha Coakley said.

According to city officials, Cartoon Network was trying to get attention for the show "Aqua Teen Hungerforce" by placing bomb-looking objects around the city.

"It is outrageous, in a post 9/11 world, that a company would use this type of marketing scheme," Mayor Thomas Menino said Wednesday, trying to cover his ass.

"We apologize to the citizens of Boston that part of a marketing campaign was mistaken for a public danger," said Phil Kent, chairman of Turner, a division of Time Warner Inc.

Apparently, citizens in every other American city are smarter (or more Aqua-Teen-savvy) than in Boston.

"We haven't had any calls to 911 regarding this," Seattle police spokesman Sean Whitcomb said Wednesday.

"We haven't had any complaints," said NYPD spokesman Paul Browne.

The stars of Aqua Teen Hunger Force were surprised by the reaction.

"It really makes you think about the world we live in," said Shake, a talking milkshake. "Like when I ate that sandwich and ended up in hell."

"I don't know why they got so angry," said Meatwad, a shapeshifting ball of meat. "I think they just need a hug."

"It's not physically possible to place sufficent incendiary chemicals within such a slim and tiny device," said Frylock, a floating bag of french fries. "Unless you were employing Hawking Radiation contained in a electronically generated Rosen-Podowski magnetic field."

On the other hand, Carl, a co-star on the show, agreed with city officials.

"Kids these days, These hippies. They got no respect, you know. They won't stay out of my pool," he said.

Despite overwhelming, undeniable evidence that nobody involved in planting the advertisements thought they looked anything like bombs, city officials and members of the media continued to use phrases like "hoax," "stunt" and "bomb scare" to describe the incident. An accurate description would be, "City Officials, gunning for political capital, overreact to obvious non-threat."

"Clearly, there is a new threat facing the nation," said President Bush, in an address given to himself in front of his bathroom mirror. "These terrorists call themselves the Hunger Force."

No word yet on whether Bush will authorize an military invasion into New Jersey, where the Force is presumed to live.

In related news, a broken sony walkman lying on the ground near a trash can in Harvard Square forced Boston city officials to declare a state of emergency. More on this as it develops.

You be the judge. Bomb? Or Definitely Not A Bomb?

Not A Bomb

Not A Bomb

More Pics Here

While I strongly believe in "See Something, Say Something," I also believe that the police and government should use some common sense. How long does it take to see that something like this isn't a threat?

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Hit Me Lima One More Time - Our Trip Concludes

[For the full Peru experience, scroll down to the first Peru entry and work your way up]

Me and Jay, Pre-Trip
Jay and I, Before Going To Peru

We were different men from the ones we were when we first arrived in Peru, fifteen long days ago. We now knew how to ward off street peddlers ("No gracias, Tenemos"). We now knew how much a cab cost from the airport (30 soles... not $30 dollars). Our faces were now outlined in thick, uneven beards, our muscles were toned and refined from intensive high altitude hiking. Our lungs were... ok, you get the point.

We had been through a lot by the time we came back to Lima. And we were the better for it.

Our last night in Peru was both remarkably similar and markedly different from our first. We were in Lima, staying at the Inka Lodge. But this time, we shared a room. I asked the old man at the front desk who we'd be rooming with, where were they from?

"They're Columbians," he replied.

So this is how you punish us for keeping you up all night, I thought to myself. Sticking us with a couple coke smugglers.

But while initially we thought we might have to lock up our bags, in fact, the two Columbian guys staying with us were incredibly nice. We had a good discussion about the girls in South America. Our roommates had a strong opinion: "Peruvian girls are the ugliest in South America, Columbian girls are the most beautiful."

Jay and I didn't believe Peruvian girls were the ugliest, but had little basis for comparison. "Gisele is nice," I said.

Is Tom Brady Really Dating Her Now? After Bridget Moynihan?? What's He Got That I Don't???

"She's from Brazil. They're beautiful too," the Columbian guy replied. "But in Columbia, they're more beautiful."

I'll admit, the most I know about Columbia is what I learned in the Harrison Ford movie "Clear and Present Danger." But I may be willing to risk being blown up by a drug cartel if what our Columbian roommates said is true.

Jay and I went out for Chinese food (chifa). Lima allegedly has the largest chinese population in South America, but I can guarentee you that none of them took any part in preparing our meal-- it was truly gross.

But it was funny when our waiter found out we were from the United States. He rushed over with a newspaper and excitedly pointed at the front page. There was Saddam Hussein.

"Saddam esta muerto."

We had heard about Saddam's demise previously, but I don't think I realized till that moment what a huge deal it was. (I wouldn't find out what a amateur job the execution was until I got home.)

After dinner, Jay and I headed to the Marriott Casino Hotel. "We're going to go home with more money than we started," I said to Jay. "Hey, If we win big enough, we can stay at the Marriott tonight," Jay replied.

Hotel Marriott
It's No Inka Lodge...

Before we sat down at the blackjack table, I sunk a dollar into a slot machine. "If I don't win at all, I'm not gambling," I said.

After a few pulls of the lever, I left empty handed.

"Let's hit up the blackjack tables," I said.

Five minutes after sitting down, I was down $50. And that didn't include the $20 Jay lent me that I promptly lost. Jay, on the other hand, was cruising. He was up about $90. He was even thinking about joining the high rollers at the poker table.

While I was losing my money, and Jay was winning his, we ordered free drinks. A couple Whiskys and Sprites. We had four each. By the time we left, Jay was still up by $60, and we were both feeling pretty buzzed. We wanted to head back to the main street in Miraflores, where we had gone to the salsa bar on our first night. But we didn't know the name.

So when we got into the cab, we tried to describe the street to him. "Muchos discoteques, Muchos bares, Muchos bailandos y fiestas, Muchas muchachas bonitas."

"Si, si," said the cab driver.

After the cab turned down some dark streets, Jay and I started to wonder where the guy was taking us. We had heard that some parts of Lima were not as nice as Miraflores... and it appeared we were in those parts now.

The cabbie pulled up to a club. A strip club. Nothing else around but dark buildings for as far as we could see. Two men in dark suits and glasses standing at the entrance.

"Uh... no. No aqui," we tried to tell the cabbie.

"Si, aqui. Tu pagas." The cabbie demanded we pay and get out.

Jay and I looked at each other. On one hand, a strip club could be fun. On the other hand, considering how shady the place was, it could also end with both of us getting our organs removed.


Luckily, I still had Mabel's number, the girl I met our first night in Peru. I called her up and explained the situation. "Put me on with the cab driver," she said.

I handed the cabbie the phone. He did not look happy. But he finally understood where to take us. We gave him a few extra soles for his trouble, but probably not as many as he would have gotten kicked back from that strip club.

We bumped into a group of California students who were staying at our hostel. We went with them to a bar, got some drinks, danced a bit. One hot chick seemed like she was into Jay, but then she said she had a boyfriend. We decided to get out of there and head someplace else.

On the street, Jay went back into his Cusco-coca-tea-crazy mode and began mimicking the people who stood outside the various bars, pitching free drinks and deals. "Free Pisco Sours," one woman called out, and Jay immediately turned to two Peruvian girls who were walking by us. "Free Pisco Sours! You girls want free pisco sours? Y bailando?"

The girls spoke three words of english, but they understood "Pisco Sour" and "Bailando." We went inside the bar, the bartender gave us our free Pisco sours, and we danced to 80's videos projected onto a big white screen. Jay's girl was pretty hot and he was enjoying himself. I, in my wingman role, was less enthused. But what the hell, when in Peru...

The time came when we wanted to leave, so we picked up our stuff and headed for the door-- where we were stopped by the bartender. "Tienes que pagar por los bebes," he demanded. We had to pay for our Pisco Sours.

Now, the woman at the door said "Free Pisco Sours." And Jay and I argued this. But the bartender wouldn't budge. There were, apparently, conditions attatched to the free Pisco Sour offer. We were required to purchase other drinks as well. The woman at the door had neglected to inform us of the fine print.

Jay and I were still arguing when a bouncer and a security guard/policeman came over. Now things were getting serious. We couldn't understand them, they couldn't understand us. The girls were no help at all, telling us to just pay. And the fact that both Jay and I were wasted probably didn't help.

Seconds away from being led off to jail, we agreed to pay. But we were both pissed. Ripped off on that first cab from the airport, ripped off on the Lake Titicaca tour, ripped off at our hotel in lake titicaca-- now we were ripped off here. Had we learned nothing?? After two weeks, had we remained the same chumps we were in the beginning?

The girls lived close by, so we walked them home. We could have taken them to our hostel, but we didn't know if the Columbian guys would be there (turns out, they didn't come back until 5 am). Jay got a kiss goodnight from his second Peruvian girl of the trip.

Drunkenly, we stumbled into a McDonalds, got some Big Macs and ice cream. Jay dropped his ice cream after barely a lick. Somehow, we made it back to the hostel. Not bad for a last night. Tomorrow, we'd catch a cab to the airport at 8 PM.

The next day, we decided we should actually do something touristy. So we went to the Museo De Oro, The Gold Museum, billed as the most impressive in Lima. We were more impressed with the attached Weapons Museum, with guns, swords and uniforms from warfaring countries all over the world. The gift shop also had stunningly cheap souveneirs, which we stocked up on.

From there, we took a cab into central Lima for lunch. There was a street directly across from the palace, across the square, that was lined with cafes and restaurants. All of them offered competing prix fixe lunches. We sat down at the one that looked the best, ordered some fried yuca and a menu that consisted of ceviche (national dish of peru), baked chicken with a pink tomato sauce, rice and potatoes. Only 10 soles each.

A Delicious Dish
Ceviche, Lima's Famous Dish

Traveler's Tip: Ceviche is a white fish marinated in lime juice, accompanied by onions, sweet potato, and corn. Eat it only in Lima and other coastal towns, where the fish is fresh.

It was a warm day, and Jay and I debated going to the beach. Finally, we decided we'd try to get into the Marriott rooftop pool. We could lie out on the roof deck, maybe go for a swim. The only question was, could we get in? Would there be public access, or would we need a Mission Impossible-style plan to get past security?

We stepped into the elevator, wearing swimsuits and carrying our towels. So far so good. We went up to floor 6, the health club level.

"Can I help you?" the woman at the desk asks.

"Yes, um.. where is the pool?"

"Right through those glass doors and to your left," she answers.

We look. We can almost smell the pool. But those glass doors are closed, and next to them is a key card reader.

"Do you have the key?" Jay asks loudly.

"Oh shoot, I don't. Dave has it."

"Oh man. I can't believe you forgot it."

We look around, no one offers to help.

"Well, I guess we'll have to find Dave."

We walk back to the elevator, dejected.

"There's got to be another way."

We go back downstairs, get the lay of the land. I ask the consierge where the pool is. "The sixth floor," he replies. "But the best way is through the health club."

The best way. So there is another way! "Sixth floor, right?" I ask.

"Sixth floor."

We head back to the elevator. This time, however, we get out at the second floor lobby. There's another bank of elevators there... which lead to the other side of the sixth floor. Pool deck baby, here we come!

We step into the elevator, along with another man. Immediately, we see we're screwed. The elevator requires a key card too. My heart sinks.

Then, the man swipes his key card. "What floor?" he asks.

"Six," Jay and I say in unison.

The door shuts, we head up. How about that for timing!?

The elevator stops at six, we get out. Almost there!! But then, we're confronted with another obstacle. Two glass doors. On the other side, we see the pool deck. But the doors are locked. The only way to get through? You guessed it. A key card.

Just then, a family, three little kids and their mother and father, walk down the hall. They put their key card in, the doors open. We walk in behind them. How about that for timing?!

At the Pool
The Pool Was Too Cold To Swim In

The pool deck was the best thing we could have done. Relaxing and quiet (that family was the only other group on the pool deck that afternoon). We laid down in the cushy lounge chairs and took a nap, listening to the ocean waves crash in the distance. At around 5:30, the sun started to go down and we were treated to the most beautiful sunset.

One Of A Dozen Pictures I Took

As the sun set, a still, tiny light emerged from the gathering darkness. As I lay on my lounge chair, facing the ocean, I could see it's orange, eerie glow peek out from underneath an overhanging roof, far in the distance. Jay saw it as well.

"Do you see what I see?" he asked.

"I do."

Where Dreams Come True

So it came to pass that on our final night in Peru, we ate at Hooters. While the meal was terrible, and they only had xtra-large t-shirts for sale, at least we could say we'd had a genuine Peruvian experience.

Before going Hooters, we made the mistake of hitting up the casino again. I lost twenty more dollars. Jay lost his $60. We left our hearts in Lima, and our wallets as well.

At the airport, we made some more Peruvian friends at Papa Johns when Jay tried to pay for water in Bolivianos. Who knows? An extra day in Peru and both Jay and I might have been married to Peruvian chicks. But alas, it was not meant to be.

On our flight home, I watched Little Miss Sunshine. If that doesn't win something at the Oscars I'll be very disappointed.

Back in Jersey
Us With One Of The Jersey Locals

And that was our trip. Peruvian girls and Carne Corazon. Seven hour hikes and paddle boat rides. Macchu Picchu and floating islands. Beautiful vistas and powerful pisco sours. Fifteen days in a country where everyone calls you "mi amigo." The trip of a lifetime.

Next year, Columbia.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Day 4 & 5 Lake Titicaca - Copacabana, Drinking With The Irish, And I Almost Kill Jay

The Copa
Not What Barry Manilow Was Singing About

The bus ride to Copacabana was uneventful, save for a brief pit stop by our bus driver, who decided he'd have a leisurely breakfast while everyone on the bus waited for him. Nevertheless, we got to the border, got our passports stamped and walked over, the first time either of us had ever walked across an international border. Needless to say, we took a lot of photographs.

Border Crossing
Note: We Found Out The Actual Border Was A Hundred Feet Beyond This

On our bus were those same two Irish guys from Cusco and Puno. They let us borrow their guidebook. When we got to Copacabana, Jay and I figured we'd ask them what they were up to that night. Maybe we could get some drinks. The Irish guys told us they'd be at this restaurant, La Orilla, at 8.

As we walked away, Jay and I realized it sounded like a double date. "You think they think we're gay?" I asked. "You think they're gay?" Jay replied. We figured we'd go to the restaurant at 8 and get some drinks either way.

We had booked our hotel on Expedia ahead of time, because it was listed as the best place to stay in Copacabana and we wanted to make sure we would get a room. And it was only $45 dollars a night!

Traveler's Tip- Hostel rooms in Copacabana start at as little as $1 a night. According to the register we glanced at, people at our hotel were paying as little as $25 dollars a night. You only need to book in advance if there's a major festival in town.

The hotel was called Hotel Rosario del Lago. Our room was small but comfortable, with a fantastic view of the lake. The staff was helpful, the hotel was environmentally friendly (the tv, lights and heater won't turn on unless the room key is inserted) and they had a decent buffet breakfast. It was no Qelqatani, but nice anyways.

We took a walk around town. First, we walked along the "beach." While not a beach in anything but the most basic definition of the word, it was a fun scene. Carnival-style gambling and shooting games, colorfully painted foosball tables, duck shaped paddleboats, fried fish vendors and kiddie rides. There were also people selling horseback rides and excursions to nearby (2 hours) Isla Del Sol.

Merry Go Round
Copacabana: Like Seaside Heights, Except More Classy

We soaked it in for a few minutes and headed back up to the main square, where we saw the spectacular white cathedral the Spanish had built there:

Not a Synagogue

The church has a role in a unique and bizarre practice in Bolivian culture-- a blessing over motor vehicles. People travel from all over Bolivia to the church to have their rides blessed. They decorate their cars, trucks and SUVs with flowers, streamers and religious icons, the priest says a prayer, and suddenly, who needs auto insurance?

Flowered Car
Pimp My Ride, Bolivian Style

We came upon a farmacia (pharmacy), so we decided to ask if they had any Cipro. Perhaps my doctor from home could fax them a prescription. "Tienes Cipro?" I asked. "Si," the pharmacist replied, taking a pack of ten pills from the shelf. "Quince bolivianos," he said. 15 Bolivian dollars.

"Para uno?"

"No," the pharmacist replied. "Para diez."

Now, Cipro is around $7 per pill in the U.S. (according to a google search). 15 Bolivianos is less than $2... for a pack of ten!! And no prescription necessary!!! At that moment I began to love Bolivia.

We headed back to the beach. We shot some targets and won lollipops (which Jay gave to some local kids.)

From My Cold Dead Hands
Me, as a Republican

We played a gambling game where you throw ten cents onto a board and try to land on more money. Jay and I kept feeding Bolivian dimes to one little kid, who hit a lucky streak and was up about 5 bolivianos. "How do you say 'Quit while you're ahead'?" Jay asked, but we couldn't figure out how to say it in time before the kid promptly went cold and lost all the money.

We also drank a beer and ate pistachio-type nuts with an old Bolivian man and his wife of over 50 years, who were in Copacabana for vacation with their family. While communication was difficult, we managed to have a conversation. It was a nice moment of the trip where we could just chill and relax.

Jay and Bolivian Friends
Partyin With The Locals

That night we meet up with the Irish guys, who tell us they were thinking the same thing we were. We have a good laugh. They're already drinking, so Jay and I order drinks. I order a Bolivian beer, Jay gets a Pina Colada.

"Why don't we get some wine to go with dinner," one of the Irish guys proposes. "Sure, we'll get a bottle," I say. "How about two," the Irish guy replies.

It's no stereotype. Irish people can drink!

We down the bottles of wine, the Irish guys buy us two white russians and we down those as well. I think I ate a steak sometime in between. We talk about politics, both in the U.S. and Ireland. We make fun of Bush. Then we head to a bar down the street where we have some more strange drinks. From there, it starts to get hazy, but we end up shooting pool (badly) with a couple of locals before me and Jay somehow manage to stumble back to the hotel. The gate is locked, and there doesn't appear to be any way in. We start yelling, banging on the windows. Finally, a man comes out and opens the gate, pointing a a doorbell in plain view. Estabamos borrachos.

The next day we rented a mallard-shaped paddleboat and went out on the lake. Jay laid down in the back while I occasionally steered us away from oncoming boats. I hiked up my jeans for about ten minutes to get some color-- and was sunburned pretty instantly. At high altitude, the sun hits hard.

What, You've Never Seen Two Straight Guys Sailing In A Flamboyantly Colored Duck Before?

We ate lunch at La Orilla, the place where we had met the Irish guys. They have a roof deck, so we sat up there and had some pizza for lunch. As we're sitting there, Jay looks down on the street and sees someone familiar... one of the OC girls from our Inca Trail hike.

She sees us and comes up to sit at our table. "Hey guys!" she yells. "Where are your friends?" we ask her. "Oh, yeah, well, they kinda ditched me," she says, and proceeds to tell us...

1) She hooked up with one of the porters.

2) Her friends were pissed because she ditched them for the porter on New Year's.

3) A variety of different wealthy older South American men have bankrolled her various travels.

That was enough entertainment for us. We said our goodbyes and headed back to the hotel to take a nap (and watch Kindergarten Cop on TV).

That's about when Jay suggested I look at our bus ticket for our return to Puno. We had timed it just right so we could get back to Qelqatani, pick up the bags we had stored (and our beloved walking sticks), have lunch, and take a cab to the Juliaca airport in time for our 5:30 flight to Lima. We were told we had tickets for the 9 AM bus, which would arrive in Puno around 12:30.

Then I looked at the ticket.

Departs Copacabana: 12:30
Arrives Puno: 5:30
"Um... Jay."


"We have the wrong ticket."

A bit of panic ensued. If we missed our flight to Lima, we'd basically have to spend the night in Puno, would need to spend an additional day traveling and it would kill the next two days of the trip. The man at the front desk assured us that if we went early to the bus stop, we would probably be able to get on the morning bus.

That night we ate at a small restaurant down by the beach, where a four course meal cost $1.50. We tipped the guy 20 Bolivianos (about $2.50) and he was very appreciative.

The next morning, we woke up at around 7 AM, ate breakfast and headed to the bus stop. That's when the trouble began.

(Let me say first that Jay will probably have a different version of this story. He's welcome to post it in the comment section below.)

At the first ticket kiosk, a woman says that all the buses are full. At the next, a man says they're full as well. But then the woman runs over and says the bus isn't full, and seconds later, the man says there's room too. A minute passes, and the man now says there isn't room on the main bus, but there is a second, smaller bus. The prices quoted by both the man and the woman change 5 times in a minute. One second, they're telling us 150 Bolivianos, the next second they're telling us $50 dollars. After we negotiate to pay 35 Bolivianos (i think), they usher us onto the bus, which has only one seat left. Then they bring on a folding chair. Jay refuses to sit in it, saying he'd rather sit on the floor. Meanwhile, I'm worried that if we don't make this bus, we'll miss our flight. To my eyes, we have no other choice. It's either this bus or that's it for the next two days of our trip. Then, a woman runs up to us and says there's a mini-bus that will take us across the border to transfer to a bus to Puno.

If this sounds confusing to you, just imagine how it was for us, two people with nothing but pigeon spanish under our belts.

Jay, then refuses to get on either bus. I'm getting f*cking pissed at him. Yeah, I know that probably 85% of the people "helping" us at this point are actually trying to squeeze every last buck out of us. Yes, I agree with Jay that the whole mini-bus thing is shady. But I honestly, at this point, didn't see any other option. The woman at the ticket kiosk assures me that the mini bus will get us to Puno. She assures me it will get there in plenty of time for us to make our flight. So I'm about ready to knock Jay out and drag his unconscious body onto the minibus with me, if that's what it's going to take.

Fortunately, after repeating the same questions I had asked, and getting the same answers, Jay finally gets on the minibus. Also on the minibus are a group of Argentinian teenagers. They assure us that the minibus will get us to Puno, somehow.

We get to the border, and it seems everything is going to turn out alright. We get our stamps, cross over, and there's another minibus waiting for us on the other side. We step in, sit down, and off we go.

For about two minutes. Then it stops in an alleyway, and we're told to get out. Jay and I look at each other uneasily. What the hell is going on??

A rickety, small red bus pulls up. It's already packed with people. All of them locals. The dreaded local bus.

There aren't any people with chickens on their laps, as we'd been told to expect, but it certainly smells like there are.

We cram in to two seats in the back. Leg room is non existent. I'm half dangling into the aisle. The bus begins driving, bouncing along the road. Then it stops, picks up some more people, and keeps going. It repeats this process several times. Every time I think they can't fit anymore people in, they somehow manage to find room. Most of the room they manage to find in is located around me.

On The Public Bus
Crammed Onto The Local Bus With Our Argentinian Amigos

After several hours in the packed bus, we finally get to Puno. I feel vindicated. I said if we got on the bus, we'd get to Puno. Jay doesn't see it that way. He thinks he was right. "I said we'd probably get stuck on some local bus," Jay says. "That couldn't have been the only way to get here."

"Who cares? We got here, didn't we?" I say back. We get into a cab to take us to the Qelqatani, still arguing back and forth. "If we didn't get on that bus, we'd still be in Copacabana," I say. "No, we could have gotten another bus," Jay insists. "What other bus??!!" I yell back. We're almost ready to fist fight by the time we get to the hotel. I lost you in Puno before, Jay, I think to myself. I can lose you again.

We manage to declare a truce, eat lunch, and change our flight to 3:30, so we don't have to wait in Puno that long. A cab comes and drives us to the airport. We get in another fight once we're there, because when they make the boarding announcement, I want to go and get on the plane. Jay insists on waiting to be last on. That bastard. I'll kill him!!!

The flight was pretty quick, with a brief stopover in Arequipa. Looking out the window, I was glad we decided not to go. I don't think we could have handled more hiking at that point.

By the time we got back to Lima, I think both of us realized our fight was stupid. All trip, we managed to avoid fighting. Even when a certain someone (who shall remain nameless) chose to expel gas in our small closed tent. But our travel day from Copacabana to Lima was our most stressful, and it clearly brought out the worst in us.

The Lima air though (sea level! finally!) would do us good.

Check back tomorrow for the stunning conclusion to "Peru: The Incredible Journey..."

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