Lima doesn’t come at you all at once. Instead, it builds slowly. Noise comes first, followed by traffic, movement, and people trying to get somewhere faster than you are. Somewhere in the middle of that, you are expected to notice history. Most people don’t. The Lima Catacombs were already on my list before I landed. I knew I wasn’t leaving Peru without seeing them.

Steve and Beth had no idea this place existed. Still, I didn’t ask. Some places don’t require a group decision. So, we walked up to the Basílica y Convento de San Francisco, located in the historic center just steps from Plaza Mayor, and found a guide standing just outside. She was calm, spoke clear English, and didn’t pressure us. We agreed quickly, 10 soles per person, paid directly to her, and stepped inside like it was just another stop in the city. For me, this felt like a normal stop. It wasn’t.

Lima Catacombs Above Ground

Before you ever reach the Lima Catacombs, the church forces you to slow down. The hallways stretch long and narrow, lined with tilework that has survived for centuries. Nothing feels replaced. Nothing feels modern. Instead, everything feels preserved, like time simply moved around it. Then the church opens up. Gold dominates the space. Carvings stack on top of carvings. Paintings surround you with purpose, not decoration. Construction began in the late 1600s, and that history is obvious. This place was built to last, and more importantly, to be seen. Naturally, you slow down. Then you enter the library, and everything shifts again. Books rise from floor to ceiling, many dating back to the 1500s. Meanwhile, spiral staircases twist upward into darkness. The wood absorbs the silence, the dust, and the weight of time. Standing there, it becomes clear that most people will never experience this firsthand. And then, just as quickly, you move on.

Exploring the Lima Catacombs Underground

The guide continues forward, and the building does the rest. You pass through corridors, absorb details you can’t fully process, and then you see the staircase. It looks simple, but you already understand where it leads. As you descend, the light fades. The air cools. The noise disappears.

Now you’re in the Lima Catacombs.

The tunnels feel tighter than expected. Ceilings drop lower. Steps become uneven. This space was never designed for comfort. Although the full tour takes about an hour, time feels different underground. At first, you see only a few bones. Then more appear. Eventually, entire rooms open up. Everything is organized. That’s what stands out. Skulls form circles. Femurs stack in layers. Bones separate by size and shape. At first, it almost looks intentional. In reality, it was necessary. Between the 1500s and early 1800s, this served as Lima’s primary burial ground. People chose burial beneath the church because it placed them closer to God. Over time, space ran out. As a result, workers reorganized remains to make room. Today, between 25,000 and 70,000 people rest here.

Need to Know Before Your Visit

If you’re planning to visit the Lima Catacombs, keep it simple. The Basílica y Convento de San Francisco sits in the historic center of Lima, just a short walk from Plaza Mayor, making it easy to reach by taxi or rideshare. When you arrive, you’ll likely find guides outside the entrance. We paid 10 soles per person directly to a guide, which is inexpensive and worth it for the context you get. Expect the full experience, including the church, library, and catacombs, to take about an hour. While the upper areas remain open and easy to move through, the tunnels below feel tighter, darker, and uneven in places, so you’ll want to watch your step and be comfortable in confined spaces. Photography is allowed above ground, but not inside the catacombs.

Most importantly, go in knowing this isn’t just another stop on your list. These spaces are quiet, heavy, and real. If you rush it, you’ll miss the point.

What You Experience Inside the Lima Catacombs

As you move deeper into the Lima Catacombs, something unexpected happens. At first, it’s faint. However, the deeper you go, the clearer it becomes. Singing. Church hymns echo from above. Old ones. The kind you hear in films set in another century. Voices carry through the structure and settle into the tunnels. That’s when everything connects. Above you, people worship. Below them, thousands remain buried. And for a moment, you stand between both worlds.

It doesn’t feel staged. It doesn’t feel like a tour. Instead, it feels like something that has continued unchanged for centuries. You just happened to step into it. Naturally, conversation fades. Not because anyone tells you to, but because it feels wrong to speak. Eventually, you move back toward the surface. Light returns. Air shifts. Noise follows. Within seconds, you are back in Lima, surrounded by traffic and movement as if nothing exists below.

Final Thoughts on the Lima Catacombs

If you are into that Indiana Jones thrill and love bones then this is a stop that you must take. This isn’t a place you visit casually. It’s not polished, and it’s definitely not comfortable. However, that’s exactly why it matters. The Lima Catacombs don’t try to impress you. Instead, they show you something real. Standing underground, hearing hymns above while surrounded by thousands of remains, forces you to slow down and think about where you are. That moment stays with you. It’s quiet, heavy, and difficult to ignore. If you’re looking for something beyond a typical tourist stop, this is it.

Some cities show you their history. Lima buries it, and lets you find it on your own.

If you would like to read more about my travels, check out StayAmerican.org

Arrival in San Pedro Sula

This San Pedro Sula travel guide starts the way most of my adventures do, last-minute, unplanned, and restless. My travel partner, Beth, knows my rhythm: early mornings, long days, and no room for comfort. We travel fast, travel rough, and never waste daylight. I usually fly Spirit Airlines. They’re the reason I can see the world as often as I do. Sure, the seats aren’t comfortable, but travel isn’t supposed to be. The cheaper the better. The flight from New Orleans to San Pedro Sula lasted less than two hours, yet it felt like landing on another planet. Customs took about twenty-five minutes. Then the heat hit, thick, heavy, and alive, mixed with exhaust, rain, and ripe mango. I always rent cars through Travelocity. $6 USD a day for the car, twelve for insurance. Take the insurance online, not at the counter, because they’ll double it there. After a quick inspection, we drove out of the airport and straight into the heartbeat of the city. Our first task was a SIM card. Claro is the most reliable network in Central America, but the clerk said I needed a Honduran ID. I smiled, waited, and tried again. Nine U.S. dollars later, I walked away with unlimited data for four days. Sometimes charm works better than Spanish.

Tip: Download the San Pedro Sula map before you land. When service disappears, and it will, that offline map will save you.

Parking here is chaos. I squeezed into an alley beside a shuttered shop. Within seconds, a man appeared. “Watch your car?” he asked. In Honduras, that isn’t a question; it’s an agreement. Pay him, and he’ll guard your car, wash your windows, and keep curious hands away. It’s street insurance, and it works. Afterward, we stepped into the noise of the city, where car horns, laughter, and music collided like a living rhythm. That’s when I knew we were in the right place.

When it comes to a San Pedro Sula travel guide and places to stay, Airbnb is the way to go when traveling abroad. In the United States, hosts try to pay their entire mortgage with one night of rent. Abroad, it’s different, fair, even generous. I usually spend between $30 to $60 a night, split with whoever I’m traveling with. Do the math. That’s $15 to $30 USD a night for comfort, privacy, and a window into real life. The place I stayed that first night in San Pedro Sula was an apartment on the north side of town, a gated complex with ten units stacked like concrete puzzle pieces. It had two bedrooms and sat on the fourth floor, guarded by three separate automatic gates. Security isn’t paranoia here; it’s culture. People care about safety, and it shows. For $33.89 a night, I got quiet, a kitchen window view, and peace of mind. Still, I’m not sure I’d stay there again. The hosts seemed more of here is the address and have a great stay, and avoided questions I thought mattered to me locating the place. Communication is everything when you’re in a foreign city. When that breaks down, trust follows close behind. But that’s part of travel, the good, the bad, and the indifferent. You take the experience, tuck it into your pocket, and move on.

Street Food and Survival

To understand Honduras, you have to walk it. San Pedro Sula breathes through its Barrio Medinas, crowded, colorful, and loud. Beth and I wandered through the markets, chasing the smell of frying oil and salt. Soon after, we found Pollo Chuco, Honduras’s national dish, fried chicken stacked over fries and plantains, drenched in cream and ketchup. It’s messy, indulgent, and perfect. The chicken didn’t need the sauce, yet when in Honduras, you eat like the Hondurans. Beers came cold and constant, passed through wire grates by kids barely in their teens. We drank one, walked a block, and bought another. Meanwhile, laughter replaced language. Connection doesn’t need translation; it only needs willingness. The markets sold everything, shoes, phone chargers, and racks of lingerie. Each stall looked the same, but each seller carried a story. I sat on a cracked bench next to an old man with gold teeth. We didn’t share words, but we shared laughter, and that was enough. Still, if you came here expecting polished beaches, you chose the wrong San Pedro Sula travel guide. This city isn’t built for relaxation; it’s built for experience. Moreover, it rewards curiosity far more than comfort.

The Raw and the Real

You’ll find the familiar here too,  TGI Friday’s, Outback Steakhouse, and Office Depot. However, that’s not why you come. Honduras wears two faces: the polished and the raw. Choose the raw every time. Driving here surprised me. People actually follow the rules, stoplights, signals, and right of way. After Lima, it felt civilized. As a result, it’s a good place to learn how to handle foreign roads before facing true chaos. Skip the hotels. Instead, stay in an Airbnb. Watch families begin their mornings, kids walk to school, and vendors push carts through the haze. That’s the rhythm of real life here. Groceries are cheap, and western products are easy to find. Still, the best food comes from the stalls. Beth and I spent about $21 a day each,  food, beer, and everything else included. Spirit Airlines got us here and back for $152. Consequently, Honduras rewards those who travel with curiosity, not comfort. Additionally, every day here feels earned, not given. That’s what makes it worth it.

Nightfall and Reflections

By Sunday, San Pedro Sula slows. Shops close early, music drifts through open doors, and the air softens. We found a hall packed with five hundred people dancing to a live band. Beer vendors lined the walls, and the floor moved like a single heartbeat. Later that night, hunger sent us searching for food. The streets were quiet; most stalls were dark. Eventually, we found a family setting up a grill on the curb. I pulled my Styrofoam cooler from the car, vodka, juice, and a bottle of Flor de Caña rum from Nicaragua. The cook fanned his coals with a car-battery fan. When a storm from Copán killed the power, nearby motorbikes lit the street with their headlights. The chicken came out smoky and perfect, cooked on a grill that had never seen soap and better for it. Grease and smoke carry stories. We sat with locals, passed cups of rum, and laughed through the dark. Those are the moments that make travel worth it,  not landmarks, but connection. Before long, morning came again. The airport was small and customs fast. Seven gates, maybe. Simple, human, easy. If I did it again, and I will, I’d spend one night in San Pedro Sula, drive to Copán, and come back the next day. That’s all you need. The city gives you everything in one look,  grit, heart, and reality. People warn you about Honduras. They talk about danger. What I found was warmth and pride. This San Pedro Sula guide isn’t selling comfort; it’s showing truth. The country doesn’t try to impress you — it simply exists, bold and unapologetic. Therefore, come honest. Stay alert. Respect the rhythm of the streets. If you do, you’ll see what I saw: sometimes chaos feels like home.

Final Thoughts

Don’t arrive in San Pedro Sula on a Sunday. Everything shuts down early, and you’ll spend the night chasing food that doesn’t exist. If you’re coming for Copan, drive straight there when you land. Spend the night, wake up early, explore the ruins, and head back to San Pedro Sula for your flight. You can do it all in three days if speed matters. Keep it simple. Move fast. Travel hard and create your own San Pedro Sula travel guide.

If I ever return, I’ll stay in Santa Rita, about fifteen minutes outside Copan. Everything inside Copan feels like a tourist trap, inflated prices, American menus, and a polished version of Honduras that doesn’t feel real. Santa Rita still has its pulse, small-town Honduras, where life moves slow and authentic. For this reason, it’s the kind of place that reminds you why you travel in the first place. That’s where the soul of the country lives.

If you would like to read more about my travels, check out StayAmerican.org

The Rainbow Mountain Peru hike is not for the faint of heart. Long before you reach the trailhead, the altitude makes itself known. Cusco sits at 11,000 feet, and for someone from the Mississippi Gulf Coast, that’s a shock to the system. The air is thin, sharp, and unapologetic. Within minutes of landing, I was bent over, gasping for breath, a preview of what was coming.

Cusco wears its history like armor. Cobblestone streets rest atop ancient Incan foundations, and Spanish balconies lean over alleyways where vendors sell roasted guinea pigs on sticks. Personally, I’ve always avoided the polished tourist routes, preferring the lived-in corners of a city. That instinct led me to the Killasisa Apartments Airbnb that was right in the middle of where locals live, where the city sprawled beneath us like a galaxy of orange lights. It was the kind of view that makes you forget how hard it is to breathe.

Still, the Rainbow Mountain Peru hike was non-negotiable. I didn’t want to admit it, but part of me needed the tourist stamp, the story, the proof. Like Machu Picchu, it was a box I felt obligated to tick. So we set out.

Where the Air Gets Real on Rainbow Mountain Peru

After a few months of research, I booked our tour through Rainbow Mountain Travels. They had solid reviews, clear logistics, and the price was right, $49 USD per person. Their itinerary promised an early start to beat the crowds, and they delivered. We met them at the picked at 3 a.m., long before the streets of Cusco woke up. The city was slick and silent, the cold cutting through us. Our guide made the rounds, collecting other bleary-eyed travelers from hostels and hotels. For those staying in Airbnbs, they offered nearby pickup points from a long list of options. It was efficient and well-organized.

Inside the van, backpacks were stuffed with coca candies and windows fogged with breath. Tourists popped the candies into their mouths. Bitter. Supposed to help with altitude sickness. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

Eventually, the sun rose, and we found ourselves deep in the Andes. The road narrowed, the air thinned, and the mountains closed in around us like ancient sentinels. Snow-dusted peaks pierced the sky, and herds of alpacas dotted the hillsides. Nobody spoke. Nobody needed to. The view stole the words right out of our mouths.

We stopped for breakfast in the village of Cusipata. Rainbow Mountain Travels had arranged a local spot, eggs, bread, and coffee strong enough to slap you awake. It felt like a mess hall in the clouds. From there, we continued to Fulawasipata, where the trek officially begins. Our guide gave us a rundown of the route, the terrain, and what to expect. The walk starts at the foot of the Ausangate Mountain Range, and from there, it’s a steady uphill push, about an hour to the summit, depending on your pace.

They gave us time at the top to soak it all in, take photos, and learn about the mountain’s history. On the way down, the descent was just as stunning. Afterward, we stopped for a buffet lunch, local, hearty, and exactly what we needed. By mid-afternoon, we were back in Cusco, dropped off and wrecked in the best way. I did not get paid by them or get anything in return for writing about them. They were just that good to my friends.

From the Valley Floor to the Summit

Our guide was a woman half my size with the authority of a seasoned leader. She gathered us like recruits, laid out the plan, and christened our group the “Sexy Llamas.” That would be our rallying cry. She didn’t smile much. She didn’t need to. This wasn’t a vacation, it was an operation.

Standing at the trailhead, Rainbow Mountain shimmered in the distance, a smear of muted colors on the horizon. It looked deceptively close, like something you could knock out in an hour. When she asked if anyone wanted a horse, I glanced up at the path and the women in traditional Peruvian skirts holding the reins. I handed over 80 Soles and put Beth, my travel partner, on the only horse. She grinned. I tried to be tough. I walked.

That lasted ten minutes. Ten grueling minutes of stopping every twenty steps, hands on knees, lungs on fire. Eventually, a horse handler took pity on me and offered me a ride for 80 Soles. This was the best deal of my life. Riding up the trail, I watched people stumble and gasp for air, their lips pale, their eyes glassy. The altitude,16,500 feet, doesn’t care how fit you are or how many “epic hikes” you’ve posted on Instagram. It makes fools of us all.

At the summit, Rainbow Mountain revealed itself. A surreal wave of colored sediment layers, like nature painted a mural. However, it was also a circus. Tourists posed with alpacas in sunglasses. A woman sold beer (15 Soles) out of a cooler at 17,000 feet. Of course I had to buy one. I asked her is she sells a lot of beers up here. She said “no one ever buys them, you have to be crazy to drink them after that climb.” That was all I needed to hear.

Beth and I split the beer and toasted silently, perched on the edge of the mountain, lungs burning, hearts racing. The beer tasted like victory and stupidity. But the real gem wasn’t Rainbow Mountain. It was the Red Valley.

The Red Valley and Descent: Silence and Survival

When our guide asked if anyone wanted to go further to Red Valley, higher, most people shook their heads no. I said yes. Beth didn’t hesitate. Steve, our other travel partner, came along reluctantly. That extra hike? Absolutely brutal. Oxygen is a luxury at 18,500 feet. The cliffs played tricks on my balance, vertigo whispering in my ear with every step. Nevertheless, when we reached the ridge, the world opened up. Rust-colored peaks stretched endlessly, untouched and silent. No vendors. No crowds. Just wind and emptiness.

If there was ever a moment where I thought, “If I had to die one my of my adventures,” here is the perfect place.  The Rainbow Mountain Peru hike had led us to something deeper than a photo op. It had stripped away the noise and left only awe.

Afterward, the descent became a blur of relief and exhaustion. Horses carried us partway down, and I clung to mine like it was the last chopper out of Saigon. Near the bottom, a woman fell off her horse and cut her forehead on a rock. Blood everywhere. I am unable to not help someone if I have the skillset to help. My duty and Instinct kicked in. Combat Life Saver training from the Army came flooding back. I checked her head, calmed her family, and did what I could until the family didn’t want me assistance anymore. In the Andes, you take care of each other. It’s an unspoken rule.

Back in the van, I was done. Spent. My body ached. My brain felt starved for oxygen. I wasn’t being dramatic when I said I wanted nothing more than to sit in that seat and never move again. Lunch was a buffet back at Cusipata, where I inhaled three helpings of goat curry before slipping into a food coma on the ride back to Cusco. When we finally returned to our apartment, Beth and I collapsed for a four-hour nap. Steve didn’t wake up for 18 hours. The horse had saved me and Beth, and Steve’s stubbornness had punished him.

Final Thoughts on the Rainbow Mountain Peru Hike

I have to be honest, Rainbow Mountain is a tourist trap. The real name is Vinicunca, but that doesn’t sell tours, so they renamed it. “Rainbow Mountain” sounds dreamy, like something you’d see on a travel influencer’s feed. And yes, it’s stunning. But it’s also unforgiving. The altitude doesn’t care how fit you are. The trail doesn’t care how much you paid for your gear. You’ll be gasping for air, questioning your life choices, and wondering why you didn’t just stay in Cusco with a hot coffee and a view.

If you’re going, prepare wisely. The sun here is different, it burns fast, even when the air bites with cold. Pack sunscreen, a hat, and layers you can shed quickly. One minute you’ll be shivering in a hoodie, the next you’ll be peeling it off under a blazing sun. Bring a beanie too; your ears will thank you. Carry your passport for the summit stamp. Bring enough cash for horses both ways, just in case, think of it as insurance. Keep toilet paper and snacks in your pack. These small things will save your day when you’re miles from comfort.

Would I climb it again? Not for myself. But if my sons wanted to see this place, I’d lace up my boots, pay for the horse, and do it again. Because despite the rebrand, despite the crowds, despite the fact that Winikunka got renamed to sell more tickets, this mountain still teaches. It strips away pretense and leaves you with grit, breath, and determination. The Andes don’t care whether you make it to the summit. And that’s exactly why it’s unforgettable.

If you would like to read more about my travels, check out StayAmerican.org

I knew before I ever stepped foot in Nazca, Peru that I wanted to visit Chauchilla Cemetery Peru. Not just because it’s one of the few places in the world where 2,000-year-old mummies sit in open desert tombs, but because I’ve always been drawn to places that feel older than time itself. Places that don’t apologize for being raw, forgotten, and unsettling. This place had all of it. Bones. Sand. Silence. The cemetery lies about 30 kilometers south of Nazca, surrounded by cracked earth and wind. Many of the mummies are still wrapped in embroidered cotton, preserved for centuries by the dry air and a layer of protective resin. They sit in open tombs, their backs to the eastern sun, silent but not forgotten.

Getting There

Around 4:15 p.m., we loaded into a beat-up hatchback with Beth in the passenger seat and Steve in the back. The desert heat was starting to die down as we left Nazca. Google Maps tried to send us 30 minutes too far south , a common mistake. We set our first waypoint to the small town of Poroma and turned off at a triangle-shaped fork just past it. From there, it was about eight kilometers of unpaved road into the dust. By the time we reached the cemetery, the sun had begun its golden descent. A man waved us down, collected 8 soles from each of us, which is about $2.25 , and pointed to a small green building with glass cases holding a few preserved remains. That part felt almost like a museum. The rest did not.

Walking With the Dead

Outside, a white rock path led us into the desert. That was the last hint of structure. From there, it was just the wind, the earth, and the dead. Open tombs sat beneath straw thatched roofs. Bones lay exposed,  femurs, skulls, fingers, things I don’t want to name. This was no stage show. No sterile museum. This was sacred ground that never pretended to be anything else. We wandered slowly. Quietly. At one point, Steve bent down to inspect a scrap of fabric and something bone-colored beneath it. We gently moved the sand away with our fingers and realized it was hair still attached to the top of a skull. Likely untouched for hundreds of years. We didn’t dig further, just reburied it and moved on. That moment stayed with me longer than I expected. You’ll see grave robbers left their mark here long before it was protected. Some tombs are empty, looted for burial goods, the bodies discarded. But most remain intact, still watching, still waiting. The deeper you go, the quieter it becomes.

Need to Know Before Your Visit

If you like this kind, set aside about two hours. You don’t need a guide, and I wouldn’t bother with a group tour. Show up about two hours before sunset to catch the long shadows that change the way the ground looks and more details of the terrain can be seen. You can watch how the darkness starts to swallow the tombs. This is when the place feels most alive and surreal. There’s no gift shop, no paved path, no restrooms. Just sand and bones, silence and wind, and the sense that you’re somewhere sacred. The caretaker lives nearby and may let you stay a little past closing for a few extra soles. Wear clothes you don’t mind getting dusty. Bring sunglasses, a hat, sturdy shoes, and plenty of water for the dry desert air. The path is uneven and scattered with rocks and human remains, so be mindful of your footing, especially as the light fades into dusk.

Final Thoughts on Chauchilla Cemetery Peru

Standing there at dusk, the wind cutting across the dry desert floor, I felt it, the weight of time pressing in from every direction. No tour guides. No selfie sticks. Just the silence of centuries and the hum of something ancient in the air. You’ll hear it in the wind, feel it settle into your skin, and it doesn’t let go easily. I didn’t just visit Chauchilla Cemetery Peru. I was pulled into it, haunted by it in the best possible way.

There’s more I could say, probably more than I’ll ever be able to put into words. This place is sacred. You don’t need to be a shaman to feel that. You just need to slow down, breathe it in, and show up with respect. This was the last stop on my Peru trip before heading back to Lima, and I couldn’t have asked for a better ending. I hope more people come here. But if they do, I hope they understand that this isn’t just a tourist site, it’s someone’s ancestor, someone’s story, and it deserves to be treated that way.

If you would like to read more about my travels, check out StayAmerican.org

I didn’t come to Peru for Machu Picchu or Rainbow Mountain, I came for the Mercado Zone of Lima. Its energy doesn’t ask for permission; it slams into you full force. Not polished, not gentle, just raw, vivid, and unforgettable. The pulse of Peru thrums loudest through Mercado Aviación, Mercado Central de Lima, and Mercado Minorista No. 1, where life spills into sidewalks and sound ricochets off concrete and tin. I travel to chase truth, not comfort. And this zone, this living, breathing collision of culture and intensity, is where Peru stopped being a place and started being a force.

The traffic leading into the Mercado Zone of Lima is relentless, gridlocked, thick, maddening. You don’t drive through it; instead, you crawl. As a result, it took us nearly an hour to cross from one end of the district to the other. Eventually, we parked in a grimy alley and walked back toward the front. The first thing you notice is the grime. The air hangs heavy, and the streets are layered in filth. Consequently, trash crowds the sidewalks. Likewise, nobody polishes anything here. Nothing’s sanitized. Still, it’s real, pulsing with life, noise, and movement.

If you’ve traveled or served in rough places like I have, this feels strangely familiar. The grit, the clutter, the raw noise, it doesn’t repel you; rather, it reminds you of something deeper. Personally, I live for these moments.

We entered through a wall of fruit vendors, mangoes piled high, bananas stacked like currency, and papayas bursting open like soft, sticky treasure. Hawkers shouted in every direction, offering coca leaves, skewers of grilled meat, sodas, socks, limes, batteries, anything that kept the street alive. Meanwhile, the smells hit in chaotic waves: sweat, citrus, exhaust, hot oil, and rot. On the left, permanent brick restaurants served steaming dishes behind metal gates. On the right, sidewalks morphed into makeshift kitchens, smoke curling through the crowds. Each alleyway unveiled a new layer of the market. As we ventured deeper, the noise grew louder and the energy more intense. To put it bluntly, you could film for hours and still miss half the story. Every 20 minutes or so, Beth and I paused with a beer, not because we needed it, but because chaos like this deserves reflection. One corner became our dining room: plastic chairs jammed against a stained wall while vendors plated fried fish topped with pickled onions and mystery sauces. I didn’t ask what was in them. Instead, I dipped and trusted the moment.

This place isn’t built for beginners. If you’re a first-time traveler, consider skipping it. On the other hand, if you know how to read a crowd and move like you belong, it’s unforgettable. Vendors panic over anything larger than 10 soles, so I came with small bills tucked deep into my pockets. My wallet stayed in the front, and my phone rarely left my grip. In crowded zones, I kept it in my waistband or ducked into a stall to check maps discreetly. Above all, no purses, no distractions. This isn’t a museum or a curated tourist trap. It’s real life. It’s survival. You earn your safety by blending in, not standing out. Instead of asking for permission, move with purpose. Confidence becomes your armor here

I came to the Mercado Zone of Lima with one mission: spices. I’d promised my friend Bill Rester back in Long Beach, who is the brains of a local restaurant that is making huge waves with their food. He is also the chef at Radish, He asked me to bring back any spices that he has never touched. And I found it. Vendors had tucked spice stalls into shadowed corners, where powders shimmered in colors I couldn’t name and scents stopped me mid-stride. I stuffed bags until my backpack swelled. However, I was chasing something deeper too: the Witches’ Market. It’s not marked on any map. You don’t just arrive, you earn directions. I asked six different vendors; most ignored me. Eventually, one elderly woman met my eyes and said nothing. She simply nodded toward a narrow side alley.

she whispered, Look for the llama fetuses,

 

And there they were, six dried llama fetuses swaying overhead, vendors stringing them like eerie wind chimes above a flickering stall. The woman behind the table didn’t look like a witch. She looked like someone who’d seen everything and learned to speak less. We approached slowly. Asked questions carefully. She answered when it suited her. Steve, my friend, was mesmerized. He used broken Spanish and Google Translate, and little by little, she warmed to us. Then she handed over protective charms, explaining each one’s purpose. Eventually, she offered me a dried chicken head wrapped in a green velvet pouch. Said it would keep me safe for the rest of my journey.

Therefore, I carried it the entire trip.

If you’re a seasoned traveler, then yes—this is raw Peru at its most unfiltered. For starters, polished souvenirs and curated Instagram traps won’t be waiting. Instead, steam, danger, laughter, hunger, hustle, grime, and glory will find you. Ultimately, this place tests you. Just as easily, it rewards you. Even if your pocket gets picked, the market hands you a story in exchange. In truth, this isn’t a postcard—it’s the country’s pulse. So go ahead. Find a plastic chair. Crack a beer. Watch the world burn by. And if a stranger offers you a chicken head in a velvet pouch, take it

If you would like to read more about my travels, check out StayAmerican.org

Gateway Arch in St. Louis wants on the schedule as we had planned. During our travels, my sons, Michael and Remington, and I have seen many landmarks, but visiting the Gateway Arch in St. Louis was something special. We’re used to monuments, so we didn’t expect to be so taken by the arch’s grandeur. Our usual travel style is to show up, snap a photo, take a short walk, and move on—but this time, with my lifelong friend Ernie Mayer and his two kids, Samantha and Colton, along for the ride, things were different. Ernie, a local St. Louis police officer of 20 years, mentioned there was a museum inside the arch, and that sparked the interest of my sons, who love museums. They were in.

Ernie’s wife, Mandy, and my girlfriend, Kristen, weren’t as excited about heading up the arch. They decided to stay behind and enjoy the day at a more relaxed pace.

Just a short 200-meter stroll from the Gateway Arch brings you to the historic Old Courthouse in St. Louis. This neoclassical building, with its striking green dome, stands as a testament to the city’s architectural and judicial heritage. It’s a must-visit for anyone interested in American history. Upon entering, you’re greeted by the grandeur of the rotunda, where the intricate ironwork and marble floors reflect the building’s 19th-century elegance. The Old Courthouse is renowned for hosting significant cases, including the Dred Scott case, which played a pivotal role in the nation’s history. Visitors can explore exhibits detailing these landmark cases and the courthouse’s architectural evolution. The Old Courthouse is open daily from 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM and offers free admission, making it an easy stop during your visit to the Gateway Arch.

Parking in downtown St. Louis can be a bit tricky, but we parked at a garage located at 200 S Broadway, St. Louis, MO 63102. It costs roughly $4.00 per hour, which wasn’t too bad considering the location. The layout of the parking garage was a little confusing, and it took us a minute to figure out how to get down to the ground floor. Once we figured that out, it was just a five-minute walk to the arch. The walk took us through busy streets, where we were constantly looking up at the huge buildings, trying to stay in their shadow to avoid the blazing sun. I’m glad I wore my porch hat that day because the sun really tried to cook us.

The Gateway Arch in St. Louis is an imposing sight. At 630 feet tall, it stands as a sleek, steel curve against the backdrop of the Mississippi River. As we walked toward it, the scene felt almost cinematic: the river stretched out lazily, the grass meticulously maintained around the base of the arch, and the clear sky above. The open space around the arch gave a peaceful contrast to the bustling city beyond, making it feel like we’d stepped into a different world.

The closer we got, the more impressive it became. The sheer scale of the arch, rising so high above us, was something we hadn’t fully appreciated in photos. It was one of those moments where the real thing far exceeded what we had imagined.

A Surprise Museum Experience Inside the Gateway Arch in St. Louis

Though we didn’t plan much beyond walking under the arch and snapping a photo, Ernie mentioned there was a museum inside, and suddenly, it felt like we had a lot more to explore. My sons, Michael and Remington, love museums, so they were thrilled. We went inside, and to our surprise, it was far better than expected. The museum offered a mix of history, culture, and interactive exhibits that kept everyone engaged. The kids were fascinated by the riverboat exhibits, while Michael and Remington spent time learning about the engineering behind the arch.

The museum wasn’t just for adults; it catered to visitors of all ages, making it the perfect way to enrich our experience at the arch.

After exploring the museum, we were ready for the tram ride to the top. Tickets cost about $19.00 per person, and it’s highly recommended to purchase them ahead of time at this link, as they sell out every day. After purchasing them, we were given a yellow plastic card with a number. This card was our ticket to finding our designated tram. We had some time to explore, so we relaxed before walking down a ramp to stand in a designated circle, waiting for our group.

The guide gave a quick, three-minute safety talk, then we watched a five-minute video projected onto the concrete walls. Once the video ended, the doors to the pods opened, and the current group exited. We then entered our tiny pods, which were surprisingly snug, but just enough space for us to sit comfortably as we began our ascent.

The ride to the top takes just over four minutes. The pod is equipped with bearings to keep it level, and the glass door allows you to see the inner structure of the arch as you climb. It’s much larger inside than it appears from the outside, and we were in awe of the smooth, quiet ride as we made our way up.

At the Top: 630 Feet in the Air

Once we reached the top, the view was incredible. Standing at 630 feet, we had a breathtaking panoramic view of St. Louis and the Mississippi River below. We had about 10 minutes to take it all in, and the boys were on a mission to get their perfect shot. There are four small portholes on each side of the arch, and the boys wasted no time trying to get their spot to look out. It was a bit of a scramble to get a good view, but the excitement in their eyes made it worth the effort.

It’s said that on windy days, you can feel the arch sway. Fortunately, we didn’t experience that, but it added an extra layer of excitement just knowing we were standing in something so monumental.

After about 10 minutes of staring out of those tiny windows and taking an endless amount of selfies, we headed back down. The trip down was much quicker than the ascent, taking just about three minutes.

The Gateway Arch in St. Louis was worth every penny. At first, we weren’t sure if we should drop the money on the tickets. We’re used to seeing monuments like this, but we’re really glad the kids talked us into it. Walking under the arch and soaking in the stunning view of the river and the meticulously kept grounds was already worth the trip. But the museum inside and the tram ride to the top really elevated the experience. It’s a spot that might not immediately excite those used to visiting well-known landmarks, but the history and beauty of the arch made it special.

Even though Mandy and Kristen weren’t keen on going up, I think they’d agree that it was worth the experience—whether you’re gazing out over the river, exploring the history of St. Louis, or just creating memories with family. After the ride down, we grabbed a huge baked pretzel, some fried raviolis, and a bottle of water. We took one last group photo and found the first exit sign, content and satisfied with our visit. It’s a trip we won’t forget, and I’m glad we finally checked it off the list.

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Before I even left for Bogota, Colombia, I knew I had to visit Monserrate in Bogota. It’s on every “Top 10 Things to Do in Bogotá” list, and after watching numerous YouTube videos and gazing at stunning photos, I was convinced that this religious site was a must-see. The anticipation was palpable as I imagined the breathtaking views and unique cultural experiences awaiting me at the top of the mountain.

Planning the Trip

If you don’t know this about me, I’m a meticulous planner. I structure my trips down to the minute to avoid ever asking, “What do you want to do next?” My plans are detailed, yet flexible, as I like to be prepared for any unexpected changes. To visit Monserrate in Bogota, start by heading to Tigets.com to order your tickets in advance. Choose your preferred date and time slot (from 6:30 AM to 8:30 PM), then select the cable car option, which costs around $6.85 USD. Times can vary, so check the website carefully. Once you’ve booked, download the app to have your tickets handy.

Let me introduce you to my friend Cali. He lives in Bogota and turned out to be a lifesaver for me. Weeks before I left, I was diving into Facebook groups for expats in Bogota, trying to get the lowdown on what to see and what to avoid. After a lot of back-and-forth in these groups, Cali messaged me. He offered to show me around, simply wanting to practice his English with more Americans. This man speaks English as well as I do! But Cali is my fixer in Bogota.

If you’re concerned about language barriers or navigating safe areas, Cali is your man. He doesn’t drink—why, you ask? Because Cali is a workout fanatic, aiming for the Colombian Olympics team. He swims twice a day and runs everywhere. I highly recommend reaching out to him on WhatsApp and Facebook to be your tour guide. For $20-$40 USD a day, you get a tour guide, a bodyguard, and a true friend. I can’t praise him enough.

CALI (BOGOTA FIXER) | WHAT’SAPP NUMBER | 573-0223-13359 

Getting There

Now, let’s talk about getting to the base of Monserrate from your hotel or Airbnb. Make sure to download and set up the Uber app before arriving in Colombia. It’s the safest and most reliable way to travel. Taxis can sometimes alter rates mid-journey, but Uber offers consistent and transparent pricing. Although technically illegal in Bogota, Uber is widely used and accepted.

When you’re ready to visit Monserrate, your Uber will arrive in about five minutes. The app might direct you to walk to a nearby intersection for pickup. Plan to arrive an hour before your scheduled time. Once dropped off at the mountain’s base, you’ll find various restaurants and shops. Take some time to explore and maybe grab a snack or beer.

The Cable Car Experience

Cross the street to the zigzagging sidewalk rails, which mark the line for the cable cars. There are two lines: one for ticket purchases and one for those who already have tickets. Join the latter. When it’s your turn, aim to get to the front for the best city views.

As the cable car ascends, you’ll witness breathtaking views of the sprawling city below. The higher you go, the more majestic the scenery becomes, offering an ever-changing panorama. Limit your photos to truly appreciate the ride and immerse yourself in the moment as you visit Monserrate in Bogotá. Once at the top, take all the selfies you want at the stone wall and visit the church. The view from the church exit is spectacular, providing a perfect backdrop for memorable photos.

Exploring Monserrate

Once you step off the cable car, you’ll be greeted by an array of wonders. Begin your exploration by heading to the stone wall for panoramic views of Bogotá. This vantage point is perfect for capturing stunning photos, so take your time to enjoy the scenery and snap some memorable shots. Make sure to visit the church at the summit, a serene place of worship with a rich history. Walking through its doors, you’ll feel a sense of peace and reverence. The intricate details of the architecture and the quiet ambiance make it a must-see. Don’t forget to take a moment to absorb the breathtaking view as you exit the church—it’s one of the best spots for a video capturing the expansive city below.

As you wander around the summit, you’ll find several religious statues and monuments. Take the concrete path that leads to the mountain’s backside; it winds through lush greenery and offers glimpses of hidden statues that are worth the exploration. Each statue tells a story, adding depth to your visit. Behind the church, you’ll discover a lively market area filled with souvenir stands. Here, you can purchase unique mementos of your trip. While prices can be steep, haggling is a common practice, and you might snag a great deal. Venture further to find a variety of restaurants offering local Colombian cuisine. Though the food may be pricier than in other parts of the city, you’re paying for the unbeatable views of the jungle-covered mountains, often shrouded in mist, creating a movie-like atmosphere.

Returning

When it’s time to descend, follow the wooden signs pointing to the cable cars. Show your tickets via the app to ensure you’re in the correct line. At the bottom, order another Uber for your return trip. The pickup spot is across the street from your drop-off point. While waiting for your Uber, take a moment to soak in the last glimpses of visit Monserrate in Bogota. Reflect on the journey and the breathtaking views you experienced. It’s these moments that make travel so enriching. When your Uber arrives, confirm the license plate and driver details for safety. As you journey back to your hotel or Airbnb, you might find yourself replaying the day’s highlights in your mind—each photo a token of the memories you’ve made.

Final Thoughts

My visit Monserrate in Bogota is more than just a trip; it’s an experience that lingers long after you’ve descended back to the bustling city below. The journey up the mountain, with its breathtaking views and spiritual ambiance, leaves an indelible mark on your memory. From the intricate details of the church to the serene path lined with statues, every moment at Monserrate offers something unique and profound. Whether you’re a meticulous planner or an adventurous soul, this iconic landmark provides a glimpse into Bogotá’s rich cultural tapestry. As you reflect on your visit, you’ll find that Monserrate is not just a destination, but a journey that elevates both body and spirit. Enjoy every moment, and may your travels continue to bring you awe and inspiration.

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WHY DOES A COLLEGE PROFESSOR with a PhD CHOOSE TO LIVE THIS LIFE?

 

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When planning my trip to Nicaragua, car transport to Ometepe is one particular hitch kept gnawing at me: how the hell was I going to get my car from the Port of San Jorge to one of the ports on Ometepe? The root of this anxiety was simple—I didn’t speak Spanish. Navigating this process felt like trying to decipher an ancient manuscript. And then there’s the kicker: you need to book your vehicle spot at least 24 hours in advance. The ferry’s website? Utterly useless. No interactivity, no communication channels, just a dead end.

Booking Your Vehicle Spot

So, step one: download WhatsApp. This is the lifeline for everyone in Central and South America. It’s your virtual passport, your line of communication. Now, let me introduce you to a guy who will become your savior in this logistical nightmare. His name is Ivan. For a $10 USD tip, Ivan will take care of everything. Best money I’ve ever spent on a fixer. He’s a Nica—a term locals use for Nicaraguans. Make sure to call him 24 hours ahead and say the Traveling American gave you his number. Tell him you need reservations to Ometepe and back to San Jorge. Exact times? Forget it. He’ll ask for a window and work his magic. Ivan is going to call you at least three times a day after you have made it off the ferry just to check on you. You can find the time each ferry leaves its designated port here.

Update:

Guys, If you are not willing to tip him the $10 USD, please don’t message him. People are messaging him but not leaving him a tip. Yes, he works for the company, but what he does for you is above and beyond what is expected. He is doing all of this for the additional $10 USD tip. I am disappointed in how many people use this article to help them, but not willing to help the man that makes this extended service possible.

Loading Your Car

Here’s the drill: three steps to pay for the ferry. You will drive right to the gate of the port entrance, located here. First, pay the gateman $1 USD when you pull up. Why? Who knows, just do it. Think of it as an insurance policy. If you contacted Ivan 24 hours in advance then he will be there to guide you. He’ll walk you to the first of three stops. The ferry office to pay them, then to the port authority, and finally to the tax collector. Yes, three different places, scattered around the port. After this, line up your vehicle no later than 30 minutes before departure if you are late then you will lose your spot. When it’s your turn to load, you’ll have to back your car onto the ferry. All passengers must exit the vehicle. It’s an intimidating process. A boatman will yell directions in Spanish while you maneuver your car onto ramps that seem way too big for your vehicle. He’ll park you so close to the wall you’ll have to crawl over the seat. These guys know how to pack a boat to the last inch.

IVAN (FERRY FIXER) | WHAT’SAPP NUMBER | 505-8457-6258

Tips for the Ferry: Beer and Precision Timing

Be smart. When you turn left to enter the main town, there is a gas station at the intersection located here Stock up on ice, beer, and bottles of water. Keep an ice chest full of Victoria beer and local rum at all times. The trip takes 50 minutes, and while there’s beer for sale on the ferry, it’s cheaper to bring your own. You can stand on the back deck with the cars, sit on the bottom floor with church-like pews, or go up top to similar seating. I chose to stand on the front of the boat and soak it all in. Ten minutes before arrival, be by your car, ready to go. This is a precision operation, and everyone’s counting on you. If you mess up, they’ll let you know quickly. Get in your car, and they’ll guide you off the ferry.

Final Thoughts

This experience, despite its hurdles, was one of the most memorable parts of my journey. The mix of anticipation, slight panic, and sheer joy of seeing Ometepe from the water, with a cold Victoria beer in hand, made it an adventure worth every nerve-wracking moment.

Watching the island’s twin volcanic peaks grow larger from the lake, I felt a profound sense of accomplishment. The ferry ride, with all its bumps and jitters, had brought me to this magical place. This journey reminded me that the best adventures often come with a touch of uncertainty and a generous dose of excitement.

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Here we are! Where, you might ask? Funny you should ask because we’ve been driving for miles in this two-person mini hatchback, giving us everything it’s got for the last few days. We’re on a mission Finding the Rock Carving Hermit of Nicaragua, Alberto Gutiérrez. His name is known across the Tisey Estanzuela Natural Reserve, south of the town of Estelí. Known for its stunning mountainous terrain and home to some of the best cigars in the world, I start to wonder: Is it really worth this trek to search for a man I may never find?

The Allure of the Hermit

Yes, it is. Finding the Rock Carving Hermit of Nicaragua isn’t just about locating a person; it’s about understanding a unique story. Alberto received a divine message to start carving and not stop until told otherwise. This journey to find him was just one part of a five-part exploration across Nicaragua. His story captivated me so deeply that I flew from the United States just for this quest. With no clear directions to guide us, only scattered online clues and whispers from those who’ve encountered him, our goal of finding the Rock Carving Hermit of Nicaragua seemed both thrilling and daunting.

Navigating Nicaragua’s Rugged Terrain

Navigating through Nicaragua’s breathtaking landscapes, each bump and turn on the road feels like a step back in time. The anticipation builds as the mountains grow taller and the roads rougher. It’s a place where the modern world fades away, replaced by the timeless rhythm of nature and whispers of history. As we approach Tisey Reserve, the path to finding the Rock Carving Hermit of Nicaragua becomes as elusive as the man himself. Hidden among lush greenery and rugged terrain, this journey requires patience, perseverance, and a touch of faith. (Click the map to fully expand it)

Finding a Comfortable Base

Before you dive headfirst into the quest of finding the Rock Carving Hermit of Nicaragua, you’ll need a place to crash. We chose an Airbnb called Casa Luna on a road marked “NM-45” on Google Maps, near coordinates 12.985833, -86.337694. This place isn’t about luxury—it’s about the views. Walk out the back door into a garden bursting with bananas, mangoes, and avocados. Navigate through this verdant wonderland, and you’ll find a staircase leading to a deck with a panoramic view of the valley and surrounding mountains. Kick back in the hammock and soak in the sunset because tomorrow, the real adventure begins. You can check out my TikTok on this amazing back yard. While you are here, just down the road is the restaurant called El Ranchon de Papito. You have to eat here and make sure order a bottle of local rum, Flor de Cana for the table.

Preparing for the Journey

We woke up at the crack of dawn and started our 20-minute drive to the hermit’s rumored location. Set your Google Maps to “Entrada A Finca El Jalacate.” This trip isn’t for the faint of heart. Loose gravel roads kept us in first gear, the little car struggling up the mountainous paths. When you arrive, look for a wooden post with brown letters that read “ESCULTURAS EN PIEDRA”—that’s “Stone Sculptures” for those of us not fluent in Spanish. Park your car as close to this sign as you can. And yes, I mean on the side of a cliff. Trust me, it’s safe.

The Path to Discovery

Facing the sign, turn left and follow the path downhill to a house. Steer clear of the house and keep to the road, heading for a cattle gate. Don’t worry, you’re not trespassing. Lift the strap over the pole and make sure to secure it again after passing through. Now, you’ve started your 1.5-kilometer trek down a rocky road strewn with cow dung and actual cows. Keep walking and snap plenty of photos—no one’s going to believe this otherwise. About a kilometer down, you’ll come across another fence with three poles blocking the way. Squeeze through and keep going.

Encountering the Sculptures

This path is one you’ll remember. If you start to wonder if you’re going in the right direction, then you probably are. Alberto Gutiérrez doesn’t care if you find him. No signs, no maps—just a path leading to the unknown. Eventually, you’ll stumble upon an area that looks like any other Nicaraguan store. The entry fee? About 10 Cordobas or $1 USD.

Ahead lies something breathtaking. Over 3,000 carvings scattered across the land, each one more captivating than the last. It’s like stepping into an Indiana Jones film, discovering a rare, untouched temple. Each carving speaks to your heart, pulling at something deep within. This place feels sacred, almost religious, even to someone like me who isn’t particularly spiritual.

Meeting Alberto Gutiérrez

I had no expectations of meeting Alberto Gutiérrez. From what I’d read, it was rare to see him. But there he was: an elderly, thin man, barefoot, with a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket and chisels in hand. My excitement was hard to contain. I’d traveled halfway around the world, hoping to meet a man who seemed more myth than reality. But he’s very real and likely to outlive us all. He invited us to sit and shared his story, saying something that will stick with me forever: “If you made it here, then God sent you.”

Reflecting on the Journey

Have I been searching for this man all these years without knowing it? Is this the reason I’ve traveled the world, seeking to fill a void? put on a mission from a higher power with only a compass pointing in a direction? “Seek and you shall find” kind of thing? Perhaps.

He directed us to his carvings, which are perched precariously on the side of a cliff in the jungle. The ledge wraps around the mountain, offering more awe-inspiring sights at every turn. There’s an altar carved into the trail where he prays and invites you to do the same. This place is enchanting and emotionally overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

Ron and I finally reached what felt like the end of the trail. This goat path on the side of a mountain seemed endless. We turned around and started walking back. As we approached the spot where we’d paid our entry fee, Alberto and his family greeted us again. We bought a few bottles of water—50 Cordobas each, a small price to pay. It’s the most honorable way to support an honorable man without giving a handout. Spend some money, buy their goods, and they’ll give you a piece of their heart in return.

Lessons from the Adventure

The walk back was challenging. Coming down the hill, you don’t think much of it. But Ron is 71, and I drag him all over the world. Sometimes, I forget how young he is at heart and set my expectations too high. I knew he’d make it; I never doubted that. But he questioned himself, even said he might not be able to. I know Ron better than he knows himself sometimes. Later, when the emotion and pain subside, he’ll stop being mad at me and thanked me for pushing him.

Time is closing in on all of us. We’re one step closer to dying every day. And when our time is up, will we remember the pain or the accomplishment? Ron is proof that the spirit of adventure doesn’t fade with age. It continues to grow inside us all.

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