(Buenos Aires, Argentina) Of trademarks and copyrights.

While at a conference in Germany this year, I met the Chief Operating Officer of one of the world’s biggest publishing houses. He was part of a consortium of publishers who sued Google early in 2009 for making available electronic copies of books online on its Google Books site.

My source contended that Google knew it was clearly violating copyright laws when it made the decision to scan the books. Despite this, it went ahead as this database gave it strategic leverage when it came to bargaining with the publishing houses. The publishers wanted to increase the reach of its books. Google, in scanning the books and putting them online, now had an installed base that gave it a monopoly over the means by which the publishers could increase their reach on the internet.

Google settled and paid millions to the publishers, but the publishers knew that they had lost. Google controlled access and publishers had to work with Google.

It has been four months since I left South America, and I can’t believe that I am still trying to clear the backlog of posts since then. There were too many interesting experiences, and I learnt so much from talking to the people I met along the way. But writing has now become a chore as it prevents me from capturing the interesting thoughts I have been having in China. I will thus try to provide a snapshot of my journey from Cusco onwards.

Puno: At the Cusco bus station, the bus to Puno did not turn up. After 5 sleepless nights on the Inca Trail, I ended up on a replacement bus with no heater despite the cold weather. People were screaming at the bus lady. At Puno, I got my first case of food poisoning. It was mild, and I spent time in internet cafes recovering.

Lake Titicaca: Beautiful skies, clear blue waters and a giant lake at the top of the world. Not much more I could ask for. As I got to Isla Taquila on the Lake, I realized I was down to my last 3 soles. Instead of an over-priced tour-guide approved meal, I tried knocking on random doors to ask for food. I did not manage to find an inhabited house as I was too busy taking photos.

Capachica & Llachon: Following the advice of the SanFranc girl, I took a combi (a mini-van) into the countryside to find the idyllic Llachon she mentioned. Squeezed between the local bowler hat ladies for 2.5 hours, amidst the smell of coca leaves, was a memorable experience. But Llachon was worth it! Minimal tourists, a pristine beach right across Lake Taquila, and water blue as blue can be. I succeeded at getting a meal at someone’s house here. There were no restaurants or shops in sight.

Tacna-Arica: To get to Chile from Peru, I had to make a border crossing from Tacna to Arica. As we drove down the desert and past sand dunes, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Scar Tissue” was playing in my mind. Our driver took both hands off the wheel to put on his seat belt while driving. That sure made us feel safer. Arica’s Mango milkshakes are yummy!

Iquique: At this desert town, I started talking to a lady working at a sandwich shop. She spoke excellent English and was a tour guide from Peru. Unable to find a job, she ended up selling drinks and sandwiches in Chile. She will go back to Tacna when she gives birth. It is also here where my unfortunate “paragliding + viral flu = vomiting” in mid-air incident took place.

Calamar/San Pedro: In the rough and tumble mining town of Calamar, I met a young Argentinean couple who became my travelling buddies (Nicolas and Marianela). Together we explored the desert outpost of San Pedro, where the locals insisted on calling me Japanese despite my persistent denials.

Tour guide: “You are from Jap?”
Me: “No…from Singapore”
Guide: “Your parents are Jap?”
Me: “No. Singapore is next to Malaysia.”
Guide: “Ahhhh….so in Japan, how old do they marry?”

I biked through the Atacama Desert here, and running out of water, I ended up digging into my supply of mango colada.

Chile: Last stop on the way home. It is a nice city to end the trip in. I drunk colada with my room-mates in the dormitory, and we reflect on the end of our journeys. My feet are restless again.

Sidenote: I have added a link on the sidebar for a company based in the UK selling travel supplies.

While hiking through the mountains on the way to Machu Picchu, our guide told us ominously that he expected the Shining Path rebels to make a come back. Corruption and income inequality was still a major problem. His words proved prophetic when we got to Aguas Calientes, a town at the base of Machu Picchu. Farmers had blocked out all rails and roads leading into the town, effectively shutting down the crown jewel of Peruvian tourism.

With only sparse news, the hordes of tourists were on the streets drinking away the time frustrated and clueless. The train station looked like a refugee camp. With the backlog of tourists who cannot make it out, many people were stuck on the other side of the fence surrounding the station, grasping the interlocking wires and peering in envious at the people who already had their tickets.

Instead of leaving the town at 2pm, we ended up making the journey at 10pm, stopping at a town to transfer onto a bus that made its way into Cuzco at 3am in the morning. Along the way, we saw logs and rocks littering the road which our driver skillfully steered around in near pitch blackness. A teammate whispered: “its just like in the Shining Path Museum.”

The title is a misnomer, given that there are truly many more types of backpackers. The ones who plan everything and the ones who don’t (me). The ones who want to hang out with their own kind and the ones who want to assimilate….and so on. But this article is dedicated to the nameless female Californian backpacker I ran into at the bag storage facility at Machu Picchu.

The girl represents the hardcore backpacker type, who sleeps in 5 soles (US$1.66) guesthouses that come with leaky taps and coldwater baths. Her philosophy for travel is that it is about an attitude and an experience, not a holiday. It is about “going local” and going off the “beaten backpacker track.”

It seems ironic how Lonely Planet has appropriated the title of “going of the beaten track” when in fact they manufacture the beaten track, turning the unknown and pristine into the tried and tested. It is hard to blame them. On one hand, they make backpacking more accessible. On the other hand, they steal the adventure of backpacking and replace it with the illusion of one.

The other type of backpackers I met in South America fall into the opposite end: young and flush with (limited) cash, they are all about party, beer and sex. They (often) stick to the safe path of Lonely Plant-approved hostels and they share the title of “backpacker” with Cali girl. I am not sure if she enjoys being lumped together with them. Then again, we all travel for our own reasons right?

I arrived in Cuzco – the gateway to Machu Picchu – by plane. Being slightly over 2 kilometers above sea level, I struggled with a brief headache spell the first day, and getting sun-burnt despite the freezing weather. I remained excited about embarking on my trek on the Inca Trail. Shortly after my arrival, I witnessed the Cuzco version of the prank phone call: some kids ran up to a door, knocked on it and ran away before a befuddled lady looked out to see no one at her doorsteps. The kids giggled from a corner.

On my first night, I overheard two Argentinean ladies (Mumi and Veronica) from Cordoba asking about tours to the Sacred Valley. I suggested to them that we should hop into a local van and head into the valley on our own. They found this agreeable and the next day, we set off into the Sacred Valley on our own. Thanks to Veronica’s bazaar-loving tendencies, we ended up spending a good part of the day shopping on the streets of Pisaq.

On our way to Urumbamba from Pisaq in the Sacred Valley, Veronica talked to an elderly lady who railed against the injustice of Machu Picchu: according to her, locals could only visit on Sunday and they had to pay the exorbitant tourist prices. Upon hearing this, her child cried out “I want to see Machu Picchu!” (I hear conflicting information from other people about this: my guide claims its free for Cuzco people on Sunday).

We were told that there was an ancient Incan palace at Urumbamba. When we got off, we walked up a hill looking for our palace and found a rather ancient looking crumbling stone wall which we assumed was the palace wall. Mumi, Veronica and I started taking pictures excitedly, posing in all sorts of odd angles beside the wall. After a ten minute break, we walked round the corner looking for the entrance and stopped to ask a little boy. Turns out that this was just an ordinary cemetery; the three of us gave up looking for the palace and swore to pretend that our photos were of the palace.