Extract from the book Carnival Express
by The Raven Brothers
Simon: In the suburbs of Cusco, we sit aboard a worn out bus and prepare to embark on a journey to one of the most famous archaeological sites in the world. Chris purchases a large bag of popcorn, an ancient Peruvian snack. A fellow adventurer had advised us that the best way to travel to Machu Picchu was to first catch a bus to Ollantaytambo via Pisac, where you can then find a connecting Peru-Rail train to the mountain town of Aguas Calientes.
Breaking free of the city traffic, tiny rural settlements start to flash by as we travel on a hair-raising, buttock-clenching journey to the beautiful town of Ollantaytambo. Built by the Inca emperor Pachacuti, Ollantaytambo became part of his royal estate after it was conquered in the mid-15th century. Undertaking extensive works of terracing and irrigation in the Urubamba Valley, the town provided lodging for the Inca royalty and nobility and to this day has some of the oldest continuously occupied dwellings in South America. Ollantaytambo was the location of some of the last battles against the Spanish conquest and we stand on the walls once defended by the Manco Incas warriors. We look down over the Patakancha River. The whole area is surrounded by jungle smothered mountains, with the main Inca access routes running along the Urubamba Valley that lead to Pisac and all of the way up into the mountains to Machu Picchu. Having decided to avoid punishing ourselves by walking the Inca Trail in the rainy season, we follow Fernando’s advice and catch the train to the settlement of Aguas Calientes which lies in the shadow of Machu Picchu.
We arrive at the small railway station as night falls. The atmosphere is electric with the sounds of street vendors cooking up food, and hoards of tourists milling around waiting in anticipation for the Peru-Rail train to arrive. The train finally appears on the horizon andits clattering blue carriages follow close behind. A mixture of tourists and locals pour out of the doors and exit the gate, excitement fills the air. Once the platform is empty, the guard begins checking tickets and waving people onto the platform. We wait for the majority of our fellow passengers to board the train before finding our seats. Between the lines of competitive raindrops racing down the window of the train carriage, I look down below the tracks at the point where the Patakancha River meets the powerful Urubamba River. The noise is deafening, with millions of litres of muddy brown water crashing through the Urubamba Valley. You wouldn’t stand a chance if you fell in. It would swallow you whole and break every bone in your body. I imagine the front page headline in tomorrow’s newspaper, “200 Tourists Killed when Train Plunges into Peruvian Death River.” I see a gang of Peru-Rail workers clearing fallen boulders from the railway tracks. The train jerks and the brakes squeal in pain. It’s ironic to think that even with all of the modern technology and machinery at our disposal, we are still no match for the Incas, who tamed this hostile environment and thrived in this region over 500 years ago.
It’s still raining heavily when we arrive at the small town of Aguas Calientes around eight o’clock in the evening. Jostling through the crowds along the dimly lit main street, we pass a row of food vendors and tourist restaurants. We find a small family run hotel that’s affordable and spotlessly clean. Checking in for the night, I set my alarm for 5:30am and, exhausted after a mammoth day of sightseeing, we drift off to sleep to the sound of the rain pattering against the window.
Considering we are staying in a town called Aguas Calientes, meaning “hot waters”, I can’t help feeling a little disappointed that the shower is freezing cold. That said, the icy cold water perks me up and I dry myself with a t-shirt; having left my towel in the hotel room back in Cusco. Chris rolls off his bed and sprays deodorant under his armpits. Skipping out of the room, we tiptoe through the dark and muddy streets. It rained heavily during the night and I think of the poor souls walking the Inca Trail. At this unsociable hour, 6:05am to be precise, the main street is deserted with the exception of an old chap who dashes past with his head bent low. We find our way to the river and see a line of white buses parked up outside a small office. A handful of grumpy-faced tourists wearing raincoats stand motionless outside. After ten minutes, a guy in uniform steps out of the office and opens the door to one of the buses. We all clamber aboard and squint at the bright interior lights that illuminate our swollen faces. More glum faces board the bus, and as it grows light we embark on the last stage of our journey to Machu Picchu. Misty mountains tower above our heads, as we zigzag through the damp cloud forest. On a blind bend, the driver turns the steering wheel sharply to the left and suddenly slams on the brakes in a bid to avoid mowing down a group of workmen clearing enormous boulders out of the road. We grip onto the seats in front, as we’re thrown violently forward. I hear gasps followed by nervous laughter from our fellow passengers. The bus driver drops down a couple of gears and crawls along a knife-edge past the obstruction, before accelerating hard again in order to pick up enough momentum to mount the next steep incline. As we climb higher and higher up the mountain, clouds begin to swirl around us and pour into the valley below. It puzzles me how the driver can see, but he doesn’t appear to be worried in the slightest and continues to power up the steep hill with his precious cargo (i.e. me). Thankfully, we arrive safely at the top and much to our dismay we park outside a luxury five star lodge. Paying the entrance fee, we make our way along a path that traverses a large stone block wall. We pause at the foot of a flight of steps that disappear mysteriously into the mist. A tour group rush past, which seems pointless when you consider that the mist is completely hiding the city from view. Curious to know what lies at the top of the steps, we begin our ascent into the clouds. Reaching the top, we stumble across an ancient Inca road that winds off into the forest. The trail itself is an impressive sight, and is constructed out of large square stone blocks that have been cut and aligned perfectly square. Weighing many tons, the Incas are thought to have used thousands of slaves to move the blocks into place. Marvelling at the Incas incredible achievements, we try not to forget the many lives that were sacrificed in its construction. I imagine a barefooted messenger 600 years ago running through the forest, and I feel a chill down my spine at the thought of how in 1911, Hiram Bingham, an American explorer and young history lecturer from Yale University, discovered the greatest archaeological find of the 20th Century. Reading from a tourist leaflet, Chris reveals that Machu Picchu, meaning “Old Peak”, was a royal estate and religious retreat built by the Sapa Inca Pachacuti in 1440. The city’s life had come to an abrupt end around the time of the Spanish conquest of Peru in 1532.
Returning to the main site, we climb higher into the clouds and sit with our legs dangling over the edge of a terrace. Chris offers me an Oreo, and I feel like Zeus on top of Mt Olympus as I watch wisps of cloud drift below our feet. The mist rapidly clears to unveil our precarious location on a ridge high above the valley. My stomach summersaults when it dawns on me we are sat on a ledge that plunges a hundred metres vertically into the Urubamba River canyon below. Crawling away from the edge, we walk along the terraces and spot a hawk swoop low across the Inca houses. It lands nearby and ruffles its feathers, and seems to be completely unconcerned by our presence. A bewildered tourist disturbs the bird, causing it to take flight and soar over the city. Climbing down the steep stone steps, which have been carved from a single block of granite, we wander around the Sacred District and visit the three main primary structures; the Intihuatana “Hitching post of the Sun”, the Temple of the Sun and the Room of the Three Windows. We see the Royal Mausoleum, a monolithic shrine of the Sacred Plaza and the mysteriously carved Intihuatana stone. Wandering through the streets, we look around the many houses where the women, children and priests lived. The buildings are built in classical Inca style from granite blocks with polished dry-stone walls. Many of the residences have been reconstructed, complete with thatched roofs, and I try to imagine the Inca people walking through these very streets and drinking from the water fountains that are interconnected by channels and water-drains. Much recent scholarship has focused on how the buildings at Machu Picchu were designed specifically to interact with the sun, stars and surrounding landscape. The most famous example is the Sun Temple, or Torreon, where each year on the winter solstice (21st June in the southern hemisphere), a beam of light shines through a window and forms a mysterious rectangle atop a slab of granite. I take a photograph and try to avoid the tourists, who appear to increase in number with every hour that passes by. Mass tourism is a serious problem here, and last year the authorities in Peru submitted a US$130 million plan to the UN's cultural arm, UNESCO, to help preserve the Inca citadel of Machu Picchu. Experts say unrestricted tourism and landslides have damaged the 15th Century citadel and the nearby Inca trail that leads to it.
Around midday, we are drawn towards the iconic Huayna Picchu and the green spike that rises 360m above the city. Like true explorers, we stretch our skinny legs and climb to the top. Sections of the trail are near vertical and slippery, and the steel ropes provide some support. We climb the ancient stone steps and eventually reach the summit. The views are breathtaking. Chris stands beside me and looks ready to beat his chest, but we repress our natural desires to release a loud animal cry and instead check out the Temple of the Moon. Crawling through narrow corridors and grazing my knee on a rock, we scale a ladder and emerge onto the roof of the temple. I crawl on my hands and knees and sit uneasily on top of the world. The sky begins to darken overhead, so we join the other tourists and head back down the mountain. Within seconds of beginning our descent, the clouds burst open and rain thunders down over Machu Picchu. Chris loses his balance and slides down the muddy trail on his backside. I hide my amusement as we battle against the torrential downpour. It’s a thrilling experience, and I get a real sense of what it may have been like to be an explorer at the turn of the last century in search of knowledge in ancient mystical lands.
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by The Raven Brothers
Overland travel writers, Chris Raven and Simon Raven, embark on a new comedy adventure that leads them to the wild and colourful continent of South America. From bull's testicles in Buenos Aires to bums and boobs on the beaches of Brazil, the Raven brothers put their dream plans into action and traverse the Trans-oceanic highway from the Pacific to the Atlantic Coast of South America.
Pioneering a new frontier over the Andes and through the heart of the Peruvian Amazon, the bizarre and the beautiful cross their dusty path as they seek inspiration for a new book and go in search of the ultimate carnival. Not always getting it right, Simon and Chris tango through the Argentinean vineyards, cycle to the Moon in Chile, lose themselves in the mysterious world of the Inca Empire, swim with caiman in the Madre de Dios, experience panic in the Pantanal, The Rolling Stones in Rio and conclude their journey in Olinda at the carnival of the soul.
by The Raven Brothers
Out of shape and unprepared, The Raven Brothers return to the road in a collection of ten quests to travel to their dream destinations against all odds! After two decades pioneering new routes across the globe, you would expect the authors of 'Driving the Trans-Siberian' to be hotshot explorers, with a sixth sense and an ability to survive in almost any situation. Think again! With virtually zero knowledge of the workings of the internal combustion engine and very limited skills of wilderness survival, Simon and Chris struggle into their hiking boots and power across three continents by river, tarmac and trail.
Venture to the top of Norway, cruise the road to Damascus, hike the Camino trail into Spain’s Wild West, row the Ganges, explore Frida Kahlo’s world in Mexico City, hangout with the dead in Sicily’s eerie catacombs, crawl deep inside Bolivia’s notorious silver mine, seek lions in Gujarat, wellness in Berlin and journey into the Naga Hills where tribal kings still rule.
Noted by Lonely Planet for their talent to portray an “accurate view of what to expect”, 'Hike, Drive, Stayin’ Alive!' signals a return to the duo writing “buttock clenching” travel comedy with the first in a series of candid stories of adventure by The Raven Brothers.
by The Raven Brothers
On Amazon >
Ever had the desire to jump in your car and keep driving; to wave goodbye to routine and commitment, to drive into the unknown hungry for adventure? Well, that is precisely what overland travel writers, Chris Raven and Simon Raven, decided to do whilst stacking boxes of frozen oven chips in a -30 degrees freezer. Not being petrol heads and having zero knowledge of the internal combustion engine, the brothers fired up their rusty Ford Sierra Sapphire and headed east.
After clocking up over 11,000 miles, quite literally living in the car, the pioneering duo miraculously arrived in the Far Eastern city of Vladivostok in Siberia on the Sea of Japan. What they had in fact done was to drive the entire length of the new Amur Highway before it was finished, which crosses Russia and the notorious Zilov Gap in a 6,200 mile swath of cracked tarmac and potholes. Along the way our trusty heroes drink vodka with Chechen criminals, escape highway robbery, trade banana flavoured condoms with Russian cops, meet the eccentric and plain weird at truck stops in darkest Siberia, endure torturous road conditions and have a race to the finish with the Germans. Surviving this insane journey by the skin of their teeth the brothers are forced to confront their worst fears in this toe-curling comedy of extreme road trip adventure.
Ever had the desire to jump in your car and keep driving; to wave goodbye to routine and commitment, to drive into the unknown hungry for adventure? Well, that is precisely what overland travel writers, Chris Raven and Simon Raven, decided to do whilst stacking boxes of frozen oven chips in a -30 degrees freezer. Not being petrol heads and having zero knowledge of the internal combustion engine, the brothers fired up their rusty Ford Sierra Sapphire and headed east.
After clocking up over 11,000 miles, quite literally living in the car, the pioneering duo miraculously arrived in the Far Eastern city of Vladivostok in Siberia on the Sea of Japan. What they had in fact done was to drive the entire length of the new Amur Highway before it was finished, which crosses Russia and the notorious Zilov Gap in a 6,200 mile swath of cracked tarmac and potholes. Along the way our trusty heroes drink vodka with Chechen criminals, escape highway robbery, trade banana flavoured condoms with Russian cops, meet the eccentric and plain weird at truck stops in darkest Siberia, endure torturous road conditions and have a race to the finish with the Germans. Surviving this insane journey by the skin of their teeth the brothers are forced to confront their worst fears in this toe-curling comedy of extreme road trip adventure.
Living the Linger
by The Raven Brothers
On Amazon >
The sudden break-up with Emily Willow finds Simon Raven, ex-amateur rock god and bored internet producer, on a Boeing 747 bound for Seattle. Led by his twin brother, Chris, who is more than happy to exchange a career in fashion photography for the open road, they embark on a buttock-clenching journey of paranoia and self-doubt, as they traverse Interstate 15 across backcountry America.
The sudden break-up with Emily Willow finds Simon Raven, ex-amateur rock god and bored internet producer, on a Boeing 747 bound for Seattle. Led by his twin brother, Chris, who is more than happy to exchange a career in fashion photography for the open road, they embark on a buttock-clenching journey of paranoia and self-doubt, as they traverse Interstate 15 across backcountry America.
Along the way the hapless duo bumble through bear infested wilderness, meet the eccentric and plain weird on the American freeway, escape a bullwhip wielding maniac in Missoula and survive the evils of Las Vegas. Testing their friendship to the limit as they battle to reach their nirvana, which exists in the form of the bikini beaches of California, the brothers find inspiration on a journey that exposes the stark truth about work and relationships and which asks the question - what do you really want to do with your life?
The legends of Jason and the Argonauts, Noah’s Ark and a tribe of fierce female warriors known as the Amazons all originate from the Black Sea. Gripped by curiosity, Simon and Chris fire up their twenty year old Volvo that looks, as rustic and weather-beaten as a Cold War tank and embark on a quest to drive full circle around this ancient body of water at the birthplace of civilisation.
In the shadow of rising tension in Ukraine, the brothers get up close and personal with the fascinating people who inhabit the six nations that surround these colourful shores. Living on the road like the nomadic horse bowmen who once ruled the steppe grasslands, they explore Crimea, the Caucasus region of southern Russia’s “Wild West”, the Georgian kingdom of Colchis, Turkey’s Pontic coast, the megacity of Istanbul and complete their journey in Romania at the outfall of the mighty River Danube.