Equatorial editorial

The Humboldt Current is a flow of cold water which comes up from Antarctic regions, slowly rising to the ocean surface along the coast of Perú. Because it has the effect of cooling coastal waters - extending this effect also out to a thousand or so km offshore - the current also reduces evaporation from the Pacific Ocean, causing the aridity that is so notable in coastal, northern Perú. Interesting, hey?

So that is where we are up to, arid, warm, northern Perú. I had to make it sound interesting somehow! Truth is that we are pleased to be here. Emily is having a tropical beach holiday, amongst palm trees and out of reach of the Humboldt's sea mists, and I am on a mission to the Equator.

Yep, even as I while away the afternoon in an internet cafe, I am on the way further north. Had planned to get to Quito today, but the silly little men in uniforms stood in my way. I am currently waiting for the bike to get customs-cleared, something which is patently impossible on a Sunday, I am told. There's only one good thing about dealing with officious nincompoops - arguing the point with them! Hehe I always get a laugh out of it!

As far north as I wanted to get - until I found out the real equator is about 200m further north. So I went there and had fun balancing an egg on a nail, watching the Coriolis effect up close, and stuff like that.

Over to you, Em? How are things on the beach? xxxa

Well, despite my facebook boasts of my tropical beach holiday, it's not quite what I expected here ...

Firstly, a comment on the beaches on this side of the world. Apparently Brazil gives us a run for our money, and I've heard they're pretty good Columbia way, but in my opinion, Perú doesn't rate. I'm at Máncora, supposedly one of their finest. The sand is coarse, gritty, and, well ... grey. There are palm trees, sure, but they are all growing at sharp angles, evidently due to the wind that starts up about mid-morning and builds until sunset, making an afternooon trip to the beach an uncomfortably sandy experience. And the waves! The 5 or 6 surf schools are all vying for the beach's one break - which hasn't got much over knee height since I've been here.

Probably the most boring is that since Andy's left, I've become the target of too much latin attention. Which isn't romatic and suave like in the movies, but crude and aggresive, and in this case entirely unwanted.

But then, enough whinging, it's not all bad! I'm staying in a luxurious Indonesian-style bungalow with an amazingly comfy bed, a wonderful hammock, daily fresh sheets and fluffy towels, and - hitherto unheard of in Perù - an endles supply of hot water.

The town has a bit to offer too. There's a lovely vegetarian cafe and somwhere to buy a good coffee. And there's even a breezy internet cafe in which I can finish a couple of job applications I've been working on (yep - it's that time of the trip, probably a great contributor to my grumpiness). And I've managed to have some good conversations too.

However, spending Andy's birthday wihout him, well ... just isn't the real thing.

So now I've had my clothes washed, aired the camping gear, enjoyed the towels and coffee ... and nearly finished my applications, I'm just waiting for my (very Australian, very romantic and very suave) man to come back so I can give him a birthday hug and get back on the adventure!...

Day 4
Well the wind has died down and the sun has come out - and the whole place is filled with colour (even the beach is yellow). I got my job apps in yesterday, and spent the rest of the day soaking up the sun.

Then, only a day after his big one, Andy came back - stoked with his equatorial adventure and to be able to take off his boots off and enjoy the birthday beer and brownie I had waiting for him.

And we had a mini beach holiday together, lapping up the sun and the sea for all it was worth, before our last hike, 4000km south.

Cañon del pato, Santa, toward the North Pole

Duck Canyon is the way down to the coast from Caraz. Starting as a groovy, curvy early-morning ride, it soon became a challenging, hair-raising jaunt downhill, above and parallel to the deep canyon (no ducks in evidence), through dozens of rough-hewn tunnels on another rough dirt road.


Some of the tunnels had me holding my breath a little - it's an odd feeling riding into a pitch-dark hole that curves out of view ahead of you. I took my sunnies off for the second tunnel, but it was still a bit of a startler!


Spectacular trip, but by mid-morning we again had had enough of the sharp knocks, and I heard myself promising the old bike a nice, smooth trip along the Monash Freeway when it gets home! Boring I know but we all need a carrot sometimes!

Anyhow, this was to be a long day. We had left Caraz without breakfast, and somewhere along the line enjoyed unripe bananas, sweet biscuits and a lovely whine for morning tea. Pushing on, and now able to enjoy the luxury of asphalt, we lunched in Santa before heading north. The coast of Perú spends a lot of the year blanketed under a thick sea mist, caused by the Humboldt Current, and we were hoping to get out from under this cloud for a sunny little beach holiday.

Dune-filled deserts, long straights and the idiocy of Peruvian driving made the afternoon stretch on like the road before us, but with care and some long stints in the saddle we made it to charming little Huanchaco well before the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.

Laguna 69

We spent a couple of days in Huaraz, hanging out in cafes and using the internet to get ourselves sorted for returning to Australia. When we got moving, we headed for Huascarán, and the national park named for it in the Cordillera Blanca.



We set up camp deep in the valley, where the sun set early, leaving a heavy chill in the air. Next day we wandered, hung out, took the sun, and stuff like that. That's the way to stretch out a holiday!



For our second night up there, at around 3900m, we made sure of getting into tent and sleeping bags warm after an hour's brisk walk. No idea of the temperature, but there was a heavy frost on the tent both nights and the warm-up-before-bed made a big difference.

We were up about five, tucked into porridge and tea and set off for a hike. Suffice to say there was much puffing and panting too; we climbed from our campsite at 3900m to 5000m before coming down. A walk of about 16km; it's a while since we have had that kind of exercise!

(as I rounded this corner and saw the path was still going up, I wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. For the rest of the climb I counted 100 steps between each rest ... and still had trouble making it that far - e)

I think the photos will speak for themselves, vis-a-vis the views. The Lake - Laguna 69 - was absolutely spectacular, saphire blue, and nestled underneath the snowy Chacarraju summit.

Exhilarated but exhausted- so much so that we gave away the beers we had stashed in the river, preferring water and softdrink - we dragged our feet a bit as we struck camp and headed off the mountain to Caraz.

Rainforest - Huanuco - Huaraz

Out of the rainforest (in teeming, thrashing, pouring rain, through rising rivers and prodigious potholes), we took refuge and a tepid shower in a nameless little town. In an act of apparent sympathy, the owners gave us a half-dozen towels which we used well.

Our new mate in Lima, Rodrigo, had put us in contact with some mates of his in Huanuco, another little town in the Peruvian backblocks. Needing to change a tyre and a set of wheel bearings, we headed to their workshop. If not for the necessary mechanical work, we would most likely not have hung around long. As it was, we were there for two nights, and I spent a full day in the workshop. More than that, though - once again we were 'invited in' by Wendel, his daughter Vanne and the family, and ate two lunches and a dinner with them. One of few opportunities we have had to get to know Peruvians from close-up. They gave us each a Pillco Moto club hat and t-shirt, and Wendel even went to the trouble of letting the police know we were coming through when we left, so that they wouldn't hold us up (this worked well). Muchas gracias!


Some of the crappiest roads we have ever seen - and we have seen a few - greeted us as we went the back way from the rainforest to the mountains. Along with a couple of quite unfriendly towns, and endless calls of 'Gringo!' from the side of the road. Enough said, I don't really think we want to relive this part of the experience, and I am sure noone wants to read about them. Even these roads, though, have their moments.


Credit once again to the tough old BMW. And the tough young pillion! We were heading for a town called Huaraz, somewhat of a mecca for hikers, climbers and other adventure-seeking types given its proximity to 6000m peaks, and to the Huascarán national park. When confronted with a fork in the road, we opted for the more exciting path, a route which took us over yet another pass over 4000m - on a deserted dirt road.

For the mechanically-minded, we have been dealing with a worn-out lower shock absorber bush for a while now, with no chance of getting a new one, and on this trip there were some roadside repairs to do when we broke another lower shock mount bolt. After the previous couple of days, we were well relieved to get there, find a hot shower, a comfy cafe with great 'gringo' food and atmosphere.

Canyons, waterfalls, walks in the scrub

To get to Pozuzo from Oxapampa, it's a hectic 90-odd km along about the worst road we have encountered on our travels - think potholes big enough to sink the BM in.

The early afternoon found us at a ranger station, and as it was remote and deserted but well-kept, we decided it would make a good camp. (In the carport - previous entries attest to my preference for dry-tent camping!) We went for an hour's walk, down a canyon dripping with hanging plants and spray, and sat under a boulder beside a forceful river, feeling the power of place, forest and water.

We had some interest in the town of Pozuzo, settled in the 1850s by German and Austrian immigrants under a Peruvian program designed to settle the rainforest, and said to be the only Austro-German colony in the world. We were on a rainforest mission, but went to town to get petrol and beer. We were there long enough to get a short version of the settlement story from a friendly, German-named local.

Seems it was a harrowing experience for a hopeful but unfortunate mob, getting to and colonising a place they really didn't fit in, but the unfulfilled promises of the Peruvian government were an improvement on the war- and famine-ravaged life they escaped.

Returning to the ranger station near dark, we set up camp, splashed on the repellent, and got about hanging out. The noise of waterfalls was pierced by birdcalls, but thankfully not by the roar of jaguars. We did not have lentils for dinner. (andy, you are a funny bugger! e)

Waking up in special places is, well, special. We took a while over our baths, too.

Lima to the rainforest

We blew through Lima as quickly as we could, after some admin tasks and a little bit of work on the bike. Thankfully I had some help for this latter, as to go looking for bolts, tyres, zippers and the like without local knowledge would have taken well longer, quite apart from sending me off to the dodgy parts of town. Although our bike is quite old, and wears its mud and dust with pride, it attracts lots of attention at times in South America. Mostly, this is harmless and makes for a bit of a yarn, but on the recommendation of our new contact in Lima, the shopping was taxi-based. How is it we have a new contact in Lima, you ask? Rodrigo was one of several limeños good enough to respond to my query through Horizons Unlimited, and had time between his vet sci exams to help out.

Getting from the city to the selva - the rainforest - involves getting over the Andes once again, our umpteenth 4000m + pass. We are getting used to them, and nowadays bang an extra jumper on before we start.

A world of slow trucks and narrow road later, and the chill evening had us diving into a funny little hostal at 3700m in La Oroya to ask the usual questions: 'can we park the bike?', and 'is there hot water?' We could, and there was, and we didn't leave the place for the rest of the evening. No TV, and we were stacking our stuff against the door in a vain effort against the draughts, but it did the trick.

Breakfast was in a new town, after I flunked the 'lamb soup first thing' test in La Oroya (Em opted to go hungry). A sunny day's ride down into the foothills, a couple of photo stops and a pleasant surprise when a road marked as dirt was in fact (mainly) newly asphalted. We stocked up with camp food at La Merced, and headed towards Oxapampa, sussing out possible camp spots as we went. A signpost (rare enough these parts) promised us a waterfall not far off the road, so we ventured in across the footbridge,

sat on the bridge over the waterfall, discussed campsite, greened out and got scared of the jaguars. A previous post reveals the result!

Anyhow our day in the outpost town of Oxapampa was not wasted, though we didn't expect to end it at our favourite host mum's house again.

Teresa welcomed us with open arms, and even cooked our dinner for us after Emily had left lentils to soak in her kitchen! We'd been exploring out in the sticks and got ourselves well wet, but somehow host mum had her timing right and we walked straight into a hot meal.

Next day out early, heading for the real rainforest, we hoped, out of reach of the chainsaws in the Yanachaga - Chemillén National Park.

Paracas Peninsula

There's an odd little resort at and oasis called Huacachina on this bit of Peruvian coast. Doesn't offer much, except for sand-boarding, and even that needed some spicing-up.Between the dunes of Huacachina and the smog of Lima, there is rather a lot of Pacific Coast with seemingly little to mark the passing miles. The Paracas national park seemed the only place on the map worth visiting, so we called it a day early and stocked up, eager to camp after a few weeks in hostels.

The Paracas National Park is an odd and beautiful place, like a peninsula of desert reaching out into the ocean. In the photo below, that spot in the middle ground's the bike!

Condors, pelicans and an array of other birds excited our feathery bits, and made up for the utter lack of macroscopic vegetation. Sunset was on the beach, long time since we had that experience.
We camped, went for a spin and a walk to see sealions in the morning, and luncheoned on a dish called ceviche - raw fish - before heading north again.

Chincha, a town razed by earthquake only eight months ago, was our home for the night. We chose a solid-looking little hotel, and dove into the underground parking just as night fell and the vibe became grubby.

Swooping down to Nazca

Back and showered after our strenuous efforts at Machu Picchu, we ate another round of tamales in Cusco and banged down the road. Soaring with the condors, or something like that, we covered a spectacular 600km down to the flat coastal strip of Perú in a couple of days. Another hot road for the motorcyclists among us, with endless curves to wear out the edges of the tyres, and some grouse high-plains scenery.

I wanted to get an idea of the Nazca Lines without going for a joyflight - though we have flown to Europe, then to South America, and poke around the place on a petrol-engined motorbike, I can not stand the idea of extending our carbon signature just to have a gawk at a tourist attraction. After living at Uluru for a few years, I have had about enough of seeing others do it, too. In any case, plenty of aerial photos of the lines are available on postcards and the internet, and a flight in a light plane seemed a distraction. Emily's interest in the lines was a bit limited too. You can climb hill or a tower to get an idea of the lines, so we did both just around sunset and were more than happy with the experience.

We have been feeling the days remaining to us on this trip are numbered - see previous posts - and we still had our hopes on another visit to each of rainforest, mountains and beach. So we poked up the Panamerican Highway to a dive called Ica, then took a left to the Huacachina Oasis.

Leaving this adventure behind

We have had a blast this year, and it's not slowing down one bit! Get the details elsewhere on these pages...

After almost a year on the road, we are making some plans about coming back to Australia (I mean, they are pretty bloody vague - not sure Emily would call what we're making 'plans', or maybe her standards were higher before we met! And I would almost certainly have waited until touchdown on the dry continent if it were up to me.)

So though we are making plans - or whatever - about our return to Australia, we are more than a little reluctant to leave the adventure. Obviously, a lot goes on that doesn't make it to this blog - like all the little conversations with truckies and cops and whomever to find out about road conditions or whatever, or the more important conversations which have given us some insight into the thoughts and lives of Peruvians.

Or the adventure we had last night, riding the bike across a footbridge rated for about 10kg less than the weight of the bike (without Emily, who walked), up a goat track and across jungle creeks to get to a waterfall, discussing where to set up, and relaxing in the very green forest above the waterfalls, as the twilight waned. Then when all was black, freaking out at the idea of getting attacked by a jaguar (real possibility, even if low-percentage!), and bailing out in the dark with all same obstacles! We did fall on our feet, ending up a few km later at a guesthouse where we spent the night in a place with monogrammed towels, frilly sheets, a full country kitchen at our disposal and a charming hostess who asked us to name our price! Total blowout of a day and night, but stuff like this just happens all the time! Back to the waterfalls and out for a walk in the rainforest today, probably.

Late June, we are back in Australia, though we love this lifestyle, and it will be bloody hard to leave it behind. But as I said, we are making plans, playing with ideas of where to live and what we will do for work and study, getting excited about visiting people. We are putting time and energy into arranging shipment of the bike, even though we don't know really know where we will be living when we move from this home on the road to a place with stumps and doors.

Sneaking into Machu Picchu

Once at Aguas Calientes, the village at the base of the Machu Picchu mountain, there are three ways to the Incan ruins:

1. Buy a ticket for $48 and a bus ticket for $6
2. Buy a ticket for $48 and make the two-hour ascent on foot
3. Sneak in.

We were taking the third option, and armed with our notes (see our previous entry Machu Picchu on a shoestring), we set off for the two hour walk, two hours before sunset.

The first 40 minutes of steep stone steps - enough to get our hearts racing and our bodies covered in sweat - brought us to the entrance of the 'forbidden path'. After a quick look and a deep breath, we dove into the jungle and climbed 'an animal path made by desperate animals' through the dense bush for the next 20 minutes - enough to keep the sweat rolling and also to cover us in dirt - until we came face to face with a stone wall: the forbidden terraces of Machu Picchu. Wow. The huge grey rocks were more significant to us for the fact we really weren't supposed to be amongst them.

We crawled and scrambled over these until we were back in the jungle, climbing high above the valley along the edge of another cliff.

Our first close view of the ruins (peering through a gap in the jungle) took our breath away.

As we emerged from the bush, drenched in sweat and covered in dirt, we did our best to 'blend in' with the ticket-paying tourists - as was suggested by our notes. I'm not sure how sucessful we were in this part of the mission. At this time of day, the ticket-payers were of the white-sneaker-and-cream-visor variety, and were saying things to each other like 'oh, this is one of their acqueducts' (about a stream of water coming out of the ground) loudly in English.

And us, well, we looked something like this ...

... and were't saying much at all, too busy catching our breath. Stoked to be there all the same, we had a look around and started snapping out photos like the best of them.

We had a blissful 15 minutes ... before we realised we were starting to be herded out with the others. We had managed to sneak in 15 minutes before closing time!!!

Unperturbed, we ignored the bus queue and started walking down to the valley, determined to make another ascent in the morning. On the track we were greeted by a couple of friendly dogs (one black, one white), who accompanined us right the way down to the village, where Andy helped them growl-down an aggressive pair of boxers, cementing our friendship.

After dinner, we set the alarm for 3.30am, and crashed out.

As can be imagined, it was quite dark at 4am. Our plan (against the advice of our trusty notes)was to penetrate the site before sunrise. Much to our delight we were greeted by a couple of familiar canine types as we left our hostel, and were able to follow their white banners wagging in the light of the waning moon. We were inspired to change their names from 'Blacky' and 'Whitey' to the far more creative 'Machu' and 'Picchu'.

The steps were a cinch, but not the jungle. The 20 minutes stretched to 40 as we wasted much precious time following a rogue gully (unable to use our torch for fear of discovery). Having found the path again we finally popped out at the first terraces just as it was getting light.

At the bottom of the site we sat in the jungle and watched what was going on. It appeared that there were both security and toursits in there, so we took a deep breath (necessary, at 2600m) and sped-walked to the first terraces. Straight into three security guards, just as our notes predicted. Hmmmm.

The site was truly magical at that time of the morning. My Nanna described her visit to Machu Picchu all those years ago as the place she felt closest to God. While I stood there and took in the ancient terraces and the beautiful mist-shrouded mountains behind, I felt close to my Nanna.

Meanwhile, Andrew was deep in conversation with the guards about the fee struture of the site. He is very good at this sort of thing, and I had quite some time to contemplate the beauty of the place. I even manged to take a photo before they threatened to confiscate our camera. Not a very good one, it needed a tripod (or at least a terrace) however it gives an impression and provides us with a memory of Machu contempalting the scene. Picchu (the more flighty of the pair) had already dissapeared.


I reckon we had about as much time as the night before (15 minutes) before we were herded out the gate again. There we were confonted by the first tourists of the morning (more the fleece-and-homemade-jewellery backpacker types than the white-t-shirters of the night before), who were to be let in to the site just as the last mist would be disappearing from the peaks.

Satisfied with our short (but unique) visit, we decided to make the return trek that morning.

Machu Picchu on a shoestring

Machu Picchu, Peru's most visited tourist attraction, is a huge revenue generator. The daily visit price is 6 times that of Angkor Wat or Uluru. There is no road open to the public, and tourists are charged US$89 for the 4 hour train trip from Cusco.Still, the tourists keep coming. In such numbers (between 2000 and 5000 per day) that the site is in danger of collapsing - slipping some 2cm every year, and UNESCO is considering putting it on it's list of endangered World Heritage sites. The Peruvian government is being pressured to do something to curb tourist numbers and/or stabilise the site - but it appears at the moment income generation takes priority.

We had no interest in contributing to this scam, so found alternative directions (see Machu Picchu on a shoestring). Apparently this involved riding to two remote villages to the site's north and walking two hours up a train track to Aguas Calientes, the township at the base of the Machu Picchu mountain. Easy done? Sort of.

As usual, we started out in the afternoon. First hurdle: a 4316m mountain pass. This turned out to be a blast. The asphalt was new and smooth, and the endless switchbacks were the material of motorbiker's fantasies. Once at the top, Andy decided it was very important to head down again for a photo shoot - and as I dutifully stood on the edge of the cliff peering through my camera at the fast moving Andy-speck, I wondered about his motivations ... was it the photos he was after, or the chance of riding the curves two more times??? (bit of each - a)

The other side was a buzz of a different kind. We were slowed a bit by landslides, rivers and frequent chunks out of the freshly-laid asphalt (down where we could see the switchback way below). Crazily, this all seems to be in a day's riding for us at the moment, and we were soon warm again in the next valley, and letting out our tyres for the last 110kms of dirt. Nice one. Except by this time it was very late in the afternoon.

The first of our waypoints (Santa Maria, some 50kms down the road) appeared a sort of dusty transit stop, with no welcome except from a rather unlikeable 10-year-old boy who tried to convince us to stay in his family's hostel by lying to us about the passability of the road to Santa Teresa. Enough to encourage us to keep going.

Not for long. 'Be careful up there, people get robbed. They killed and robbed taxi driver recently' (the parting words of a woman we stopped to chat with) and the sunset sky were enough to turn us back from the small dirt track heading over the range towards Santa Teresa. Smarmy kid or no, we were going to have to take shelter in Santa Maria.

However as luck would have it, just as we turned around, a van and three rental bikes (a tour from Cusco) passed us. Andy and the guide came to the arrangement that we would follow them over the pass - saftey in numbers and all that. So, now we were safe from bandits, but were choking in the dust of four vehicles ... something Andy does everything possible to avoid.

This could be the scariest ride of my life. The pass was one narrow lane, dropping into a precipice on our left. While I was imagining murderers around every corner, our night vision was hindered (to say the least) by clouds of thick dust from the van and bikes ahead of us. We forded a river or two (I walked through the deepest - my sooden boots adding to my pretty dark mood), and the ride went on. We overtook them, the van overtook us (by trickery), and finally, when we had had too much of it, we decided to risk the bandits and took off ahead of them, only 10 ks to go.

As always, we made it on one piece, and found ourselves a cozy place to camp for the night. We dropped the ball a bit after dinner by accepting a sip of rum from a jug, and then joining the resturant owner and his young mates in drinking a number of them in the street. The result was a slow, muddle-headed morning.

Another half an hour ride, and we were at our next waypoint, Hidroelectrica (as the name may suggest, a hydroelectric powerstation), the end of the road.Bike stashed, we set off for Aguas Calientes about 15 minutes after the one train for the day had left. Bummer. The walk along the tracks was hot and tiring ... but did offer some great views, including our first glimpse of the famous ruins (up there on the horizon).

Aguas Calientes is in a picture perfect location - a valley surrounded by mist-shrouded mountains, on the banks of a raging river. The village itself is a sort of shoddy imitation of a European alps resort - prices included. The three hour walk, last night's rum and yesterday's ride took their toll, and after checking into the first reasonably-priced hostel and asking the proprietor to wake us in half an hour, we promptly crashed out.

And woke two hours later, at 3.30. Ready to make the two hour ascent two hours before sunset. This requires an entry of it's own - see Sneaking into Machu Picchu.

On the way out, we missed the one train for the day by 15 minutes (a theme emerging?), and so headed again down the tracks on foot. A riverside picnic and a two-hour walk later, and we were saying a final goodbye to the spectacular valley.

Back to the bike. Back to Santa Teresa, a quick and much-needed dip in the local thermal pools. Back to Santa Maria, where we were accosted by the same smarmy 10-year-old. This time he offered us lunch. Andrew told him nicely but firmly that the reason we wouldn't be visiting was because he lied to us two days previously. As we left, I turned to see him quietly sitting in his chair on the verandah, hopefully contemplating the lesson in these words.Back to the start of the asphalt, and this time we were pumping up the tyres, not letting them down, just as the sun was setting.

The pass at night was a totally different scene. The rivers were bigger (presumably from snow-melt), and in some cases runnning down the road, and the trucks seemed to take no heed to the fact that the road was often only one lane. At over 4000m and at night, it was also freezing. The climb seemed endless - at one stage when I thought we must have been near the top, I spied a pair of headlights high high above us, in a place that should have only been occupied by stars.

I hugged close to Andy as he picked our way slowly up and over the pass, down the other side, and through the valley into Ollantaytambo.The rest is really history, and its getting late. Needless to say, we took the first available room - twice as expensive as we were used to, and (surprise surprise) twice as nice. Imagine a hot shower! Pure luxury, really.

Cusco

Cusco is a pretty town - an array of well-kept adobe buildings, spacious plazas and cobblestone streets. This, and the fact that it is the launching pad to Machu Picchu, makes it the tourist capital of Peru.

We spent a couple of days there, making the most of it's tourist-delights :)

PS While I've been updating this blog, Andy has been engrossed in his new favorite website: All About Beards. Im peeking - he's filling out an online questionnaire, and has rated is beard as 'well above average', and his level of satisfaction as 'very satisfied'. Oh me oh my.