This stretch, winding through the Salinas and Aguada Blanca National Reserve, would include countless camelids and breathless views of Peruvian volcanoes--literally, countless and breathless.
Truckers are the primary travelers on the only paved route connecting Arequipa and Juliaca, the junction town between Puno and Cusco, with luxury and local buses coming in a close second. After snailing up the switchbacking slopes, we sailed over straightaways that played hide-and-seek over the barren expanse while the omnipresent mountains monitored.
After an hour or so, the drowsiness induced by the drone of the engine, the increasing visual monotony, and decreasing oxygen levels, was replaced with a ripple of whispering, pointing and grabbing of cameras. We had entered the National Reserve, and queer creatures were appearing like camouflaged dots in the distance. Soon, we were surrounded by herds of cute quadrupeds. Click the comics and get closer...
We probably took two hundred pictures of those cute little critters!
As we left the llamas, a building appeared in the valley's wedge where we'd stop for a pee and some local tea.
Bizarre rocks, hewn by wind and weather, loomed over our rest stop. We were already well above 3000 meters (almost 10,000 feet), but before turning down the dusty spur to Chivay, all of the tour companies stop here, at this solitary structure, for a bathroom break, and copious quantities of coca concoctions. Two rumored truths revealed themselves here. First, the air definitely thinner. Second, the drink of the Incas definitely works. Headaches, short breaths, and sleepiness became noticeable. And, being hydrated and caffeinated has curing effects.
Still with an itchy sniffle, it was cool and crisp despite the blue sky. But, we cradled our steaming cups, leaving the huddled coca-sipping curio-searching masses inside at their wooden tables, and spooned and spun our thick green leaves. Outside, an alpaca was on the attack, a sugar rampage, seizing every opportunity to abscond the sweetness from any unwary tourist. The situation made for some chuckles and easy photos, as the animal obliviously focussed on his fructose, glucose, and sucrose overdose, knocking over mugs, feverishly licking tables from above and below.
Nearby, a dozen stalls housed a half dozen women vending the wares that form the backbone of all the tourist traps to come. Hats, gloves, blankets, of the oh-so-recognizeable-style of Peru: vivid colors woven in geometric patterns mixed with native nature, woolen hoods with long ear flaps and dangling braids, mittens and hand warmers with rainbow colored fingers, and fabulous fabrics and sturdy rugs looking like read-outs from multi-colored seismographs that have somehow recorded ancient earthquakes through the traditional looms of the Andes.
There was a marvelous view...
And piles of the typical tourist merchandise...
One little woman was winding wool--Leandra had quickly developed an affinity for these authentically clad women...
Warm blankets and more were basking in the thin air...
Smiles are universal, and this one was definitely worth a couple soles...
Inca Animal Contest! This small rug contains images of four animals, three that Incas consider highly sacred. If you can correctly identify the three they worship, and post the answers in the comments or email them to me, you win a cash prize of 23 soles and 80 centimos in Peruvian money! (I refused to spend the last of my cash on a sandwich in the Lima airport because Red Bulls were $8! I can't support an establishment that gouges people like that!)
Besides the beauty of this picture, notice the small settlement in the background; it's a police checkpoint where the highway splits to Chivay, Juliaca, and Arequipa. Later on our journey, like true adventurers, we would begin another leg of our backpacker travels there, which you will hear more about in an upcoming post...
With hot tea in our tummies and abating headaches, we re-boarded our bus and began the ascent to the summit pass of our passage to Chivay and the depths of Colca Canyon. We stopped at “El Mirador de los Andes”, the lookout of the Andes, at approximately 4,800 m (15, 750 ft), where magnificent views of volcanoes await: Mismi (5,597 m/18,360 ft), Misti (5,825 m/19,110 ft), Chachani (6,075 m/19,930 ft) and the glaciers: Ampato (6,288 m/20,630 ft), Sabancaya (5,976m/19,606 ft) and Hualca Hualca (6,288 m/20,630 ft). For the topographically challenged, we stood nearly a mile above our hometown landmark, Mt. Hood, and three-thirds of the way up Mt. Everest. Every step left you light headed as each breath of air felt empty. The landscape nearby was covered in rare medicinal lichens and mosses, and we were surround by precariously stacked cairns. Something that quickly became apparent was that wherever tourists stop, locals will be there vending their wares. But who can blame them?
It seemed like you could see the curvature of Earth from this perch...
Llamas dressed in formal wear were warily waiting for gringos to take their photos...
As we came in closer our four-footed hosts seemed a bit uncomfortable. Sensing some spitting and being a coward, I used my brave wife as a human shield. But, no expectorations ensued as I expected...
You could swear they were smiling when we gave back their personal space...
And the requisite exquisitely woven woolen wonders were on display as usual. Later we would learn that most of these goods were now produced in factories with a fraction of the claimed authenticity of quality and fiber. But, with an increasingly itchy throat and reservations in a Colca village, it would have been wise to buy a warmer hat than our Oregon caps. Regardless, we captured another epic picture...Soon after this stop, the road began bending and descending to our destination, the increasingly popular pueblo of Chivay, tucked away by the river's brim where Colca Canyon's shallower depths begin...
Valley walls grew greener with each snaking turn and dusty burn of the bus's hydraulic brakes. The road's shoulder drop-offs softened as stony precipices were risen. Pastures and protective enclosures became common, and terraced slopes emerged below...
Carving the gorge into puzzle pieces, the retaining rock walls of these agricultural stair steps were created by communities long before the rise of the Inca, and descendants still depend on them today...
In the surrounding hills, spiny cacti and steep alluvial rivulets scornfully contrast with the fertile farms further down, illustrating the ingenuity of the pre-Inca and their innovative irrigation systems...
And then, we arrived to the outskirts of town and the arch made out of sun warmed rock that ushered us in. Chivay is one of many ancient communities strung along the Colca Canyon. Its fortune is its location. At the end of the road, the beginning of the gorge, and with a bridge to the other side, it is the envy of other villages hoping to emulate its grip on local tourism. Visitors migrate here to nest before flocking to the Cruz del Condor, the preeminent vantage to view the Andean condor--the largest land bird in Earth's western hemisphere. And, that's why we came. As the gateway to Colca Canyon, this formally sleepy town is quickly climbing the list of Peru's most popular stops. Tourists here tend to be more outdoorsy than the more fortunate five-star travelers who prefer to see the third world from first-world accommodations; people here seek rugged escapes into canyon treks, volcanic ascents, and world class whitewater. But as the feedback loop of newcomers and income continue to drive improvements in infrastructure and services, Chivay and all the neighboring villages are certain to cultivate growing fame. For now, this town epitomizes the intersection of past and present: a traditional Peruvian pueblo with camera clad hordes, boarding and disembarking buses, clamoring around clicking away, filling hostels and restaurants to capacity, catalyzing a capitalist cataclysm that is transforming the town. Previously unpaved roads are being fortified for the fleets of foreigners, internet cafes are coming online on every corner, hostels are becoming hotels, and, besides produce, the local market now proffers curios and performances that tourists snap up for a gratuity.
Like most places in Latin America the Plaza de Armas defines the city's center. Fountains bubble, a gardener prunes, and elders rest on benches watching the latest batch of buses unload.
As always, a Spanish style church holds dominion over the town square. Another example of hillside art attests to the influence of the conquistadors, although most folks here still hold on to much of there Quechua language and tradition...
After lunch we checked into our hostel, located on main street. Our room was cute but cold, dank, and sparsely furnished; basically a bed and bathroom and a light, but no heat nor hot water--in other words, what would be luxury for a local. Later that night, in bed, we would find the night frigid, bones chilled and shivering, which would accelerate our oncoming colds from mild scratchy coughs into congested sniffling sickness...But, for now, backpack free, we headed out. From the asphalt of the plaza, the small town quickly dispersed down dirt roads where the spruced-up-for-the-tourists facades disappeared and rustic structures appeared. Town folk peered out at us as we glimpsed in. It was weird and wonderful--who was watching who?--everyone analyzing each other's oddities and awkwardness, wondering what it must be like to be the other. Everywhere, our attention was drawn by women in traditional dress: frilly shawls and animal fiber cloaks, iridescent skirts and sparkling hats. We followed one to the local market...
With significance unknown to us, but cut by some past culture, a stone stood in a alley while colorful characters and crafts created poetry in our pictures...
To see and share the spirit of a place outweighs any souvenir...
From the backs of alpacas and the locks of llamas, vivid yarns are spun, waiting to be woven by hand powered looms...
A woman sells cacti fruit, some juicy sweet, others tangy sour, but both delicious...
This picture is one of our favorites--it makes an excellent desktop photo for your computer. If you would like any of our photos, just email us, and we'd be happy to forward your favorites in all of their high-resolution glory--2000x3000 pixels!
Times change and traditions continue, but while the elders are accustom to living with visitors, the children still find us as fascinating as we find them cute....Other than an access point to the greater attractions of Colca Canyon, Chivay does possess its own popular phenomenon--hot springs!
A short drive down the valley where the riverside road terminates, hot springs germinate from the ground, and the bus unloads at La Calera for some vaporous ruminations...
In Oregon, hot springs are often still in a natural state, which is so much more natural, but getting the body core warm any way possible was certainly a blessing. And besides, the sulfury springs jet out at 85 degrees Celsius (185 Farenheit), so it was good to have the temperature toned down a bit! For centuries, these springs were used by native cultures as ceremonial and medicinal centers...
And, of course, little colorful ladies were there to tend to our tourist desires...
Ha-bbl-ving-bbl-a-blbbl-gr-blblbl-eat-blblbbl-time-blbbl
A small museum in the hot springs lodge held some authentic memorabilia including this Peruvian loom. After an hour and a shower, we shuttled back and scuttled around until we found the town billiards bar...
Leandra got a kick out of shooting some stick while some local ladies congregating nearby...
As night and temperatures quickly fell in the valley, we found one of the guidebook recommended restaurants. We were the first to arrive, and every table had a little sign with a tour guide's name. We had no reservation, but they slipped us into a corner table. Soon the hall filled with loud travelers, and another pan flute band took stage playing more 'authentic' Andean music--including the same cover songs we heard in Arequipa--although this group included an electric bass! The crowd contentedly sighed with surprise when they realized they never knew the Beatles or Bob Marley played traditional music from Peru! The food was standard western fare, not especially impressive, but intended to give gringos what they want.
Moments later, a decked-out duo came dancing, trying to keep their fake smiles genuine, while tourists groped for their cameras, clicking away at the performers as if they were special guests in the midst of a formal ritual. Something bothered me about it, it confused me, as I pondered the criss-crossed reality of capitalism and cultural appreciation. But it was another wonderful day filled with new experiences...
Walking home, the cold took hold like ice in our bones, but we did pass the softly lit square where we saw the open doors to the church...
So, we took a peek inside, always looking for signs of San Jose who helped get us to South America to begin with...
We didn't find him, but there were many other saints on display...Under stars scattered around a crescent moon, with chattering teeth and chilled toes, we shook as we took the road to our hostel. Fully clothed, we dove into bed, and did our best to wrap up in the quilts. It was several minutes before our seismic quivering settled and we nestled into sleep...
And, although this night would expedite our illness, we did have an early morning rendezvous with beautiful condors of the Andes soaring over the deep canyon of Colca...
And, boy, did we get up early...
No comments:
Post a Comment