Sunday, July 29, 2007

Coming Down With A Colca...

Packed up and picked up Monday morning by our tour guide, Nuri, we piled into a bus and pushed on to the mountain valley village of Chivay. The five hour drive lifted us to new heights as we drifted past sights of rolling rocky landscapes where native cultures and creatures co-exist in indigenous tradition.

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...

Friday, July 27, 2007

Arequipa Going And Going And Going...

***Adam's Hidden Contest Super Challenge: A secret question is hidden somewhere in this entry...find the clues, answer the question, and put your solution in the comments or email it to me! First Place gets: a complimentary pizza at Tranquilo Bar, cheese only! Or, if you can't make it to Montevideo, we will send you an autographed picture of us, soon to be a collector's item! Plus, you will join our contest winner's hall of fame and earn a place in infamy on our blog!***The next day's events were prescribed by a tour package purchased in Paracas: after arriving to our Arequipa hostel and ceremonially settling into our matrimonial room, Sunday's schedule was to rapidly shoot through the city's cultural and colonial treasures, before embarking on an afternoon rafting the nearby Rio Chili. From here, we will begin our steady climb into less and less oxygen. But, we should acclimate easily, moving progressively higher until we reach Isla del Sol on Lake Titicaca. However, do I feel a cold coming on?...
Luck followed us as we left Pisco, and we snuggled into our front-row upper-floor seats on our double-decker bus--the ones with the best view, Peru before us on a see-through movie screen. A three-quarter moon crept higher, the bus got quieter, and we slept, as the mysterious lines of Nasca, etched by an ancient culture in the arid stony desert, passed in the night. These recently gleaned giant geoglyphs, appreciable only from the air (...or outer space?), are increasingly popular with tourists--but the cost and nausea of a small plane charter precluded perusing the unsolved mystery until "next time"...
We woke just before dawn. The ocean was gone, and we were on a winding rocky road, up, up, up, ascending into the infamous initial altitudes of Peru. Reaching the lower Andean plateaus, the sun rose over the sleeping volcanoes that surround our still distant destination...

A tunnel approached. On the rock, the legendary name of an ancient landmark continues to show its influence on local life...
Arequipa, Peru's second largest city (860,000), is a UNESCO site that was technically founded by Spain in 1540, although aboriginal cultures have lived here for many millenniums. Rio Chili splits La Ciudad Blanca, "the white city", so named for its streets and structures of pale sillar stone and ash, while volcanoes are not far behind...
In a country that often overlooks its downtrodden own while devoting attention to globetrotting guests, Arequipa represents the best of Peru, where progressive thought often pushes for national reforms and two formerly conflicting cultures now co-exist. And, much like its physical location, halfway above Lima and below Cusco, and mid-route between, this city is a perfect mixture of Peru's past and future.
El Misti, 5,822 meters (19,101 feet), is the envy of every stratvolcano, presiding over its jurisdiction like a temperamental judge constantly threatens to slam the gavel and send earthquaking shockwaves across the valley. It's supported by a sequestered supreme court of twenty more fire-breathers and smoke-belchers. Meanwhile, Arequipa, sitting at 2,380 meters (7740 feet), squirms in the witness chair.
Surpisingly, its Chachani, Quechan for "skirt", that holds the highest chair at 6,057 meters (19,872 ft) and has a feminine spirit in mountain legends. For some hometown perspective, Mt. Hood, the luminary peak looming over Portland, Oregon, is 3,429 meters (11,249 feet).
Just two blocks behind Leandra is a cultural museum, and home to Juanita, the Ice Maiden, a teenage Incan mummy found in 1995 frozen in the snow-capped peak of nearby Mt. Ampato. We did not have time to see her in person, but her amazing preservation and history was featured in National Geographic. The change in altitude was already becoming noticeable as we walked the sloping streets.
We wandered past basilicas, parks, plazas and artisan markets while summits kept peeking in on us.
A dog barked at passersby from his perch above a church...
A little further on, we checked out checking in to another hostel highly recommended for its views--we intentionally kept some wiggle room in our travel plans and thought we would return to Arequipa after a excursion to Chivay and Colca Canyon. We never did make it back, but at least we got this great view of the cathedral steeples. To the right, is the town's primary attraction, Santa Catalina Monestary...click the comics to look inside with us!


Soon after, we walked to the Plaza de Armas, Arequipa's central square. It was a gorgeous day with a tad of cummulus haze mixed with a bright blaze of sun. It was Dia de Madre--Mother's Day, 2007--one of the few holidays that is generally celebrated in all cultures.
People were bustling every which way, in pairs and pods, young relatives helping the old. We decided to peer past the cathedral's sillar pillars.
Catholic saints and laymen alike were praying together in the pews, with many children and men showing subtle reverence for their mothers and wives.
Outside again, the plaza was bubbling with life--cane carrying elders filling a bench, children playing chase with the pigeons, cultural displays of dance and drums and music in every niche, and everywhere, kin dressed in their Sunday best, coming closer together for a photo.
Loving others and daughters connected by blood but decades apart are the focus of family photos all around the town square.
Matrilineal members spanning four generations congregate in celebration.
Reminiscent of the grainy cyanotype days, smiles that normally grace the friendly Peruvian face seemed to disappear when it was time pose. After all, taking a picture on a special day is serious business...
Dress and dance is on display for tourists and locals alike on Dia de Madre. Unlike most of the more famous tourist towns--where decked-out or llama-toting tip-seekers expect payment to pose--this was an excellent opportunity to sneak some authentic shots.

After a morning of high speed sight-seeing, we were ready to take a seat, rest our feet, and test out some local meat. I was prepared to try 'cuy'--a delicacy generally unknown outside of Peru--but I opted for an alpaca steak and potato stew. Alpacas have always been raised for their meat as well as wool, and have a lean red flavor similar, but perhaps a bit better to beef. Despite also having popular fur for thread, llamas were historically bred to be pack animals, carrying heavy loads, which strengthened their muscles into cuts that proved chewy, sinewy and less delectable. Although, in recent years, llama has been making the menu as meat quality improves for the palette while it is less used as a beast of burden. My lunch was solid--especially supported by an Arequipeña cerveza, another wonderful local lager--but Leandra's seemingly practical choice of pollo (chicken) was beyond compare. We shared snippits and nibbles--well, Leandra did anyway--and then slow-walked back to the hostel via another visit through the Plaza de Armas. Leandra, craving a large latte, gently inquired a local shop about the possibilities of a 'grande cafe con leche' to go. After an enthusiastic yes, the waitress disappeared along with several minutes, before re-appearing with, well, basically a bucket of delicious espresso and creamy foam! We enjoyed multiple cups and even more stares all the way home.

After a very brief rest in our double room, the desk rang, and said our afternoon excursion shuttle was ready. Now, some serious fun was about to begin.
Peru is home to some of the most hardcore whitewater in the world. For example, Rio Colca rips through Colca Canyon, one of the deepest canyons on earth, 10,725 ft (3,269 m)--more than twice the depth of the Grand Canyon--and has miles of technical and potentially deadly class IV and V+ liquid rollercoasters that can only be exited days downstream from your entry. Therefore, these runs are exclusive to the brave, rich and/or experienced. Trips can cost thousands and last weeks. However, there is a section of Rio Chili that you can raft is just outside the city. It's a small but steep river, a creek really, within quick and easy access from Arequipa with a rocky class II- to III+ continous flow, and one class IV+ waiting below--a 5 meter (15 foot) drop into a narrow bedrock canyon; a waterfall really. Big? Yes. Technical? No. Deep? Yes. Dangerous? No and yes--the drop ends in a deep smooth pool so if you do pop out, you'll probably won't knock your noggin and a rescue should be straightforward. It was definitely scarier scouting it out, and dropping in, than looking back on such a fun big splash! And, we were the only tourists to sign up that day, so we had the pleasure of a ship to ourselves along with our guide, Sergio. This would be our third river run in South America, and one surrounded by volcanoes and pre-Incan terraces. Plus, there was no pro photographer following along, so I tied the Olympus to my wrist, and snapped away!
Click the comic to get on board!
Despite a chill and a growing itch in the throat, the thrill of this trip is still apparent. And, somewhere back in those mountains, hides Chivay, Colca Canyon, and, eventually Cusco.
We ran into rush hour on our way home.
We cleaned up and headed back out to explore some more and find some food and drink.
Sunsets were coming earlier--it's now mid-May with winter not far away--although still stunning and colorful from a rooftop bar overlooking the central square where the original gate of the Spanish fort connects with the cathedral...
As dusk thrust in, lamposts lit up like Christmas lights as the cool highland air quickly rushed under the rising drafts of day. Mother's Day observers were still mingled with international visitors.
A pan-flute powered band played contemporary covers with an Andean flavor. Musically, it was amazing watching performers simultaneously playing two or three instruments.
We wandered more alleys before dallying into a swanky eatery. We splurged on red wine, cheese and ostrich fondue, fresh green salads and a sextet of herb sauces. As our skewered food dripped in excess into the candle-heated dip, we'd spin the morsels and blow off the steam, saying excited inquisitive things that started with words like "How about when...", "Wasn't that...", "What should we...", and "Tomorrow let's..."