-Nazca-
After 14 hours without stopping, the bus stopped in the middle of the desert on the edge of a dumpy little town. No one got off the bus. Furthermore, no one told us to get off the bus. Tired, confused, and cramped, we began to get our bearings. Logically, we asked the bus driver if we had reached our destination, the town of Nazca. He gave us one word, "No." Hmm... Where were we then? It turned out we were 10 minutes outside Nazca, and for some reason, the bus would not enter the town. We would have to hire a taxi from where the bus dropped us. This was our stop! Luckily, whenever a bus stops in South America, taxi drivers, tour guides, scam artists and beggars flock to the bus. Nazca was no exception. As we grabbed our bags from beneath the bus, a man started asking me if we needed a taxi. How did he know? Of course we did... we were 10 minutes from town. The same man started telling us that if we booked through him, we could get a raging deal on a hotel right on the main plaza, and not to worry about this being a scam because his hotel was rated in the lonely planet book. Well, we have the lonely planet, and his hotel was nowhere to be found within its pages. So, logically, we hopped in a cab with the man and he drove us to his hotel. It was actually really nice... and a pretty good deal.
Now, some of you may be wondering what motivated us to take a 14 hour bus ride to a dumpy little town in the middle of the desert. Well, several hundred years ago, the Nazca tribe inhabited the area where the town now resides. No one knows why, but the Nazca people carved out hundreds of meters of trenches throughout the desert, creating enormous designs, sacred animals, and even one very much alien looking dude. The most incredible part is that these images, the "Nazca lines," are only visible from above, as if to be viewed by the gods. Which makes it even more impressive and strange that the images were ever created... because lacking airplanes or hot air balloons or rocket packs, the Nazca people that created the lines almost 700 years ago would never be able to actually view the images they created.
Of course, as we were checking into our hotel, the same man that set up our taxi, the same man that hooked us up with the hotel room, turned out to be the same man that sold us our tour of the Nazca lines. One stop shopping. The weather was perfect, no wind, and not a cloud in the sky. So we dropped our bags and headed to the local airstrip. Luckily, with all our plans coming together so fast, we didn't get a chance to eat breakfast. While missing breakfast isn't usually lucky (according to Marisa, I tend to get grumpy when I'm hungry), on this particular occasion we where about to take a 45 minute flight in an airplane the size of a tin can, ducking, weaving and circling never more than several hundred feet off the ground. On our way to the airstrip, it came to my attention that Marisa has never ridden in a little 4 seater airplane the size of a tin can, ducking, weaving and circling never more than several hundred feet off the ground. Awesome...
The flight itself was relatively uneventful... We didn't crash and no one used the barf bag. But every time we approached one of the images carved in the desert, the pilot would take his hands off the wheel, point out the window, then the plane would dive and circle so we could get a better view. As far as rides in a small plane go, this was a roller coaster ride, and for Marisa, a pretty cool initiation. The Nazca lines were impressive. Well worth the trip. When the plane landed, we were confronted with the sad reality that our taxi driver had abandoned us at the air strip. This turned out to be convenient, because it gave us time to grab a gatorade and settle our stomachs before taking the bumpy cab ride back to town.
We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of Nazca, checking out what the town had to offer. Ok, not entirely true, we wandered around for about 15 minutes while I tried to convince Marisa that we should eat Chinese food for lunch. I don't know what she has against Chinese food, but in the first three months of travel I've been able to convince her to eat Chinese food exactly zero times. I think she thinks Chinese food has a higher probability of making her sick. More so than the random street vendors we grub off of...Actually, after her years of working in SF's second China town, she grew a bit of an aversion. Well, finally in Nazca of all places, she acquiesced to my request. That afternoon, I finally got to eat Chifa! Interestingly, in Peru, Chinese food is not called Chinese food. It is called Chifa. I don't get it, but I don't fight it either. When we sat down in the Chifa restaurant, I saw a Chinese man sitting behind the counter. Always a good sign. All Marisa kept saying was, "Please, please, please let the wife be Chinese. If the wife isn't Chinese, I don't know if I can eat here, the food is gunna be awful!" Then the wife came out of the kitchen... and she was Chinese. Score! Then the wonton soup came out, and all I kept saying was, "Please taste like cup-o-noodle... please taste like cup-o-noodle." And it did. Score! Chifa rocks. I even convinced Marisa to get Chifa again for lunch the next day.
From Nazca, we were staring down another marathon bus ride to get to the city of Arequipa. In anticipation of our 10 hour overnight bus ride, we decided it would be a great idea to track down some beverages and preemptively numb the pain. Marisa wanted wine. Unfortunately, we were not in wine country. I suggested having a Pisco night. After all, we were in the heart of Pisco country. Every bar and restaurant in Peru tries to get you in the door with the offer of a free Pisco Sour. I think the Pisco Sour is actually the national drink. I convinced Marisa that it would be a wonderful idea to get a flask of Pisco, some Coca-cola as a mixer, then kick back and wait for our bus to leave. At first glance, Pisco and Coke sounds like a great idea. I mean, they offer it in all the bars. Its called a Peru Libre... a knock off of a Cuba Libre, with Pisco instead of rum. Dude, bad idea. Neither of us had ever tried Pisco straight before. So we didn't know what we were getting into. Pisco tastes like gin mixed with vinegar and carries a strong olive aftertaste. It tasted so bad that we had to snap a couple pix of our faces after each sip.
To not drink the Pisco would have been wasteful. And we're on a shoestring budget. So, we drank it. Then we ducked into the chicken restaurant across the street from the bus station for some dinner. The restaurants name was Pollo Rico (translation: tasty chicken) and it was wall to wall packed. This particular chicken joint offered something called pollo broaster. All across southern Peru we've seen signs for "broaster" chicken. It was high time to investigate what broaster really meant when applied to a chicken. So, when we sat down, we ordered the sampler of all the different chickens they had... or at least I thought they were chickens. It turns out we got a plate full of fried chicken giblets, cow heart skewers, and a mystery meat that I dare not attempt to identify. I still do not know what pollo broaster is. The investigation continues. We boarded our bus with tummy aches from Pisco and crappy meat. It was a long night.
-Arequipa-
Surprisingly, we arrived in Arequipa quite chipper for sitting on a bus all night with Pisco and crappy meat in our bellies. Arequipa, the second largest city in Peru, is built almost entirely of white stone, with views of snow capped mountains on the horizon.
We found a sweet hostel to stay in, with huge rooms, vaulted ceilings, arched doorways and hot water. After grabbing some coffee and breakfast overlooking the main square, we checked out a museum that had on display a mummy of a young lady sacrificed by the Incas. Pretty cool to see. Some guy exploring some of the mountains in the area came across the body of the young lady at the top of one of the mountains. Because she had been frozen for hundreds of years, everything was in perfect condition. Her clothes, her skin, even the contents of her stomach. It turns out she ate corn and coca leaves approximately 7 hours before she died hundreds of years ago. The archeologists named her Juanita.
After viewing dead bodies, we were hungry and ready for some dinner. Across the street from the museum was an antique store, and a restaurant called Chi Cha.
Chi Cha is actually a native Peruvian alcoholic drink made from chewed up corn spit into a bucket and fermented. Turns out Chi Cha does not actually sell Chi Cha. Chi Cha, the restaurant, is very upscale with gourmet versions of local dishes. Marisa and I are now fans of picking one expensive restaurant in each city we visit and ordering the cheapest items on the menu. The waiters must hate us, but our tummies love us. I ordered a local stew, pork adobo. Marisa ordered a trio of traditional foods. It included rocoto relleno, a local spicy pepper stuffed with meat and cheese... aka da bomb. Along side the rocoto relleno was a pork chicharron, fried porky goodness. And along side the chicharron was an item that looked like ceviche... mmm! However, the ceviche had a huge bone in it. Upon closer examination, it was unlike any ceviche we had ever seen before. One bite, and the look on Marisa's face, convinced me that I did not want to try it. Which is quite a statement, because I will eat anything. As we left, we requested a menu in English to figure out exactly what the third item of the trio was... raw pigs snout!
The next day we took a walk to a nearby suburb of Arequipa with a view of the city below and snow capped mountains on the horizon.
We tracked down an open air cafe with live music and spent the afternoon sipping on coffee and solving life's problems. As we currently have no problems, the conversation went incredibly well. Again, we ordered the cheapest item on the menu, and in our opinion the best item on the menu... rocoto relleno. These spicy peppers stuffed with meat and cheese are effing phenomenal. The key is the pepper. Chile relleno and stuffed bell peppers can't even step to Arequipa's rocoto relleno.
The next day we visited a monastery. As of late, Marisa has been seriously considering abandoning her life of sin, and stepping into gracefully into sisterhood.
Fortuitously, Arequipa has a monastery well worth visiting. Its really a city within a city. Unfortunately, she couldn't join because it is now defunct.
Interestingly, the monastery was one of the first in South America, and had a history of only accepting wealthy prospects within its walls of seclusion. So, it was super high class as far as nunneries go. During out tour I decided to get photo artsy and created a series of photos I just this very second named, "behind closed doors: too bad you don't know what's behind them." These photos will soon be worth millions. You will one day be able to say that you knew me way back when... take that to the bank!
-Colca-
The next morning we hopped on yet another bus, this time to the town of Cabanaconde, a shitty little pueblito perched on the edge of the 2nd deepest canyon in the world, the Colca Canyon. Almost twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, the Colca Canyon averages 3400 meters deep for something like 100 kms. I may have made up those numbers... so don't quote me. Just know that this sucker is deep. When we stepped off the 7 hour bus ride to Cabanaconde, it was a little after noon. So we grabbed a quick bite and a cup of coffee and hit the trails for a 3 day self guided tour of the canyon. When we arrived at the first lookout point, Marisa and I looked out across the canyon, glanced at each other, shrugged our shoulders and said, "Eh... its pretty cool... I guess."
I don't know what we expected, but initially we were only mildly impressed. Neither of us have ever visited the grand canyon, or any huge canyon for that matter. Since returning from the hike, I've read that the walls of the Colca canyon are not as sheer as the Grand Canyon. That may have contributed to our lack of awe. However, as we hiked throughout the afternoon, we began to get a better idea of the scale of the canyon. You know how sometimes you try to take a picture of something, but the camera just can't capture the magnitude of what your eyes see? Well, I think this is the first time I've encountered something that initially my own eyes can't quite grasp the magnitude.
That afternoon, we hiked down into the canyon for about 5 hours, through the hot springs and geysers at the base of the canyon, to a little pueblo overlooking the junction of two rivers slowly digging out the canyon floor. Llahuar, the little pueblo, was inhabited by a whopping 4 individuals. Two couples. Cousins actually. Marisa is pointing to Llahuar so you can see how truly immense it really is.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Marisa and I left all our stuff in Arequipa. We just carried a change of clothes and some water for the trail. We had heard from other travelers that it would be quite easy to crash with families living in the canyon. So, we arrived in Llahuar just before sundown, not a person in sight. Uh oh... Luckily, as we wandered through someones garden, a man came over and asked us if we needed a place to stay. Si. Then the man asked if we brought any food, or if he and his wife could cook us dinner. The only thing he could offer us was alpaca or trout (trucha en espanol). As I didn't see any alpacas nearby, nor refrigerators for alpaca meat, I opted for trucha. The man then showed us to a room with a bed, told us to make ourselves at home, and walked down to the river with a net. About an hour later, we were sitting in the kitchen with the man and his wife eating fresh trout by candle light. For the life of me, I can't remember the man's name, but the wife's name is Virginia (not pronounced like you would think, Ver-hin-ya). And Virginia cooks up a mean trucha. After dinner, the husband whipped out a hand made wooden flute, and played for us a few local tunes about the canyon and the sacred condors that live there. Truly a surreal experience.
The next morning we awoke at the crack of dawn. We had a big day ahead of us. After talking with Virginia and her husband, we realized that no one ever referenced hiking or the distance between pueblos in standard measures like miles or kilometers, only time. So it was difficult to figure out how much we could accomplish in one day... because one man's 30 minute stroll is another man's 4 hour struggle up the side of a canyon. Luckily, we timed everything perfectly. We hiked from Llahuar, about 4.5 hours, up the other side of the canyon to a waterfall near the pueblo of Fure where we ate lunch.
Fure was slightly larger than Llahuar, containing maybe 20 families. From Fure, we hiked along the ridge of the canyon for another 4.5 hours. It was along this stretch of the hike that we got our best views and finally began to grasp the magnitude of the canyon. I find it incredible that it took us almost two days from countless vantage points to achieve a decent perspective of the canyon. That afternoon, as we hiked along the ridge, we were lucky enough to watch a handful of Andean Condors soar effortlessly overhead. From the ride of the canyon, we hiked down into an area at the base of the canyon that everyone simply refers to as the Oasis. In the oasis, we had our choice of 4 "hotels" to spend the night, each with their own swimming pool! The swimming pools were filled with spring water trickling down the canyon walls. The pool was a little frigid, but after a couple days without a shower, it felt nice to rinse off. So we drank a beer and spent the night in the Oasis.
At this time, I should mention that at the base of the Colca Canyon, we are still standing at around 7000ft above sea level. The next mornng, from the Oasis, we had to hike back up the canyon wall to the town of Cabanaconde, resting at an altitude of 3287 meters, or almost 11000ft above sea level. Luckily, by now, we're pretty much altitude pros. We woke up at the crack of dawn and tackled the hike up to Cabanaconde in just under 2 hours. In the picture below, you can see the path we took to the top, zig-zagging up the side of the canyon.
Honestly, it was like doing a stair stepper for 2 hours straight up 4000ft of stairs... at altitude. We must have buns of steel. Normal mortals usually take around 3 hours. But check us out at the top. Calm, cool, collected.
We arrived in Cabanaconde with enough time to buy a bus ticket, grab a bite to eat, and hop on a 7 hour bus ride back to Arequipa. There were no chickens on the bus, but there was a lamb sitting in the seat across from us. And there must have been a festival going on... because everyone was wearing a part hat!
When we got back to Arequipa, I was starving. We came across a shwarma/kebab place a couple days before and kept meaning to check it out. After eating the same type of food day in and day out, its always nice to switch it up. Let me just say that I wrecked like 3 shwarma kebab things within 24 hours. Good food is often hard to come by. Sometimes you gotta stock up while its within reach. I think I've lost like 20lbs since we started traveling a little over 3 months ago! We also found a restaurant down the street from our hostel that offered a dinner including soup, fried fish with rice and salad, and an after dinner tea for $1. Deals. I love the third world!
Life is good.
Miss you all.
Peace out...
Mikey&Marisa
After 14 hours without stopping, the bus stopped in the middle of the desert on the edge of a dumpy little town. No one got off the bus. Furthermore, no one told us to get off the bus. Tired, confused, and cramped, we began to get our bearings. Logically, we asked the bus driver if we had reached our destination, the town of Nazca. He gave us one word, "No." Hmm... Where were we then? It turned out we were 10 minutes outside Nazca, and for some reason, the bus would not enter the town. We would have to hire a taxi from where the bus dropped us. This was our stop! Luckily, whenever a bus stops in South America, taxi drivers, tour guides, scam artists and beggars flock to the bus. Nazca was no exception. As we grabbed our bags from beneath the bus, a man started asking me if we needed a taxi. How did he know? Of course we did... we were 10 minutes from town. The same man started telling us that if we booked through him, we could get a raging deal on a hotel right on the main plaza, and not to worry about this being a scam because his hotel was rated in the lonely planet book. Well, we have the lonely planet, and his hotel was nowhere to be found within its pages. So, logically, we hopped in a cab with the man and he drove us to his hotel. It was actually really nice... and a pretty good deal.
Now, some of you may be wondering what motivated us to take a 14 hour bus ride to a dumpy little town in the middle of the desert. Well, several hundred years ago, the Nazca tribe inhabited the area where the town now resides. No one knows why, but the Nazca people carved out hundreds of meters of trenches throughout the desert, creating enormous designs, sacred animals, and even one very much alien looking dude. The most incredible part is that these images, the "Nazca lines," are only visible from above, as if to be viewed by the gods. Which makes it even more impressive and strange that the images were ever created... because lacking airplanes or hot air balloons or rocket packs, the Nazca people that created the lines almost 700 years ago would never be able to actually view the images they created.
Of course, as we were checking into our hotel, the same man that set up our taxi, the same man that hooked us up with the hotel room, turned out to be the same man that sold us our tour of the Nazca lines. One stop shopping. The weather was perfect, no wind, and not a cloud in the sky. So we dropped our bags and headed to the local airstrip. Luckily, with all our plans coming together so fast, we didn't get a chance to eat breakfast. While missing breakfast isn't usually lucky (according to Marisa, I tend to get grumpy when I'm hungry), on this particular occasion we where about to take a 45 minute flight in an airplane the size of a tin can, ducking, weaving and circling never more than several hundred feet off the ground. On our way to the airstrip, it came to my attention that Marisa has never ridden in a little 4 seater airplane the size of a tin can, ducking, weaving and circling never more than several hundred feet off the ground. Awesome...
The flight itself was relatively uneventful... We didn't crash and no one used the barf bag. But every time we approached one of the images carved in the desert, the pilot would take his hands off the wheel, point out the window, then the plane would dive and circle so we could get a better view. As far as rides in a small plane go, this was a roller coaster ride, and for Marisa, a pretty cool initiation. The Nazca lines were impressive. Well worth the trip. When the plane landed, we were confronted with the sad reality that our taxi driver had abandoned us at the air strip. This turned out to be convenient, because it gave us time to grab a gatorade and settle our stomachs before taking the bumpy cab ride back to town.
We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of Nazca, checking out what the town had to offer. Ok, not entirely true, we wandered around for about 15 minutes while I tried to convince Marisa that we should eat Chinese food for lunch. I don't know what she has against Chinese food, but in the first three months of travel I've been able to convince her to eat Chinese food exactly zero times. I think she thinks Chinese food has a higher probability of making her sick. More so than the random street vendors we grub off of...Actually, after her years of working in SF's second China town, she grew a bit of an aversion. Well, finally in Nazca of all places, she acquiesced to my request. That afternoon, I finally got to eat Chifa! Interestingly, in Peru, Chinese food is not called Chinese food. It is called Chifa. I don't get it, but I don't fight it either. When we sat down in the Chifa restaurant, I saw a Chinese man sitting behind the counter. Always a good sign. All Marisa kept saying was, "Please, please, please let the wife be Chinese. If the wife isn't Chinese, I don't know if I can eat here, the food is gunna be awful!" Then the wife came out of the kitchen... and she was Chinese. Score! Then the wonton soup came out, and all I kept saying was, "Please taste like cup-o-noodle... please taste like cup-o-noodle." And it did. Score! Chifa rocks. I even convinced Marisa to get Chifa again for lunch the next day.From Nazca, we were staring down another marathon bus ride to get to the city of Arequipa. In anticipation of our 10 hour overnight bus ride, we decided it would be a great idea to track down some beverages and preemptively numb the pain. Marisa wanted wine. Unfortunately, we were not in wine country. I suggested having a Pisco night. After all, we were in the heart of Pisco country. Every bar and restaurant in Peru tries to get you in the door with the offer of a free Pisco Sour. I think the Pisco Sour is actually the national drink. I convinced Marisa that it would be a wonderful idea to get a flask of Pisco, some Coca-cola as a mixer, then kick back and wait for our bus to leave. At first glance, Pisco and Coke sounds like a great idea. I mean, they offer it in all the bars. Its called a Peru Libre... a knock off of a Cuba Libre, with Pisco instead of rum. Dude, bad idea. Neither of us had ever tried Pisco straight before. So we didn't know what we were getting into. Pisco tastes like gin mixed with vinegar and carries a strong olive aftertaste. It tasted so bad that we had to snap a couple pix of our faces after each sip.
To not drink the Pisco would have been wasteful. And we're on a shoestring budget. So, we drank it. Then we ducked into the chicken restaurant across the street from the bus station for some dinner. The restaurants name was Pollo Rico (translation: tasty chicken) and it was wall to wall packed. This particular chicken joint offered something called pollo broaster. All across southern Peru we've seen signs for "broaster" chicken. It was high time to investigate what broaster really meant when applied to a chicken. So, when we sat down, we ordered the sampler of all the different chickens they had... or at least I thought they were chickens. It turns out we got a plate full of fried chicken giblets, cow heart skewers, and a mystery meat that I dare not attempt to identify. I still do not know what pollo broaster is. The investigation continues. We boarded our bus with tummy aches from Pisco and crappy meat. It was a long night.-Arequipa-
Surprisingly, we arrived in Arequipa quite chipper for sitting on a bus all night with Pisco and crappy meat in our bellies. Arequipa, the second largest city in Peru, is built almost entirely of white stone, with views of snow capped mountains on the horizon.
We found a sweet hostel to stay in, with huge rooms, vaulted ceilings, arched doorways and hot water. After grabbing some coffee and breakfast overlooking the main square, we checked out a museum that had on display a mummy of a young lady sacrificed by the Incas. Pretty cool to see. Some guy exploring some of the mountains in the area came across the body of the young lady at the top of one of the mountains. Because she had been frozen for hundreds of years, everything was in perfect condition. Her clothes, her skin, even the contents of her stomach. It turns out she ate corn and coca leaves approximately 7 hours before she died hundreds of years ago. The archeologists named her Juanita.After viewing dead bodies, we were hungry and ready for some dinner. Across the street from the museum was an antique store, and a restaurant called Chi Cha.
Chi Cha is actually a native Peruvian alcoholic drink made from chewed up corn spit into a bucket and fermented. Turns out Chi Cha does not actually sell Chi Cha. Chi Cha, the restaurant, is very upscale with gourmet versions of local dishes. Marisa and I are now fans of picking one expensive restaurant in each city we visit and ordering the cheapest items on the menu. The waiters must hate us, but our tummies love us. I ordered a local stew, pork adobo. Marisa ordered a trio of traditional foods. It included rocoto relleno, a local spicy pepper stuffed with meat and cheese... aka da bomb. Along side the rocoto relleno was a pork chicharron, fried porky goodness. And along side the chicharron was an item that looked like ceviche... mmm! However, the ceviche had a huge bone in it. Upon closer examination, it was unlike any ceviche we had ever seen before. One bite, and the look on Marisa's face, convinced me that I did not want to try it. Which is quite a statement, because I will eat anything. As we left, we requested a menu in English to figure out exactly what the third item of the trio was... raw pigs snout!The next day we took a walk to a nearby suburb of Arequipa with a view of the city below and snow capped mountains on the horizon.
We tracked down an open air cafe with live music and spent the afternoon sipping on coffee and solving life's problems. As we currently have no problems, the conversation went incredibly well. Again, we ordered the cheapest item on the menu, and in our opinion the best item on the menu... rocoto relleno. These spicy peppers stuffed with meat and cheese are effing phenomenal. The key is the pepper. Chile relleno and stuffed bell peppers can't even step to Arequipa's rocoto relleno.The next day we visited a monastery. As of late, Marisa has been seriously considering abandoning her life of sin, and stepping into gracefully into sisterhood.
Fortuitously, Arequipa has a monastery well worth visiting. Its really a city within a city. Unfortunately, she couldn't join because it is now defunct.
Interestingly, the monastery was one of the first in South America, and had a history of only accepting wealthy prospects within its walls of seclusion. So, it was super high class as far as nunneries go. During out tour I decided to get photo artsy and created a series of photos I just this very second named, "behind closed doors: too bad you don't know what's behind them." These photos will soon be worth millions. You will one day be able to say that you knew me way back when... take that to the bank!
-Colca-The next morning we hopped on yet another bus, this time to the town of Cabanaconde, a shitty little pueblito perched on the edge of the 2nd deepest canyon in the world, the Colca Canyon. Almost twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, the Colca Canyon averages 3400 meters deep for something like 100 kms. I may have made up those numbers... so don't quote me. Just know that this sucker is deep. When we stepped off the 7 hour bus ride to Cabanaconde, it was a little after noon. So we grabbed a quick bite and a cup of coffee and hit the trails for a 3 day self guided tour of the canyon. When we arrived at the first lookout point, Marisa and I looked out across the canyon, glanced at each other, shrugged our shoulders and said, "Eh... its pretty cool... I guess."
I don't know what we expected, but initially we were only mildly impressed. Neither of us have ever visited the grand canyon, or any huge canyon for that matter. Since returning from the hike, I've read that the walls of the Colca canyon are not as sheer as the Grand Canyon. That may have contributed to our lack of awe. However, as we hiked throughout the afternoon, we began to get a better idea of the scale of the canyon. You know how sometimes you try to take a picture of something, but the camera just can't capture the magnitude of what your eyes see? Well, I think this is the first time I've encountered something that initially my own eyes can't quite grasp the magnitude.
That afternoon, we hiked down into the canyon for about 5 hours, through the hot springs and geysers at the base of the canyon, to a little pueblo overlooking the junction of two rivers slowly digging out the canyon floor. Llahuar, the little pueblo, was inhabited by a whopping 4 individuals. Two couples. Cousins actually. Marisa is pointing to Llahuar so you can see how truly immense it really is.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Marisa and I left all our stuff in Arequipa. We just carried a change of clothes and some water for the trail. We had heard from other travelers that it would be quite easy to crash with families living in the canyon. So, we arrived in Llahuar just before sundown, not a person in sight. Uh oh... Luckily, as we wandered through someones garden, a man came over and asked us if we needed a place to stay. Si. Then the man asked if we brought any food, or if he and his wife could cook us dinner. The only thing he could offer us was alpaca or trout (trucha en espanol). As I didn't see any alpacas nearby, nor refrigerators for alpaca meat, I opted for trucha. The man then showed us to a room with a bed, told us to make ourselves at home, and walked down to the river with a net. About an hour later, we were sitting in the kitchen with the man and his wife eating fresh trout by candle light. For the life of me, I can't remember the man's name, but the wife's name is Virginia (not pronounced like you would think, Ver-hin-ya). And Virginia cooks up a mean trucha. After dinner, the husband whipped out a hand made wooden flute, and played for us a few local tunes about the canyon and the sacred condors that live there. Truly a surreal experience.
The next morning we awoke at the crack of dawn. We had a big day ahead of us. After talking with Virginia and her husband, we realized that no one ever referenced hiking or the distance between pueblos in standard measures like miles or kilometers, only time. So it was difficult to figure out how much we could accomplish in one day... because one man's 30 minute stroll is another man's 4 hour struggle up the side of a canyon. Luckily, we timed everything perfectly. We hiked from Llahuar, about 4.5 hours, up the other side of the canyon to a waterfall near the pueblo of Fure where we ate lunch.
Fure was slightly larger than Llahuar, containing maybe 20 families. From Fure, we hiked along the ridge of the canyon for another 4.5 hours. It was along this stretch of the hike that we got our best views and finally began to grasp the magnitude of the canyon. I find it incredible that it took us almost two days from countless vantage points to achieve a decent perspective of the canyon. That afternoon, as we hiked along the ridge, we were lucky enough to watch a handful of Andean Condors soar effortlessly overhead. From the ride of the canyon, we hiked down into an area at the base of the canyon that everyone simply refers to as the Oasis. In the oasis, we had our choice of 4 "hotels" to spend the night, each with their own swimming pool! The swimming pools were filled with spring water trickling down the canyon walls. The pool was a little frigid, but after a couple days without a shower, it felt nice to rinse off. So we drank a beer and spent the night in the Oasis.
At this time, I should mention that at the base of the Colca Canyon, we are still standing at around 7000ft above sea level. The next mornng, from the Oasis, we had to hike back up the canyon wall to the town of Cabanaconde, resting at an altitude of 3287 meters, or almost 11000ft above sea level. Luckily, by now, we're pretty much altitude pros. We woke up at the crack of dawn and tackled the hike up to Cabanaconde in just under 2 hours. In the picture below, you can see the path we took to the top, zig-zagging up the side of the canyon.
Honestly, it was like doing a stair stepper for 2 hours straight up 4000ft of stairs... at altitude. We must have buns of steel. Normal mortals usually take around 3 hours. But check us out at the top. Calm, cool, collected.
We arrived in Cabanaconde with enough time to buy a bus ticket, grab a bite to eat, and hop on a 7 hour bus ride back to Arequipa. There were no chickens on the bus, but there was a lamb sitting in the seat across from us. And there must have been a festival going on... because everyone was wearing a part hat!
When we got back to Arequipa, I was starving. We came across a shwarma/kebab place a couple days before and kept meaning to check it out. After eating the same type of food day in and day out, its always nice to switch it up. Let me just say that I wrecked like 3 shwarma kebab things within 24 hours. Good food is often hard to come by. Sometimes you gotta stock up while its within reach. I think I've lost like 20lbs since we started traveling a little over 3 months ago! We also found a restaurant down the street from our hostel that offered a dinner including soup, fried fish with rice and salad, and an after dinner tea for $1. Deals. I love the third world!Life is good.
Miss you all.
Peace out...
Mikey&Marisa
Word. A couple days of intensive chicharron consumption, and you'll recover those 30 pounds in no time.
ReplyDeletehey crazy kids. your blog has kept me entertained for 2 months now, but i've always been too lazy to log in and comment. but i must admit that lately with the 80-hour work weeks i've been putting in, I haven't been able to read *every* word. but i've learned that the punchline is usually at the end of the paragraph. Oh, and the pictures are awesome. keep up the good work, louis and clark (or luis and el clarko). I'm glad you guys are having a great time. I'm thinking of you all the time.
ReplyDeletemuch love from the 48,
lashonda