Who needs Macchu Picchu???

After spending the day in Arequipa on last Wednesday we got up early on Thursday to catch a tour of Colca Canyon. The van picked us up at the hotel at around 7:45 am. We picked up a couple of other people in town and then headed northeast toward the canyon. Our guide’s name was Mary Jane and the driver’s name was Miguel. Mary Jane went by just “Maria” because she was told by some Americans that her name is slang for marijuana. Her English, though heavily accented, was very good, as has been the case with most of the guides that we have had so far in Peru. The drive took about 4 1/2 hours. We stopped along the way to take pictures of the Vicunas in the national park north of El Misti, the conical volcano that towers over Arequipa. Vicunas look kind of like a cross between a deer and a llama and apparently they’re relatively rare. According to our guide their wool goes for about $1000 per kilo raw and a poncho made of the stuff goes for about $3000. In Peru that is a lot of money. I have know idea if it’s true. I’m pretty sure these tour guides just make stuff up sometimes but that’s ok. Sometimes you have to improve the truth to make a good story.

Vicunas

We stopped at a little white shack (see picto the left) at the end of the paved road that splits off to go towards Lake Titicaca. At this point we had climbed up to an elevation around 12,000 feet. I had been up that high before but this time I hadn’t eaten a lot in the preceding few days because I was feeling sick. There was probably some ice in the Pisco Sour that I drank at a restaurant it Huacachina. I was feeling fine that morning but as we got higher I started to really feel the effects of the altitude. I had a bit of a headache (I think Brooke did as well), I was feeling nauseated, and my peripheral vision was closing in on me so I felt like I was about to pass out. We have altitude sickness pills but neither of us wanted to take them because they can make you feel tired. Instead our tour guide recommended the local remedy. This was a combination of tea called the “Triple” which included, among two other unknown herbs, coca leaves, which we had at the little white shack, and chewing coca leaves for about ½ an hour afterward as we continued to climb up one of the worlds worst roads to an altitude of over 16,000 feet. Coca leaves are, as you might guess, the central ingredient found in cocaine (Note for the Moms: coca leaves and cocaine are no more the same thing than flour and cake). They are found throughout Peru. It is not illegal to grow them or sell them. You can find coca tea, which is just coca leaves dropped in hot water, at almost any café, restaurant or hotel. It does not produce any noticeable feeling. What it does do is cure altitude sickness. As soon as I had the tea at the little white shack I started feeling better and after chewing the coca leaves for about ½ and hour I felt normal again, even as we climbed another 4,000 feet. 

Along the way we passed through huge fields filled with llamas and alpacas. Just before we passed over the highest point the road became paved again and it began raining. The surrounding mountains were covered with clouds but as we came to the top we could see down the sharply winding road to the village where we were heading below. The name of the town was Chivay. As we entered the city we were greeted by 2 little Peruvian girls who had lambs (see pic).  Chivay is home to about 10,000 people and until about 10 years ago existed entirely without electricity or running water. The majority of the roads in town are not paved and most of the buildings are tattered or unfinished. We learned later that a lot of buildings in Peru are left unfinished because you don't pay taxes until construction is complete.  We stopped at a restaurant for a buffet lunch which was fine. Nothing special. We got back in the van but then Brooke and I got out at the Plaza de Armas to get some dinero from the only ATM within 100 miles while most of the other occupants of the van were dropped off at their various hotels. We met with the van in the Plaza de Armas and headed towards our hotel about 20 km away.  That night we stayed at a place called the Colca Lodge. It had been built just a few years ago around hot springs that were situated about 10 feet from the Colca River. 

Colca Lodge

The Colca River

In addition to the springs they have built a spa on the river where Brooke had a massage while I went to the bar and had a pisco sour. It was by drinking this pisco sour that I figured out that the one that I had in Huacachina had probably made me sick, or more specifically the ground ice in the pisco sour. Unfortunately, by the time that I figured this out though I had already finished most of it. Brooke met up with me after her massage and we sat at the bar for a while talking with a retired British couple and their guide. We got to talking about our plans to hike to the top of El Misti on Saturday. Their guide told us that he had hiked it a few years ago and described it as like walking up a 19,000 foot sand dune. Having just walked up a bunch of sand dunes that were only a few hundred feet high, this struck both of us as a bit disconcerting even though we had not planned to hike from the bottom like he did. The two day, one night trek that we had booked started 2/3 of the way up the mountain. But that still left 6,000 vertical feet at a 45% angle through volcanic ash. They wished us luck and we went to dinner and then to the hot springs. The springs are open 24 hours a day so we hung out until around midnight. There were three different pools of varying temperature. It was kind of like the baths in Budapest but in a much nicer and more tranquil setting with no one else around.

We had a 5:30 wake up call the following morning so we could meet up with the van, collect the other people in our group and get to the canyon in time to see the Andean Condors leave there nests. Supposedly, Colca Canyon is the best place in South America to see these giant birds. They look like vultures with shorter and fatter necks and have wing spans that can be more than 12 feet (second largest in the world behind some kind of albatross). We got to the area of the canyon at around 9 am and hiked about 20 minutes to the viewing area situated about 1,600 feet from the canyon floor. The canyon was formed from a combination of volcanic activity pushing the surrounding mountains up and the erosion caused by the Colca River. This combination of geologic forces has created a canyon that, at its deapest point, is more than 4000 feet deep, twice the depth of the Grand Canyon.

The condor nests sat about a thousand feet below the viewing area. As soon as we got there Brooke and I both needed to use the facilities which were located abut 1000 feet way. Naturally, it was while we were in there that the condors decided to make their appearance. Because of their size it takes too much effort to fly up the face of the canyon from their nests below. Instead the condors make use of the thermals that are generated as the sun warms the air on the canyon floor. Unless it’s too cloudy and cold these thermals are generated relatively consistently between 9 and 10 am. So as I was in the bathroom cursing the pisco sour from the day before, the condors glided about 3 feet over the heads of the other hundred or so people at the viewing stand. Brooke was able to get some footage of them as they flew away and I did get a chance to see them but they were a long way away. We went down to the viewing stand as everyone was walking back towards the vans, satisfied with there condor viewing experience. We weren’t leaving until 10:20 and it was only 9:30 at that point so Brooke and I just sat there by ourselves for about ½ an hour. No luck. This was disappointing but at least we did see them, even if it was at a distance. So we headed back towards our van which was perched about 200 yards away up about a hundred foot incline. We got to the top where we could see another part of the canyon. As I was turned away from the canyon Brooke yelled to me to look up where I saw a condor with at least a 10 foot wing span about 10 feet above our heads. It was an incredible site. Unfortunately we were both a little slow on the draw with the cameras so pictures and video that we have are from when it was further away. 

Video footage:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YEFULx88MXA

After that we were ready to go so we piled back in the van and began what was to be the most miserable car ride I think I have ever experienced. I once drove the 12 hours from Washington DC with a friend of mine back to Boston on the morning following a bachelor party. At the time I thought no driving experience could be more miserable. I was wrong. We stopped in Chivay on the way back for lunch. Instead of eating I walked to the Plaza de Armas to find a pharmacy and some drugs. I walked into the first one that I saw and asked the 7 year old behind the counter if he had anything for a stomachache. He babbled something that may or may not have been Spanish, but I got the gist that he couldn’t help me. Before I had walked into the pharmacy I had thrown up in the middle of the sidewalk I’m sure the people around me when this happened where thinking “there goes another drunk gringo.” I was disoriented and in a lot of pain but I wasn’t drunk. I was still feeling nauseated and felt like I was going to throw up again. As I walked out the door I ran directly into an oncoming funeral procession from the church next door for what appeared to have been a small child. It took everything I had not to barf all over them. I stumbled down the street in what was the wrong direction. This took about 20 minutes to figure out but I eventually made it back to the plaza where I found a second pharmacy. I bought some pills from a nice old lady inside and made my way back to the restaurant. I found Brooke and sat down at the table. I took the pills and tried to relax. Some of the other people in our group were going to the market near where I had successfully avoided yacking on the funeral attendants. There wasn’t anything Brooke could do to help me so she went with them. I went to the bathroom. Apparently I was in there for a while. During that time the van went to pick up the people that had gone to the market, came back, picked up everyone that had stayed at the restaurant and left again… without me. After some consideration Brooke decided it would be best to let them know that I wasn’t among them and told the guide to go back and get me. That, my friends, is called true love. Brooke found me and we got back in the van.

The Van

We headed back down the world’s worst road. Whatever pills I took didn’t work, at least not for the pain. The unpaved portion of this road was about 40 km long and took about 2 and a half hours. I think I would have rather walked. We eventually made it back to the little white shack where I stumbled, sweaty and shaking, out of the van to have some tea to try and sooth my stomach. I held the rest of the group up while I had my tea. I couldn’t have cared less if they were in a hurry. We made our way back to Arequipa and promptly cancelled the hike up El Misti that the hotel had arranged for us the following day. This was a bummer to say the least. El Misti is an active volcano. In 2001 an earthquake measuring 8.1 rocked Arequipa and the surrounding area. Ever since then there has been smoke coming from it’s peak and Arequipans have been praying for it not to erupt. Once it does, the second largest city in Peru will be wiped of the map. After you climb to the top you can go down into the crater to see the source. I would have loved to have been able to do that. It didn’t happen. 

El Misti

Two days later we arrived in Puno. Puno is situated on Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. In this case “navigable” means big ships are in the lake. Apparently, back in the 1860’s somebody thought it would be a good idea to build all the pieces to a couple of 150 ton warships in England, ship them to Peru and have a couple thousand mules carry the ship bits up the 12,500 feet to Puno through one of the driest deserts in the world. It took about 7 years. Puno is a pretty shabby town. Not nearly as bad as it’s sister city Juliaca located about 45 minutes away. Because of the surrounding mountains and some corrupt local politicians the only airport located anywhere near Puno is in this gem of a city. The handy guide book we have with us says of the airport in Juliaca “hit the ground running.” We arrived in Puno on Sunday. A week or so earlier one of Peru’s biggest festivals had begun. It was in full swing when we got there. We checked our stuff into the hotel and headed to the plaza de armas (town square) to see what all the kafuffle was about. People were dressed in all sorts of costumes. Quite a few of the guys were dressed as evil gorillas.  

See hilarious video clip:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-0DFEFPibI

Apparently this festival has something to do with the Virgin Mary. I don’t have the slightest idea what evil gorillas have to do with Mary. We took it easy the next day. Walked around the city a bit. Watched the parade from the restaurant where we ate dinner. While we were in Arequipa, Brooke and I had discussed staying in the home of a family that lives on one of the Titicaca islands. On the island called Taquile (like the worlds most dangerous drink without the “a” at the end) you can stay in the home of one of the 3,000 or so families that live there. There is no electricity or running water. You eat with the family and they sometimes take you into town to party Titicaca style. Unfortunately, Brooke came down with a case of the grumpy pants so staying there wasn’t a reasonable option.

We did, however, book a one day trip that took us out to Taquile as well as a chain of about 50 floating islands, called Uros. It rained on the way to Taquile. Not the end of the world by any stretch. We are in Peru during their rainy season. It changes from rain to sunshine a couple of times every day. We got to the island around 10:30. We walked up the 300 feet or so to the to main square which consisted of a fairly modern looking municipal building, a restaurant where we had tea and a market place.

The island of Taquile is a functioning communist society. The market place is shared by the island people, five families at a time, for a period of a couple of weeks. During these couple of weeks they have the chance to sell their wears at a fixed cost. Almost everything that they sell is made of wool. The hats, which look like they are made for giant elves, are made by the men, everything else is spun by the women on the island. A red hat means you’re married (see red hat guy in pic). As we left the island our guide told us that on the island where he grew up, which was visible from Taquile, only the women dress traditionally while the men go to the mainland for 2 or 3 years at a time to make some Hamiltons. The men on Taquile dress as they do for the benefit of the tourists.

Little girl making and selling bracelets

By the time that we got to the Uros islands, the rains had cleared. The Uros islands aren‘t real islands. They are made of the reeds that grow in the lake. Back in the day, the Uros people didn’t like the idea of being ruled by the Incas so they came up with the unique idea of being unreachable by building their own islands. Not a bad idea except for the fact that you have to live on an island made of reeds. The last of the Uros people was a woman who died in either 1859 or 1959 depending on whether you believe the book or our guide. Either way the current occupants are native people who are, for the most part, fat. Five or six families live on each island which vary in size but none that we saw could have been than a couple thousand square feet. When you live on islands that are that small you generally don’t have to walk vary far. I would think that the rowing would do a body good but motor boats seemingly don‘t. We jumped off of the boat onto the reeds. The guide gave us a presentation about how the islands were built. The islands are about 2 meters thick. It is a strange place. There is a part of me that feels that it’s a false society maintained for the amusement of gringos. On the other hand people actually live there on beds of reeds and according to the guide they do so to preserve their culture. Their only source of electricity is a solar panel that takes them years to pay for.

Natives Judy and Julia (pic to right), showed us their home. They were either sisters or mother and daughter. Julia was older. Judy was 10 or 11. We paid a couple of soles to have them row us over to the island next door to buy some more stuff. We left Uros at around 4:30 to head back to Puno. Among the reeds the Uros people, and the people that took over the settlement after the Uros died, found a way to plant potatoes which are still growing there along with a variety of other vegetables. One thing that they could not do on these islands, however, is bury their loved ones. This was done on a real island just off the coast of Puno. At some point in the 70’s someone bought this island and built a 5 star hotel on it. For some reason the hotel’s advertisements fail to mention that they built it on an ancient burial ground.  

As we left Uros Brooke bought a couple of things. We got on the boat and headed back to Puno. The winds picked up and it began to rain again. As we got closer to our destination the waves were getting progressively higher. In order to position the boat so that it could be docked the captain had to turn the boat so that it was parallel to the waves. This caused the boat to list to such a degree that the water came up to the windows on the boat and it felt like we were going to flip. The captain was able to maneuver us into port but the dock isn’t big enough for each boat to be directly against it. Instead the boats are tied together and you walk across them to get to the dock. This generally works fine except the boat that docked before us had pulled in the wrong way so that our bow was tied to the other boat’s stern. Even in good conditions this would make it difficult to get to shore but with the waves causing both boats to list so hard that at points one was high enough to be on top of the other it was impossible to get off. I really don’t know how they screwed this up. They do it every single day. They could have turned one of the boats around but before they could another boat came in behind us. As it pulled into dock next to us it clearly lost control, passed us and slammed into the boat that we were tied to. The people on shore, the guides and the captains were all screaming at each other and trying to push the 3rd boat away but the wind and the waves were too strong. It took about half an hour for them to pry the boats apart and pull the 3rd boat along side ours to be tied down. As they pulled the boat around we could see the damage. On the port side of the boat toward the front there was a 3 foot hole in one of the windows. Someone would have been sitting directly beneath that hole. After they got the 3rd boat tied to ours, I saw them hurrying a woman off of it. At the time I hadn’t yet seen the hole in the window. I thought she just panicked but it‘s entirely possible that she was injured in the crash. Among the passengers on our boat there was a pretty even mix of shear terror and amusement by all that was going on. I’d put both Brooke and myself in the latter camp. For a period of time it wasn’t at all clear how we were going to get off the boat but worst case scenario we could throw our stuff to one of the guys on the dock and swim to shore. Not ideal but we weren’t going to die. I’m just glad that we were both feeling better after suffering from stomach problems the past few days. The Canadian couple next to us, however, were clearly terrified. We had been talking with them for most of the day. Neither of them said a word while all of this was going on.  According to Brooke though, when things go wrong you blame 'the Canadians' and since Canadians were sitting next to us, the boat situation was somehow their fault.  I won't pretend that I understand this.  Anyway, it took us another hour or so before they were able to find a way to get us off. By then it was dark. People were taking our picture as we got off the boat. The police and the paramedics had arrived and were moving people away from the dock. They tried to stop us from taking any pictures but we got a few. In all the hubbub we briefly entertained thoughts of having our families and friends see us on CNN. Apparently, there are bigger stories than a couple of tour boats crashing on a lake in southern Peru.  

The following day we got up early and took a tour bus to Cusco. We could have flown but we’d have to leave from Juliaca, which wasn’t at all appealing, and we weren’t in any hurry to get there, in part at least, because mud slides have made it impossible to get to Machu Picchu and left 35,000 people homeless in the process. I’m glad we took the tour bus. As it turned out, the same Canadian couple that was on the boat with us the previous day were among the 10 or so people on our bus. Francisco was our driver but our guide, Hugo, told us to call him Pancho. Hugo was probably the best tour guide we‘ve had since we‘ve been here. He seemed to not only know a great deal about the places where we stopped but appeared to be sincerely interested in and even proud of the things he was showing us. He was relatively young, in his early to mid twenties, so maybe he just hasn’t become jaded and board of saying the same things over and over again yet.

Hugo

We went to a museum where we discussed pre-Inca civilization and their use of human sacrifice to make Pachamama, or Mother Earth, happy. We stopped at an Incan town. Hugo told us that you were called an Inca if you were part of societies upper crust, and those who were not, which were the majority of the people, were Quechuas. Apparently, the primary device used by the Incas to control the Quechua people was food. So in addition to the temple to Pachamama, there were large “colcas” or silos where they stored the food they would take from the people. About 30% of the site was restored and it is pretty obvious. A portion of most of the ruins we’ve visited here have been restored but whoever they’ve hired to do so had no idea what they are doing. They really did a sloppy job. One thing it does do is display how skilled these ancient people were. Hundreds and even thousands of years later people are unable to replicate the work they did.

Incan Temple

The Colcas

The last place we visited was a church in at town called Raqchi. Brooke and I saw about 10,000 churches when we were in Europe last year. I have to say this church was as, if not more, impressive than any we saw there. Not necessarily because of the beauty of the church itself but because of the contrast between it and its surroundings. Raqchi was once a town reserved for nobility. It isn’t anymore. Its not as run down as Juliaca but most of the roads aren’t paved and there is graffiti on the sides of the buildings advertising the local politicians. The outside of the church itself is as unassuming as the rest of the town (see pic above). Once you go inside, though, it is a different story. I can’t really do it justice by describing it and you aren’t allowed to take pictures so you’ll just have to take my word for it. I think my favorite part was a sculpture of Jesus on the cross. They installed it into the wall of the church just before a massive earthquake hit the town in the late 1500s. The church survived so now they called the statue “Earthquake Jesus.” They moved the original Earthquake Jesus to Cusco but that’s not really the point. I just like the name. Actually it’s not really the name of the sculpture. In Spanish its more like “Lord of the Earthquake” but I like “Earthquake Jesus” better. The other particularly interesting thing was a mural on the back wall. It depicted how through poverty you can reach heaven and the best thing to do with your money is to give it to the church. I just think its interesting how the church used the nobility to sustain itself and build ornate buildings instead of helping people and the nobility used the church to make the common people feel satisfied with their poverty by promising them eternal salvation.

We arrived at Cusco before dark and took what we thought was going to be a cab into town. It was a van and in the van sat the Canadian couple. This was getting a little weird. We drove into the center of town. The previous night I had reserved a room in what was, according to HostelWorld, the best hostel in town. The driver took us to a different place on the same street. I told him that it was the wrong place. He told me that the place where we had the reservation was closed. I told him that he was lying and that I had just booked the room the night before. He conceded. An Australian kid who was listening to this conversation yelled down to us that the place we were looking for was two doors down. Taxi drivers in Peru get paid by hostels and hotels to bring people to them. This is generally not a big deal. A taxi driver picked the hotel for us when we were in Huacachina. It was fine. The drawback is that they will try to take you to these hotels even if you already have something booked and tell you that the place where you have the reservation is closed or burned down. We checked in and went to the attached bar/restaurant for a beer and some grub. They had fantastic Philly cheesesteak sandwiches. Afterward we booked a tour of the Sacred Valley, the area in between Cusco and Machu Picchu, through the hostel.

The following morning a van picked us up at around 8:30 to go to the Sacred Valley. It was an all day tour. The tour guide looked and, at least in Spanish, sounded like a Peruvian version of Casey Kasem. For the most part he was terrible. Not that he did anything wrong. He just didn’t have anything particularly interesting to say. He was in his early forties and had probably been taking people on the same tour for decades. I think I would rather have had one of the headsets that they give you at museums giving the tour. Despite the boring tour guide the Sacred Valley was an incredible site. We visited a church, as well as the Inca ruins at Pisac and Ollantaytambo. What makes these places so special isn’t just the ruins but where they are set. The ruins at Pisac are set on top of a mountain. Inches from the ruins are thousand plus foot vertical drops on both sides. Those at Ollantaytambo are built into a mountain in the middle of the snow and glacier capped Andes. Pictures won’t do either justice.

Pisac ruins

Pisac

Ollyantaytambo

We woke up this morning a bit later than usual and caught a noon flight from Cusco to Lima. We are currently sitting in the Lima airport waiting for our overnight flight to meet up with Vicente, Lora, Andrew and others in Santiago, Chile. We're heading to the beach in the morning.  Lora says they've rented a house and are planning a BBQ with a bunch of Vicho's family and friends.  Should be a blast!  We'll try to update this again soon so it doesn't get so long. 

Happy Birthday to my niece Maggie, who turns 2 on Valentine's Day!