We returned to Arequipa on one of those long, multi-phase bus trips that were becoming so easy for us. Three buses and a border crossing later, we pulled into the familiar vista of El Misti Mountain, the giant sleeping volcano that the city nestles beneath. Our return here was specific - to take three days and do the Colca Canyon trek. The deepest canyon in the world, twice the depth of the Grand Canyon, Colca would still keep us thousands of metres above sea level. Only with Lima would we return to less dizzying heights.
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| The highest point on the Colca Canyon trip around 6000m above sea level. Pretty chilly early in the morning. |
After our earliest morning start yet at 3am, the little minibus we had booked picked us up and started the 4hr drive to Colca. We stopped at the highest point, around 4200m, where snow lay inches thick on the ground and our exuberant guides threw snowballs at each other. A little while later, we stopped at Condor Cross - aptly named, we watched the magnifcent birds soar in the sky, still far above us but casting huge shadows as they wheeled searching for carrion prey. Their bald heads swept the ground left and right, beady eyes stuck under folds of wrinkled brown skin.
We started our descent into the canyon around 9am. As we were winding down from our big treks, we'd taken the slow option and had two full days to reach the Oasis before a 4am start to hike the canyon wall back out on the last day - a 1000m ascent: any more vertical and it would be considered climbing. As it was that gave us 3hrs walking a piece on day 1 and 2. Our first day's descent slowed more by the constant need to photograph the huge canyon walls, whose impressive size were just impossible to capture properly. Our guide Juan bounded ahead and back frequently - constantly talking as he remained cheerfully full of breath, while the rest of us took a more steady pace and deeper lungfuls.
Our afternoon was much more relaxed - Mhairi fell asleep, her body in total recovery mode from all the early starts and overnight buses we'd suffered in the past few days. I wandered in the light rain, taking some photos and reading. Both Mhairi and I were trying to focus on enjoying our time and relaxing. North America loomed large in our thoughts and Colca would be our last gasp of the great Andean altiplano.
The next day was notable for some slightly more strenuous walking, with Juan daubing war paint on our faces from the blood red cactus parasite Cochineal: now used in lipstick around the world. We took a break on a small ridge after a hard climb to take in some more views and look at the guinea pigs, being fattened up on a mango, awaiting their inevitable culinary doom. And then the oasis, cool, clean water piped into swimming pools from the fast flowing river beneath. An afternoon to swim, take a couple of beers and again relax the afternoon away on the canyon floor.
By the time we'd completed the 3hr ascent in near dark the next day, more views greeted us. We made a refreshing stop to drink Colca sours (with pisco and cactus fruit) while having birds stand our heads; a further hot springs trip let us soothe our sweaty and aching bodies from the climb; and then we were done. The trip back to Colca was long in a stuffy bus. We broke out to have posh dinner in Zigzag once we arrived, where my medley of steaks was served on a sizzling hot plate, and I was kindly wrapped in a bib before beginning, as the fat sprayed outwards, missing Mhairi's dinner by inches. And that was it. A day lounging around to do admin and ship our Bolivian knitwear home, and then an excellent spicy mexican dinner at Tacos and Tequila, and we were done with the Andes. 6 weeks at over 2000m altitude and we plunged back down to sea level on the super-luxe Cruz del Sur bus, to rest up in Lima before returning to the Western world...
And finally, there was Lima. Ah, Lima - we really can't say too much about Lima. Really. Exhausted still, with our heads full of our South American adventure and the pressure of organising our affairs in San Francisco, we sold Peru's capital short. A promenade along the sea front to gaze at the mighty Pacific Ocean turned into drinks at Ayahuasca, where we downed enough pisco to slide merrily off of our bar stools. Days spent relaxing around Park Kennedy never turned into anything more cultural or edifying. The sun, and the pisco, did their work. We were caught in the eye of the storm. Weeks of travelling, with barely more than two nights in any one place before moving on, were to transform into a torridly busy week-long San Francisco immersion. And Lima was the sacrifice it seemed. By day three, we rallied somewhat. To the north of Park Kennedy sits one of the largest pre-Incan sites, Huaca Pucllana. Built by the Peruvian coastal inhabitants over 1000years ago, it is a laboriously constructed ziggurat, each mud brick crafted by hand. The mud has stuck around, because it never, ever rains in Lima - only a coastal fog moistens the earth. And so the pyramid survived, was added to by the Incans and their followers and remains now. The edifice itself has been revealed as the burial tomb for many nobles of this period and with work ongoing, it remains a grave for untold numbers more. They haven't even excavated the very top, where we could see the greatest finds. In the meantime, a stunning restaurant sits at the Huaca Pucllana's base. But NO, for our time was booked elsewhere - Astrid y Gaston. This famous Peruvian restaurant has spawned clones in most South American capitals (the rich ones, anyway), but the original is the best. Here the pisco sours were super smooth and garnished with the freshest, tenderest of coca leaves. And I finally relented, those small furry little squeakers could escape me no longer. I had the guinea pig - in all its crispy fat, sort-of-like chicken glory. Deconstructed and spread across my plate on a variety of salad and quinoa bases, I foraged the flesh of the rodent out, and it was pretty damn good... Mhairi's main course was similarly sumptuous, and too stuffed for dessert we had coffees to keep us awake. For Astrid y Gaston was our last South American hurrah... The plane left for North America just after midnight, 26th March.
Warning! Extreme pictures of food from Astrid y Gaston:
South America had been an incredible experience. On almost all counts it had over-delivered for us, and yet perhaps only a piece at a time. The food and wine in Argentina had been stunning, in quality and value, even considering Mhairi's continued vegetarian affliction. And Perito Moreno looms large as an incredible sight. But the cost, was hard to bear, with European style prices: and perhaps to our shame, we didn't really meet too many Argentinians. Chile had some of the most awesome landscape - its long spindly shape taking us from the heights of Torres del Paine to the even greater heights of the Atacama, with a surprisingly beautiful capital in Santiago (given how others had reported it to us). And yet both the southernmost South American countries are so sparkly and new that they for the most part left Mhairi and I wanting a little more history. Perhaps it is an unfair comparison, but in Peru and Bolivia the people have old souls. Suffused with Colonial, Incan and pre-Incan settlement the countries have an incredible charm. Like India, you can wander most cities of the Altiplano, and experience a different way of living - quite removed from the westernised South of the continent. And we were fortunate to hit Bolivia for carnival in Oruro, where the soul of the people was laid bare to the banging of the drum and the dancing of the performers. But everything we've seen - The salt flats of Uyuni and the mines of Potosi, the citadel of Santa Catalina, Colca canyon, and, of course, Macchu Picchu have reminded us how big the world is. And it's waiting just outside the door. But before you go anywhere, always have a glass of Malbec from Mendoza.
And finally, from Arequipa:
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| Shoe lace man! Do you need laces, HE HAS LACES! |
