Arequipa & my Colca Canyon Experience

I'm not sure what happened, but when I got to Arequipa I lost all my motivation for anything. It probably had something to do with the fact that I had my third bout of stomach bug and was trying to put off buying antibiotics for the second time. Although I spent about 3 days there, I didn't see all that much of the city. I spent most of the time walking the same set of streets not being able to decide anything, getting dizzy and hot then cold and in pain because I'd managed to get sunburnt on my neck 'working the fields' in Pichingoto.












Sitting in the Plaza de Armas of Arequipa I thought, how strange... I've landed somewhere in the south of Spain. Perhaps it was the palm trees or the rounded domes of some of the buildings but it definitely had a moorish feel to it. The dark skinned, quechan speaking Cusquenians felt a world away. I also felt like that Arequipa was a pretty city but every time I tried to fit it into the frame of a photo there were electrical wires or satellite dishes in the way.

The Plaza de Armas was pretty too; Palm trees, a fountain that reflects the sky, perfectly pruned plants .. and about 3 times as many people in half the space and thousands of pigeons. I did notice that, given the numerous rats of the sky, there was no pigeon poo to be seen on the ground. This is how they keep people employeed, dutifully washing the ground of pigeon poop.

I did spend an afternoon in the Monasterio de Santa Catalina. A monasty for nuns that for over 300 years was closed to the public. This building, or set of buildings, is huge. It even has streets and takes up a whole block of the city. It's so peaceful and nice in there. The sun is warm and the walls are painted in a earthy reds and a blue that makes the sky look dull.













I don't have much to say about the colca canyon except that, I don't ever want to do anything like that again. It's my fault. I knew I didn't like bus tours but being sick, 3 days of trekking didn't seem like a good idea and I felt bad leaving Arequipa without seeing one of the main attractions of the area.

After having been rounded up from our respective accommodations (with a bit of a hiccup when some sheep, - I mean 'tourists', got herded into the wrong pen (or bus.. which ever you prefer), when they were meant to be in ours. Insults were thrown at our guide even though it wasn't his fault), the trip commenced. We drove through the barren countryside, seeing numerous other coaches driving in the same direction.


The buses would stop at specified areas along the road, vomit out their contents, the tourists would make like the Japanese with their cameras, occassionally going out of their way to do silly poses, and then the buses would suck their contents back in like vaccum cleaners and take off to the next sick bay. (The first photo is of the first stop we had where we were to see vicunas - in the family of llamas & alpacas, but wild and protected. The next photo would be the actual vicunias we saw. We also so lots of alpaca.)

When everyone was herded into a restaurant for a buffet lunch I went off on my own, into the centre of the town to eat alone for a third of the price and a tenth of the tourists.

It was sort of good that I'd elected to stay in a town a little further along than the main group. Only about 4 other people from our bus were headed there too. We were meant to hike for two hours that afternoon but the bridge was closed so we only got to walk for half an hour and visit some hot springs. Fortunately these also only had a fraction of the tourists as the ones in the main town.
(The church was in another town were we stopped where tourists got to pose with birds on their heads. No one that I saw got pooped on. Unfortunately! )











Yes, I saw the Colca Canyon, or at least a part of it. It was big and impressive in parts.

Yes, I saw condors flying. I have to admit, it was much better than when I saw them in the zoólogico in Cusco where the poor things could barely stretch their wings, let alone fly.

However, mostly I just saw tourists.


(The next set of photos are 1 - the agricultural part of the canyon, 2 - Cruz del Condor, where all the tourists dutifully wait until the birds decide to sail around in the air above us. I actually walked away from the crowds a bit so if you look at the top layer, that's were the 100s of people are standing, and 3 - yey! a condor. and 4 - some frozen waterfalls. Last stop for the trip.)

El Cumpleaños de la Abuela de Diego

So, I experienced my first Cusquenian birthday. After a week of waiting in Cusco for Monday to finally come around, I sat outside Diego's work on Monday afternoon for ages waiting for him to finish. Once he got out we frantically rushed around buying some shoes (present for grandma from me) and the worlds biggest bag of bread. We even splurged on a shared taxi ride instead of taking the public bus because it's meant to take 1 hour rather than 1.5. I actually think we spent that extra half hour waiting in the taxi for the other 2 seats to be filled, however, we eventually go to Urubamba, hopped onto the the next combi bus to Pilcopata and then started our walk to grandma's house, stopping at various relatives houses along the way, distributing the bread and, of course, drinking the obligatory glass of chicha.

Eventually we got to a door, in an adobe fence, which opened up to a big yard and two rooms filled with people. One was the kitchen, the other the drinking and dancing room. I was immediately swamped with children kissing me hello on the cheek. Some I knew from my last visit, some from Cusco and others not at all. Greeting and kissing the grown-up relatives took another 10-15 minutes. We were sat down on benches around the perimeter of the dancing room, me immediately next to the abuela, who promptly pulled apart the meat she was eating and handed me some meat and bones. My first taste of cuy. I'm not so good with eating skin and meat off bones normally, and the little guinea pigs don't have much in the way of juicy steak meaty goodness, but it was ok. I can't say I loved it, but when my own HUGE plate of food arrived I finished most of my portion of cuy too. I was coping ok with the whole 'poor little animal' concept until Diego very kindly put the head of the cuy in the centre of my plate.

As well as the worlds biggest plate of food, I also had the biggest glass (literally the biggest glass, because I was a guest) of frutillada (chicha, but with strawberries, so sweeter). Having learnt from my first experience of drinking chicha, I sipped it slowly. I still had those doubts in the back of my mind about the toilet situation.

What I tried to save myself from with chicha they made up for with beer. The way it seems to work is that numerous crates of beer are bought by someone in the house but if anyone wants beer, they buy it from that person. So there is someone that has a bottle or more of beer (I'm sure the bottles must be over a litre each) and also has a small glass that they fill up, drink themselves, or 'invite' other people to drink by handing them the glass. If you're invited, you can't refuse. Even if you don't drink beer, like me. So I drank, and drank some more, and eventually I needed the bathroom. Surprisingly I was pointed towards an actual building.

An aunt gave me her mobile with flashlight and I made my way to the corner of the yard. I laughed when I got there. It was just a hole in the ground type toilet but the funny thing was that although there was a door, all the adobe had come away from the frame so while squatting I could see all the people drinking and dancing away. I was glad it was dark.


After the eating came the dancing. As more and more people got drunk, the dance floor got fuller and fuller. Try as I might, by the end of the night I still couldn't quite get the dance steps right. It's some combination of stomping and hopping, getting faster or slower depending on whether there is singing, and occasionally stopping completely.

I will definitely not miss the music. They had the same tape that the bus driver to and from Pilcopata had. The same music that every driver seems to have and in fact, right now as I'm typing I can hear it playing outside on the street. Like the bus driver, they seem to find nothing wrong with hearing the same song over and over and over. Oooohh, my ears.

So I hopped and stomped my way around the room, and grandma hopped and stomped and the children hopped and stomped and everyone had a good time. Eventually, at about midnight, 5 of us made our way back to an aunt's house where we were going to sleep.

When I mentioned I needed the bathroom again she took me back down the ladder and came with me because she needed to go too. She asked me something using words I'd never heard before but eventually I got the message 'oh yes, right... yes, I only need to wee'. 'Ok', she says, and squats right there 'here is fine then.' So, I had my first communal weeing experience too. Squatting beside the house, beside Diego's aunt, with a view of the river.

The next day everyone seemed to be sleeping late but we eventually got up. Got up and got to work (the boys worked, I watched). First we herded a bull across the river to feed in another paddock, then Diego had to go help his grandpa plow the fields. We brought the men their lunch and chicha and while they ate, Diego and the bulls did their plowing. I had a go, at the insistance of Diego, but my plow line was ridiculously wonky, so the photo is all a lie.

Bus Rides and Pickpockets

To my story of Pilcopata, I forgot to tell you all about my wonderful bus ride back to Cusco. I have no photo to illustrate, or to distract, and I hope my lack of writing skills can do the experience justice.

While on the way there I had prime position; front seat, view, leg room.. on the way back, well, I didn't. I had nothing. Nada.

When I first got on the bus, the window seat was vacant. The lady we bought the ticket off had told me that my seat was the 3rd best available for someone like me with long legs, and the only one available now. From the front of the bus there is the driver, a seat behind him facing sideways, a wall/window that generally has a poster on it with either a face of Jesus or some other saint advertising a festival, or a girl with very short shorts and no top, advertising electrical tools. There there was my seat, on the aisle, directly next to the door. For future reference, when travelling on public buses in Peru, don't sit next to the aisle, and definitely not near the door.

As I said, the window seat was vacant, so I coasted over and made room for one of the people standing in the aisle (because there are always people standing in the aisle) to sit down. We got to the next town, he went off somewhere and I stayed where I was. Then a little lady, as wide as she was tall, appeared at the top of the stairwell. I smiled, said 'buenas noches', and then realised I was sitting in her window seat. I moved over to my seat and saw that she had a bundle as big has herself. My heart sank. First she jammed the big bundle into her leg space, and half of mine. Then she sat herself in her seat.... and half of mine. I literally had to position myself into my seat with a series of shoves. So there we were, jammed into place. Tightly. We were still in the jungle so for the next 4 hours or more, from my left knee to my left shoulder and left elbow I was pressed up against her, getting damp. To make it worse, she kept closing the window, my one single saviour and breath of fresh air. Every time I saw her nod off I would open the window again, and every time she woke up, she would close it again, until finally I pleaded 'por favor!!!' and she left it semi-open. She probably thought she was making a HUGE compromise. So, I had a little fat hog seat and air thief on one side. But that wasn't even the worst of it.

Next appeared Señor Borracho. This old, skinny, little Peruvian man had obviously spent the whole day celebrating the town's Saint's day drinking beer. He came on board with nothing more than a water bottle and took up the position in the aisle, leaning against the wall in front of me. Many more people came on to the bus, taking up all the aisle space, with the majority near the door. Arms and legs everywhere trying to keep their balance. This is why you shouldn't sit near the door.

Not so very long into the trip Mr Drunk-as-a-Skunk slips down to the floor. Leaning against the wall, turns into using my legs as a post and resting his head on my thigh. I didn't have enough leg room as it was with a bundle taking up half of it, and my backpack the other. I wasn't very happy. Squashed on all sides I started being spiteful, stomping my foot and moving my leg, trying to wake up this drunk. He couldn't have cared less. He was passed out cold. When I put my foot high up against the wall, he slid down further. Now his legs were in the stairwell, his head on my bag and he was sleeping peacefully. I had so many horrible thoughts going through my head.

At some point the replacement driver came from his seat up front and asked the Sir Smashed for his ticket. He sat in the stairwell, with glazed eyes, and then started tugging at my bag trying to pull it to him. I kept pulling it back and he started raving on saying he wanted his bag. The guy in the aisle next to me called out to the driver, said something to Borracho and finally he left my and my bag alone.

All of this was happening at some stupid hour of the morning so being a bit delirious, I'm not really sure when the drunk got off. But when he did, in his place was the nice guy from the aisle that had helped me earlier. He alternated between sitting on a stool next to me with his back against my right arm, and sitting on the stool leaning against the wall, resting his head, in his hand, using my leg as an arm rest. I was being physically squashed on all sides. This is why you shouldn't sit in the aisle seat.

Add to the lack of room and lack of air the fact that the road is very very winding (as in, lots of corners) and in extremely poor condition, and then add that I get car sick if I can't see where I am going, and the fact that my only possible view of the road is covered by a half naked lady... my 9 hour bus ride got even worse. I will spare you the details but lucky for me i had little plastic bags I had bought fruit in. By some random chance of luck these god sent bags didn't have holes and as the hours passed, didn't get leaky either!!!

I'm not sure I've ever had a worse bus ride. When I heard that one of the routes I was considering was 20 hours of winding road, I promptly bought a plane ticket!!!

Oh, and finally, throughout this whole 9 hour ordeal, the bus driver (the same one as on the way there too) kept playing his 4 cassettes of 'musika tipical de peru' at full volume. They weren't very long tapes and I already knew the songs off by heart anyway from the bus ride TO Pilcopata. The music is tinny, repetitive and I would have been happy never to hear it again. Alas, I had to dance to it (EXACTLY THE SAME TAPE of the same songs that I could now sing to) for more than 4 hours at Diego's grandma's birthday. Kristina, I now know what 'La Botella' song you were talking about.

Also, I got pick pocketed!! Diego and I were in a street bazaar with lots of people everywhere. I thought I was doing the right thing having my shoulder bag in front of me with my other arm covering it. Suddenly a man who had been walking on my left turned sharply in front of me, bumped me, and continued back on my right. At the moment he turned so suddenly I thought something was up and felt my pocket. My coin purse was gone. I immediately went after him, grabbed his hand and opened his fingers but it was empty. By the time I explained it to Diego, the man was long gone.

Before people start telling me again I need to be careful, this was me being careful. They only got a few coins which I keep in my jeans pocket (front jeans pocket too, which is hard enough for me to get into) for easier access. I think it's one of these things that was going to happen sooner or later and I'm glad it was so quick, harmless and nonviolent. Mostly I was impressed at how smoothly they got in and out of my pocket. Now, however, I am immediately suspicious of anyone that even comes anywhere noticeably close to me.

Jungle boogie (get down, get down, yeah!)

Ok so the title has very little to do with my actual experience in the jungle town. The only getting down that happened was in my room because I happened to find a set of speakers and could listen to all of my music again!!! (earphones are broken, and the ones I bought here only half function). I´m back in Cusco.

After looking forward to leaving Cusco, header for warmer places, I only managed to stay away a week. I´d love to have Indiana Jones type stories to tell, about slashing my way through virgin jungle with a machete, eating monkeys and sleeping in hammocks in open houses amongst the native tribes, however, that is not the case.

Pilcopata is a drive through town, entrance to Manu Nature Reserve, aka Jungle. There are very few tourists, which is a good thing, but it means there are no agencies to organise jungle trips, as anyone passing through is on a tour from Cusco. Since I was going to Pilcopata to work, I didn't organise anything.

The photos of the animals are from a place we went to (a hotel/lodge sort of place, where they have jungle animals for the guests to look at)

There is one main street running through town, another street parallel, and about 3 streets connecting the two. I was told on my first night that I was not allowed to go on the jungle paths on my own. I waited in Pilcopata for the teacher strike to end for one week total, so needless to say, I walked those streets in town and leading out of town about a hundred times.

I thought back and forth, do I leave? do I stay? I loved the feel of the place and the climate but I think I was starting to get depressed. People were definitely friendly if you managed to hold their eye contact for long enough and initiated that 'hola' or 'buenas tardes'. Given more time I´m sure I could, potentially, have built up more relationships. However, the idea of spending more days circling the streets didn't lift my mood. Current plan - do some volunteering in Ecuador. Ah! The beauty of travelling alone and, to some extent, a flexible timetable. Plans can be so fluid.

I did have one experience of a semi-native village. A man from Basque, Pedro, turned up at the hostel (in which, up to that point, I´d been the only guest). Pedro was doing his doctorate in two of the languages spoken by the people of this jungle area and had, up until a year ago, lived with one of the nomad tribes for THREE YEARS!!! He was going to a village close by, so I tagged along. The village is called Huacaria and is about 2 hours walk from Pilcopata. Unless you're Pedro, take off at break neck speed, and get there in 1 hour 15 minutes. I managed to keep up but paid later with huge blisters.

We arrived at the village and no men he knew from a previous visit were there (they were in the jungle for a few days, collecting 'stuff'). We sat by a river, chatted, he smoked about 5 cigarettes, and watched the butterflies. I don't think I've ever seen so many butterflies like I did in Pilcopata. Apparently they lick the salt off the rocks. A few days later, I went for another (unsucessful) walk to an orchid garden (which was closed, and none of the flowers were blooming. I know this because I ducked the fence. After more than one hour of walking, I wasn't going to just turn around and go back). On the way back, a butterfly actually landed on my hand and licked my fingers for ages. mmmmm... salty.

Back to the village story, when we walked back through the village Pedro went and sat in the hut (it had no walls) where the women and children were hanging out. I smiled, tried to start some sort of hide and seek thing with the kids.... Nothing. Just stares. Pedro was pointing at one of the women and telling me she was a 'pure native', talking about her nose piercing (like how bulls have it, can't remember the name of that part of the nose), and I have never felt so awkward. He was talking like they were some sort of museum exhibition. He´d just walked into their house, no one had invited us. No one was talking, not even amongst themselves.

Then he went to one of the other houses, walked in and started pointing out the arrows tucked into the eaves, the roof, which collected all the smoke from the fire to keep insects at bay... The lady was just watching us. While the village and everything he had to tell me about it (people from 3 different areas live there, hence there are 3 quite distinct archetecture types) was all very interesting, I felt like an intruder and rude.

The next day, when Pedro was going to another village, I declined. I felt so unwelcome and strange and didn't want to go through that agian. Who knows, maybe this other tribe was friendlier and I missed out on an awesome opportunity, but, oh well.

So that was pretty much my experience of Pilcopata. My favourite hours spent in Pilcopata were when I made leaf soup in tin cans with mud with two little girls on the side of the road. The other time was when I helped 3 kids push their tricycle (with tray at the front) for about 45 minutes to an hour along a very bumpy road.

Just as an aside, I've definitely decided that one of my pet hates is people that, when travelling, make absolutely no effort to speak the local language. I noticed it when I was with Hardy in Madrid 3 years ago (and I don't mean you hardy, I mean the english tourists be saw), and I seen it various times since. When someone orders in a restaurant and just starts rattling off everything in English, without even an 'hola', or 'bula', or 'bonjour', or 'gracias' or 'terima kasir' or even 'sorry, I don't speak xxxx', it really makes me scowl.

This kid was pushing his sister around in the pram every day outside my hostel.