Peru Travelogue, Part 7

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

For $10 a night, Hostel Del Puente did not provide a complementary breakfast. The van to Colca Canyon picked me up and then we wound the streets of Arequipa for the next half-hour picking up other tourists at various hotels until the van was almost full. We left the center of town, crossed the river, and entered a gated community where there were individual homes -- also gated -- with expensive cars in the driveways. I was seeing an entirely different Peru.

Our van stopped in front of one of the homes to pick up the last additions to our group. They were a Peruvian husband and wife and Mili, their attractive twenty-something daughter. They were dressed better than the average Peruvian and Mili was carrying multiple bags as though she were going away to the Hamptons for the summer.

It was a five-hour drive to Colca Canyon, the last two of which were on a rough dirt road. We were surrounded by mountainous desert, but the van would stop periodically whenever wildlife was spotted. The first animal we saw was the vicuna. It is like an alpaca, but smaller. I learned that the fur is also more valuable, which shattered my recently formed construct of the world of wool. I had been hearing about fine alpaca wool for over a week and now I was learning that there was something even finer than baby alpaca. It was like learning there are particles smaller than electrons. With a single pelt selling for the equivalent of a year's wages for many Peruvians, it's not surprising that the vicuna population was almost hunted to extinction in the 70's. Now they are protected. They go bonkers when they are kept in captivity, so you can only find them in the wild.

More fascinating was the vizcacha, also known as the Andean long-tailed rabbit. The bus driver knew just where to stop to view them. There was a colony of them living in a single clump of rocks. I don't know why they seemed so bizarre to me, except that I never expected to see a rabbit with a long tail. It was like seeing a stuffed jackalope for the first time.

As we followed the dusty road through a tunnel and into the canyon for many miles, the only vehicles we met were a few construction vehicles, so I was surprised to find Chivay, a good-sized village, deep in the canyon. This is where we would overnight.

I enjoyed an alpaca steak for lunch before checking into my hotel room, which was a decent room with two beds and a private shower. I went for a walk with two of the people from our group -- Schlomie (sp?), a bookish Israeli in glasses and braces, on vacation after finishing his mandatory service in the Israeli army, and a very odd German woman who had teased her hair into a giant afro. (I kept the Nazi jokes to a minimum.) One of the local children approached us and told us that the village was building a new schoolhouse and that if we would give her a donation, she would make sure it went to the school fund. We decided to leave this child behind.

In the evening, our group met again for supper. This time, there was Andean music and dancing for our entertainment. As we left the restaurant, we stopped to see part of a Catholic religious festival taking place in the town square. Men were carrying an icon on their shoulders and there were marchers trailing behind, blowing on horns and beating drums. People were also lighting firecrackers. We were told that the march would continue all night and into the next day. Thankfully, the marching route didn't pass near my hotel, or else my iconoclast nature might have become more hands-on.

After walking the older members of our group to their hotels, I went to an Irish pub (yes, you can find an Irish pub even in an isolated Peruvian village deep in Colca Canyon) with Mili and a Peruvian guy close to my age who was also an attorney. We played a game of pool and I discovered to my embarrassment that pool tables in South America have smaller pockets than U.S. pool tables. It made for a really long game.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

For breakfast, we had bread and jam and coca tea at our hotel. That's when I learned that one of the German women had become so sick from the altitude the night before, that she passed out and had to be taken to the hospital, but she was better now.

We drove further into the canyon before we stopped at scenic overlooks for photos. Colca Canyon has become one of Peru's biggest tourist attractions, second only to Machu Picchu. It is the world's deepest canyon, with the proviso that Arizona's Grand Canyon is technically a gorge. Some of the views resemble the Grand Canyon, but with glaciers and no reddish hues.

The main reason people go to Colca Canyon is to watch for the Andean Condor. There is one particular scenic overlook known for condor spottings, so when we arrived, it was already thick with tourists holding cameras and binoculars. We stayed there for over an hour, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the endangered vultures.

Boredom drove one of the German women to seeing fanciful cows. She claimed to have spotted a cow perched on a ledge high up on one of the canyon walls. I concluded that the woman was stark raving mad. For a cow to be at this spot, it would have to be wearing a belt of climbing ropes and carabiners. But she continued to press her case for a half-hour until a tourist from another group handed her a more powerful pair of binoculars and she saw that the cow was actually a shadow from a rock.

After I was thoroughly sunburned, we headed back to the van. But just before boarding, a condor appeared in the sky above us. From the shouts of acclaim by the tourists, you would have thought it was an angel from heaven, rather than a vulture searching for carrion. Giving us an extra thrill, it buzzed the overlook platform, getting as close as fifty feet above us, which I am guessing is quite unusual. A week earlier, I wouldn't have known that an Andean Condor was any more special than an Oklahoma mockingbird, but now that I had been properly educated by my fellow tourists, I was excited to be able to snap a photo.

I had an even closer bird encounter on the way back to Chivay. At one of the stops, there was a man with a blue and gray eagle tethered to a leash. He was collecting tips from tourists who wanted their pictures taken with the eagle. One of the members of our group, a man from Portugal, said that a beautiful majestic bird like that eagle should not be tied to a rope. I noted that in America, the eagle is a symbol of freedom. "Exactly! Freedom -- ha!", he said, as he shook his head in disgust. I was wanting a picture with the eagle, but now that I had this animal rights bonding moment with the man from Portugal, I had to stand on principle. But when I returned after walking around, there was the man from Portugal with the eagle on his arm and a big goofy grin on his face. A few tourist shots later, I had my turn with the eagle.

We returned to Chivay, where the Catholic procession was still circling the plaza with their icon. We had lunch and then headed back to Arequipa. Along the way, we stopped at the highest elevation point on the route. There was a frigid wind blowing and snow flakes stung my face. Only hours earlier, I was under a blistering sun, wishing I had worn shorts and a T-shirt.

Later that evening in Arequipa, I met Mili at the Plaza de Armas and we had dinner together at a really nice Italian restaurant. We had an entire banquet room all to ourselves until a busload of Chinese businessmen poured in. With them, were two gorgeous women, one of whom was wearing a sash that read, "Miss Arequipa". I thought she seemed like a fine young lady, but Mili took an instant dislike to Miss Arequipa. There is something about a sash that seems to set women off. Later, after questioning our taxi cab driver, Mili thought it necessary to point out to me that it was not the real Miss Arequipa, but merely the Asian Miss Arequipa. I didn't think Mili would have disliked her any less had she been the real Miss Arequipa, but I chose not to voice this thought to Mili.

Friday, October 29, 2004

I had originally planned on heading north to the Ballestas Islands near Pisco, but Arequipa had a hold on me. I started the morning with a glass of blended banana and milk at a restaurant where I ran into the two German women from the day before.

I spent the rest of the morning seeing various mansions and church buildings around the city, the most memorable of which was the Monastery of La Recoleta. Less visited than Santa Catalina Monastery -- and much cheaper -- I thought it was just as impressive. Founded in 1648, it later became an Apostolic Missionary School managed by the Franciscans. None of the original buildings remain standing, but there are several beautiful cloisters. There was a church library, opened just for me, containing many volumes from the 16th century. Most interesting was the Amazon Museum, dedicated to the Franciscans' long-running missionary activity in the Peruvian tropical forest regions. It contained artifacts collected from jungle Indian tribes, examples of forest wildlife, and black and white photos of missionaries in long black robes standing beside almost naked Indians.

In the afternoon, I took a taxi to Cayma, a suburb of Arequipa. I had another excellent meal of trout at a restaurant that had a panoramic view of El Misti and the city of Arequipa, separated from Cayma by the lush Chilina Valley.

Saturday, October 30, 2004

It was my last day in Peru and I had the privilege of spending it, not as a tourist, but as a guest in a Peruvian home. Mili's family was having a dinner party and I was invited. I returned to the house in the gated community, which I learned belonged to Mili's aunt and uncle. Mili and her parents were visiting from Iquitos, which is a town located in northern Peru in the Amazonian jungle region. Mili's father is a naval captain. The navy patrols the Amazon River to guard against the narco FARC guerillas from crossing into Peru from Columbia.

The house was nicely furnished and by Peruvian standards, would probably be considered luxurious. The family had a full-time housekeeper and judging by the neatly manicured backyard, they probably also enjoyed the services of a gardener. To cook the dinner, they had brought in a chef for the day. I could see him in the kitchen wearing an apron and a Chef Boyardee hat.

Dinner guests continued to arrive and I met grandparents, cousins, friends, and neighbors, few of whom spoke any English. When it was time to eat, I was directed to the back patio with the rest of the men, it being the custom in Peru for the men and women to dine separately. None of the men spoke much English, so the extent of our conversation consisted of me saying that I was from Oklahoma, prompting one of the military men to recite a line from An Officer and a Gentleman: "The only two things from Oklahoma are steers and queers, and I don't see any horns on you boy." Isn't cultural exchange wonderful?

The first course was a soup that resembled gumbo. It contained whole ears of corn, chunks of potato, and whole shrimp, including the heads. The men told me the shrimp was fresh-water shrimp that came from the river. I'd never heard of such a thing. The main course was trout (again!) -- this time cooked with something like sharp Parmesan cheese and strips of ham.

I said goodbye to Mili's family and returned to downtown Arequipa, where I tried to get rid of my remaining soles by buying a bunch of junk I didn't need. I retrieved my bag from my hostal and caught a taxi to the airport.

I was fortunate to have a ticket. I had waited until the day before to purchase one and then found out that it was a Peruvian holiday weekend and most of the flights were booked. Oh, and now all of the airlines EXCEPT Lan Peru were shut down. There were numerous airline booking agencies bordering the Plaza de Armas, but regardless of which one you walked into, they would offer you the same Lan Peru flight. By shopping around, I managed to save maybe $4.

My flight to Lima was more than an hour late taking off, but once I finally boarded, I was impressed. It was a jet as modern as any flown by any of the major U.S. carriers. It was a far cry from Aero Condor, which had probably already been returned to the mothballs to await the next government-imposed shutdown of Lan Peru.

Despite my flight out of Arequipa being late, I still had a lengthy wait once I arrived at the Lima airport. The departure area for international flights was one large open area. When it neared boarding time, they cordoned off my particular gate so that they could conduct individual bag searches of all passengers. I waited until the area was so jammed with passengers that the ones who had already been blessed as safe were butting up against the ones who were still suspects. When I entered, I simply stepped over to the blessed ones and the bag checkers either didn't notice or didn't care.

Before that, I killed time by reading The Fountainhead and doing some people watching. For reasons I can't fathom, most of the international flights out of Lima depart after midnight, so the place was filled with travelers who looked like the walking dead. I also thought about all of the new friends I had made who must have passed through this same waiting area only days earlier: Suzanne, the Philly girls, Sophie, Stefan, and others I met on the trail. I fell in behind them one last time as I boarded my 2:30 AM flight and left the Land of the Inca.