What are men compared to rocks and mountains?

Colca Canyons, Cruz del Condor, entire Colca Valley–breathtakingly beautiful. Yes, there were a lot of tourists, and there were a lot of vendors–locals in traditional garb selling alpaca sweaters and the like, but there were more pretty mountains than there were tourists or buses or alpaca-pashminas.

The night before we had visited las Caleras, natural hot springs where most of the towns-folk bathe (because they don’t have hot water in their homes) and I rented a swimsuit to wear, which was sketchy but kind of necessary. At 6am, we left David’s Hostal with a Arequipeñan couple in a combi, stopped by the market to buy some bread and hot chocolate for breakfast, and set off for the canyons.

After watching the condors fly around the Cruz del Condor, we walked along the edge of the canyons on a path for about half an hour (longer because I kept on wandering away to take pictures), and I really wanted to hike the whole thing, climb down to the bottom, but even with the little bit of walking we were doing I was having a hard time breathing, because of the altitude.

The day before, when I was on that wretched bus from Arequipa to Chivay, I kept on wondering why in the world anyone would decide to build an empire (the Incas, for example) on such difficult terrain as the Andes Mountains–incredibly high, hard to reach, and also very dry for a good portion of the year. Now, I understand a little better. It didn’t matter that I was feeling a little sick, that I couldn’t really breathe, that it had taken me a total of about 22 hours of bus to get there–it sounds cheesy but I felt like I could have stayed there forever, just to keep on looking at the pretty mountains. At every turn of the road, I wanted to take a thousand pictures. I think that I would like to die in a place like this, because I would not be as scared. Moral of the story: the Peruvian countryside is very very beautiful.

Bus Rides

view from the bus arequipa-lima

First of all, I would like to say thank you to the bus workers, who are on strike today (which means that there are no micros or buses running anywhere), without whom I would not be sitting on my bed recovering from my 3-day marathon in Arequipa, but rather taking some type of public transport home after a day of work in San Juan de Dios.

Anyways, there will be more about Arequipa later, but I would like to take this moment to say that I am officially a user of Peruvian public transport. I have now ridden in every single type of motorized vehicle one can possibly ride on to get from one place to another in this country. Of course, I have ridden in private cars of work supervisors, homestay parents, and whatnot. However, I have also bargained for taxis, smelled people’s armpits in big omnibuses or smaller micros, and squeezed myself into meatloaf shaped minivans called combis. The first time I rode a combi alone, I thought I was going to die–the driver was having a nice little race with another combi going in the same direction during rush hour (which is nearly every hour in Lima)–it was so cramped I sat with my chin on my knees, and I tried fruitlessly to position myself in a way which would result in the least damage if the little vehicle suddenly fell apart while flying over a speed bump and threw me from it. Of course, there were no seat belts. Anyhow, the point is that I am still alive, and although I often fear for my life while taking advantage of Limeñan public transport, I am no longer scared to just walk outside and flag down a combi/micro/bus/taxi.

This past weekend, I’ve added two other motor-vehicles to my Peruvian transport repertoire–a mototaxi, and a double decker sleeper bus. The picture above was taken on the 15 hour bus ride home to Lima after 2.5 long days in Arequipa/Chivay/Colca Valley. Yes, 15 hours. I did not know that 15 hour bus rides existed, but they do–special double decker buses with reclinable seats, blankets, meals, bad American movies, and BINGO. The rides weren’t that bad–on the way to Arequipa, I tried to sleep through most of it (it was overnight, thank goodness), and when I woke up in the morning, we were about two hours behind schedule, because it was almost 8:30, which was when we were supposed to arrive in Arequipa, and I could see the ocean from the windows, which wasn’t good because Arequipa is pretty inland. However, despite being unhappy about the delay, I completely floored by the stuff outside my window. Overnight, we had left behind the streetlights, the run down towns in the the very-developing outskirts of Lima, and all other signs of civilization. To my right, there was the ocean, and to my left, desert and mountains. It was truly astonishing–beautiful yet absolutely terrifying in a hypnotic, benign way.  The only signs of life were occasional graves on the side of the road made of wooden crosses and rough stones, clearly picked and lain by hand. Then we left the ocean and were surrounded on all sides by sand, rocks, and mountains made of sand and rocks. I had never really seen a desert before (unless you count Pachacamac, but there was a village next to it, and it wasn’t nearly as vast), and I was terribly impressed, and I kept on thinking about how if I were out there by myself, I would certainly die, for there was not a trace of water, sustenance, or shelter anywhere. After what seemed like hours of driving through pure desert, we passed some shabby little pueblos, mostly half-constructed concrete buildings with iron bars of yet-to be pisos sticking out of the roofs, and little rectangular prisms that looked like four random pieces of rectangular material leaning against each other, with another piece on top for the roof. It was all so dry, I could see the dust hanging out in the air, inside the houses, outside of them, and my throat felt scratchy in a peaceful kind of way.

The next bus ride I took was a three hour one from Arequipa to Chivay, a town in the Colca Valley, a home base for tourists going to see the Colca Canyons, which are twice as deep as the Grand Canyons. This was the worst bus ride of my life, for many reasons. First, this was right after our 15 hour (extended to about 17 hours) bus ride, because we realized when we got there that if we wanted to see the canyons, we had to leave inmediatamente–anyways the point is that this meant about 20 hours straight on a bus, most of which was through winding mountain roads. Second, it was HOT in Arequipa when we got there around midday–the sun was beating down and we were all walking around in tshirts. When we got on the bus in Arequipa, it was like an oven, we opened all the windows–but halfway through the ride it became freezing outside, because apparently that’s what happens in desert/mountain areas when the sun starts to go down. Third, the road was not paved, so it was bumpy, and incredibly dusty. So from our open windows came tons of dust and freezing cold air, as we bounced around on what seemed like lots of rocks and through what seemed like hundreds of hairpin turns. Lastly, we were climbing, and I hadn’t started my altitude medication early enough, because I was a very unprepared traveler, so by the time we got to Chivay I was freezing, coughing, and extremely nauseated. Then we hopped into little mototaxis that took us to our hostel, Hostal de David, owned by David, a very sweet little man, who turns out is related to just about everybody in the town (our taxi driver, a restaurant owner, etc)– it was a very small town, and although the sign said “Agua Caliente” there was no hot water for me the next morning, unless by “hot” they meant “not freezing but still pretty cold.”

The next ride was to the canyons. We got up early early to leave at 6 so that we could catch the condors flying out at the Cruz del Condor, and it was literally freezing, my proof being that we saw some small mountain streams which were frozen. By the time we returned, however, around midday, these same streams (okay they were more like dribbles) had been dried up completely by the scorching sun, and we had shed all our layers of jackets, hats and scarves. Stupid desert/mountain climates–even more temperamental than a woman on her period. But I am getting off track. The important thing about this bus ride was how astoundingly beautiful the mountains we were driving through were. Because it was early, there was a film of rising mist in parts of the valley, and the chilly morning air covered everything with a layer of elegancy, and it was really just so beautiful I could not handle it. Though there were obvious signs of human life–alpacas grazing, terraced mountainsides, paths and dirt roads, cows standing in the middle of the road–everything seemed so still and untouched that once again I was struck with that very peaceful feeling that if I were dropped off in the middle of the mountain alone I would certainly die. I have seen beautiful mountains in China, beautiful mountains in America, but never before had I felt so far from human constructions.

The last bus ride I have to talk about is the bus ride back to Lima, which is notable because I felt like I was coming home, though I’ve lived in Lima for less than 2 weeks. I guess anywhere where I’m not living out of a suitcase or backpack can feel like home pretty quickly.