Flying High in Arequipa

It’s dark already in Arequipa, Peru, at about 5:30 pm as I wait for my night bus at 9:00 to Cuzco. I’m hanging out at my friendly hostel, where internet access is a bit hit and miss – so if all goes well, you`ll be reading this on the night of the 14th, but if it shows up later, you`ll know what happened.

You (I hope) have read my previous post about Arequipa – so you know how happy I was to get here after HATING Arica, Chile. Arequipa is the second largest city in Peru (after Lima) at about 750,000 people, but not nearly so well known outside Peru as the smaller city of Cuzco, the former Incan capital and the oldest continuously inhabited city in the Americas. (Santo Domingo, where I went a couple of years ago, wins as the oldest European city in the Americas ... but the Incas built Cuzco long before that.)

I spent a relaxing day in Arequipa today enjoying the hot sunshine – it gets cold after dark and I bundle up in a fleece or two, but days are lovely and I can stroll around in a t-shirt. Went back to the Cusco Coffee Company and hung out for a few hours (and a couple of grande cafe americanos) with my Aussie buddy John. I still think it`s Starbucks in disguise, but the prices at least are different , with coffee costing less than $2.

I spent the weekend in the Colca Canyon, just outside Arequipa. “Just outside” is a relative term – it`s not a long distance away, but the highway twists and turns (and at some points becomes a dirt road) as it meanders its way through the mountains, and at the highest point hitting 4,800 metres above sea level. I bought coca leaves on the way, since they are reputed to help prevent altitude sickness (known as “soroche” here); whether or not they really work, I don`t know, but I didn`t suffer any ill effects (I might’ve been okay anyway, since I`ve been all right previously at high altitude).

Colca is deeper than the Grand Canyon in the U.S. at nearly 3,200 metres, surrounding by towering mountains and volcanoes that stretch as much as 6,300 metres into the air. You have the option to climb these volcanoes (not all are active) or mountain-bike down into the crater of some; I opted to admire from a distance and ventured further into the canyon instead.

My Spanish got a workout on the 2-day trip, as everyone else in my group spoke that as a first language (and mostly not much English); one 7-year-old girl from Lima in the group took a particular fancy to me and peppered me with questions about Canada and what I was doing in Peru. (It’s humbling when, despite your best efforts, you can’t always understand a child speaking the language you’re trying to learn.) She seemed particularly fascinated by the fact that I have blue eyes and red hair (this combination not being common in Peru), and by the sunscreen I kept slathering on; when I explained that I had to use it to prevent myself from turning ‘rojo’ in the sun, she asked if everybody in Canada was as white as me (I assured her that no, they weren’t).

I spent Saturday night in the tiny village of Chivay, after chilling out in the nearby hot springs; we went as a group to a ‘peña’, a folkloric show with traditional music, dance and food. The costumes (traditional local dress) were incredibly elaborate, on the women particularly in their colourful layered skirts and embroidered shirts. They pulled audience members up to participate at some points, and all of us were dragged up for a conga-line kind of finale; my 7-year-old friend found this especially amusing and wanted me to stay and dance with her after the show finished. (Her parents, however, dragged her back to the hotel to go to sleep, much to her chagrin.)

Sunday morning we got up really early (5 a.m. early) to get to the Cruz del Condor lookout while the condors were still active; the best times to se them are early morning and late afternoon. The birds are amazing – about a 3-metre wingspan giving them graceful, seemingly effortless flight high above the canyon floor. Too many of the spectators (the lookout was overrun with tourists) seemed to forget about watching the birds and enjoying the moment, with their cameras glued to their eyes the entire time. Sometimes, I think, you just have to put the camera away and relish the experience; otherwise, it’s too easy to get focused on how it looks on your digital camera screen, instead of seeing it in real life.

Tonight, I’m off to Cuzco on a night bus; I’m curious to see how the experience compares to Argentina and Chile. At about one-third the cost, I’m not expecting the same level of luxury – but I am hoping at least for a bathroom and heat on board. Otherwise, it will be a miserable and grumpy Carol who arrives in Cuzco, and you may want to skip the whining in my next post.

If You Don't Like Where You Are ... Just Go Somewhere Else

I like Arequipa very, very, very much better than Arica.  It was a long travel day yesterday, and my bus got here about two hours later than it was supposed to, but I was so happy to get here that it didn't really matter.  Arequipa, in southern Peru, is in the midst of mountains and canyons (including at least two deeper than the Grand Canyon), and is a lovely, lively city which is actually HOT during the day.  I could walk around in a T-shirt and Tevas quite comfortably.

I caught the train from Arica at 9 a.m. yesterday -- there are two a day that make the two-hour trip to Tacna, just over the border in Peru.  Border crossing is extremely easy this way -- you get "stamped out" of Chile at the station in Arica, and "stamped in" to Peru at the station in Tacna.  It's not a long distance -- only 60 km or so -- but the train is an antique wooden one-car variety that chugs along at a leisurely pace.  It's a charming way to go, though, as long as you're not in a hurry, and I doubt I would have enjoyed a collectivo ride to Tacna as much.

From Tacna train station, I caught a taxi to the bus station and, forgetting I was now in Peru and was supposed to bargain for my taxi fare, paid well over the odds for the ride.  I probably made the taxi driver's day when I just paid what he asked, instead of trying to bargain him down; Chile and Argentina both have metered taxis so I'll have to get used to a different way of operating.

Taxis aren't the only difference.  The bus was much more comfortable than I expected -- a double-decker semi-cama almost as nice as an Argentine or Chilean one, instead of a chicken bus -- but they don't serve you on Peruvian buses, it seems.  Instead, people bearing all manner of drinks and snacks swarm aboard the bus every time it stops; one guy was even selling hot chicken dinners, carefully packaged in tinfoil trays.  I had a tasty empanada con pollo for the princely sum of 1.5 soles (about 50 cents).  (I have to change my Spanish pronounciation, though; I said "po-zho" for "chicken" like an Argentine instead of "poy-yo" like the rest of the Spanish speaking world.  I'll have people thoroughly baffled as to where I'm from if I walk around talking with an Argentine accent.)

My hostel -- the charmingly named "Home Sweet Home" -- is great, but oddly bereft of Australians.  They are the most common backpacker species everywhere else I've been in the world, but the only one here is my San Pedro buddy John, who just got here tonight on the bus from Arica.  Lots of Canadians, which is also unusual -- either we as a nation haven't embraced the whole backpacker culture, or we mostly choose to go to different parts of the world, because there haven't been many in South America. 

Main square of Arequipa

I'm off to the Colca Canyon tomorrow for a two-day trip (the one-day option left at 3 a.m., so I nixed that idea), and spend today wandering around Arequipa.  The main square and cathedral are breathtakingly lovely, built mostly of sillar, a white-ish volcanic stone that glowed softly in the hot sun.  The interior of the cathedral is light and airy, unless most cathedrals here which are heavy, dark, and Gothic; Arequipa`s is cream with white molding, remindering me strongly of a wedding cake but appealing nonetheless.

Iglesia de la Compania (yet another Jesuit church) is also stunning -- the original sacristy is completely covered, all over its walls and dome, with vivid, multi-coloured painting in a jungle motif with flowers and gaudy tropical birds.  Apparently the Jesuits did this because the missionaries would head out into the jungle from here to convert the locals, so the decoration would prepare and remind them of where they were going.  Who knew that strict 17-century Catholic priests could be so whimsical?

There is a gorgeous 400-year-old convent nearby, too, which I spent a couple of hours wandering around.  It`s a maze of tiny but comfortable-looking cells, airy open patios and narrow cobblestone streets that meanders over a few city blocks.  It was founded in the early 17th century but not opened to the public until 1970; the Dominican nuns kept the building firmly for themselves for a few centuries.  About 30 nuns of the order still live in cloistered quarters in the convent.

Even older religious traditions are on display as well, in the Museo Santuario at the Universidad Catolica de Santa Maria.  It`s devoted to the discovery of Incan child sacrifices unearthed at nearly 6,000 metres altitude on a nearby volcano, and has a wealth of detail about the Incan ritual and the objects obtained from the burial sites.  The Inca believed that the mountains were gods, and if their gods exhibited any signs of displeasure (such as an eruption) they would offer sacrifices as appeasement.  Children of noble blood were usually selected and carefully prepared for the ceremony; they were given sedative drinks before their death so (in theory) would not have suffered. 

Looking at the face of the mummy on display in the museum -- a 12-year-old girl sacrificed about 500 years ago and buried on top of the mountain -- I wasn`t so sure she died peacefully.  But is it any worse that the Inca did this in the name of their gods, than what the Spanish of the same time did in the name of theirs?  The Inquisition would have been happening in Europe at about the same time as this girl died, and it would be hard to make any argument that the Catholic Church was any more "civilized" in this endeavour.

I`m back in the hostel now, and I must go make dinner soon.  I only had coffee for an afternoon snack, at a place that looked suspiciously like Starbucks but was called the "Cuzco Coffee Company" (actually, I think it WAS Starbucks, cleverly disguised so no one will know they`re attempting to take over South America too.)  So I`m a little hungry -- but I have to remind myself how to cook quinoa first, though, since it`s been a while.  I was tired of rice and pasta, and it seemed appropriate to try the local grain, so I`ll give it a whirl.  I found broccoli again, too, so I`m jazzed.  (Funny, I never used to get excited about buying green vegetables in Toronto.)

Hope all`s well in your respective corners of the world.  I`ll let you know how the canyon is -- it`s supposed to be spectacular, and there`s one point called the Cruz del Condor where you can see the magnificent Andean birds in action.  Can`t wait!