Call me Chaska (an Incan trek)

27–29 May

We were duped with the whole trekking to Machu Picchu thing. Mainly because we didn’t actually trek there. Nope. We trekked in a big, fat circle over three days. It was a fantastic experience, sure. It just wasn’t quite what we had in mind when the travel agent said that the Lares Trail was an alternative to the Inca trail. It wasn’t like tossing up between taking Plenty Road or the Eastern Freeway via Heidelberg to get to the city from our place. No, it was more like trekking Plenty Road to the city versus hiking along Diamond Creek Road for 20 km, then turning back towards Greensborough to get the train into the city instead. But more hilly. And with fewer hoons.

The trek started at some hot springs, where we got to know our new tour group (our normal tour group had split up for the trails/staying in Cusco). The new, trekking group included a couple of Australian girls from our normal tour group, some English brothers, a guy from London and another from Bristol, a German guy and girl, a girl from California, two guides (Edith and Jesus – at least God was with us on this road…), two cooks, and a porter who reputedly ran the Inca trail in three and a half hours. (Is that even humanly possible?)

Truthfully, the hot springs were pretty gross – nothing on those in the Colca Canyon. We stayed in the relatively clean, warm one (the hot one being too hot), and watched with amusement as the English guys tried and failed to hit on the oblivious American and German girls.

After lunch, we started our trek from the springs. That first day we walked four hours, a lot of it uphill, stopping regularly for snacks and rests. The second day was a gruelling eight hours of trekking and breathtaking scenery, and the third a much more reasonable three hours with a good break in the middle.

The path ranged from wide dirt roads on sparsely covered mountain ridges to narrow, almost non-existent paths on hillsides, shrouded with bushes that you had to push past. The trek went up and down the mountains, sometimes very steeply, sometimes very level, and crossed over fields, rivers and streams.

I found walking at that high altitude quite hard, especially on day two when we reached 4600 metres above sea level (the highest point of the trek). I mostly kept a slow pace towards the back of the group with the American and German girls and one of the English guys (a really nice bloke, but the epitome of a whinging pom. The poor guy was so ill prepared for the hike. He hadn’t even bought any snacks for the three-day hike, bless the one pair of cotton socks he did bring!). About half way through day two, the guides popped my and the American and German girls’ day packs onto a lovely, chatty donkey/mule, who had been conscripted in case someone needed a ride. This made our trek a bit easier, thank goodness. The English guy was as stubborn as he was whingy, and insisted on carrying his day pack, despite looking and sounding like he was on a death march as he trailed behind us.

In good news, Chris stepped up and took the hike all in his stride (boom tish!). I think the drugs he was taking for his chest infection helped. We both had a touch of a cold as well at this stage, which didn’t help, and probably contributed to several blood noses.

Along the way, we parted with some of the ‘treats’ we’d brought along for the local families, including bread and fruit. As we walked, Peruvian kids would rush over to us (probably knowing they’d get presents), and although they were quite shy, they were very polite and always said thank you. Sometimes they’d play football with the boys or chat with the guides, and let us take their photo. They were beautiful children, with gorgeous smiles. But clearly very, very poor, with threadbare, worn clothing and quite dirty and snotty.

We passed locals walking their horses, llamas and sheep along the path. They wore traditional clothes – and sandals of all things. Their feet were black as coal, their skin weathered and worn, wrinkled and dry. But they always smiled and nodded. We also passed some entrepreneurial local women and children, selling snacks and drinks, and knitted goodies (like bracelets, socks and scarves) along the way.

The landscape was gorgeous and so peaceful. We were surrounded by, and followed, endless rugged mountain ranges, topped with snow and ice, frozen rivers and the occasional glacier. Lower down, the land turned more lush green, rippled in little hills, with stone walls forming rough fields filled with llamas, sheep, cows, horses and pigs. At the bottom of the valley, there was a river that rushed over and around stones and boulders. It occasionally formed a little lake, around which a village was built. These villages (usually only a handful of buildings) and other farmhouses were all built from stone. It was all extremely picturesque.

The microclimates were quite obvious along the way. The first day or so, the valley was wide, with few trees, and so was much colder. The second day or so, we walked through a narrow valley, which had much more vegetation and so was much warmer. As we walked down and out of it, the bushes and trees became denser, and it felt almost tropical.

Sometimes sheep or llamas would start following us as we walked, and the guides would shoo them back. We also attracted a few local dogs, who followed us almost protectively. I nicknamed the one who was with us the longest ‘the Watcher’. The Watcher was a young dog, maybe not even a year old, and a beautiful creamy orangey colour. She/He was very friendly, alert and watchful, following us most of the time and stopping when we stopped for a break (when I’d feed her/him my sandwiches and food scraps). If The Watcher went on ahead, she/he would stop occasionally to check if we were still following. It reminded me of my brother’s working dogs, rounding up sheep. I thought The Watcher was one of the crew’s dogs, but they said no, she/he just lived in the mountains and protected the sheep, llamas and alpacas from foxes. Maybe she/he thought we were a strange new alpaca breed?

We were very lucky with the weather. Even though the nights were very cold, as soon as the sun rose and we started walking, it soon warmed up and we were stripping off to singlets and shorts. The skies were clear blue, with white fluffy clouds. There was a touch of rain on the last day, but it soon passed, and we enjoyed our farewell lunch in the sunshine, wearing hats and sunscreen.

At one of our first rest stops, the guides talked us through a ceremony, in which we were given Quechan names (mine was Chaska, meaning star, and Chris’ was Waka Mayu, meaning sacred river). We all paid our respects to the mountains with coca leaves and asked for safe passage from Pacha mama (Mother Earth). It might have been touristy hogwash, but it was also quite nice.

The guides gave us lots of information about the Incas and Peruvian history along the way, but I was usually too busy inspecting the local plants to pay much attention. I liked looking out for wild muna (mint-thyme) and other herbs I’d started to recognise and sniff and nibble on along the way.

Each evening when we reached our campsite, we were lucky enough for everything to be set up waiting for us. The porters and cooks had pitched our tents and had hot water, tea and nibbles waiting for us. This was handy, because it was usually getting pretty chilly by that stage (around three or four degrees celcius at sunset), and the sun was setting. We’d wash, put on warmer clothes and pull out something to do or drink before dinner. Dinners were delicious, usually a vegetable-based soup, then a vegetable curry or stir fry with rice, and cups of tea and coffee to finish. We soon learned that rum goes surprisingly well in a range of hot drinks, including coffee, black tea, anis tea, chamomile tea, mulled tea, and clove and cinnamon tea. 

The first night, we camped at 3700 metres above sea level. It was ridiculously cold overnight, around minus 10 or 15 degrees celcius, Jesus said. No one slept well. We couldn’t get comfortable or warm in the tent, despite wearing everything we had brought with us. In the morning, everything was covered with a layer of ice. Thankfully the second camp was more sheltered, despite being at 4100 metres above sea level, so it only reached about minus five degrees celcius. We still awoke to ice and a chill in the morning though.

At least the morning routine made the early, freezing starts easier. Jesus woke us with cups of coca tea and the porter left hot water for washing outside our tents. Chris and I would get up straight away, wash and dress, unwrap our electrical items and put batteries back in them (at night we wrapped them in whatever we weren't wearing, then tucked them into our sleeping bags to keep them warm overnight, otherwise they’d go flat and break in the freezing temperatures), pack our things and head out for breakfast. We were served delicious quinoa porridge, pancakes with caramel sauce (poured to spell out Peruvian animal names!), hot rolls with jam and honey, omelettes, tea and hot chocolate. 

On the second day, we started with a visit to a local home and met the residents. As a thank you, we gave the family a bag of groceries our group had bought at the market, including things like noodles, rice, sugar, tinned milk, tinned tuna. It didn’t really seem enough.

The family live in very basic, poor conditions. The home is one big room in different sections (how I imagine people used to live in the very olden days, especially in rural areas). In one corner, was a quite dirty, shabby, hard-looking bed in which four people sleep. It was basically a platform of wood covered in llama and other skins that they used as mattresses and blankets. The family’s guinea pigs lived under the bed. The room was lit by one electric light globe, which didn’t really provide any substantial or effective lighting – it was very dim and gloomy inside.

The kitchen area on the other side of the room consisted of two stoves – one the lady built and used, and a ‘nicer’ one the government gave the family to use (but they didn’t use it because the older one still worked fine). The government provided the new stoves to try to reduce smoke-induced illness in the people, but it can’t make them use them. The old stove clearly doesn’t remove the smoke from the house, and the house fills with smoke – the roof and walls, and everything inside them, are stained charcoal.

When we eventually reached the highest point of our trek (a fearful 4600 metres above sea level), we stopped on top of the mountain and had a little celebration. The weather was perfect for it – a cool breeze, but warm sun and clear blue skies, with the odd bit of white fluff drifting across the rugged mountain tops around us. There was a huge lake on the other side of the ridge we’d climbed up, with llamas and other animals wandering around it. Edith fed us each some rum (well, the breeze was very cool) and thanked us for our efforts (I imagine she meant for the lack of medical emergencies and her not having to whip out the oxygen tanks, which she had only just admitted to carrying with her). We thanked Edith and the mountain for our safe passage, then congratulated and hugged each other, rubbing petals from local flowers that Edith had given us into each others’ hair, as she directed. She told us to stop and acknowledge where we were and what we’d achieved, so that we remembered it when we got back to work. We had a group photo and yelled out ‘Freedom!', as you do, before making our way down the other side of the mountain to the lake for rest, tea and a huge lunch.

On the third and final morning, we started very early, when the sun was only just rising and it was still icy cold. We were all rugged up in beanies, scarves, coats, gloves and long pants. But after a brief spatter of rain, by the time we reached the end of our trek at lunch time, we had stripped down to singlets and shorts, and put sun hats on.

Our final lunch break was spent lolling around on a grassy lawn at a home slash trout farm. We napped and chatted and played with the dogs and chickens, while the mozzies had a good meal off us. While we’d meandered down the hill, the crew had arrived earlier, and had laid out all the tents and equipment to dry in the sun and set up for lunch. The cooks had prepared a feast for our last meal together, with rice and vegetables, chicken, eggplant chips, yucca, coleslaw, and pumpkin stew with cheese. To top it off was a banana cake with thick, creamy, blue and white icing with 'Happy honeymoon!' written on it in caramel for Chris and I! The head chef had got up at 3am to start baking it, bless him. It was delicious – so moist and pretty, especially considering the conditions he’d cooked it in.

As I have a tendency to do, I made friends with the local cats. One in particular, Gringo, a pretty, white fluffy cat with gold-coloured eyes, took a liking to me. This may be because I shared our food with her... she particularly liked the chicken (from Edith’s plate), coleslaw, cheese and icing. During lunch, Gringo sat on one of the spare chairs at the table, paws on the table, looking to see what was on offer, waiting (im)patiently for food and a pat (just like Bella does at home). Cheeky mitty! After I snuck her some treats under the table, she was soon on my lap, licking icing off my fingers and nuzzling in for a kiss, all the while purring contentedly while I scratched her ear.

When it was time to go, we thanked the crew and guides, leaving them with our leftover coca leaves, fruit, bread and some money/tips. We had a farewell ceremony, stating our Quechuan names and origin (Waka Wasi – the local mountain), and our real names and origins (Melbourne). We dropped the horsemen, cooks and porter at the bottom of the hill to get a bus home and said goodbye to our guides at the train station. Then we got a rather posh, glass-roofed train from Ollayantambo to Machu Picchu, admiring the scenery along the way. We passed through the bottom of a valley, alongside a river, through very tropical vegetation consisting of tall trees, thick vines and glossy bushes, and with scary cliffs towering over us.

Machu Picchi town is humid and tropical (although not as much as in the Amazon). Dennis met us at the station and took us to the hotel (quite nice), where after a brief issue with the shower curtain (I broke it), we had hot(!) showers and rested, before meeting some of our original tour group for tea (the rest were hiking the real Incan trail and would meet us in the morning at the ruins). Over expensive (but delicious) mojitos and burritos (for me), beer and pizza (for Chris), the group shared its respective stories from the past few days. Chris and I were pretty exhausted, so headed back to the hotel for our first sleep in a warm, comfortable bed in what felt like weeks.

As a side, in our exhaustion, we thought Machu Picchu looked like quite a pretty town, and rather interesting. It’s a shame we didn’t have more time there to explore.

The Peruvian whirlwind, part VIII

26 May 2013

Sleep ins are a distant memory. Today we left our hotel by 7am for a jam packed day of ruins, markets and bus rides.

First stop was a look out near a church we walked by yesterday, with a view encompassing the entire township. Then we moved onto the Planterra community in the hills nearby. The Planterra Foundation is a charity that helps to support the local community, where locals work in tourism and receive 85% of the profits. The other 15% of the profits goes into the community to build things like schools and soccer fields. We were given a tour of the village and demonstrations of weaving and cooking, and we fed camera-shy llamas and alpacas. It was a lovely sunny morning, with a clear blue sky, but was cold enough to entice us tourists to swap our precious cash for super soft, knitted goodies (in our case, a scarf, beanie and bright green poncho).

As we made our way to our next stop of Pisac, the landscape was very pretty, with lush green valleys and rugged hills littered with Incan ruins, little farmhouses and villages. The houses are decorated with two bulls, which represent the residents’ hard work, and a cross to attract God. Crosses also adorn most hill and mountain tops. Our guide told us this was a sneaky way the Spanish converted the hill/mountain worshipping Peruvians to Christianity – diverting their worship from the hill/mountain to the cross on top of it.

The local houses also have two bowls on the roof – one filled with water (to attract blessings from God) and the other filled with chicha (corn beer; to attract celebrations) – and a rainbow flag (the Cusco flag) flying outside. (This gets a bit confusing when rainbow flags represent gays and lesbians back home.)

At the Pisac market, I watched the herbalists sell their wares, all sorts of fresh and dried local plants, from tarpaulins on the ground. Medical care in Peru is expensive and quite bad, and there are very long waiting lists (for the poor, anyway). So these herbalists are the peoples’ GPs, and are kept very, very busy. The rest of the stall holders sold a range of fruit, vegetables, meat, other food and household goods, plus the usual craft, crystals, ornaments, clothes, rugs, jewellery, manchester and souvenirs.

We stopped to play with some smoochy kittens, which were about 12 weeks old. Although they looked pretty scrawny, a little girl was feeding them her yoghurt and her mum was feeding them cooked meat, so coupled with their boisterous personalities, they had a fighting chance.

The ruins at Pisac are spread up the mountainside, across terraces upon which the Incas grew potatoes, beans, corn and other vegetables. The Incas actually came in and took over the area from the locals. The locals thought the Incas were Gods from the sea, and the Incas played on this by living above them and controlling them. They built their temples and houses high up on the mountain so they could look over the villages and valley below. It’s incredible to think they could build these enormous stone structures atop the mountains, dragging heavy rocks up there to do it.

The cemetery was built into the side of a cliff, across a ravine from the villages. Everyday people were buried in holes in the cliff face, crouching down so they could leap into the next life. Rich people were buried in a similar way, but with the entrance to their crypts bricked up. I guess that was to protect them from grave robbers, or they weren't so eager to move on from this world.

We moved on to Ollantaytambo, from where we’d start our trek in the morning. Chris and I joined a couple of the others in our group for an impromptu tour of the town’s ruins (also built up terraces on a hillside) and market.

Ollantaytambo is quite pretty, with several little shops, cafes, restaurants and hotels for trekking tourists. It was built where three valleys meet, in an important Incan location. At one of end of the main street lies a whole complex of Incan ruins, including temples, houses, terraces for crops, food stores and so on. Breezes from the valleys keep the food stores cool in summer, and at certain times on certain days, the sun lights up the faces of Gods that the Incas carved into the hillsides. On other days, the sun lights up the eye of a carving of a llama, ‘awakening it’ and the temple it protects.

Creating this Incan town was an absolute engineering feat. Rocks that are bigger than cars were brought to the area from quarries across one of the valleys. To do this, the Incas put the rocks on a cloth and pushed and pulled the rocks to slide them down a path/ramp, across the valley, then up to the top of the hill on a zigzag path. The Incas left ‘handles’ on the rocks so they could carry and lift them. They also diverted the river in the valley, so they could cross it with the rocks (returning the river’s normal flow later).

The Incas carved rocks so they slotted into each other, without the need for cement or mortar. The buildings were built using certain angles, with spaces between the stones that made up the walls, and different sized rocks used in different places, to prevent the buildings cracking or collapsing during earthquakes. The town’s temple even has expandable joints, so rocks can easily contract or expand (due to their mineral content), and the smaller rocks in the structures do the opposite, to make it stable.

Chris and I ditched the group at dinner time, and found a lovely little not-for-profit style restaurant that had delicious vegetarian food, free wifi and decent Pisco sours. We ate more than our fair share of food, thinking we needed all the energy we could get for coming three days of hiking, then headed back to the hotel for some well-needed rest.

Interesting Peruvian food fact: there are more than 4000 types of potatoes and 42 types of corn in Peru. These are two of the main crops that will grow in the variable temperature there.

The Peruvian whirlwind, part VII

25 May 2013

The scenery on the flight to Cusco was stunning. After a terrible night’s sleep worrying about Chris’ ear bursting, I’d intended to snooze on the flight. But I couldn’t stop looking out of the window. We flew over white mountain ranges, spectacular glaciers and vast lakes, with puffs of fluffy white cloud dotted outside the plane’s window.

Chris was on good form – no doubt high on the drugs he’d been given and the fact he could hear again. No one should be that chipper at 5am. He didn’t even complain when the security guards at the airport confiscated his hair spray as they rummaged through his bag (Arequipa airport is very modern – all bag checks are done by hand). We agreed it was time to say goodbye to the hair spray, having already had several other run ins with airport security over it. And Chris didn’t even flinch during the turbulence on the flight. (We should have asked for extra drugs!)

In Cusco, we soon familiarised ourselves with what was to become our ‘local’ – Jack’s café. Local, not in the sense it was terribly close to our hotel, but local as in we went daily, it was that good. And the food is worth the queue you’ll probably have to wait in to get inside. We stuffed ourselves silly with eggs and veggies, fresh juices, tea and coffee.

Our guide, Dennis, took Chris, me and an older man from our tour up to a lookout, while the rest of the tour went shopping. We passed by the touristy alpaca and gemstone workshops, following the cobbled stone paths and roads up to some Incan ruins and Christian churches, then further up to the top of the hill. Underneath the Jesus statue there, kids dressed in traditional clothes led their similarly attired llama around, while a man (also dressed in traditional garb) played pan pipes and a 16-string guitar, and sang what was likely a bawdy (certainly quirky) Peruvian tune. The gorgeous view took in all of Cusco – quite a large and spread out city that reaches up into the hills around it – and the surrounding mountains and glaciers.

With legs like jelly, and heavy and icy lungs after the brief but steep walk, Chris and I realised we were either really, really out of shape, or there was something to this altitude sickness. We took it fairly easy on the way back down into town and for the rest of the day, to give ourselves some time to acclimatise.

That evening, after a terrible massage (I didn’t know massages could be so bad!), we met our guide for the Lares Trek, Edith. She was very intense and serious, and slightly intimidating. Chris and I were left wondering what we’d got ourselves into. After our brief stroll this afternoon, the thought of trekking up to 4900m over three days was now somewhat concerning. She gave us the tiny duffle bag, in which we could pack our basic necessities for the next few days. The donkey would carry this. Anything outside of that, we would have to carry.

We went to bed that night, exhausted and dreaming of our return to beautiful Cusco, sleep ins, relaxing in the one spot for a few days and more of Jack’s food.

The Peruvian whirlwind, part VI

24 May 2013

At the Cruz del Condor early the next morning, we fought our way through the mass of other tourists to watch the mighty, graceful condor soaring and swooping in the canyon. We were lucky enough to spot about 10 birds. 

There are about 65 condors who live in the canyon. There were more, but they were hunted for collectors (and fetch about $10,000 per bird!). Condors are huge, and males are larger than females. Fully grown birds have wing spans of around three metres. They start off as little grey chicks, change to brown as teenagers, then to the well-known black and white as adults. They only flap their wings to take off, preferring to soar in the thermals instead (it uses less energy I imagine).

The condors come to Colca Canyon to rest and hang out because the mountain used to be a sacrificial site, so they’d feed on the dead bodies (they only eat dead things). They rest half way up the mountain – the top being too cold for them, and the bottom not having enough hot, strong air to help them take flight.

Condors are quite smart. They fly up to 9000 metres to spot corpses, then circle above one to attract the Andean fox to the area. The Andean fox responds to this signal, finds the corpse and tears open its flesh (condors can’t do this). Because they’re only small, the fox only eats a small amount, leaving the rest of it for the condor. Once the fox finishes eating, the condor follows them for a little while to see if they die (the corpse could be poisonous). If the fox lives, the condor goes back to the corpse to finish it off.

By 10am, the day had started to warm and the sky was clear blue. We followed a track along the side of the canyon for a few kilometres and took in the amazing scenery – the rugged mountains, water rushing at the bottom of the canyon, houses built precariously into the mountainside, windy roads leading up to the houses and linking the villages, farms, llama farms, and terrace upon terrace of farmland.

Terraced farmland is very common here, and imperative given the conditions and landscape. The terraces date back to pre-Incan times, although most people attribute them to the Incas. However, the Incas made them more successful by installing irrigation. The Spaniards then showed the Incas how to improve their irrigation, so the upper terraces could also be used outside the wet season. Each terrace usually grows one or two particular crops (e.g. corn), with each crop specific and adapted to the particular climate on that terrace. These crops genetically adapt to their terrace. It’s pretty crazy to think how long these terraces have lasted and how effective they still are.

On the bus back to Arequipa, we stopped at a town called Maca, where we explored a little market and an earthquake-damaged church. It was a pretty little town, albeit very touristy.

Sadly, the locals see quick profit from capturing eagles, keeping them on leads attached to the eagle's foot, and offering tourists the 'opportunity' to have photos taken with a bird for money. Our guide warned us against it, so we didn’t. And I wouldn’t have anyway – based on the body language and facial expressions, the beautiful birds were absolutely miserable. Apparently the eagles only live for 2–3 months in captivity, then their bodies are thrown away and the person gets another one. The government doesn’t do anything about it because it doesn't occur on protected land, and there are no police in the area to monitor or prevent it. The birds we saw were adults, so you’d think this would affect population growth and maintenance. They’ll be extinct before we know it.

The locals also dress up specifically for tourists, and dress their llamas and alpacas in bright earrings, straps and jackets, walking them around on leads, while children carry baby llamas and alpacas in blankets. It’s very cute and kitsch at once.

It was a long ride back to Arequipa. Chris’ health went downhill on the bus, so we ended up with a house call from a doctor that night, who told us to go to a medical clinic. The doctors spoke little (e.g. no) English, but the lovely clinic nurses spoke a little English and were very helpful – and good at charades and sign language.

I felt a lot more capable and knowledgeable with my incomplete Bachelor of Health Science than they seemed with their medical degrees. Hello, hygiene practices! I’m also yet to work out how the doctor could diagnose Chris with high triglycerides and a blood clot in his head just by looking in his (good) ear. (Neither of which he had, of course.)

Thankfully the injections and drugs they gave Chris worked wonders, so we could board the flight to Cusco the next morning without worrying too much about whether or not Chris’ ear drum would burst. Small mercies!

The Peruvian whirlwind, part V

23 May 2013

Chris woke up with man flu. Not a good way to mark our five-month wedding anniversary, two-year engagement anniversary or four-week honeymoon anniversary!

Today we headed to Chivay, via a shop to stock up on coca leaves and coca-containing products (cookies and lollies mainly). We are going to be quite high up in the next few days, and coca reputedly helps relieve altitude sickness.

Fernando, our new guide for this leg of the trip, told us to put 11 or 12 leaves on top of each other, break off the stems, and roll them around a tiny piece of this chalk-like substance made from quinoa and alcohol. The chalky stuff is a catalyst to make the coca more effective. You put the leaves into the side of your mouth and crunch down on it, chewing it on that side of your mouth for a few minutes, before swapping to the other side of your mouth, mixing it with saliva to soften the leaves. After about 20 minutes, you can swallow the leaves (apparently they are good for your belly) or spit them out. The coca makes your mouth go numb and relieves nausea, stomach aches and headaches associated with high altitudes and other illnesses.

I managed to chew it for just five or 10 minutes, sucked it for another 20 minutes, then threw it out of the bus window. It was disgusting. Apart from as a tea, coca makes me actually feel like vomiting. Especially the raw leaves.

The scenery on the road up the mountain was spectacular, with more of those huge mountain ranges topped with snow; valleys littered with little villages; single houses surrounded by farm land; fields of llamas, alpacas, sheep and cows; miles of arid, rocky and scrubby land; then miles of lush vegetation and wetland. In parts it reminded me of the countryside in England, with stone walls and fences, and dark green fields and farm animals. The lines between sky and earth are so definite here, almost like a bad computer-generated image. It’s all a little surreal, and completely awesome (in the traditional sense of the word).

Along the way, Fernando pointed out the gum trees – an unusual sight here. Apparently, the Spaniards brought them to the area from Australia in the 1500s. I didn’t think the Spaniards had been to Australia so early on...

We stopped several times to see the alpacas, llama and other farmed native animals, who wander freely in the fields and on the roadside. I also discovered a delicious new tea – ‘mixed tea' – at a roadhouse (around 4000 metres above sea level) on the way. It’s a combination of coca, muna (for the stomach) and chachacoma (for the head). It tastes a little like peppermint tea, which might be due to the muna. Muna is a herb that looks like thyme, but tastes like mint.

We stopped again at 4900 metres, at a lookout where you can see the volcanoes again and admire the odd rock formations. Locals go there praying for blessings by leaving piles of rocks (big at the bottom to tiny at the top). The altitude hit me here, and despite the coca and mixed tea, I felt quite light headed and found it hard to breathe and walk. It didn’t help that it felt like it was about minus 20 degrees celcius. It’s a shame the area wasn’t more hospitable, because it was truly beautiful and unique.

We reached Chivay with enough time for me to discover some very nice silver jewellery shops (and spend a good deal on some 'trinkets'), while Chris napped in the hotel, and visit the town square. It was quite a basic town square in comparison with the others in the bigger towns. Locals were gathered chatting, dressed in traditional clothes, holding their llamas and alpacas (who were wearing earrings) on leads. Little, chirpy sparrows with black mohawks hopped and flittered around the dogs, who lay everywhere, completely at ease. There were about 20 brightly decorated tuk tuks parked outside the church. It was late afternoon by then, and locals had started setting up their market stalls, from which they’d later cook and eat their meals, and sell street food. Someone had mown a big cross into the grass on the hillside behind the church, which was the feature of the town square. The cross overlooked the town square and main street, and was a little imposing.

That evening, we walked down hundreds of steps to reach the hot springs at the Maro Spa. We watched the sun set from a spa pool overlooking the Colca Canyon, under a full moon and relatively clear sky, drinking sours (I branched out to try a Colca Sour, which tasted suspiciously like Chris’ Pisco Sour…). It was all very civilised and a nice way to celebrate our tri-anniversary.

Chris and I gave the local cabaret show a miss (although, from all reports, it was quite fun). Instead, we opted for a quiet meal (and mulled wine) in town and an early night.

The Peruvian whirlwind, part IV

22 May 2013

I must have worked up an appetite on the overnight bus trip to Arequipa, because at breakfast in the cool little crepe café (Crepisimo) we all went to after arriving, I managed to put away a large crepe with mushrooms, spinach, goats’ cheese and a fried egg, and a coca tea, before helping out the tour guide with his breakfast – finishing off the leftovers of his six crepes with fruit and ice cream!

With the rest of the day to ourselves, Chris and I explored the town. Arequipa is quite pretty – and again, very European-looking. The main part of town mainly consists of big, imposing stone buildings and wide paths, interspersed with squares and alleys. When we approached the city in the bus this morning, it seemed to be shrouded in a haze of pollution, but once you’re in the city, the skies are clear blue. Around the city are three huge, stunning snow- and ice-capped volcanoes, decorated with rings of cloud. You can’t help but look at them in awe, they are so breathtakingly beautiful. From them, smaller mountains and hills tier down into Arequipa.

The main square, Plaza del Arms, has lots of flowers, trees and a big fountain in the middle. It is a pretty and very popular area, full of tourists, locals, dogs and pigeons. You can buy food to feed the birds, and it was lovely to see the joy on the faces of toddlers and the elderly as the birds hopped and flittered around them, rummaging for seed. Some birds were game enough to take it right out of hands, causing squeals of delight.

The Company of Jesus church features a large, gold covered altar and painting of the last supper South American style – with guinea pig and corn for mains. It always amuses me how religions change things, no matter how small, to suit and attract and convert new followers.

At the Santuarios Andinos UCSM museum, we saw loads of local artefacts from the
Inca period, including dolls, clothes, shoes, plates, bowls, bags and bodies. Yep, bodies. The three girls and one boy are believed to be human sacrifices and were found atop Ampato volcano after some ice had melted, alongside things they’d need for the next life.

The Peruvians called the best-preserved girl Juanita. Her body is on display in a glass freezer, at a similar temperature to that on the volcano, to help preserve her. Juanita is about 12 years old, and would have been raised in a special home from birth to be a sacrifice, and trained to think it was an honour to be chosen. As a sacrifice, she had to be beautiful, pure and innocent. She would have walked from Cusco to Arequipa, and climbed more than 6000 feet to get to the top of the volcano, where shaman or priests got her drunk and hit her on the head to kill her. She would have then been buried in a tomb. And kids today think they have it rough...

Juanita was probably quite well off. Her burial outfit, fabrics and bags are made from beautiful, brightly coloured maroon and creamy white fabrics. She was also buried with gold, silver and copper statues; a huge clasp for her shawl; and three dolls, which represented land, sea and air (or the moon, sun and earth). The feathers on the dolls’ head dresses are perfect, like they’d just been plucked. It’s incredible to think those things and Juanita survived for more than 500 years on the volcano, virtually intact.

On the way back to the hotel, we wandered through the Monasterio el Santa Catalina, a huge convent complex that opened to the public in 1970. There are still nuns who live there in a separate part from the public area. It actually looks like the nuns lived a little too comfortably, with beautiful fancy china, vases, crockery, silver, tapestries and paintings, and loads of kitchens and courtyards. Some nuns even had their own little apartment-type areas, where they shut themselves off from the rest of the world.

Even 100 years ago, these nuns lived better than some of the Peruvian people today. On the bus this morning, we saw the little shanty towns erected on dry, rocky and sandy desert alongside the road. For miles and miles, people have erected tiny houses (single rooms made from wooden posts and palm fronds) and cordoned off surrounding land to form plots, where they squat for a year. After that year, they can claim the land as theirs and build a permanent home there, as long as no one else opposes it. There’s no power, water or sewage in these areas, but they can petition the government for facilities and infrastructure once they have built their homes there. It’s a little sad to think people are so desperate that they’ll live in such a remote, desolate space, with nothing, for a tiny plot of land.

Interestingly, if you don’t finish building your permanent home in Peru, you only have to pay one third of the property tax every year. This legal loophole means most people say they’re going to build another storey on their home, and leave metal poles sticking out from the roof to signal that their home is incomplete. You’d think the government would cotton on to this, no?

The Peruvian whirlwind, part III

21 May 2013

I barely escaped with my life this morning, after going for a walk and being harassed by three little yappy dogs as I passed a neighbouring farm. It was a lovely morning for a walk, cool, fresh and clear. The surrounding farms grow cactus for the cochineal bug, which is sold for dying fabric. So there was row after row, field after field, of cacti, interspersed with houses and veggie plots.

Our day started at the huge Chauchilla Cemetery, which dates back 1000–2000 years. Researchers have opened some of the graves, each of which houses several ‘real life’ mummies that you can see. When they were first discovered, these mummies still had skin, hair and other human features, but over time, after exposure to the elements and animals, they are mostly just bone and a bit of cloth now. However, some still have hair, up to 1.6 metres long of it in the case of men and shamans. Some lucky mummies even still have one or two of their eyes. There are also quite a few babies in similar sad states. You can imagine how unnerving this all is to see.

Our guide for the day filled us in on all of the gory details. For mummification, bodies were put in the foetal position and dehydrated with astringent herbs and loads of salt. Despite these efforts though, some mummies are still juicy, and their liquid seeps out to meld with the sand underneath them, forming a hard, concrete-like slab.

Around the graves, the sand is littered with bits of bone as far as you can see. This is thanks to grave robbers who raided tombs for tools and jewels, like sea shells and seeds. Deep graves housed the more important people, because the deeper the grave, the harder it was to rob. Robbers took off the cloth wrapped around the bodies to get to the tools and jewels underneath. In doing so, they broke and scattered bones around the graves.

Robbery continues today, with some people coming to steal bones (it's all about the feet and hands apparently) and other ‘memorabilia’ from the graves, as you do. One enterprising person (or two) took an entire body. Interestingly, the mummy who was stolen had a hole in her head that had started to heal (so she hadn’t died from this hole), showing the first early signs of surgery and modern medicine.

Graves were laid on top of other graves, and housed everyone at any stage of life, from foetuses to the elderly. Unlike the Egyptians, organs weren’t removed – the whole person was preserved. But the people at the time did believe in the afterlife, so included things they could use in the next life.

One mummy, a female, was buried with magical tools, weapons and herbs, suggesting she was a shaman and warrior. Until they found her, they didn’t realise women could be warriors and shaman (they clearly hadn't watched Xena). She was also buried with loads of little keepsakes as gifts, suggesting she was very well loved. Near her they uncovered tombs containing the bodies of two men and two women who had been sacrificed, presumably in her honour, meaning she was a very important person. The opposing theory goes that she was really powerful but evil and would order the deaths of people, so her community was afraid of her and did all of this to placate her.

This isn't quite as bad as the king who died, and was buried with his family, servants and warriors – who were all sacrificed to be buried with him. He was covered in gold when they found him.

On the way to Nasca airport for our flight over the lines, we stopped by a ceramics factory, where they make everything by hand and using animal bones. Apparently they use only authentic methods, which the owner’s grandfather worked out. This includes the colours, which are sourced from minerals found locally, and oil from human faces and hair to polish the pottery when it’s complete. The grandfather discovered the latter by rubbing his face with a stone in confusion about how to finish off his pottery, saw the stone was all shiny, and realised that was how they originally did it. (Or so the story goes!)

For the plane trip, it was just us and two pilots, in a little four-seater propeller light aircraft. It wasn’t the smallest plane I’ve been in – gliders are smaller – and I quite liked it. Chris hates flying on long-haul flights in huge jumbo jets, so you can imagine his delight at flying in this little number, that resembled a skinny 1970s Datsun with wings. His fears were only heightened by us having to sign our lives away on a disclaimer before boarding. Chris tried to manage his terror about this flight by the thought that if we both went down together, at least he wouldn’t have to live without me. He's ever the romantic!

It wasn’t too rough (despite what Chris says) and the views were absolutely amazing. I think seeing the views was actually more worthwhile than seeing the lines. They encompassed huge sand dunes, rugged mountains, the proverbial sweeping plains, dry river beds that twisted for kilometres, little villages, and irrigated fields filled with lush crops – all so contradictory and all contained in a relatively small area, under a crystal blue sky.

The lines themselves were smaller, and much less clear and impressive than I imagined. (A bit like the pyramids and Sphinx in Egypt – built up to be something really special but in reality, slightly disappointing.) My favourite was the Spaceman, with the Monkey and Condor tied for a close second. It's pretty incredible to think how old they are, and how well-preserved they are considering their age. An artistic feat if you like.

The pilots were great, and pointed out all of the Nasca lines and other sights to us. They also probably had a bit of a giggle at Chris’ white knuckles, one hand gripping the seat and the other cutting off circulation in my hand (making it quite hard for me to take decent photos), while he muttered at them to keep going and keep it smooth, between gasps as the plane dipped to the side so I could get a better view. I’m pretty sure I saw them stifle a smile when they pointed out where the sick bags were kept (or maybe that was just me). I can thank my dad for my strong stomach for flying and adventurous nature!

Over a delicious lunch afterwards, everyone patted Chris on the back for his efforts, while he downed a very, very large – and well-deserved – beer. We bought snacks and walked around town a little, before boarding our overnight bus for Arequipa.

The Peruvian whirlwind, part II

20 May 2013

This morning started with a boat ride out to the Ballesteros Islands, where there were such a ridiculous number of birds that Hitchcock could film a sequel there (if he were still alive).

More than 200,000 boobies, cormorants, Inca terns, penguins, pelicans and other varieties call the Ballesteros and nearby boats their home, and you are greeted by the delightful scent of wet feathers and bird poo. Speaking of which, the entrepreneurial Peruvians harvest the poo and sell it to the English, Canadians and Americans for fertiliser. The first time they harvested it, it was some 10 metres deep. (This is probably where the joke about being in deep... trouble... originated.)

The islands also featured more sea lions basking, swimming and fishing in the sea. These big, wet Labrador-like animals are still my favourites so far. From the boats we could also see huge drawings of what kind of resembled candlesticks on nearby mountains, a little like the Nazca lines.

It was morning tea time by the time we reached shore again, so a winery tour and Pisco taste test was in order. The winery was in a desolate area, surrounded by sand dunes. The guide told us it hadn’t rained there in 16 years. Yep. And we think we have water problems here. They nourish the plants and themselves with water from underground rivers.

We learned the how pisco is made – from harvesting the grapes in March and crushing them with feet (or machinery for the more hygienic among us), to fermentation for two weeks, distillation, and eventual maturation, which takes three to four months. Seven kilos of grapes make one litre of pisco. This alcoholic treat is made into a variety of beverages, including pre-mixed pisco sours for the youngens, a range of wines, and a delicious Bailey’s-like mix involving pisco, figs and milk. The kids on our tour didn’t fare so well with the samples, especially when they entered into drinking competitions with the locals. 

The winery also stocks local jams made from custard apple, lucuma, mango and fig (all rather tasty). And lots of different chocolates (our favourite being a pecan–soft caramel combo).

Not far from the winery was a little town called Ica, where we stopped for lunch (salad and asparagus ceviche, if you’re interested). Ica is essentially an oasis in the desert, built around a spring that feeds a little lake and surrounded by huge sand dunes. Some of the others on our tour went surfing on the sand dunes and driving around in buggies, but we just chilled and walked around, and swam in the hotel’s pool.

Ica seems like a forgotten town. The buildings are tired and run down. Skinny, weather-beaten dogs lie in the street, hot and thirsty, and covered in sand and twigs. The people look so tired and weather beaten too, worn and almost defeated. And yet, Ica looks like it would have once been a beautiful and elegant town, with huge bougainvilleas still climbing up archways, covered in gorgeous purple and pink blooms, and palm trees lining the promenade. You can even hire paddle boats to take out on the lake. You could almost imagine ladies in big skirts with sun umbrellas and men in straw hats walking along the promenade together, or laughing out on the water in boats, or sipping on Pisco Sours at a café by the water.

The bus trip to Nasca took about two and a half hours, with stunning scenery of great expanses of pretty much nothing but sand. Sand edged with mountains of sand, so white it looked like snow. The sand was peppered with the odd house or shop, and by house or shop, I mean shanty made from reeds and sticks, or the odd concrete block. It looks like such a hard place to live, and such a harsh life to lead. At sunset, we passed over the mountain ridge, the sky and clouds hot pink above the rugged ranges as we descended the other side. The land was rippled and rough. On the other side of the mountain range was a town. And in huge contrast to the sandy desert we’d just driven across, the town was well built and ever so green, its fields filled with vegetables and fruit.

We stopped at a tall tower overlooking some of the Nasca lines. It was getting dark and very cold by then, so we didn’t stay long. We climbed to the top of the tower, to see the highly prized, strange, white cartoons drawn on the land. Lines that have somehow survived for thousands of years and whose true meaning is probably lost. The only one we could really see was a candelabra or cactus-like image, similar to the one we saw on the Ballestros hillside.

The hotel was basic and quite out of town, so we had a simple dinner there, with lemon juice and bad wine. Not able to catch up on the latest episode of Criminal Minds or CSI due to the lack of cable, we made do with conversation and reading to pass the time before bed. So very quaint! At least we had a room though – people on different tours were camping in the hotel garden.

The Peruvian whirlwind, part I

There’s just so much to say about gorgeous Peru, I’m going to break it up into bite-sized chunks of individual days. Starting with...

19 May 2013

Our whirlwind tour of Peru didn’t depart until lunchtime, so Chris and I started the day with a stroll – and found ourselves in the middle of a fitness festival happening right outside our hotel. On a stage in the middle of the road (which was closed to traffic), two rather camp, pony-tailed men were very enthusiastically taking an aerobics dance class, with a crowd of at least a couple of hundred women, men and children of various ages and fitness levels following each step (well, most steps). There was so much positive energy and fun in the air it was impossible not to wiggle your bum along to the music. The joy was infectious.

As we walked along the street, we passed by people playing badminton and tennis, and going hell for leather on exercise bikes. Not many shops were open (being a Sunday), so we passed the time by patting the many cats we saw along the way and hanging out at the black, stony beach, admiring the huge lesbian artwork overlooking the ocean. The coastline, which we only discovered that morning to be 10 minutes from our hotel, was the quintessential bleak, stormy, windy, misty and chilly coastline you expect to see in England.

It was just a four-hour bus trip from Lima to Paracas–Ballesteros, our first stop. We watched the scenery as it turned from built-up, polluted urban to impoverished, sparse rural, driving through almost slums within 10 minutes of leaving the city centre. There was little in the way of greenery, but plenty in the way of sandy, dusty fields and hills, and mines. And a strange haze in the sky that casts an eerie, desolate feel over everything. It was all quite apocalyptic, and a huge contrast to the beautiful, European city we’d left behind.

That first night, we went out to dinner as a group to get to know each other. I introduced everyone to pisco sours (it was my duty, really, being basically a local by then). Chris and I felt our age talking to the English kids (yep, kids) on their gap year, who smiled politely but blankly at his Lethal Weapon reference about Mel Gibson popping his dislocated shoulder back in. Realistically, they probably weren’t even born when the movie came out.

We made our way back through the pungent, fishy Pisco port to our hotel, where we (I) stayed up late watching TV and eating chocolate.

Hot tip: If you’re buying water in Peru, set aside your ethics and budget for the time being and splurge on the more expensive Coca Cola variety. Anything else tastes like chlorine and thick like soup.