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!