I booked last minute with Colca Trek for a three day excursion into the canyon.  I had wanted to go for four but it's low season and none of the agencies had trekkers interested in the four day option.  So I joined onto a group that already had an Australian couple and an English couple booked.  For me, traveling solo, going on a trek with some other travelers is something I look forward to.  I appreciate the company and spending time with other people for a few days.  By the end of the trek you have gotten to know them well and made some travel friends for life. 

The taxi picked us up from our hostels at 5:30 AM and we were off on the three hour bus to Chivay, the main town at the beginning of the canyon.  We didn't stop long and soon were on our way to Cabanaconde, the town in the middle of the canyon that is the most common jumping off point for trails down into the canyon.  On the way, we passed disappointed the Condor Lookout point that was wreathed in swirling fog.  This time of year, the rainy season, is not a good time to see the condors, but there is always hope that the day will be clear and the condors can be spotted.  They coast up on thermals and pass quite near the lookout point (mirador), but obviously with fog and clouds there is nothing to be seen.  In Cabanaconde we had a lunch of sauteed beef strips tossed with onion, tomato and french fries (lomo saltado) that was nothing spectacular, but the cream of mushroom soup preceding it was very good.  Then we shouldered our daypacks and started walking east out of the village to the trail at the rim of the canyon where we would go down.  The Colca Canyon is about 70 miles long and is carved out by the Colca River.  Colca in Quechua language means "cave" and we saw plenty of those, both natural and man made, on our trip through the canyon.  The canyon is 3,280 meters at it's deepest point (over 9,000 feet) which makes it more than twice as deep as the Grand Canyon.  The part we were traversing is only about 1,000 meters deep, but if you've never climbed down or up that distance in a few hours, you can't appreciate how difficult it is and how tiring.  But the awe-inspiring views made up for the difficulty.  Our guide, Jaime, has been leading tours in the canyon for four years and he was very knowledgeable about many different aspects.  We stopped frequently to rest and he would point out some local plant or feature of the canyon and explain it thoroughly to us.  He talked about the local pre-Incan peoples, and how there are still vestiges of their languages extant in the valley.  He also explained how the centuries old way of life was so quickly disappearing because of the difficulty of transportation between the villages.  The villages we saw across the canyon on the north side, had tried to blast a trail through to Chivay to shorten their trip to markets by several hours, but the dynamite was disturbing the condors' nests and they had to stop.  Their trip each way can take up to five hours, and they walk up and down these steep hillsides sometimes several times a week.  They are as tough as nails, but the younger people see no future in this subsistence way of life and they have abandoned the villages to look for work in Arequipa or Lima.  Jaime predicted that within fifty years the villages would be ghosttowns.  We passed by many adobe houses in the canyon that were crumbling.  The tin or aluminum roofs were folded up and carried with the families to be used on their new house closer to the town.  The level of poverty is really hard to imagine unless you see it firsthand.  These people have next to nothing and have little means to earn more to improve their lives.  It's a crushing and depressing cycle. Then there are the forces of nature, such as the recent draught, which left some of the land scorched, that further contribute to the difficult odds these people face for survival. 

Jaime also talked about the mix of Andean and Catholic beliefs in the area.  We saw a cross on top of the canyon before we descended and Jaime told us that it was placed there to ward off evil spirits that they believe are close by.  The cross is decorated with marigold flowers every May 3rd (as are all crosses in the region) with great ceremony for the feast of the Holy Cross.  But a nod to the ancient pre-Christian practices is their bringing of offerings of food and objects on that day which are burned in honor of Pachamama, the mother earth goddess.  Jaime doesn't think that the people really believe that anymore, but that it's more of a vestige of old customs that it still practiced. 

We saw about ten condors on our way down.  None flew very close, but we felt fortunate to even see some.  The fog had blown away and it was overcast but pleasant as we descended.  The younger condors are brown all over but after their youth they develop the characteristic black and white coloration that makes them easy to identify when they are in flight, not to mention their great size.  In beauty they are no match for the mighty and majestic eagle, but they are larger than the eagle and they also live up to 80 years.  They are the king of the buzzard family and they cruise the canyon looking for carrion on which to feast.  I told the group about Hinckley, Ohio being the buzzard capital of the world and they got a laugh out of that. 

At the bottom of the canyon we crossed a new bridge and had a short, easy path into the small village of San Juan where we spent the night in simple, but comfortable and attractive cottages.  The family running the small B&B has a son of 14 years who is off in Arequipa studying.  They only see him twice a year.  I sat down in the kitchen and talked with the couple and Jaime while the others shared some beer outside and enjoyed the views.  Our dinner was very good but we didn't have the energy to stay up long afterwards.  We all headed to our cabins and fell asleep quickly. 

My sleep patterns have dramatically reversed since I´ve been traveling.  I was up at 5:30 in the morning ready to have some breakfast and get on the trail.  We were served a large lovely pancake with strawberry jam and hot mate de coca tea.  The fresh squeezed orange juice was excellent too, as it is all over South America.  After packing up and saying farewells to the nice couple we were on our way.  The first part of the hike took us up a small side valley where we walked parallel to an irrigation channel running with swift cold water to the village below.  The terraces on the hillside were bursting with fruits and vegetables.  Jaime pointed out prickly pear fruit, avocados, apples, mangos, papayas, passion fruit and pepper.  That was interesting to me, to see where pepper comes from.  He crushed some peppers in his palm and the air filled with the pungent scent and some of us sneezed.  We thought the prickly pear cacti were planted for their fruit, but Jaime showed us the chochinilla parasite that grows on them and again crushed some pods into his palm.  A dark red dye ran out and he told us that this is still the prefered dye for coloring textiles and that it´s very expensive and much more lucrative than the fruit that grows on the cacti.  It´s not worth it for the villagers to harvest the fruit for the small amount they would recieve for it.  So they sell the cochinilla instead. 

We crossed over the rushing stream on an old rickety bridge and then continued up the other side of the hill and eventually emerged on top and continued to the village we had seen from the opposite side of the canyon yesterday.  We met some old people and Jaime chatted with them in Quechua.  We asked how to say hello in Quechua and I practiced it until we encountered a very old woman walking towards us. When I greeted her in Quechua she responded, ¨Buenos dias.¨ Everyone had a laugh over that.  This village is half deserted as most of the young and middle aged people have left for Chivay or Arequipa for education or work.  Nevertheless, the government built a large plaza a couple years ago.  It´s only used three times a year for Christmas, Easter and the principle feast of the village.  Jaime lamented how the goverment does what it wants and doesn´t listen to what the villages really need.  He said that the money would have been put to much better use for a hospital or clinic, or for a school.  But those cost more money, and the plaza is an easily visible sign of something new. 

The last part of our hike took us further along until we came in sight of the oasis below us and we headed down towards it, ariving in time for lunch and a swim in the pool.  The sun came out long enough to give me a bit of sunburn, even though the air was cool.  Being up so much higher and in a thinner atmosphere, the sun is more powerful and can burn easily.  This is why the natives that live up in the mountains are so ruddy and dark in complexion, and why hats are a necessity.  Just before lunch, a young guy and two young girls arrived from the path down and he said hi with an American accent.  The blonde girls were certainly European I thought.  Sure enough, they were French sisters, and the guy was from Lakewood, on Kenilworth Ave.  We talked for awhile about Cleveland and it turns out that his brother used to be a barback for several years at the Fulton Bar.   I´m getting used to these coincidences thousands of miles from home!  The younger sister had on a Lacoste polo shirt, sneakers and a light sweater draped over her shoulders.  I remarked that she looked like she was going for a walk in the park, and not a three hour trek to the bottom of a canyon.  She said that a walk in the park is a ¨promenade de dimanche¨and that it was Sunday so she was dressed appropriately.  That made me laugh..touche!  When we met them later at the top, they told us that they had hired mules to take them back up.  I don´t blame them.  Going all the way down, and all the way up in one day is tough even for a native. 

After the mediocre lunch of cubed chicken tossed with onion and tomato and no seasonings, plain white rice and a couple slices of avocado (there was a nice dessert of sliced banana and passion fruit drizzled with yogurt), we set off for the top.  It rained a bit on the first hour, but then stopped and the sky remained mercifully cloudy as we sweated our way up the steep canyon wall.  I prefered to stop to rest and catch my breath more frequently, for a minute or so, before continuing on, than to stop less often for a long time.  So the group broke up a little bit, as Greg and Matt went on ahead, and then later I did too.  I took out my iPod and put on some music, Copeland´s Appalachian Spring, that I thought would be appropriate to the mountains we were in.  The music helped immensely by taking my mind off of the grueling work of putting ffoot in front of foot and trying not to look up to the top.  The view down was much better, as we could see how far we had come.  I prefered that view.  By the last hour, I had gotten a second wind and it seemed easier than before.  I needed fewer breaks and I had a spring in my step that wasn´t there before.  I´m sure the cookies and water helped to spike my energy.  By the time I reached the top I was exhilirated and immersed in the euphoria of the climber´s high that I was experiencing.  It felt amazing to look down to the canyon bottom and know that I had walked straight up the face of the canyon to the top.  The views were even more glorious knowing I had to work so hard for them.

The walk back to the village was very easy.  We traversed some fields of purple corn and hopped over some streams and we were there.  It had grown quite cold and the humidity made it seem even colder as the sweat cooled on our clothes.  All we wanted was a hot shower. Unfortunately, all we got was a lukewarm quick shower of a minute before the water started turning cold.  I wandered down the street and stopped in at a small pizza place where the young guys were outside talking.  They were starting the wood fired oven and I sat with them and chatted.  The younger brother of one of them, a kid of maybe 12 years old, brought out his notebook and began asking me questions about how to say this and that in English.  I humored him and sat there for a little while teaching him English.  Then I went back to the hotel for dinner, a bowl of soup and a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce.  The Oscars came on and we stayed up a bit watching and commenting before the exhaustion hit us and we went to bed.  I had to take an extra wool blanket off the bed next to me and sleep in my pants, socks and shirt just to stay nominally warm.  The cold, combined with the dampness, was bone-chilling.  When I awoke, my neck ached and my muscles were all sore.  Ahh, for a hot bath!!

And further to Cabanoconde. In the morning we saw some magnificent Condor's.

Probably the clubbing of last night wasn´t such a good idea, because today I was going to travel past the highest point of my travel in Peru. After a short night of sleep the bus and guide for the Colca Canyon tour were waiting outside the hotel.

The bus travelled into the Andes and after a lot of climbing we reached the highest point (about 4900 meters above sea level). Although I had been chewing on a complete tree of Coca leaves I was feeling a bit shaky and unsteady at that height. It could be due to the alcohol of last night or the altitude...

The trip to the town of Chivay where we had lunch was very beautiful because of the mountains and the packs of vicuñas and alpaca´s that live there. I imagined that the area woul be less dry and that there would be snow at this altitude, but it is very dry and there is hardly any snow or ice. After the lunch the bus went to the town of Cabanaconde where we would spend the night. Along the way there were a few stops where I got to see the canyon (depth: about 3670 meters). The next morning the bus will leave early to see the condors at Cruz del Condor.

Another early-ish start set us on the path to Cruz del Condor (condor cross) to see some live condor action. They nest in the area as the cliff are virtually inaccessible to other creatures and spend the morning soaring on the thermals created by the valley. They are an inspiring sight. Such huge birds, so graceful and the soar so close overhead. The viewing area is crowded with tourists and women in colourful traditional dress selling blankets, finger puppets, colourful traditional hats and other wares.

We tried another small, sour, green fruit whose name escapes me which was tasty by not something I would chase after again.

Re-boarding the bus to continue to Chivay (for another 1.5 hours) proved a bit of a challenge as we did not have booked seats and clearly there were a number of other locals and tourists who had the same idea as us. We ended up 2 seats short. Olivia stood and chatted with a couple of guides from other tour groups and I took the first shift. It is not too bad if you know it is only for half an hour.

Chivay is known for its hot springs so we made our way there to further soothe the muscles. It is welcome for a bit, but at 38 degrees, in the bright sunshine, it is a bit much after not too long. Time for lunch.

We took a local bus back again. Same story of people in the aisles etc. I think that taking a local bus is well worthwhile as you get to see a bit of the way the local people live and travel. If you just travel on the luxury long distance buses you don’t get a feel for the reality of life and it is a humbling experience. The local bus from Arequipa to Chivay costs about 13 Soles (£2) for a 3-4 hour journey. Extremely good value, and it gives you an idea of how cheaply you can travel around Peru if you want to.

After finally managing to find a new lens cap (which I had managed to lose while getting onto my mule on the second day) we went for a bite at a spot looking out onto the superb plaza in Arequipa. A very nice restaurant where they specialise in food cooked on hot rocks. Nicely served on the odd shaped rocks too. Our meal came with a selection of traditional local vegetables (mostly tubers and other root vegetables) which he explained to us, but the names would be lost in translation (that is my excuse anyway).

Luckily we managed to negotiate a little bit of a later start and after breakfast we headed on for some more uphill. We climbed up through a couple of hundred metres to a plateau on the north side of the valley to go and have a look at some of the little villages.

Along the way we sampled some more fruit, most notably the fruit of the cactus which I know as prickly pear. Absolutely awesome. I can’t believe I have not had this before but it is definitely something that we will be having again in our travels and back in SA.

Then some more downhill again (yay, not) to get to our lunch stop at a spot with a swimming pool and grass area for us to rest our weary muscles.

The previous evening we had discussed the walk uphill with Olivia and she mentioned the option of a ride up the hill on a mule. At lunch Faye, Kat and I decided that this would be an exciting way to do the uphill. Kat has been wanting to do horse riding since we arrived in South America. Neither of us having ridden a horse (or mule for that matter) we figured a 2 hour, 1,200m ascent up a mountain would be the perfect time to try.  (Lorraine should be proud of me).

Dave, meanwhile had taken a bet with Matt that, given a half hour head start, he would beat the mules up the valley. The mules take about 2 hours. Most fit people take 3, so it was a pretty aggressive bet and he set off at a cracking pace up the side of the valley.

I can tell you that the mule ride (at 35 Soles, about £6) was the right option for us. It is a hell of a long way up. And steep. It is incredible what the mules can do, they just go and go and go. (Mules for the uninitiated, or extreme shoppers, are not shoes, but in fact a cross between a horse and a donkey). My poor bastard though had a little extra weight which was kindly pointed out by one of the handlers when it was huffing and puffing a bit more than the others – he pointed at me and thankfully indicated tall as well as wide.

Kat’s mule did not look willing at the beginning and was initially pulling back on the rope, but after that could not be stopped. It kept trying to overtake me and  was being kept on a short reign by the handler most of the way. It was so keen on overtaking mine that Kat frequently had her knee up my mule’s butt and her mule kept biting my leg.

We managed to beat Dave up, but found Nigel, triumphant, at the top. Olivia and Dave also made it up on their own steam, but the others ended up hitching a lift for some portion of the way.

Along the way we had some excitement with a herd of llamas being herded down the same path. Even though they are domesticated, they are still skittish animals and there were a couple of moments when it looked like they would stampede.

We spent the night in a small hotel in Cabanecondor.

Our start was a little earlier than expected. We were told we would be picked up at 5:50, but the guy actually arrived at 5:30. A few minutes of panic we managed to be ready and out the door by 5:40.  Then of course, the other people to be picked up were late – surprise). Anyway, we were all rounded up and taken to the bus station to meet our guide, Olivia (who was absolutely superb over the duration of the trek).

Our group was made up of Matt (Ausi), Dave, Bobby, Faye & Nigel (all Poms). Damn, we go 15,000km and end up with more Poms.

We boarded a local bus, a new adventure for all of us, and set off for Colca Canyon. Local buses have booked seats and all the rest stand. Much like a normal London bus service, except that this is a 3 hour ride over the mountains from Arequipa to Chivay, starting at 2,200m, going up to 4,900m and then back down to 3,800m. On gravel, bumpy roads. I have new found respect for what people can handle. This is men, women and little kids who stand, sit or lie in the aisle for the entire duration. On the way we managed to see a couple of vicuna which are the smaller, more wild relatives of llamas, from which the most expensive fabric in the world is produced. Another little nuance to Spanish pronunciation is that “v” is pronounced half way between a “b” and a “v” so Chivay is actually pronounced “Chee-buy”.

After a quick pit stop in Chivay we headed on to our destination of Cabanecondor (alt. 3,400m), which is a small village on the south side of the canyon. The bus trip was faster than usual as we had “jimmy” who is notoriously the fastest of the drivers which also means that the drive is quite “exciting”. We had lunch at the hotel where we would spend the following night and set off to walk the 1,200m down the steep walled canyon.

Olivia, our guide, stopped frequently along the way to point out medicinal plants, interesting local features and to explain some of the local beliefs, which are a combination of staunch Catholicism and Incan (and pre-Incan) worship of the elements (mountains, land etc). It is interesting to note that the people cross themselves while walking past or driving past the churches, or frequent crosses that dot the landscape.

We also had our first taste of one of the local fruits, which Olivia explained as like a banana. It is green and sort of looks like a wrinkled, furry green banana, which you peel to open. Luckily the similarity to bananas ended there and the fruit was white and almost marshmallow like with 4 or 5 black pips (which are not eaten). Really tasty and something that I would recommend.

The path down is quite slippery, being dust, sand and loose gravel with the odd patch of pebbles and rocks thrown in for good measure. After not a small amount of pain, we were down at the bottom to cross a small swing bridge, but not before I introduced the group to the pleasures of Phooning, which was to become a trend for the rest of the trip.

After the swing bridge it was time for Olivia to give us a bit of uphill. Literally. We walked up about 100m within a distance of 200m. This absolutely shattered me and did make me wonder about the wisdom of the decision to do this trek and how much fun the climb back up would be the next day.

We eventually got to the little camp, where we were staying in little huts with reed roves, and slumped over while Olivia made us supper which went down an absolute treat. All of us were out for the count by the time it got to 20:00.

A popular thing at altitude is Coca, which is good for altitude sickness as well as suppressing the appetite. This can be taken in the form of tea (very soothing), biscuits (sold by places including the monastery), chewing the leaves, and sweets. There are t-shirts which are sold at most of the shops in Arequipa saying the equivalent of “Coca is not a drug.”