Monday, November 1, 2010

Colca Canyon (and how much bread do we get?) -- Part 1

The Colca Canyon is a deep canyon about two hours drive from Arequipa. I signed up for a two-day / one-night trekking tour via the travel agency at my hostal (note that hostal is not equivalent to "hostel" in the European sense--it denotes the size of the place rather than the type of rooms--typically there will be a combination of dormitory and private rooms). The cost was 125 soles (around $45) and included transport, two hikes, an overnight stay, lunch and supper on the first day and breakfast on the second day. A good deal, I think.

I got up at the abominable hour of 2.45am to be picked up at my hostal sometime between 3.00 and 3.30. Turned out to be closer to the latter time. The reason for all this early-birdiness was early birds. The first part of the tour consisted of hanging out at the lip of the canyon waiting for condors to fly by. Actually, the very first thing, after our two-hour ride, was breakfast, in the pueblo of Chivay. Then a short drive to the condor lookout. Shortly after arriving I saw one condor reasonably close up, then nothing for over half an hour. Then one turned up and decided to show off for a while, making a couple of swooping turns before going offstage, no encore. A couple more decided to get in on the after that. They are a bit hard to photograph...here is my best effort.


My opinion of this part of the day is that I would rather have stayed in bed an extra hour and skipped this, the third case of over-promoted South American bird-spotting on this trip. But anyway. Shortly after this we were driven to the starting point of our trek. By now it was around 9.30am.

The group dynamic started to become apparent around this time. We were eight people, plus a guide. Six were Israeli, one French, and me. The Israelis were an interesting bunch: three guys, three girls, all in their early twenties. On one hand they were mature and sympatico, all had been in the Israeli Army (compulsory service), some as officers, some on combat or at least combat-ready roles. They were full of the proverbial piss and vinegar, spending 6 or 7 months away from home in South America, trekking, rafting, horseback-riding, and the like. On the other hand, they still exhibited the self-centeredness and petulance of youth. For most of the trip the spoke exclusively in Hebrew, though they all could speak English, and the French woman and I were insufficiently talkative to induce them to switch that often. I don't really know what to make of this or how I would have behaved in their position, but I think some extra effort could have been made. That was the most annoying, and then there was the kvetching about such things as the size of the meals and other aspects of the tour, the tardiness at getting up in the morning (delaying the group), etc. Here is the group in happier times (from left: Melinda (French), me, Shy, Eran, Grady, Hagar, Dor, Ayelet--some spellings approximate).


But on to the trek. The first part was a downhill hike from a height of about 3300m down to around 2200m. From a distance the hillside trail looks precipitous, and it is, but only if you actually fall off. In reality, it was quite safe: most of the time it was wide enough that two people could walk side by side, and the exposed side was banked up with rocks. One special precaution: if you meet burros or mules on the trail, stand on the inside and let them pass--they can knock you off, not so much because they are unpredictable or malicious, but because they carry wide loads. Besides, they are more competent than we are at navigating these paths.


You'd think this would have been the easiest part, and it started off that way, for me at least. As easy as falling downhill. Here are a couple of views of the downward trek:



Gradually, though, the path became rockier and I found that this caused my feet to rub against the sides of my shoes, threatening blisters. There was also more hard impact with the rocks, unsettling my lower legs. By the time we got to the end of the first stage of the hike, the town of San Juan de Chuccho, I was lagging behind the group by 15-20 minutes and really wondering if my feet would last the trip. Not tired or winded, just the complaints above. This stage took about 3.5 hours. When I told the guide about the impending blisters, he suggested that the next day I could go up by mule--however this was too much for my pride to countenance.

However, after a lunch stop of an hour or so we started up again, but this time the path was gentler and less rocky--some flat parts and some uphill, then another downhill climb but on a similarly friendly path.


This stage was perhaps 2.5 hours. By this time I was slightly tired but my feet were feeling considerably better. At the end we arrived at our lodging for the night, a set of cabanas referred to colloquially as "The Oasis". No town in the vicinity. The lodge was rough but decent, and there was even a swimming pool. This time I overcame my self-consciousness and took a dunk. Though it is a good thing that I don't have to swim for my country or my life.

Afterward we sat on the grass and drank Israeli coffee, and did manage to get the kids to open outward for a bit. It was also the first time I was offered drugs in South America. I declined: I don't do them at home, and even though we were in the middle of nowhere with no narcotics police around I'd rather stick to the principle of just saying no). We had supper around 7 and afterward gradually turned in since we had a 4.30 awakening.

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