A nice place to stay for 400 years

No, I'm not planning to spend the rest of my life and five future lives in Arequipa. Yesterday I visited what is probably Arequipa's most impressive site, the Convent of Santa Catalina, which was founded in 1579 and still exists. The current nuns (who are few in number) live in the new convent; the old one was opened to the public in 1970.

It's a pretty extensive place--about 2 hectares according to my guidebook, and I can believe it. It occupies the equivalent of several city blocks. The nuns who inhabited it lived more or less in seclusion from the outside world. Well, not complete seclusion: they weren't allowed out (ever, as far as I know) allowed visits every now and then, but only through a screen.


The girls who entered the convent were the useless daughters of rich families, who had to pay 100 silver pieces a year (I don't know what that is in today's dollars) to keep them there, and if I understood correctly, 1000 when they took their final vows. The families also had to build the rooms in which the nuns were lodged. Girls entered at age 12; the alternative was getting married at a similar age.

Life in the convent wasn't all bad, though. The beds may have been hard, but the rooms were large--probably three or four times as big as my hotel room in Arequipa.


(This is not my hotel room.)

And each nun had two or three servants (all women), who actually made up the majority of the inhabitants. And they could eat off their best china:



All good things must end, however, and after the First Vatican Council in 1870, the Pope put and end to all this "luxury", and booted out the servants and made the nuns live in dorms.

I haven't yet given you an idea of howtruly impressive this complex is. Have a look:





It costs 35 soles (about $12) to get in (down from 100 pieces of silver I guess) and if you want a guided tour (many languages available) there is an "optional tip" of 20 soles. I found the tour interesting, and have cribbed most of the information in this post from what I remember (I didn't make the same mistake as my guide and call the Vatican Council "the reformation" though :) I wandered around for a while on my own after the tour and took more photos. I've said many times that if I had lived in the Middle Ages I would have entered a monastery, and this place did nothing to change my mind on that. But as for my own middle ages, I think I'll stick with life on the outside.

Some things left behind in the desert

Some leftover business from Chile. When I was in San Pedro I took a couple of trips into the Atacama desert that I don't feel like narrating: I'll just let the pictures tell the story. I've uploaded them to flickr in a set called "Atacama desert" (how bloody prosaic). Here's a sample:




Click the link above for more.

Another way of getting to Peru

This morning the manager of my hotel in Arica phoned the Customs (Aduana) office again to confirm that they were not on strike. No problem. So I get to the bus station, go to the ticket counter of the company with buses to Arequipa and ask to buy a ticket. No. The Aduana is on strike. This time I argued: "No, we just talked to them. They're not on strike". "Well, they didn't advise us that they weren't on strike." Duh. Somehow it sounded more like the bus company didn't want to know about the strike being over. So I asked if there was another company that went to Arequipa. No. Then I finally got some useful information: if I went to the international station next door, I could get a colectivo (shared taxi) to Tacna, Peru, just over the border, and then get a bus to Arequipa from there. Lest I sound like a total dunce, I had scoped out the international terminal a couple of days before, saw lots of companies going to Tacna, but none to Arequipa, so I assumed the company I had located in the national terminal was the one to go with (and the day I went there, they did claim to be selling tickets to Arequipa!)

I walked over to the international terminal (which is basically a rough parking lot with a bunch of small offices along one side, and a bit of a free-for-all generally) and was approached by a tout asking "Tacna?" Si, Tacna. He led me to a car, where the driver asked for my passport. I didn't feel entirely right about handing over my passport to someone I just met, but sometimes you need to go with the flow. I watched the guy and he didn't sell my passport to secret agents, just kept on shilling for passengers. Eventually he rounded up five people (for a fairly compact vehicle) and then asked us all for 200 pesos. I wasn't sure what that was for, but everyone else was giving him the money. It turned out to be a fee for a Peruvian immigration form.

Off we go in the direction of Peru. We stop at Chilean immigration, and I get my passport stamped for exit. Then a little further to Peruvian customs and immigration, where I get a Peruvian entry stamp and a 90-day visa. Well, I won't be here that long. I put my luggage through the scanner and was good to go. It takes about half an hour to get to Tacna. I thought I was being let off at the national bus terminal but actually it was the international terminal. Fortunately, as in Arica, they're next door to each other.

I must have looked either lost or just foreign, since a pleasant woman who worked at the information desk came up to me and asked if I needed help. When I explained that I needed a bus to Arequipa she directed me to an agent. This agent asked if I wanted a bus now or later, so I said now. She printed out a ticket for me that said 9.30am, which was confusing, since it was by now just after 11. My mistake. I had forgotten for the moment that Peru is in an earlier time zone, and I didn't know that it doesn't use Daylight Time, so actually it's two hours behind Chile, meaning that it suddenly was now only 9-something. Great--I temporarily get two hours of my life back, making up for a couple of boring meetings or some such.

Eventually I got on my bus to Arequipa, which took us through what must be the bleakest landscape I've ever travelled: more desert-like than anything I'd seen in Chile. This was unending grey plains and hills as far as the eye could see, for hours on end.


As we got closer to Arequipa, the road became more winding and mountainous, which at least added some thrills. It was still hard to believe that a city of 1m people was suddenly going to appear, but it did, and here I am. I haven't seen that much yet. The streets were busy tonight since there's some kind of religious procession going on, with a large effigy being carried through the streets, and men in purple robes.

Canadian bank does something right

When I take out money from ATMs in Chile I get dinged with a CH$2500 ($5) transaction fee. Ouch! That's 5% if you take out $100. The less I take out, the higher that percentage becomes, the more I take out, the more money I have waiting for no good to come of it (I'm not seriously concerned about theft, but on principle when travelling one likes to have as little cash lying around as is practical). A German woman told me that she takes out money from Scotiabank in Santiago and doesn't pay any fees, so today when I needed money and noticed there was a branch here in Arica, I thought I'd test that out. Winner! Either they didn't charge a fee or else did and lied about it :-)

Still in Chile

I got to the bus station in Arica this morning only to be told by the bus company (apparently the only one that sells tickets to Arequipa) that because the Aduana (Customs) was on strike, no buses could be processed through to Peru. I didn't think to ask which country's Customs was not working, but high-tailed it back to the hotel I had just left, hoping my room was still available. Turned out it was, hadn't even been touched.

I Googled to find out what was going on and somewhat to my surprise that there was a 24 hour strike yesterday, with the threat of further action if the workers' were not "listened to". Huh. I called the Aduana directly and was told that yes, there was strike yesterday, none today. Seems that the bus ticket agent was full of it. Perhaps I shouldn't have taken her word for it and asked around, but I assumed a bus company would know. Oh well. I guess it wasn't my day to go to Peru. I cancelled my hotel reservation in Arequipa and made a new one at a cheaper (but still ok) place. The manager of my hotel called the Aduana this afternoon and was given the all clear for tomorrow.

Anyway, if I had gone to Peru I would have missed two excellent exhibit that I saw this afternoon instead at the archeology museum in Azapa, just outside Arica. One was on the history of the native peoples who lived in this area. I like these four-pointed hats--the design indicates your social class.


The other was about the Chinchorro mummies, the oldest known examples of mummification in the world, dating back to 7000 BC. The process doesn't involve embalming--basically all the soft bits are scooped out, the limbs reinforced, and the skin refilled with mud and other substances. I expect that the natural dryness of the area helps.


I also would not have found out that the hotel has a pet turtle, Natasha, who is 38 years old. The owner once tried to match her up with a male, but the two didn't get along, and the dude was soup.


While I'm at it, I can recommend my hotel, Hostal Jardin del Sol, to anyone who comes to Arica. It's probably the best value-for-money hotel that I've stayed at in Latin America. For CH$10000 a night ($20) you get a clean, well-maintained, private room with bathroom. Breakfast (somewhat on the continental side) is included. There's cable TV with English and Spanish stations in each room (I didn't come to Chile to watch TV, but it's there if you want it). The staff are friendly and helpful. There's a kitchen and computer room. My only complaint is that the wifi seems to wink out with some frequency.

Little things that are different

In Chile, a tortilla is not a round flat thingy made of corn or wheat, it's an omelette.

Beans are not frijoles, they're porotos.

A frutilla is not a little fruit, it's a strawberry (elsewhere known as a fresa).

Bread with your meal is served with salsa, not butter.

This is goodbye to Chile for a while--tomorrow I head for Arequipa, Peru.

Catarpe is a state of mind

Constant readers of this space will remember that a couple of days ago I tried to walk to a village outside of San Pedro but got waylaid from the true path by the promise of a tunnel and some rocks (had there been magic beans as well, I probably never would have come back).

After a day of rest and blogging, I made the attempt again today. After my previous experience I stocked up on plenty of water and four--count 'em--chocolate bars. Not the best nutrition but light and lots of calories per 100 grams. This time I decided to increase my energy efficiency by renting a bike. Mountain bike rental outlets are ubiquitous here. I had noticed a couple of places the day before that seemed to have decent bikes, but at 10am this morning neither were open (perhaps the owners were at church: in a place this size, there are at least three options--Catholic, Pentecostal, and Jehovah's Witness). Anyway, the first open place I came across was a combined internet cafe and bike rental. Their prices were lower and the bikes not as shiny but there was nothing decidedly dodgy about the joint. I didn't know whether to be comforted or disturbed when in addition to the bike I was issued a spare inner tube, a patching kit, pump, and a flashlight. Either lots of things go wrong or they really care about their clients (or their bikes). A welcome addition was a helmet. This was unexpected as I hadn't seen anyone in San Pedro riding a bike and wearing a helmet.

I told the guy I was going to Catarpe and he drew me a map, the gist of which was that I continue on the same road I took the other day, until I come to a stream, and which point I cross and turn left for Catarpe and right for something else called Quebrada del Diablo. diablo I know, quebrada I wasn't sure of but I thought it meant a brook or river. As for the stream in question, special instructions: don't ride across, take off your shoes and carry the bike. Not sure if this was for my comfort or the health of the bike. He also said it was 20m wide.

I should add that I can't remember the last time I rode a real bike, instead of the stationary ones at the Dunfield Club. Not that I had forgotten how or anything.

So I duly ride out into the desert, for about 4km or so, reach the stream (which was less than 20m wide, at least at the narrow point where any sensible person would cross), ford it magnificently, and take the first left, despite the lack of a sign saying "Catarpe this way". I kept on going, wondering where Catarpe must be, because I had been led to believe that it was 4-5km away. Eventually I reached a second stream, or really, the path crossed the stream again. This time it was wider. Ok, shoes and socks off, roll up pants, sling shoes over neck, and walk across. Bike does not touch water. Nothing but air! Reverse previous steps.

Aside: there's a trick to crossing rocky streams. If your foot hits a rock, it hurts, and your spinal cord says "foot, move" (remember what you learned in science class about what happens when you touch a hot stove--your brain is the last to know). If this happens, you tilt, and if you're not careful, you end up in the stream and you and the bike get wet, as does the saddle bag containing your camera. So, you just have to creep along the bottom so that you don't strike anything in a way that hurts.

So, more road, no village. Eventually a third crossing of the stream. At that point a guy in a 4WD was crossing behind me, so I asked him if I were going to either Catarpe or Quebrada del Diablo. Negative on both, amigo. Plus, the route from about a km on was not doable by bike. The truth of that last statement was that it was about 100m on. So I turned around and ended up back at the first stream, where a bunch of people were picnicking. I asked them and I was told to cross back over the stream and I would find Catarpe. I was dubious (since I hadn't seen Catarpe on the way out), but I did it. After a few more minutes I was more dubious. I saw some guys up to something or other just off the side of the road, so I asked one of them.

Here is where I attained sudden enlightenment. Catarpe is not a village. There is no village. Catarpe is just an area, perhaps with some legal status, but definitely not a place where people live. In defense of my stupidity, I specifically asked the guy working at the Pukara de Quitor if there were a pueblito in that direction, and he told me there was. Perhaps his definition of pueblito encompassed the encampment a few hundred metres off the road surrounded by old vehicles. Sigh. But the good news was that I had been to Catarpe, and the picnickers were full of it, and I had still gotten a nice ride out of it. Lesson: do not believe a man just because he speaks eloquently in Latin. Or any derivative thereof.

This news also meant that if I went back and turned right, I would get to Quebrada del Diablo, whatever that was (the guy who rented me the bike said it was "interesting"). So, I rode back and crossed the first stream for the third time. Exit, stage right. Well, a quebrada, as I later learned, can be a gorge, and that's what I got. Not one with water, but high rock walls and a sandy, winding path.

Sometimes underneath solid rock.


Sometimes with a ledge that means you have to stop and hoist the bike up first. I was getting a little ticked with this bike that I had to carry so many times when it was supposed to be carrying me.


More long and winding road for 20 minutes or so. Then...The Hill. There was no way I was going to ride up that thing. In addition the path being a bit precipitous, my 49-year-old lungs and legs were not up to this job. So I walked the bike up, and it became obvious that them organs were not really up to that either. I was maybe 10m from the top and not feeling hopeful, so I left the bike behind and scaled the mount to see if what was on the other side was going to be any better. Five minutes walking the trail convinced me that just more lung-torture was on the way. But i can handle being bested by a clearly more powerful foe. I sat atop the hill for 20-30 minutes and contemplated various things, not the stuff Pei Mei contemplates, just my stuff.

At around 2.30 I decided to make my way back. Getting the bike back down the hill was non-trivial, since its momentum wanted to make me go faster than I thought proper on a hillside path. I basically rode the brake down. A pleasant surprise was that the way back was slightly inclined downward--so slightly that I hadn't even noticed it on the way in, but enough that I could coast a lot of the way back without at the same time worrying about embedding my head in rock.

Back to stream, cross again. Here is when I have to get philosophical on you. The Sophists will tell you that you can't cross the same river twice. Don't you believe it. Certain adepts have managed four crossings, on the strength of two chocolate bars, even.

I got back to San Pedro at 3.45. I still had 45 minutes left on the bike rental but my butt was sore and I had no place else I really wanted to go. I calculate that at this point my body was no more than 1% bicycle. All things considered, a good day.

(The bike cost me 4000 pesos ($8) for a half day (6 hours). A full day would have been 7000 pesos. The places I saw yesterday were charging 6000 and 8000 per half day. You pays yer money and you takes yer chance.)