I usually try to steer clear of popular tourist destinations; I’m not a huge fan of sharing my “unique travel experience” with a bunch of Ex-Officio clad, guidebook toting tourists. However, after spending 5 years making a living selling Ex-Officio clothing and guidebooks, and at times being one of those ostentatious tourists myself, I have to sheepishly admit, that many popular destinations are popular for good reason and are worth a visit.
The widely-visited Colca canyon made that list for me. At 4,160 meters deep, measured from the tall peaks that surround the canyon-proper down to Colca river, the Colca canyon is touted by locals to the be the deepest canyon in the world: twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. The respectively low-angel canyon walls give is a look entirely different than the Grand and I can’t fathom doing a just comparison. My opinion: you really have to see both; their unique environs give the Ex-officio or Patagucci clad interloper distinctive and awe-inspiring experiences.
The week and a half before leaving for the Colca canyon, one of Peru
Thursday morning came around and we were ready for our adventure:
Tickets for the overnight bus to Arequipa
Rain clothes packed? Check.
Backpacking supplies packed? Check.
Everyone in good health? Check.
I headed out for one last home visit before leaving for Cusco to do grocery shopping and catch our bus. Walking back from Rumira my stomach started to grumble. Maybe that breakfast smoothie was a little too much? It started doing a jig. I walked a little faster and tried not to think about. It started yelling at me. I made it home just in the nick of time. Alex wonders if I’m feeling good enough for an overnight bus? Hopefully it will pass, I’d like continue on with our plans. And if I just don’t eat until we reach our destination, how bad can it really be? If there is nothing in me, then there is nothing to come out.
In Cusco , while Alex grocery shopped for our trip, watched our packs and dealt with the last minute details, I introduced myself to the bathroom in the supermarket, restaurant and the bus station. In an optimistic mood, I boarded the overnight bus. Without any food, my stomach was calming down and in my excitement for adventure I didn’t even notice the fever starting to come on.
An hour into the ride, the American action movie dubbed over in Spanish and playing at top volume started to irritate me. Everything was uncomfortable and my head hurt. I was hot and then cold and was reassessing the comfort of the seats. I put some ear-plugs in and started to doze off. I woke up hyperventilating and incredulously realized that in addition to everything else, I was motion-sick. I spent the next 5 hours racing back and forth from my seat in the humid and hot passenger section to the tiny, chilly and wet bathroom. Most of the time was spent huddled on the urine soaked bathroom floor dry-heaving into the toilet. So much for those iron-clad internal organs.
Half-way through the trip, Alex touched my arm and realizing that I was burning with fever, ordered me to take a Tylenol. After balking at the idea of introducing anything into my stomach I obliged and less than an hour later fell into a fitful sleep, the Tylenol tempered my fever and in turn made me less susceptible to the bus’ motion. Have I mentioned, in this blog post yet, my impeccable taste in travelling companions?
We made it to Arequipa Peru
Like most day buses, there was no working bathroom. The ride was scheduled to take 3 hours; it took 4. Another passenger, a man, peed in a plastic bag and tossed it out the window. I decided to hold it.
After a 4 hour wait in the bus station, another 3 hour, turned 4 hour bus ride took us from Chivy to the little town of Cabanaconde
The photos from the top of the canyon don’t do it justice (but check them out on my fb anyway). I stood there; 3,000 feet above the river, watching condors soaring below me but still high above the ground themselves. The dry dirt crunching under my sandals made me feel like a part of the panorama and the low floating clouds that almost kissed my head were just the lid on the landscape. It was like the whole scene could have been bottled up and sold in the dairy section. But it would be a purchase that was impossible to imbibe all at once.
We hiked the 3,000+ feet down to the river by noon. At the bridge we were surprised to encounter a man waiting to check tourist passes and keep count of those passing through. We were numbers 33 and 34. Unexpected, we had only seen one other tourist during our hike that morning. The morning’s exertion had convinced my body that food was a not an opponent to be rejected with force but a supporter to be welcomed, though still trepidatiously. Good timing, for after lunch we ascended 1,500 feet before our path flattened to parallel the river.
We hiked through thick, overgrown groves of trees; a stark difference from the arid landscape I had stood in, while peering down into the canyon just that morning. We hiked past small villages, where every other house seemed to be a make-shift hostel; but surprisingly, we encountered very few people. We hiked with each-other in rapt conversation and we hiked alone with only our thoughts.
It wasn’t dark yet, but the incan terraces made a perfect camping spot and we turned in early, exhausted from our day of hiking and the previous day’s travel.
The following morning we hiked back down to the river. Venturing just off the beaten track we followed a small stream up just below its source and spent a lovely hour relaxing in the grass and bathing in the stream before setting off back up the canyon into town.
The remainder of our trip and return journey to Ollanta was delightfully uneventful. I am proud to say though it did include an obscene amount of eating on my part, a compensation for the circumstances of the initial voyage.
