Canyon deep. Mountain high. Fruit strange.

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We've had some early starts on this trip, but this one really takes the biscuit. 2.30am, the alarm goes off and it feels like we've barely had time to fall asleep. Which might be because we barely have had time to fall asleep. Lying awake in the dark, I wonder why do we do this to ourselves. Wanting to make the most of our few days in Peru before we continue north to Colombia, we've arranged to go on a three day trip to Arequipa province's famous canyon country. I certainly hope it's worth it - I don't get out of bed at 2.30 in the morning for just anyone.

Three in the morning and the streets of Arequipa are dark and deserted. Out of absolutely nowhere a minibus appears. We get on and sit down comatose, surrounded by several other comatose people. Amazingly, the lights are dimmed, the radio remains off (a true miracle on a South American bus) and we are even handed one of those inflatable neck pillows each. The three hour journey northwards from Arequipa passes completely unnoticed by all (except the driver, I hope), despite it having taken us - as I later found out - to nearly 5,000 metres altitude, the highest we've ever been without flying.

The canyons north of Arequipa are among the deepest in the world. One of them, Cotahuasi canyon, is (by some measures, at least) considered the deepest in the world. At somewhere between 3,200 and 3,600 metres deep (some sources give an even larger number) the canyon we are visiting - the Cañon del Colca - is at least twice as deep as Arizona's Grand Canyon, and only a few hundred metres shallower than Cotahuasi. Given the volume of visitors Peru receives and the canyon's proximity to Arequipa, Colca is a very popular place - having said that, March is low season here and we're hoping to get the opportunity to visit this famously beautiful canyon in relative quiet. At least that's the idea!

6.00am. "Everybody please wake up." . "Thank you. Good morning, we've arrived in Chivay, time for breakfast". Needless to say, breakfast is a subdued affair, to say the least. Chivay is the main access town for the canyon, a rather drab place and at over 3,600 metres altitude a rather chilly one. Fortunately, I'm far too tired to notice quite how uninspiring it is.

After breakfast we get to have another quick half-snooze as we are whisked along a hair-raising road perched high on the edge of the canyon. Fortunately, I'm far too tired to notice quite how hair-raising it is.

We step off the bus - not exactly refreshed, but less like zombies at least - at Cruz del Cóndor, a lookout affording our first proper views over the canyon. As the name suggests, the lookout is home to a group of Andean condors which make an appearance some mornings, soaring high over the canyon, presumably in search of carrion (or tourists who haven't been able to cope with having to wake up and start the day at 2.30 in the morning). It's our lucky day - a couple of these extraordinary creatures have chosen to give a performance today, gliding past at high speed as everybody gasps in amazement. We found out while in Patagonia that male condors can reach 15kg and over three metres wingspan - essentially one of our rucksacks with wings, remarks Alex. These condors might also be older than we are - a hundred years is not unheard of in captive birds.

A short hop further along the canyon gets us to the small town of Cabanaconde, where our exploration of the canyon is set to begin on foot. Here our small group is divvied up depending on what arrangements each person has made - we've decided to visit the canyon over three days and two nights (most visitors spend only one night here) and are joined by only one other person, a lovely Swiss lady by the name of Fabienne. Introduced to our guide for the next three days, José Luis - better known as Pepe - we don our packs, pick up our poles and head down into the canyon. The hiking bookts haven't had an outing since we were in Pucón - I hope we're up to it!

Standing on the edge of the canyon outside Cabanaconde the canyon is a bit of come-down. Because we can't actually see it. In the half hour or so since we left Cruz del Cóndor cloud has funnelled into the canyon and although it's a rather nice feeling standing above it, it would be nice to be able to see what we've come to see! Within a short while, however, our descent takes us down through the cloud and the gorgeous panomara of the Cañon del Colca unfolds. The sides of the canyon tumble precipitously down to the Río Colca which roars along the bottom - tiny villages, visible as little more than a collection of tiny shapes from the other side, hug the canyon-sides surrounded by vibrant green terraces. It is an absolutely stunning view. The canyon is inhabited, Pepe tells us, by the Quechua-speaking Cabana and Aymará-speaking Collagua people - both of whom settled here long before the Inca arrived and took over in the 14th century. The terracing, which paints the canyon in a myriad of greens, is their work. Centuries ago the two people distinguished themselves by practising different types of cranial deformations on their children (much like some Maya famously did by squeezing their children's heads to give them supposedly noble-looking elongated skulls). Today, thankfully, Cabana and Collagua demonstrate their cultural heritages by wearing distinctive embroidered hats and clothes.

Like many of the verdant valleys dotted around this part of South America, the lower slopes of the Cañón del Colca have been intensively cultivated for many centuries and continue to produce an abundant crop of cereals, fruit and vegetables. Fig and avocado trees - all heavy with fruit - are to be seen everywhere, while cacti are cultivated in large quantities. Not only do these produce a type of sweet and delicious prickly pear called a tuna, their fleshy paddles are coated in cochineal bugs, a type of powdery-white scale insect, which the locals sell to traders from Lima as the source of intense crimson dye carmine. Many of the terraces, however, have long been abandoned and left to nature. Indeed, as Pepe explains, tourism is now the canyon's sole lifeline. Lured to the bright lights of Arequipa by the promises of an easier life and better salaries, the young are leaving the dozens of tiny villages scattered along the canyon. Cosñirhua, San Juan de Chuccho...most of the faces to be seen here are lined and worn by decades of toil. The fact that it is taking us three days to hike in and out of the canyon really shows how demanding and unforgiving life is here: on our way down to the bottom of the canyon we passed a tiny, frail lady - she might have been sixty or seventy, perhaps more - clambering up the steep, loose path. Heavily laden, her load tied with a large cloth tied around her shoulders, she puffed on. The relentless climb to the edge of the canyon and on to Cabanaconde might have taken her two hours in the intense midday heat. We really do have it easy.

Every couple of kilometres an enterprising lady had set up a little stall selling drinks, snacks and fruit - sustenance for hungry walkers. March is not a very busy time in the canyon - it's the tail end of the wet season, which we have to thank for the canyon's gorgeous palette of colours - and customers are few and far between. We can do without the chocolate and the beer - what really attracts our attention are the fruit these ladies have on offer. I reckon I know my tropical fruit pretty well, but neither of us has any idea what half of them are. Some tastings are in order!

After crossing the Colca river and climbing a little way up the other side, we come upon San Juan de Chuccho, a collection of half a dozen houses rather than a village, which will be our first overnight stop. After a well-earned (or not-so-well-earned, as our meeting with the overloaded lady) rest and a tasty lunch, Pepe leads the three of us on a little walk up and down the terraces around San Juan, teaching us to prepare tuna and feeding us more figs than can possibly be good for us. Explanations about medicinal plants complete a fantastic day. Having woken up at 2.30am our eyelids start to droop quite early - it's a tasty dinner and off to bed for us, amid the wonderful fragrance of Datura flowers, native to these parts.

Our second day sees us walk along the north side of the canyon through more terraces and tiny, deathly-quiet villages. We poke our noses into the local medical clinic in the village of Cosñirhua, where a single doctor and a single nurse work to look after people from over a dozen villages scattered all along the canyon. It is a fascinating and humbling further insight into life in this part of Peru. A map on the clinic wall uses coloured sticky dots to indicate the location of every village and hamlet in the canyon. Further dots indicate the presence of pregnant women in some of the villages - the doctor will have to hike to these villages, which might lie many hours away, to care for these women, as well as for anyone unable or unwilling (the latter apparently being a particular problem - not everybody around here trusts modern medicine) to trek to Cosñirhua for attention. Posters on the wall warn of the dangers of alcohol abuse - a huge issue, Pepe explains, in many villages - infectious disease and smoking. The pharmacologist in me cannot help but take a peek at the range of medicines the doctor has available to him. And all of this in a tiny bungalow with three or four cramped rooms. And to think many NHS general practitioners complain about their job...

We spend the second night in the canyon-bottom village of Sangalle, which since the canyon appeared on the travel map has turned into quite a beautiful oasis of green (it's actually more commonly known as "The Oasis" than Sangalle), complete with palm trees, (relatively) swanky accommodation and, luxury of luxuries, swimming pools. Our room might be inhabited by UFCs (Unidentified Furry Critters) scurrying along the walls in the semi-darkness and scaring the living daylights out of us, but it's a lovely place to spend our second evening.

Day three. The alarm rings at 4.30am. Things are getting silly now. Today we have to climb over a vertical kilometre out of the canyon, a two to three hour slog, back to Cabanaconde, where will have breakfast before heading back to Arequipa via Chivay. The evening before, Pepe tries to persuade us to rent mules. "It is really quite hard", he says. Pah! Mules! Whatever next...

Yes, it is quite hard, but not that bad. The early start means it's nice and cool. I plug myself into my music and start plodding upwards, stopping only once to take off my fleece as the rising Sun starts to warm things up. I make it to the top in an hour and three-quarters, feeling very pleased with myself. Alex is hot on my heels, having stopped to assist an exhausted and profoundly hysterical French lady on the way up. Although the canyon is once again filled with fluffy clouds, we get a brief glimpse of the snowcapped peaks beyond the canyon, further north. Perhaps we actually are fitter than we think...

After a tasty breakfast in Cabaconde, we return to Chivay along the length of the canyon, stopping once or twice along the way to marvel at the gorgeous terraces - more Bali than Peru, I think - and more massive condors. Lunch in Chivay and it's back to Arequipa, once again over the lung-busting Patapampa pass again. There's just enough time for a quick snack in Arequipa before we leg it to the airport, steeling ourselves for what promises - despite our attempts at optimism - to be a gruesome twenty-four hours.

We only had 4 days in Peru - I think it's fair to say we made good use of them!

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Photos

Nothing but greens...
Canyon del Colca