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Published: December 11th 2008
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Llamas cross here
but how do they know? Actually, it is a cardinal sin to call Carmen a bus - she must only be referred to as a truck as there is a distinct hierachy amongst drivers, busses being well down the pecking order compared to proper trucks.
The title for this update reflects the fact that we have being doing some serious miles thes last 2 weeks or so, mostly ending up in destinations where there is no internet access, hence the radio silence from darkest Peru, a country I am reminded was the original home of Paddington Bear, named as we know after a certain railway station in London I have (reflectively) fond memories of....
So, we have finally left Ecquador (after a somewhat protracted border crossing) and travelled 1000 kilometres along the Peruvian coast, the most part of which is desert which was a bit of a surprise. Very arid country occaisionally populated by people living in self-built single story mud brick houses. The frequency of earthquakes means many locals do not over-invest in something that is more than likely going to fall over, and this also explains the proliferation of collapsed buildings along the coast, some even demolished by a recent
Rapido senor! Rapido!!
It took little encouragement to get the driver to fly over the tops of the massive dunes..... tsunami. Quite depressing in some respects.
After a couple of beach camps (one of which saw us bake a huge fish over the coals of our bonfire - yum), we arrived in Lima, Peru's biggest city at 8 million or so residents and collected 6 additional passengers - three ladies from Holland, Portugal, Britain and three fellas from Scotland, Wales and Spain. Another haircut was in order, again achieved at a bargain price of $US3 and without any shared language between me and the barber, a factor which resulted in an unexpected wash and dry AND mechanical head massage with a hand-held chrome plated device I had never seen before. No harm done, but (sorry Lisa) no dreadlocks to be seen either.
With the diversity of our truck enhanced, we headed inland into the desert for a camp under the stars (no tents) amongst dunes over 1000 feet tall. We put these same dunes to good use by tearing up and down them in dune buggies (what else), occaisionally stopping to surf down the taller ones on waxed boards. The only downside to this juvenile but highly addictive fun was the sand that found its way
Looking for Condors
It was a deep canyon, so looking down was quite feasible really. into every nook and cranny - and there were no showers to be had. The race for washing facilities the following afternoon was quite unseemly with no quarter given......
Off next to Arequippa, a town that seemed quite prosperous by the standards we had become used to, and possessing a comforting Gringo ghetto of bars, restraunts and outdoor shops. We reflected how much more at ease we became when the apparent gap between our living standards and those of the locals we mixed with was narrowed. There were still plenty of (usually overloaded) vehicles that would be crushed on sight in the UK or Aus, begging in some streets and infrastructure straining to cope, but the stark have/have not contrast was largely relieved. We stayed here a couple of days, getting laundry done and loafing at the hotels pool, and it was here we tried guinea pig for the first and only time: ittasted a bit like duck, but frankly the bone to meat ratio means they are hardly worth the effort.
We indulged in seeing the latest Russell Crowe/ Leonardo DeCaprio movie ( Red Lies??) which was quite good, and the second bit of English
The beer, the bus....
but you couldn't photograph the coming misery. media I ecperienced, the first being the delights of the BBC World Service on the hotel cable service. True joy to behold, even if it was largely about the Bangkok strikes, Mumbai bombings and the possibilities of the US/Venuzuela relations post Obama!
Arequippa's star attraction was the 300+ year old Santa catalina Monastry, touring which consumed half a day. A fascinating combination of architectural styles, it was painted in striking colours and effectively completely open for us to wander around and inspect the nun's living quarters and cloisters.
From here we went to Chivay, a small town near the Colca Canyon, allegedly the worlds deepest and home to condors. Coincidentally we arrived on the eve of a celebration of the Immaculate Conception, which meant the town square was closed to traffic whilst the Virgin statue was to be dragged out of the church and paraded around to the accompaniment of a brass band and much shouting and clapping. The Agent and I considered this impending spectacle, and decided instead to go with four others and our erstwhile tour leader Digga for a hike into the canyon. This meant travelling to a different town and returning by
At Rachii
On our way to our temporary lodgings. Note the gum trees: very popular here for a range of uses! local bus, and whilst the scenery on the hike was great and we saw condors, the bus ride back was a horror show, made worse by my need to stop it mid-journey for urgent toilet relief. Lesson learnt- don't sink a couple of beers at the end of a hike and then ride an old bus for three hours over bumpy gravel roads!
We moved on to Racchi next, high in the Andes at 3500 metres and the source of locally famous pottery and the site of our first Inca ruins. Here we had another accomodation style to contend with; homestay. Basically a number of families tookk us all in, fed us dinner, breakfast and lunch and in the process gave us a little insight into their way of life. The villagers are largely self-sufficient food wise, so we ate potatoes, maize soup, coca leaf tea, eggs and a little beef for lunch. In the hose we stayed in, their guines pig herd had been reduced to just 6 from 20+ by a recent celebration, so it was off the menu!
The evening saw us dress in traditional costume and gather for a ceremony worshipping Mother
Inca stonework, Huw, D and his new hat
it's a very practical hat you know..... Earth and the sacred mountains, elements at the heart of the local religous beliefs even post colonialisation. Although most of the ceremony was conducted in Quechua (the indigenous language) it was quite moving to see. We then danced to the local band (yes, even me - I had to be polite!) before retiring exhausted.
Today we are in Cusco, preparing to leave for our much anticipated trek to Machu Pichu. Unfortunately, much of this preparation consists of recovering from the birthday celebration of the night before, an evening that involved more dancing, some on the pub's bar top, some Sambucca shots (where were you Clare C?) and attempts to raffle some of the females from the truck to others in the establishment. As I type, co-passengers are still lying still in the lobby promising to give up alcohol........
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Adam D
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Shannon Noll
Whats with the Shannon Noll thing under your lip? Happy birthday as well. Cold stella in beer fridge with your name on it!