Facing Fears in Colca Canyon

  Colca Canyon, Peru
Sunday, January 11, 2009

Arcadio, our guide for the two night- three day trek sinto Colca Canyon, collected us from the hostel at 5.30am and we went to the bus station.I must tell you now, that without Arcadio I think I would have never made it out of the Canyon! The 100 km Canyon is set among volcanoes, and although there has been some controvery between Colca and its neighbour Cotahuasi Canyon, the locals still believe it to be the deepest canyon in the world at 3191 metres. Now, numbers mean nothing to me, but the fact that it´s twice as deep as The Grand Canyon in the U.S.A should have given me some indication of what to expect on the trek!
Anyway, oblivious of what was before us, we made the  three hour trip by bus to Chivay at the head of Colca Canyon. The dusty road swung up through the villages getting higher and higher and the further we got from Arequipa more and more local people boarded the bus, travelling from one village to the next. Most of the women wore traditional clothing - highly embroidered hats, waistcoats and full ankle length skirts heavily embroidered from the hem up. Men with craggy weatherbeaten faces, hook noses and cowboy hats and little children with ruddy sunburned cheeks- we wondered at their patient acceptance of the bumpy, cramped and uncomfortable journey- no moaning of ´when are we going to get there´.The women had traditional cloth bundles on their backswhich meant they had to lean forward in their bus seats - and we were never quite sure which bundles contained sleeping babies!
After a quick loo stop at the dusty bus station at Chivay we boarded a more basic bus for thre bumpy 2 two and a half hour ride to the little town on Cabanaconde where we were to start our trek. The road got dustier and bumpier and the corners more and more terrifying as we followed the south bank of the canyon through lots more tiny villages,
Arcadio pointed out the Incas tombs set high up in the sheer sides of the mountains beside he road.He was an amazing source of information. Born and brought up in the Canyon, he had a wealth of interesting stories, albeit in Spanish, He was very expressive and I managed to get the gist of most of it, whilst Lisa went on from strength to strength - and her quesyions and requests for confirmation in Spanish helped me to understand.When compared to the other guides we cane across he really was a star! And - he´s mentioned at the beginning of a National Geographical Magazine article about the man who trekked to the volcano and found the frozen ice princess, Juanita. It seems that he was a guide on many of the expeditions which followed the original discovery. Will have to look it up in English when I get home.
By the ime we arrived in the quiet rural town of Cabanaconde, I had a thumping headache, and the sneezing of the night before had turned into a heavy cold- you know - when you don´t quite feel you are actually there? It´s set at 3290 metres , so it´s a pretty high altitude and the air is thin.So I put it down to the hot , bumpy , dusty bus ride and the high altitude. We set off out of the village, and I felt worse and worse. First of we climbed high above the town and then began the steep descent. And HOW steep! Scurries up the Malvern Hills with Tilly were absolutely no preparation at all for what was to come!

That´s me !

And me again...

I´m not actually keen on heights , so why I hadn´t thought of it before I don´t know! The path was very crumbly, very near the edge and zig-zagged down steeply, often slippy with loose stones, ´Relax!´said Arcadio ´´Enjoy the clean air and wonderful view´´. How long did it take us to get down to the bottom of the canyon ? About 4 1/2 hours , but it seemed like a lifetime. There was nowhere to stop for a breather without contemplating the enormous drop below, and we sometimes had to flatten ourselves to the rockface to make way for mules coming up in the opposite direction. At last, and so gratefully, we reached the river below and the bridge where we were able to sit down and were asked to sign a visitors book. I usually object to having to divulge my age, but flicking back through the pages I could see that the vast majority of trekkers in the past few months were in their 20´s, with only a very few 50 somethings. Still feeling sick and dizzy , I was so grateful when Arcadio said that we could stay the night at a nearby village instead of trekking on to the village hours away.Glass half empty- glass half full- my relief turned to dismay as we crossed the swaying bridge over the river and set off upward on another steep path fro the village. Arcadio encouraged us to relax, put a spring in our step and stomp along to the mantra 'ízquierda derecha  izquierda derecha` ( left right left right )
As we appraoched the village The beauty of our surroundings ( and the relief that it would soon be over for the day!) made a great impression, and I could imagine how those 16th century explorers must have believthey had discovered   paradise, Streams of clear water tumbled down beside the pathway, which was lined with orange trees, avocado trees, olives and bananas.

Our room in the canyon

We came into a clearing with some huts and bouganvilea plants..... arrived! I went streaight to bed in our little hut which looked straight accross at the sheer sides of the canyon down which we had scrambled. Lisa came to wake me up for dinner, and told me that two other English people had arrived . Ian and Diane were also both fifty somethings. Ian has done a lot of trekking and said it had been a real challenge for him, and Diane had fallen over and was limping badly. Arcadio and their guide, Luce, prepared a meal of soup, e and vegetables and local pears in a syrup. I could eat very little ( and that is such an unusual occurance foor me!) but Ian saved my life by rummaging around in his pack and unearthing some Ibruprofen. Wonderful!! So I had a good night´s sleep!

Waking up to this view

Next morning we woke to a clear sky and birds singing. No sounds of traffic or humans. And there was actually hot water from a solar powered tank in the outside shower. Bliss! Things were looking up. Arcadio said we would take our time and walk along the side of the canyon, and cross over to an oasis of natural volcanic water. We took time to look at the natural vegetation, to squash a poor unsuspecting cochineal beetle see the red colouring and to admire the tuna fruit on the cacti.

Colca view

Delicious tuna fruit on a cactus

We could peep down into the back yards of the houses below us and spot the happy hairy pigs ( much slimmer that Emin and Gormley) basking in the sun, and the (herds? packs?) of guinea pigs chuntering away as they breakfasted, unaware they were also destined for the pot!

Looking along the river bed

Lady at the museum

Mules take a break

There were also lots of mules and donkeys- the only method of transport in the canyon, and they only way to get essential supplies and building materials down those steep stoney paths. 
We stopped at a little museum of the canyon and were entertained by a lovely smiley lady showed us what they grow, how it is prpared and all the things that can be made. Including pots made of bulls testicles.... but we won´t elaborate !

A village in the canyon

Lisa and a canyon view

Village church in Colca canyon

 

Lisa and Sue on a flat bit

 
Then came the steep and rocky descent - the pools of the volcanic oasis tantalisingly far away down th canyon. And we just didn´t seem to get any nearer !  Until at last, another swinging bridge ( thank goodness not like those ones in the Indiana Jones films ) , up another steep slope and we were there! It seemed like heaven. A pool of clear water to swim in, and a little hut with a mattress on four tree stuas a bed. The walls were made of bamboo, with a large hole one one side and plants growing under the beds.

path down to the bridge

Lisa and Sue on a wobbly bridge

Ahhh! The oasis

There was no electricty and the colours on the side of the canyon around us mellowed as the light dimmed. Ian and Diana turned up at the oasis too, and Diana was exhausted and had some impressive bruises On Arcadio´s advice , Luce made a poultice out of different herbs growing around the camp. She crushed them between two stones until they were all mashed up.

Luce grinds poultice ingredients

Palms at the oasis

As the light of day began to dim, Diana told of how she had decided to take the mule option to take the steep ascent out of the canyon the following morning. Local runners can get out of the canyon in 45 minutes - but it can take between 2 - 6 hours for the likes of you and me. I asked Arcadio if he thought I could do it, and he said yes, if we took it slowly, but it was just as steep as our initial descent and we would have to leave at 2 in the morning as we had to be at the top to get a bus at 8am. AAArrrgh! Up a sheer mountainside in the dark with a head torch and a head cold! My fear of riding a mule and my fear of getting halfway and having to stay in this canyon for the rest of my life! A tough choice.... and I decided on the mule, so Arcadio rushed off to one for me.  My choice was also a good one for Lisa as she is younger, fitter, has trekked before and doesn´t have a cold ( yet- oh dear I hope she does´t get it, although our bamboo hut is very well ventilated!) Now Lisa and Ian could leave at 4am as they´d be able to get up the sides of the canyon faster than us.

Four o´clock came and Lisa and Ian went off with their head torches, Diana and I waited for the mules to arrive, watching the fireflies in the trees and the gradual sunrise. The bad-tempered mule man arrived, and collected us and two young Argentinian lads ( that made us oldies feel a bit better about taking the éasy´option) and flapped his arms to drive us up the hillside. Diana couldn´t hide her dismay at having to do the first part on foot and made some protest. Which was actually lucky for me because it mean´t that I got her mule ( I think) which was tethered further up, and she waited down below for another mule which turned out to be old and infirm with an extremely unpleasant mule man. Sorry Diane.

Zig zag path we took out of Colca

So, I mounted the sweet little doe-eyed mule and with the mule man yelling ´Mulla, Mulla´and hitting the ground around the mules´ feet with a big stick we set off up the steep and narrow zag path, my mule following the mules of the two Argentinian lads and the mule man grumbling along behind. I just hung on and gripped the saddle and clamped my thighs to the mule´s sides. At first I thought I´d taken the wrong option and would have been safer relying on my own two feet and the expert guidance of Arcadio. The mule slid and slithered and always seemed to choose to walk on the very edge of the path, on the edge of the sheer drop. Sometimes she stopped and the mule man whacked her haunches, and she´d put her ears back and turn around to show him her yellow teeth. Not the time or place for a disagreement between mule and owner...... I tried to smooth things over by telling her what a beautiful little mule she was, and howe grateful I was to her, and she had beautiful eyes etc etc. ( It always worked with our old donkey Zena) Just hope the mule man didn´t think I was directing my compliments to him!
No photos I´m afraid - my hands were clenched so hard to the saddle that I had to prise them off when we eventaually got to the top over two hours later. I managed a quick wave to Lisa when I saw her just above us ! I really don´t know how she did that trek up that path. Despite the scary mule ride, I don´t think I could have done it.

Sue´s ascent on the mule

At the top I slid off my beautiful little mule and thanked her  and hugged her , much to the amusement of the mukle man and the Argentinian lads ( and the little mule) I expect she had to scramble back down the canyon for a full day´s work.
Back in the thin air and high altitude I gasped for breath as we crossed maize fields and passed men trudging off to work... it was only 7.30am! Back in Cabanaconde, the village at the start of our trek, it seemed like a year since I´d last been there and at least 6 months since I´d seen Lisa. What an intreped, brave and fearless lass she is!

Lisa gives a photo lesson in Cabanaconde

We boarded another bus to take us to a look out spot high above the canyon where condors regulary swoop past onlookers. But not for us. They must have gone down the other end of the canyon to avoid us!
The bumpy dusty road took us back to Chivay and Lisa´s muscles had begun to ache and she was hobbling! But at Chivay Arcadio bundled us into a vehicle made of a plastic covered shelter on the back of a motor bike, and we bumped along the durt raid to heaven. Heaven .... volcanic thermal pools. Like stepping into a warm bath with the blue sky above. We groaned and sighed with relief. After half and hour of soaking and becoming pruney it was time to go  back to the bus station and the three hour trip back to the city of Arequipa. Exhausted and unable to communicate, Lisa and I tumbed onto our beds at 6.30 pm and didn´t get up til 13 hours later.
Thank you thank you Arcadio for being such a trustworthy and knowledeable guide. And thank you thank you Lisa for putting up with me and my terrors. I only told Lisa afterwards that I´d had to come down from the top of the Skelligs ( Ireland) on my bum beacuse I was terrified of the drop down to the sea. My son Kenji was there.... are you not amazed Kenji that I have stumbled down into ( possibly) the deepest canyon in the world and managed to get back out again!