Arriving in Peru and flying almost directly to Arequipa, we hadn’t had a chance to see what the country was really like outside of the big city. Five weeks of Spanish school – conjugating verbs, memorising vocabulary and trying to grasp the difference between por and para – our brains were beginning to fry. Each afternoon we watched the sunset on huge snow-capped mountains and volcanoes, so close that it felt like we could reach out over the mish-mash of unfinished residential constructions and touch them. But for five weeks we had to be content to look and wonder what lay beyond.
Nos gustaria tener un receso de estudiando por 1 semana was the phrase I practiced before heading down to breakfast one day. ‘We would like to take a break from studying for one week,’ I announced to Maria, our host mum and the director of Llama Spanish School. We had decided that some fresh air and a week away from the classroom would put us in good stead for our final week of classes where we were going to tackle the elusive subjunctive mood. So we booked our bus tickets and the day after Easter we headed off on our mini adventure to Canon de Colca – the deepest canyon in the world.
Once we had escaped the congested and rather unattractive outskirts of Arequipa, the bus wound its way slowly up to the antiplano – the high barren plains that lay beyond the mountains. Stark, desolate and well above the tree line, the road across the antiplano reached an altitude of over 4800masl, more than twice the height of Arequipa, which sits at a respectable 2300m. Little life is sustained on the antiplano – wild vicunas (rare relatives of the alpaca), sparse vegetation of cacti and spiny grass and the occasional shepherd living in a rustic stone hut tending his hardy sheep and llamas. This environment has the same minimalistic beauty as the Australian outback – nothing for as far as you can see but hard to tear your eyes away.
We had decided to base ourselves at the little known pueblo (village) of Cabanaconde, which perched at 3300m on the rim of the canyon, is the best place to access the trails that lead down to the canyon floor. Cabanaconde is in a stunning location, surrounded by green mountains, with some snow capped giants peaking over the top. As in most cities and towns in Peru, the focal point of life is in the main square, surrounded by small shops, restaurants and a stunning old church on one side. Children played, dogs roamed and wizened old ladies in brightly coloured traditional costumes gossiped. Old men with antique style box radios slung on leather straps around their necks led all manners of animals including laden donkeys and lambs on frayed ropes. It was as if life was the same as it was fifty or a hundred years earlier – rustic but wholesome and happy.
Arriving into Cabanaconde late in the afternoon we decided to stretch our legs by wandering down to the lookout. As we made our way down the cobbled street a big black dog came bounding over wagging his tail He accompanied us all the way to the lookout and back, acting as a guide and showing us the way. We named him Flea and invited him along on our hike the next morning, making plans to meet in the plaza at 7am.
Bright and early in the morning we headed off armed with last night’s leftovers to entice Flea to join us again. Flea however had apparently slept in, as he was nowhere to be seen. But, not to worry, a short legged, long haired mutt who we named Larry (see short stories section) joined us for the adventure. The trail switched-backed its way down down down into the canyon, the fresh, cool morning quickly turning quite toasty, which was ok for us humans, but we could see Larry was beginning to steam under his fur. Luckily Mark spotted a small pool of water in an otherwise dry creek bed and then he was ‘as happy as Larry!’
Not long later we saw far in the distance, many metres deeper into the canyon and across the river, what we thought was a mirage. An entrepreneurial canyon-dweller had set up an ice cream stand deep in the dry barren canyon. It was the unmistakable bright red of my favourite Peruano brand – Arctika. I know that I would pay whatever was asked for a cool, refreshing icy treat. But as we came closer, it became obvious that it was actually a bright red cement mixer. Hearts sinking and mouths parched, we continued on.
Soon after, we arrived at a collection of ram shackled buildings that looked like unfinished barns, but were actually houses. A colourfully dressed older lady popped out of a doorway. Buenas Tardes, I greeted her. Es bastante calor? (is it hot enough), she replied. Si, Si, we readily agreed. And then she said a word recognisable in almost any language in the world. Coca Cola? She suggested with a knowing look in her eyes. She brought out a bucket of slightly cool river water with a selection of bottled beverages floating in it. We eagerly made our selections and discovered that the price was about 3 times the going rate back in town (which still only puts it about on par with Australian or US prices). But fair play to her, I be she sells at least one to every passing gringo!
Our destination that night was Llahuar (2020m), which is a hot springs lodge, nestled at the fork of two rivers. Included in the princely sum of 15 soles each (about $6) was entry to three pools of varying temperatures set right on the river bed, surrounded by towering red rock cliffs – stunning. As a side note, when we arrived there were discovered Flea curled up snoozing under a table in the restaurant - he had found some others to go hiking with!
The next days’ destination was to be a small village named Fure, part way up the northern rim of the canyon. Again we set off early to avoid the heat of the midday sun. It was only supposed to be a 3-4 hour walk, so we packed a few snacks to keep us going to Fure where we could stop for lunch and drop of our packs before heading further up the canyon to a huge roaring waterfall that we had been able to see in the far distance from the lookout at Cabanaconde. The view from the trail was spectacular, following a narrow side canyon above a white water river. We passed a few rustic settlements, a couple of farmers leading donkeys (that Larry barked at) and even a lonely donkey standing in a cave hewn out of the cliff face.
After a break in the shade under the bridge we continued the climb up an overgrown path to Fure. Coming to a fork in the trail, Mark consulted the trusty GPS, (which surprisingly even has the smallest hiking trail in the canyon detailed) and Garmin advise us to turn left. Up, up, up, hotter, hotter, and hotter. We could see Fure high on a ridge above, with the promise of lunch and something to drink. Almost there Larry, I promised our faithful mutt, as we shared the last of our water. Soon we passed a man, complete with his antique radio blaring, having a siesta under a shady bush. A moment later I heard Mark swear. Then I saw it too. A huge landslide had taken out the path, and only a few hundred metres from Fure.
Hearing the commotion, the snoozing canyon-dweller arose from his midday slumber. No Pasar! (You can’t pass) Muy Peligroso! (Very dangerous) Necesitan usar otra camino (You need to use the other path) he insisted. Cuantas horas a Fure en el otra camino? (How long will it take on the other path?) I queried. Dos o Tres horas (two or three hours), he replied cheerfully. Knowing the speed and fitness levels of these local folk, I know that would translate to 3-4 hours for us. We would have to head back to the river bed, about 500m below and then up and over a mountain another 600m up. After disappointed discussions, we decided to skip Fure and the waterfall and head back to the hot springs, which downhill was only an hour or so away. That hour was used silently practicing explanations in Spanish about why we had returned!
Our final night in the canyon was spent at San Galle aka The Oasis, which is where most people who visit the canyon on overnight tours spend the night. Although in yet another stunning location, a lush green oasis at the bottom of the canyon, after two nights of blissful solitude, booming dance music and hordes of backpackers dampened the experience slightly.
We arose at 5am to begin the 1100m ascent as the sun rose. Many people, after descending on that same path down into the canyon chose to hire a mule for the upward trip. Although surefooted and with many years experience on the narrow rocky trails, I shudder with fear at the thought of perching atop one of those often skittish creatures as the make their way along crumbling paths on the cliff edge. And besides, where’s the challenge in that?
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