Thursday 30 December 2010

Prep time again...

And so it begins again.

My winter crazies have set in, and this of course means it is time to fly away!

I have done the usual travel clinic thing. Passport, check. Puppy sitting arrangement, check. Rent out house, check. Ticket, check... albeit there still are tweaking possibilities.

Now comes the packing, cleaning, clearing out cupboards, fixing the car, leaving detailed instructions, and of course finish up all the little "projects" that have been waiting.

I will fly to Cajamarca this time, and then head to Chachapoyas again for a while. Lovely little town, friends made, things left to see and do. Also a good intermediate acclimatization point in the likely event I head back into the high mountains this time. My hammock in Tarapoto calls out to me, so likely I will head there and then fly on to arequipa or something. We will see now won't we?

I have one more week left at work, and I am ready for a break. It has been a long haul this past couple of months with constant shortages due to illness. I am done with customer service. Simply done. I want my checkout back.

Staff party on January 15th, and I am still not sure I will make it. Will call the airlines tomorrow and do the tweaking and then will know.

I say, it is one a.m., and oh so past my bedtime. A day off tomorrow so that means sleep in time!

buenos noches!

Thursday 25 March 2010

Re-entry culture shock

The flight from Lima was an overnight haul that had the jet lag monster rearing its ugly head, despite the lack of time zone change. Then came two days of walking around in the twilight zone of combined disoriented tiredness and culture shock.

Times two. I picked my Amy up from the airport after her three month stint in a small native reserve in Northern Ontario, so she is going through her own version of culture shock.

The traffic and highways.

The malls.

The dizzying array of goods at Shoppers Drug Mart. That one was funny... we walked through the doors, stopped dead in our tracks, said "woh" in unison and turned to look at each other with faces reflecting horror.

Serious culture shock. It is now Friday and we spent yet another day sniping at one another as we tried to spend time together. Add on the "pressure" of all I want to do in my short time in TO, and I feel like hiding.

And it turned cold today. (well for me anyway... for Amy it was balmy) There I am huddled against the wind FREEZING, and all I could think about was wanting to be back in my hammock in the shade.

Replaced my hiking boots today. Yay.

Found out that someone hijacked my Visa card while I was away... many $ in gas charges. Fun.

I seem incapable of in depth thought at the moment, so will end this post before I ramble on, and on, and on, and on...

Cheers.

Sunday 21 March 2010

The long journey home.

Lima is pretty much as I remember it... hot, dirty, loud and confusing. I have been staying at a lovely family residence this time, and have the company of Consuelo and Raul from Santiago.

Sunny hours of walking around, chatting and shopping. The view from the cliffs has not changed, but I certainly have.

How odd it felt to stand in the Tarapoto airport lounge, looking out on the hillside view I remembered distinctly from my arrival 2 months earlier, and watching the arriving passengers take the same photos I had. The effort needed to reach in and extract the memory (in the visual, ethereal and experiential sense) was quite extraordinary however. It seemed a lifetime ago.

I know that when I return to Courtenay I will slip back into the good life I have built. But right then, spirit free, I could envision the possibilities in staying... or those of moving on as life would direct me.

Reality intrudes with painful tummy cramps, my lot for the past week. It is not only my plane ticket reminding me it is time to come home.

Toronto on tuesday, Kelowna the 31st, Vacouver the 3rd and BC ferry bound on the 7th or 8th. Or that`s what my tickets say. We plan, G-d laughs.

Tuesday 16 March 2010

An uneasy calm

This morning was to be market day with Millie. Our destination "market 2" was not someplace I had ventured far into on my own... it looked confusing and a likely place to loose my wallet. Getting to watch a local in action was an experience I was looking forward to. On our approach we noticed police roadblocks which had Millie calling our little adventure off, explaining that this likely meant there would be trouble. The city has apparently decreed that this market is to be moved into a newly built facility, much to the ire of the merchants and hawkers. Drat.

This afternoon occasioned me in the same neighborhood, to pick up my newly re-repaired sandals. Curious, and noting that there looked like no immediate likelihood of danger, I wandered in. The place certainly held a bit of the chaotic flair common to markets, but many of the stalls were unoccupied. I`m guessing that there were those who expected trouble and packed up and went home.

The roadblocks were amply manned by burly, serious looking police. Some held clubs but side arms were thankfully holstered and there were no rifles in sight. Groups of police were pocketed around the perimeter of this sprawling multi-block squared expanse. Large trucks were being allowed to do their work, taking down signage and digging up areas of road on the periphery.

There is a determined expectancy hanging in the air. Large piles of rocks dot the market, placed within easy reach, the main outward sign that there will be resistance to this forced move. In a rather eloquent statement of defiance there is a group of older men out on the street with tape measures, chalk and white paint, and they are busy outlining sidewalks in what I guess to be an effort to give a more permanent and civilized look to the market.

It is plain that there is a confrontation in the making, but there is no explosive nature to the air. Doesn`t look like it is going to be pretty when it happens though. I of course had left my camera in the hostal, not wanting to tempt fate... and thus have lost the opportunity to add a visual element to my observations.

Sigh.

Finally... more photos

A quiet few days, spent visiting and shopping. My sandals decided to pack it in yesterday, so off I went on a futile search for a good pair of workhorse sandals. So I am the new owner of a pair of dainty little sandals, and my old ones are in for yet another fix... Would be nice to get in at least one more good hike before I leave on Friday.

Yes I have finally picked the exit date which allows me 3 days in Lima to see a museum or two, meet up with a couple of nice folks and shop. Then it will be on to TO on Tuesday. Too bad I don`t have my BOOTS. It will be a cold tootsie first day. Don`t have a winter coat either, come to think of it.

And now, for your viewing pleasure...

This photo on the right shows the main outer wall of the Kuelep fortress near Chachapoyas. This place is billed as the "Manchu Picchu" of northern Peru.

Below is a sample of the intricate stonework found in the Kuelep ruins.









Traversing the landslide area near Gocta Falls...















The funeral Karajia in the cliffs about an hour from Chachapoyas








Taking a break at the base of the cliff face, hiding from the intense sun.











Farming the old fashioned way.









The ghoulish sight of skulls rising from the mud in a cave used for religious and sacrificial ceremonies.






And my usual finish, a flower. This orchid was seen on the trail to Gocta Waterfall.

Saturday 13 March 2010

My boots... The End.

Awoke this morning to pouring rain... so of course I went for a walk. Rain poncho, boots & gators as I once again headed "up river". I thought I would try and find the trail to the big falls, that would be the one with the 15 river crossings.

I managed to find the path through the first 4 crossings... then ??? By this time the rain had stopped, and I was still looking to expend some energy so I took off my boots and poncho and headed upriver boulder hopping. About an hour later I made it to this wonderful area of the river perfect for swimming. So I did. And then I carried on, but at some point I felt it was time to turn around. So I did.

Then I got it into my head that I wanted to follow the river all the way to the road. So I did. Well, almost to the road... 3 hours of hopping, wading, swimming, balancing, falling and bouldering had me ending my adventure at the water station, which is close enough to the road to count.

My rules:
1. keep feet on stone (really big icky river ticks in the sand),
2. stay off the riverbanks (especially the jungle vegetation areas... no need to tempt the snakes)
3. make sure there is a reverse option to all choices (waterfalls & boulders)
4. Oh, and try and avoid the creepy spiders all over the stones.

It was a challenge keeping to the rules at certain points. And there was thought spared for leeches and water snakes. At about the 2 1/2 hour mark I came to a very challenging waterfall, enormous boulders, very fast water. I scoured for all the angles and there really was only one sensible option. Return. So with fingers and toes seeking hold I slid my way gingerly down to the "plop point". Breaking badly rule number 3, cause there was no going back after that one.

Feet raw, and boots soaked (see plop above), another swim and small cascade, then my tired old bod said Yay! when the water station came into sight. Boulder hop, balance on tree bridge, cross water station dam. Soggy boots on, my sunburn, soaked clothes and I headed the rest of the way down the road. Six hours total. :)

Stopped in at Millies to pick up my pack, wring out my stuff and took a motocar back to the hostal. And left my boots on the seat when I hopped out.

Linda`s Boots... The Inglorious End.

Unless the motocar guy brings them back, but I am not holding my breath.

River sightings:
pretty fantastic butterflies MANY
frogs of a rainbow of colours MANY
spiders WAY TOO MANY
Birds NOT ENOUGH
people NONE

I am taking my tired feet to bed.


PS. After I got to Millies she said "I forgot to warn you to stay away from the rivers because after a heavy rain there are often flash floods, and each year people drown". :x

Friday 12 March 2010

Time well wasted

So another Friday has come around with me making no real decision about plans for heading out of town. This pretty much makes Arequipa a no-go, but does signal possible salsa and cooking lessons, and a visit to a bee keeper & nature preserve.

:)

I have names & invites in Lima, so I will plan a couple of days there before heading to Toronto in a little over a week. Shopping, museums, markets, coffees on the patio...

Time has flown.

When I last checked in I was headed inland for a few days, and that was, well, OK. Not quite the way I had understood it to be, but experiences were had.

We started with a trip back to Sauce. Now having been officially declared "family", I got to ride in the back bed of the truck while the "tourists" rode in the Cab. What a hoot. The sun burning down and wind blowing. There was a couple of 3" foam matresses put down to ease the ride, but let me tell you, once we hit the rutted dirt road there was no getting away from the bumps and buffets... Or going air bound. I am now a proponent of repealing the highway traffic law prohibiting such fun.

Spent a relaxing few hours on the lake, while the clouds rolled in overhead, had a not so terrible lunch and then it was back onto the truck for our trekking point drop off. Now seems as good a time as any to mention the extreme change in temperatures here when the cloud shade rolls in. A welcome relief.

But then... Cue the torrential rains. We hastily uncover and try to install a heavy tarp covering... installation failed, so we all held on to our corners to keep it down as we covered the distance on increasingly slippery roads. We climbed out at our exit point, donned heavy ponchos over our packs and headed off to skate our way to the hot springs. I say skate because walking on the thick red mud is very much like trying to navigate an icy sidewalk. Step carefully. Balance correctly. Expect to slide often. Be prepared to adjust balance quickly.

Our eventual destination was an area of natural thermal waters, compliments of a sleepy volcano in the Sauce area. I could smell them long before I could see them, and as I am rather sulphur sensitive I suppose stopping here would have been a good idea. We walked on and I found myself in one of the most bizarre landscapes I can remember. Flowing black rock down the gullies of the hillside. Dead zones in the midst of lush greenery. Tres cool.

I did a dip in the pools, with a quick rinse off. Healing properties and all that. We were joined by a couple of american guys I had previously met through Cindy, and we had a nice evening. Slept in fairy bug ridden beds, and I expected to move on at this point. The boys had a different plan for the morning, which involved sulpher & grit enemas, as it turned out. This actually morphed into an almost full day activity.

Cindy and I hung out on hammocks in a breeze, which was welcome because of the heat and mosquitoes. I watched warrior ants take each other on, and wondered at the fact there was life adapted to the lava. I became increasingly ill the longer I stayed and when we finally left to gather horses and head up the mountain I had to beg off. After discussion we all ended up sleeping at a hostel in Sauce because the heavy rains had returned and it was getting too late to make a daylight trek.

The new plan was to get up VERY early to do a one day trek and make it back to Tarapoto that night. Out come the cards and we play while the group decides to get extremely high. The night drags on and results in a 10:00 am wake up. The rest of the group decided to extend the trip another day and sleep up the mountain, but because I had to be back in town for an appointment, that left me with a 5 hour trek in approximately 7 hours of daylight. In the rain and mud. I passed and headed back to town.

Another time.

So the ride back was accomplished in a shared taxi driving on muddy roads that were so slick that the comparison to 12" of snow in a toronto winter applies. I have photos of the main streets of Sauce that just don´t do the mud justice. Ruts and bogs 2 feet deep, no solid surface to navigate. Cars doing the sideways slide as they try to find traction of some kind. Just thick road soup. Another new experience.

Back to the hostal, and hello´s & cheek buses abound. I pass messages on, and head to my room for a badly needed shower. Much road dust and tropical sweat.

A stroll to the shiclayo area of town has me entertained by a troupe of about a dozen small marmoset like monkeys... At first I thought they were squirrels, but no, definitely monkeys... long tail, fingers, cool little faces and their fun chatter. They ran along power lines and jumped from tree to bush to tree. Very cute, and a lovely end to a long day.

Yesterday a lovely lunchtime visit at Millies turned into pretty much a full day affair. Millie often does outdoor catering, and a canadian film crew has settled in for their meals for the duration of their filming of a documentary on tropical medicine. Holas, intros, food and an evening on the town, loud music and dancing included. Not sure if it was the ice in the drinking water or the very strong local brew but my tummy decided to play another round of Montezumas revenge... called La biciclet here.

Well cleaned out, I am having another entertaining day around town and visiting with friends.

I will boast to you that my abilities and ëlan regarding the hailing of motocars has been almost perfected. :)

Yes, it is a valuable and transferable skill that I have gained while here for the past couple of months.

Time well wasted.

Tuesday 9 March 2010

Away for a few days

Just a quick note that I am headed inland for a few days...

This means you have some relief from my seeming unending compulsion to regale you will millions of details daily.

Be safe.

:)

Sunday 7 March 2010

Such interesting people

It is fascinating the variety of people you meet when traveling. I spent part of the day yesterday having coffee and conversation with an older man from Germany and a much younger Texan. The former was a dreamer, schemer and /or visionary... but not much in the way of actual application skills. The Texan was looking to start a business, fast money, not quite a redneck... but had some very hard to swallow ideas about race and sexual orientation, among others.

Very good examples of why having just a little information can be dangerous.

After breakfast this morning I got chatting with a couple of businessmen from Lima, friends of Cindys` dad, and was promptly invited to join in on a planned trip to a small village nearby. We all pile into truck... 4 fully latin men, a french expat and me... sole Canadian and sole estrogen based unit.

Got to tell you, it was quite a ride. Great bunch of guys, but guys nonetheless and it was interesting. I was quite looking forward to observing them in action for the day... however after a short walk and easy river crossing we ended up at the riverside house of a friend, with many male & female friends in residence. Robbed of the chance for very interesting blog material.

I had met several of the people there in my time in Tarapoto, but it was neat to see them all in one place... very hippy like in attire and manner, but young. They were all there to celebrate the housewarming of this lovely open air jungle abode. Bio friendly with composting toilet and spring fed water.

I talked to a couple of young entrepreneurs who harvest / distribute various superfoods through their company based in Oregon. They were not just friends but also business associates with the owner of this new property, who himself is in the process of setting up a company to export pure sacha inchic butter. Using fair trade harvest from the local indigenous people, he hopes to encourage the end of clearing of forests in the area. Sitting with an interesting group of young people, setting their lives up while also contributing to the ongoing effort to try and promote living off the jungle. Excellent company.

See who you meet when you park yourself in a place for a while?

A ride back in the truck. We are now 5 men, 4 women and two very large dogs. I wonder what the roadside fine would be back home for this? 8 seatbelt free passengers (sole canadian being lawful, of course), 4 of which were sitting on the sides of the pickup box. Not IN the back, but sitting on the edges as we springboarded all over the rutted, dirt road, and then down the highway back into town. I kept looking back in disbelief... I couldn`t understand how they hadn`t all been tossed off.

Came back to chill and chat with the gent from France... interesting parenting conversations. Also discussed was his connection to a local chocolate factory (I mentioned it in one of my earlier blogs), and the work that is being done through them.

Next round went to a couple of young lawyers who are in South America with an international organization trying to launch lawsuits against the Peruvian Government on behalf of rainforest dwellers. One is for an apparently appalling 90plus percent rate of Hep B in some communities (no health care whatsoever), and the other is in response to the widespread environmental contamination as a result of the oil industry here.

Dinner conversation was lively as I sat with one of the employees of the family restaurant... Juan Carlos is sweet, and the conversation covered our families, work, food, earthquakes and Canada... we did ok given his limited english and my limited spanish.

Tomorrow I will try to reconnect with Millie, get my sandals back to the point where they might last my final couple of weeks, and maybe do some stone hopping up the river.

I have an invite from Cindy to go "to the land" this week. Their family is in the process of setting up a 3500 hectare nature reserve, and it is apparently stunning. So I suppose the anti-malarials should get started again. Arequipa is not looking likely at this point, but then with me who knows?

Bet you didn`t know I could be so social, did you?

:)

Friday 5 March 2010

Back in the hammock, again.

Woke this morning feeling 100%. Energised and pain free. Yay.

Had a good day yesterday (thursday), went to the local museum and managed to understand a fair bit of what the guide was saying. I also attended another one of Mikes` english classes, and it was fun.

Then Mike and I went out for a drink and ended up talking until well past 11... given more time think we could have:

enabled a peaceful world.
ended fundamentalism.
designed & implemented a social enscription program.
figured out a way for "late night sex with sue" to go global.

I love it when a really good conversation gets going! No topic off limits!
What a great young man. Going places. Mark my words.

Today was my return to Tarapoto. I have been worried about landslides on the roads with all the recent rain, so pack up and go I did. Sure enough, the road between Moyabamba and Tarapoto experienced a landslide today and is closed. Luckily it happened at a point where a detour route was possible, and I am now sitting in Tarapoto, sweltering. Ah the tropics.

After breakfast I collected my things and headed down the street, and was treated to good byes, good wishes, handshakes and cheek buses by all the Guides standing outside their agencies looking for customers. These guides all attend the evening class taught by Mike. Friendly, friendly people.

The frustrations of traveling by collectivo today were few and far between, only one station had me waiting, the rest actually called ahead and held cars for me. Beautiful trip, back to and over mountains covered in Jungle vegetation. I made good time, but 7 hours sitting in a car and my backside was begging for relief. It was good to finally get to the Hostal.

Our driver for most of the trip, lets call him Walter the wheeler-dealer, must have thought it was great fun to speed around the hairpin curves and have his back seat passengers thrown upon one another. Didn`t take long for the little boy next to me to start getting car sick. I stilled the queezies with a couple of gravol, which had me nodding off during most of the trip. The many road crews, with their stop signs were a welcome sight. Also welcome was the pretty woman in the front passenger seat, because once she started talking the driver slowed down to answer her questions and chat.

How did Walter the wheeler-dealer get his name? He stopped numerous times along the route to negotiate purchases on his return, picked up goodies, and gave goodies freely away to the police at the road checks and the toll booth operators along our route. First names with just about everybody. It was very interesting to watch.

Stunning vistas
Driving through a stream crossing the road
Ribbons of small farms along the highway and rivers
Complete change in the feel of the air... highly tropical
Drivers passing as if there is no chance there may be a car coming around a corner
Back to light fluffy clouds

A lady selling coconut juice along the road... I wish you could see her face. Honed, sun darkened native features in a study of concentration and determination, wielding her knife expertly as she hacks at the coconut in her hand. Knife goes under her arm as she inserts the straw and hands it to her customer, then she whirls around, knife in hand, looking for her next victim. Um, I mean customer.

The mountains end quite abruptly at one point, and the road stretched out straight in front of us like a snakes` tongue... get the analogy, windy road, mountain, and then straight. Snake. ??? Well that is what it reminded me of, in my gravol induced stupor.

Past Moyabamba there are more mountains. I note there are lanes painted on the roads now, and wonder why? Absolutely no one pays attention to them. Waste of taxpayer money.

Thanks to Carlos, Janet, Edwardo and Mike for making my stay in Chachapoyas so much fun. And not to worry, Edwardo you are not going to hell, and Carlos you are not getting fat.

You had to be there.

Anyhew, there`s a hammock crying out for me. Must answer the call.

Mañana.

:)

Wednesday 3 March 2010

Strolling about.

After a couple of rough days, I am on the rebound... albeit slowly. And my adventure continues, albeit carefully. :)

I have spent time hanging out in the central plaza, eaten some pretty excellent veggie food, observed one of Mike`s english classes and changed abodes yet again.

It has been raining. Not much happening on the trekking front, which is good because it keeps me from temptation. Walking is good though, so I rambled down the road past the University, through a pretty little neighbourhood and continued down a country lane to enjoy some incredibly uplifting views. Unfortunately the low rain bearing clouds hid the highest mountain peaks from me, but twas beautiful nonetheless (is this really one word?) Took a shortcut goat trail back, and saved half the time (and effort... it was uphill).

I passed a family building a new home, from scratch, as it were. They dug and mixed in the process of making adobe bricks in their yard, to add to the walls that were already rising from the ground. I am guessing that when done, their sense of accomplishment must be deeper than what we experience.

There were also women working in the gardens and fields, dressed in their traditional clothes, skin baked almost black from their time in the sun. Running around town were various dogs, chickens and turkeys. And kids. One little boy kept coming up for a hug, and then he would try to put his hands in my pocket, looking for sweets I think.

A leisurely morning spent chatting with Janet ended with a visit to the local market where fish was purchased for her family lunch. The selected specimen was chopped, cleaned and bagged... and the leftover liquid brushed off the counter and onto the floor. On closer inspection I noted that both of the husband and wife team were wearing rubber boots... and they were standing in at least 2 inches of watery slime puddled around their feet. Is it any wonder that these markets have such an aromatic component?

The hostal I had moved into turned into a bit of a pain... I will be generous and blame a lack of communication, but I came back yesterday to find that all my stuff had been moved into a different room, and this one was a filthy dive. I couldn`t leave because she had a bunch of my clothes to launder, so I spent one night basically going "ICK", sleeping in my sleep sack, and making sure that nothing I owned touched the floor. Today I collected my laundry and scrammed. Room at new hostal suitably inspected. Should sleep well.

I am still a bit tired and am thinking I may just stay put in the north for my last 3 weeks here, rather than head back to Lima and on to Arequipa or Huaraz. I will be in Chachapoyas for at least one more day. For some reason I think I may not want to push myself and travel today...

I`ll probably take another stroll tomorrow. Or something.

Buenos.

Paying my piper.

It starts so simply, with the realization that along with feeling extra tired, my wrists ache.

The pain moves up my arms. It takes my elbows and reaches out to squeeze my shoulders. Closing my eyes I take an inventory; evaluating, calculating, and wondering, how long? How bad? I head to bed.

Experience has taught me there is naught to do but lie down, take the pain killers and get ready to wait it out.

As usually happens, tired turns into the kind of fatigue that dazes. The two always come hand in hand. My back aches. My hips, knees, then ankles. I can feel the joints in my hands, which have gone ice cold.

I let my mind drift, a deliberate separation of self. In this state I can focus on something other than the pain. A sort of half waking/ half dreaming "away" mode. Kids, dogs, dreams, plans, memories. All good things to wander with.

A sleeping pill, and what I suspect is a vain hope that I will wake pain free.

Morning brings little relief, yet I must pack my backpack and change hostels. My new digs of course have a bed, and under its blankets I immediately crawl.

Exhaustion has me asleep in minutes.

I am interrupted by the stabs radiating from my elbows. The pain reaches bone deep. My muscles ache. I can feel my heartbeat, the tempo throbbing in my joints. Even the blood flowing through my veins seems to hurt. I give it an 8 out 10 on the pain scale.

More meds. More sleep.

I wake again, and must make my way to get something to eat. I am completely dazed and sapped of strength, but the pain level has dropped and I know that more sleep will tame the beast once again.

Some call it breakthrough pain. I call it an "off" day... in this case, two.

Whatever you call it, I`ve been taking it easy in the days since.

The piper has exacted his payment, and reminded me of the importance of pacing.

Sunday 28 February 2010

A weak attempt at leaving...

Got up this morning and packed all my stuff, with the intention of heading to Moyabamba.

Heard a big commotion coming from the plaza... walk, walk, walk, and there is a city / military something going on. Seems the president is in town today to visit, talk tourism, and to visit Kuelep.

Roads closed. I wander. Stop by the tour office to see what`s doing. Not much, mostly just lazing around talking. English teacher Mike is there. I mention that I would have liked to visit the top fall at Gocta, but there are not enough people... the cost of a private taxi there would be WAY high.

Lunch rolls around and I am invited to the home of Carlos and Janet, to join in while Mike has his first Cuy (guinea pig) meal. Why not? Too late for a taxi now.

We go off to the market to select said sacrificial rodent. Cute little white guy makes the grade, and goes live into a sack to take home. Bit of rice, some corn, a few potatoes and we are off... Mike and Carlos head out to the yard, and after the deed is done, skinned little white guy is brought in to the kitchen and added to the assortment of foods to be cooked for lunch. All very every day. Mike seemed to handle it all well.

Lunch was good. No Cuy for me. Conversation was lively and I had fun. Siesta time comes and I decide to spend mine wandering the streets, graced with glorious sunshine.

What else to catch up on? Not much. The planned quiet days were quiet. Lots of typing, as you have seen. Did spend a couple of hours walking off the frustration when a lovely long post went into the cyberland void instead of your reading room.

I am relieved to say that I was completely and blissfully unaware of the Chilean earthquake until I turned the news on last night. No need to worry, all is well.

Maybe I`ll get going tomorrow. Maybe not.

Buenos noches... I am heading out to watch the sunset.


And Valerie, you would not catch me moving across the country again... no way. That goes far beyond MY comfort level!

Saturday 27 February 2010

House Proud

February 25th.

The streets outside the hotel are completely torn up; thick mud blankets every nook and cranny along the sidewalks and storefronts.

I sit in the hotel cafe, eating breakfast, and I notice a woman across the street, doing her best to keep the little portion of sidewalk in front of her store clean.

Almost poetic... I can visualise a short movie clip about it. Unlock big wooden doors, take bucket of water, sprinkle on sidewalk with fingers to distribute some moisture for dust control. A first sweeping of said dust from nooks and crannies in and between the old broken tile and concrete walkway. Long stringy mop is flipped and switched about to clean the doors and frames.

Dressed in the standard highland outfit for an older peruvian city dweller... straight black skirt, nice shirt (this one is red), and cardigan. Heavy stockings and sensible shoes complete the outfit. Not a hair out of place. The roundness of middle age.

She is all business as she dumps buckets of water onto the sidewalk. Taking a firm grip on a broom she scrubs at the sidewalk and then sweeps the water into the great void where the street usually resides. She continues to dump, scrub and sweep even as the foot traffic walks through. A losing battle to be repeated every morning, or so I imagine.

A couple fo cups of hot, sweet coffee lifts the headache that had accompanied the morning. I have a slower day planned... quick visit to a nearby village, walk back, and then to the orchidarium for a peek.

The village, Huanca, is a very small satellite town, who`s dainty main square displays 3 statues of women making pottery, for which this town is known. There is also a male figure somehow depicting leadership. Figures.

Some of the things I see in my wanderings:

A plant nursery, where they are starting trees to be planted in a reforestation effort.

A brick making yard, where I see, well bricks... I learn that the formed earth and straw type brick is called adobe. I also see an alternate building technique called tapial which is a pressed mud wall construction. According to Janet (my english speaking guide!) structures made of adobe do better in earthquakes.

There was apparently a large earthquake in 1970, and most of Chachapoyas was destroyed. Now I know why the city looks tidy and organized.... because it is all new. It really does look different than most other places I have been in Peru. Uniform colour schemes and all.

Anyway the town homes made of Adobe fared better apparently.

Now back to my list:

A beautiful climbing geranium in a vivid shade of red. Didn`t know geraniums climb.

Still more more medicinal flora. If there are plants for hair, teeth, bones, skin, and digestion, just to name a few, I wonder how many cups of brew that equals a day for complete coverage?

An amazingly steep canyon. Get too close and...

A cool plant that is used as indoor insect control. It is incredibly sticky. The flies are attracted by the aroma and...

Locally made ceramics, very rustic and pretty but I can`t see successfully bringing it home in my backpack somehow.

After a quick lunch we enjoy a nice long walk back to Chacha, all the while keeping an eye on some very big, dark clouds heading our way. Thankfully they pass overhead before dropping their motherload of precipitation. The wind was nice though.

We picked up a taxi to take us to the Orchidarium. Many cool pictures, although I am still having trouble with my camera focus. This place is part of a network of places trying to keep the rarer orchids from disappearing altogether. Many poor locals go deep into the rainforest in search of plants to bring out and sell. Difference between eating and not, unfortunately.

I see an interesting looking animal, possum like, called an Uvon. They are found only in the area surrounding Kuelep. The animal is young and full of beans. Unfortunately it is also leashed and so can`t run said beans out of it`s system. The explanation is that it was found abandoned as a baby (?) and being home raised can not be released into its native habitat. Or maybe it makes a cute pet. No way to know for sure.

So it was not really the quiet day I should have had, and I am seriously overtired. There will be another piper to pay, unfortunately.

Later.


Random info: The mosquitoes here seem to bite through clothes. Losing battle.

Day three... Karajia and Quiocta

February 24.

This day started with frustration... Despite an 8:30 am planned start, I got called down early from my room... time change, everyone is waiting. Grab backpack and run. No pee, no bread, no boots.

I was happy to see that Felix (A Chinese Peruvian Swede) is again part of the tour.

Long ride (on dirt roads for a change, she says with tongue firmly planted in cheek), through some pretty impressive mud puddles. Passed yet more road crews clearing and rebuilding.

More miles and miles of perfectly beautiful vistas of farmed land. I enjoy seeing the agave in bloom... as tall as the trees... sometimes the only tall plants on the hillsides. Two different blooms, depending on whether we are talking blue or green mother plants. Both are striking. I vow to insist the driver stop on the way back so I can take pics.

We ramble through a couple of small villages until, hallelujah, we stop and I finally get to pee.. Frequently seen outhouse type baño, but this one had walls and only one very big hole in the floor, so yay. Far from the worst I have seen or used. Practically spotless.

Come to the expected long walk down... this time through some of the cultivated acres of cultivated farmland. My appreciation of the view spoiled a bit by thinking about the walk back up, I will admit. This is day three, and I am starting out tired.

I am charmed by the sight of 3 beautiful, large, swaying orchids on a wild hillside... can`t get close because of the undergrowth, and am thwarted in my attempt to take pictures because my camera doesn`t zoom enough. Felix has a pretty skookum camera and took pictures... will hopefully email them to me.

Crops passed: Potatoes. Mustard. Corn. I am disillusioned to see farmers out spraying the crops with chemicals... I naively assumed that things were done organically, as fitting the yesteryear setting of manually ploughed fields, grazing wildlife, native dress and barefoot farmers. Silly me.

Rounding a corner takes us out of the fields and into steep hillside. Down some steps, and along another narrow descending pathway brings into view the cliff face which display ancient sarcophagus... burial resting place for the mummies of yet another lost culture. Other than guessing that they are that of important individuals, it is not known if they were shamans, chiefs, or warriors. There are smaller pockets of graves, and evidence of where more of the grand figures once graced the rock.

Wandering the path below in the hot sun, there are bones and broken bits of the molded funerary containers littering the boulders. The rockface itself is beautiful, a perfect setting for some "I was here" photos. Yay, more pictures of me, and there are a couple of me swatting away as a regiment of pesky small mosquitoes mounts a full on assault.

Burial conversation is in the air, and I squeem at Felixs´explanation of a (supposed) patented new swedish burial technique... freeze dry & then microwave? Apparently only powder remains to be scattered. O.K.

Change of subject... I am told that the roots of Gladiolus, mashed, left in sun for a few hours becomes an effective headlice cure- Did I tell you this already? I think maybe I did.

Long walk back up in a burning sun. Have already covered this territory too.

We wind back over the roads, passing large trucks parked beside the road as they are painstakingly filled with sacks of potatoes. In the small villages I catch glimpses into small potato warehouses, stacked high with bags, each topped up with grass to avoid sun exposure.

In the villages I see women wearing traditional white, woven, tall topped, grass hats. Most native dress here is quite dull, but still seen are the full skirts worn with a shawl, and for the men ponchos for special occasions. As is customary, many women are holding hand spindles and are spinning sheeps wool, others are knitting. This is accomplished both sitting and as they walk. Much work to do, and no time is wasted.

The setting is the same as most towns, narrow streets bordered by one room homes made from the local Adobe... Yellow earthen mud bricks, rich with grass or straw.

In one of the towns we come upon another funeral procession. Somber. Sobering.

Lunchtime stop in Lamud, and on to rent some rubber boots for our next stop, Quiocta caverns.

Caves. Humid, squishy, watery. The sculls and bones strategically placed indicate this one was used for ceremonial purposes. During the Inca period according to some authority. Really creepy were the muddy areas bordering the cave wall edges where skulls could be seen rising up from the depths.

My poor little canadian sensibilities were in a flap as we trampled all over, into and through roped off areas. So much for preservation. And before you all say "you didn`t have to follow", I will ask you how much you would want to be left alone, in the utter darkness of a 500 meter deep cave, littered with the remains of human sacrifices. Ha.

While I usually enjoy a good cave, daylight in this case was welcome. We head away from the eerie, Clouds above, clouds below, into the cloud we go. There are heavy rains happening in the valley. There are also very dark clouds and a stormy look to the area around Kuelep, and I am glad I am not there.

Almost ran over a pheasant.

Down the mountain we go. Remember the tea cup ride at the fair?? This is the sensation that comes to mind as we careen around the corners. A stomach sinking, vortex inducing wild ride. Slow is not in the local vocabulary, I think. Blew through yet another stop sign. Oh great, lets do 100 on a narrow 2 lane paved road between the river and the rock face wall. And then lets pass on the curves.

Not surprising there was a recent newspaper article about 50 dead when 2 buses crashed head on while one was passing on a curve.

Heavy rains blew down the largest of the Agave stalks. No photo ops.

Day three, and I have given it my all.

Thursday 25 February 2010

Gocta... a great guide

As promised...

Reluctantly leaving the splendor of the Falls behind, the payment to the piper begins. Up... way up. A step by step reversal of the relatively easy path in. Not so easy going up though.

With the promise of a hot lunch waiting, most of the younger and heartier souls are soon far ahead and out of sight. Keeping me company with a slower and more relaxed pace were a young Frenchman named Mitch and our guide, Hilton. Our conversation flows fairly easily thanks to Mitchs`english speaking abilities.

It is clear that the young and earnest Hilton was taking seriously his responsibility to get my "last little old lady" butt safely back to the pueblo. A complete departure from the Tarapoto jungle guide that was happy to never look back while I took my various tumbles.

Must say it pays to be the last one up, as Hilton regaled us with his extensive knowledge of the local jungle flora, and answered our many questions. All along the trail he would wander over and pluck leaves for us to taste or smell, while explaining their various uses, medicinal or otherwise.

The scents of lemon, orange, lime, mint, and licorice came from bushes and plants that were foreign to me, with uses for tummy, head, hair, altitude and breathing.

Or he would rush over to pick things for us to taste... a small yellow fruit, berries and coffee, all various Parrot foods. All sweet. Heeding warnings to spit out various seeds we enjoy our trials.

Hearkens me back to my time as a new vegetarian at 17, and my father complaining that all I would eat was, well, bird food. :)

Mitch brings out a bag of dried whole coco leaves and offers to share. This is a new way of me experiencing the famed local leaf. Chew, chew, chew... then tuck said masticated blob up in the cheek and let sit. Other than experiencing a tingling sensation where said blob lay, I don`t really notice a marked difference in my breathing or performance. This in marked contrast to last year when I made ample(and appreciative) use of coco tea and candy to get me over the high passes on the Inca trail.

I take photos of the intense moss on ancient looking rocks, thinking it will be a challenge to convey the visual reality in words... for another post I think.

Orange and avocado trees, nuts, seeds, berries, roots, greens... I remark to Hilton that living in the jungle, one certainly need not starve. (or resort to eating grubs?) He earnestly agrees.

At about the halfway mark on the trail there exists a farm offering limited accommodation and an assortment of drinks and crackers as a way to supplement their income. We stop for Gatorade and cookies. The owner is a friendly gentleman, who happily abandons his work shelling frioles (white beans) to welcome us and join us in conversation. Our guide relayed some of my questions about his side garden, and he beckons us through a gate and into a small slice of paradise.

Given the chance, this would be what my garden would look like. In this ideal climatic setting, orange, lemon, banana, plantain, and coffee trees join a variety of vegetable, squash, tuber, medicinal and floral plantings, just for starters. Mitch was impressed with the two healthy looking coco plants mixed in. This is a back yard garden, complete with pig in back pen and chickens clucking indolently at our feet.

MUST be what shangrila feels like. I so wanted to plant my butt down and stay awhile. No can do. With thanks to our host, reluctantly I depart and join the path upward once again.

Cue the afternoon rains. Wonderful, cool, heavy drops pouring from the sky and the smell as they contact the hot earth and rocks rises. Donning my raincoat I think of the two men working in the landslide area, and the some maternal instinct has me sending my hopes for their safety up into the heavens. I won`t presume to guess which form of higher power might be listening.

In no time at all I am soaked. Gloriously, seriously, drowned rat kind of wet.

The elevations of the path allow me to finally see the sideways drainage system at work. The rushing sheet of water heading downwards hits the canals and is sent shooting off the path and on to the hillside to disappear down and into the vegetation. Surprisingly effective.

The rains let up as we find ourselves back in the farm area surrounding the pueblo. We ask more crop related questions, see pineapple in various stages of growth. I learn it takes a year and a half to bring each plant, with its single pineapple, to harvest. I will never complain about the cost of pineapple in the supermarket again.

Hilton points out a series of caves partially visible on the sheer rock wall facing us, rising up from the riverbed far below. I see absolutely no way to reach them, but a couple of years ago somebody managed to get to one of them and found remains. Now they are on a list of sights to be properly excavated... they join a long, long list of sights already found, never mind those still secreted away in unknown nooks, crannies and jungle overgrowth.

All good trekking experiences must come to an end, and we eventually make it back to the pueblo. Soaked. Every piece of clothing plastered to me. My boots are once again wet as the rains simply followed their own path down my pants, under and through my gators, and down on in to keep my little toes company.

Having enjoyed their hot lunch while we dawdled, we are welcomed by the rest of our group. I wring out my hair and inspect the contents of my sopping backpack. The spanish dictionary is my only casualty. Fitting, no?

Thank you, thank you, thank you, and we all pile back into van to head out on our return trip. And enjoy a last look back at the falls in their entirety.

Has to be said... Gocta Falls is way up there on my best experiences ever meter.

Chatted with a nice young argentine couple on the way home, and we compared taxi horror stories... kept most people in the bus entertained judging by the laughter level.

All smiles I headed down the street towards supper and was pleased as punch when a man stopped dead in his tracks, smiled, and called me "Hermosa!" I´ll take it. Being called beautiful in any language feels good. :)

Sitting in the restaurant brought an adrenaline crash so I ordered coffee with dinner, (it was instant, yuck) figuring it would keep me awake long enough to eat and make it back to the hotel. I enjoyed the sight of the "restaurant kid skipping and whistling through the rooms... he must be at least 14. Totally different youth experience.

Bone tired, I weave my way back to my digs. Hot shower. Boot care. Crawl into bed. Soon I will need a vacation from my vacation... what day is it?

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ


PS.. Valerie, nice to see your comment :)
It is good to hear from home.

Wednesday 24 February 2010

Gocta Waterfalls... the descent.

So this one was at the top of my wish list. With great excitement I don hiking boots and hop in the bus. We are again a very diverse group of about a dozen souls. French, Argentinian, American, Swedish, Spanish, Peruvian and me, lone Canadian.

Once more I find myself heading out on winding dirt roads, although this one seems an improvement on yesterdays. The mountain expanse in front of us is butte-like, with horizontal ribbons of the ages showing, topped with an expanse of green and disected at intervals by long ribbons of high waterfalls.

I make an Agouti sighting... think long coated, very large, tailless rat related to the guinea pig family, and that runs like a bunny rabbit. Tres Amazonian. It is served in all the best restaurants.

Our first glimpse of Gocta Falls, in all its splendor, comes along the road into the Pueblo at the start of the trail. We will be teased with sightings of the falls on and off during our trek. The falls are actually comprised of a double fall, and are so high that they can not be seen in their entirety from up close. There are trails to the upper platform, and down to the base of the final fall. It is to this lower area we will trek.

After meeting guide and paying park entrance fee we head out. Gaters on, I will either make it or get carried back out on horseback. The trail starts innocuously, a childsplay stroll next to the road and past a couple of farmers fields. But this is the Andes, so I know I am not going to get off that lightly. We head up, still following farms, and enjoying the vistas. A little down, and then more up... and then down. More down. More down. Deep mossy greens of dense, wet, humid forest, following rock and mud trails. Many butterflies, some salamanders, and of course the Parrots.

Breath in deep the smell of moist, rich, brown decaying matter and soil. Listen to the crunch and squish of our steps, and the sounds of the many birds and frogs along the way. How does decaying earth smell so fresh? Small streams are crossed, and we zig and zag our way to the sound of water that can be heard from the stream below... the waters of Gocta.

We are walking through an ancient burial area and the walled stone cairns line our pathway, a silent reminder of the passage of a great empire. Each contain remains carefully placed in an upright fetal position, with chins supported by hands and arms resting on knees. There are one or two cairns easily seen, the rest are glimpsed through the vegetation that is overtaking them. Trees, vines, bromelaids, ferns... swallowing history a year at a time. They have a mystical feel about them.

The guide points out a palm like tree that is apparently prehistoric in nature... An amazonian Ginko, so to speak. Each one`s ancestors resided with the dinosaurs apparently.

We come to an area of the trail that is, well, missing. Overnight landslide. There are two very earnest men working to restore a semblance of a footpath for us. The first bit was pretty solid, but the last 20 feet or so were still very unstable and be crossed one at a time. Carefully. One of our party of intrepid explorers chose to turn back. He was probably doing the smart thing, but I am here and on I go.

The air feels cooler, and more moist. The sound of water intensifies. I somehow expected the roar that accompanies Niagara Falls and think we must have quite a ways to go. Not so, as I round a corner and am stopped in my tracks by the beauty of the dance of the water as it falls the 550 meters from the upper platform. Starting like the flowing movements of a harem dancers` veil that twirls, floats, spins and rolls, the waters then shoot downwards like inverted rockets... the power of the water is mesmerizing, enchanting, bewitching. The rockets dissolve in the air like firecrackers on a summers evening, and the water again dances, then falls forcefully to the pool below.

This beauty is set in a landscape from dreamland. Up the banks on either side of the falls lies a mat of vegetation that is so dense it looks like a pillowy green blanket. The mist and cool air intensify the closer I come to the actual waters themselves. I pocket my camera and don my raincoat. I approach until the mist becomes a shower of sideways rain... a wet, windy, west coast, winter day. There are souls that brave a dip in the lagoon area, but I enjoy their experience vicariously. They are obviously nuts. It is COLD. A substantial portion of the volume of water entering the falls is lost to the mists created as water hits rock face, so the actual river at the base of the falls is smaller than expected.

I am also wearing a goodly portion of said water... dripping and soaked through I retreat. Time for a well earned snack.

I will regale you with the trip back up in my next post... Right now I am hungry.

Tuesday 23 February 2010

Kuelep

So I signed up for the typical tour of the Kuelep Ruins, bus in... follow guide around... bus back. chop, chop, chop.

As is common practice in Peru, the tour companies consolidate their passengers, so after the initial confusion we were a group of 12 or so. No I didn´t count. Two vehicles, and I lucked out in a cab with two other english speaking guidees. A lovely girl from Wisconsin and a very nice boy from Israel. OK, not girl & boy, but I had a good 25 years on both of them so let´s not quibble.

Conversation was lively, both my companions had been in South America for 9 months respectively and had lots of tales to tell. I am soooo glad I am not naor´s mother. I would not have even one hair on my head that was not grey. Note to my daughters... don´t you dare! And how come these two seem to speak fluent spanish without classes? Hmmm. I object.

The drive up was another long winding one, usual narrow dirt roads with frightful drops off the side. We did travel through an incredible area of tropical farms in the lands bordering the near overflowing river, and an incredible area of wild orange Echinacea. I notice more mosquitoes here (actually in chacha in general... my feet are eaten alive after a session in the internet cafes), bigger and bolder than those in Tarapoto city. Maybe there is just not enough traffic to keep them away!

Note about local garbage attitudes. Everything goes out the window. Bottles, bags, leftovers. I experience a small shock each time I see it. How doe you change this kind of attitude?

The bus takes us touristy types to within a short stroll to the entrance of the ruins (ok.. uphill, and yes, huffing and puffing), and we follow our spanish speaking guide around for a couple of hours.

I took tonnes of photos. Many a failed attempt at capturing the huge flock of parrots flying between the trees. :)

Small details of note:

These ruins are called the Manchu Picchu of northern peru. They are extensive, and still in the process of being excavated. Originally Chachapoyan, there were Inca influences that followed.

The city walls were unbreachable... a tall cloak with single file entranceways that allowed the destruction of any forces trying to enter. Great system... liken to the Chan Chan ruin in Trujillo.

No bathroom facilities in the buildings. Apparently most of their time was spent out in the fields and...

All the water for this large mountaintop fortress either came out of the sky during the rainy season, or got carried up the slopes in earthen jugs from the river far, far below. This is how the Inca conquered the place... cut off the water supply.

And back to the taxi for our homeward bound journey. One note here one passing practices on single laned curvy laneways. It is frightening. In all the crazy driving situations I have found myself in here, I have not until this day experienced real fear. On two occasions we were taking hairpin curves and encountered traffic. Very fast stop, and then our driver BACKS UP to make room for the other vehicles. We are on the outside hairpin edge of said single lane roads. And then we are backing up... um, there is no shoulder! I couldn`t see how he knew when to say when, but obviously I am still alive. Freaked, but alive.

In a small display of irony (given recent brush with death) we pass a funeral procession on the outskirts of one of the small clusters of homes that form a town. It looked like the whole town was there as the impeccably shiny, ornate white coffin was carried uphill towards whatever final resting place it faced. Black skirts, shawls, ponchos, sad faces, flowers being carried, music being played, prayers being recited and rosaries being clutched. This was what I caught in a first glance... I didn´t feel comfortable gawking and looked down until they passed. Knowing the poverty these farmers face I wonder how the coffin is afforded, then wonder if it is communal and somehow reused when required... I couldn`t find a tactful way to ask the guide... so this inquiring mind will still have to wonder.

Back to town in time for an absolutely fabulous sunset. Vivid blue with the sun reflecting off the clouds, turning the blue to robins egg and the clouds to gold. Then, as if someone turned off the light switch, it was gone. Back to a normal evening sky. Mesmerizing.

Met up with my two tour companions for a good veggie dinner, and then we all strolled. It is so much more comfortable wandering the streets after dark with company. Less intimidating. So we meandered. Had my first taste of a local pastry treat, liken to two shortbread cookies stuck together with a kind of caramel paste.

Yum.

We found ourselves having a nice evening conversation with a man named Jorje (George), and we wandered into a local watering hole and gave some of the local liqueurs, settled on a fruity brew and sat and chatted for a an hour or so. Friendly.

Still 2 days behind. Typing furiously here....

:)

3 days behind

I will post the days separately, because otherwise your eyes are going to cross trying to take it all in...

As planned, Sunday was a quiet day spent mostly walking circles around the same few blocks ringing the main plaza.

Breakfast was a novel experience... A local brew of quinoa, soy and macca, with the consistency of thin pablum and served in a very large mug. Add a bit of sugar and it was quite tasty. Different. Not sure I´ll repeat the process.

I nipped into the main market, which was a riot of colours, sounds and people. I wanted to take pictures, but felt uncomfortable doing so... there are locals that are very reluctant to have their photos taken.

My lack of spanish is a real hindrance here. Will have to try and do something about my memory, which barely works in english these days, yet alone español.

Spent a lovely evening at the plaza. Keeping to tradition in design, the area is very manicured, with pathways radiating from a central circular focus... this time a very large and beautiful fountain. Their are large palms illuminated with spotlights, trim hedges surrounding grassy bits, and a selection of trees. This pattern is repeated to greater and lesser effect in every town and city in Peru. People mingled in the evening air, which was cool, but not overly so. The trekkers poured out of the various minivans and combis at the end of their very long days.

Having just been informed that this internet cafe is closing (?), I think I´ll just end the 21st here, and move along to post for the 22nd.

:)

Saturday 20 February 2010

Chachapoyas and Levanto

Just a wee reminder that the spellcheck here is spanish... and therefor of little effect... so picky spellers beware!

Chachapoyas, also known as the city of the clouds. The chachapoyan people known as the people of the clouds. This area of Peru is part of the "eyebrow of the jungle", sits as the easternmost part of the Peruvian Andes, and is some of the most fertile land in the world. It sits in a unique microclimate, which keeps the area temperate and moist.

And green.. think irish moss on steroids. That incredible Andean green. Once covered with a dense rainforest, the mountains and valleys are now blanketed with a patchwork quilt of farm fields, interspersed with small areas of rainforest. Chachapoyas was first settled over a thousand years ago, but most ruins are from either the Chachapoyan culture, or the Incan empire that briefly conquered it.

The sleepy little town of Levanto was once a powerful central figure in those civilizations, and vast fortified mountaintop cities sat on mountaintops to the N.S.E. & W., Kuelep being the most recognized and excavated. This provided a clear line of sight for communication. There are ancient inca trails between Levanto & each of the cities, all still in use.

I thought I`d start my explorations out small with a visit to Levanto and a long walk back to the city. Lonely planet says "an easy 4 hour walk over ancient inca trails". That was the plan, but then a couple of girls from Lima joined the group and, well, the rest is history, so to speak.

The expanded tour now included a visit to Yalep, a stop in Levanto and that stroll back to town. Yaelep is one of the unexcavated hilltop cities, this one sitting above Levanto. I have photos. This was no hill. And that "easy 4 hour walk"? Ha. Five plus hours, most of which was downhill, even though Levanto sits only a little bit higher than Chacha. See there is this wee valley between the two...

So off we go, taking a collectivo up to the starting point for the walk up to the ruins. Once again I find myself breathing in oxygen thin Andean air. Stop and go, let the heart slow and breath return. Up we go through a recently ploughed farmers field and into the bush. Ignore the spiders scurrying across my boots. And the adventure begins...

We follow a threading pathway.

Just how generic is that? Let´s be specific. Pathway:
Through thigh high bright green grasses
Over elevated rickety fence
Over airborne jungle vegetation, nothing solid below.
Deep with twigs.
Through thorn ridden, vegetation tunnels
Along skinny ledges sided with deep drops
Pebbled with stone relics of ancient trail

Still ignoring the spiders scurrying past and over my feet.

We reach the first of 3 glimpses of the ruins and there they sit, unmoved for centuries. The overgrowth is substantial, and my first thought is that it must be murder to try and "uncover" these ruins, never mind find actually finding them in the first place.

There are interesting and mostly rounded rock walls, different from the huge, meticulously carved, squared and zig-zagged stone walls in Cusco. Kuelep is visible on the mountaintop across the river.

After a short break we head back down said pathway, and then followed the road into Levanto. Not a long walk, but pleasant. I was accompanied by our Guide´s son, Daniel, who kept me entertained. There were vistas, flowers, blackberries, cows, horses, dogs. We arrived at the main square, which was quite pretty, just as the sun came out full force and it got very hot, very quickly. There was a woman (slightly unbalanced by the way she was shouting out at nothing) tending gardens dedicated to flowers.

Sitting to the side was a lovely old couple, no doubt as they had many a time over the years. After a rather awkward request I was granted a photo. It speaks volumes.

A lovely church, closed, and an interesting hostal constructed in the round chachapoyan shape and covered by tall, thick, coned thatch roofing. Shame that was closed too, because I had to pee. Now this is not normally of great concern except when I asked to use a bathroom elsewhere I was shown into a plastic cloaked area with three small round holes in the cement flooring. One of the holes was slightly larger and had a 4 inch raised lip around it. Not being terribly sure about which hole to use, and in fact how to make sure my aim was true, I thanked the family profusely and made a hasty exit. So, no pee relief for me.

Now off to the Inca trail back to Chachas.

This trail was, like the path up to the ruins, a varied affair. The initial entrance was the neat, squared, precise stone used to great effect during last years trek. But then things got interesting. Suck your boots in muddy, grassy, rocky, even stoneways, heaved stoneways, slippery shale, deep sand, fossil filled rocks, all of which were pocked with huge piles of animal crap. Nasty stuff at that.
There was an attempt at water control in the small canals that disected the path from time to time, seemingly an ancient concept because it was worked in to the intact sections of the stone path.

Our little group is rather ragtag and my progress is varied, sometimes keeping up, othertimes going ahead, stopping for pictures, for breath. Unfortunately no real place to stop and pee.

Catching my attention were the farms. Such fertility. There is planting in almost every nook and cranny and pretty much up to the mountain tops, where nothing much can grow. Amazing. There is the odd forested area, must not be farmable or grazable, although to my view this seems not possible here.

Passed what I think was an ox tethered to what was obviously some kind of rudimentary plough. We are talking little house on the prairie here.

Now how to adequately relate height? Snap a picture showing the bottom of the mountain/ valley, take a turn and realize that is only one bottom, take another turn... you get the idea. Repeat for 5 hours.

Coming down we are almost always with a walled surface of some sort on at least one side. Definitely no consistency here though, with textures being grainy, shalelike, sandy, clay, flowing rock, squared rockfalls, sideways strata, each influencing the path it lines. Each change in texture was accompanied by a change in colour... rock of white, red, pink, black, yellow, gray. White sand. Pink sand. Red clay.

Many of these walled passageways were flora covered, and of particular note were the orchids... tiny and delicate. There were many types of ferns, one really neat one that pointed straight down like fingers.

I am mesmerized by the clouds and mists moving across the mountains and valleys. The rains finally reach us and we don our ponchos. To the wandering group of horses we encountered on the path we must have looked strange indeed. Probably why they ran off in such a fright...

So we had our rain, which was fun. Weather meter... Sun, very hot. Cloud. cool. Rain. cool. Mist. cool. Cloudy seems best for trekking.

Smells... in turns fresh, floral, fetid, horsey, shitty, old.

Sounds... Cows, horses, squish of feet in mud. Birds, frogs, insects. Daneil making little boy noises. The crackle of twigs underfoot. The rustle of grass. The ferocious buzz of the flys on the poo paddies on the trail. Yucky icky greenish ick.

At one point we entered one of the small forested areas, complete with stream bed and ancient watering hole. Idyllic, except trying to cross said stream / mud puddle.

Made an incredible bird sighting, hummingbird with long tailfeathers ending with little pompoms. Apparently very rare. No pictures unfortunately.

Cool thatched roof housing, both round and square. Adobe farmhouses. A variety of gates, usually guarding small snaking pathways heading up...

Yucca in full bloom, with a flowering stalk that must be at least 15 ft. high. Wide swaths of naturalized pampas grass. Also found: a praying mantis, a stuck hummingbird, and a cool fruit not on my current tropical fruit list. Lots of butterflies.

When we finally reached the end of the trail, I had gained an appreciation (rather inadequate, I imagine) of the hardships endured living the land here, and therein the short life expectancy for the natives. Walking up and down these paths to town with their goods? I freely admit I´d starve to death.

All in all an anticipated fabulous day... but a tiring one, so again with my repetitious refrain, a very quiet day called for tomorrow. Writing no doubt. Wish I had taken a notebook up with me, but then this missive would have been longer. :)

But first... a trip to the bathroom for the long awaited pee.


Adios


PS. chicken and butterflies are still hard to photograph.

Friday 19 February 2010

Way up there, again.

Ah yes, altitude sickness... The headache, dizziness and nausea. Yay. And I am not even in ¨high¨peru... only at 2500 meters.

I am in Chachapoyas now, finally having booted myself out of the hammock. Took 9 hours by shared taxi, waiting times not included. Once I simply gave in and paid for an extra fare to get going. All in all it was a 12 hour journey. My drivers included Kamakazy Carlos, Suicidal Sandro and others, all who lived up to their assigned names. Excessive Eddy was in full idiotic mode as he sat a man, woman and baby in the front passenger seat for his leg of the journey.

Evidence of the rainy season abounds... with frequent large portions of roadway washed away. A long, windy road complete with overhanging cliffs, and mostly going up up up.

Up into the clouds.

Still, next time I am buying a motorcycle and taking my life into my own hands.

After my first little round of recon this morning, Chachas (as it is known locally) looks a nice enough little town. Traffic doesn´t seem crazy. Checked out some of the hostals this morning to try and find a good fit. Still looking. In the meantime I am staying at a very nice hotel, which is unfortunately cold like a tomb thanks to it´s 3 ft. thick walls. It has a pretty courtyard and might be worth the extra money for the huge room if not for the cold, but it will do until tomorrow.

And I will see how I am feeling tonight before committing to a tour tomorrow.

On my hit list are Kuelep, Gocta Falls and Grand Vilayan.

We´ll see. I have given myself a little more than a week...

Off to rest and stop the spinning.

Later.

PS. forgot about the cold... woolies it is.

Wednesday 17 February 2010

Partying, elemental style

Still in Tarapoto. Still thinking about leaving for Chachapoyas. If only the opportunities for enjoyment would stop I might find it in me to actually go. Note to self: must buy hammock for home. And some latin music too. :)

Yesterday was a return drive to Lamas, and my back seat companion was a lovely, curious, very itchy little girl... mosquito bite city. She lives with her family deep in the jungle, is in town visiting with her parents, and came along for the ride. Taking the back way into town the road and driving conditions were perfect for making funny faces and doing exaggerated movements as we were flung back and forth, and side to side over the rough dirt roads. A real ice breaker. I picked up some more of the mindblowing chocolate and shared. I think that helped too.

We went through an extensive rice field area, and at one point we stopped so I could run over and grab a sample. How delighted my new little companion was, as she cradled it carefully in her lap for the rest of the journey home.

On this trip I also met a new friend, Millie, who talked about getting married and following the curves in the road of life to Norway in the summer. We fell into an ease of conversation (english, of course) that had a familiarity about it, and we continued today as I made my way to her home for an afternoon coffee.

No need to worry about losing weight on this trip. Between the bread for breakfast & dinner and the full 3 course vegetarian meal most lunches I believe I have actually packed on a few. Not enough trekking obviously.

The parrots have been cooperative, and I have been having great conversations with them. Not that they speak english or anything, but the interesting responses I get give the impression of understanding.

There are a trio of young canadian biologists staying at the Hostal right now. I can almost remember being that young and enthusiastic about a cause. They are looking at starting a little conservation area just outside Chachapoyas, and have been studying the flora and fauna for the past couple of months. Young. Tri-lingual. PHD's on the way. When I look at them I find hope that this globes problems might yet be solved by our children. We sure as hell don`t seem to be doing a bang-up job of it.

"Yesterday, when I was young"... one little tune I wish would find a home in someone elses head

I have been doused with water, and had my face dusted with flour, all in honour of festival... I wonder what the flour symbolizes?

And now I will subject you to some of the words that seemed compelled to come out of my mind and into my notebook about last evenings storm and festival celebrations...

First draft:


The faces of mischief, waterfights and water balloons. Swarms of youth gathering. Celebration is in the air. Dark grey clouds crowd in overhead, seeming eager to join the party readying to start.

The music comes with the dusk, on the wings of thick humid air. I welcome the bats out into the night, their strange winged flutter so delights me.

The rains join in; droplets, warm and heavy... one, two, hundreds, thousands, more.

The wind moves. Buffets. Warm, yet a cool refreshment after a heavy day.

The bats take refuge and I stand alone in the open garden, welcoming the dance of the storm. On the street, the crowd does the same. Arms raised to the sky in delight I am enchanted with the movement of the water... Soft. Determined. Relentless.

I am pushed from the deluge to observe from the relief of a banana palm, and find a symphony. With eyes closed to focus my hearing, I am serenaded by large droplets bouncing from the palm blades to the tune of the breeze, in contrast to the jumping chorus of heavy droplets dashed against the earth around my feet, and the whisper of smaller sprays bouncing off the leaves in neighboring trees.

Not to be outdone by water, the trees call out with their rustle. Curious, my eyes open to allow me to see the storm through their dance.

Rounded boughs, opening and closing as they strain to catch the breeze.

Straight fingered branches pointing and directing, doing the winds bidding.

Tall Ficus branches, nodded heads leaning in as if to share a secret.

Blue lightening arches the skies, bringing a wider focus. The shout of the storm on tin roofing, and overflow waterfalls reigning downwards onto the patterned concrete sidewalks. In the showers I wander the paths under the trees in the bird sanctuary, and I spare a thought to the parrots no doubt hunkered down against the elements. A storm mist accompanies me as I move under thatch roofing, which has a notable silence contrasting the elements whipping around it.

Faster now, wetter, the trees shouting their messages to me as I try to gain their meaning. Loudly the storm roars a directive and the wind pushes her encouragement as I move quickly from garden to street, where the bodies press tightly together in revelation.

Sheets of rain give their blessing to an overwhelming press of bodies rejoicing in the roadway. The heart stopping beat of the music commands the crowd, and Uva liquor makes its rounds up and down the street, elevating spirits and multiplying the intensity of the crowd.

Joy and exultation. Slick, wet bodies, sending water flying skyward as dancers gyrate. Arms raised in homage to the cleaving of elemental forces. Wind. Water. Sound. Spirit.

So much joy and energy... I am swept away into the one of the crowd. How can one not be?

Later, standing in the garden the sky rumbles more softly, as though clearing its throat after a long song, and the flashes in the night now seem more a backdrop spot, etching the horizon into a memory. The garden spirits are quieter now that the battle between earth, air and water has given way to the receipt of nourishment after a long, hot day.

How I do love a good storm, and this one has been outstanding. I am electrified, amplified, compelled to experience and record.

Above me she speaks again... she is not yet done with me.