Kuelep. The Return.

Like a comfortable pair of shoes, the routine here in Chacha is easy to slip back into.  Lunch with Jose and Donna, Dinner with Carlos and Janet, sitting around the Amazonas and enjoying the world going by.   The weather has finally turned, which means some sun every day… although the rain showers still plague me. 

Took a stroll back up the road to Levanto, prepared to battle the dogs again.   Luck was with me because when I got to the same stretch of land that produced the aggressive dogs last time, the farmer was close to the road and called the sweet things off before they could go all pack on me.  Thus spared the trauma of another dog attack I continued up the road enjoying the scenery.

What I was not spared was the sight of an adorable (and I think abandoned) puppy by the side of the road… oh, so tentatively wagging its’ tail and bobbing it’s head as if to say “I’m scared, take me home please”. 

Heart strings tugged, I made sure to check on the little guy on the way back down the road.  This time he was sound asleep, and tears in my eyes I kept on going.  I had no idea how I would find the wee one a home, even should I have taken him.   Back at the hostal I asked all around if someone might be willing to take the pup home, with no ready takers. 

About 8:00 pm I had had enough.  I just couldn’t stand the thought that the little guy would be afraid and cold all night.  Flashlight in hand to try and see the night darkened roadside up I went in search of said orphan.  Looked for two hours to no avail.  The guilt I felt all the way back to the hostal was painful, and I felt I had somehow failed a test.  I went back twice more the next day, but can only hope that his incredible cuteness softened someone else’s heart and he now has a good home.

So what have I been doing since?  Not much, although I did join in on a tour of Kuelep and finally made it to the second platform of Gocta falls.  Both these were done in the company of the warm hearted Brazilian couple that had helped out on the bus ride from Trujillo to Cajamarca.  After running in to Leandro and Luana meandering up the road beside the hostal we spent time together for the next few days until their departure back to the coast to find some sun. 

I so enjoy it when travel connections happen and create a better whole.

The most remarkable thing about revisiting the ruins at Kuelep was listening to the differing explanations about the cultural class setup, and meanings behind the various buildings etc.  Our fluently English speaking guide was earnest and specific, but I was left with many questions because of the discrepancy.  The truth of the matter is that the conclusions drawn are all hypotheses, and it is anyones guess what the truth is.  A few of us had some fun making up our own explanations… and yes, we got quite silly. 

The road up to the ruins was certainly in better condition than a few years back.  Much grading and widening had occurred, and we had a fabulous driver (Magno) who never once had us shaking in our boots.  But because of the heavy rains the night before the trip took much longer than normal, which had us forgoing a stop or two in favour of a rolling explanation.   The river was running incredibly high, with sections of road flooded.  There were also a couple of landslide areas which tried to block our way, but the road repair crew was out full strength and we managed to make it.  We made a quick stop in one of the small towns enroute to place our lunch orders, and veggie options were available.

New this year was information about a discovery of an area of temples and tombs found in a cliff area just below the main Kuelep ruins.  Unfortunately it was not possible for us to get down and view them.   

The path up to the ruins was in much better shape than last time, all stone walkways and stairs… finally it seems the governments are sending some money this way to increase the tourism sector.   It looked for a few minutes like the clouds were going to overtake us and limit our view, but as happens often here in the “valley of the clouds” they just whiffed on by.  

Bromeliad filled trees were everywhere, and here and there were long dangly orchids just preparing to bloom.  Again I was filled with the sense of history waiting to be discovered, as much of the area awaits clearing and ruins are hidden from clear viewing by vegetation.  There was an entire section opened to the public that I had not been able to see previously… can’t remember the reason.  Very impressive stonework and community organization.  Several times I took the opportunity to peek over the edge of the ruins to the cliffs below.  Definitely defendable.   Shudder worthy.  

There were areas dotted throughout the fortress where human bones were visible through small gaps between the stones, an oddly cylindrically shaped building unlike any other on site, a compass stone that was incredibly accurate when tested against a modern day version, and what we were told were guinea pig storage areas.  Again, subject to interpretation.  

At one point it was suggested as a joke that they must have been cannibals, with all the pits containing human bones.  Really, who knows?   Just as much merit as the three family theory, the incan conquest stories, honorary burial site theory, and pick a theory about why there were so many bones found scattered on the surface of one area of the ruins. 

Did miss the huge flock of parrots I saw last time… there were only a scattered few chasing around the treetops. 

On the way down from the ruins we stopped for lunch and, thankfully, a bathroom break.  There was a cute black dog that kept coming around, politely asking for leftovers.  Of course he got some from me… I snuck a guinea pit head off the plate next to me and “dropped” it.

There is a plan to put a cable car up to the ruins from New Tingo, just up from the main road, and after a total of almost seven hours sitting on my ass in a minibus to go around and up the valley this plan has my vote.  I’m just saying.

Made it. Prayers of thanks sent.

I searched for options to avoid the bus trip from Cajamarca to Chachapoyas.  The best alternative was a 7 hour bus ride back to the coast, a 10 hour wait at the bus terminal and then the 10 hour bus ride to Chachapoyas from Chiclayo. 

Movil Tours has been running buses on the “road to hell” twice daily for some time now, and ploughing the route years before that on a less frequent basis.  Seeing as they have not lost a bus yet I figured the odds were in my favour and I bought my tickekt two days in advance and then sent myself off to enjoy the last two days of my life (ok, an over dramatization) in the beautiful Cajamarca valley.  Lots of cattle in the area, and it’s cheeses are considered some of the best in the country, so I picked some up as gifts for Janet and Donna, and enjoyed a few excellent meals.

With very little sleep under my belt (yep, I admit to being scared) I headed to the depot for a 6 am. departure…   After taking an Imodium.  Because of course on the day I am to take a 13 hour bus ride I have the runs.  Hmmm.

The first three hours of the ride took us through pretty valleys and wound gently to the town of Celendin.  Being curious I had Googled the town for information and it left me with the impression that it was a wee, two horse town kind of place, so I was surprised when we came over a hill and saw a relatively large hamlet nestled below.  Celendin possesses the reputation for excellent woven grass hats and chocolate made for heavenly cups of hot chocolate.  Unfortunately for me the bus stopped for only half an hour and there were no stores in sight. 

Google had also informed me that the road to Celendin from Cajamarca was easy, and it was… no real scares to be had.  However the next 130km will take us through a pass at 3000 mtrs, down to cross the Utcabuma  river at Balsas (980mtrs), back up on the most dangerous part of the road to cross a pass (3690 mtrs) to reach Leymebamba (2000 mtrs).

Thus armed I was not particularly taken aback when the road from Celendin became a single lane ribbon as it climbed upward.  Think cross between logging road and goat track.  Here and there the road widened just enough to allow a vehicle to pass if needed.  Zigs and zags.  Up and into the clouds and over the pass we thus went, experiencing the first “no shoulder” fun, typically passing high altitude farms manned (and womanned) in the fields wearing native dress.  Very pretty. 

Again I send up thanks that my life does not require the hard physical labour witnessed, and that I am fortunate enough to have enough left over to save for my travels.

Back to the road.  There are blogs and travel advisories galore about this road, and as we proceeded down every one of them was circulating in my brain.  The road narrowed, steepened, switchbacked and the river was very, very, very far away down there…  The decent from pass to Balsas is 2500mtrs, about 150% deeper than descending to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  Yup… way down.  The actual condition of the road this side of Balsas was dry and in good repair, albeit narrow, and the areas set aside for passing looked sufficiently wide and stable enough.  Still though, it was a relief that few vehicles came along.  

Now the bus driver may have done this route over and over, but still he could have slowed down… you know?  I have taken enough busses and taxis to be familiar with the Peruvian driving style (take no prisoners), but why on such a narrow, high road with cliff like drops?  Does he want all of his passengers to pee themselves in fright?  Hmmm.

Down at the bottom of the canyon sits Balsas.  Blink and you will probably miss it.  I almost did.  The climate here is unique, catching and holding the heat of the full tropical sun.  Hot and dry, it is very green and tropical… lush with banana palms, avocado, orange and other fruit trees.  Well tended and fertile, the valley is pretty but small… just a blip on the ride.  We crossed the river here and I noted that it was running high and strong from the frequent rains.

Heading on up the eastern slope was almost immediately different.  Leaving behind the dry scrub of the decent we are headed into the Sierra Tropics.  And certainly the higher we got the more tropical the feel.  Humid.  Wet.  Slippery.  Scary. 

This ascent to the pass, and on to Leymebamba, is considered the dangerous part of the drive.  I fully concur.  Yes we made it (obviously) but it was in no way certain.  The road seemed even more impossibly narrow, and the drops down the sides would ensure no survivors.  I tried to look at the spectacular vista and not consider the precariousness of our position.  It rained.  There were wash outs.  Recently cleared mudslides.  Rocks on the road. 

And traffic coming the other way. 

You have no idea what scared is until a bus backs up on a slick high mountain road and moves to the SIDE, making way for a truck (and car).  

We made it to Black Mud Pass (aptly named I might add), and by this time we had left the jungle vegetation and were back into an area of high pampa grass, with not much else growing at this altitude.   There were clouds though, and you can add that to the list of road dangers… you know, reduced visibility and all.

The road improved only marginally as we began to descend through high, tight mountain valleys on the road to Leymebamba.   These are the mountains from which births the Utcubamba river.   The town itself is small, and although I have heard people say they like it, many of us didn’t.  There are ruins, a good stretch of old Inca road and a nice enough museum, but other than the hummingbird café I did not enjoy my visit last year and had no intention of getting off the bus when it stopped in the tiny main plaza. 

Having made it safely through the “road from hell” you would think the balance of the trip would not really bother me.  It did.  The next two and a half hour stretch had us bouncing over the severely rutted and weather worn road, and after almost 11 hours in the bus I thought I would go crazy.  Didn’t help that I had to pee.  Leymebamba was a micro  stop, so holding it in was mandatory.  I think my eyeballs were floating by the time we hit the small town of Tingo, and when the bus stopped to drop people off I made a beeline to the bus driver and more or less begged for a time out.  Closest toilet was at the police station, clean, toilet paper provided and all. 

I don’t think I would have made it all the way to Chachapoyas…

Altitude 2400 meters above sea level, which made it up, down, up, down, up.  My body didn’t know just what to do this that. 

A cab back to my home away from home, the Hostal Amazonas… hello, hello, kisses, key and off for pizza.  A short walk to stretch out my legs and then the bliss of a comfy bed and warm blankets.

What a trip.  Never to be repeated.

The Trujillo to Cajamarca climb

So I have a few trips to catch you up on… Let’s start on the journey from Trujillo to the northern Peruvian city of Cajamarca.

Preparing to check out at the Hostal Colonial, my home sweet home in Trujillo, I reflect on my experience as a guest…  On the plus side the staff was friendly and there was always an English speaking staff member on duty during the day and evenings.  The premises are peppered with lovely sitting patios and courtyards, and the room nicely decorated (well, after I made a change the first day).  Check in and out was efficient and friendly, and the on site tour agency took care of my requests and bookings in a timely manner. 

However the sheets did not actually fit the bed, they were flat single sheets used as both bottom and top sheet on a double bed, which basically meant that every time I slept in the bed the sheets jumbled and I ended up sleeping directly on their public mattress. (didn’t take me long to buy a set of sheets to use)  I received no services in room at all, their sheets weren’t changed once during my week long stay, and not once during my stay was my bathroom wastebasket emptied (ew).  Not a big deal right?  Except in Peru toilet paper is not flushed down the toilet but rather put in said wastebaskets.  (double ew).  There was an open bathroom window that could not be closed, and at least once provided rooftop workers and/or peeping toms with a lovely view of me passing time on the toilet.  My room was flooded after a heavy rain, although it was quickly dealt with when I asked for help. 

It gets a so-so rating this time.

My destination, Cajamarca, is a city that I had not yet visited but have been intrigued by for some time.  I had heard that the journey was beautiful and I looked forward to a daytime bus ride from the coast eastward headed into the mountains.

We departed on time mid morning after sorting out a reservation hiccup.  When booking the bus I deliberately chose a seat mid bus on the upper level for the best view, however unbeknownst to me there was a change of vehicle and I found myself seated in the front row of a single level bus, which had no side window and no view facing forward.  After expressing my dismay (read I wasn’t going to accept the assigned seat), and with the translation help of a young multilingual Brazilian couple, I was moved to a seat with a view… albeit next to the bathroom in the back row.  No biggie, few people attempt to use the facilities while the bus winds around, up and down. 

The first hour of the ride had us headed north again along the two lane Pan American highway.  It was a gloriously sunny morning (of course, it being a travel day and all) and the view was clear for as far as my eyes could focus.   As we left the city behind the coastal desert became the predominant view, lined on the west by the Pacific Oceans’ surf and the ancient blanched looking mountains to the east. 

The cream coloured sands formed green covered mounds and saharaesque sand dunes, some of which rest high up on the south sides of the mountains, blown north by the prevailing winds.  It was easy to envision fabulous archaeological sites under the mounds, spurred on by the knowledge that such finds had been made in these dunes in the past. 

Occasionally there were areas along the highway being claimed by people in the process of building houses.  They had a desolate look to them, sitting partially finished in the middle of nowhere, unused piles of bricks guarded by dust blown individuals with plastic or metal shacks to meanwhile call home. 

There was occasional passage through small towns, and many of the homes were made beautiful by bright colourful flowers such as Cana and Calla Lilies, Roses and many sprawling Bougainvilleas of all sizes in full bloom.  Sigh.  Sure wish my home climate supported such glory.  We passed police manned road blocks and rolled  gently over speed bumps set up on the highway to slow traffic as it passes the towns dotting the route.    

In areas of water availability, (thanks either to rivers or aqueducts) the desert gives way to fertile agricultural land.  Swaths of Sugarcane, potatoes and corn in various stages of growth, fields prepared for planting.  And rice. In the desert.  Still surprises me.  Just goes to show how much rain comes down off the mountains… and of course the rain control culverts and river washes are clues too.  

Along the route I catch glimpses of animal life, such as trees full of egrets and the usual roadside culprits like donkeys, cows, horses, sheep, pigs and chicken.

Slowing down through one small town I see what look like oversized ancient adobe bricks, complete with family signatures.  Methinks there have been trips made to archaeological sites. 

I didn’t actually feel our departure east from the main highway, just noticed that the bus had turned into the mountains.  Snaking alongside a river, all available land between rock formations and mountains was used for agriculture.  And the abundance… fruit trees, more corn and other crops.  But the real enchantment was seeing how people had planted their rice fields… from flat desert plain to graduated rising terrain.  The fields were shaped and divided, with the irrigation channels using gravity to flow the water from field to field.  The soggy rows in the fields were straight, winding and in some cases squiggly in layout.  

Our winding path took us into a narrowing valley and headed up into the mountains.  Moving my gaze towards the peaks ahead there were rain clouds gathering.  On the sides of the lush valley snaking upward the mountain grade grew steeper, and consisted of a dry, cactus and scrub filled, rock strewn sierra desert.  Evidence of rain erosion could be seen in the plentiful vertical run off grooves running down the mountainside. 

We passed a large open pit type mine to the left, the hillside laid bare high and deep. A modern scar on an ancient landscape.  On the left was a large dam holding what looked like a tailings lake, it being a light turquoise colour not common to the region.  Thinking about the damage being done all through the country by huge mining and multinational corporations I wonder just how much cleaning and quality control is observed before it is released downstream into the agricultural lands waiting downstream. 

A little past the lake the bus pulled over at a rest stop for a lunch break.  There was a woman cutting open and selling fruit picked from trees nearby, a selection of chips and snacks, and a restaurant.  The bathrooms were more or less dirty buckets and the odour emanating from them wafted over the scene.  There were the usual stray dogs wandering around hoping for crumbs, and one of them had the biggest tick on his back I have ever seen.  A very dry sweet bun later I was more than ready to reboard the bus and head up into the clouds.   As we left I felt thankful that I was not the woman standing there peeling fruit, day, after day, after day….

Five hours of upwards switchbacks and we finally hit the summit at 3050 meters (or just over 10,000 feet).  As we headed into the clouds shrouding the higher sections of the road, conditions themselves deteriorated… potholes and washouts were frequent, visibility worsened, and in what was a pre-taste of roads to come the shoulders were narrow and soft, and the drop offs steep and scary. 

Farms lined the road and formed a patchwork up the sides of the mountains within view.  Corn became the dominant crop the higher we climbed. 

Thinking that after such a long upward journey there would be a long downward journey, I was surprised when the city more or less materialized within minutes of passing the summit in a sea of red brick roofs spread across a gently curving high altitude valley.  So ended our seven-ish hour bus ride.   An easy cab ride to the hostal and I was ready for some sleep.  

Another Peruvian travel day.

Snippets

So here are a few random experiences and observations that didn’t make it from my notes into the body of my blog in a timely manner:

-- On the bus ride back from Chiclayo (museum day) we had on board entertainment in the form of a travelling magician.  In what I suspect was an unauthorized stop the doors opened and in came a rather tall man carrying a boxy suitcase.  He proceeded to put on a rather entertaining routine involving all manor of disappearing and reappearing items… glasses of water, a dove, a bunny, some money procured from a hapless passenger.  After his show he told us about his family and asked for “donations”.  Suitably compensated, he hopped off the bus as it “conveniently” stopped at the side of the road.  I wonder if the bus driver got a cut?  No matter really, it passed a bit of time on the seemingly endless ride.

--  In a bid to protect the various archaeological sites, they are actually often covered back up in various ways.  The Chimu complex of Chan Chan has many of it’s adobe wall reliefs covered in thin identical panels.  They are opened intermittently and the humidity and temperature of the original ruins is checked, then they are sealed up again ready for public display.  In the Huaca del Sol y de la Luna, the intricate and coloured friezes are not only protected by a UV blocking glass enclosure but are also partially reburied to stop the erosion and destruction caused by their exposure to the elements.  

--  Chan Chan is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, composed of a nine large complexes, yet there is a swath that was ploughed under in order to build a road to the Airport, and the periphery is being encroached and destroyed for farmland.  This type of conflict between ruins and “progress” is a problem in many areas in Peru (if not worldwide)…

--  The Moche culture practiced ritual human sacrifice.  These were almost exclusively warriors / gladiators, who were compelled to fight, with the winner earning the honour of death in order for their blood to be used by the high Priest in a ritual to ask for the kindness of the Mountain God.  The fall of this culture occurred when the people lost belief in this Mountain Diety when it did not protect them or their crops from the rains, drought and floods that are now recognised scientifically as the El Nino / La Nina weather phenomenon.  The people adopted the Sun and Moon as Gods, which became the Chimu culture.  Interestingly this occurred at a climate change time identified historically about 1100 AD.  Fascinating no?

--  A problem that seems to be common among all the cities I have visited is the lack of maintenance of sidewalks.  Pitted, crumbling, dangerous areas abound… and I find myself often watching my feet instead of taking in the sights around me.  I have tripped and fallen three times in the past few weeks, but luckily have suffered only torn jeans and colourful bruises.  Sigh.

--  I am intrigued by the use of ground penetrating radar to find tombs outside Chiclayo.  What a great way to treasure hunt (for culture, not necessarily for riches), and it leads me to wonder if there are other areas where it has been used to identify future digs.  Inquiring minds and all that.  This information would no doubt be kept top secret so as to protect such sights from the grave robbers waiting in the wings. 

-- The area off the Northern Peruvian coast has world class surfing opportunities (or so I am told), including the longest breaking waves in the world.  This is interesting, however the waters are cold thanks to something called the Humboldt Current, which has water moving north from the waters off Chile, so I feel freezing just watching the young, wet suit clad units paddling out to practice and enjoy their sport.  BRRRRR.

--  I still love Peruvian Hairless dogs.  They are so ugly that they are actually beautiful.  Black skinned, they have wisps or hair on their heads and at the end of their tails.  Peru has actually given them a protected status, and there is pictorial evidence on excavated pottery etc. that they have been present throughout the many cultures of Peruvian history.  Way cool.

--   In addition the many images painted on to pottery vases and vessels (fruit, corn, frog, monkey, waves, fish, pelicans, vultures, jaguar, snake, lizard, dogs, fox, and goats, to name a few) there are pieces made into intricate replicas of all manner of fruit and vegetables common to the cultures, including of course their warrior and other Gods.  The Moche culture has established a reputation for the intricate, graphic and ecstatic, sexual representations in many of their sculptures.  In addition to oversized erect penises, (illustrated in what today would be x-rated and/or pornographic) are sexual acts of the oral, anal, homosexual and heterosexual kinds.  Blush worthy.

--  There are both permanent and random road checkpoints throughout Peru.  Evidence of the governments attempt to keep a lid on any possible smuggling, political unrest, and in certain areas of the country to fight the scattered remnants of the guerrilla factions that so terrified the country in the 80’s.  It is mandatory that official ID be carried at all times, although I have only been asked to show it at a couple of checkpoints so far.  All of the bus trips I have taken were interrupted at least once to pass through such checkpoints.  

I still am about 4 travel adventure experiences behind in the telling.  So at the moment there is no real time reporting.  Will do my best to catch up in the next day or so.  Trekking dependent of course.  

Happy museum day...

Sitting contentedly in my little town of Chachapoyas I contemplate the last week, and while I enjoyed my little sojourn it is not likely to be repeated.  I sincerely hope my travels to big cities are now few and far between. 

Guess I really am a small town girl now. 

So where was I in my travel recollections?  I believe it was on the coast yet…

There are three fabulous museums in the Chiclayo region, which lies about 3.5 hours north of Trujillo on the coast.  There are two that are each dedicated to spectacular tombs found in the area, The Lord of Sican and The Lord of Sipan, and the Bruning Museum which has a chronological display of ceramics dating back more than 5000 years. 

Getting to Chiclayo involved a rendezvous with our English speaking gude and a 6:00 am pickup for the express sleeper-bus trip along the Pan American Highway.  The early pickup and plush reclining seats ensured I slept most of the journey.  Upon arrival I was unsurprised to find out that the intra-museum transport was wonky.  As is usual here (no doubt as a cost cutting measure) there were 4 different tour groups amalgamated on to one bus, and each had a differing itinerary. 

After much arguing about who should go where first the English speaking tour (that’s me) basically got dumped at the side of the road to wait as other arrangements could be made.  Whatever.  When our alternate transport arrived we headed out to see the Lord of Sican museum located a good distance away in a small town named Ferrenafy.  Rather than give you my convoluted description of the culture and artefacts of this Pre-Incan Sican culture, I offer this link which does a more than adequate job…  http://www.inkanatura.com/coastchiclayotrujillo_sican_national_museum.asp

 

Our driver decided to take a shortcut back to town (P.l.e.a.s.e… no more Peruvian “shortcuts”) and along a rutted dirt “road” we gyrated, following a culvert through sugarcane fields.  I did see several adorable wee owls sitting atop the mounds of decaying foilage lining our route, which is one lonely strike on the plus side of this back jarring experience. 

Lunch was an avocado salad, accompanied by a scrumptious carob liquor welcome drink at a restaurant.

Next up was The Lord of Sipan museum, and the huge display of wealth and culture unearthed when archaeologists stumbled upon this tomb.  Incredible.  And not just the items on display (and there were hundreds) but the information on the processes used for the retrieval and restoration were outlined fabulously too.  Again, more complete (and no doubt more accurate) information is found by heading to this sight:  http://www.inkanatura.com/coastchiclayotrujillosipanhuaca.asp

Last up was the Bruning Museum, which as I said earlier houses a collection of pre-colonial artifacts, largely from the Private Collection of Hans Heinrich Brüning Brookstedt, a Peruvian archeologist of German descent.  While this is the oldest of the three museums I saw, its’ collection was impressive.  There are 6 pages of info here:  http://goperu.about.com/od/sightsandattractions/ss/The-Bruning-Museum-In-Lambayeque-Peru.htm

Had to take my shoes off halfway through though because I simply could not keep walking… by this time my feet were on fire.  Thankfully the floors were ceramic which felt heavenly.  Kept me from having to crawl out.  Seriously.

Back to the bus station for a two hour wait for our very non express bus back to Trujillo.  We stopped at so many little towns that I lost count. 

Dinner was peanut butter sandwiches, packed the previous night. 

The ride from the bus station back to the hostal was made in a seriously urinated upon van, driven by what I suspect was a driver that was one too many into his cups. 

Didn’t take me too long to find my ZZZZ’s after returning to the hostal.  Another day of discovery down.  Many to go.  I’ll tell you about them later.  It’s past my bedtime.

J

In search of warmth

I got warm today… seriously warm.  Cajamarca has perhaps the best hot springs I have ever had the pleasure to visit.  Very popular with the locals, I paid the grand sum of $5.00 and got a private pool with piped in water, and a pleasure swim in the public pool.  After weeks of showers I can’t begin to explain just how heavenly my afternoon was.

As for the balance of my time here in this Northern Peruvian city, other than a city tour I have been rather lazy.  The sun shines warmly in the mornings, and then the afternoon has brought rains and thunderstorms.  Rain rain go away.  Seriously.  There exists here the continual onslaught of honking and car exhaust found in most Peruvian cities, and as I am near the main square the traffic seems never ending and street crossings are death defying.  You know, normal.

The city itself is smallish, about 200,000 in population.  It has the feel of Cusco about it, with low adobe brick roofs huddled together in this high altitude valley.  We sit at about 9000 feet above sea level (as usual I have the headache to prove it), with the climate being similar to Chachapoyas. 

It is also a fairly well to do city thanks to the mining going on a couple of hours north of here.  Not that everyone is happy about the mine… this is the area of Peru that has seen some very well publicised protests, especially with regards to a massive new mining project planned nearby.  With this issue far from settled (the president of Peru had to step down because of a perceived conflict of interest) it seems that the protests and groundswell against such international mining conglomerates has spread to areas across the country.    

Before I tell you about my splendid trip up into the highlands I should catch you up on what’s been going on since my arrival on the Coast last week. 

As I mentioned previously my first day in Trujillo was a write off.  Seriously dizzy and disoriented.  Exhausted.  So about 24 hours after I arrived I finally managed to leave my room and go look for food and water.  And I changed rooms because the one they gave me upon arrival was dark and basically ugly.  

Day 2 was better, and between naps I scoped out the lay of the city and made my plans for the week.  Return of the ruins, part 1 more or less.

The coastal regions of Peru are hot and dry, with large swaths of desert and sand dunes.  Trujillo is on the northern coast and I had chosen to return here because I knew this was a place I could finally get warm.  And warm it was… hot, humid and Cloudy?  This area of Peru sees a miniscule average annual rainfall, but for me it rained every day.  Go figure.  One day it rained so hard I had a mini lake in my room.  The city (and hotel apparently) infrastructure is just not designed to handle these amounts of rain.

As a city it is a busy bustling business centre.  People in suits, celphones and briefcases in hand.  It is also loud, polluted and filled with kamikaze, honking obsessed drivers.  Still don’t know why they bother to paint lanes on the roads,  and just how anyone survives the traffic circles here is still a mystery to me.

There were few corner stores to nip into to buy water etc., but there was one smallish supermarket on the main Pizzaro street pedestrian walkway just around the corner from the hostal.  Vegetarian food?  Wait while I try and control my mirth.  Eggs, eggs, eggs.

Last time I was here their beautiful main square featured entertainment in the main square in the evenings, but there was none to be found this year.  Slight disappointment, but no biggie.

I was delighted to find the English speaking guide from my last trip, Marisa, who is a delight and made my various expeditions informative and enjoyable.  First up was a walking city tour, which introduced me to some interesting background to the city.  It was in Trujillo that the Spanish first arrived in Peru.  It was from here that they eventually conquered, and then settled the Incan territories to the north, south and inland.  This city reflects that colonial splendour, with lovely, lively painted adobe homes adorned with white iron window and door grates fashioned after fine Spanish lace.

 These original homes were long and feature several open courtyards, some of which are open for tourists.  We passed a beauty, which Marisa explained is now a Private Club… and apparently if you don’t have the correct pedigree it won’t matter how much money you have, you won’t be welcomed.  Hmmm.

We also viewed the cities original water filtering area ruins, now protected by a glass enclosure and surrounded by a pretty plaza.  The original city was protected by a high wall, and there are still 2 sections remaining… lone sentries to a time long past.

Nowadays, the streets surrounding the historical colonial centre are a maze of markets featuring all manor of things, but shoes are everywhere… this being apparently a huge local industry.  The large local malls are located further outside the town centre. 

I toured Mochi and Chimu ruins and found it extraordinary the amount of work that has been done in the last 4 years.  Inch by inch history is being uncovered.  At his point there are over 400 years worth of archaeological sights to explore, and with more discoveries being made regularly that list just gets longer.  

When people think of Peru they think of Inca, yet they occupy only a fraction of the cultural history of this country.  With the first ruins and remains dating back 12,000 years there more than a dozen documented pre Incan cultures.  It has been fascinating viewing the sights and artefacts throughout my travels. 

More details of which I will regale you with next time.  I have only so much wind at a time…

Bring on the heat... please?

A slight bit of backtracking…

The Monday of my travel was my last day with the kids.  Their new teacher came and observed the kids and my lesson, to facilitate her entry into their learning cycle.  Knowing that this was going to occur I had written out notes on the topics covered so far, suggestions for each child, the games and songs the kids had become used to.  First observation she made was that I spelled colour with a u.  “But that’s British spelling… wait, you guys are under the crown correct?  You still have a Queen.”  Brilliant. 

Any way I am sure she and the kids will get along famously. 

I left a bag of excess stuff at the hostal which I will pick up as I pass through on the return journey.  Let Carlos know of my decision to forgo the three day mountain trek, as I truly have had enough of being cold for the time being. 

Back to my wonderful bus experience…

When the music suddenly stopped I sighed in relief, and the first of several movies started playing.  Again no volume opt out.  Movie one was a very strange oriental flick involving a poor young student, bullying and some kind of tiny extraterrestrial fuzzy unit.  Very strange.  Next movie was Taken (with Liam Neeson), which I have had the pleasure of viewing in Spanish on every bus trip taken here for the past 4 years.  Good movie, just viewed at least once too much. 

Long distance trips often involve on board service and meals… this time it was beef & rice.  Not so helpful for me.  Never mind I had bread, yogurt and oreo cookies. 

So we made a pit stop in Pedro Ruiz, everyones (seemingly) mandatory transit stop town.  We picked up a few passengers and headed on our way.  Heading out of town we headed down… and down, and down.  Slowly and carefully, never breaking 60 km/hr but mostly the onboard speedometer hovered between 20 – 30 km/hr. 

The government established mandatory maximums for passenger busses after some pretty horrific accidents (many fatalities), and drivers are required to let passengers know at the beginning of the trip what the maximum is, and to encourage passengers to report drivers that exceed them.  There are digital speedometers placed within eyesight.. and the figures change from white to red if the maximums are exceeded.  No worry on this trip.  Only once did I see the red, and only for a moment on a flat section well out of the mountains. 

Hard to describe just how bad the road must have been as we passed between small settlements as the rain began, but the slow speed and many bumpy sections of previous wash outs were a hint. 

Then, after winding back up for quite a while the behemoth of a bus slowed to a crawl.  Followed by a full stop.  Peering out at the view afforded by the circle of light made by the headlights, it looked like we had hit a mudslide area.  Deep furrows of tire tracks in the mud and rocks on the road.  Back up and try again.  Nope. 

And this is the good road?  Just what must the bad road look like after months of rain? 

Smaller vehicles seem to be able to slide their way through this section, but larger and heavier ones were stuck.  Almost an hour later larger vehicles started to pass headed the other way.  Seems only one side of the road was passable, which creates a problem when there is a backload of such vehicles in each direction.  Somebody must have finally taken control of the situation, and we eventually made our way through. 

More twists and turns, and from what I can see through the darkness this road is plenty dangerous enough for me.  The mountain silhouettes look formidable and the canyons and crevices deep and frightening.  There were many sections of road that had softened and warning tape and signs were plentiful in areas where shoulders had simply fallen away. 

Despite this, and probably thanks to the combination of Gravol and sleeping pill, I actually managed  to fall asleep headed out of the mountain and awoke on the flat coastal plane just outside of the city of Chiclayo.  Our bus made a stop here to drop passengers off and we quickly departed on the final stretch toward Trujillo, end of the line for this lovely 15 hour interlude. 

Wait… did I mention that it is actually easier to use the on board toilet on flat stretches of highway?  Well it is, just remember to bring your own toilet paper… there are no guarantees as I found out. 

The road between Chiclayo and Trujillo is the Pan American Highway, running more or less north/south and skirting the coastline.  Glimpses were had of the ocean.  Through the rain.  Yep.  Rain.  In the dessert.  You know, where I was to find sun.  Thankfully the equatorial heat was evident as the sun rose. 

After 6 tries I found a cab to take me from the bus depot to the Hostal, bed was waiting, and the rest of my day was spent pretty much comatose.  Not enough sleep.  Nerve wracking ride.  And the much welcomed heat I had travelled to far to find. 

Princess

Do you remember the story of the Princess and the Pea? 

Well call me Princess then, because I could not get comfortable during my bus ride from Chachapoyas to Trujillo.  I wouldn’t really call it the bus ride from hell, (because we didn’t crash etc.) but it won’t be going into my “great experiences” file either. 

The bus was one of the long distance comfort busses, with cushy, deeply reclining seats and sleeper footrests.  Having done long distance bussing on such a wonder before I expected to be sleeping and/or merely bored for the 13 hour overnight journey. There was good baggage drop off service, and seats available in the waiting room.  I relinquished my initial perch when a lovely elderly village woman (typically dressed, including high topped handwoven grass hat) was led over to join the woman next to me… it was apparent that the seat was deservedly hers.

The waiting room filled with people of all sorts, and at one point there was a tiny elderly woman carried in and placed carefully on a quickly vacated seat.  My guess is she was a stroke victim, just sitting slumped and quiet as she was adjusted into an upright sitting position.  She looked strikingly like my mother sitting there, and visions of Mom filled my head as another wave of grief settled over me.  Blinking away the tears I watched her being gently attended to and thought of the many times I watched my sister do the same.

When boarding was called shortly thereafter I settled in and got set for the ride… my backpack under the seat and snacks & water in a bag by my feet.  There was even a handy beverage holder for my first bottle of water to sit at the ready.  I had plenty of personal space, as I had chosen a single seat which meant no sharing arm rests or having to crawl over someone to get to the isle (or vice versa).  We departed more or less on time, and I tracked our progress down the narrow and familiar streets in town. 

And this is where the princess thing comes in.  I could not get comfortable.  The strap of my money belt was restrictive, the buckle of the seat belt intruded, my clothes were pulling in the wrong directions and my travel pants rode up.  I couldn’t get my neck comfortable, so I meticulously unrolled the collars to stand up position and tugged the various layers upward to give my back some give.  The hood on my raincoat produced a fine ridge between my shoulder blades. My ponytail was in the way. I was too hot.  One layer discarded.  Stood up and pulled at the legs of my pants to try and get comfortable.  Once again smoothed the lay of my shirt and two fuzzies, then leaned forward to unroll the bottom of my pants to full length because they were under full scale attack by the mosquitoes that had boarded with us. 

By this time we had finished the winding road down into the valley and were on to the winding road in the valley along the river.  Relevance?   Nausea.  First of several Gravol on board, accompanied by a few bites of corn bread.   All the while loudly serenaded by the sounds of locally inspired, latin beat dance music.  From my individual, but unadjustable overhead speaker.   No opt out button either. 

So I found myself trying to relax and ignore the audio intrusion.  Then the lights were turned off and my eyes were assaulted by the large LCD screen, a painful glaring white as it listed the info and stats of the music still playing overhead. 

Are we there yet?

I am so packing earplugs and a sleep mask on my next journey. 

Enough reminiscing for the moment.  I will regale you with details of the balance of my fine excursion in another post.

sunshine and travel plans...

The sun shone a couple of afternoons ago… so I set me feet to the concrete and started a’wandering.  My visual perusal took me up past the hospital and into the neighbourhoods on the hillside.  New roads, same mud.  The streets are lined with older homes, some falling down, and interspersed were rebuilds.  Many of the rebuilds were three story homes, and I wonder at that.  This is an active earthquake zone and all homes are made of concrete… brings to mind the visions we see on tv of collapsed concrete rubble and death. 

My my, haven’t my thoughts taken a lovely positive note.

Yesterday when the sun also made an appearance in the afternoon, and I again went out for a wander to stretch the old legs again.  All this sitting and siesta’ing the cold rainy days away has left me… well, in couch potatoe condition. 

I have coffee’d and dined, chitted and chatted, KOBO’d and Skyped till my eyes have crossed.  Definitely time for a change of town.

Yesterday was Sunday… which meant another flag raising ceremony.  This particular Sunday morning had me headed to the market with Janet and Carlos, and then back to their house to learn how to cook Causa, a local specialty.

Watching Janet at the market is entertaining.  Her eagle eyes source out her preferred vegetables and fruit from over 100 different venders displaying their colourful harvests.  She also has a favourite vender for mixed sauces and spices, and judging by the crowd of women pushing their way into her stall her mixes must be very good indeed.  Carlos, who has just followed along to carry the purchases looked at the ceiling as he explained that we would be waiting for her for a while. 

Janet is headed into her seventh month of an uneasy pregnancy, and Carlos dotes on her.  No lifting, mandatory siestas, help with the cooking… not quite what I would have expected of a Latin man and his machismo. 

The day played itself out with cooking and watching the kids fly around the yard.  One of yesterdays games was a mosquito hunt.  Around and around they ran, fly swatters in hand… they were very successful, although the profusion of mosquitoes this year pretty much guaranteed then a good hunt.  Kids just don’t need all the bells and whistles we feel compelled to shower them with, their imaginations usually do the trick well indeed.

Replete, I rolled myself home, packed a bit and hit the sack for my siesta. 

Back in my room after my wander I began the sort and pack process in earnest.  As I know I will be back with way I am taking with me just enough to get me by for the next 10 days… I will be very happy to have a bag to schlep that doesn’t kill my back. 

Packing complete, I sat in the courtyard chatting with Eduardo as the sun went down… enjoying the evening breezes.   The power choosing to go out at about 9pm ensured an early bedtime.

This morning I enjoyed a nice breakfast and two, yes, two cups of coffee.  Had a lovely HOT shower.  The last of my dirty clothes have been sent to the Lavandaria and will be back clean before 5 so I can just pop them into my bag.  A stop at the bakery to pick up some treats to leave with my friends here, and I will head to the market in a few minutes just to pick up a few thing to tide me over on the 13 hour bus ride tonight. 

Upon further thought I am actually glad that it will be an overnight bus… No breakfast, lunch and dinner hunger pains or food to carry.  And, likely, no need to use the on board loo.  Visions of me falling off the seat… breaking something… having to call out for help half naked…  no no no.  Better to limit the food and drink intake, sleep the trip away, and hit the bathroom in my hostel when I get there. 

I have met the woman that will take over my English class, and she seems nice.  Has some great ideas so I know they are in good hands.

Tis time to head out to lunch, set in motion the rest of the days plans…  Adios.

the west coast sun is beckoning

It is International Womens Day today, which started out with a parade and dancing in the square this morning.  A fun wake up, and then good wishes from all the ladies at the bakery!  Such lovely smiles!

So this week is the week that the kids headed back to school for the year.  The sidewalks and plaza have become astoundingly busy, and it is such fun to see all the students, impeccably groomed, and shining in their lovely school uniforms.  Buttoned up shirts, sweaters, ironed dress pants and shiny black leather loafers for the boys.  Knee length pinafore dresses, white blouses, cardigans, knee socks and black polished maryjanes for the girls. 

And there is no skirt shortening happening here… not even away from the campuses, it is simply not in keeping with the modest culture.  We are for the most part far from the short skirt & high heel norm of the big cities.  Casual pants and jeans are the norm… probably why I feel so comfortable here.  Not that I blend in at all of course.  I could live here my next 20 years and I will still look like a gringa visiting town.  Lilly white skin, blue eyes and light hair gives us all away.

Of course even without these dead giveaways the moment we open our mouths the truth comes out.

A couple of days ago I went with Eduardo to check out the progress on the house he is building just outside of town.  The ceiling was poured last week, and we could get in and have a look see.  Nice layout, very well conceived and planned.  But the view… Oh the view! 

I think I would give up a lot to be able to look out my kitchen window, coffee in hand, and be greeted by such a vista. 

My search for such a slice of contentment has intensified, and my determination to set things in motion is growing.

Lets do the math (all figures approx.)

                        Lot with vista              $ 3000.

                        Lot prep (hydro etc)       2500.

                        Cost to build                15,000

                        Furnish/Décor                5000.

Grand total of said dream $26,000.00.   (or about 2 years rent on my house in Courtenay)

This of course doesn’t take into account the personal cost of being far from friends and family.   What with the internet for instant communication what that boils down to is my absence at dinner parties and barbeques.  Hmmm.

On another note, after weeks of rain the hot equatorial sun decided to make an appearance as I was wandering around in the hills with Eduardo.  Suddenly my long sleeve shirt, winter fleece zip up and rain coat seemed a tad to many layers.  No hat, no sunscreen, and now me carrying around my winter gear.  Yup… oh for a predictable sunny day?!

Thankfully there will be a good weeks worth when I get to the coast.  I will thaw.  Then I will sweat.  My prediction is I will smile through it all.   My bus ticket has been purchased, although not for the day bus as I had wanted.  Seems if I had proceeded as planned I would have ended up alone, at the side of the Trans American highway, far outside of the city at 1:00 am.  Uhhh, nooo…  Not in this lifetime if I can help it. 

So the night bus it is, and I will have to catch the view on the way back. 

The continued rain in the mountains here has not only stymied the various walks & sightseeing adventures I had originally planned, but now is poised to kybosh the 3 day trek into the mountains planned in two weeks time.  Just can’t envision myself enjoying hiking around and camping at 3000 meters in the cold rain.  I mean, I will have just gotten warm for heavens sake!

If it doesn’t warm up (or at least stop RAINING) when I get back this way I will likely just pick up my stuff and keep heading east until I get back to the Tarapoto area.  Then I can complain about the sweltering heat for a change.

Lovely iridescent humming bird made a return appearance this morning.  Flit, flit, flit and then GONE.  Man are they fast. 

Having some pain issues, and I can place that firmly at the feet of lack of physical activity.  Need to walk.  Prefer not to slide around in the muck and dodge mud puddles.  A conundrum to be sure.

Still full from the enormous veggie omelette I was served for breakfast, there is no way I can partake of lunch at the vegetarian restaurant.  Thus siesta time has arrived and my nap is calling…

puttering along

The music is playing in the main square through loud speakers again, so surely is must be Sunday?   The weekly flag raising formalities are about a half hour away and people are straggling into the area. 

Another week gone bye here in what I this year call “the land of the never ending rains…”  You would think I would feel right at home no?  I am cold.  Have been for weeks, barring the few brief times the sun has come out to tease. 

Not exactly the long awaited tropical break I was longing for. 

Sitting in Janet and Carlos’s office here in the hostal a couple of days ago when in flew a lovely, large, iridescent humming bird.  It hovered in the middle of the room for a few moments, shot out, and then zipped right back in as if to do a double take as it watched us.  A very lovely moment.

I accepted an invitation to visit with Dora and Jose a couple of days ago.  Dora was one of my “ladies” from last years English classes.  Very nice afternoon of coffee and catch up.  Jose played me a CD he had acquired talking about the search for undisturbed graves and ruins from the Chachapoyan era.  I found it fascinating, as it dealt with the  issue of grave robbing, village cultures, traditions and suspicions, the scientific examination process, and the DNA linking of the remains with present day villagers.  2000 years old and not in any way connected with the incan conquerors (and their mummies)  to come.  In fact they are now speculating that the incan practice of mummification may have actually been an offshoot of this early Chachapoyan practice.

More coffee and a light supper, and an invitation was accepted to lunch on Tuesday.

Have had lots of time to putter, plan and puzzle over my complete disinterest in writing this year.  Some mental block I suppose.  Or a touch of the blues… here’s hoping that is all it is.  Also had to deal with a case of the queezies yesterday, most likely something I ate at the restaurant in the morning.

In the garden the roses are just finishing up their blooms, the hibiscus continues to flower and the calla lilies are just setting up their show.  More evidence that time is passing. 

I am not sure that there is going to be a next year here, unless I can figure out something to do to keep me busy and my interest piqued.  I await inspiration. 

Because of my queezies yesterday I felt it prudent to pass up an invitation to join Carlos and his family on a visit to Gocta waterfalls, which annoys me because it was to the middle platform of the falls, something I have wanted to do for the past two years.  I am hoping another opportunity presents itself before I head home.  

It is cloudy, cold and threatening rain so I have my doubts about a long and winding walk today.  Tomorrow brings the charms of my small group of preschoolers.  Might finally buy my bus ticket to the coast as well.  

As I said earlier, I await inspiration.