Thanks, Colca Canyon, for the Memories and Horrible Leg Cramps

Just returned to Arequipa after 2 nights and 3 days in Colca Canyon, about a 4hr bus ride away. We signed up with a tour company (there are several billion of them here) to take us to the canyon with a guide, where we would stay one night in a hotel, and one night at the bottom of the canyon after trekking down, then hike back up the last day. The rest of the trip is sprinkled with stops for views, historic information, meals, and staggering numbers of local people selling alpaca wool products & holding baby alpacas so you´ll take their picture and give them a Sol or two. The Sol is the currency here, btw. About 3 to a dollar.

The first day we met our fellow busmates: two very friendly, very thrifty girls from Switzerland who are travelling in S America for 8 wks, A Scotsman and his British girlfriend who made jokes like "Is this a five star hotel?" when we arrived at their hostel, an older (60s?) Italian gay couple with knee socks, an Asian pair (not sure if they were Chinese) decked out in some great camera equipment and matching ski jackets, a Spanish couple and another couple who´s country of origin I just can´t remember. Suffice it to say it added another language to the mix. Our guide was Raul and he did an excellent job of explaining everything in both Spanish (while I translated for Harris out of habit), and english. We ascended into the steep Andes and stopped along the way for the aforementioned alpaca goods, and also a look at some wild vicunas that apparently produce the most expensive wool in the world. 400 bucks for a scarf, I believe, is what Raul told told us.

When we reached Chivay, the gateway town to Colca, we had lunch, where I´m pretty sure I contracted some form of Montezuma´s revenge. Maybe it was one of the various delicious salads I ate (not supposed to eat salad) or the Alpaca meat in tomato sauce (yum), who knows. It proceeded to follow me all the way though our Colca adventure. I had about 5 minutes in our very lovely hotel (paid 15 bucks extra for it) to deal with this fun new ailment before raul took us for a short, very easy "hike" through some villages. Then we headed to Colca´s answer to famous eastern European bathhouses....a natural thermal hot spring that fed into several landscaped pools overlooking the Colca river. One was indoors, one out, both very crowded and rowdy, with people from every country imaginable sipping Pisco sours, splashing about and giving each other massages. H and I enjoyed the latter.

After bathing we opted out of the prearranged dinner and "local folk dance demonstration" and ate at our hotel. Or at least, picked at our food, because despite a very nice buffet offering, neither H or I were feeling very well. After dinner (we got our own local music show from a group with the residual pan flute and recorder melodies) I watched a bit of news about the earthquake on the Tv in lobby,it was a montage of all the horribleness that had happened so far...and it was more than i could take. Combined with the chills I was starting to feel from my intestinal friend, it sent me into teers and I went back to the room to sob and shake for awhile on the bed. H was extremely helpful and took care of me, giving me all the medicine and blankets I needed to finally calm down, stop shaking and fitfully sleep.

6:30 am the van picked us up, and our ragtag group headed to Cruz del Condor where hundreds of gringos gather to see the flight of the Andean Condor. Its a very large bird that lives for a long time and is not as exciting to see as one might imagine. They are magestic and graceful and beautiful, yes....but the all the hemming and hawing and struggling to get a good photo as if ones never been taken takes away a bit from the experience. In any case, we waited awhile, everyone hushed up and scanning the air above the canyon, and ended up seeing about 11 or so condors of varied ages. And even with my crappy camera, I got a decent shot. Go me. Though the reations from all the silly tourists were far more interesting, in retrospect.

Then we were rushed like crazy into the next phase of travel when Raul handed us off to our trekking guides. The group broke up, with us and the swiss girls continuing on the trek and two new pairs joining. Two canadian girls who had just graduated college and a couple who were gym teachers from Paris. The canadians were a bit cold at first, but I later learned they had had only 1 hour of sleep the night before and they turned out to be pretty awesome. we had 2 trekking guides, both women. Ours was Noami (not a spelling error). She was barking orders and having a minor breakdown as we re-boarded the bus to get to the trailhead, all of which threw mw and my diharrea-ravaged body even more out of wack and set me on edge. I had to leave my big backpack seomwhere in cabbanconde, the last town before the trail, and in all the confusion it got left at the Health Center. I found this out later, and prayed nothing would be stolen.

Finally we hit the trail, the first part of which was a rather brutal and very beautiful all-downhill path that switchbacked along the canyon wall. It was relentless on my toes, which were squeezed into not-appropriate-for-hiking sneakers. The French and the Swiss moved like mountain goats...they disappeared in front of us soon after we started and we didn´t see them again til we reached our lunch spot, a lovely little homestead with a garden and small pool. Though all I cared about was the bathroom. During the trail all the impact had shaken up my insides, and I was happy to find a nice little outhouse with a flush toilet at the lunch place where I spent about 20 minutes. I was so out of control of my bowels during the hike that I had to cut off my underwear with my leatherman knife while in there and throw them away. Sorry if this is gross, but it´s a popular subject for travellers and one I´m sure others can relate to. Or if not, just laugh at me.

The very friendly French offered me their version of immodium, and I happily accepted. By nowI was starting to realize how valuable modern medicine can be. We continued on through varied and gorgeous terrain (cacti, palms, little waterfalls) and then hit an uphill portion...at which point me, H and the Canadians started to realize just how out of shape we were. One of the girls was really struggling and came near puking a few times. I found that if I just walked slow and never stopped I could make it without wanting to die. Finally we reached a flat portion. Then another downhuill where my toes practically started to bleed, descending back to the bottom of the canyon and our "Oasis" for the night.

The oasis was a landscaped little area of bamboo huts, bathrooms (yucky ones) and a cooking room and long wooden table (nice, cozy) with stump chairs. A few horses and sheep mulled about. We met some fellow (to H anyway) post law school travellers, 2 of whom had hired mules for the hike up the next day. They were smart. I couldn´t eat much, and I continued to shake and enjoy other symtoms of food poisoning throughout the night. Really, thank god for aspirin. and advil. and immodium. and bacterol. and some french diarrea medication. Before bed the american law school dudes shared some nice cigars with us while we looked at the stars and listened to their never-leave-home-without-it ipod speakers. Our wake up call was supposed to be 3am, but Noami mercifully changed it to 4.

AM hit, and we stumbled out of our huts and onto the trail. H had broken one of our flashlights the night before, but I still had the headlamp for the start of the pitch-black hike. This was either the hardest hike of my life or i am the most out of shape I have ever been. 3 hours straight uphill switchbacks, half of it in the dark, with the wrong shoes pinching my bloody toes and diarrhea that forced me to step off the trail occassionally. Also, thank god for travel packs of wet wipes. There were frequent stops where we´d try to catch our labored breath, taking in not nearly enough oxygen in the increasingly thin moutain air. Amy, the tired Canadian from the previous day, was really suffering. She was in personal hell. And may have puked, I´m not sure. H was a rock star and barely complained. The French shot out like bullets in front of us, and the Swiss girls apparently left even eralier than we had with one of the guides. We 4 were the bad news bears of hiking.

But finally we reached the top, stumbled our way through some terraced farmland, back into cabbanaconde, through a quick breakfast and onto a local bus, standing room only (though not for us). I got my backpack back in one piece with nothing missing, thank god. and the rest of the trip back was a hazy, painful, blissed-out, tired etc ride back to Arequipa with several stops in local villages. My legs feel as if they are made of rusted tin and will never be oiled...but I hope in a day or two I will again be able to walk like a 27 yr old and not like the 90 yr old I appear to be now. Tonight I am going to try to end this damn travellers bug once and for all, or at least i.ll just relax and not move to much. It´s about all either of us can do.