A Month Ago...

So I am still behind on my stories. I am going to attempt to get through New Years in the next two days. I`ll start with the trip into Colca Canyon:

Back in Arequipa I had finally gotten signed up for a trek into Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. It was Tuesday morning (December 18th for those of you keeping track) at 4:55 when my alarm went off. I was finally feeling better; the rest in Arequipa helped knock out the cold that was plaguing me for a week. I quickly took a shower and was out on the curb in front of my hostel by 5:20 to wait for my guide. He arrived 30 minutes later. Latino time.

Jose arrived in a cab and introduced himself while tossing my bag in the back. We arrived at the bus station 10 minutes later where we met the other trekkers on my tour: two guys and a girl from Holland. We had all opt`d for the cheaper tour which meant riding the public bus instead of in a private van. Save $25, get a bit of culture.

At 6am we squeezed into our down and dirty bus. The locals weren`t taking too kind to us after our guide kicked two old women out of our pre-paid seats. Most people pay on the bus. The gringos are the ones who usually pay in advance. We got several dirty looks throughout the ride. Despite the inhospitable reception, and the bumpy, unpaved road to our destination, the ride was interesting as we passed through lush landscapes and Mars-like terrain. We saw herds of alpacas (like llamas) roaming the grounds and tiny, worn villages dotting the route. And we saw snow! In December! We were that high up.

Our bus finally arrived in the tiny town of Cabanaconde. We grabbed our things and hiked through up an empty street, passed a collection of little stores selling candy bars and sodas, to our hostal. Although we were having lunch here, we weren`t sleeping at the hostel that night. After lunch we were starting our hike to and down into the canyon where we would spend the night in slightly less posh settings.

As we approached the rim of the canyon, I noticed for the first time the shoes the Dutch girl was wearing. Shiney, gold colored tennis shoes. As I would soon discover, she was not prepared for what this trek actually entailed. She thought we were doing a nice leisurely walk down a pleasant grassy path. Not so much.

The hike down was entertaining as the two Dutch guys cracked each other up by throwing things at each other and as one tried to out pace the other. This was occasionally interrupted by locals who were using the same path to move mules or cows up to the small town. At these times we were pressed against the cliffs avoiding having our toes crushed by the moving hooves. The views were brilliant and the trail down was relatively easy aside from a few missteps on loose rocks that had us (me) close to skipping a few levels of the trail.

Around 5pm we made it to the base of the canyon. Looking up we were all impressed with the height of the trail we had just decended. Looking down, the Dutch girl was upset by how dirty her shiney gold shoes were now. Our guide lead us to our camp for the night: a nice site with dingy stone cabins, but a great view from every angle. There was a mildly luke-warm shower if we wanted one. I voted for an extra layer of deodorant the next morning. And there was a cool little terrace with a thatched roof and a table for eating. This is where we spent the rest of the evening relaxing; first with a round of grande beers and travel stories. Then dinner (sans potatoes for me). Then two more rounds of grande beers. With card games. And finally a bottle of Cuban rum one of the Dutch guys brought. By 9:30 we were drunk and laughing at everything. I had just made my fourth trip to the bathroom, stumbling and tripping in the dark of the night, when I realized it would probably be best to call it quits now and turn in. The next day we we hiking back up the canyon. I did not want to be hungover for that.

For pictures of the canyon trek, follow this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/15233918@N00/sets/72157603658285038/