By Foot or By Hoof

The night after our hike down into Colca Canyon I slept like a rock, inspite of the rock hard mattress and the lumpy pillow. It was either the long walk down or the evening full of drinks, but either way I felt rested when the guide knocked on our cabin at 6:30am. My cabin mate, the bigger and goofier of the two Dutch guys, woke up and discovered the gum he has drunkenly set to the side of his pillow before going to sleep was now entangled in his hair. A short time later he had a small patch of hair missing where the Dutch girl had used a pocket knife to cut out the mid-night accident.

We all gathered in the terrace for a tasty pancake breakfast with fresh-squeezed oj & coffee and watched the sun turn the canyon multiple colors. We tried to make breakfast last as long as possible. No one was ready to start our hike up.

Okay, one person was ready: our guide. We put on our boots (and our dusty gold tennis shoes) and followed him out of our little oasis away from physical activity, up a startling steep start to the first half of our hike. It was a short hike, only 30 minutes, but we were all winded. The Dutch girl was having to stop every few minutes to rest; not a good sign of what was to come later in the day. But we tried to give her encouragement. She wasn`t buying it. The first half of the day was a hike to a real oasis in the center of the canyon where we would relax, eat, and swim. The second half of the day was what worried us. That is when we would hike straight up the canyon side.

But first, after our mini-trek, we stopped at a tiny village where we were greeted by a woman who brought us fresh fruit from a cactus. Here we rested for a bit, as our guide chatted with the old woman while simultaniously chasing the guinea pigs crawling around the floor of her home; dinner to be.

We eventually moved on, following a mostly level path along the inside of the canyon, a few dozen meters up from the river. This side of the canyon was much greener than the other side and our guide told us this was because of how the rain blew in. Clouds were blocked on the one side and the rain water then flowed over that side. And because this side was more lush, there were more villages to pass through. When I say more, I mean more than the zero on the opposite side. But the odd thing was these small villages were mostly empty. Our guide told us many of the people had moved into the (relatively) larger towns above the canyon and only came back for festivals. We saw a few sleeping dogs, a couple of mules, and the random person tending to their small plots of land. Our guide knew the name of each.

And then we saw the oasis. The beautiful, relaxing, complete with lunch and drinks, oasis. We practically jogged there, eager to jump in the natural pool waiting for us. As we stepped deeper back into the canyon, it hit me that the several dozen meters we just descended would have to be made up again later. But that was a worry for another time. After my long dip in the pool.

When we arrived, the guys immediately changed into our swim trunks and dove in. Eight minutes later we decided the water was too cold and opt´d to sit out in the warmer sun. We had three more hours to kill. Time for a nap. Later during lunch, the Dutch, who to this point had been talking mostly in English, chatted the entire time in Dutch. With just the four of us, this left 45 minutes for me to talk to myself in my head. sigh. Suddenly I was ready to start the steep ascent.

Fortunately so was our guide. He had gone missing for an hour and we all assumed it was for a booty call with the attractive guide leading another small group. He had been flirting with when we arrived at the oasis. He was now walking towards us with a large grin on his face. But the attractive guide wasn`t following him. A short, gangly dude was following him. The Dutch and I exchanged glances but said nothing. We just stood up and started walking towards the path.

The hike up was as tough as we expected it to be. Our guide told us it would take about 3.5 hours. I tried to comfort the Dutch girl by telling her our guides on the Inca trail would warn us of a long hike that really took much less time - to make us feel better when we finished. Our guide here was probably doing the same. We had the option of taking a mule up the canyon, and most of the people from the other group took this option. But the Dutch girl decided to attempt it on her own gold colored tennis shoe clad feet. And we cheered her on. Even as we stopped every 15 minutes so she could rest. At first, I didn`t mind the breaks. The climb was challenging, even more than the steep climb on the Inca trail. But as we continued to slowly make our way up the canyon, the routine breaks got old. It was getting harder and harder to get moving again after each break and I wanted to just power on. So did the Dutch guys. But we kept our mouths shut and cheered her on, giving her pats on the back and words of encouragement.

Until finally we realized we were several lengths ahead of her. And then we could no longer see her. But at this point we didn`t care. The guide was keeping pace with her. She wasn`t alone. And even though we were struggling with each step and panting hard, we agreed to keep moving. We quietly cursed the other group as they passed us on their mules, sweatless and grinning. We told ourselves we were getting more out of the trek by hiking instead of riding. We convinced ourselves of this. It was all we could do since it was too late to hire a mule.

And then the lead Dutch guy told us to look back. There we saw the Dutch girl, looking very much relieved, and sitting atop a donkey, gold tennis shoes bouncing on either side. She had called it quits about 20 minutes earlier, about 5 minutes before a local man came past with his donkey on the way to the village above. He took pity on her and offered the ride for free.

Fine. The three remaining trekkers would finish this hike. Without the help of a beast of burden. Forward we marched, chests rising and falling twice as far and as fast as normal. It started to rain. We kept moving. Two more people passed us on mules. We kept moving. And finally, four hours later, when we couldn`t even bare to look farther than a few steps in front of us for fear of seeing how much longer we had to go, we made it to the crest. There were no porters there clapping for us. Just a harder rain and some lightening. And our guide telling us we had about another 30 minute walk back to the hostel. At that height it was freezing. And the rain soaking us didn`t help. We were all quiet as we walked on.

By the time I reached the hostel I was shaking uncontrollably. I went straight to my room and put on several layers, even a knit hat. But I couldn`t get warm. I feared taking a shower thinking the water wouldn`t be warm enough. I just headed downstairs and sat at a table to wait for a warm dinner. Half an hour later the Dutch trio came down. They were clean, smiling, seemingly content. I asked if they tried the shower. They had, and it was gloriously warm. I finshed my third cup of hot tea and ran to my room where I took a thirty minute shower. Finally I was warm. I was happy. And I was pleased I had done the entire trek on my own.

The drinking games we planned the previous night, to congratulate ourselves after the hike, never materialized. Everyone was exhausted. And by 7:50pm we were all fast alseep.

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