LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS, ETC
Well, bad news. As I posted the picture of the red chair the other day, I copied all of my camera´s pictures to a CD. Now, unfortunately, no other computer will read the pictures on the CD. To say the least, I´m a bit bummed. But I shall persevere, like all great men. I´ve always considered myself a bit like Theodore Roosevelt - we come from the same stock, at the very least - and I know that not giving up and throwing in the towel is exactly what ole Ted would do. So that´s what I´m going to do. Keep on keeping on, as they sometimes say. The next time I post, I´ll have pictures of a beatiful monestary in Arequipa and some pics from the Bolivian women´s wrestling Lucha Libre match I went to last night. That´s right. Bolivian. Women. Lucha. Libre. The experience of that event just about evens out the picture debacle on the karma scale.
Ok, so, on Friday morning of last week, I took a bus out of Lima and started traveling south along the coast, passing a seemingly endless stretch of crumbling barrios - shantytowns of mud and brick houses, many without roofs, rebar sticking up like rusted flagpoles out of incomplete walls, sewage and trash in the streets. It was a sharp contrast to Miraflores, the swanky Lima neighborhood I had spent the past couple of days, but I imagine those barrios are a sharp contrast to just about anywhere. The landscape didn´t help add to the effect, as the southern coast of Peru is a desert coast. It was like the Sahara spilling into the sea, and a faint mist covered the entire coast, giving the effect of a sandstorm in the ocean. No vegetation, no green, and not even very blue skies - just lots of brown, lots of trash, and lots of old and deserted buildings. Not exactly where you´d want to book your honeymoon.
I traveled along the coast for about four hours to Pisco, a relatively unpleasant little town but a good base to see the Islas Ballestas, known affectionately in Peru as "The Poor Man´s Galapagos". The islands are notorious for being covered in bird crap, and were once mined for their excessive amounts of guano (literally, bird crap). It was an erie scene - we motored a few kilometers off the coast and came slowly upon a series of islands swarmed with thousands of birds. As we got closer, we could see the old remnants of the mining community that once harvested the combustible guano, a ghost town on the top of an isolated island, birds circling overhead and perched menacingly on every available perch. It was like if Alfred Hitchcock had decided to make "The Birds" a little less austere and little bit more like "Mad Max". All in all, it was a good experience.
I then caught a bus to Ica, sort of the Napa of Peru, a little town surrounded by wineries and bodegas. I didn´t stay long in Ica, but I did spend the day in Huacachina, a little desert oasis outside of Ica about five minutes. If I had planned better, I would have spent a night in Huacachina, but unfortunately I had already booked a ticket for that night to Arequipa, a twelve hour bus ride that put us into the city at around 8 in the morning.
I arrived in Arequipa and found a cheap hostel, then decided to grab a bite to eat and check out the Plaza de Armas - basically the main square of most South American cities. Well, I arrived on a Sunday and as I made my way to the plaza, I found myself walking amongst a great throng of people, all dressed nicely and all rushing to get to their destination. As I got closer I could hear the sound of drums and horns, and assumed that it was some sort of Catholic processional. However, when I finally got to the plaza I was surprised to witness a troop of paramilitary special soldiers, with machine guns tied to the backs and war paint meticulously covering their faces, marching in step down the main road. Behind them came a group of machete-wielding soldiers, carving figures in the air and shouting some sort of war chant. And then, behind them, strangely enough, came bounding along a group of small children, dressed in costumes and skipping erratically. Their teacher tried unsuccessfully to get them to march in step, but they did not quite grasp the concept. I continued watching as business leaders walked by, waving to the gushing crowd, then some high school students, then a church group, then some more soldiers. Needless to say, I was quite confused until later that day when I met a British man who has been living in Arequipa for the past few months. I asked him what the deal was with the procession and he just sort of shrugged and said, "well, Peru is a country new to democracy. In Arequipa, they believe that showing you´re democratic means having marches and parades and processions. You´ll see. It happens all the time."
And sure enough, every day I was in Arequipa, I was either stopped by or found myself carried along by some sort of chanting, singing, dancing procession. I didn´t have the heart to tell them that democracy means demanding lower taxes, not dancing in the streets, and since they were all having such a good time I´m not sure my words would have had much effect.
Later that day I met up with a girl I had met in the bus station in Ica, and together we decided to do a hike through Colca Canyon - a three day hike down into and back out of one of the world´s deepest canyons. They say that it is the deepest but in fact there is a canyon about 60 miles away that is slightly smaller. I´m not much one for details, though, so let´s just call it the deepest canyon in the world and be on with it. I really wish I had the pictures of the hike to show you, because the views were breathtaking. We walked through traditional Andean villages, the women wearing colorful dresses and hats, their small children wrapped in bundles behind their necks. As we passed by one house in a small village of probably 200 people, our guide pointed out a severed bull´s head hanging on a clothesline next to shirts and blankets, mentioning that it was the custom to do so in the area and that the head provided security and good luck. Well, of course. Of course it did. I mean, it´s a severed bull´s head. Hello, welcome to Obvious Town. What else would it be for?
On the first night, Coralie and I slept in a thatched bamboo hut on the property of some local farmer. Yardbirds ran about and a couple of angry dogs growled at us whenever we got too close to their little den, but it was an incredibly peaceful place and you could hear the sound of the Colca River rushing through the Canyon. We woke up early in the morning and hiked to our next destination, an Oasis in the middle of the rocky, arid canyon, and swam in a hole filled with water, what our guide called a "swimming pool". It was very nice, actually, and we spent the better half of the afternoon and evening just lounging around the pool and talking to other backpackers who were also stopping for the night.
The third day was the hardest, as we had to hike 1200 meters up the canyon wall and catch our bus back to Arequipa by 6:30AM. That meant we had to get up at 2 in the morning and climb using our headlamps, an experience that was actually preferable to hiking in the hot Andean sun. In that altitude, the sun is brutal during the day, so it was a relief to be able to do the hardest part of the hike at night, where if you stopped you got cold quickly. As long as you kept moving, though, your body stayed warm.
Ok, I´ve written enough for now I think, and I need to grab some breakfast. In the future I hope to not wait so long to post - that way I can post a few pictures here and there, knowing that they won´t be lost.
Hasta luego, mis amigos.
Ok, so, on Friday morning of last week, I took a bus out of Lima and started traveling south along the coast, passing a seemingly endless stretch of crumbling barrios - shantytowns of mud and brick houses, many without roofs, rebar sticking up like rusted flagpoles out of incomplete walls, sewage and trash in the streets. It was a sharp contrast to Miraflores, the swanky Lima neighborhood I had spent the past couple of days, but I imagine those barrios are a sharp contrast to just about anywhere. The landscape didn´t help add to the effect, as the southern coast of Peru is a desert coast. It was like the Sahara spilling into the sea, and a faint mist covered the entire coast, giving the effect of a sandstorm in the ocean. No vegetation, no green, and not even very blue skies - just lots of brown, lots of trash, and lots of old and deserted buildings. Not exactly where you´d want to book your honeymoon.
I traveled along the coast for about four hours to Pisco, a relatively unpleasant little town but a good base to see the Islas Ballestas, known affectionately in Peru as "The Poor Man´s Galapagos". The islands are notorious for being covered in bird crap, and were once mined for their excessive amounts of guano (literally, bird crap). It was an erie scene - we motored a few kilometers off the coast and came slowly upon a series of islands swarmed with thousands of birds. As we got closer, we could see the old remnants of the mining community that once harvested the combustible guano, a ghost town on the top of an isolated island, birds circling overhead and perched menacingly on every available perch. It was like if Alfred Hitchcock had decided to make "The Birds" a little less austere and little bit more like "Mad Max". All in all, it was a good experience.
I then caught a bus to Ica, sort of the Napa of Peru, a little town surrounded by wineries and bodegas. I didn´t stay long in Ica, but I did spend the day in Huacachina, a little desert oasis outside of Ica about five minutes. If I had planned better, I would have spent a night in Huacachina, but unfortunately I had already booked a ticket for that night to Arequipa, a twelve hour bus ride that put us into the city at around 8 in the morning.
I arrived in Arequipa and found a cheap hostel, then decided to grab a bite to eat and check out the Plaza de Armas - basically the main square of most South American cities. Well, I arrived on a Sunday and as I made my way to the plaza, I found myself walking amongst a great throng of people, all dressed nicely and all rushing to get to their destination. As I got closer I could hear the sound of drums and horns, and assumed that it was some sort of Catholic processional. However, when I finally got to the plaza I was surprised to witness a troop of paramilitary special soldiers, with machine guns tied to the backs and war paint meticulously covering their faces, marching in step down the main road. Behind them came a group of machete-wielding soldiers, carving figures in the air and shouting some sort of war chant. And then, behind them, strangely enough, came bounding along a group of small children, dressed in costumes and skipping erratically. Their teacher tried unsuccessfully to get them to march in step, but they did not quite grasp the concept. I continued watching as business leaders walked by, waving to the gushing crowd, then some high school students, then a church group, then some more soldiers. Needless to say, I was quite confused until later that day when I met a British man who has been living in Arequipa for the past few months. I asked him what the deal was with the procession and he just sort of shrugged and said, "well, Peru is a country new to democracy. In Arequipa, they believe that showing you´re democratic means having marches and parades and processions. You´ll see. It happens all the time."
And sure enough, every day I was in Arequipa, I was either stopped by or found myself carried along by some sort of chanting, singing, dancing procession. I didn´t have the heart to tell them that democracy means demanding lower taxes, not dancing in the streets, and since they were all having such a good time I´m not sure my words would have had much effect.
Later that day I met up with a girl I had met in the bus station in Ica, and together we decided to do a hike through Colca Canyon - a three day hike down into and back out of one of the world´s deepest canyons. They say that it is the deepest but in fact there is a canyon about 60 miles away that is slightly smaller. I´m not much one for details, though, so let´s just call it the deepest canyon in the world and be on with it. I really wish I had the pictures of the hike to show you, because the views were breathtaking. We walked through traditional Andean villages, the women wearing colorful dresses and hats, their small children wrapped in bundles behind their necks. As we passed by one house in a small village of probably 200 people, our guide pointed out a severed bull´s head hanging on a clothesline next to shirts and blankets, mentioning that it was the custom to do so in the area and that the head provided security and good luck. Well, of course. Of course it did. I mean, it´s a severed bull´s head. Hello, welcome to Obvious Town. What else would it be for?
On the first night, Coralie and I slept in a thatched bamboo hut on the property of some local farmer. Yardbirds ran about and a couple of angry dogs growled at us whenever we got too close to their little den, but it was an incredibly peaceful place and you could hear the sound of the Colca River rushing through the Canyon. We woke up early in the morning and hiked to our next destination, an Oasis in the middle of the rocky, arid canyon, and swam in a hole filled with water, what our guide called a "swimming pool". It was very nice, actually, and we spent the better half of the afternoon and evening just lounging around the pool and talking to other backpackers who were also stopping for the night.
The third day was the hardest, as we had to hike 1200 meters up the canyon wall and catch our bus back to Arequipa by 6:30AM. That meant we had to get up at 2 in the morning and climb using our headlamps, an experience that was actually preferable to hiking in the hot Andean sun. In that altitude, the sun is brutal during the day, so it was a relief to be able to do the hardest part of the hike at night, where if you stopped you got cold quickly. As long as you kept moving, though, your body stayed warm.
Ok, I´ve written enough for now I think, and I need to grab some breakfast. In the future I hope to not wait so long to post - that way I can post a few pictures here and there, knowing that they won´t be lost.
Hasta luego, mis amigos.
posted by Craig Harman at 6:50 AM
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