Cañon del Colca

The weirdest thing about buying my tickets Tuesday, and getting in the plane Thursday, is that I didn't have any time to read anything about my destination before leaving. And now, I'm just reading about every place right before booking my bus ticket and my hostel room.

So, when I land somewhere, I have no real idea why I've come to this place. I have a vague idea of what there is to do in Arequipa, for example, but no real knowledge of what I will be doing. I certainly didn't think I'd go for a three day hike in the Cañon del Colca.

I got very lucky with the group I was assigned to. There was two Brasilenos who spoke extremely accented español (one of which was missing a large chunk of her left lung due to surgery; her ability to do the hike was massively impressive), two elderly Canadians who only spoke English, a Kiwi who's name I never managed to remember and so ended up calling him Kiwi all three days, an Australian, both her and the Kiwi only spoke English (although they both had enough classes under their belts to moderately understand the guide when he spoke in español), three friends from Europe, two Luxembourgians and an Austrian, who could all speak français, so that was our go to language (although their go to language was deutschen for the three of them, and luxenbourgish when it was just the two luxembourgians), and me, the Québecois.

The two couples spent a lot of time together, and I spent a lot of time with the others. Talking while hiking. Playing cards at the rest stops. Learning about their homes. Their lives. Talking culture and feminism with the Australian on our way back to Arequipa when all was said and done (a three hour ride that felt like five minutes).

The guide, Markos, was fantastic. Oh sure, sometimes I wondered if he was just inventing answers to some of the questions, but his values were quite interesting, and highlights, very well, a lot of my racism, because if he were a white Australian, for example, I would never remark on these values. He was anti-capitalist (this came out in our conversation regarding fútbol, of which he is not a fan), anti-religious (more than once he referred to religious people as crazy), environmentalist, and open to gay marriage.

He was, however, very attracted to tall white women (a big fan of Argentinas, he told me), and flirted heavily with the two tall thin Luxembourgians. I suspect, from their facial expressions, much more than they felt comfortable with.

His greatest moment, for me, was, shortly after an explanation of how the mule is born from a horse and a donkey, he spoke about gay marriage. He said that he and many in Perú were fine with it. It didn't matter to them. That gay marriage is like the horse and the donkey, normal is horse and horse, or donkey and donkey, but horse and donkey can work as well.

The first stop on the cañon tour is a mirador to view the condors. We had, if I recall, thirty minutes to watch them and take pictures. So, I get out of the bus and start snapping away before I remembered, that I don't really care about condors. That I will never look at these pictures some time in the future and remember fondly the majestic condor.

After that I took pictures of the Andes and cacti, trying to juxtapose them to create a pleasing composition.

The walk down into the canyon was rough for me. A combination of never having done this before, eating a tiny breakfast of one egg and three slices of bread, and being the only one wearing running shoes as opposed to hiking boots. Halfway down, my knees would shake with every foot placement. Which made me nervous, at times, as there is no barrier between me and a four or five hundred meter drop into the cañon.

On the plus side the views were fantastic, I doubled the number of photos I had taken so far on this trip.

The second day is walking along the cañon, through some of the towns that live down there, and, my favourite, seeing all the aqueducts along the way to get water to them. Ever since Mendoza I have been in love with open air aqueducts.

That day ends in a very resortish hostel with a bar and a pool. And thus an afternoon of cerveza, mojitos, cards, and swimming.

On the third day we wake up before the sunlight to ascend. I learn to appreciate the flashlight feature on my iPod. It's strange because it starts off cold, due to it being nighttime. Then you warm up because you're climbing. And then you freeze at the top due to the altitude.

I far prefer ascending to descending. It's like cycling, you just maintain a constant output level and continue on. Up. Up. Up. Up. Stopping only to drink water, eat an energy bar, or snap some photos.

When I got to the top, I wished there was more up to go. That it wasn't over.