So my South American adventure is over, but my trip is not. I couldn't deal with the idea of everything just ending with a flight straight back to Oregon. Plus, exploring all those other countries reminded me of how little I've actually seen of my own. So, I flew back to the opposite coast with plans of checking out a few places I've never been in a cross country tour of goodness. First stop, NYC. I've got three things on my to do list: eat a bagel, eat a slice of pizza that I have to fold up, and yell at an infringing cabby as I'm crossing the street, "Hey! I'm walkin here!" If there is still time after that, I will hunt down the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and we will fight crime together.
I figured life would get easier since everything would be in English. Wrong. I found some humor in the fact that my first conversation with someone here was in Spanish. Then, I attempt to decipher the metro system maps. I'm pretty sure I need a cryptic decoder to be successful there. And finally, even though I think the black people here are speaking English, it seems like Spanish, but only in the sense that I can understand just half of what they are saying.
Yes, I now realize that my choice for readjustment back into the states was an interesting one. Just a week ago I was stranded in the Amazon jungle, wielding a machete, doing battle with mosquitoes and crocs, (I do understand just how ineffective a machete is against mosquitoes, but at least I looked hardcore). Then, my first day here, I stumble upon a place called Times Square just two hours after landing. Talk about a mind explosion. From places and people who have nothing, to Times Square where there is such an excess that it is just ridiculous. I was only able to giggle, shake my head, and wander off.
Another thing I was quick to notice involved the girl to guy ratio in my age range. There are a ton of ladies here. Everywhere I go, girls, girls, girls. And when I do see a guy close to my age, he is usually holding hands with another dude. So, I guess whichever team I choose to play for, I'm hitting it out of the park.
So I'm checking out Brooklyn by just strolling around and I soon realize that a poo is on the cusp of needing to happen. Panic sets in. It takes me a while to realize that not only do I not have a hostel I must to retreat to, but that it doesn't matter that I'm far away from the place I'm staying. Public restrooms are abundant here, and even better, they supply their own toilet paper. So I just pop in the closest store, do my thing, and carry on. Afterwards, it takes me several blocks to realize that I totally could have tossed my used TP in the toilet instead of throwing it all in the garbage can. Oops. I suppose this readjustment process could take a while.
Anyway, I love the vibe this city emits. There is just this tangible energy that you can feed off of. It is impossible to run out of things to do, the food is amazing, and the people, in general, are way friendlier than any stereotype would have you believe. This would be a super fun place to live for a couple years. I am definitely putting NYC in my maybe pile.
Next up, our nation's capital. Show me what you got, DC!
Friday, October 21, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Electric Amazon Lovefest
It was decided long ago that I would finish up this South American adventure with an event so epic in proportions that it was the only thing suitable enough to bring this trip to a close. What could be more exellent than building a raft with a pair of my best friends and then racing through the jungle down one of the longest rivers in the world in the longest raft race known to our planet? While it was indeed an amazing experience, it was also not quite what I expected.
They really push home the point that this race is a survival test and anyone who can even finish is a winner. Of course I considered this to be just some cutsie rubish and paid it no mind. We had plans of building the sweetest raft ever, doing some intense rafting and finishing the race in a respectable position, as in, ahead of all the other white people. It is common knowledge that the Peruvian teams just destroy it every year and win by large margins. So we had no illusions of beating them, but it turns out there were plenty of illusions about other things. Okay, everything else.
We flew to the isolated jungle city of Iquitos. At a population of 500,000, it is the largest city in the world that is unreachable by car. Solid sized city, but there is nothing but jungle around it, as we quickly found out. They loaded us all up in busses and drove us hours into the rainforest to our base where we would construct the rafts and spend the night on an island before starting the race the next day. Let the horror begin.
Silly us believed that this would be a well organized event and that we would show up on the island with all our raft building materials available and food/water/accomodation provided. How nice that would have been. Instead, they drop us off on an island with no food, no water, and some logs. The only thing we had lots of was heat. Actually, there was an over abundance of that.
It was once said that anyone who says they like the Amazon jungle has never lived in the Amazon jungle. I could not agree more. I´ve never had to experience a nasty combination of heat and humidity like that before. And given our lack of supplies, all we could do was just sit and marinate in our own sweat for hours. Finally, water arrived. A dramatic improvment.
Eventually, we began construction on a raft, but as it turns out, none of us had actually built a raft before. We pretty much just went with the strategy of watching the Peruvian teams and copying their design. So after a mad scramble for some logs, hacking away with a dull machete and waiting until it got dark for some rope to show up, and lashing logs together in the dark, we had something that resembled a raft.
Bed time. This should not be confused with sleep time. Even though it´s dark, its still hot, but now we´ve got the added enemy called the mosquito to deal with. So with the looming threat of Malaria and all other kinds of nasty jungle funk hanging over our heads, we all piled underneath a stupid makeshift tent. Then it started raining.
For some reason I had forgotten that we were stationed in a rain forest. But I was quickly reminded. Crazy amounts of rain and wind ripped apart that poor excuse for a tent and all our things were soaked. We just had to hang in there and wait for daylight. We joked that we had been forced into a refugee camp situation. Well, it wasnt really a joke. And we probably would have been better off in an actual refugee camp.
Eventually 5 AM came and brought his buddy daylight with him. So, with zero sleep under our soggy belts, we ate our meager rations and wrapped up preparations for the beginning of the race.
Its go time. All 45 teams shove their rafts out onto the water and hop on to see how their designs faired. It was soon discovered that our raft was a bit unbalanced. We all sat down and one person was already partially submerged as one corner of our raft dipped below the surface and just stayed there. After a goofy series of Chinese firedrills, we more or less found the best seating combination that kept our raft mostly on top of the water.
The starting gun sounded and we tore out of the gates. Im not going to lie, we absolutely rocked it, for about 2 hours. In those minutes of glory, we hung with the top teams and all we did was pass raft after raft. Unfortunately we still had about 5 hours more to go that day and then 2 more days on top of that.
One thing I didnt realize about the Amazon is how wide it actually is. I knew it was long, but its crazy wide too. And if you want to do well in this race, you have to find the currents because the Amazon is also super slow moving. We expended so much energy just trying to find those currents that we puttered out pretty early. There was also a bit of internal raft conflict and mental breakdowns to deal with. Also, it was still super hot with periods of intense rain that kept you guessing if we were soaked from river, rain, or just sweat. Oh yeah, and our raft floatation kept getting worse.
By the end of the day, and for the rest of the race, we became known by all other teams as the Underwater Team. Our logs soaked up a ton of water and when we were on it, it actually looked like we were just sitting in the water because 90% of our raft was actually hidden below the surface. This ment we had super increased drag and had to paddle twice as hard as any other team just to go half the speed.
Eventually, it became clear that given our crappy sinky raft that liked to veer to the right and our unbalanced paddling capabilities, we were in no shape to finish in a top spot. Finally we floated our way to the base for day one, having been repassed by many of the teams. Glorious, another evening/night of constant mosquito attacks and terrible refugee conditions. Only 2 more days to go.
We put a different plan of attack into motion for Day 2 of the race. Operation Just Have Fun was deployed. It was decided that we all wanted to stay friends and since there was no hope of dominating that race, we just wanted to finish with our lives, frienships, and a few good memories all intact. Floaty time. We stuck to one side of the river instead of crossing back and forth, wasting time and energy to find elusive currents. Paddling didnt happen a whole lot either. But we did see a fair amount of pink dolphins. And I even caught a glimpse of one of the Amazon crocs. Yes, there are dolphins and crocs in the Amazon.
So even though we were rocking last place, we were having a good time doing it. Then it started getting dark. And we were still a loooooooooong ways from the next check point. Also, a storm was brewing. Just like the fear in our hearts.
This is when the majority of our paddling for the day happened. We were in a small arm of the river that was too shallow for any support boats and our only chance of getting picked up was to make it back to the main river before it got too dark to see us. Some of the darkest clouds Ive ever seen were racing us there from the other direction. We paddled like Peruvians and got our submarine raft into the main body just as the storm was coming overhead. But no other boats were to be seen.
Just around the next bend we caught sight of a Peruvian National Coastguard boat that had picked up the team in front of us. We headed for it and caught them before they took off. We tied our raft to the back of their boat and we took off. Then the real show began.
Those dark clouds were packing a lightning storm of epic proportions. As one of the most brilliant lightning shows Ive ever seen ripped apart the sky around us we realized our situation actually had not improved much. We had abandoned our nonconductive raft for a massive hunk of metal and the only target for a lightning strike for miles. Normally I love lightning shows, but this one was so massive and close that I was actually a tid bit worried for our safety. Plus we still had to locate the remaining 8 teams that hadnt made it back yet, in the dark.
With the storm still at full rage, the waters of the Amazon resembled a turbulant ocean. We had found a couple more teams and one of them had even signaled us with their camera flash. Our boat was already over capacity. Then the coast guard asked us if they could cut the two rafts in tow loose. Basically they said, you can keep your raft or we can go save some lives. No brainer. As much as it sucked to surrender our raft to the will of a crazed jungle, there were other people that needed our help.
I climbed up on the deck in the pelting rain to help try and spot other stranded teams. One of our biggest dangers was also our biggest help as the lightning continuously lit up the world for a couple seconds at a time.
Soaked and raftless we finally gathered all the teams and made it back to the check point. It turns out we were still 5 rafting hours away from the base when we got picked up. There was no way we would have made it in the dark storm.
Feeling happy to be alive, but defeated at our race being cut short, we bunked up for the night and even got a couple hours of sleep. It turns out near death experiences can exhaust you even more than refugee rafting outings.
The final day we climbed on the support boat with the other raftless teams and cheered on the remaining teams. It was great to not have to do all the work that day, but still a bit defeating all the same. We watched the teams finish the race on one of the most difficult streatches that actually required paddling against the current for a time. I dont think our raft would have made it anyway.
During the award ceremonies and closing party the race coordinator approached us and handed us the sunday paper which is the most popular in Peru and has a circulation of nearly one million. Guess what team graced the front page. Check out either of these links.
http://elcomercio.pe/impresa/2011-10-09
http://www.todanoticia.com/31627/aventura-extrema-amazonas-carrera-balsas/?lang=en
Thats right, despite not finishing the race, team Electric Amazon Lovefest was all over that front page and looking good while doing it. The picture was taken early on the first day of the race when we were actually dominating. They thought they had captured a promising young team out of Oregon for the front page. Little did most people know, we ended up repping last place and never finished. I´d say this is a one sweet consolation prize. Oh, and I also got interviewed by a news team and was on TV. No big deal.
Summary time: The Amazon river is a brutal place. Even though it can be beautiful, it is not to be taken lightly. It has the capacity to unleash a brutality that is unmatched by most places in the world. And I want another hack at it.
Yup, I plan on one day returning to the jungle to take part in the world´s longest raft race again. Next time I can go prepared. And I will finish.
So thats it. My final South American adventure. For now. Its been nearly 8 months and I wouldnt trade my experiences for anything. This will not be my final blog post though. Check back a bit later for a wrap up, final thoughts, and all that good stuff.
Thanks for reading and as always, lovsies!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Final Arequipan Adventures
Pictures to be included after I find a computer that was made after 1957. Anyway.....
19,000. As in, feet. As in, feet above sea level. As in, I decided to try to climb a mountain with a summit at just over 19,000 feet. As in, the entire US only has one mtn higher than that. As in, bring it on.
Wait, didn't I have serious issues at only 15,000 feet last time I tangled with altitude? Yes, yes I did. My entire body committed a savage mutiny against me. So what made me think this time would be different? Well, nothing. I fully expected to get sick again and never reach the top. No sense in not being honest with myself about it. But mountains are for climbing and I was going to give this one everything I had.
So day one of hiking ends at base camp number one. Yeah, that's right, this mountain has base camps. You know where else there are base camps? Oh, just a little hill named Everest.*
There I am at base camp, which happened to be at 15,000 feet, my tent is all set up, it's starting to get dark, and dinner is almost ready. "You know what" is primed to hit the fan.
Just like last time, it began with the headache. Then, I was unable to finish dinner because the nausea set in. Finally, to make matters even less appealing, the sun disappeared. Along with it went every single degree of temperature. And then some.
I had been warned that it would be cold, but come on, I'm the guy who did Patagonia in the middle of winter. As prepared as I thought I was, it turns out that there is no perfect way to prepare for subzero temperatures. Throw in some nasty harsh wind chill and I was effectively the coldest I have ever been in my life. Roll that in with the altitude sickness goodies I was experiencing, and it's safe to say I wasn't the happiest camper. I believe the phrase "biggest mistake ever" may have been uttered more than once.
To combat the elements both internal and external I resorted to my greatest weapon: the fetal position. Curled up in my sleeping bag, I was wishing for death, or sleep, whichever came quickest. Unfortunately both did quite well at avoiding me.
I think I had just lost consciousness when the 3 AM wakeup call came. Yes, 3 AM, because what else would I want to be doing that early in the morning? On the bright side, the nausea had subsided and the headache weakened, but it was still colder than the inside of a frozen cow.
Two members of our party decided base camp was about as much altitude/climbing as they would like, so they stayed put. I promised them I would most likely be back to join them shortly as I was confident the altitude sickness would make a vengeful return after about another hundred feet. So, all bundled up with head lamps in place, our dwindling group set forth into the darkness.
After several hours of climbing, and a beautiful sunrise, I was feeling surprisingly well. Looking down upon base camp, it seemed we had covered a good bit of ground, but why was the summit not getting any closer? Sigh. Onwards and upwards.
More hours and more elevation later, we were still going up hill at a slow pace, but my situation was headed downhill, and at a much quicker rate. My head had once again set back to throbbing and each step sent a wave of nausea surging through me. Just a little farther, I told myself. Hit that 17,000 foot mark, pat yourself on the back, and retreat.
Reaching that point, I collapse. Oversimplified, I'm not doing well. The summit still seems so far off. And it's so steep. I think it's time to turn back. Others in the group would not make it today either. There is no shame in setting a new personal record. Besides, the higher I go, the worse I'll feel. It's not worth putting myself through more. But what if I stand up? And what if I just go a little farther? Improve that personal best just a little more with each step?
Something inside me picked me up and convinced me to push on, just a little more, just to see what happens. That's when I decided that I would just go until my legs refused to carry me any farther. Simple enough. Go until the body says stop.
It said stop. My shaking legs dropped me several times. My head threatened to explode. My stomach warned that it was primed to evacuate all occupants. Laying on the side of that mountain, I had reached my limit, but no matter, because I had told myself that it would end like this. My mind had already accepted this. But hold on. Doesn't the top look a little closer? My heart was obviously a little slow accepting anything other than one thing: 19,000.
Up to this point, I had been telling myself that I didn't need to summit, that I would be proud of myself if I just put forth a solid effort. The whole trek I had been devising this metaphor about how mountains are like challenges in life and how it doesn't matter if we climb to the top of those problems as long as we do our best and so on and so forth. That's when I decided: screw metaphors.
I had come this far and now the truth was out there. I wanted this. I no longer cared about how poorly I felt or how unwilling my body was to cooperate. I was taking that summit.
The last couple hours cemented my suspicions that climbing that mountain classifies as one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I did do it. All 19,000 feet of it. Standing triumphantly at the top, looking over all I had conquered, I had one thought: I gotta get down before I poop myself.
Thankfully, the going down was not only fast, but a good deal of fun as well. Sprinting and sliding down a super steep combination of volcanic sand and tiny rocks, it felt as if you were running on the moon. Crazy feeling. Almost made all the prior suffering worth it. Almost.
But what truly did make it all worth it was witnessing the triumph of the human spirit and the magic of an individuals will power and blah blah blah bahahahaha! Forget all that nonsense. I climbed a 19,000 footer and I'm pumped about it. Next up: that Everest* bump.
* Yes, I realize that Mt Everest is over 28,000 feet, making it the tallest mountain in the world. Baby steps people, baby steps.
How's about I make this a long one and include Colca Canyon adventures as well? Here goes...
After one day of rest and recovery from the mountain, I set forth in search of a canyon twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. No tour. No guide. Nobody but me. This is how I like to fly. Just go for it and see what happens. And that's exactly what I did.
Surviving a six hour ride on a bus that no one over 5 foot had any business being on wasn't the worst thing in the world. Besides, I made it to my little pueblo along the rim of the canyon where I would begin my trek from. I knew all about the popular hiking routes and places where tourists liked to stay. I would have none of it.
A local helped me plot a three day course, pointed out places I could stay, and warned me of some of the dangers. Perfect. Let's do this. And this I did.
Day 1 took me down, down, down to the bottom of the canyon. Didn't see another soul until I rolled into the village I would be staying the night in. I say village, but six makeshift structures and 4 people was the entirety of it. Oh, but I'm pretty sure historians have got it all wrong, because the Garden of Eden is actually located in the bottom of a canyon in Peru.
This place was seriously the definition of perfection. Not only could I swim in the river, relax in the hot springs, enjoy the million dollar view, and eat like a prince, but I got all this with my own little two bed bungalow for only ten bucks.
Laying in my cozy bed in my hut made of bamboo and mud, listening to someone playing a peruvian harp, doves cooing, watching butterflies flirt with flowers, life was quite super. It crossed my mind that the only
thing that could possibly make this scene any more innocent and serene was if a pile of kittens popped up on the bed next to me and did kitten things. Guess what happened next.
Five kittens popped up on the bed next to me and started doing kitten things. I'm totally serious. I had to literally laugh out loud at the absurdity of how perfect this place was. Ridiculous.
Day 2 was suppose to take me up the other side of the canyon and then back down to an oasis at the bottom again. I struggled with this. Here is where my desire for an "alternate" route got me in trouble.
All went well for a couple hours after kissing my Eden goodbye and then the rocks attacked. I'm not sure if you've ever been standing on a path, heard a rumbling noise, looked up and noticed you are in the direct path of a rockslide, but let me tell you, it's something to wet your shorts over. I'm sure I had the deer in the headlights look, but then I noticed how truly massive some of those boulders headed my way were, and the survival instinct kicked in. So I ran.
Unfortunately it wasn't as simple as just running. I had to keep an eye on the path so I didn't fall off the steep edge, but there was also those rocks. Trying to forecast their path of destruction, deciding which ones to try and out run, and which ones to hit the brakes for was rather difficult. And terrifying.
I made it out with my life still intact. Obviously. A small distance later, I witnessed another rock slide block the path in front of me. At least I wasn't in the middle of that one, but now I was trapped.
That's when I had to get creative with my route. I was able to locate a heading for an old donkey trail that hadn't been used in quite some time. It was overgrown, stupid steep, and mildly dangerous, but I considered myself lucky every time I stepped in old donkey dung because that meant I was still going the right way.
After far too much work under an incredibly hot sun, getting jumped by far too many cactus, and wondering if my water supply would hold out with this added detour, I finally made it up to another main trail. And how glorious it was. From this vantage point, I could see everywhere in the canyon that I had been, and where I needed to go. Also, it was a stunningly beautiful view.
The rest of the trekking that day passed without much incident. But goodness gracious the Colca Canyon is a fantastic looking place. And I got to see every bit of it as I trekked up and out the final day. I crushed 4,000 vertical feet of straight up intensity in just two hours. The strong desire to get it over with before the sun was at full force propelled me the whole ascent.
Well, those were my last adventures in the Arequipa area. Just a couple more days and team Electric Amazon Lovefest will be cruising through those jungle waters!
Finally, I want to thank my fantastic family in Arequipa. You are all so wonderful. Thank you so much for sharing your home, food, culture, and love. I will miss you all super mucho and hope to one day see you again. Te quiero y te extraño!
And lovsies to all!
19,000. As in, feet. As in, feet above sea level. As in, I decided to try to climb a mountain with a summit at just over 19,000 feet. As in, the entire US only has one mtn higher than that. As in, bring it on.
Wait, didn't I have serious issues at only 15,000 feet last time I tangled with altitude? Yes, yes I did. My entire body committed a savage mutiny against me. So what made me think this time would be different? Well, nothing. I fully expected to get sick again and never reach the top. No sense in not being honest with myself about it. But mountains are for climbing and I was going to give this one everything I had.
So day one of hiking ends at base camp number one. Yeah, that's right, this mountain has base camps. You know where else there are base camps? Oh, just a little hill named Everest.*
There I am at base camp, which happened to be at 15,000 feet, my tent is all set up, it's starting to get dark, and dinner is almost ready. "You know what" is primed to hit the fan.
Just like last time, it began with the headache. Then, I was unable to finish dinner because the nausea set in. Finally, to make matters even less appealing, the sun disappeared. Along with it went every single degree of temperature. And then some.
I had been warned that it would be cold, but come on, I'm the guy who did Patagonia in the middle of winter. As prepared as I thought I was, it turns out that there is no perfect way to prepare for subzero temperatures. Throw in some nasty harsh wind chill and I was effectively the coldest I have ever been in my life. Roll that in with the altitude sickness goodies I was experiencing, and it's safe to say I wasn't the happiest camper. I believe the phrase "biggest mistake ever" may have been uttered more than once.
To combat the elements both internal and external I resorted to my greatest weapon: the fetal position. Curled up in my sleeping bag, I was wishing for death, or sleep, whichever came quickest. Unfortunately both did quite well at avoiding me.
I think I had just lost consciousness when the 3 AM wakeup call came. Yes, 3 AM, because what else would I want to be doing that early in the morning? On the bright side, the nausea had subsided and the headache weakened, but it was still colder than the inside of a frozen cow.
Two members of our party decided base camp was about as much altitude/climbing as they would like, so they stayed put. I promised them I would most likely be back to join them shortly as I was confident the altitude sickness would make a vengeful return after about another hundred feet. So, all bundled up with head lamps in place, our dwindling group set forth into the darkness.
After several hours of climbing, and a beautiful sunrise, I was feeling surprisingly well. Looking down upon base camp, it seemed we had covered a good bit of ground, but why was the summit not getting any closer? Sigh. Onwards and upwards.
More hours and more elevation later, we were still going up hill at a slow pace, but my situation was headed downhill, and at a much quicker rate. My head had once again set back to throbbing and each step sent a wave of nausea surging through me. Just a little farther, I told myself. Hit that 17,000 foot mark, pat yourself on the back, and retreat.
Reaching that point, I collapse. Oversimplified, I'm not doing well. The summit still seems so far off. And it's so steep. I think it's time to turn back. Others in the group would not make it today either. There is no shame in setting a new personal record. Besides, the higher I go, the worse I'll feel. It's not worth putting myself through more. But what if I stand up? And what if I just go a little farther? Improve that personal best just a little more with each step?
Something inside me picked me up and convinced me to push on, just a little more, just to see what happens. That's when I decided that I would just go until my legs refused to carry me any farther. Simple enough. Go until the body says stop.
It said stop. My shaking legs dropped me several times. My head threatened to explode. My stomach warned that it was primed to evacuate all occupants. Laying on the side of that mountain, I had reached my limit, but no matter, because I had told myself that it would end like this. My mind had already accepted this. But hold on. Doesn't the top look a little closer? My heart was obviously a little slow accepting anything other than one thing: 19,000.
Up to this point, I had been telling myself that I didn't need to summit, that I would be proud of myself if I just put forth a solid effort. The whole trek I had been devising this metaphor about how mountains are like challenges in life and how it doesn't matter if we climb to the top of those problems as long as we do our best and so on and so forth. That's when I decided: screw metaphors.
I had come this far and now the truth was out there. I wanted this. I no longer cared about how poorly I felt or how unwilling my body was to cooperate. I was taking that summit.
The last couple hours cemented my suspicions that climbing that mountain classifies as one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I did do it. All 19,000 feet of it. Standing triumphantly at the top, looking over all I had conquered, I had one thought: I gotta get down before I poop myself.
Thankfully, the going down was not only fast, but a good deal of fun as well. Sprinting and sliding down a super steep combination of volcanic sand and tiny rocks, it felt as if you were running on the moon. Crazy feeling. Almost made all the prior suffering worth it. Almost.
But what truly did make it all worth it was witnessing the triumph of the human spirit and the magic of an individuals will power and blah blah blah bahahahaha! Forget all that nonsense. I climbed a 19,000 footer and I'm pumped about it. Next up: that Everest* bump.
* Yes, I realize that Mt Everest is over 28,000 feet, making it the tallest mountain in the world. Baby steps people, baby steps.
How's about I make this a long one and include Colca Canyon adventures as well? Here goes...
After one day of rest and recovery from the mountain, I set forth in search of a canyon twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. No tour. No guide. Nobody but me. This is how I like to fly. Just go for it and see what happens. And that's exactly what I did.
Surviving a six hour ride on a bus that no one over 5 foot had any business being on wasn't the worst thing in the world. Besides, I made it to my little pueblo along the rim of the canyon where I would begin my trek from. I knew all about the popular hiking routes and places where tourists liked to stay. I would have none of it.
A local helped me plot a three day course, pointed out places I could stay, and warned me of some of the dangers. Perfect. Let's do this. And this I did.
Day 1 took me down, down, down to the bottom of the canyon. Didn't see another soul until I rolled into the village I would be staying the night in. I say village, but six makeshift structures and 4 people was the entirety of it. Oh, but I'm pretty sure historians have got it all wrong, because the Garden of Eden is actually located in the bottom of a canyon in Peru.
This place was seriously the definition of perfection. Not only could I swim in the river, relax in the hot springs, enjoy the million dollar view, and eat like a prince, but I got all this with my own little two bed bungalow for only ten bucks.
Laying in my cozy bed in my hut made of bamboo and mud, listening to someone playing a peruvian harp, doves cooing, watching butterflies flirt with flowers, life was quite super. It crossed my mind that the only
thing that could possibly make this scene any more innocent and serene was if a pile of kittens popped up on the bed next to me and did kitten things. Guess what happened next.
Five kittens popped up on the bed next to me and started doing kitten things. I'm totally serious. I had to literally laugh out loud at the absurdity of how perfect this place was. Ridiculous.
Day 2 was suppose to take me up the other side of the canyon and then back down to an oasis at the bottom again. I struggled with this. Here is where my desire for an "alternate" route got me in trouble.
All went well for a couple hours after kissing my Eden goodbye and then the rocks attacked. I'm not sure if you've ever been standing on a path, heard a rumbling noise, looked up and noticed you are in the direct path of a rockslide, but let me tell you, it's something to wet your shorts over. I'm sure I had the deer in the headlights look, but then I noticed how truly massive some of those boulders headed my way were, and the survival instinct kicked in. So I ran.
Unfortunately it wasn't as simple as just running. I had to keep an eye on the path so I didn't fall off the steep edge, but there was also those rocks. Trying to forecast their path of destruction, deciding which ones to try and out run, and which ones to hit the brakes for was rather difficult. And terrifying.
I made it out with my life still intact. Obviously. A small distance later, I witnessed another rock slide block the path in front of me. At least I wasn't in the middle of that one, but now I was trapped.
That's when I had to get creative with my route. I was able to locate a heading for an old donkey trail that hadn't been used in quite some time. It was overgrown, stupid steep, and mildly dangerous, but I considered myself lucky every time I stepped in old donkey dung because that meant I was still going the right way.
After far too much work under an incredibly hot sun, getting jumped by far too many cactus, and wondering if my water supply would hold out with this added detour, I finally made it up to another main trail. And how glorious it was. From this vantage point, I could see everywhere in the canyon that I had been, and where I needed to go. Also, it was a stunningly beautiful view.
The rest of the trekking that day passed without much incident. But goodness gracious the Colca Canyon is a fantastic looking place. And I got to see every bit of it as I trekked up and out the final day. I crushed 4,000 vertical feet of straight up intensity in just two hours. The strong desire to get it over with before the sun was at full force propelled me the whole ascent.
Well, those were my last adventures in the Arequipa area. Just a couple more days and team Electric Amazon Lovefest will be cruising through those jungle waters!
Finally, I want to thank my fantastic family in Arequipa. You are all so wonderful. Thank you so much for sharing your home, food, culture, and love. I will miss you all super mucho and hope to one day see you again. Te quiero y te extraño!
And lovsies to all!
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