6th-7th October: Colca Canyon and Arequipa

The alarm went off at 2.55am.  We were out the door by 3.15, and on the minibus to Colca Canyon at 3.30.  This was softened somewhat by being provided with blankets and neck-pillows, and we managed to doze for the three-hour journey to Chivay.  Through sleepy eyes we saw the sun rise over the mountains; then we closed them again.  After some entertaining incompetence from the agency at the tourist checkpoint (buying everyone's pass was a bit too complicated, apparently), we stopped off for breakfast before heading into the canyon.

By this point I was getting mildly agitated to get on with it.  Thankfully the driver shared my sense of urgency, and we whizzed past several other tourist-laden minibuses on a bumpy gravel road with the canyon tumbling down to our right (at least he overtook on the inside).  After an exciting half-hour or so we arrived at Cruz del Condor, its cliffs and cross-bearing rocky outcrop already lined with tourists, trigger fingers at the ready.  We piled out of the minibus with 40 minutes to enjoy the condors.  At first, we saw none.  Then Clem did her Condor dance (a little bit like the "funky chicken", I suppose) and, not long after she was told to stop, the huge birds were swooping down on us.  They soared up on thermals, cruised nonchalantly past us, and swept down into the canyon below.  More and more emerged until there were almost a dozen circling over our heads, spiraling down until only a couple of metres above us before gliding off to another part of the canyon.

See any condors?

Last one, promise (we'll spare you the video)

After we'd sated our cameras, we hopped back in the minibus to make our way another half-hour down the road on the way to Cabanaconde.  When the town was in sight, we pulled over and jumped out, and we were divided into those doing the three-day trek (not us) and those doing the two-day trek (us, plus five French girls, a French-Canadian couple, and a Korean guy).  We quickly realised that our guide was a bit of a loon when he declared, "Your hotel may have told you it takes four hours to get to the lunch stop, but that's because the other guides stop and tell you about the canyon.  I'll save that for later, so we'll do it in two hours.  But you must focus on the trekking.  Focus!"  With that, he loped off down into the canyon, while I was still lacing my boots.

It turned out that his idea of "focused trekking" basically involved running down the mountain.  We just about managed to keep up, and we did indeed make it down to lunch in two hours.  We went down to the deepest part of the canyon, at around 3300m the second deepest in the world (the deepest is also in Peru, called Cotahuasi Canyon), and then had a climb of around 10 minutes back up to lunch.  This included a stretch that had us scrambling up rocks with a drop back down to the creek, all of which Clem very much enjoyed.

The Oasis at the bottom of the canyon, the end of the first day

Clem looking excited about the path ahead

Our first target, the river at the bottom of the canyon, looks a long way off

Bridge at the bottom of the canyon, after much "focused trekking"

Fun little climb back up the other side

Lunch was decent, a filling vegetable soup followed by strips of alpaca meat with rice and chips.  After five minutes of digestion time, our slightly loopy guide (who evidently had a date to meet down in the Oasis at the end of the day) led us back up the other side of the canyon.  This half-hour climb wouldn't have been much fun with an empty stomach, but it was even tougher with the alpaca still cavorting in our bellies.  Nevertheless, we and our lunch made it to the top of that stretch, and after a short rest (and a powerade purchase) we set off on a more gentle stretch, running alongside the canyon.

After an hour or so of fairly flat going through the arid canyon, visiting a couple of small villages (the reason Clem had bullied me into doing another trek only just after the Inca Trail), the path turned down to the depths of the canyon again.  Here we crossed the creek on a bouncy bridge (slightly too bouncy for Clem's liking), then climbed up another ten minutes until we reached "the Oasis".  As its name would suggest, this is a leafy contrast to the rest of the canyon, nourished by a stream coming down the side of the canyon.  This same stream is channeled into a swimming pool, and after being directed to our bungalow we changed into our swimsuits and hopped into the pleasantly warm water.  Standing under the waterfall quickly washed away the morning's exertions.  After a warm shower in water that had been heated naturally, we enjoyed the rest of the afternoon sun before it slipped behind the top of the canyon.

Looking back up to the sheer face of the canyon

The church in one of the very small villages we passed through

View of the Oasis (and, ominously, the path back up the following morning)

The bouncy bridge leading to the Oasis (with wind attacking my hat)

View from the bridge

The swimming pool at the Oasis

Our cabin, as the shadows lengthen over the canyon

The cabin was very basic, adobe walls with a bamboo and thatch roof (with plenty of gaps for creepy-crawlies), and the spiderwebs in the corner over the bed quickly caught Clem's attention.  Our guide assured us that there were no spiders, but that we should be careful for mozzies (which turned out to be midges).

Our ever-communicative guide, who never did get around to telling us anything about the canyon, hadn't told us when dinner was either.  Luckily, however, we managed to wander out of our bungalow at the right time and find where dinner was being served.  We were then tucked up in bed by around 8, ready for a 5.30am wake-up and 6am start.

After waking to discover that we had not been savaged by deadly spiders, we shared a twix for pre-breakfast and set off for the steep ascent up to breakfast in Cabanaconde.  The guide had done his best to portray this climb back up the canyon as akin to summitting Everest, and had thereby convinced the five French girls to ride mules up instead of walking.  We resisted this not insignificant temptation, and plodded up the slope ourselves.  It wasn't unbearably steep, but what made it difficult was its monotony, at least compared to the Inca Trail.  The path wound from left to right and back again, ten or twenty metres at a time, with no natural breaks other than having to scramble to find a mountain-side perch as mules came past from above and below.  The scenery was, however, stunning, and we did manage occasionally to find time to absorb it properly (and capture it on camera).  We later heard that one of the mules carrying the French girls had knocked into a trekker who had stupidly waited on the wrong side of the path, and she had only been saved from a quick fall back to the Oasis by an outstretched French hand.

The French girls preparing to saddle up

Looking back down

We'd been told by our guide - with unreasonable urgency as usual - that it was a three- to four-hour trek, so we'd have to rush if we were to finish in time for breakfast at 9.  No stopwatch, however, beats faster than the remorseless pace of a determined Brosses.  Even with my calling from behind for brief breaks, we made it to the top in two hours, at around the same time as the French-Canadians and Boh, the Korean guy.  The French-Canadian couple, who looked like they lived in the gym, had been so spooked by the guide that they'd set off early lest they miss breakfast.

At the top of the canyon we paused for breath, photos, and bananas.  We could see Cabanaconde just a little further on, but of our guide there was no sign.  He'd passed us earlier, with the French girls on mules, without giving us a hint as to where to go for breakfast.  Assuming he'd be waiting for us at a convenient point, the five of us set off on the path to Cabanaconde.  We arrived at the town plaza without having found our guide, and started asking around for him at the various restaurants that looked like they catered to tourists.  After almost half an hour, as my rage levels started to rise, he showed up without apology and led us to breakfast.

Just about still standing after we'd reached the edge of the canyon

After sating ourselves on egg, bread, and coca leaves, we were picked up by the minibus and set off back towards Chivay.  On the way we stopped off at several viewpoints over the canyon, as our guide pointed out tombs in the mountain-side above us.  Our final stop before lunch was at the Chivay hot baths.  Clem wasn't overly impressed and stuck to the shower, but I needed a more rigorous clean that only a soaking in pools of 39 degree (and slightly sulphur-tinged) water could offer.

View of the valley on the drive back to Chivay

Tombs above the road back to Chivay

Clem looks for companions offering better conversational skills

Lunch back in Chivay was the usual tourist buffet for 20 soles, but the food was pretty good and we certainly needed it as the baths had sapped the last of our energy.  Finally we rejoined the bus for the three-hour journey back to Arequipa, via a quick stop to view the volcanoes in the distance.

An optimistic dog outside the restaurant

Quick stop for volcano vistas on the way back to Arequipa

The minibus happened to drop us off just outside our favourite Peruvian creperie in the Alliance Francaise, so we took the opportunity to stop by for a delicious fruit juice and chicha (a purple concoction made from fermented maiz).  We then went back to the hotel to pick up our bags, order a Domino's pizza (only for reasons of time, of course), and take a taxi to the bus terminal.

Last sight of the Cathedral, with the volcano in the background

The journey itself was a bit of a nightmare.  The two-tier bus flung itself around corners with such abandon that it really did feel like we were tipping, and from the look of Clem's face it would have been a long tumble down from the sheer cliff face edging the road.  Despite the driver's best efforts, we finally made it safely to Paracas at around 9 the following morning.