Arequipa and the Colca Canyon

September 29, 2009. After two weeks at PSF, some new friends and I made our way south to Arequipa or “The White City.” Characterized by its majestic volcanic backdrop “El Misti,” Arequipa would be the beginning of my ascencion into high altitude goodness. South american bus rides, I really don’t know how they do it. The bus drivers seem to make it from point a to point b alive, most of the time. I’m going to restrain myself from looking up the death stats online, but it seems to be working out just fine.

On my first ride I couldn’t sleep. The bus constantly jerked back and forth, rounding the tight Andean hairpin curves, snaking its way from the dry Peruvian coast to the southern mountain region. Soon enough our dinner came: chicken and rice, of course. Then, after drifting in and out of my neck twisting/drool inducing sleep, I awoke in the middle of the night to find our bus stopped in the middle of what looked like a sand dune atop a 2,000 meter high mountain. Apparently we were down to one lane, so we sat, idle on the side of the road until the northbound traffic passed.  I have to admit, I’m not exactly too familiar with the physics nor aerodynamics of a 16-wheeler bus, but at that point, sand + bus + gravity equaled death. My travel buds didn’t seem to be the least bit worried. Afterall, they survived a combination of Central American and Ecuadorian bus rides, supposedly notorious for their unpaved and unguarded roads. I kept my eyes on the clock, soon enough those 12 death defying hours passed, and we woke up in sunny Arequipa.
 
We cabbed it to our hostal, checked in and set off to see Juanita. If there were ever such thing as a Virgin Hall of Fame, she’d be in it. Juanita was a brave girl. According to the Incas, a good crop season was a result of a number of gifts, i.e. virgins,  presented to the gods the preceding year. While there were undoubtedly numerous young girls sacrificed to the gods over the extent the Incan empire, Juanita’s body was one of the few discovered in such a remarkably whole state, surrounded by the remains of some material gifts, zillions of meters high in a mountain valley.

I was blown away at the sight of her, but in the end it kind of made me sad. Juanita knew the concept of “nobleza” in ways we never will.

In two day’s time, I was to face my fear of heights like never before. The Colca Canyon may have been a breeze for the more experienced hiker, BUT, I’m not an experienced hiker. Beautiful and breathtaking it was, but by that I mean I really coudn’t breathe! The altitude was becoming more and more challenging with every pump of the bus’ gas pedal ;-P. After fighting our way up the bumpy, unpaved road to the canyon, our bus got a flat tire just in time for sunrise. At this point we were nearly at 3,200 meters. Alex had seen better days, suffering from “sorochi,” Quechua for altitude sickness. After spotting the famous condor from the bus, we snapped some pictures and eventually arrived at the beginning of my first, and what I swore to be my last hike. Let me point out that whenever any tour operator claims the trek can be completed by an inexperienced city girl with a debilitating fear of heights, they’re usually wrong. Fortunately for me, I made it through in one piece, though I sure had my doubts. To sum it up, our group of about six and myself worked our way down a rocky, skinny path for about 1,000 meters until we reached the oasis. I think I sweat more than Chris Farley ever did over his whole lifespan. I tried so hard to focus on not falling off the side of the mountain. When you’re that high the sun is a killer. Forget dying on a bus, forget getting kidnapped…I really thought gravity would get the best of me that day. We finally made it to the oasis, scarfed down some spaghetti next to a warm fire, and immediately hit the sack. That night I slept so well in our little bamboo hut, but apparently I wasn’t alone. There were mice in my bed! At 4am the following day we awoke and hiked 900 meters in five hours. Mission accomplished!
   
 

Pisco

In August of 2007, an earthquake almost completely destroyed the city of Pisco, Peru.

I arrived on September 15th. I have never experienced such a disaster.  I had no idea what to expect.  What the hell did I know? How was I supposed to help?

After taking the bus down from Lima I found myself in, well, a disaster area. I jumped off of the bus and into a cab with a Limeño named John Carlos.   He was a technical engineer, there for a few months to do some repair work.   While trying to absorb my new surroundings, we chatted a bit about what we were both doing here, etc.. As we drove towards the centro I noticed that only a very small portion of the main roads were paved. As we got closer the situation worsened. Only a handfull of the city’s buildings were still in tact. We drove over a path full of loose rocks. I saw no street signs. Many homes were made of adobe, some of bamboo. Some homes didn’t have a roof, others a floor. Since most of the roads weren’t paved, there was dust everywhere, I found it difficult to take a clean breath. We dropped off John Carlos and headed to PSF (Pisco Sin Fronteras) headquarters. I walked in and introduced myself to a couple of people and more or less got settled in. My bed was in what was dubbed “the hallway.” I kind of felt like I was reliving my first day of school…

My first line of duty was a project we called the French Bathrooms.  A while back a French non profit gathered about $10,000 to build four bathrooms/showers for a squatter community called Caucato. The job had been going on since July. There were tons of questions in my head; it was kind of overwhelming. I was curious as to how useful these rebuilding efforts would be to reconstruct Pisco. When was the next earthquake? How strong were these new structures? Why are we building a septic system? Then reality sank in, not my own reality, but the Pisco reality. Yes, there would probably be another earthquake, in about 50 years. No, there wouldn’t be a sewage system because there was not enough money to fund it. Everyone was doing what they could to move on, be it septic system or bamboo huts–people needed help immediately.

Lima and more Lima

After my goodbye hugs andkisses to Elvis’ family, I met my first couchsurfing host, Christian.  I had such a great time staying those two nights with Christian. Sadly for him, it was his going away party. Christian was  giving up his crown as the CS Lima Ambassador and moving to Prague to teach English, but I couldn’t have walked into a better situation. As soon as I got there I threw my bags down, and partied for the rest of the night. Karaoke, dancing, drinking, laughing, screaming…yup that was my first night in Lima…just what I needed.

The Lima CSers were amazing. At that point I couldn’t tell what is was- Lima? Peru? Latin America? Why were these people so happy? Whatever the reason was,  I felt like this was just the vibe I was looking for… just where I needed to be.

After a crazy night of almost no sleep, I met up with the best CSer yet, Javier from Callao.  We started off on the Malecon in Miraflores and worked our way to Callao. At first glance, Lima can be uninviting at best. When you talk to most travelers, it’s all about Miraflores and Barranco. Fortunately Javier showed me much more, told me what to eat, and when; the science of getting a cab -it’s not NYC; las jergas (slang) and who knows what else.

Then came his two friends Carlos and “el director.” Lima just kept getting better and more interesting. I finally got to taste a pisco sour de verdad, eat great ceviche, and go to bars that I would have never dreamed of setting foot in without a body guard. My favorite part was el Caminitio de Callao, La Punta, y el Chucuito. If you ever visit Lima, it’s worth the trip.

The whole time I kept asking myself, what I did to deserve this royal treatment? I felt like a princess in otherwise intimidating surroundings. It was cool though, I could be a princess for a day or two.

Couchsurfing

Before I go on, I thought I’d explain a little bit about how I’ve been getting around. Couchsurfing: you stay on my couch, I stay on your couch…or someone else’s couch in the world.

About a year ago I joined this travelers network called Couchsurfing http://www.couchsurfing.org/about.html Basically it’s a *nonprofit* network made by travelers looking for a more authentic experience while on the road. I hosted a few people during my year-long stint in Bushwick, and totally loved it.  It’s a great way to make friends and  stay off the gringo grid.

So far so good!

Lima

Centro de Lima

Saturday September 12,  2009-  My 6am flight to Fort Lauderdale was over in a blink of an eye. I would spend the next four hours awaiting my departure to Lima, thinking only about what the next few days, weeks and months would be. Inside I was feeling impatient, just wanted get the party started!

I was to arrive in Lima at 7.30pm.  Yeah, I was a little nervous.  The first thing you worry about when arriving to any mean Latin American city is whether or not the cab driver is shite or legit. Cabbing it was my only option, until I met Elvis. After boarding the plane I found myself sitting next to *one* of the nicest Peruvian guys I’ve met so far. Elvis was born and raised in Lima. He spent the last six months living in Miami with his brother. Boy was I lucky to have met him. Not only did he explain the ins and outs of Lima, but he and his family drove me all the way to my host’s apartment in Miraflores.  I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

Elvis and I stepped off the plane. He had no idea of the excitement buzzing through me. This trip was probably routine for him, but for me it was life changing, if I may be so corny.  As soon as I walked off the jet bridge I was met by a long line of Peruvian nanas. Yes, that’s right, a long single file line of old nanas sitting in wheelchairs waiting to be rolled into the streets of Lima. Sarah, was this some kind of joke? Surely the gods were behind this.

When we found Elvis’ family I thought they might be a little confused to find their son accompanied by a gringa, but they seemed totally unphased. So naturally, they hugged and kissed me as if it had been six months.  I was just rolling with it.  We packed ourselves along with Mr. and Mrs. Elvis, brother and three year-old nephew into their little station wagon and away we went.

It was about a 3o minute ride from Lima’s Chavez Airport to Miraflores. The city was dark, though lit up with millions of neon lights.  All the stores and restaurants I saw made me feel like I was driving down a remote leg of Queens Boulevard…shitty driving all around. It was pretty humid and cold, not my favorite combo.  Stray dogs were  everywhere, love it. Everyone was Peruvian, and then it really hit me I was not in Queens; I was in Peru!