I'm up at 2.45am and stroll down to terminal Terrestre. Its alive with people. Admittedly half of them are asleep, some in the most uncomfortable sleeping positions I've seen. One old lady in traditional costume, her bowler hat still in place, lies at a 45 degree angle to the ground. Her two heels support her weight while she levers herself on to her backpack which rests on a seat. When I say backpack, its inaccurate. Nearly all the old women have these multipurpose shawls with which they use to carry almost anything from babies to crops feshly cut from the fields to, in this case, shopping she has acquired in the big city to be brought home somewhere up in the mountains.
I'm surprised how many people are in the bus station given the early hour but then not many buses at home depart as they do here at 1.30am or 3.30am. Arequipa is a bigger city than I had thought. It has a population of over 750,000. I begin to realise this as we pass out through the darkness towards higher ground and see the full extent of the city illuminated across the plain. The bus is full as we leave the terminal but it still stops to pick up passengers in the suburbs. Most stand in the aisle, some of the older ladys, bronzed faces wizened and creased with age, their loaded shawls wrapped around their back, sit on the floor and doze, bowler hat tipped at an awkward angle. On the edge of town we befin the steep ascent into the highlands.
By the time dawn breaks we're high up in the mountains. My ears have popped a couple of times on the ascent. The journey has felt almost stop start as the driver accelerates along windy mountain roads only to slow to a crawl behind a fully loaded and frustratingly slow lorry. As he overtakes the next vehicle I look down over precipitous drops which seem to fall away for a couple of thousand meteres to a distant valley floor. The road climbs higher. We hit the Altiplano at 4, 800m. Its the highest I've been on land. Its bleak but beautiful up here, some poor grazing but mostly dry rocky ground and snowcapped peaks.
To be honest I'm not really enjoying it. I need to go to the loo and there aint no toilet on this jalopy. The journey turns out to be a lot longer than I was informed otherwise I wouldn't have had any liquids before leaving. However I feel I'm stuck as my bladder is uncomfortably full and I'm hanging on for dear life.
At the highest point of the journey the paved road ends on we hit a rough gravel surface. The road becomes a pothole minefield and the journey becomes a bone rattler, utter misery for me with a full bladder. I've been hanging on for the last while thinking we should nearly be there. Its 6am and I was told it was a two and a half hour journey to Chivay. I ask the guy next to me how long more before we reach Chivay and he says about 90 mins. I nearly wet myself. I drag myself up the aisle, around people, over old women, trying not to run. I plead with the driver to let me off and thankfully he doesn't seem to mind. He stops the bus, I nearly run through the door before its open and rush to the back of the bus to preserve my dignity. Of course the zipper sticks and have a moment of extreme anxiety before it unsticks. I bless the ground at nearly 5,000m. And blessed it surely was!! I rush back on board thanking the driver and mightily relieved, indeed exalted, I retake my seat.
I talk to the guy next to me, Guido, from Arequipa. He's a civil engineer and overseeing the construction of a science block in the local school. Through broken English and Spanish we tell our stories. 90 mins later we descend into a beautiful valley which holds the small town of Chivay. At 7.30am I'm walking through the streets and I could swear I can hear a band playing somewhere in the vicinity. Surprisingly the town centre is alive with people at this hour. The main plaza is festooned with decorations which I presume are for Christmas. After some minutes with my bags I'm panting. I'm not sure what altitude Chivay sits at but it must be high. The town itself is a rustic wee place, nestled benath the high Andean mountains. The main plaza is pretty but readiating away from here are dusty unpaved streets with at times ramshackle buildings housing small grocery stores, little restaurants and the odd internet cafe full of kids playing their favourite video games. Here and there local dogs frolic around or doze. Peeping over garden walls are the odd donkey or a horned cow. Every street leads to views of nearby fields or mountain slopes. As I said it was a rustic wee place. I'm looking for Calle Sucre, the street where my hostel is situated. 5 mins later I'm knocking on the door. This hostel is located in a small walled compound with its own courtyard. Everybody's up and I'm let in through a small doorway in the gate. I got a room 'con banyo' and bargained the owner down from 30 soles to 20 (5euro).
I was very tired so I lay down for a couple of hours rest before looking around. 10 mins later as I'm drifting off to sleep I'm disturbed by the crash of cymbals and the blast of trumpets. A brass band comes marching by the house. There's no chance of sleep now. A marching band!!! and its not even 8.00 in the morning. I couldn't understand the reason for it. I stay in bed until 10 and, hearing the music approach again I get up to investigate. As the band approached I went up on to a terrace on the floor above And I see a group of dancers in costume coming ahead of the band. I thought it might be a wedding procession but there was nobody to ask.
I get dressed and go down town to see whats going on. I see there isn't just one band but a few around town. There are two in the plaza each with their own troupe of dancers in bright traditional costumes. By now there a large crowd has congregated in town. Bottles of beer are being consumed by all. Drummers bangin out the rhythm vigorously, trunpets and trombones alternating within the music. It turns out this is a fiesta to celebrate the feast of the immaculate conception and the music and dancing continues all day. The fact that the music and dance doesn't change at all throughout the day doesn't matter one bit to the participants everybody appears to be having a great time. THe great thing about the spectacle is that you can go a way for a couple of hours and come back and you really haven't missed anything.
In the afternoon I decide to go looking for the famous Colca canyon which is supposed to be right beside Chivay. I go towards some hot springs which I mistakenly believe lie on the same road as the canyon. An hour later I'm at the springs but no sign of the canyon. I don't mind. I spend an hour or so soaking in the indoor and outdoor mineral pools. When I stand up out of the hot water I almost faint with dizziness. I have to steady myself. I get a collectivo back into town because I feel too tired to walk back. I don't know if its me or the heat of the pools but I feel very tired. I squeeze into the front of the car and join 6 others, a boot full of agricultural produce and a huge blind alsation which accompanies its owner, an ancient old woman. Both sit in the boot on top of all the crops. The produce is heading for the market in town which is buzzing today with all the people in for the fiesta.
As the evening progresses and darkness falls over Chivay the fiesta begins to reach its climax. Throughout the day bands came and went through the plaza but there was always one or two bands playing continuously. Now all the bands have converged together and waltz around the square. Hundreds of dancers now throng the streets, each attached to a particular band. Every so often a tipsy lady or gent grabs someone from the throng and joins the lines of dancers in what appears to be a revved up Peruvian version of the stacks of Barley. Its very elegant and colourful with most of the dancers in costume. With the decorations now lit up the plaza is a riot of colour.
I eat in a side street off the plaza in a little family restaurant. I lad in his teens serves me. He´s very polite, very unsure of himself, lacking confidence but very earnestly making an effort. I ask him some questions about the fiesta but either he doesn´t understand me or he´s not sure himself. Eithere way he can´t answer my questions. I have a bowl of pasta soup with a delicious subtle hint of fresh mint and a main course of rice and strips of dry, stringy llama meat. Its different but I don´t think I´ll be rushing back to eat llama in future. WHen I pay I tip the lad. He´s delighted with himself. Beaming a smile he says in English "Thank you very much". I walk out into the darkness smiling. Since early afternoon I have not been feeling well. I´ve felt tired and lethargic. In the evening I begin to feel twinges of cramp in my stomach. Every so often I feel a sharp little pinch in the muscles, uncomfortable, mildly painful but no more. The fiesta continues in full swing as I have to head for bed. Down in the Plaza the town of Chivay is still rockin to brass bands and latin music. The fiesta continues well into the night and beyond.
I'm surprised how many people are in the bus station given the early hour but then not many buses at home depart as they do here at 1.30am or 3.30am. Arequipa is a bigger city than I had thought. It has a population of over 750,000. I begin to realise this as we pass out through the darkness towards higher ground and see the full extent of the city illuminated across the plain. The bus is full as we leave the terminal but it still stops to pick up passengers in the suburbs. Most stand in the aisle, some of the older ladys, bronzed faces wizened and creased with age, their loaded shawls wrapped around their back, sit on the floor and doze, bowler hat tipped at an awkward angle. On the edge of town we befin the steep ascent into the highlands.
By the time dawn breaks we're high up in the mountains. My ears have popped a couple of times on the ascent. The journey has felt almost stop start as the driver accelerates along windy mountain roads only to slow to a crawl behind a fully loaded and frustratingly slow lorry. As he overtakes the next vehicle I look down over precipitous drops which seem to fall away for a couple of thousand meteres to a distant valley floor. The road climbs higher. We hit the Altiplano at 4, 800m. Its the highest I've been on land. Its bleak but beautiful up here, some poor grazing but mostly dry rocky ground and snowcapped peaks.
To be honest I'm not really enjoying it. I need to go to the loo and there aint no toilet on this jalopy. The journey turns out to be a lot longer than I was informed otherwise I wouldn't have had any liquids before leaving. However I feel I'm stuck as my bladder is uncomfortably full and I'm hanging on for dear life.
At the highest point of the journey the paved road ends on we hit a rough gravel surface. The road becomes a pothole minefield and the journey becomes a bone rattler, utter misery for me with a full bladder. I've been hanging on for the last while thinking we should nearly be there. Its 6am and I was told it was a two and a half hour journey to Chivay. I ask the guy next to me how long more before we reach Chivay and he says about 90 mins. I nearly wet myself. I drag myself up the aisle, around people, over old women, trying not to run. I plead with the driver to let me off and thankfully he doesn't seem to mind. He stops the bus, I nearly run through the door before its open and rush to the back of the bus to preserve my dignity. Of course the zipper sticks and have a moment of extreme anxiety before it unsticks. I bless the ground at nearly 5,000m. And blessed it surely was!! I rush back on board thanking the driver and mightily relieved, indeed exalted, I retake my seat.
I talk to the guy next to me, Guido, from Arequipa. He's a civil engineer and overseeing the construction of a science block in the local school. Through broken English and Spanish we tell our stories. 90 mins later we descend into a beautiful valley which holds the small town of Chivay. At 7.30am I'm walking through the streets and I could swear I can hear a band playing somewhere in the vicinity. Surprisingly the town centre is alive with people at this hour. The main plaza is festooned with decorations which I presume are for Christmas. After some minutes with my bags I'm panting. I'm not sure what altitude Chivay sits at but it must be high. The town itself is a rustic wee place, nestled benath the high Andean mountains. The main plaza is pretty but readiating away from here are dusty unpaved streets with at times ramshackle buildings housing small grocery stores, little restaurants and the odd internet cafe full of kids playing their favourite video games. Here and there local dogs frolic around or doze. Peeping over garden walls are the odd donkey or a horned cow. Every street leads to views of nearby fields or mountain slopes. As I said it was a rustic wee place. I'm looking for Calle Sucre, the street where my hostel is situated. 5 mins later I'm knocking on the door. This hostel is located in a small walled compound with its own courtyard. Everybody's up and I'm let in through a small doorway in the gate. I got a room 'con banyo' and bargained the owner down from 30 soles to 20 (5euro).
I was very tired so I lay down for a couple of hours rest before looking around. 10 mins later as I'm drifting off to sleep I'm disturbed by the crash of cymbals and the blast of trumpets. A brass band comes marching by the house. There's no chance of sleep now. A marching band!!! and its not even 8.00 in the morning. I couldn't understand the reason for it. I stay in bed until 10 and, hearing the music approach again I get up to investigate. As the band approached I went up on to a terrace on the floor above And I see a group of dancers in costume coming ahead of the band. I thought it might be a wedding procession but there was nobody to ask.
I get dressed and go down town to see whats going on. I see there isn't just one band but a few around town. There are two in the plaza each with their own troupe of dancers in bright traditional costumes. By now there a large crowd has congregated in town. Bottles of beer are being consumed by all. Drummers bangin out the rhythm vigorously, trunpets and trombones alternating within the music. It turns out this is a fiesta to celebrate the feast of the immaculate conception and the music and dancing continues all day. The fact that the music and dance doesn't change at all throughout the day doesn't matter one bit to the participants everybody appears to be having a great time. THe great thing about the spectacle is that you can go a way for a couple of hours and come back and you really haven't missed anything.
In the afternoon I decide to go looking for the famous Colca canyon which is supposed to be right beside Chivay. I go towards some hot springs which I mistakenly believe lie on the same road as the canyon. An hour later I'm at the springs but no sign of the canyon. I don't mind. I spend an hour or so soaking in the indoor and outdoor mineral pools. When I stand up out of the hot water I almost faint with dizziness. I have to steady myself. I get a collectivo back into town because I feel too tired to walk back. I don't know if its me or the heat of the pools but I feel very tired. I squeeze into the front of the car and join 6 others, a boot full of agricultural produce and a huge blind alsation which accompanies its owner, an ancient old woman. Both sit in the boot on top of all the crops. The produce is heading for the market in town which is buzzing today with all the people in for the fiesta.
As the evening progresses and darkness falls over Chivay the fiesta begins to reach its climax. Throughout the day bands came and went through the plaza but there was always one or two bands playing continuously. Now all the bands have converged together and waltz around the square. Hundreds of dancers now throng the streets, each attached to a particular band. Every so often a tipsy lady or gent grabs someone from the throng and joins the lines of dancers in what appears to be a revved up Peruvian version of the stacks of Barley. Its very elegant and colourful with most of the dancers in costume. With the decorations now lit up the plaza is a riot of colour.
I eat in a side street off the plaza in a little family restaurant. I lad in his teens serves me. He´s very polite, very unsure of himself, lacking confidence but very earnestly making an effort. I ask him some questions about the fiesta but either he doesn´t understand me or he´s not sure himself. Eithere way he can´t answer my questions. I have a bowl of pasta soup with a delicious subtle hint of fresh mint and a main course of rice and strips of dry, stringy llama meat. Its different but I don´t think I´ll be rushing back to eat llama in future. WHen I pay I tip the lad. He´s delighted with himself. Beaming a smile he says in English "Thank you very much". I walk out into the darkness smiling. Since early afternoon I have not been feeling well. I´ve felt tired and lethargic. In the evening I begin to feel twinges of cramp in my stomach. Every so often I feel a sharp little pinch in the muscles, uncomfortable, mildly painful but no more. The fiesta continues in full swing as I have to head for bed. Down in the Plaza the town of Chivay is still rockin to brass bands and latin music. The fiesta continues well into the night and beyond.
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