Upsidedown Munro

The minibus climbed and climbed and it got colder and colder. For reasons I never worked out, not only did the driver not have the heater on, but he kept opening the windows. The only sensible theory I could come up with was that he had severe wind and was letting the smell out. So I froze the whole way up and over the pass at about 5000m so was completely unable to get any sleep, which was quite annoying. I was already asking myself why we had booked another tour when we always hate tours. At a (much too late for comfort) toilet stop, Joanne and I ended up swapping seats, and when she sat down she slightly missed the seat, which wouldn't normally be a problem, but this crappy old bus, possibly with no heating and faulty windows, was also missing the arms of the chair, leaving behind only a sharp bit of metal, which sliced a nice long rip right in the seat of Joanne's walking trousers. Now she was really annoyed too. How was she going to trek for two two with her bum hanging out? Having recently been on two tours with my crotch hanging out I had nothing but sympathy for her. She told the guide what had happened, but he clearly didn't know what to do and just chuckled a bit.

By the time we got to the next toilet stop, I had decided that I was going to tell him that it was the fault of his company's badly maintained bus, there is no way my wife can walk like that so, unless he can find some way to get them replaced or repaired, we would like to be driven back to Arequipa to have our full money refunded. I didn't know how it would go down, but the guide seemed like quite a nice guy, even if customer services isn't such a well defined concept in South America. There just didn't seem to be any other way, though, until a little later, I remembered that I had my trunks with me for the oasis at the bottom of the canyon. I told Joanne I could walk in my trunks and she can have my trousers. They would be too long for her, but they are the walking trousers I bought in Cusco, which have two-stage zip-off legs; taking the first stage off would make them short enough. They still had an unrepaired hole in the knee from Machu Picchu, but it's not too serious. Now that I had thought of a way out, there was no way I could maintain my anger at the poor wee guy, at least not as far as insisting on a lift back and full refunds. Joanne insisted that I couldn't possibly because it would be too cold, but now that we were lower again, near the edge of the canyon, the temperature wasn't too bad at all, and it was still early in the morning, so during the day, and as we got deeper, it was bound to be perfectly OK for the short shorts that my trunks are. Nonetheless, to prevent the risk of me being cold, she in turn came up with her own plan: she could wear he bathing costume under the trousers and it wouldn't be so embarrassingly revealing. However the tear would probably still grow when walking, so she still wanted to try and do something about it.

A less crowded viewpoint below the cross

Soon we stopped at the first major point of interest: Cruz del Condor, where we had been pretty much guaranteed that it would be teeming with condors. I wasn't too bothered because we had already seen loads of condors since we arrived in South America and I didn't really consider them anything special, however I thought it might be rather impressive to see them in such large numbers. Most people on the tour, however, were very excited, and when we passed a group of maybe fifteen circling, people were jumping up and down with their cameras squealing to get out; there were already a few tourists there taking photos, but we continued on to the famous Cruz del Condor. There were literally hundreds of tourists here, yet not one single condor. It was bizarre: everyone had their camera in hand, looking out over the canyon. When a single condor came cruising down the canyon everyone went wild, snapping photos, myself included I must admit. It just seemed to be the done thing. Some time later a pair flew around for a while, but that was it! We had seen more condors in the main square of Arequipa the previous morning.

A female condor (white collar)

Two condors

I was more interested in the Canyon itself, after it was so hyped by several fellow travellers, and I had since read that it was over twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, so I was really excited after that. But now that we were standing on the edge of the Canyon, I was not at all impressed. The Grand Canyon must be really boring, I said to Joanne. It didn't look particularly deep or breath-taking. Considering that the Grand Canyon is frequently voted the best thing in the world, I was very surprised. Oh well, no need to make it to the States then, I was thinking. Before we got back in the van, I asked the guide about the possibility of a repair. He said he knows a family at the bottom of the valley who can sew it up, if we can last to there. He didn't even have any Duck Tape for a temporary repair. Of course we should have had some tape: it's one thing that has been consistently wanting in our kit, though usually to tape over speakers directly above our heads on buses, but it had a million uses. Anyway, I reckoned the rip wouldn't grow much when walking down; it was when stepping up I thought it would get worse.

The canyon

The canyon. Big wow.

At the next stop our guide got off the minibus and said that the others should stay on to meet their guide in the Cabanaconde, the town we had stopped short of. Now it all made sense; apparently the others had opted for the three day trek, which was the recommended one, but we had decided that we couldn't really spare the time when Joanne was leaving so soon. Ours was going to be a bit tougher going apparently, but that's good: we needed to get fitter. We set off down a well-maintained but very dry and dusty path. We were all slipping a bit, but the new soles on my shoes, in particular, seemed totally inappropriate for the rugged path; more suited, perhaps, to a squash or basketball court. The view was OK, but nothing too different from the sort of views you see a hundred times a year if you are walking frequently in the hills of Scotland. The distance we were going to drop down to the bottom of the valley was just over a thousand metres, though I've since read that the valley is over 4000m deep. I don't know how they work the depth out: perhaps all of the downhill from the high pass we went over is included as well, but that's blatant cheating as far as I'm concerned. Anyway the drop is fairly typical of the ascent on a moderate day's Scottish hillwalking, so the view is fairly similar to the view of a valley between two hills. I decided that the whole concept of a canyon is cheating, since you get much larger valleys between mountains. Everyone else, especially Lucy and Zdenek, seemed really impressed though, so I kept my mouth shut to avoid being a killjoy.

Joanne and Lucy at the edge of the canyon

The canyon

Bottom of canyon

While I was busy being unimpressed to myself, my shoes were slowly falling apart. I got my shoes repaired in Laos and they lasted an extra seven months, included several tough treks; I get my shoes repaired in South America and they only seemed set to last a few days! Typical! Every day I spent in South America seemed to be making me even more of a fan of Asia.

The wall of the canyon

Zdenek at lunch

At the bottom of the valley, we stopped for lunch. It was quite nice and green at the bottom, in stark contrast with the parched side of the valley we had come down, where even the cacti seemed to be shrivelled and dying. At least it was a bit prettier here. There were several types of fruits growing, though the guide told us that purple corn was the most important crop. At a prickly pear cactus, the guide stopped and took what looked like some fungus off a leaf, but told us it is a beetle, which is very important for clothes and art. He then crushed what was presumably the chrysalis of the beetle and his hand was covered in a bright read colour. “Oh cochineal”, I said, feeling very pleased with myself when he said, si, cochinilla. What a swot!

Lunch stop

A short climb past prickly pears

The canyon

After a little bit of climbing we came to drop where we could look down and see the oasis we were staying in for the night, and a little later we had taken the path down and were at the pool. We had asked the company recommended by the Lonely Planet for a quote for a tour and it was about four times what our company were charging. At the oasis, they had told us, they camp instead of staying in the cabins like all the other companies, because they have heard that they have bed bugs; the guy told us he didn't know what these “bed bug” things are, he just knows that there won't be any in the tents. This had made us all a little bit nervous, but I suspected it was just a little bit of industrial espionage, and nobody had reported bed bugs on the online reports of the tours. Nevertheless we checked the mattresses and found nothing. A swim, a meal, a beer, and (most of) one night's sleep later and the rip-off company were proved to be liars. There were no bed bugs.

First glimpse of the oasis

Las Mulas

Closer look at the oasis

Waterfall

The next morning we were up in time to set off at 5am. The guide had told us there was an option to start at 6am if we wanted to rent a mule to take us back out of the valley, but we had all bravely refused. The climb out of the valley was a bit harder, since we were going up, but near the top it really started to take its strain on all of us, because of the altitude. It's not so high we would have been bothered by it normally, but you feel it earlier when you are exercising hard. Joanne and I made it to the top before the first mules past us, carry all the lazy people from another group. Lucy was really struggling by the top, but she managed anyway.

Interesting rocks

Ascent continues

Our guide on the way up

The canyon

Getting nearer

The canyon

Joanne wins

Victorious

Victorious

First lazy peron arrives after us

Then it was a ten minute walk to Cabanaconde town for breakfast. We were taken to a really nice looking bar / restaurant, where the manager was running around clearing up glasses when we arrived. Sorry we had a big party last night, he said. While we were eating our breakfast a confused looking tiny old lady appeared at the back of the bar and hung around for a bit. Apparently she had accosted Joanne on her way back from the toilet, but she hadn't been able to communicate with her. The manager went to the door, shoed her away, and closed it behind her. Not long later she appeared again and this time he took her and led her through the bar out through the front door onto the street. As she was taken past us she was saying buenas, Señor to everyone she passed. The manager came back and explained that it was his granny, who was ninety-two. He said she sometimes gets confused and forgets things: she still thinks that this is her house. I don't know why he kept kicking her out though; she seemed harmless enough and very polite and friendly. And, after all, it is her house. Zdenek reckoned he was embarrassed of his old granny.

Purple corn growing

After breakfast, we went to the main square to wait for the bus, passing granny on the way, shuffling down a street, saying buenas to everyone. We waited ages for the minibus and other groups appeared. We wondered how on earth we were all going to fit into it. When it arrived one of the other two guides and the bus driver told our guide that he had got it wrong and there was no space for us; his bus must be at a nearby town getting repaired, so they prevented us from getting on the minibus and insisted that their groups get on first. Then it came out that our names were on the sheet after all, although it seemed like the company had messed up and booked one place too few. That meant crushing up a bit on the bus, and when I got on I couldn't see a seat. “Where should I sit?” I said, and the evil guide replied “ask your own guide”. What a nasty piece of work! It transpired that there was a seat for me at the back, crushed horribly between a fat guy, who couldn't help it, and a silly macho French guy, who seemed determined to win at shoulder jockeying. A nightmare!

Luckily it wasn't too far to the lunch spot, where we had been told we could choose our own restaurant on the main square. Instead, we drove right through the main square to the edge of town where we parked outside the only restaurant in sight. The evil guide told his people that they could have a look and decide, but our guide said nothing to us, he just looked bullied and crushed. Stitched up again! Typical of a tour! It was predictably expensive: there was a buffet, which I have banned myself from, especially at that price, and nothing cheap on the menu. Joanne opted for spaghetti bolognese, which was one of the cheapest things on the menu, and I refused to buy any food, settling instead for a beer for lunch. Lucy and Zdenek gave in and had the buffet but, apparently it was pretty awful. After lunch we made sure we were back on the bus early to get good seats to the hot springs (not included), then we left the hot springs early to ensure good seats for the long trip home.

Joanne was planning to go to the office when we got back to ask for compensation for her trousers, which, although she had got them free in China, were good walking trousers: possibly not fake North Face, and now they were ruined. Now she was also going to complain about the minibus and restaurant, and the other guide if he turned out to be from the same company. I asked our guide and he said that, no, both the other guides were from the same company, but not his. So they were ganging up on him and bullying him. And he was only twenty-one. Poor thing.

In the event, we arrived back much later than scheduled and we didn't have time to complain at the office, just head off for our bus to Nazca. Lucy and Zdenek were staying for another day to relax but, as always, we had to keep moving. The cheap bus company we had chosen was a shambles: they had no idea how they were loading the luggage and seemed to have a very complicated and pointless process for doing so. It took forever and the bus left more than an hour late. By this time everyone on board was getting very annoyed and stamping on the floor. The bus itself was fine. The seats themselves were fine. We had been a bit worried about these when we went for the cheap seats on the cheap bus, but they were both up to the usual standard. The problem we should have foreseen is that they had crammed 66 seats on the top floor of a bus that usually only has 40 seats on that floor. What fun! Remarkably, I got some sleep, but Joanne had a terrible night. We both had very sore knees by the morning.

written by  The Happy Couple on November 14, 2009 from Cabanaconde, Peru
from the travel blog: Michael's Round-the-World honeymoon
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