Colca Canyon
March 27, 2012
Rain on the roof last night, I slept well. I dreamt of a soccer game...very detailed play-by-play, and vivid. I guess I miss playing soccer. Bright sunshine and a mango for breakfast. I also bought a palta sx, which was small and disappointing. I left my books with Villa Pastor Hostel then hiked down to the canyon. Great, great hiking. dry cliffs, soaring condors, waterfalls, rivers, geysers, cactus fruit, villages, European hikers, trail crew, and a lonesome horseback rider. I found the bottom and walked up and around to try and find Catarata Huaruro. I missed a turn and hiked an extra three fourths of a mile or so. Not a big deal. Fure was an incredible find. An isolated, indigenous town surrounded by waterfalls and nothing much else, an agrarian gem in the deepest canyon in the world. Onward I walked to the great falls and into the jungle biome. Loud and thunderous, it started to rain as I set up the tent. Still haven't got it quite down yet, but snug in the growth I sleep.
Arequipapopulating streets
Gulf Oil doors swinging
the wind; flies on my leg
Inca-Cola water towers
bubbling downhill
I sit with the strays
waiting my ticket to leave
Newt, Rick and Mitt
quarreling fuel prices
do jobs summit society?
selling souls and VW buses
taking a shit
on overgrown railroad tracks
high weeds fighting exhaust fumes
el Misti Mountain backstory
Tacna
I'm sure Tacna is a lovely town, with many charming hamlets, sights and peoples. I will always remember Tacna, however, for a very different reason. I found a hospedaje with a private, working bathroom and an endless supply of toilet paper, and stayed there for two and half days. I ate bread and drank water and visited the toilet about 12 times a day.
3 People I met in the Atacamba Desert
Dutch-Girl who says, "If you look long enough at the stars out here you'll see UFO's." Belgian-Mountain -Climber who lives in his VW bus, parked under a shade tree, with his 4 year old hippie child. Santiago-Born-Painter (boyfriend of Dutch Girl) who smokes a lot of Bolivian weed and lives in a tent.
The Pitcher of Beer
I performed my usual bus station routine in Santiago; eating, waiting, thirty minutes at the online cafe. As I checked all out three floors, something caught my eye. A deal: $8.50 for a large portion of fries and an entire pitcher of beer. I don't normally drink a lot while backpacking but I had a few reasons to in this instance: 1. This was my last day I could drink for a month, since I'd be living with my Uncle (who is a missionary) and I told him I wouldn't drink in his house. 2. Santiago marked the end of my independent, and completely solo travels in South America. 3. I was taking the overnight bus, and I would sleep lot better intoxicated.... So I sat there alone in a cafeteria, not a bar, with a huge plate of fries and a towering pitcher of beer. The lady eyed me with suspicion when she asked,"Cuantos vasos?" "Un vaso por favor," I replied. All to myself! I reached into my bag to snap a quick picture, just in case I would forget this part of my day, but it occured to me I had already forgot something. My camera! I searched frantically through everything, which is only about 10 things and to my dismay, nada. Panic, fear and irony all swept through my sober mind. A full pitcher sat before me and my camera remained on my previous bus, which I had abandoned three hours earlier. I would have to ask my way through the bus company's system to locate the specific bus, in my terrible spanish, and now I was going to do it drunk. Because if there is one thing I won't do, it is waste a perfectly good pitcher of cold beer. I drank and I drank and I drank fast. My brain freeze was followed by more gulps of cold beer and eventually drunkeness, which was followed by frantic a search. I took two lime wedges from the condiments table, I chewed them to hide my beer breath. By the end of my innebriated mission, I had talked with numerous TurBus offices, searched three different bus lots, ridden two trains and one laundry truck, ran atleast 10 blocks, and ended up completely sober and without my camera. I left the address, and the phone number of my temporary residence in Puerto Montt if the camera ever turns up. I was on my night-bus: hot, sweaty, sober and tired.
Patagonia, Argentina
Hitchhiking with a box-wine-drinking and jovial driver, and some of the most beautiful, wild and wondrous mountains in the world!
