The Colca Canyon

A mule is a wondrous creature. Tough, stubborn, unruffled. Half-horse, half-donkey. The toughness and the stubbornness comes from its donkey genes. The size and strength comes from the horse. Mules all over the world still do the heavy lifting in the most inhospitable places. In Peru, they like their mules fat. It’s the perfect creature for these parts. The arreiros — mule drivers — are held in high esteem. The animals are used to carry just about any known product to the remote mountain communities, including building materials and beer. The paths along their routes are narrow and precarious, not to mention steep. Their trails can be seen zigzagging their way up the sides of the second deepest canyon on earth to tiny villages, perched precariously above the Colca River below. When walking in the mountains and approached by a train of mules, there is one unwritten rule — leap into the bushes on the mountain-side of the path. To stand on the edge, is both foolish and just asking for a mule to ungraciously bump you into the chasm below.

Mules are generally used as pack animals, but they are also used occasionally to carry people. Unlike their cousin, the donkey, they have very strong backs. In these parts of Peru, the people ride them using only a rope and a blanket. Sometimes, they do use a saddle but only the wealthy arreiros can afford saddles. Mules also prefer to walk on the softer grassy patches on the cliff side of a track. I guess this is more comfortable on their hooves than the harder rocky part on the mountain side. For the rider, this is the much more terrifying option, but I am getting ahead of myself here. Hiram Bingham, the famous explorer and archeologist that rediscovered Machu Picchu, used mules exclusively on his expeditions into the most awkward of places. The price of the mules and their driver was one of his biggest expenses.

The Colca Canyon is a mystical place. Hemmed in by the steep sides of the Andes it has been continuously inhabited for more than 1000 years.

As I mentioned previously, it is the second deepest canyon in the world. Second only to the Cotohuasi Canyon about 100 km to the north. The area is Peru’s third most popular tourist attraction, not due to its mules but due to a rather spectacular scavenger — the Andean Condor. Famous for being the land bird with the largest wingspan in the world (over 3 metres), as well as one of the longest living (up to 100 years), Condors climb the thermals of the canyon up to the high plains of the Altiplano in search of the unfortunate creatures that have died and return back to the steep sides of the canyon to their nests in the evening.

Upon arriving at the Condor Cross — known as the Cruz del Condor — we were greeted by a football-match sized crowd cheering the black and white birds on as they swooped over their heads. We were only give thirty minutes to see the animals as the guides and driver were in a rush to drop their cargo load of people off at the start of the Colca trek.

We were in the area to do the four day trek from the village of Cabanaconde into the canyon. We had already spent a few days above the canyon, in the Colca valley, before our trek started and were met at our hotel by our guide, Nestor. Most visitors to the area do the 2 and 3 day treks but since we had the time, we decided to do a different variation. This meant that we were the only people on the route. Our walk through the canyon led us along a path that zigzagged its way down the sheer sides of the cliff. The region only gets its rainfall during January and February and it is quite arid the rest of the year. Surprisingly, there is a lot of agriculture and the Colca valley and Colca canyon have been very fertile farming lands for centuries. This is all due in part to the ingenious system of canals that have been built to channel water to verdant green terraces. Ruins in the area, particularly the Uyo Uyo ruins near Yanque, show how the Incas incorporated their ideas of architecture and farming with pre-Incan local tribes. Each building in the ruins has a definite difference between the bottom half — small, unevenly shaped stones — and the top half which are more evenly shaped stones attributable to the Incas. The Incas also designed the canal systems which are still in use today.

Not since India, had I seen people working the land in such a manual fashion. In the mornings, men and women would herd their bulls and oxen off to their terrace of potatoes or maize. Many of the people were carrying a small plow on their shoulders. The work is tough. Farmers coerce their cattle into pulling the plow through the rough earth. Planting is then done by hand. Only then are the requisite gates opened and closed along the canal system and the water is channeled into the field to feed their seeds. According to our guide, the terraces around Cabanaconde yield some of the finest types of maize in Peru and fetch very high prices.

Maize is used in a lot of products in Peru. First and foremost it is used to make Chicha — a pale yellow beer that is drunk by the locals. A chicheria is quite often in somebody’s backyard, the only sign that the owner has a fresh brew: a broom with a blue plastic bag on the end. This is not to be confused with a broom with a yellow bag on the end: an impromptu tavern with freshly roasted guinea pig or locally known as a Cuyeria. Chicha comes in both alcoholic and non-alcoholic forms. Although we haven’t sampled the alcoholic version we like the sweet, non-alcoholic one (Chichi Morada, made from black maize). As a snack, a freshly steamed cob can be bought on the side of the road with a slice of cheese, or as popcorn which comes in all shapes and sizes — not just the variety you get at the cinemas back home. You can also buy tamales on the side of the road, which are pockets of ground corn, flavoured and stuffed into a corn husk and steamed.

Our descent into the canyon was hot work and a cold glass of Chicha would have been a welcome one. We’d started earlier than expected and arrived at the river and base of the canyon around midday, where Nestor prepared us a light lunch before continuing on to the small oasis of Llahuar. Since there was nothing else to do at the oasis, apart from a swim, we decided to push on to the village of Furé which was up a side valley. The trail led steeply up the other side of the canyon along a canal and passed two tiny villages. We stopped in the village of Llatica for a bottle of Inca Kola before our climb to Furé.

Having grown up in Cabanaconde and as a local trekking guide, Nestor is well known in these parts. He has a particular affinity for the miniscule Furé. Perched on the side of a cliff face overlooking the Huararo river it is hard not to see why. Furé has a population of roughly 200 people. We were hard pressed to count fifty. Behind the village, a giant cliff face rises up with spectacular waterfalls gushing off of it. The rivers are fed by high-altitude glaciers. Furé is the fourth last village along the trail, but it is the last easily-accessible village. Impossible paths lead staight up the sides of gorges to other more remote villages.

In Furé the main form of agriculture is the cochineal insect. Prized as a natural dye in cosmetics and a food colourant, and feeding on prickly pear cacti, a kilogram of processed cochineal can fetch up to US$80. Every three months the local people harvest their section of the mountain. Very little work is needed to farm these little creatures, so it would seem, since the cacti are incredibly abundant in this area and all they would need to do is walk up to a dense cluster of cacti before scraping the creatures off with a spoon into a container. But you would be foolish to think it was so easy. Firstly, the cacti grow on the side of virtually vertical mountain slopes. It is unimaginable how these people are able to get to some spots. There aren’t any paths and the landscape is densely covered in cacti and highly toxic plants. Secondly, due to high demand, cochineal thieves are plentiful and the majority of the time is spent by villagers guarding the local crop.

Our accommodation in Furé was very basic. Upon arrival we were shown to our room, a windowless hut made of rough adobe bricks, a zinc-aluminium roof and a dirt floor. However, it had the most spectacular view through the door and the sounds of water and children playing outside gave us a real sense of living within the community. That being said, there was no bathroom. A communal, open-air toilet could be found a short walk from our room. Water and other supplies cost more than triple due to the difficulty in transporting them to this place. Since we had chosen to skip spending the night at Llahuar, we were to spend 2 nights in Furé. As rough and uncomfortable as it sounds, we loved it. The food was basic but tasty and the people were very friendly. There was also the singular absence of the dreaded beige tourist.

A short walk from Furé is the spectacular Huararo waterfall. Plunging nearly 160 metres out of a rock face the mist of the waterfall can be felt quite a distance away along the trail. During the rainy season it is difficult to even get close to the waterfall due to the surrounding slopes becoming very slippery and precarious but we were able to climb down to the base of the waterfall to stick our big toes into the icy water. The only other company we had here was a small herd of sheep and a scarecrow used to frighten foxes away.

On our return from the waterfall, Nestor pointed out an Incan mass grave, set under a rock behind a nondescript wall. From the tiny door, we could literally see thousands of human bones. The bones were not from local people but from Incas as the femurs were much longer and some of the skulls were elongated — a practice common to the Incas. I haven’t been able to confirm it, but one theory is that these were victims of punishments meted down for crimes such as laziness. We have our own little theory that they all died from diseases brought into Peru by the Spanish conquistadors (one of the top three reasons for the decline of the Incas). All I can say for certain, is that it is a little disturbing peaking into a tomb full of what once was a group of people.

On our second and last night in Furé we attended a village meeting to greet a visiting architect. The man was responsible for designing and helping to build the new village school. Furé had only 4 months prior received electricity and street lamps. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been walking along a cliff face in the middle of the night to go to the loo in complete darkness. Now the process is a lot less hazardous. The existing village school, from what I could tell, was either too small or too ill equipped. Too small because we got to meet some of the kids and pretty much all of them had a at least 5 siblings, some up to 8. One poor, young boy had 6 brothers! And no, most of their siblings weren’t in the group we spoke to.

The route out of Furé was rather flat and led us along the other side of the Huararo river and then eventually the Colca river. We were walking now to the Sangalle Oasis, for our last night’s stay, at the bottom of the canyon which is fed by a gigantic underground spring that literally comes out of the mountain in the form of a broad waterfall. The water is a constant 22 degrees and is fed to a number of lodges who fill beautiful blue swimming pools. The walk to the oasis is hot work but not too demanding as most of it is downhill. It is important to note here that the oasis sits at roughly 2200 metres above sea level and our trek back to Cabanaconde ends at 3200 metres. So relaxing at the pool was the order for the rest of the day as we would need to leave at 5am the next morning to avoid the heat of the day and make it up out of the canyon in time.

As many of you know, Margarét and I pride ourselves on the fact that we like to avoid the tourist-safe restaurants and eat in the local places. In fact, in India we ran into trouble very quickly — on the third day — because we insisted on eating local. In Peru, we’ve had some fantastic meals in places I wouldn’t dare frequent back home. In some cases, we’ve been pleasantly surprised by the food and others frightened as our Spanish is so bad we don’t quite know what the waiter has offered us. In one restaurant, Margarét ended up with a plate of fried liver and I had a giant deep fried piece of pork with the fur still attached to one end. Now before you think we are crazy, we do have a method to our madness. Eating in empty tourist restaurants that serve things such as baked salmon with hollandaise sauce is asking for trouble, since the local people wouldn’t touch the stuff — they would much prefer their sheep head soup. This means that the produce for the restaurant is invariably not fresh and likely to have all sorts of interesting bacteria swimming in it.

So with this in mind and to spare you the details, Margarét got food poisoning from the food at the touristy oasis lodge (I ended up suffering the same fate the following evening, we also know of 2 other people that had the same problem). The next morning, weak and exhausted, Nestor organised for her to ride a trusty mule out of the canyon — a rather frightening prospect considering the route she would be taking. Nestor and I set off at 5am sharp. To put it simply, the path heads straight up. Over the next hour and a half, we would climb 1100m in three and a half kilometres — an average gradient of 30%. The path switchbacks roughly every twenty metres and is partly sand and rocks, partly huge, rocky steps. It is also, as you can imagine, alongside a sheer drop where with every step up the bright blue pools of the oasis get smaller and smaller until they are just tiny specs below us. For me the climb out was a lot of fun. As we weren’t walking in a large group of people, Nestor and I were able to do it very quickly. Margarét on the other hand, had a teeth and butt clenching ride out on a mule that had no reigns, was continually pelted with stones by the arreiro and preferred walking on the absolute edge of the path. When she arrived at the top, in her weakened and frightened state, she leapt off of her mule and insisted on walking the rest of the way back to the village.

The rest of our day was spent in a hellish tour bus, being taken at high speed to some rather mediocre tourist sights but at least we were able to snooze at some of the stops. On the road back to Arequipa we crossed a spectacular pass at 4900m to take in the view of the volcanoes Ampato, Sabancaya and Hualca Hualca.

I can highly recommend visiting the Colca Canyon, even if you don’t do any of the treks. The villages are really picturesque and the views into the canyon are spectacular. Once the tourist buses have left, the towns are very quiet and local culture can be experienced everywhere. If you are a trekker, you will be in heaven. You don’t necessarily need a guide, but it was really great having Nestor take us around as he had access to the local people and was able to explain certain customs, point out interesting sights and translate conversations with local people. As for visiting the Oasis at Sangalle, it is a really bizarre place to be sitting at the pool in beautiful green surroundings with hot, dry, arid mountains all around. Just beware of the food.

If you ever need a guide in Peru, we can highly recommend Nestor (startravel_colca@hotmail.com).