Day three... Karajia and Quiocta

February 24.

This day started with frustration... Despite an 8:30 am planned start, I got called down early from my room... time change, everyone is waiting. Grab backpack and run. No pee, no bread, no boots.

I was happy to see that Felix (A Chinese Peruvian Swede) is again part of the tour.

Long ride (on dirt roads for a change, she says with tongue firmly planted in cheek), through some pretty impressive mud puddles. Passed yet more road crews clearing and rebuilding.

More miles and miles of perfectly beautiful vistas of farmed land. I enjoy seeing the agave in bloom... as tall as the trees... sometimes the only tall plants on the hillsides. Two different blooms, depending on whether we are talking blue or green mother plants. Both are striking. I vow to insist the driver stop on the way back so I can take pics.

We ramble through a couple of small villages until, hallelujah, we stop and I finally get to pee.. Frequently seen outhouse type baño, but this one had walls and only one very big hole in the floor, so yay. Far from the worst I have seen or used. Practically spotless.

Come to the expected long walk down... this time through some of the cultivated acres of cultivated farmland. My appreciation of the view spoiled a bit by thinking about the walk back up, I will admit. This is day three, and I am starting out tired.

I am charmed by the sight of 3 beautiful, large, swaying orchids on a wild hillside... can`t get close because of the undergrowth, and am thwarted in my attempt to take pictures because my camera doesn`t zoom enough. Felix has a pretty skookum camera and took pictures... will hopefully email them to me.

Crops passed: Potatoes. Mustard. Corn. I am disillusioned to see farmers out spraying the crops with chemicals... I naively assumed that things were done organically, as fitting the yesteryear setting of manually ploughed fields, grazing wildlife, native dress and barefoot farmers. Silly me.

Rounding a corner takes us out of the fields and into steep hillside. Down some steps, and along another narrow descending pathway brings into view the cliff face which display ancient sarcophagus... burial resting place for the mummies of yet another lost culture. Other than guessing that they are that of important individuals, it is not known if they were shamans, chiefs, or warriors. There are smaller pockets of graves, and evidence of where more of the grand figures once graced the rock.

Wandering the path below in the hot sun, there are bones and broken bits of the molded funerary containers littering the boulders. The rockface itself is beautiful, a perfect setting for some "I was here" photos. Yay, more pictures of me, and there are a couple of me swatting away as a regiment of pesky small mosquitoes mounts a full on assault.

Burial conversation is in the air, and I squeem at Felixs´explanation of a (supposed) patented new swedish burial technique... freeze dry & then microwave? Apparently only powder remains to be scattered. O.K.

Change of subject... I am told that the roots of Gladiolus, mashed, left in sun for a few hours becomes an effective headlice cure- Did I tell you this already? I think maybe I did.

Long walk back up in a burning sun. Have already covered this territory too.

We wind back over the roads, passing large trucks parked beside the road as they are painstakingly filled with sacks of potatoes. In the small villages I catch glimpses into small potato warehouses, stacked high with bags, each topped up with grass to avoid sun exposure.

In the villages I see women wearing traditional white, woven, tall topped, grass hats. Most native dress here is quite dull, but still seen are the full skirts worn with a shawl, and for the men ponchos for special occasions. As is customary, many women are holding hand spindles and are spinning sheeps wool, others are knitting. This is accomplished both sitting and as they walk. Much work to do, and no time is wasted.

The setting is the same as most towns, narrow streets bordered by one room homes made from the local Adobe... Yellow earthen mud bricks, rich with grass or straw.

In one of the towns we come upon another funeral procession. Somber. Sobering.

Lunchtime stop in Lamud, and on to rent some rubber boots for our next stop, Quiocta caverns.

Caves. Humid, squishy, watery. The sculls and bones strategically placed indicate this one was used for ceremonial purposes. During the Inca period according to some authority. Really creepy were the muddy areas bordering the cave wall edges where skulls could be seen rising up from the depths.

My poor little canadian sensibilities were in a flap as we trampled all over, into and through roped off areas. So much for preservation. And before you all say "you didn`t have to follow", I will ask you how much you would want to be left alone, in the utter darkness of a 500 meter deep cave, littered with the remains of human sacrifices. Ha.

While I usually enjoy a good cave, daylight in this case was welcome. We head away from the eerie, Clouds above, clouds below, into the cloud we go. There are heavy rains happening in the valley. There are also very dark clouds and a stormy look to the area around Kuelep, and I am glad I am not there.

Almost ran over a pheasant.

Down the mountain we go. Remember the tea cup ride at the fair?? This is the sensation that comes to mind as we careen around the corners. A stomach sinking, vortex inducing wild ride. Slow is not in the local vocabulary, I think. Blew through yet another stop sign. Oh great, lets do 100 on a narrow 2 lane paved road between the river and the rock face wall. And then lets pass on the curves.

Not surprising there was a recent newspaper article about 50 dead when 2 buses crashed head on while one was passing on a curve.

Heavy rains blew down the largest of the Agave stalks. No photo ops.

Day three, and I have given it my all.