The Trail of Woe in Mendoza

,,,Or the day we paid 150 soles to walk two horses up and down the mountain… take your pick.

The trek to the Laguna Huampata Valley in Mendoza that I described in my last post was the #1 recommended thing to do when visiting.  My plan to take the shorter and easier route had also included using a horse to help these old, tired bones safely up the path was incorrectly translated and put me on the most physically challenging climb up and over two mountain ridges. 

All of my limited physical resources were spent getting to the valley, as described in my last post.  Having already blogged the first leg of my descent this entry will be based on my limited recollections of the next few hours. 

 So let’s see… after a brief stop at a shaded rest station I had donned my “big girl panties”,  stood myself back up on feet that felt like hot coals and hobbled gingerly back to the rocks and mud waiting on the continuation of the hazardous trail’s descent, under a full, blistering, sweltering, unrelenting tropical sun. 

We could just leave it that I came pretty close to my last call, but what would a blog be without details?

Sunhat on and sunscreen re-applied I began the last leg of the trek feeling like my legs were working oddly, feet dragging and knees not receiving the message to bend. 

It took only minutes for a terrible thirst to take hold, and dehydration began to impact both my strength and thought process.  My mantra after each excruciating step became “you made it through the Inca Trail, you can do this”  over and over.   

The “Guide” seemed as though he had no idea what to do with me. 

So much pain.  If a step was big I held on to a wall for support as I placed a foot ever so gently and moved one more stair.  When the stairs got too big to even try, I leveraged myself down and sat on my bum and pulled my self forward and down.  I had sent everyone ahead not wanting them to stop, wait and watch.  They didn’t go too far, usually they were sitting there patiently when I finally made it around a bend or two. 

And the heat.  It not only pounded down from the sun, but also radiated up from the stone and walls of the snaking trail.  Sometimes the muddy areas were replaced by a fine white sand that reflected heat at me. 

It got so that I was trying to keep from crying out each time my foot had to take any step, steep or not.  Praying for shade, but not an iota.  So. Damn. Thirsty.

I sat and cried for a while, and didn’t care that people were waiting for me.

I pulled myself together and up onto my feet and went back to one foot at a time, balancing against the sides of the trail which now seemed to keep the path company. 

My physical state continued to deteriorate, I was dizzy, and alternately hot or icy cold.  My tongue felt swollen.  My feet, ankles and hands were swollen.  My eyes were dry when I blinked.  The thirst was clawing at me.

Knowing that the others were at least two switchbacks ahead of me, I began taking the “shortcuts” that were almost vertical, but were easier to slide down on my bum, or turn around and work backward.  Both of which still hurt but anything to get me the #%$@ of this mountain.  I didn’t even care that I was in prime spider, snake, scorpion or whatever territory.  Just held on for dear life where needed.

At one point I collapsed at the side of the trail where I sat for long moments trying to decide if I should just lie down and go to sleep, or to try and find it in me to keep going.  I thought about my kids, and the friends and people who love me, and I rolled over to get up on my hands and knees, and slowly gained my feet.  I leaned against the wall and waiting for the spots and dizziness to end.    One foot after the other, slowly, ever so gently, I turned a corner to find and found my waiting party.   And another steep shortcut.  I indicated to the guide that I was taking the shortcut, and he warned me that it was very steep.  I slid almost the entire way on my butt, and at one point had to turn over and slide on my stomach  to  make a particularly out of reach step. 

Even the shortcuts had me slower than everyone else, although they too seemed to be finding the walking difficult by this point.  I found myself rejoining the main path just in time to see the guide and horses disappear around the bend and down the trail in front of me.

Time had marched on, and as the sun shifted slightly to the west there were small inches of shade to curl up in for moments at a time if the rock wall was high enough and the curve of the path allowed.  If I found such a spot I curled up into it and removed my sunhat to try and cool my head for a few moments. 

I caught up to the guide as he took a break in one such spot, and collapsed, chest heaving, shivering and having difficulty speaking.  The guide offered me some of the water he had taken from the river, and I gulped it down knowing that the danger I was in right then was far worse than any problems a water bourn illess might cause in the future.  This gained me a few moments of sweet relief. 

The others and the horses moved on, but I told them I needed the shade for a while longer before I could continue.  I was sitting on a large rock slab, which suddenly seemed a great place to lie down for a while.  Once I felt more collected, and my heart rate and breathing seemed improved, I sat up with the intention of standing.  And had to lie down as stars, spots and dizziness hit. 

Not Good.

I tried it again and managed to get up.  And my downhill adventure continued, in a  much diminished capacity (I know, sounds like it could not be possible right?).  Getting disoriented, my thought process was slowing down, and I began to misstep and slip.  Which of course hurt like hell.  I was leaning  against walls for support between steps, and sitting in the shade patches that grew bigger as time passed.

More bum descents.  Next was crawling.  But there came a point I thought I WAS finished.  Done. Rescue me or not, but I was done. The mountain and sun had won

So I lay down and closed my eyes, knowing the dizziness and heat would have their way and I would pass out. 

And then, as I was letting go, a niggle at the back of my brain pictured a first aide kit.  And I remembered through the fog that I had put a first aide kit in my backpack on a whim, containing packets of electrolyte  powder.  Slowly the questions formed in my mind: How would I get it?  How would I take it? We don’t have a cup… but didn’t the guide have a cup he used at lunch?

I took a deep breath and called out as loudly as I could manage, and somebody answered from the trail below.  I took another deep breath and asked if the guide was there with his horse carrying the backpacks?  Yes came the answer.  Fight the dizziness to ask, did he still have water?  Did the lunch supply pack have a cup?   

Thankfully yes to all three. Suddenly I had hope that this sucker wouldn’t kill me.

I called down that I needed them and while waiting I tried to sit up.  Took two tries but I managed.

I gulped down the solution once it was mixed, and (after it must have finally occurred to him that there was serious trouble) a few minutes later the guide appeared with the black horse.  It took some time, but I managed to be helped up on my feet. 

To my incredible relief I had apparently, miraculously, made it to a point in the trail where it was mostly safe for the hot / tired horse to manage to carry a rider.  With a great deal of dizziness and help I was lifted into the saddle,  and held on and stayed in the saddle as I was led the rest of the way back to town, with only a few sections of frightening and difficult passages for the horse. The guide  had called ahead and there was help waiting to for transport from the end of the trail back to the hostal. 

It was then that it was revealed that this was our guides first solo run, and that he was really there to make sure the horses were ok.  On hindsight that explains why he had no real understanding about sunstroke or heat exhaustion, or what he should have done to help me… totally out of his depth. 

Come to think of it now, it must have also been the reason he did no real “guiding”… no talking about trees, plants, animals, birds, the history of the trail.  I am not sure he averaged more than 3 sentences an hour. 

All in all, an eleven hour nightmare.

Anyhow, back to the hostal for:  1)  More Gastrolyte  2)  Badly needed shower   3) Pain Meds in a rainbow of colour.  4)  More water… lots.  5)  Bed.   All within minutes of me walking through the door..

Put my legs / feet on the wall for a little while as I rested, the coolness of the walls seemed to calm the bottom of my swollen feet.  Or the pain meds kicked in.  More Gastrolyte and then I slept for 16 hours.  Crawed out of bed, and one of the hostal owners daughters was a kind guide to a place where breakfast and coffee could be found.  Wasn’t particularly hungry, but I knew I had to eat.

Alfonzo appeared and an invitation was offered.  We debriefed about the trek.  Pretty sure he felt bad.  Me, I was just glad to be alive.  I had my doubts several times on the way down.

During breakfast I mentioned the view of the local market out of my rooms' window, and that I wished I could buy some local coffee to take home.

He seemed eager to please, and as the market was only around the corner it was an easy, albeit slow and tender wander.  And what a fantastic market it was. Huge, with the largest assortment of fruits and vegetables that I had ever seen.  Lots of other stuff as well.  Managed to buy a huge red pineapple and a couple of other local fruits I had never seen before, both just inside the market doors with no more than a few steps needed.

Very small town, and it was only two blocks to a local missionary who sells organic coffee, the proceeds of which are distributed among local childrens charities he supports.  I bought 10 lbs worth at a reasonable (not cheap) price, and felt good about doing it. 

This lovely couple make and sell cakes to support themselves, and also apparently have a thriving business selling green smoothies to a large clientele first thing in the morning, every morning.  It was a short but pleasant visit as both he and his wife spoke good English.  Nice People.

With A glass of “Sweet Lemon” (very different) juice, and a green smoothy under my belt, it was time to say goodbye.

Still dizzy and weak, but slightly revived by breakfast and the smoothy, we took motor transport for a  small jaunt about town before I asked to go back to rest before my bus back to Chachapoyas.  Sound asleep as soon as I was horizontal.  Reluctantly I roused in time to get to the depot for the  hairy bus ride home where I was either a) sleeping, b) asking to be let off to use a bano along route, or c) hanging on for dear life.

Took almost a week for me to feel normal again, and my friends teased me about all the "siestas" I took.

Mendoza, part 1

Various reasons have conspired to keep me from blogging for the last couple of weeks, so to keep it simple I am going to forego my usual chronological format and just talk a bit about experiences and, if I am diligent, the somewhat boring daily details from here on in.

Last week I headed to Mendoza, a sleepy little coffee growing hub about 3 hours away by bus.  You know, one of those god awful, terrifying, windy, one lane bus rides.  I have put off this much desired little jaunt since witnessed the aftermath of a horrifying car accident off this road while on one of my little country walks a few years ago.  Seven people dead after a taxi missed the curb, took out the guardrail and toppled down the side of the mountain.  Shudder.

Well I took the bull by the horns (or bus by the seat?) and finally made the trek.  A very early bus departure deposited me in time for a full day of what to do, and I had great plans to do a leisurely 2 – 3 hour meander by horseback up to a place called Laguna Huamanpata Wednesday.  It is this lovely Wednesday to which I will regale you with details.

There are two ways to get up to this incredibly beautiful and bucolic valley.  The aforementioned short and easier route (especially by horseback), or a gruelling 5 hour hike up and over two mountain ridges.  I picked option A, and added horses to boot as I have become, (how to put it delicately?), plump and sedentary over the past couple of years.

Alfonzo, tour guide extraordinaire, made the arrangements and a little before our planned  5 am. departure (rush, rush!) I was met outside the hotel with rubber boots and my steed, a sweet little white mare.  Alfonzo accompanied us in the dark as we walked a few blocks, until the trail head where he left us in the hands of our guide and my riding began.  I should have known at that point that the messages had gotten crossed because I thought there was a drive first but Alfonzo said no.

It was a lovely start to the day.  Although it was still well before daybreak the air was warm, bugs seemed few and we passed quietly a variety of small homes, animals and a small stream.  Unlike the slightly feisty larger black horse bringing up the rear, my dainty girl seemed eager to take me to my destination in a well behaved manner. 

Our path began a zigzag ascent, and by the time the sky lightened we were well above the city, and the view as the sun rose was spectacular. 

The next thing I knew we were into a steep incline, with large and irregular stone up-steps (can’t call them stairs. yet.).  My mare was strong, but it didn’t take too long before she was struggling.  But on we went, saddle creaking, and the clop of hooves becoming more uneven as the roughness of the terrain increased.  My girl attempts a large step, falters, and Linda takes tumble #1 of the day as the saddle slips off sideways.  No damage done, but there is no way I could ask any more of my mare.  She was obviously not up to being ridden any more. 

Ah the fun begins.

A short discussion ensues and the larger black steed is offered up for my riding pleasure.  My little mare is given the task of carrying up lunch and daypacks… can you really tell if a horse is relieved?  Mine seemed to be.

Onward and upward.  My new charge managed for a while, but somewhere past the 3 hour mark the stupidly steep incline became slippery.  Topple #2 occurred as my horse lost his footing in the mud trying to manage a particularly large step, and tumbled sideways.  As we were falling I (somehow?) remembered to kick my feet free of the stirrups so I wouldn’t get tangled and mangle my leg.  It escaped me at that instant that the horse actually falling ON TOP of me would undoubtedly have a graver outcome.  Somehow the horse managed to avoid landing on top of me, found his footing, and stood sweating, his chest heaving, awaiting his verdict. 

I too picked myself up and shook myself off, grateful to be uninjured, bumps and bruises not withstanding.

No way was I going to ask him to keep carrying me, especially as I looked at the coming trail, all mud and huge lunging stone steps. 

Thus began the trek up the mountain I had specifically tried to avoid.  Made it over the first ridge and rode for a bit while the terrain was even, but the muck began in earnest and neither horse was having an easy time pulling up their hooves out of near knee deep mud.  Here and there were sections that had log walkways laid down, which were easier for humans to navigate than my four footed friends.  I was sure there were broken legs happening at any moment.  More walking, and another climb that I could not ask my horse to tackle with a rider.

Sometime after the 5 hour mark we emerged at the edge of the valley.  Breathtaking.  No lake,  but beautiful none the less. 

Our final destination was a group of cabins across the valley, where we were to lunch.  There was not enough water to take the waiting jungle equivalent of a canoe, so we made our way on foot over the grass covered mud basin… which was a whole different kind of fun.  Squelch, squelch, sink, swear, squelch, sink… etc.  By now the sun was high in the sky and the temperature was sweltering.  (did I forget to mention that Mendoza is 3 hours east of Chachapoyas… and considered a jungle town?)

We reached our lunch spot at very long last, and I gratefully collapsed.  Avocado sandwiches and fruit were on the menu, and disappeared rapidly.  Quick trip to the loo, a giant piece of wood carved into the shape of a toilet, with lid.  After a quick pee I filled the waiting bucket with water from a faucet conveniently provided for that purpose, poured it down the toilet and voila!, instant flush.  Took a picture cause I thought it was genius.

While I had stopped “having fun”  a couple of hours earlier, the view of the meandering river and valley, dotted with big sprawling trees, seeded with herds of horses running free and surrounded by a thick wall of jungle vegetation was worth a climb.  Just maybe not the one I had experienced.  Before long there was talk of heading back to town, and all I could think was HOW the “@#%$@” was I going to make it?  I was done. Physically DONE.

Without any choice (to stay forever didn’t seem possible, rescue by helicopter… unlikely) I put on my big girl panties, slapped on some more sunscreen and bug spray, and squelched my way back across the valley.  A short, blissful and much appreciated ride back to where the stairs and mud began again, and I dismount onto feet that were on fire… up and over the ridge, then a brutal descent...  Poor dear horsies.  A short respite from more rocks and stairs that I had managed on foot with a brief ride before again dismounting at the return of the mud bogs and logs, followed closely by another steep, slippery, rocky  climb. 

But I am pretty sure that I rode into the shaded rest stop after I desperately climbed on the stronger horse, after making that it could safely handle the slight slope and drier path. 

Taking stock I knew I was in trouble.  I drank the last of my water.  It was 1pm there was at least 4 more hours to go, almost entirely by foot if the ascent was any indication.  And we were headed down at the absolute hottest time of the day, full equatorial sun and almost no shade.  I sat slumped, exhausted, thirsty and my feet hurt each time I took a step.  How I longed for my hiking boots, left behind in the hotel in favour of the guide recommended rubber boots.  In spite of the excellent wool hiking socks, the constant slipping inside the boots was in the process of blister making. 

All around me was evidence pf an Alto Mayo jungle, and as tired as I was I spent a few moments just looking and soaking it in.  Ferns, Bamboo, Grasses. The forest cut back from the path. Dozens of butterflies… most that I had not seen before (still hard to photograph), and birds both flying and watching.   As the horses fuelled up eating the grass, underbrush and bamboo, I looked at the view from high atop the mountain. The vistas were incredible.  The surrounding peaks covered completely in wild, old growth Alta Mayo.  Tropical Cloud forest as it is meant to be.  And there was no sign of Mendoza far, far below. 

Since I had previously donned my “big girl panties” I leveraged myself off the bench and cringed as my feet took my weight, placed sun hat firmly on head and hobbled back to the trail.  I mentioned to the “guide” that everyone was out of water and he said he would get some from the river. Cringed again as the first rule of good potty health is never drink the river water.  Hmmm.

 Tomorrow let’s talk Heat / Sun Stroke.

A whole bunch, and not a lot…

Pet Peeve:

Line Jumpers:

What is it with people that they have to get ahead of the line?  Whether it is at airport boarding gates, bank queues, bus stops or in my most recent bothersome incident at the government office.   

This is the place where I got my government permissions last year.  I had already paid the fee (see last post) and so knew I had only one office to report to, and it was on the third floor.  The guards at the stairs directed me to a set of seats, second in line.  When there was a group of 8 or so we were all directed up to the third floor and put in a row, in order, and asked to wait.  Ten minutes later another group of 8 arrived and sat down.  A few moments later a security guard came to take us in to the office, and proceeded to take the people who had just arrived.  When we objected, the (insert favourite expletive) inconsiderate, lowlife line jumpers just smiled and rushed away. 

Added another hour to my morning.

Part of the morning consisted of waiting across the street at a café for an hour while my papers were “processed”.  Coffee was decent, and it gave me an opportunity to people watch. 

And of course coffee is a great, well, “facilitator”, if you catch my drift.  Off I went to find the biff, which brought back to reality the expectations of cleanliness and equipment in most establishments. 

No toilet seat

No toilet paper

No latch on the door.

(if you are squeamish jump a paragraph or two…)

But I really, really had to go.  What to do?  Extract from my purse the emergency stash, wipe bowl lid, cover bowl lid and (ick) sit.  A very short time later I was done, wiped, stashed the used goods in the garbage can (at least it was not in a pile on the floor) and flushed.  No water to flush.  Really?  What now?  Can’t say I have ever been faced with needing to fish and dispose. 

Ewwwwwww.  Sorry.  Not gonna do it.  Uh unh, no way, you can’t make me.  So I gently laid the last small piece of emergency TP over the evidence and did a very hasty exit. 

Ah the joys of travel. 

After finishing up with my paperwork, the next target was the National Museum.  All these trips and I had never been.  Of particular interest was the exhibit done in honour of the victims of the civil war of 1980 -2000. 

People here do not speak of it.  It is considered the height of indiscretion to bring it up unless someone happens to mention it.  None of my acquaintances has yet. 

The exhibit was testament to the horrors inflicted by both the Shining Path and Tupac Amaru Guerrilla forces and the Government Anti-terrorist forces.  So much terror, so much death.  Family member against family member, villagers against villagers. 

Done chronologically it depicted death and despair, and towards the end of the exhibit it had rooms dedicated to the orphans, women, and the “disappeared” (those who were taken and have never been heard of again. 

I came away disturbed, not only as a decent human would about the inhumanity and loss, but also with the certainty that many of the people I know were likely forced to take sides and pick up weapons. 

It also explains Jose’s very quick approval that the people ambushing the busses from Tarapoto last year had been summarily executed.  Shiver.

Next up, a rant about the drivers!

Get up and go day.

Today was a get up and go day.  Glad I could get out of bed.

Having extended my stay in Lima thanks to so many down days, I had put off a few “must do’s” that had to happen on a weekday.  .

I need to go to the DIGEMIN office to get “permission to sign contracts” from the government.  Last years experience taught me pay the fee at the bank before heading downtown.

So first up was a visit to the Banco del La Nacion.  There was a huge snaking line of people waiting to get into the bank.  I tried looking at all the signs posted on the tall black iron gate outside, but saw no clue as to whether I needed to join these other 100 or so souls, shifting from foot to foot and fanning themselves with their paperwork. 

I spy a security guard controlling traffic into the building and bravely wormed my way over to his post, showed him my paperwork, and in halting bastardised Spanish asked him if I needed to join the line.  A few false interpretive starts, and then to my delight he put me in an alternate line that had a mere dozen people in front of me.  Sweet. 

A very nice (and patient) teller eventually understood what I wanted to do, and poof!, money exchanged, receipt issued and I was sneaking out a side gate to avoid passing all those people still shuffling and fanning outside.

A hot humid few blocks down the road (the one that was choked with gas emitting, honking, wacko driven cars) was the office of Taca Airlines (Ahhh… air conditioning!), where I booked a flight to Trujillo for Sunday… for about the same cost of a bus ticket.  Why spend 10 hours in a bus when in an hour you can be there?)

A desperate need for a pee had me entering a Starbucks along my return route.  I dutifully bought a drink and snack, which satisfied the security person guarding access to the washroom.  They take their “patrons only” policy very seriously here.  And why wouldn’t they?  Their washrooms are what the Ritz is to a backpackers youth hostal.  Modern, clean, toilet seats and paper, soap and paper towel, and the toilets flush!  No doubt they have to hold back the hoards.

That was the end of the only spurt of energy I have had since arrival, so I weaved my way back to the hostal and crashed.  Woo-hoo the excitement of the day.

Thursday was a no go, walking in circles, confused and had not bounced back from yesterdays successful missions. 

That Leaves only Friday to complete my business before the offices closed for the weekend.

It will be an interesting day.

Still sleeping

Ah, exotic travel… The sun.  The culture.  The freedom.

I am still waiting.

Even when I don't start out at "exhausted", past years have shown me that me, myself and I are gifted with a few down days before the fun starts.  So far we are on schedule. 

Ah, desperately needed down time and sleep. 

Thank goodness for the Hostel “El Patio”, my oasis in the centre of this crowded, noisy city of 9 million Limeños.  I can look out the window into the fountain and plant filled courtyard.    Not much else is happening.

Snoozed through my ferry ride to Vancouver, had a lovely visit with my friend Martha and her daughter Rose.  My flights were uneventful and I mostly slept my way through them. 

I will say that the Toronto Pearson Airport showed signs of the recent ice storms and bad weather the city has experienced.  Thick sheets of ice sat between the runways, and it looked like they had not managed to clear all the tarmac.  Thankfully the weather was good and there were no flight delays. 

Sure is quite the trek between domestic and international gates though.  Luckily the flight from Vancouver was on time so there was no huge stressing about missing the connecting flight… minor stressing yes, but what is travel without it? 

Airline food and bathrooms.  Need I say more?

Immigration and customs were a breeze this year, airport pickup waiting, as were the front desk staff.  Nice room, little kitchenette, hot showers.  Sleep, sleep, sleep.

Must remember:  keep mouth closed while showering, use bottled water to brush my teeth, and used toilet paper goes in the waste basket beside the toilet.

So no great blogging still.

Now I am taking myself and my crazy swollen ankles back to bed for... wait for it… a good nights sleep!

Not really a post

Can't get any more tired than complete exhaustion, which has been my state of being for several weeks now.  My first exciting day in Lima was spent sleeping.   I managed to surface long enough to eat dinner and take a stroll.  Now it is back to sleep for me.  Tomorrow might include a proper blog entry.  

Here's hoping.

ta.

Lima... an afternoon at the park

 Who remembers the scene at the end of “Notting Hill”  where Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant are sitting on a bench in a gated park surrounded by an idyllic tableau of playing children and strolling adults? 

Well the “Parc d’amour” on the bluffs in downtown Miraflores is hardly a private park, but the ambiance was there in spades. 

My afternoon stroll meandered towards the pacific sunset on a warm Monday afternoon.  Traffic was light enough not to be obnoxious, the breeze came off the water bringing clean salty air and the Para-gliders were doing a brisk trade with their sails billowing and giddy passengers whooping and squealing.  I sat mesmerized at the efficiency of their operation… self-directed airport traffic control at its’ best. 

I was 80% certain that floating about above the city would be my last days experience, but the line up was easily an hour long and after wandering the Indian Markets the better part of the day my feet were on fire and I didn’t have that much standing left in me (honestly!).  So I contented myself watching the varied human units be harnessed to the front of burley macho-type men and then literally get run off the cliff.  A snap of fabric and down they would briefly and gently sail, to the point when the updraft would catch their eyebrow shaped, parachute lite, string controlled kites.   Around they would float for the allotted 10 minutes, and then in they would swoop for gentle touchdowns guided by birdlike downward motions made by pilots with whipcord-like muscled arms. 

This small cordoned off area was “owned” by these daredevils.

As I waited for the pink of sunset the Hollywood perfect park setting unfolded all around me.  Palm tree dotted lawn laid between the winding bluff sidewalk and the busy street provided ample space for everyday life on display.  Kids playing tag.  Yoga masters contorting and showing the kind of strength and balance I can only envy.  Ropes strung between tree trunks with future tight-walkers practicing their craft.  The irrepressible little yorkie trying desperately to keep up with an Italian Greyhound type speed demon playing retrieve the Frisbee.  Parents pushing strollers, young lovers snuggling, teenage girls trying to get the perfect group fun photo.  A touching scene with an elderly woman in a wheel chair, an ice cream treat tenderly provided. A lone man doing a whole lot of push-ups.  Joggers.  Skateboarding teenage boys.  Mom, Dad and 2 little units bike riding across the lawn.  All kinds of purebred canines being paraded around… including one bulldog wearing a hot pink Andean themed hat. 

What a lovely night.

Finished it off with dinner at what seems to be “The” patio place to eat. 

Before I knew it the time had come to head back to the hostal to pack up the goodies I acquired during my “pass the time” dawdle through the markets.  

Hours worth of dawdle.  A noon checkout at my favourite little hostal allowed me a leisurely morning, but left me with 9 hours to fill before my scheduled cab ride to the airport.  Leaving my luggage at the front desk, and with no particular items on a shopping list I headed off spend the afternoon bartering and bantering.  Colourful typical handicrafts were on sale next to schmaltzy souvenirs and knitted wear of all qualities.  The venders are hawkish, always inviting and cajoling tourists to engage enough to wheedle them out of their dollars.   I spent every bit of cash I had and called it quits only then.

 

And that is it.  Another trip over.  Re-entry culture shock here I come.

Tarapoto... enjoying a perfect evening

I am sitting in a lovely restaurant, enjoying a light evening breeze and listening to Hey Jude being played on an Andean Pipe mixed tape… it is a perfect night. 

And it follows a spectacular afternoon.  No great adventure, but time spent with a friend looking at homes and property in the small town of Lamas just outside of Tarapoto.  There is raw land for sale for the equivalent of $120.00 per hectare.   Homes for sale on a couple of hectares for about $80,000.  Which do you think I am more interested in? 

One home I saw would have been perfect… and thus a perfect example of the kind of dwelling to copy.  Tropical mosquito screen walls, beautiful wood beams, incredible bathroom… Bet I can do that too but with way less money.  A jungle retreat for when I get tired of the Chachapoyan rains.  Four wheel drive necessary. 

I am a nutbar, obviously.

We drove back towards town stopping to pick up local farmers leaving their fields for the day and carrying heavy bags of bounty.  There were a couple of women in colourful hot pink and orange native dress carrying loads down their backs slung traditionally from their heads, thus leaving their hands free.  Into the back of the pickup they all went until there was no more room, and every now and then someone would bang the top of the cab to indicate it was drop off time.

After our last guest had hopped down we made a beeline for coffee at a café run by a local collective and it was delicious.  Bought as much coffee as I think my suitcase can accommodate.  As my suitcase is already bulging at the seams it is becoming obvious that I will be buying a larger bag in Lima… I love to shop at the Indian Market there!  Shawls, belts, sweaters, baskets, trinkets and jewellery.   If the god of air travel are kind I should have a whole day to devote to this passion.  J

I think I would have done well as a travelling gypsy.   Wherever I park my butt becomes  home.  So I wonder, why move on?  Why return?  On a tip from a fellow traveller I read a book called The Alchemist about a traveller setting out to seek a fortune, the lessons learned, and following the path that life and situation dictate.  Not a great description, not a big book, but it stressed the importance of moving forward not back. 

So why do I return?  Ask me again when I am back in Courtenay and I will probably then ask why do I want to leave…  I have been roaming since I was a teenager, and 35 years later I still don’t seem able to settle down. 

… back in my hammock after a lovely salad of palm hearts and avocado, washed down with a lovely tropical juice called Cocana.  Mmm, Mmmm Good.

I have done my online check in for my flight tomorrow afternoon which will leave me the better part of the day to occupy myself.  Maybe a boulder-hop up river? 

Oh ick, there is something crawling up my leg… 

Now it is a squished something.

There is some REALLY BAD karaoke going on at the bar across the street.  Last night the music was loud and played late into the night, not to mention Mr. Action Film watching TV at a stupid volume until the wee hours.  Oh the joys.

But how I wish I could gather you all up and bring you here… everyone should have the opportunity to sit or swing in this idyllic setting (karaoke excepted).  The air is perfect, warm enough to appreciate the gentle cool breeze that drifts by.  Gently rocking back and forth I look up and see the intricacies of the woven grass roof, down to my favourite deep red terracotta tile floor and out to the tropical gardens backlit by the warm-white glow coming from the occupied rooms.  That I could pack this up and bring it home to my backyard. 

I am going to just sit here and rock back and forth for a while… giving the mosquitoes their quota of blood while I do.  After all it is the jungle.  Tonight I intend to enjoy it enough for everyone.

Tarapoto... Sweater unexpectedly required

 I may just have to wear a sweater to bed tonight.

But I digress…

Ash Wednesday is celebrated in town with a Mass, followed by the procession around town of a glass coffin with a figure of martyred Jesus on display within.  Accompanied by music it makes its rounds atop the shoulders of the chosen faithful, and is followed by a group of worshipers as it winds up and down the streets before returning to the Cathedral.  Harkens back to a New Orleans funeral procession.

I was moseying around the Hostal in the afternoon when Eduardos’ cousin dropped bye to pick up Eduardo and survey the land he has for sale.  An invitation for a half hour of entertainment was issued, which I accepted, and into his truck I did hop.  Hello and introductions to the other occupants of the truck and we were off on what turned out to be 3 hours of wandering.  Land, developments, Eduardos’ house (yay!) and the hillside holdings of the founder of the Santa Theresa neighbourhood.  We were invited in to view the construction of her new home… a lovely big affair built around a massive inner courtyard. 

I of course had arranged to meet Lallie and Cliff for dinner at 6 pm, so the 30 minutes turning into 3 hours had me searching for a way to politely ask to be returned to town.  This is tricky, because there is an etiquette to these situations and it does not entail pressuring a host even if a deadline has been missed.  

Luckily someone else mentioned it and I made it back with 5 minutes to spare.

Yesterday I put some eggs on to boil for breakfast and went back to my room my while they cooked.  When I returned to get them they were gone, and just as I discovered this Eduardo came running in with fresh eggs and profuse apologies.  He was soooo concerned I would be angry that he had eaten my breakfast.  He ran all the way to the market and back, which was sweet and silly at the same time. 

The square was busy… a combination of Valentines day, friendship day and a nod to the One Billion and rising to end violence against women.  Music, kids sports, dancing… until the power went out across the city and put an end to the celebrating. 

Sent clothes out to the laundry early.  (then hoped the power would come back on so I would get it back before leaving).  Packed some things to store with Carlos and Janet until next year.  Started my goodbyes.

Donna sat down to make me a lovely knitted hat as a goodbye present.  She is a very talented knitter and I watched as she drew a design on paper and whipped out her knitting needles and wool.  We chatted while she clicked away.  I excused myself to finish packing and have dinner. 

There were a couple of young ratty looking Gringos blocking traffic as they juggled in the street for change… like squeegee kids in Toronto.  Dirty hair and clothes… such a lovely representation of our kind, no?  A small, mean minded voice in my head was hoping someone would plough them down.  Just call your family for money to get back home and get a real job. 

Upon my return to the Hostal Donna had an almost completed hat in her hands.

I admit to being overtired and found myself impatient while waiting as she finished.  Not as in “hurry up already” but more of a “give your head a shake” admonishment to myself.  Both Sandra and Jose popped in and out of the Hostal and young folk mingled around with questions.  It was almost 10 pm when I wore my lovely hat home after many goodbyes.  I think Sandra and I said goodbye about 10 times throughout the day!  I will miss them.

This morning I was up before my alarm rang and it took less than 10 minutes to be packed and ready.  Janet and I grabbed a cab to drop my bag at the terminal, then we met Eduardo and Maribelle for breakfast… Carlos gallantly offered to stay behind and tend to the guests. 

A meander back to the main square, goodbye to Carlos et al. and I am Tarapoto bound. 

Just like that my time in Chachapoyas is done. 

All squeezed into the people moving sardine unit heads out of town, passing by my land and giving me a last mental image to store.  Seeing it from farther away really puts the slopes in perspective and will be helpful with the next planning stage.

Down, down, down to the river.  It didn’t take me too long to realise that the wonderful cup of coffee I had at breakfast had worked it diuretic magic and I became uncomfortably aware that I had to pee. 

Perfect.

A quiet plea in mangled spanish had the driver making an unplanned stop for me to nip into the market in Pedro Ruiz for relief.  

As usual our switchback ascent into the high Sierra Alto Maya mountain range started just outside Pedro Ruiz.  As did the barfing in the back.  I actually had some queezies going on myself, so it was a Gravol day.  Reserving a seat next to an opened window proved helpful until short sleeved Mr Wonderful next to me asked me to close it because he was cold.  I mean REALLY??  I am a gringa and yet even I know it gets cold high in the mountains… which is why I wore a SWEATER! 

Whatever.   We played open window / closed window for a couple of hours. 

Lunch stop (for those that were eating… ie. not me) was at a high pass, pretty mountain outlook.  But man was it chilly.  As I sat waiting I made the acquaintance of a young woman from Ontario and the 20 minutes passed pleasantly.

Not long after we started out long, long descent downward.  It takes hours of switchbacks and braking.  It is at this point that our driver turned nutzoid… maintaining a speed at double the limit and passing on curves.  Blew through the armed security checkpoints too.  Entreaties were made to higher powers.

It got worse when we got to straight, flat roads.  What a maniac.  Seems he figures that leaning on the horn should make oncoming traffic yield as if by magic. 

Made it though, thankfully.  The sun peaked through the overcast sky just as we got to the finish line.  Short ride to the hostal, meander to the market for water, tasty meal and I am soon to bed.  Friday night music blasts, but I have no doubt I will sleep.  I am exhausted. 

And cold.  There is no swelter for me tonight as some uncommon weather pattern has taken hold and there is a decided nip in the air.  They don’t put blankets on the beds in the tropics… and so, as mentioned, I may just have to wear a sweater to bed tonight.

Tomorrow… Lamas and the worlds’ best coffee!

A trail not taken

6 days and counting… that is all the time between me and Vancouver.  Hard to believe.

The sun has been kind for five days now, and I have been able to wander, enjoy and basically soak up all the reasons I love this place.

There has been music in the main square the past couple of days, and today kids are parading through the streets behind school banners, waiving balloons, playing drums,  blowing whistles and playing with water.  Very colourful. 

Life has been full of meal invites and laughter. 

New friends Lally and Cliff (from the States) and I have been getting acquainted, and ventured out on a rather ill-fated self tour a coulple of days ago.  I had wanted to re-walk the trail from a neighbouring town high above chachapoyas, and when I mentioned it Lallie and Cliff enthusiastically agreed to join me.

Linda.  Tour Guide.  Something missing other than knowledge? 

We took a cab on the curvy, dusty, 20 km. dirt road up to Levanto, and spent a few moments wandering around their pretty main square.  The loony lady that I found caretaking the gardens on my past visit was not in evidence and the gardens had a neglected look to them.  Beautiful blooming flowers in an overgrown setting.

On to the trail.  My instructions had been to ask any local and they would show us the trailhead, and once there just follow it.   I remembered last time that it was easy to follow, with no intersections of note to confuse things.  What I didn’t remember was a set of freshly constructed stairs leading up, up, up.  At the top left or right?  Left said the gentleman tending his garden.  Up the road to the next intersection, where a group of men were playing music and drinking cane juice.  Offers of liquid refreshment politely refused and we were directed up a nearby set of stairs, these looking old and well worn.  Again with the up, up, up… I remarked repeatedly that this was not at all what I remembered.  (OK, so I whined).

But the directions had been clear and we soldiered on, avoiding mud where necessary and stopping to catch our breaths and drink water.  Levanto itself is several hundred metres higher than Chachapoyas, and very soon we were looking way down on Levantos’ main square.  It did not compute for me, because I remember walking DOWN from the town.  HMMM.

We came to a part of the trail where a choice had to be made, left and up or right and down.  HMMM.  Along comes older gentleman who, when asked, pointed down for the trail to Chachapoyas.  Didn’t feel right because we were on the wrong side of the mountain, but we deferred to his knowledge. 

Wrong.

We ended up following what became a mud hole ridden cow path, and several rights later ended back at the road that had taken us into Levanto.  A 30 minute walk would have had us right back where we started. 

None of us being in the mood to retrace our steps up the muck ridden cow path, nor wanting to trek back to the start point, we settled down for a rest at the side of the road and waited for a passing car / taxi that could take us on the 20km road back to Chachapoyas… the thought of walking back was simply too much to contemplate. 

Every few minutes a motorcycle would whiz by, drivers looking at us curiously.  A pickup went past on it’s way into Levanto, which we hailed down and asked if they were going to be heading back… no they were continuing on to a remote town past Levanto.   A large truck stopped, but finally I understood their explanation that they were not going directly and could not take us.  Finally a taxi came barrelling bye, and we stood in the middle of the road to stop it.  The driver didn’t want to go to Chachapoyas because this late in the day he would not get a return fare. 

“How much?”  I asked.  Hesitation.  “How much?” I asked again.  The driver names a ridiculous sum.   “Complete?”  I ask… “Nada Mas?”.  He agrees and we gladly pay the highway robbery price.  Back in town we profusely thank the driver for his willingness to bring us down… Our Hero.  (price tag notwithstanding)

Back in town I told Carlos we got lost and he then informed me that the trail we took was a totally different one that I had previously, up, up, up was correct… the right hand turn is what apparently got us.  So much for asking a local.

I finally got over to my land to take a good look at my fence.  Manuel did a good job, and the land is now cleared and planted.  It is good to know it will be cared for.

The hot afternoon sunshine is calling me out… so that’s it for now.  Shout out to a Stacey… a friend that is having a hard time right now.  Hang in there!