I arrived in Peru at the tail end of February 2010 in preparation for my awesome Machu Picchu trek leaving the first of March. That didn’t happen. I was a little bummed about not getting to see Machu Picchu, but in true adventurous spirit said to myself “I’ll be in South America for a while… we’ll see what happens.” I explored Cusco and Arequipa. I went on a tour of the floating islands on Lake Titicaca. And went sand-boarding on the dunes in Huacachina. I flew over the Nasca lines and marveled at the shapes. And then I put Peru out of my mind. I started on my first volunteer project in Cartegna and promptly put my missed opportunity at hiking the Inca Trail out of my mind.
But when meeting other travelers the conversation always seems to go somethitng like this:
Random Traveler: How long have you been traveling for? Where have you been?
Upon hearing that I have already been to Peru but did not get to see Machu Picchu, it inevitably goes like this:
Random Traveler: Dude! You have GOT to go to Machu Picchu. It’s EPIC. Your trip will be nothing if you don’t get to Machu Picchu.
At this point I don’t even bother trying to explain that anatural disaster occurred not long before I was to hike Machu Picchu and that I am grateful that said natural disaster did not occur while I was hiking Machu Picchu.
More time passed and I helped build eco-friendly hiking trails and count howler monkeys in the dry forest [which is a total misnomer since it’s soaking wet 6 months out of the year]. I catalogued orchids in a cloud forest. I tagged turtles on the Galapagos Islands. I climbed volcanoes in Ecuador. I caught malaria in the Amazon Rainforest. I volunteered in a health clinic and taught classes on respiratory infections, influenza, and tuberculosis. I chilled out and took surfing lessons on the coast. I went hiking in Keulap and Chachapoyas. I met up with friends in Cajamarca. I rented an apartment and hosted a Thanksgiving dinner with and for travelers.
And then my roommate asked me this question. In Novemeber.
“Someone just cancelled in my tour group to hike Machu Picchu. Do you want to take their place? It’s the first week of December.”
Did I? After all, 8 months earlier I came to Peru a month earlier than my first volunteer assignment required for the sole purpose of hiking Machu Picchu. But was that still a goal? At the risk of sounding extremely pretentious, Machu Picchu was becoming just another box to tick… just a way to impress my fellow travelers. I wasn’t helping anyone by climbing it. I wasn’t learning Inca culture and this wouldn’t be a culmination of assimilating all that knowledge. I had done so much more than I had originally intended to do, and I still had a half of a continent to explore.
“Oh and this isn’t the standard 4day/3night trek This is a 9day/8night 100km hike”
holyfuckingshit…. that’s a long ass hike I thought. And my roommate… she used to climb mountains. For fun. And for fun I like to sleep. And then before I realized the words were out of my mouth “I’m in,” and I had a paltry 6 weeks to get my ass into shape. There was no turning back after that. My previous longest hike was a measly 2 day 16 miler in Chachapoyas.
Did I go? Oh hell yeah. Was it amazing? Incredibly so. Was it the most physically and mentally challenging thing I have ever done in my life? Without a doubt. Was it worth it?
Like many things I do, my trek to Colca Canyon was not carefully planned; it was more of a spontaneous impulse.
I arrived in Peru mid-March hell-bent on hiking Machu Picchu. The universe was equally hell-bent on making sure that didn’t happen. As always, the universe won. I poked around Cusco for a while, contemplating where to go next. Arequipa seemed like a logical place. It has everything I look for in a destination: history, interesting architecture, something special in the vicinity that you can’t find anywhere else.
Enter Colca Canyon. It is the second deepest canyon in the world, and home to the world’s largest and most romantic bird: the Colca Condor.
The condor has a wingspan of 10 feet, can live to be 100 years old, and mates for life. In fact, the remaining partner often commits suicide when its partner dies. The bird just refuses to flap its massive wings and plummets to its death. Tragic, but also somewhat romantic.
After poking around Arequipa for a few days, I headed out to Cabanaconde, a small town nestled in a chasm deeper. I had nowhere to be until May so I planned on doing a little hiking/backpacking in the area knowing that I’d be back in Peru in the fall [technically, I suppose I mean spring since seasons are reversed] I had just returned from a short day hike and was admiring the view of the canyon while sipping what would become one of my top five all-time favorite alcoholic beverages–a maracuya sour– when I saw it far off in the distance. What ‘it’ was was a small white waterfall standing out against a wall of green. At that moment, I knew that I’d have to get a lot closer, and I wasn’t leaving the canyon until I felt that cold water on my feet
As it turned out, the white blip was the Huaruro waterfall, a 250-foot behemoth accessible from the small village of Fure on the opposite side of the canyon. A hiker and explorer by heart, a mountaineer I am not. Thankfully I’ve been blessed with the curse of self-awareness, and knew that getting there completely on my own was so far outside my comfort zone it would not be advisable to try. Enter my new best friend, Jose [maybe not his real name, but he answered to it]. As a solo female traveler and even more so as a solo female adventurer heading into a canyon where I could be raped and dismembered and left for the condors to eat, I have to trust my gut when meeting guides. After all, I am literally putting my life in their hands–at least for a few days. I met my tiny Quechua guide the day before and maybe he recognized my hesitation since he invited me to meet his family.
Meeting the family put me at ease that this wasn’t some serial killer trying to get me alone and away from civilization. Dinner was potatoes and meat, probably alpaca–I didn’t ask–and chincha, a drink I’ve already come to loathe, and conversation was probably 75% Spanish and 25% Quechua. Don’t worry, I didn’t know I could understand Quechua either, but apparently having studied/lived with Mayans 10 years ago
predisposed me for understand other odd languages. My brain works in mysterious ways… I digress.
After dinner, the women-folk did their cleaning up and Jose and I discussed the particulars of the trek. We would start at 7:00 in the morning, and hike from Cabanaconde down to the bottom of the canyon [a descent of approximately 3,300 feet]. After that, we’ll cross the Colca River, have lunch in Llahuar, hike up about 1,650 feet to the town of Llatica and then continue up another 600 feet to Fure, where we would sleep that first night.
The next day, we’d set out for the waterfall and then hike back down the canyon to the Sangalle oasis, where we’d spend the night. Then, early in the morning of the third day, we’d leave the oasis to hike up back to Fure and on day 4, it’s back to Cabanaconde and civilization. Looking back, I’m grateful I’d mention up front that I wanted to go slow since I’d would be taking a lot of pictures because Jose said in the past, this had always been a 3-day trek for him.
Jose said he didn’t do this route often; not many guides did since most people just wanted to see the canyon, but for 4 days he charged me $50. Food was extra, but in reality still only amounted to another $25 for the two of us for the four days. So $75 total for four days of guiding, food, drink, and our one night in a shelter. What a deal. Fortunately, or maybe not, I had no idea of what I was in for.
Into the canyon
The next morning, I was up at 5 for breakfast and last minute backpack arranging. As promised, Jose arrived promptly at 7 and off we went. We walked through the town of Cabanaconde, passing an empty bullfighting ring and the goal of an abandoned soccer stadium. From there, we descended into the canyon.
I was weaving my way down Colca Canyon, slowly– little by little, when I caught my first glimpse of the Colca River. This glistening sliver of hope encouraged me that I was getting closer to reaching the bottom of one of the deepest canyons on the planet and helped me carry on.
Almost immediately, Jose started pointing out all kinds of indigenous herbs and fruits. A plethora of plants with a variety of uses grow in the canyon: muña for indigestion, cactus fruit for asthma and jatupa for insecticide, for starters. The canyon also hosts an incredible bounty of fruit. Peaches, apples, papaya, several different types of squash, lucuma, corn, mango and figs all flourish there. And you know this just fed my little nerd heart so much.
Five hourse later, we crossed the rushing Colca River and arrived at Llahuar, a small settlement consisting of two guesthouses, where lunch was a hearty heap of protein in the form of trout, and the requisite unidentifiable soup with a mass of avocado or potato in it, and rice. The view was simply amazing–an overlook of the convergence of the Colca and Huaruro rivers.
After lunch, more hiking, this time up as we ascended to the town of Llatica, a sleepy place with a rundown church. At the end of the first uphill leg of our trip, I was completely winded. I maintain that this was due to the altitude (about 12,000 feet), not the fact that I was, well, a bit out of shape.
At Llatica, it was time for a rest stop and a snack. Jose had some fruit for a snack. I still don’t know what it was, but it was banana flavored and had seeds in it. After the break, it was onward to Fure.
That’s when things started to get interesting. Right outside Llatica, we met the bearer of bad news. A group of three Peruvians guys told us the path to Fure had been blocked by a rockslide, and we’d be unable to continue. Specifically, one of the guys said that I wouldn’t be able to cross the affected path, which was now apparently a heaping pile of boulders. I am at most most effective [and stubborn] when someone tells me that I can’t do something. The guys pointed out a different trail, one that went almost to the top of the mountain and then descended to Fure.
I, of course, was not in favor of this option, considering the dire state of my knees and lungs. However, if we reached the rock slide and couldn’t get around it, we’d have to return all the way to Llatica in the dark for the night. Night hiking is not my favorite. By this time, it was already 3:00 in the afternoon. We’d been hiking since 7A and sunset would be about 6P. If I’d been smarter, I would have suggested staying in Llatica for the evening and re-evaluating my options. I wasn’t smart.
Obstacle surmounted–chasing waterfalls
We soldiered on to Fure where we met a young teenager who seemed more confident about our chances with the rock slide. The catch, though, was that we’d have to rock-climb up a 20-foot chasm in the mountain. There were no ropes and no harnesses, and there certainly was no emergency room close enough to make any difference. Rock-climbing has never been an interest of mine, and now I’m mentally cursing myself for never having visited a rock-climbing gym. And I was tired. Bone-tired, but I was not at a place to stop.
By the time we got to the slide, I was running on fumes. The path ended and in its place stood a substantial rock face, which there was now no choice but to climb. On either side of the rock slide, the mountain shot straight up and dropped straight down, so there would be no walking around the boulders.
My new friend took my backpack up the crevice. Then it was my turn. My new friend and Jose told me where to put my feet and hands, and I inched up the mountain. About 15 feet up, I got stuck. For nearly a minute, I balanced on one toe on the crack in the rock, using three fingers to grip the rock above my head. I held myself there, paralyzed, unsure whether my next move would hoist me up or land me with a broken leg.
Honestly, though, the climb was almost a relief, because I was able to make use of my arms in addition to my legs. With one big heave that involved placing my other foot on the rock above my hip and hoisting myself up, I cleared the worst of the climb. From there, just two more moves took me to the top. My new friend (I never got his real name) helped me up at the end, and Jose scrambled up quickly behind me like the native pack mule he is.
We picked up the trail again on the other side of the rockslide, and from there, we crossed a rickety bridge to Fure, where we were shown to our room for the night: a mud hut with four walls, a dirt floor and a mattress propped up on bamboo and logs.
After a long soak in the town’s natural spring and a dinner of soup, squash puree and white rice, I went to bed and slept like a dead animal until sunrise the next day.
After a relatively mild hour-and-a-half hike, we approached the waterfall. At first, all we could see was a watery mist drifting up into a vivid green pasture. Then we turned a corner, and suddenly we were at the foot of a mass of water plunging to the ground. The vegetation was dripping wet from the mist, and the noise from the water’s 250-foot drop silenced our conversation.
The hike to Sangalle oasis was thankfully, drama-free.
Colca Canyon has more to offer than resounding views and an oasis. It has the power to challenge us both mentally and physically whilst giving us strength and a connection to the world around us.
I am leaving you, and although I am a little bummed, I am not entirely sad about it. We’ve been together for a while now–three whole months and part of another. That’s the longest I have stayed with anyone (other than Campeche–but you don’t need to know about him). You were good to me. You introduced me to so many cool people from all parts of the world. You have given me opportunities that I don’t know I would have gotten anywhere else such as establishing a clinic and helping to organize an art exhibition. As a memento of my visit, I am leaving you a clinic. I have no illusions that it will actually survive when I am gone although do hope the printed material and posters will at least hang around a bit.
You allowed me to stay in an awesome apartment with an amazing roommate (Hey, Emily) and cool vecinos (Hola, Cameron and Corinna). I learned about supply and demand of hot water in the desert and learned to love life with out electronics or ice. [The ice part wasn’t too hard, and I learned how to rig up a system for music] But everyone you have introduced me to has already gone, too. Don’t worry. You’ll soon be full of Peruvian vacationers and party-surfer-dudes from all over the world. Summer is coming and that’s your time to shine.
Huanchaco, we had some good times like dancing at the BeachHouse, bonfires on the beach, hanging out in the apartment, parties celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving in the apartment with 30 or so people, clubbing at AMA, watching real ‘football’ in Trujillo, but there will be some things I am glad to leave behind.
Like how you think I am stupid because I am a white girl. I know it is only 1.20 soles to the mall (and sometime only 1 sol) , not the 1.50 you ask for every single time. Or how you think I will just hand over money because it’s a “fee”. Come on, I have been here too long for that. Another thing I won’t miss is how you think that just because I am walking, I am looking for a taxi [beep… beep]. I won’t miss how you stop in front of me or your insane sirens, but what I will miss is how close you are to the ocean (I have never lived a block and a half from the beach before), that you are probably the safest town in Peru, how I can walk back to the apartment at 2 or 3 in the morning and not feel threatened at all… In that way you remind me of Due West, and that I will miss. There is a big wide world out there, and I need to explore it. So adios, Huanchaco, I am headed to south.
CouchSurfing is a program that is kinda like a cultural exchange where you stay with a local on his/her couch (bed, futon, whatever) and they show you a bit about their city. I first heard of the program prior to leaving, but haven’t really had the opportunity to use it. About a month ago, while in Quito, I met another traveler who used couch-surfing about 80% of the time while traveling and had 0 issues with it. I am usually pretty cautious with where I sleep at night, especially since I am traveling as a single female, but hearing her stories convinced me to give it a try.
So here I am…
currently in Loja, Ecuador with my first couch surfer.
His name is Jamie; he’s quite cute and also is very nice… I’m not going to lie, it was a little bit awkward–probably more for me than for him. Jamie has a small, but clean one-bedroom/ one bathroom apartment in a centrally located area of Loja. He insisted that I take the bed while he slept on the couch. My first night there he cooked dinner, and it was amazing. I was tired and after dinner he went to a pub to catch a soccer game. The next morning, he showed me around central Loja and gave me tips about visiting Vilcambaba and Cajas National Park. It’ was kinda like staying with a friend–who happens to be a stranger. I ‘m not sure I could be as nice and helpful to a complete stranger, but I most certainly appreciate it. By couchsurfing you not only save money because it is forbidden for a host to charge for the couch , but you also learn things about the city that you probably would not have found out on your own.
I stayed with Jamie for almost a week and at the end of my stay, I bought him a weeks’ worth of groceries as a thank-you, and on my morning out of town, he took me to a fresh juice / health store where you pick what fruits you want and they juice them and serve them fresh… I would have never found that on my own, but my pineapple orange juice was excellent. I don’t think I could do an entire trip by couchsurfing, but it is a nice change of pace when I get tired of hostels. I will probably couch surf again at some point (and while nothing in life is 100% safe, Couchsurfing admins do take precautions about how the site is run).
Sometimes I still feel as if I am in the beginning stages of my journey because I spent a large part of this trip sort of away from civilization (good and bad), but with my arrival in Cuenca on Tuesday that began to change. I actually met other travelers. One lady was traveling with her teenage son–sort of a variation of home schooling. She enrolled her daughter in University of Quito for $1200 semester and her son is in Spanish class in Cuenca… after a bit of that, they will go down to Machu Piccu to get in a history lesson or two. I think that would be the perfect way to educate children. They still have a schedule of what they must cover for the 9th grade, but they can do it however they want, and what better way to study World History than traveling the world.
I met another guy who is riding his bicycle! from Alaska to Argentina. He has been at it 15 months and figures to finish in February or so. I think that takes serious guts because pretty much once you cross into Mexico, drivers (and roads) suck… Every two weeks or so he pulls into a town on his bike to relax, go to Spanish school, do some hiking, stock up on supplies, ect… I think that is so cool, but I could never do that. I met another US retiree who is traveling to find out where to move. He said he is tired of the way the politics and healthcare in the US are run and is ready to sell the condo in FL and get out…
I have also met a girl from New Zealand (who loved my Southern accent) who was about to return home after traveling a year. Most everyone I have met has had some type of interesting story about what they are doing–which is nice to hear about…
My first weekend away landed me in the charming village of Betws-y-coed, North Wales, a village of about 500. Bewts-y-Coed is located in the heart of Snowdonia. Wales may not be home to the tallest mountain peak, but it still has some challenging hiking.
It has charming waterfalls.
But really what I came to Snowdonia National Park to see was Mt. Snowdon, and it did not disappoint. You see, I like to think that I’m a bad-ass hiker chic. I have visions of hiking the Appalachian Trail or some other multi-week trek. Or climbing Aconcagua. Or Denali. In reality, I’ve rarely done much more than overnight camping and nothing more than a day hike on my on. Certainly not scaling any peaks anywhere. But back when I spent an entire summer in Great Britain, I was a 19 year old college athlete who thought I could do anything, and anything included climbing mountains without any preparation and only minimal supplies.
You see those little squiggles… that’s the hiking path… It’s none too wide, and a bit scary the higher up you get. I didn’t know that these peaks were also ski paths in the winter.
If I’d known what I was in for, I might have been content to hang around the lake all day.
Tips for Climbing Mount Snowdon
Entrance to the park is 100% free. It costs to park, but some B&Bs offer shuttles to the park so if you can snag one of those, total cost is F-R-E-E.
Bring lots of layers! It was quite chilly on the summit and this was in June! — bring a water-resistant parka, gloves, and a hat. All I had with me was a light windbreaker, a long- sleeved shirt, and a baseball hat. Clearly, I was expecting better weather from June.
Try to climb on a clear day. Your photos will be so much better. I got lucky. With minimal planning or prior knowledge of Welsh weather, I had a great day. As I have since learned, weather at the bottom of a mountain is no prediction of weather at the top of a mountain.
Snacks, water, and for me ibuprofen are crucial. I only had 1L of water, a few power bars and fruit, and zero painkillers. I crawled up into a ball when I got back to my room, and finally, after a hot shower or two and 800mg of motrin, I could walk normally again.
Believe in yourself. Before I started, I NEVER thought that I couldn’t do it. I didn’t research it. I just heard about it and it sounded like a cool thing to do. Once I got started, I didn’t think I’d make it. But I’m too stubborn to quit.
This is Wales’ tallest peak; had I known I’d be hiking a ridge, I probably would not have done it. Balance has never been my strong point.
Climbing Snowdon is absolutely worth it. This is one of Wales’s best adventures, and one that you’ll always remember.
Be prepared for anything when you are hiking in the Welsh mountains. The weather can change in an instant.
The view from the highest peak in Wales–will simply take your breath.