My Travels In Peru

Colca Canyon

Over millions of years, the Colca River has relentlessly been digging away at the earth beneath it with the force of millions of picks, creating the world's deepest canyon and one of the most impressive. Known as Qullqa in the Quechua language, it starts in the Andes Mountains of southern Peru and empties into the Pacific Ocean at the town of Camana.

Chivay (elev. 3650 m above sea level) is the gateway to the Colca Canyon. Upstream from Chivay the valley terrain is rugged tundra, suitable only for animal grazing. This is where we saw hundreds of llamas, alpacas, and sheep leisurely grazing. The canyon proper starts downstream of it, where the river valley gets progressively deeper, reaching its deepest point of 1100 m. Here, the valley is mostly agricultural land, and from a distance it looks like a nicely landscaped garden.

The landscaping was the work of ancient cultures, even before the Incas. They terraced the sides of the valley to produce fertile farmland where none existed before. For tens of kilometres it is one lush oasis. It lies in harsh contrast to the desert-like terrain above it. But eventually, as the valley gets deeper, narrower, and more cavernous, the green carpet gives way to one painted in shades of earth yellow, orange and rust. The barren and rugged terrain glitters in the morning sun.

We ride from Chivay to Mirador Cruz del Condor along the southern edge of the valley/canyon in a van with other tourists. The mirador is a spectacular lookout point. Here, the side of the canyon is almost vertical and, as the morning sun heats the canyon below, it creates powerful thermal currents – up wells of warm air in which the condors perform their leisurely morning exercises. The condor (vulture) is the biggest bird of the Andes and the most revered in their culture and religion. It was the mythical god of the air/sky. In contrast, the puma was the ancient mythical god of the earth.

Hundreds of condors take turns at entertaining us and the dozens of others that have already positioned themselves for this predictable spectacle of playful aerobatics. Cameras click all around me and everyone is jostling for position to get the perfect picture. The birds soar in the air effortlessly and glide past their admiring spectators to have their pictures taken. It's very easy to get mesmerized by their performance, snapping many more pictures than is really necessary. But, isn't this why we got up early this morning, missed our breakfast at the hotel, and sat patiently for hours to get here?

Watching the birds soaring and gliding skilfully, with the grace of a ballerina, make me wonder, "How long has this been going on?" Then I hear a little voice say, "From time immemorial!" This is nature at its best. They are doing what they and their ancestors have been doing for millennia. Possibly, even the Inca nobility stood on this same spot to watch the same show five centuries earlier; and their Huari predecessors, one thousand years before them, may have also been here for the show. Some things, like the scouring force of the water that flows one thousand metres below us, never change, and the spectacle we are witnessing is probably one of them.

While the ground in front of us drops one kilometre to the river below, behind us, the snow-capped Ampato volcano rises three kilometres above me. There is no other place on earth, where one can observe such extreme differences in elevation, in such close proximity! This place dwarfs the elevation differences I had seen while trekking to Machupicchu; and for a brief moment, that thought makes me feel insignificantly small, shrinking me to the size of an ant.

After the show, we hike a few kilometres along the edge of the canyon, in the direction of Chivay, to a predetermined point where our driver will be waiting. The sun is already high in the sky and soon it will be directly overhead. The sun tempers the early morning chill and now off come the long-sleeve shirt and the lower legs of the convertible pants. The trail is never too far from the canyon's edge, and at times perilously close. It's an awesome sight.

The side of the canyon sparkles with colour. Among the earth reds and yellows there are spots of gold and silver. For many years, the canyon has been mined for minerals, including gold and silver. Although my environmental sensibilities don't align themselves with the mining companies, it's largely thanks to their road building that the canyon is accessible to tourists and others. The terrain we walk on is dry and, other than cactus plants, the only things that grow here are the hardiest grasses, and even then in sparse small patches. Grass may convey images of green to the reader, but it isn't so. It's the golden colour of wheat when ready for harvest.

The mountain people of Peru are poor. Compared to their brethrens in Lima, wealth inequality is almost as great as the height differences we had seen at the mirador, from mountaintop to canyon bottom. Modern technology has largely bypassed the Andes Mountains, leaving them somewhere between the Spanish colonial period and the twenty-first century. On the way back we stop in the town of Maca, as do all the other tourists returning from the mirador. It's a small town with whitewashed houses and a church. It has a large square that is out of proportion to the size of the town. A folkloric group of dancers, dressed in colourful costumes, come out to perform. They know the daily tourist routine and try to make a few bucks to augment their miserable income. It's hard not to feel sorry for these people. Even before we reach the town, we see people on the side of the road selling souvenirs and picture opportunities. In a country where their government has forgotten their existence, they do whatever it takes to eek out a living.

The church is the dominating structure behind the over-sized square. It's large roman-arch entrance, as wide as the nave of the church, is flanked by two massive bell-towers. Similar arches continue inside the church, and between the columns upon which the arches rest, there are beautifully crafted altarpieces that reach the ceiling. They are intricately carved from wood and covered with gold leaf, just like the main altarpiece. It's a gem, an amazing piece of artistry so rich in detail and value; and in this impoverished community, where the streets are made of dirt and the houses of adobe, it's an anachronism in place rather than time.

Chivay, where we overnight, has its roots in colonial times. The Spaniards built it as a place to corral the natives from the countryside and indoctrinate them in the catholic faith. In all likelihood, the town was preexisting when they arrived, but they destroyed it and rebuilt it in their own image, as was the custom in those days. Today, it's a tourist town. People come here for two reasons: to see the canyon and the condors; and to relax at the thermal spring resort (La Calera) just outside the town. Everybody that spends the morning at the canyon spends the afternoon at the resort.

At night there isn't much to do; and everybody heads for the dinner and folkloric show at the cultural centre. I got the feeling that it's a façade for a private entrepreneur to scalp the tourists. Neither the dinner, nor the dancing, which is the same wititi we had seen for a small donation in the Maca town square earlier in the day, measures up to expectations. The wititi is an ancient war dance that predates even the Incas. After a while it's pretty repetitive, perhaps because we don't understand the nuances of the various steps and moves. Ten minutes of it would have been fine, one hour was too much. However, their colourful Andean costumes are a feast for the eyes.

My heart goes out to the dancers because I'm pretty sure that they will receive only a very small fraction of what we paid for the show. The event has given us a chance to meet other fellow travellers and share our experiences in a warm and colourful ambiance with delightful Andean music.