Peru

August 31, 2007
Day 644

The article I read yesterday about Gokta Falls made it sound like an adventure only suitable for Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, or possibly Craig Martin. It talked about Gokta being the “third highest” in the world, and only having been “discovered” a year ago. In reality, it has been known about for centuries, but the local people didn’t view it as being particularly important, and by some measurements, it doesn’t even make it in the top ten list of highest waterfalls in the world. Still, some local people I talked to in Chachapoyas thought I’d be crazy not to visit it, considering that I was already in the area.

Normally I don’t like to go on tours, especially when I just want to go to a waterfall, which needs no explanation from a guide. However, in this case the only way to go to the waterfall on my own would have been to get up at 3:30 AM to take the bus, then walk four extra hours along a road that the public buses don’t traverse. For all that extra effort, I would only save about $6,e so I figured I’d rather just get up at 8:00 and look for a tour.

After a bit of asking at the tour agencies spread around the main plaza of Chachapoyas, I was hooked up with some other people who were already going to Gokta. Coming along with me were Jeff and Lycia, an American couple who were still crazy enough to call New Orleans home, even two years after Katrina. Jeff spent his younger years riding trains around the US, and I don’t mean Amtrak. Now he’s abandoned that carefree lifestyle and gotten himself a respectable job as an online professional poker player. Lycia, clearly the responsible half of the couple, used to manage a construction company, but quit to go on this trip.

After taking a taxi for one hour through some more amazing terrain that was a mixture of Ands and Amazon, we arrived in the little village of San Pablo where we were hooked up with a guide. Most of the road wasn’t paved, but on the other hand, it also wasn’t “chiropractic,” as the article claimed. In fact, Jeff and I were so busy talking about poker that we barely even noticed the occasional pothole in the road.

When we got to San Pablo, we were given a local guide, a nice lady who had lived there her whole life. We found out that the town has a rotating guide system, so everyone gets a fair chance at earning some money from the tourists. When I first saw our guide’s rubber goulash boots, I was a bit nervous about the trail being impossibly muddy. My worries turned out to be unfounded; it was dry season, after all.

The trail was a pleasant, steady uphill climb. We made the “steep scramble” to the viewpoint and got an impressive first look at Gokta Falls. I barely clung to life climbing that horrible side trail back to the main one. Within a couple hours, we made it to the waterfall. It was amazing to look at, but the “shrieking blow of mist” only got me a little bit wet. The article may have been ridiculous, but the waterfall still was definitely worth a visit.

I did grow to love the Chachapoyas region in my few short days there. There were world-class ruins, ancient artifacts, and natural wonders within a day’s trip of the main town, and almost no tourists to cramp my style. Now I can say with confidence that I’ve seen the “third highest” waterfall in the world. The only problem is that I’ll have to use a lot of air quotes whenever describing it to someone.

The photo album for this entry is here.

August 29, 2007
Day 642

This morning I walked with the Americans from Tingo up to the ruins of Kuelap. The path covered 10 KM horizontally and climbed 1200 meters, but it wasn’t too hard and only took about 2.5 hours to make it to the top.

As soon as I reached Kuelap, I was greeted by Carlos, a local guide who would be at home in an Italian pizza joint. He was leading a group of French Canadians, who had also hired a French-Spanish translator. Before entering Kuelap proper, we were shown a typical house of the people that lived there. The houses were round, which supported the theory that everything was equal in Chachapoyan society. We were also shown a model of the site, which included hundreds of similar houses. Kuelap is the largest stone structure in South America, larger even than Machu Picchu.

I stuck with the Canadian tour group as we walked along the outer wall of Kuekap past the ubiquitous grazing llamas. We learned that Kuelap was actually a fortress with outer and inner walls so the people could have two chances to defend themselves in an invasion. Eventually we reached the entrance, which was wide at first, but narrowed as we walked further inward, to the point that it was only a meter across. This was to slow down any potential invaders. The walls around the entrance were high to make it easy for the Chachapoyans to throw rocks down on their enemies.

The next thing we saw confused me. Carlos showed us the remnants of a stone structure and explained that it was Incan in origin because of its square shape. I had read that the fortress was never invaded, and that by the time the Incas arrived, it had been long since abandoned. Carlos claimed that the Incas had to fight a bloody war against the Chachapoyans to conquer the site, and he had a point. If the Incas came to an abandoned Kuelap, why would they bother building their own houses instead of moving into the ones that already existed? Maybe the books were wrong and Luigi, err, Carlos was right.

Next we walked to the other side of the fortress, where we had a great view of the area. Kuelap could have been built on a higher hill, but this location was chosen instead because it was between two valleys and had lookout points in which all of the little villages in the area could be seen simultaneously.

Our last stop was to what remained of several of the houses in Kuelap. The markings on the outside of the houses indicated the importance of the families that lived there: The more concentric diamonds in each pattern, the more important the family. Most of the houses contained rocks for processing grains and a long, hollow line of stones which served as a cage for the family’s guinea pigs. Carlos then revealed to us that he used to be the director of tourism for the entire Amazonas department of Peru, and that he personally was responsible for the reconstruction of one of the houses in Kuelap. The bottom floor was original, the top floor was redone, and the roof pointed upward at a steep angle so that it would last longer. Whereas a flat roof would last no longer than a few months, a steep one could last fifty years, which even tops today’s standards.

A lot of excavation work was being done on the ruins, but they still had a very original feel. Other than the group I was with, there were only a few Peruvian tourists visiting the site. Much like Choquequirao, it was amazing to walk around such an important site without having to deal with hordes of other tourists. And Carlos, with his wealth of knowledge and constant jokes, was the perfect guide for a place like Kuelap.

Ben, Liz, and I all made the long walk back to Tingo at the end of the day. After a bit of waiting around, we managed to get separate rides in colectivos (taxis that act like buses) the rest of the way to Chachapoyas. I was tired after the long day of walking, but I still had a few days left in the area to, as my trekking book put it, “fascinate my inner-Indiana Jones.”

The photo album for this entry is here.

August 27, 2007
Day 640

The next place I wanted to go to was Chachapoyas, a small city in a remote part of Northern Peru that several people have recommended. The problem was that the first few people I asked how to get there told me to go Chiclayo first. That city’s on the coast, so I’d have to make a huge detour by going that route. My rudimentary map of the area clearly showed a road going straight from Cajamarca to Chachapoyas, and I figured there must be a way for me to take it. When I asked my hostel owner how to get to Chachapoyas, he suggested going to Celendin first, then worrying about going the rest of the way. I examined my map again and, sure enough, Celendin was right in the middle of that direct road. Finally some sane advice, or so I thought.

I made my way to the bus terminal and bought a ticket for Celendin. I gave the bus attendant my backpack to put underneath the bus and started to ask him if I was going to get a ticket for my backpack, but before I could finish my sentence, I heard mooing. I poked my head in the luggage compartment, and sure enough, there was a cow looking back at me. The same bus was being used to transport chickens and guinea pigs, but they were no big deal. This was my first cow bus. I just made sure my backpack was stored as far away from any potential cow pies as possible and got on board.

It was a long ride on a bumpy unpaved road. I tried reading, but my book was getting jostled around too much for me to focus on it. Gabriel Garcia Marquez isn’t exactly light reading anyway. But soon I figured out a much better form of entertainment. A duffel bag had become half dislodged from the overhead compartment a few seats in front of me and was about to fall on some guy’s head. Every time we went over a large bump, I watched it slide out a little further. A few people got on and off the bus, but none of them ruined the game by warning the guy of the bag’s presence. Even the chickens seemed to be clucking in anticipation as the bag hung impossibly far over the edge. After an hour of wishful thinking, we hit a particularly large pothole and then BAM! Orgasmic laughter erupted throughout the bus as the guy clutched his skull, cursed his luck, and placed the bag right back into its original position.

We arrived in Celendin early in the evening, and right away, I set out to find the bus to Chachapoyas. Too bad everyone had the same answer: Buses only left town on Sundays and Thursdays. Today was a Monday, so I’d have to wait three days in this dusty little town with nothing to do. But there still was one other possibility to get out of here earlier. Apparently, trucks leave every morning from a certain location in town, so maybe I’ll be able to ride in the back of one tomorrow. I’ll start searching early in the morning. It’ll be an adventure as usual.

I was a bit bored tonight so I took a walk around town. It was bigger than I had imagined, considering that the only other towns within a day of here are themselves isolated places. Still, I think more people stared at me in Celendin than anywhere I had been in the last six months. Everyone was very friendly and said “hi” to me on the streets, but they acted like they’d never seen a 6’3″, 160 pound white man before. The attention made me feel like a rock ‘n roll star.

August 25, 2007
Day 638

When I left my hotel this morning, the city of Cajamarca looked like any other city in Peru with lots of hustle and bustle, but little to draw my attention, so I decided to check out somewhere else for the day. I took a bus to the next town called Baños del Inca and was immediately impressed. It was only fifteen minutes from the center of Cajamarca, yet here was a small, clean, and quiet town that would be a quaint place to visit even without its main attraction, the hot springs.

When I arrived at the hot springs, the guy at the information desk recommended bathing in the Imperiales room, which was the biggest one available. I took him up on the offer and bought my ticket. Walking into the hot springs grounds was like stepping back in time. The steam-filled air that surrounded me, the people walking around in robes, the quiet atmosphere, and the flower gardens made me feel like I was in ancient Rome about to embark on an act of hedonism.

Soon I was lead into the imperial room, which, unlike most hot springs in Peru, was a private chamber. There was a large tub the size of a Jacuzzi that had just been emptied and cleaned. I turned a lever to release the flow of practically boiling water, stripped naked, and eased my way in. The therapeutic experience made me forget all my troubles. Before long, the hot water became unbearable and I had to put some cold water in the tub for balance. I left the imperial room sweaty, but relaxed from head to toe.

When my sweating subsided, I took a walk around the park grounds. There were several large pools of water bubbling straight from the earth that were said to be between seventy-one and seventy-eight degrees Celsius, many rooms with private baths, a half-sized Olympic swimming pool, massage parlors, and even bungalows that could sleep four people with twenty-four hour access to the hot springs for $60. Still, my price of $2 for the imperial room and the bus fare from and to the city was well worth the hassle.

August 23, 2007
Day 636

I found out that the only buses to Trujillo left at night, so I had all day to kill. I did a lot of walking around town and eventually ran into the local meat market. It’s definitely not for the squeamish with dead chickens hanging from their necks, big slabs of ribs from a variety of different animals sitting around everywhere, candied apples for sale right next to some hanging beef, and even burlap sacks full of live guinea pigs, waiting to be sold and eaten. It was a hot day outside, but inside it was… the same: no refrigeration was to be found anywhere. It was enough to make a vegetarian out of even the most hardened meat lover.

Later I stopped in a cafe for a cup of coffee and a chat with the owner. I told her that I was leaving tonight and looking for something to do. She recommended going to the hot springs of the nearby village of Monterrey. That sounded like a great idea. I got up right there and began looking for the bus. After waiting for a long time, I was ready to give up, but finally the bus showed up. The hot springs were really a set of three swimming pools, with cold, warm, and hot water, respectively. When I first saw the pools, I though about leaving because the water looked like mud. I still decided to give it a shot and discovered that it wasn’t so dirty after all. I switched between the warm and hot pools for a long time and met a lot of other interesting tourists as they came and went. The hot springs relaxed every muscle in my body and put me in a better mood after failing to do the Huayhuash Circuit.