Plying Snowballs

Friday 12 January

When I woke up this morning I still had a slight headache and felt quite woozy. But Beatriz arrived to join us for breakfast and immediately ordered more aryampu to cope with the symptoms – it does seem to work quite well.

We drove to Yanke, past the hotel Beatriz and Alfonso had been staying in, which was a series of yellow painted bungalows which looked fine. Continuing through to the far side of the town, we passed lots of people on their way to work. It was a fine sunny morning and everyone seemed to give us a smile. On the far side of Yanke we stopped at the top of the track down leading down to the bridge over the river – probably more than 200 metres below – a rickety wooden structure that wobbled as people and animals crossed. It was wide enough for a car, but the handrails were metal poles attached by rope to the struts at each side. We wandered down the very rough track and steps, winding back and forth, at a slow pace – going slow is definitely the only way when at altitude. We were passed by several groups of men and women, sometimes with children, all herding their donkeys, llamas, alpacas or cows down the track to cross the bridge to the terraces we could see on the other side of the river, where Yanke town had once been situated. But its citizens had been ordered to cross over the river to live after the town was destroyed by an earthquake. Many of the locals still own and farm the terraces on the far side, so have to make the trip over the bridge, morning and evening, to work.

Reaching the bridge, we found it crossed a gorge, still a hundred or more metres below, where the river surged by in a brown gurgling torrent. Fine for me to cross, but Colin was not so sure – he suffers with heights – so Beatriz and I made our way to the over and let Colin cross over at his own pace, gritting his teeth, with his eyes firmly fixed on the mountain on the far side. From this vantage point, we could look back over the gorge to see Incan storage chambers, carved into the sides of the gorge, not far below the height of the bridge. They looked like sandy-coloured bees nests, with a hole for access at the top. Apparently there are several examples along the canyon. They would have been used for grain, dried vegetables and even preserved meat, to ensure there was an adequate food supply during the dry season. The height of the river is now probably much lower than in Incan times and the river itself is probably smaller, as the river will have incised the gorge to a deeper level over the centuries and water levels are now much lower since the effects of global warming have been felt.

We now had to make the return journey across the bridge which we all made safely. On the slow journey up the hillside, we met lots more people on their way to work, many carrying crude spades and farming implements, including one man with a long Middle Ages wooden plough on his shoulder. I took his picture and he was trying to tell me something – took me a while before I realized he wanted paying! It was worth a couple of soles and he seemed pleased to see himself on my camera.

We continued on to Chevay, the modern regional capital of the area, where it was a bright sunny day – its amazing the difference in its appearance from the drab rainy town we had seen on the last two days. It was a town full of colour – people, buildings and wares hanging outside shops. It was market day too, and we wandered round one of the best markets we have seen – lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, meats, cheeses, grains and nuts. There were also the usual souvenir stalls alongside those selling videos, hardware, fast foods and even a barbers. Colin mentioned to Beatriz that he needed a hair cut, but she didn’t think it would be a good idea to try here. I don’t think there was anything you couldn’t buy either here or in the town – there were electrical shops, garages and car sales shops, pottery and ceramics and several internet cafes. Really amazing for such a remote town. It was here too, that I first saw a restaurant offering guinea pig, on a blackboard menu displayed on the pavement. Ugh – I couldn’t possibly eat guinea pig – I would spend the whole meal thinking of Elvis, Alex’s – our grandson – guinea pig. Strange that I would eat rabbit, apparently quite unconcerned about Sam, Sandy’s rabbit.

My only purchases were another couple of woven bracelets – costing 2 soles each – about 30p – in brightly coloured woven patterns. The lady seemed so grateful. But Mickey Mouse has finally expired – I think that the battery has worn out – or it may be that the dunkings it has had in the sea and the shower since Kuala Lumpar have corroded the inside. Anyway I will try and get a new battery sometime, but had left it in my luggage in Arequippa. But it meant I had a wrist free.

Back in the car, we set off up the winding mountain road – we could see it twisting backwards and forwards on itself, like a snake across the towering steep side of the mountain. We stopped at a viewpoint to look over the valley and the town all the way to the mountains on the far side, where the top ridge took on the shape of a lady lying down. Recently a new satellite tower has been erected, on a lower hill in the valley, which completely interrupts the view. For the next two hours we climbed up towards the snowline, finally crossing it at about 4,500 metres. We saw many different species of birds and wild life as the ground cover became more sparse, eventually only becoming only clumps of itcha grass and mosses. Where streams tumbled down in braided channels the moss became thick clumps dividing the streams. The mountains beside us were now covered by a thin covering of snow, although the sun was still shining. Eventually we arrived at a large flat plateau, covered in snow with clumps of vegetation poking through. We had reached the top of the mountain and were now only just short of 5,000 metres or 16,500 feet, on a par with the snowy Andean Peaks all around - and more scary, about half way up Everest. There were women selling their woven goods, sitting spinning as we arrived at the view point – apparently they live a little way off the plateau, but we couldn’t see any signs of houses.

We got out of the car, and were immediately struck by the cold. The snow was laying all round, but there were a few clearer areas where the rocks, warmed by the sun, had melted the snow. I couldn’t resist throwing a couple of snowballs at Colin – child that I am – before we wandered over to look at the moss. Beatriz pointed out the bright green moss we had seen on the way up, explaining it grew 1 mm per year! This meant that some of the clumps must have been more than 100 years old. We touched the green “leaves” only to find it was a hard shell, which didn’t shatter, even when we banged it as hard as we could. It was made up of four tiny green diamond shaped leaves clustered around a small circular pale yellow centre - hundreds of these small flowers all joined together in a solid shell-like covering. Underneath there was a complicated root system where the small tuberous roots were filled with water and had attached themselves to the rock so that they only froze in the very depths of winter. This moss only grows over 4,500 metres. There was lots of itcha grass as well as a few other mosses and tiny plants with brightly coloured flowers. The air was very thin here, and walking around, we soon felt puffed out.

Then disaster struck!!! Colin’s video camera would work. He had dropped it yesterday, but it had worked ok, even as recently as the viewpoint today. What a calamity. He tried the other batteries, but still no joy. He was very upset and despondent as we climbed back in the car. I had taken lots of piccys, but we still have a few months left of our holiday – oh dear – we are not going to have to buy yet another camera – perhaps Dave’s (Juz’s husband) joke to me on the phone about DIxons having a sale of cameras was not so funny after all. Alfonso knew a bit about cameras and suggested that perhaps the batteries were too cold – the one in the camera maybe, but the others were still snug in the camera bag, so shouldn’t be affected. We started our descent, and Colin clutched one of his batteries in his not quite hot sweaty palm, but warm anyway. We stopped by some grass and bare rocks to see Andean rabbits cavorting around in the sun. These rabbits only live at high altitudes, but come out to play when the sun shines. They were hard to distinguish when lying on the rocks, as their grayish brown fur blended in well. They had pointy ears and long tails, and small bunny faces. Colin was still clutching his battery when we had descended the mountain by about 500 metres. He tried it again, and thank goodness – it worked fine, and so did the other batteries – it must have been the extreme altitude that caused them to stop working. I wonder if Sony realize this – must read the “instruction book” a little more thoroughly.

Further on, we stopped by a small lake and saw Andean mice, again with long tails, but this time with pointy faces and large ears, sprinting very fast around the rocks near the water’s edge. There were probably twenty or more, sprinting backwards and forwards in their search for food. On the lake a lone coot sat on a grassy nest, while lots of black ibis with red legs roamed the shallows. There were several other varieties of ducks swimming around, and a skein of larger ducks flew overhead. The temperature was still very cool, and this is their summer!

We continued on our drive down the mountain, passing the junction where we had turned off on Wednesday, till we reached the café where we had also stopped before - by the “castles” on the rocks. Beatriz provided another box lunch – this time chicken salad, cheese and tomato rolls, orange juice and tangerines. There were also some large rosy red apples, but when Colin took a bite of one - it was dry and floury inside, and didn’t taste too pleasant. Alfonso gave them to one of the local ladies sitting outside the café, and she was delighted. It had been lovely sunshine when we arrived here so we had decided to sit outside and eat our meal, but just as we finished eating, dark clouds hovered overhead, and large raindrops began to spatter us. We quickly packed away and continued our journey back to Arequippa. The road is very windy as well as up and down as it goes around the volcanoes, and at times, it even slices through the bluffs bordering some gorges, and it is very difficult to pass other traffic. We were unfortunate to find four huge container trucks in convoy - that had driven here from Bolivia with scrap metal – it took us some time to get past each one. But we eventually arrived back at our hotel, around the middle of the afternoon.

Beatriz had impressed on us that we should visit the Santa Catalina Convent, while we had the opportunity – it closed at 17.00. This convent still houses Dominican nuns in a closed area. They live in silence and spend their lives praying – I though nuns were supposed to do good deeds. The remainder of the convent has been turned into a museum recording the history of the building since 1563, when the nunnery was established by a rich Peruvian widow. It is very Spanish in style – the conquerors arrived in 1532, and had infiltrated much of Peru by this time. At first the women were called “Dona - Madame”, but a bishop in the early 1600’s decided that they should be called “Mother or Sister”. Novices in the early days had to bring with them a large dowry and sufficient money to purchase their habits. As the 16th century progressed, the convent became a hive on iniquity, according to 17th century researchers, and at one stage a bishop ordered that no more nuns were to be accepted because there were just too many living there as well as a large section behaving bawdily. In the beginning each nun had her own house or apartment, complete with kitchen, lounge, bedroom and servants quarters. There is, therefore a rabbit warren of streets, all named after Spanish cities, inside this religious citadel. After a few years it was decreed that each nun could only bring one servant, as there wasn’t sufficient space to house more, and in the 18th century ordinary nuns began to live communally. The large refectories and dormitories of these times are today used as art galleries, but the kitchens are still set up as they would have been then. I think it is quite brave to have this museum, as it definitely doesn’t show the nuns in a god light.

We left the Convent around 17.00 to find the post office, and while wandering the streets, came across a French restaurant called Don Quichotte that looked appealing and would do us for tonight. Beatriz had told us about the Monastery restaurant attached to the Convent, but it was closed when we investigated. We found the post office further down into the city, and when retracing out steps towards the hotel, we tried to visit the Cathedral, only to find that was shut and locked. So we returned to the hotel to shower and change, as we probably would not have time for much of a wash in the morning, as we have to leave for the airport just after 05.00.

We left for dinner early and it took us a little while to relocate the restaurant. When we eventually arrived, we were the only ones there, and had a choice of tables. A few other people arrived a little later. Our waiter seemed to be new and nervous as he handed us the menus and then took our order – salads for entrees for both of us, followed by rack of lamb for Colin – which actually tasted like lamb when it arrived – and duck breast in brandy and blackcurrant (?) sauce for me. The food tasted excellent, and we had no space for dessert, so stuck to tea and cappuccino. We spoke to the lady acting as the Maitre D, and she explained that her husband was the chef, and they had only been opened for two days! We wished them well in their venture and hoped lots of other people enjoy their meals there as much as we did.

We made our way back to the hotel and had another early night, this time to prepare for the alarm ringing before 04.30!!!