The Condors of Colca Canyon

Somewhere on the way back from the rafting trip, I decided not to go to Bolivia.

I just decided it was going to be too many buses, too many border crossings, and trying to cram too much into too little time.

Instead, I will just enjoy 3 general areas with the time I have left. I think they are diverse enough areas (Cusco - Machu Picchu, hiking, cool city, day trips --- Huarez - mountains, glaciers, hiking, biking --- and the North Coast - surfing, beaches, hammocks, ceviche) that I´ll be glad I have the extra time to explore and relax. Isn´t that what vacation is supposed to be anyway?

I rolled into Cusco all bright eyed and bushy tailed at 5:30am this morning, after an 11 hour ride from Arequipa. My neck is absolutely killing me, moreso at night. I got some Excedrin yesterday - which promises to be an `Extra Strength Pain Reliever´ according to its advertisement, but... nope. Nothing.
You know when you turn your head too fast, and you pinch a nerve, and it burns like crazy and you just wish it´d stop? That´s me. All day long.

Cry me a river, right?

I´m just saying, these marathon bus rides are rough. You drift in and out of sleep, trying to sleep on your armrest, the bus is swerving all over, you´re falling out of your seat, drooling on your sleeve, banging your head on the window -- I´m pretty sure we took a dirt road the entire way to Cusco! It was nuts. Bouncing all over the place. I woke up one time to the bus slamming on its breaks - I look out the window and see all this debris on the side of the road - then the bus reverses and continues on its way. It was strange. Windy windy roads. The long and windy road. To Cusco.

After the rafting trip, I was deciding between a bus to Bolivia, or just hanging around Arequipa and doing the Colca Canyon tour, which came recommended.

I decided on the Canyon tour, because I like canyons, and I´ve always wanted to see a Condor fly.

I booked the tour through the hostel, since they are very nice people and every single tour company is basically selling the exact same thing. We left at 3:30am, because of the impending transportation strike (which did end up happening, I found out last night from a guy I´d met at the hostel, he ended up getting stuck in Arequipa 2 days because of the strike). We kept bouncing along these roads, dirt roads, windy roads, finally stopping at a market of some sort.

The kind of tourist market where they want you to buy hats, shirts, socks, pants, postcards, pencils, suckers, snacks, sweaters, lampposts, rugs -- anything! You want to buy the chair you´re sitting on? No problemo!
I got some Coca tea and a breakfast sandwich and abandoned ship ASAP. That form of tourism makes me shudder. Gives me the heebie-jeebies, if the heebie-jeebies still exist.
Along with the Boogie man.
Or is it Boogity... could never figure that one out.

Anyway, I will bypass the fact that I boarded and disembarked the tour bus approximately 58 times over the course of two days. We´ll just ignore that part.

Moving onto the canyon. The Canyon is huge, don´t get me wrong. But they have no business comparing it to the Grand Canyon. No way Jose. Two different leagues.

So we park our tour bus, get out, and walk over to the ledge. And suddenly I see two of them - two giant soaring Condors, easing gracefully past the overlook. It gave me the chills. Such amazing creatures. And huge! And there were tons of them! They´d all just soar back and forth, sometimes over our heads, sometimes just below the overlook. I couldn´t stop watching.

It was a neat experience, to be that close to such an amazing bird.

Afterward, I walked back up the path toward the bus, and I hear music. I find its source, a man dressed in traditional Peruvian garb, complete with hat. He was playing the guitar, a sweet simple melody. With a capo over the 7th or 8th fret, picking two or three different chords.

I stood there watching, and then I noticed the sign - each line was in a different color. It said:

Mr. Tourist
Help Me
I Am Blind
Thank You

And then I saw his eyes. It is an image that is indeliably etched in my mind. I know it sounds cliche, but it was a glimpse into God, or my soul, or some combination of the two. I can´t properly describe it.

But between his eyes, the notes he was playing and the wailing lonesome hopeful words he was singing -- I got a little overwhelmed. Tear. And - of course - at that very moment, Sylvia the kind tour guide woman asks if I want to join them on a walk down into the canyon. ´Umm, yeah sure Sylvia, just let me clear this dust out of my eyes.´

What must this man think when he gets dressed in the morning (which I´m sure is a task unto itself)? `Oh please Lord let those tourists drop many coins in my humble bowl today` -- or -- `Lord if at all possible I would love to experience the joy of seeing all of your amazing creations again`.

He dresses himself up in a costume, because he knows he has to. To play the part. For Mister Tourist. People laugh and stand next to him and take pictures, and he obliges. He has to.

I don´t know.

It just struck me. He could be my dad, my brother, my friend - or maybe he is all of them. Maybe we are all one. In being alive. The human condition. It´s beautiful and it´s heartbreaking. It´s happy and it´s downright despair. Just hold on.

Notes. Dancing in the wind. Words that I don´t understand but understand perfectly.

These people... Peruvians... they don´t have much. They sit alongside the road and they sell us tourists fruit from the cactus. Squeezing blood from a rock. Our tour bus flies by them as they walk back to their homes with their donkeys and cows and satchels of cactus fruit -- and they wince as a cloud of dust and hot exhaust flies into their face. I kept seeing this... and it bothered me.

Later in the tour we hiked up the hill to their burial ground. Bones. I saw bones, and skulls.
It didn´t feel right. People smiling and taking pictures of their ancenstors bones.

Who are we to invade their communities and blow dust in their face while walking over their burial grounds and taking fun pictures of their ancestors bones to show our friends?

Who is entitled to what?

Is it not just a game of chance and happenstance and circumstance? We have a name on our passports that by default bestows OPPORTUNITY upon us.

There is little opportunity here, just farming and surviving.

What if we had no schools, no education, what if our soil was arid dusty sand, what if there were no jobs, what if we had no infrastructure to advance business and technology, to make products - to make a living?

Things to be thankful for.

Although, these people are happy. So maybe in the end, they have us fooled.

Ok phew. Sorry. I´ll step off the high horse and back into my dusty shoes.

So - my roommate on this trip - Humberto! Humberto was great, he was from Lima, just enjoying a little time off. He took pictures of EVERYTHING.
At one point he asked ´Do you want a nice Peruvian bride?´ with a smile.
Humberto had some type of coughing problem. And snoring - I didn´t know it was possible to breathe in forcefully enough to make the kinds of noises he was making! He was coughing and snoring all night long. At one point I woke up and heard the water running in the bathroom, and an occasional moan. I am hoping for the best, that Humberto was just freshening up, or bemoaning his mucus filled sinuses. One can hope.

And that´s that. I´m in Cusco, it´s a fantastic city I can tell already. I got here, was walking across the main Plaza de something or other, and this kid approaches me, looking for a lighter. He talks... and talks.. and talks. He was still out from the night before. Spoke broken english. I had nothing better to do so I sat on a bench in the Plaza and talked to him, watching the sun come up.
Eventually we head into one of the cathedrals and look around. Then he takes me on this wild goose chase around the city, looking for the perfect hotel for me. He had one in mind, but couldn´t find it. It was hilarious. He kept saying ´hold on, let me remember´
Kids were running off to school, dogs were running down the street, morning sun was just beginning to break over the tops of the buildings -- it was quite a moment.
Carlos - I finally ask him his name - leaves me at a hostel he feels satisfied with, and walks off into the sunset. Err, I mean sunrise. Time for bed Carlos! I love it.

I´ll be here for 5-7 days, depending on which tour I end up doing. Machu Picchu! More ruins. Hopefully, for my sake, they keep us away from the bones. Or maybe all we are is dust in the wind and bones are just bones.