Peru

After Arequipa, we took an overnite bus to Ica - a dusty little town to the north and about 250 km south of Lima. I gave Pilar one of my infamous sleeping pills so she could try and make it through the noisy night. This proved to be great fun for me because I got to listen/watch her stumble and mumble through the night as she awoke to go the bathroom.
We were both asleep when the bus arrived in Ica at 4.30 AM, where we were hustled into an idling cab. Thankfully, we found a hostel at that hour and drifted off to sleep for a few hours. When we awoke we realized two things. One, it was Peruvian Independence Day
Two, there was practically nothing to do in Ica
After going to a sight where, supposedly, withcraft was practiced many years ago and visting a local winery

we travelled to an outdoor restaurant that we heard was good fun.

We had a grand ole´time eating big plates of food, drinking wine, and dancing to the live band. The whole restaurant crowd was on their feet dancing and the band called out Pilar and I for a toast. Something to the effect of "Let us toast these foreigners who are here with us on our Independence Day." Excellent folk. Pilar and I tenaciously debated the value in celebrating our respective nations´ birthdays, then we saw "Meet Dave" overdubbed in Spanish. Yikes.
Exiting quickly from Ica the next day we went to nearby Huacachina, a small town in the sand dunes centered around a small lagoon.

After strolling around town for awhile, we took a group ride in a dune buggy across the bizarre landscape. It was like a rollercoaster ride.

We reached a series of dunes where our group hopped out of the buggy to prepare to sand-board. Like snowboarding, except, well, on sand dunes.

I was over-confident because of my succesful first-try and I nearly knocked myself out on my second attempt after losing my balance. The 3rd and 4th tries were fine, then I, once again, flipped ass-over-tea-kettle down the 5th dune after accumulating a great deal of speed. I am still sore.



We made it to Lima the next day - nearly 8 million people and, according to everyone we talk to, crime-ridden. However, everyone has been extremely friendly in dispensing advice. Our first taxi-driver (a very, very large man) was a little crazy and, in between unwrapping candies, told us incorrect things about our hostel´s side of town. As we sat in the mind-numbing traffic a traffic cop caught sight of Pilar and I within the taxi and came over to check the driver´s papers and to make sure the gringos weren´t being hassled. He didn´t have something and received a ticket. This city is crazy, like Los Angeles.

We head to Colombia tomorrow.

We took a bus from Arequipa to Cabanaconde - a dusty little town on the edge of the Cañon del Colca. The bus ride was, as usual, loud, dusty, and generally uncomfortable - I have grown accustomed to this by now, but Pilar's tolerance for these sorts of activities is short. I fought with the woman seated in front of me over opening the window- I needed air to alleviate the troubles the Dean Cain kung-fu movie was causing. The argument devolved to a sort of petty squabble over the fact that she had her window and I had mine - eventually I didn't even want the window open but I kept it agape strictly on principle.
We arrived in Cabanaconde after about 6 hours and Pilar haggled us a excellent deal at a hostal. We ate at a local restaurant popular with the few backpackers in town and went to sleep.
We rose early the next day and began the tortuous trek down the canyon. A condor swooped right over our heads and landed not more than 20 meters from us - amazing. The rest of the hike down was awe-inspiring, we chewed coca and took in the incredible rock formations that transformed near the bottom into nearly tropical environs.



After about 3 hours, we had finally descended the 3191 meters and had reached the almost non-existent town of San Juan de Chuccho where we lunched.

Feeling a bit rested (however, still exhausted) we decided to keep walking for awhile longer to Sangalle another small pueblo in the cañon nicknamed "The Oasis" because of its lush vegetation and spring-fed swimming pools.Pilar wanted to shorten the estimated hike time of three hours so she asked the local restauranteur about a shorter route. He drew us an absolutely confusing map on a napkin and we were off! Almost as soon as we left we were lost, but Pilar was diligent in asking the sparse population for directions. We soaked in the rich, fertile landscape and quibbled a bit over appropriate paths and trails. I was firmly in the camp of intuition while Pilar relied on locals´knowledge. I think I was right once.

Successfully reaching Sangalle, we met the owner of a hostal whose limited competition in the cañon had made him lazy, irritable, and resistant to doing anything remotely helpful and/or pleasant.

"You have a gluten-allergy?...I guess I can make you an egg, but I won´t be happy about it."

"You want to see the shitty, bamboo hut before you rent it? (exasperated) Fine."

"You just want to buy a glass (not a bottle) of our overpriced wine? We´ve never done anything like that before."

"You want me to not be a complete ass in every action I perform...No can do."
We listened to rats crawl across our roof that night and the next day Pilar tore into him before we hiked back to Cabanaconde. Once there we bought some Gato Negro wine and were shocked at it´s spoiled flavor (we´ve drank enough to know). We tried to return it but, oddly enough, the shop owner thought it tasted just dandy (after consulting with the local woman buying onions).
Had an excellent dinner of alpaca steak, took the bus back to Arequipa the next day. We head north tommorow to Ica or Pisco.

P.S. Finally, I got to try Guinea pig.