Well here we are again. Aside from extending a hearty 'welcome back' to my adventures I shall skip my usual preamble due to the relatively short amount of time that has passed since part 1. So lets get back to it.
The previous instalment ended as my new found companions and I headed up and out of Lima. The ride was pretty smooth, our driver was surprisingly competent at driving a coach on the steep narrow roads. Whilst this was definitely a good thing, none of us at this time could properly appreciate firstly the quality of the driving and secondly the quality of the road. Although this road like all others in the Andes was steep narrow and winding with nothing there to stop you driving off the edge of the mountain, looking back it was one of the best bits of road we went on. The general level of driving in Peru is in my opinion somewhere between poor and exceedingly poor, however bus drivers seemed much better than most with this one being better than most of them. All this unknown good fortune meant I could just sit back and gaze at some of the most incredible mountain scenery I have ever seen. As we moved farther from Lima the dusty dirty looking craggy hills became more solid. Sturdy well constructed rock mountainsides became the norm and with the change came a gradual increase in plant life. Most of these plants were either grass or more commonly cacti. At first I saw your standard rigid vertical spiny cactus, then later these gave way to a type made up of oval plate like sections and finally (my favourite) a type that grew lying downwards on the slopes, draped over rocks like snakes.
So far we had been driving for several hours and we had been going up all the way. In fact today we were going up to the highest altitude that we would reach during the whole trip (so much for gradual acclimatisation). If I remember rightly we peaked at about 4820m. It is perhaps a good time to say a few words about altitude. Well not the altitude itself more its effects on people. These effects are commonly know as altitude sickness and tend to become apparent once above 3000m (a height we would only be dropping below a couple of times on the trip and even then not by much). Anyone of any age and any level of fitness can get it even if they have survived altitude before without it. The symptoms are supposedly caused by the reduced oxygen content of the air however breathing in extra oxygen from a bottle is not supposed to be massively helpful. The symptoms in question include headache, insomnia, shortness of breath especially during exertion and in rare cases migraine and vomiting. I am sure you will all be delighted to learn that whilst sat gazing out of the window I completely forgot all about the altitude issue and didn't notice anything at all. I had instead been seeing how many different animals I could see and I think at the time we passed the highest point I had spotted pigs, cows, sheep, donkeys, dogs and of course lots of llamas but was yet to see the huge chickens and alpaca's (well it kept me amused).
By the time we started driving through the pale grassy highland plains we had seen much more farming, small communities and even some heavy industry. Far off in the distance there were more mountains and behind them more mountains and when we drove close to the edge you could look down on even more mountains, some of which had snow on top. It was almost 8 hours after leaving Lima that we arrived at our destination town of Huancayo and a short while before we did it started raining, (which was not typical for the time of year). Huancayo lies in the Mantaro valley at an altitude of 3271m, it is the capital of the Junin Department and is famous for its craft markets. My first impression of the place was not brilliant, it was getting dark and the rain clouds made it darker still. The roads despite being full of pot holes and cracks still swarmed with cars, taxis and mini-vans all beeping their horns and swerving from one side of the road to the other. It would seem that this is simply the way things are done in Peru. From the bus station our group was divided into two taxis. Stephan had told both of them where to go but obviously couldn't be in both taxis at once. I drew the short straw (it being unlikely when splitting the group that the couples would split) and so ended up in the taxi that Stephan wasn't in. Why should this matter? Hmm... well it wouldn't have except our taxi went somewhere completely wrong. We stopped outside a dark gated building on a muddy unsurfaced street. Now, you already know I speak next to no Spanish, Sandy didn't know much either which left us with Simon as our expert. He knew his way around a menu and apart from this he could ask where the llamas were but not much else. This only left us with every tourists last resort 'pointy speak'. We fished an itinerary out of our bags and repeatedly pointed at the hotel name whilst saying odd words in English which the driver obviously didn't understand. It's a crude practice but it did the trick. Before long we were where we should have been ten minutes earlier which was a great relief to Stephan who had foolishly put his bag in our taxi and was worried he may never see it again.
The hotel's name translated to 'Grandma's House' which at one time it had been. Now it was a slightly quirky backpacker style place. Of all the hotels we stayed in it was the least swish but had the most character. When Simon Sandy and I walked into the slightly gloomy front room the others were already sat about the main table. We joined them and were shortly brought hot cups of coca tea. It looked like pale yellow water with a few leaves in it and smelt rather like wet leaves (no surprises there then). It is supposed to be beneficial for those suffering the effects of altitude as well as a whole host of other complaints but can simply be drunk for the sake of it, which is something I took to doing throughout the trip. I should perhaps mention at this stage that although I had escaped the bulk of the altitude related problems not all of the others had. So when it came to dinner time Helen and Per decided to get an early night and although Simon came along he was also suffering a little. Dinner was pretty good, fortunately the restaurant was just over the road as it was still raining quite hard but above the noise of this we could still hear the sounds of Saturday night partying near by. Due to the cold that accompanied the rain we were seated next to a small metal bowl full of hot coals which after the others complained of the cold was pushed under our table (which seemed quite dangerous to me) allowing the heat to flow up around the table edges. On this occasion the local treats I sampled included a sweet (non alcoholic) drink called chicha made from purple corn which was pretty nice and the pre-dinner snacks which were cooked (fried?) corn kernels from a variety of corn that is much larger than any I have seen before. These were crunchy on the outside and floury inside, they were still warm and had been sprinkled with salt. We saw these a lot in Peru and I liked them a great deal; I wouldn't mind some right now actually but there isn't much chance of that. Anyway, due to the long day of travelling we headed back for an early night (and to escape the local band that had started belting out bad Peruvian music too loudly) to be rested and a little more acclimatised for the next day.
As surely as day follows night, Sundays follow Saturdays. When at home I consider Sunday to be the dullest and least useful of all the weeks days but here I am pleased to report this was not the case. In Huancayo Sunday is craft market day when crafts people (and resellers alike) flock to the town to tout their wares. Before we set off to sample this however we all assembled around the big table for breakfast. It would seem that your standard Peruvian breakfast (or at least that served in hotels) was their version of what we might call a 'Continental' breakfast. It consisted of one or two triangular bread rolls (which were often hollow chewy and sweet), some heavily salted local butter and some jam. To drink we got this kind of thick orange substance that was slightly frothy and hadn't been chilled. We speculated that it was blended up papaya as it didn't smell very nice, wasn't very sweet and tasted like nothing on earth. It took me a few days to trust the stuff enough to have more than a sip and it wasn't until the tour was almost over (some weeks later) that I was able to drink an entire glass. To finish off we would be served half cold instant coffee with a packet of dried milk to offer around. This took a bit of getting used to but then if I had wanted a full English I could have stayed at home.
As breakfast was ending Lucho turned up. Lucho was the guy that ran the hotel and he was quite a character. With his straight long greying black hair, he appeared much less formal than many of the local men (who generally look fairly smart in their own way) he wore an assortment of colourful locally made garments and various necklaces. It all gave him a slightly new age look which wasn't typical of Peru. He was a bit of an entrepreneur as not only did he run this hotel he also owned the restaurant we had been in last night and the adjoining club. In addition to this he was an ardent supporter of his country, a complete enthusiast about Peru; as quick to praise its greatness and potential as he was to explain with sadness the socio-political downsides. Anyway, after telling us all about what we could do in the area he offered to take us around the local market. Something that became clear at this stage was that when they said in the description of this tour that it was 'off the tourist trail' they weren't joking. This was no tourist market with multilingual folk selling at inflated prices, this was the local food market for local people and we were conspicuously taller whiter and foreigner than anyone else there. We attracted a certain amount of attention and the occasional passing child would upon seeing us exclaim the word 'Gringo'. Lucho guided us through the crowded streets and narrow pathways of the market whilst explaining to us many of the things on sale. These things varied from the huge array of potatoes and corns available to meat and textiles and even local traditional remedies. The stall selling these remedies resembled a sort of voodoo supply outlet with various dried or pickled creatures and jars and bottles full of plant matter steeping in local alcoholic spirits. It was a fascinating introduction to the locale and once we reached the far end of this market Lucho pointed us across town to where the Sunday craft market was. He went one way and we went the other. After a grey start the clouds of yesterday had vanished under the warm winter sun and the day was turning into a good one. About half way there we came across a square where we had our first encounter (of many) with the shoe shine boys. As you may well expect these are groups of young boys (who probably should have been in school - were it not Sunday) who do everything they can to persuade you to let them shine your shoes (for an ever changing fee). Now Sandy, Simon and myself were not very high on these fellows target list as none of us had the sort of shoes than can be polished (not that this stopped them asking) but Helen and Per did. Deciding (unwisely as I then though it to be) to give the little chaps a break they agreed to have their shoes done only to discover that an agreement made with one boy suddenly became the business of all the others and before long a swarm of boys surrounded them all trying to get their slice of the pie. While this was going on the rest of us stood at a safe distance and watched with amusement. For all this commotion however when all was said and done their boots were the most brightly polished walking boots I have seen to date.
We continued onto the market, passing a local military parade on the way. It was confined to one long street, it was crowded and yet not a great deal of buying seemed to be going on. Once again this was no tourist market, although here I did see one or two other people who were clearly non-Peruvian the vast majority were of local appearance. The stalls here contained mainly textiles, jewellery, nik nak's and objet d'art. The others all started to bargain with the sellers using a combination of Spanish, English, pointy speak and educated guess work and before long had bought a few souvenirs each. I on the other hand held back, I was content to look and simply be part of the experience for the time being. I suspected that there would be countless opportunities to pick up local crafts along the way.
By the time we had been up and down the market a couple of times it was approaching lunch time and after the slightly meagre breakfast I for one was certainly thinking about food. We flagged down a taxi and all five of us squeezed in (overloading vehicles is a common practice in Peru), Lucho had recommended we visit a particular place for lunch and it was yet another chance to experience traditional Peruvian cuisine. The taxi dropped us off at the side of a dusty bit of road and pointed to a large open gate through which some smoke was coming. We were to be lunching on something called Pachamanca. This refers more to the method of cooking than to that which is cooked. The process involves lighting a fire and heating in it some stones. The stones once very hot are placed in a previously dug pit and into this the food (both spiced meat and vegetables) are placed. This whole thing is then covered over and the food is left to steam in its own juices. The result is rather excellent. The place was rather like someone's back yard covered over with yellow plastic. We had been advised by Lucho that a plate of Pachamanca was rather substantial and so to order a plate between two, somehow due to a slight communication problem we ended up with a whole one each and it was piled high. Anyway it was great food albeit a bit messy to eat as cutlery wasn't part of the deal. Whilst we ate a group of musicians played traditional music (too loudly) nearby and then made a beeline for us Gringo's to pass the hat round.
Another cramped taxi ride took us back to the hotel for a much needed cup of coca tea and a chance to don some sun protection as the thin highland atmosphere does little to filter the suns rays. With a warning to watch out for vicious local dogs still fresh in our minds we set off again up hill to find an area called the Torre-Torre. We climbed up out of the main town and into a more rural living area where pigs snuffled about on the verges and the buildings were less complete (a subject I will come back to in a future episode). It was now that for the first time I started to notice the effects of altitude. Walking up the hill was no harder than it would usually be but I was having to breathe much more and all this extra breathing didn't seem to be having the desired effect. The first time I experienced it I found it mildly alarming but I became more accustomed to it as we progressed. Soon we were high above the main town and our destination could be seen in the distance. The Torre-Torre is an area of reddish sandstone that has been eroded into tall pillars. We started to explore them but as we did so the days good weather seemed to be turning as the sky darkened with cloud and looking across the valley to the distant mountains we could see a thunder storm heading our way. Having gone out prepared for the sun I wasn't prepared for a soaking so we made our way back down arriving just before the storm hit.
Next day the sky had cleared again and I am pleased to say it was the last rain we would see for quite some time. After another typical breakfast we all piled into a mini-van that Lucho had arranged to be taken on a guided tour of some of the areas craftsmen (and craftswomen). Before we got to any of them we stopped off at the 'Park of Identity' which was a small highly decorated park. The whole place was covered in mosaic made of local coloured stone and there were gold statues of traditionally dressed folk. The centre piece was a huge model of a carved gourd (the significance of which will become clear later). The idea was that this park would serve to remind people present and future of the areas traditions and culture. It was a pretty cool place and Lucho explained many things to us including why there are so many gum trees in Peru. I don't know what sort of trees I had expected to see there but gum trees just seemed rather out of place. As it happened they were out of place as they were not native to South America but had been brought in as the local trees grow too slowly and wood was needed by the Spanish for various projects. Now the Peruvian Andes have a conspicuous amount of them and not a lot of other trees besides. Anyway after the park we drove through some hilly rural landscape up to a tiny village where Lucho banged on the door of a house and after a brief chat with whoever was on the other side went in. Inside, the house was built around an open courtyard, on one edge sat two old looking locals each with a dried gourd in one hand. They were in the process of decorating them using a variety of methods from etching thin lines to form detailed and complex scenes to scorching the surface with embers. Of course we had the opportunity to buy but Lucho suggested that we see the next gourd place first as there the skill of the craftspeople was even greater; so much so in fact that I actually bought something. We left the gourd growing regions and made our way to a small town where they were making textiles. Unlike much of the stuff available in the markets (especially in the touristy towns we would reach later on the trip) these people used a lot of natural traditional dyes and used alpaca wool as well as sheep's wool. Alpaca wool is much softer and warmer (and more expensive). The items on sale ranged from hats and gloves to blankets that would easily cover a double bed and no two were identical. Some of the artisans had even developed their own unique styles and methods - taking the craft to a new level whilst retaining the underlying style of the region. They were keen to show us their work of which they were rightly proud. The final stop before lunch was to a silversmith. His workshop was a dark and cluttered corner of his house in front of which was a small T.V. on which the reception was so bad that there was essentially no picture at all and the sound wasn't great either. Unusually this man worked making his jewellery full time where as most of the others we had met would also have to work the land when the season required it of them.
We drove for some time into the countryside, when we stopped we were at a trout farm with associated restaurant. Not surprisingly then the menu had little on it that didn't involve trout. I have never been a big fan of fish but seeing as I had the choice between hunger and trying the trout I chose the latter. I am glad to report that I was pleasantly surprised which as it turned out was fortunate as trout is a particular favourite in Peru. After lunch came our final visit of the day but rather than seeing the locals keeping their traditions alive we were to visit a reminder that the Spanish influence on the country had also been significant. We arrived at the Franciscan Monastery at a time when the only English speaking guide was elsewhere and so Lucho arranged to give us the tour himself, a tour he seemed pretty familiar with. We saw first the 'old' monastery where the original monks (missionaries) had lived in the days of the conquistadors, it wasn't lived in any more although to be fair the part that is lived in seemed equally as deserted. One thing the main building does have a great deal of though is paintings, religious texts and stuffed animals (an odd trio). The thing about many of the paintings I rather liked was that because many had been painted by locals for the Spanish they didn't always tell the same story that we so often hear. Quite often a picture would show Spanish soldiers and even monks being speared by natives or riddled with arrows. It would seem that the locals of the time hadn't been as much like lambs to the slaughter as I had been led to believe. Well apart from the drive back (along the main road with all the other bad drivers) that was the end of our days tour.
Once back in Huancayo we had time to nip into town to get provisions for the next days travel before heading out to find some dinner. The restaurant we found wasn't very busy and the staff not all that fast so after our main course we set off back to Lucho's place for desert. It had been a full day and after coffee and cake all but Stephan and I went off to bed. Not being ready to call it a night ourselves we stayed to learn a little about what happens when you mix altitude and alcohol. Should any of you find yourselves in a bar shortly after arriving at altitude you may (as the results of our experiment showed) be better off taking it easy. This said it would be pretty difficult to drink to too greater excess as it tends to amplify the effects. Anyway we decided to call it a night after all at only half past twelve which seemed early until I remembered we had to be up and packed at five the next morning to leave Huancayo behind and head even further from the tourist trail.
Well, this seems like a convenient natural pause in which to end this instalment. As before I have no idea when the next part will be ready but as soon as it is you'll have it.
David.