Peru I

Dad, having completed his research for his upcoming book: 1001 and one Bolivian Banos, was keen to see what Peru had to offer.  Bano #1 got the nod. Next on the agenda was to check out the floating islands, and with not much else to excite, check out of Puno.  The Islands are fundamentally thick mats of reeds that are periodically topped up to as the lower layers decay.  Originally serving to move the locals away from invading tribes, the islands have now moved closer to land to encourage invasion by tourists.  Needing only fluorescent tubes and waterslides to complete the transition - the islands are, nevertheless, rather interesting.  After rather poor haggling our guide promised to take us to the more traditional islands which happened to be the three closest to the wharf.

From Puno it was a long bus ride to Arequipa - one of the many we would take in Peru.  Local bus rides in South America can be fantastic affairs - the buses kitted up as if in preparation for carnivale - adorned with flashing lights, religious edifices, cartoon characters, Che, frilly curtains, the occasional box or bag of chickens and if your un/lucky a llama or two.  The busses stop intermittently to pick up half a dozen vendors who squeeze past standing passengers handing out samples of their wares and preaching sales sermons in the hope of shifting a couple of DVDs, a bag of peanuts, an ice-cream or a hot lunch.  All this, and the disturbingly violent movie blazing through the background to you and the unperturbed 5yo in front serves to distract while the guy behind lifts your bag from under your legs.  It seems bus rides in South America are one of the most likely places to lose your gear.

The Peruvian tourist busses, on the other hand, are state of the art double deckers with wifi, GPS, speed alerts, bingo and retired air hostesses pushing food trolleys (and that's if you don't opt for the first class, downstairs option).  All of this, and the disturbingly vacuous romantic comedy, serves to desensitise you from the fact that the bus shares similar service history and employs the same half cut, boy racer wannabies as the local busses.  Keen to drag through town and country, they wouldn’t dream of overtaking on a straight when there is a blind corner to be utilised, much less, allow themselves to be overtaken.  The video and fingerprints taken at the start of the trip are ostensibly for security, but more likely used to identify corpses.  It seems bus rides in South America are one of the most likely places to lose your life.

Too comfortable to fear death, much of our bus time was passed on such trivial pursuits as discussing the obvious differences between blackberry and black corn drinks, watching movies, sleeping and playing doodlejump - a juvenile game relying on pure luck that, as it happened, Rick held the record for through much of Peru.

Well, that’s enough of the shipping news.  It was a nice surprise to find ourselves alive and in Arequipa.  Arequipa is a typical colonial city, where the stunning town square is surrounded by aging buildings with lovely courtyards after which the city decays in to a somewhat messy sprawl betraying the concentration of resources in both space and time.  We strolled the city, stepped through the amazing convent, ate guinea pig, viewed the Ice Princess, dropped into a local computer repair stores (yes - THATs why I’m behind in the blog) and organized a trip to Colca canyon - the Buzz Aldrin of the worlds deep canyons and home to some magnificent Andean Condors.

The trip to the Canyon started with an obscene 3am pickup made all the more painful by Dad’s tendency to wake up cheery with 45 minutes to spare and compounded by an unaccounted for time zone change.  1am should only be experienced at the end of a day.  We watching the condors soar and Rick pose for photos on the request of smitten Peruvian schoolgirls, a circumstance that would be repeated throughout the country, then headed down the canyon.  

As Dad would tell any traveler that cared to listen, and countless that didn't, the trip was spectacular and the swimming oasis at the bottom a pleasant reprise.  The only downside being walking out of the world’s second deepest canyon equates to using your legs like a sucker.  Dad wasn’t going to be a sucker so grabbed a mule ride up "for the experience".  His mule certainly made sure it was an experience - fighting with another for the lead along the precipitous and narrow track while dad clung on for his life.  Dad was powerless to dislodge his knee from the other mules rear much less prevent his steed chewing Rick’s bag - a fact that he later tried to convey to a sullen Rick through fits of laughter ... it was a perfect moment.