The minibus picked me up from my hostel on time and we were soon on the road. The valley Arequipa occupies is very intensively cultivated, but in the hills it was incredibly dry. Only a few dusty cactuses grew in the grey soil.
The rest of the party were not very communicative, except a Dutch family. It took a bit of explaining, but the Dutch couple travelling with two young Peruvian men was a family. The boys had been adopted as babies, which explained why they spoke fluent Dutch (and very good English). Their parents had decided to show them something of their birth country. The fact that they spoke hardly any Spanish had been a source of constant confusion to the Peruvians they met.
The long climb was in low gear and correspondingly slow, but our driver had no patience with the even slower trucks. Double yellow lines, ´no overtaking´ signs and blind corners only served to encourage him. Fortunately we met little incoming traffic.
The first point of interest was Peru´s largest concrete factory. Our guide, Miley (pronounced Me-lay) quoted its output at 20,000 tonnes per month. Since it seems to be built on a huge deposit of concrete-like rock I imagine it will continue this production until Peru is all under several metres of concrete. Happily we did not actually stop.
The surrounding land gently became less arid (more cactuses) and finally turned to puna, with its mini tussock grasses. Miley explained that this was an area where vicuñas grazed. They are not fenced in or shepherded, but they are shorn every year for their fabulously soft, warm wool. Since they are technically owned by the government, I guess it is whoever catches them in the spring that claims the US$500 per kilo for the wool. That sounds great, but you only get 200 - 400 grams per animal.Our guide was not a very good vicuña-spotter. I had seen three family groups before Miley spotted her first one. We quickly found a few animals near the road, and we stopped there to collect photos.
Further on, vicuñas gave way to llamas and alpacas in herds supervised by a campesino. I now know that alpacas are generally all white or all brown. Llamas tend to be irregularly multi-coloured. This involved more stops and more photos.Male llamas are given coloured ear tags. These are in a pen.
Just as we turned off the main road there was another stop to admire a stange rock formation, whose name is the Quechua for "High Houses". Most of the group devoted at least two seconds to the natural wonder and then dived into the cafe in accordance with Miley´s suggestion to pay 2 soles for a mug of mate de coca worth 50 centimos.I asked Miley how the rock, which looked like regular sandstone, had achieved these remarkable shapes. She didn´t know. This was not the only time our guide´s knowledge was shown to be very limited.
Back on the bus, the road started to deteriorate. However, the scenery was pleasant and the driver took care to avoid the bigger pot holes. There was more and more evidence of water, which finally got to what is technically known as ´marshy bits´. We actually stopped at the largest of these and Miley identified the bigger birds for us, the andean geese and black (ie puna) ibis. I had to make hurried notes on the blue-billed ducks and identify them later from the field guide as puna teal. We did not, of course, get out of the bus or stay the hour this excellent birding spot deserved.
The highest point on the road, at 4,910 metres, warranted 15 minutes to enjoy the thinnest air I have encountered so far. The height scrawled on the rock is of a distant volcano.
We were introduced to a plant specially adapted to the harsh conditions. It looks and almost feels like a green rock.
From here there was a steep descent with many hairpin bends into Chivay. The local council levies foreigners S/. 35.00 before thay are admitted to the valley. This is allegedly to maintain the tourist facilities, but we saw no evidence of this.
After lunch we had the afternoon free. No-one else in the party had taken the cheapest-possible-accomodation option, so I was on my own at the incomplete and unsigned Intiwasi Hostal. The room was fine, except for the cold shower. I sauntered into downtown Chivay to see what it had to offer.
There was a tidy little square and a locked church. Nearby there was a market. This was mostly for the benefit of the locals, so there were stalls selling just about anything. I got a cheap watch to replace the one that conked out in Aguas Calientes and searched in vain for a new small penknife. I took photos of strange vegetables. I even bought some souvenirs. The old chap selling gloves was so frail and the asking price so cheap I hadn´t the heart to haggle.
In the late afternoon there was an optional visit to the local hot pools. Very few took up this chance, but I enjoyed sitting in the outdoor pool admiring the mountains. And I wasn´t going to get under that cold shower!
Day 2 started early. I thought this was to catch the condors at the right time. Silly me. It was to visit the next village down Colca Valley, where a bunch of local girls dress up in traditional garb and dance around the square at 6:30 in the morning to entertain the tourists - for tips, of course.
But I was trappd by one of the other tourist offerings. Two women had large birds of prey that would obligingly step onto your arm while your friends wielded your camera to record the moment. The birds were quite beautiful and I paid my tips gladly. I haven´t yet studied the photos to identify the birds.
In the next village we had to admire the church. I forget why. And there were even bigger birds of prey to be photographed with. They were eagles. I now understand why falconers get so passionate about their birds.
But had we spent too long at these games? Would the condors still be there when we arrived at Condor Cross. The horrible road had many tourist buses ahead of us, throwing up clouds of dust as they bounced onwards. However, Miley decided to skip canyon viewing until after the condors so we didn´t stop again until Condor Cross.
Nevertheless, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of people there before us. We were allowed an hour. And there, before we had gone three steps towards the recommended posi, was a condor sweeping over the crowd. To, fro and then it was gone. By the time we got to the canyon´s edge there was no sign of it.
I was in agony. Maybe that was the last swoop of the day. Maybe the thermals had warmed up early and the birds were now far down the canyon. Why wouldn´t people shut up? Didn´t they know that these were wild birds? What horrible child was that actually playing on a souvenir penny whistle? Is homicide justified in these circumstances?
And then the agony was over because another condor appeared. An all-brown juvenile. And another. Huge birds just drifting on the thermal updrafts generated by canyon rocks warmed by the sun. And then two more came. Adults this time with black plumage, except for a white collar round the neck and white panels on the upper side of their wings. And we saw them from all angles as they rode the thermals apparently without any effort. For a short but glorious period there were all four condors above us at once.
I thought I saw a fifth in the distance, but there was another big raptor in the sky that day. I bet no more than five of the gathered condor-watching host realised that one of the birds at Condor Cross that morning was an eagle instead. A buzzard-eagle to be precise, the same species that had perched on my arm and head to earn a coin for his owner earlier that morning.
Miley told us that there were about 80 condors in the Colca Valley and 200 in the next valley. Why didn´t the tourists go where there are more condors? "The roads are even worse than here" Miley replied. The mind boggles.
In between condors there were swifts hawking up and down, a humming bird and a selection of little brown jobs in the bushes. We also saw vizcachas, a kind of long-tailed rabbit, apparently convinced that their colouration made them invisible against the rocks.
I tried to take pictures, but you need a camera with a viewfinder and shutter that responds far faster than mine.
This is the best I could get. The white collar of an adult bird is distinctive.
We were introduced to a plant specially adapted to the harsh conditions. It looks and almost feels like a green rock.From here there was a steep descent with many hairpin bends into Chivay. The local council levies foreigners S/. 35.00 before thay are admitted to the valley. This is allegedly to maintain the tourist facilities, but we saw no evidence of this.
After lunch we had the afternoon free. No-one else in the party had taken the cheapest-possible-accomodation option, so I was on my own at the incomplete and unsigned Intiwasi Hostal. The room was fine, except for the cold shower. I sauntered into downtown Chivay to see what it had to offer.
There was a tidy little square and a locked church. Nearby there was a market. This was mostly for the benefit of the locals, so there were stalls selling just about anything. I got a cheap watch to replace the one that conked out in Aguas Calientes and searched in vain for a new small penknife. I took photos of strange vegetables. I even bought some souvenirs. The old chap selling gloves was so frail and the asking price so cheap I hadn´t the heart to haggle.In the late afternoon there was an optional visit to the local hot pools. Very few took up this chance, but I enjoyed sitting in the outdoor pool admiring the mountains. And I wasn´t going to get under that cold shower!
Day 2 started early. I thought this was to catch the condors at the right time. Silly me. It was to visit the next village down Colca Valley, where a bunch of local girls dress up in traditional garb and dance around the square at 6:30 in the morning to entertain the tourists - for tips, of course.
But I was trappd by one of the other tourist offerings. Two women had large birds of prey that would obligingly step onto your arm while your friends wielded your camera to record the moment. The birds were quite beautiful and I paid my tips gladly. I haven´t yet studied the photos to identify the birds.In the next village we had to admire the church. I forget why. And there were even bigger birds of prey to be photographed with. They were eagles. I now understand why falconers get so passionate about their birds.
But had we spent too long at these games? Would the condors still be there when we arrived at Condor Cross. The horrible road had many tourist buses ahead of us, throwing up clouds of dust as they bounced onwards. However, Miley decided to skip canyon viewing until after the condors so we didn´t stop again until Condor Cross.
Nevertheless, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of people there before us. We were allowed an hour. And there, before we had gone three steps towards the recommended posi, was a condor sweeping over the crowd. To, fro and then it was gone. By the time we got to the canyon´s edge there was no sign of it.
I was in agony. Maybe that was the last swoop of the day. Maybe the thermals had warmed up early and the birds were now far down the canyon. Why wouldn´t people shut up? Didn´t they know that these were wild birds? What horrible child was that actually playing on a souvenir penny whistle? Is homicide justified in these circumstances?
And then the agony was over because another condor appeared. An all-brown juvenile. And another. Huge birds just drifting on the thermal updrafts generated by canyon rocks warmed by the sun. And then two more came. Adults this time with black plumage, except for a white collar round the neck and white panels on the upper side of their wings. And we saw them from all angles as they rode the thermals apparently without any effort. For a short but glorious period there were all four condors above us at once.
I thought I saw a fifth in the distance, but there was another big raptor in the sky that day. I bet no more than five of the gathered condor-watching host realised that one of the birds at Condor Cross that morning was an eagle instead. A buzzard-eagle to be precise, the same species that had perched on my arm and head to earn a coin for his owner earlier that morning.
Miley told us that there were about 80 condors in the Colca Valley and 200 in the next valley. Why didn´t the tourists go where there are more condors? "The roads are even worse than here" Miley replied. The mind boggles.
In between condors there were swifts hawking up and down, a humming bird and a selection of little brown jobs in the bushes. We also saw vizcachas, a kind of long-tailed rabbit, apparently convinced that their colouration made them invisible against the rocks.
I tried to take pictures, but you need a camera with a viewfinder and shutter that responds far faster than mine.This is the best I could get. The white collar of an adult bird is distinctive.
The return journey included stops to admire the cultivation of the upper valley on pre-Inca terraces and some holes in the cliff-face that once were tombs. Oh, and two more condors appeared while we were being lectured on the local crops.The Upper Colca Canyon.
And that was our tour. It was pretty much straight back to Arequipa after that. I was granted my request to stop at the marshy bit again, but only to scan with my binoculars and try to get more details of the ducks. No-one else was interested enough to get out. Condors, yes. Ducks, no. Oh well.
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