O-tuz-Company

Well, it's that time again. Time to pack the human-size backpack, trim the nose hairs and shine the boots. Back on the dusty (and roadblocked trail). There's a protest by informal miners against government policies which make their activities illegal. Thousands of them have closed down highways across the country, in this case 3 km of the highway to Trujillo. Early start to maneuver our way through the burning tires, tear gas and dead bodies. No it's totally peaceful. But does requiring going by foot. Going with my great pal Myra, she's from Trujillo, I assume she navigates protests daily.

This week and a half in Otuzco has been fantastic. I lived in a centre with a pastoral team that does outreach trips to rural mountainous communities. Ate some great traditional (and belly-exploding meals with them, lomo saltado and rice, gallina de pollo and rice, rice and rice. It was fantastic when one of the gal's mother came to stay and cooked every day. Mmm fresh fish from the coast deep fried, 'chicharron de pescado.' Lovely people... and the best part? Washing clothes on the fourth floor terrance, looking over the town nestled all cozy-like in the valley. Had a great hike to a look-out, and as per usual, was passed by Peruvian children wearing flip flops, jogging. They stopped to advise me that I was going the wrong way. I pretended I was taking a break to look at the view, really I just couldn't breathe. Fooled them. Humbled + Lung Pain = The Andean Hiking Effect.

Second best part? Discovering the lady who sells deep fried potato balls with green onion Ahi (spicy sauce) on the street for only 10 centimos each. That's like 3.8 cents a piece. Visited her every day. She laughed every time I approached... never figured out why, so I took it as a compliment and laughed along.

Beautiful Myra and me at ancient ruins in Trujillo -"Huaca del sol y de la luna."

I worked with and organization that monitors water quality in three rivers near Barrick's gold mine 100 km away. Just three fantastic men, in a cold office and the same 13 songs on the radio. The country only allows 13 songs to be released at any given time. That's my impression. We had wine breaks, Americanos in the afternoon and 3 hour lunch siestas for napping. If that's not class, nothing is. But Alas, my feet are itchin with anticipation for the next thing.... or maybe it's a fungus. Either way, on to Lima to pick up my gal-pal Danielle and then to Cusco (21 hours by bus) While long and completely butt-numbing, I still look forward to the bus rides.

The buses are great here, double deckers with bed-seats below that recline a lot and normal lower-class seats above. I always go for the front of the upper level, called the panoramica because of the great view you get. And the endless flashing of headlights. Worth it though, gives me some element of control like I could run to the back of the bus if I saw an accident evolving.

Which brings me to another amazing thing about Peruvians. It seems they are born superior for bus travel. You can always spot a non-Peruvian on a bus. They will, like me, be shifting uncomfortably, looking worried about the urine-only bathroom rule, (WHY?), adjusting the curtains aimlessly and snapping awake in a panic that their bag has been stolen. They will also, somehow, be the only people that get up the use the washroom on an 18 hour bus ride. Incredible. The Peruvians will be sleeping as soon as the food service is complete. Through the loudest, poorly-chosen,10-year old film dubbed over in Spanish, through 5 hour mountain turns that make amusement parks seem lame.... even with multiple kids sleeping on their bellies. They're just more advanced this way. I'm in training actually. Hoping to hit the one-full-hour of sleep mark before I leave in June. I've reached about 17 minutes so far. These things take time.

Morning Colours. 

Lovely Otuzco

The largest avocados the world has ever produced. 

Ronal y yo

Can't Mountain-top that

Did two amazing hikes to high-mountain lagoons nestles at the foot of white peaks. I felt like I was 63 the whole time. Even on level ground 4000 metres makes you wheeze. And inevitably, a pack of ill-equipped, poorly dressed Peruvians, likely children, will pass you nearly running. On our climb to Churup lake, we watched a group of 6 overtake us with 2L of Inka Cola (yellow bubble gum flavoured pop), a shitzu that moved quicker than us with only 1inch legs, and one singular lime. Not to mention they were braving the fog and rain in cotton sweaters and jeans. Classic. And so demoralizing.

It also was one of the best days of my trip, up there in best days of my life. It's hard to quantify the best day of one's life. For some people it's getting married, others its the birth of a child. Or maybe reaching the "senior's discount" age when you get free cookies and water at the Langford's drugstore. When I think about it, the best days of my life have been a combination of several things: fantastic homemade food (or just food when travelling & hiking), great company, spending the day outdoors, laughing, plus a small quantity of both 'challenge' and 'no expectations.' 

Also,sometimes you meet people, and you enjoy their company because you’re lonely or because they actually understand the words coming out of your mouth. And you appreciate those times. Other times, you meet someone who you’re sure you’ve known before. Something about their spirit, their laugh, their peacefulness. And there is a sureness that you were meant to know that person. As if the last few months or years of your life, each decision made, the earlier bus you chose to take, the day-later tour … was slowing moving you towards this person with precision and intention. These are the most beautiful parts of travel. They are the little pieces that make you feel so whole, you could burst. A person that reaffirms every part of your identity, even the seemingly insignificant parts, and inspires you to be even more. And two days feel like months.

And then they go. But there is an ease to saying goodbye, because you both know you will encounter each other again, in some other normal, exceptional circumstances. And maybe in it will be in a different form, but in the same energy of simplicity and uninhabited joy. It’s easier to let go of someone special when there isn’t anything left to improve, or anything left unsaid. That is a fulfilling feeling. Couple this with being on a mountaintop or in the trees, and there’s isn’t much more to want in life. 

As far as Huaraz goes...

Time to play catch-up. Mmm ketchup. High on the list of "things I miss about Canada" Likely number 2. I’m writing from Otuzco, Peru in the Andes. Came from Huaraz, Peru last week. Huaraz may be my favourite place in Peru so far. It’s a town nestled at the base of a major mountain range called the Cordillera Blanco. It’s absolutely stunning. It’s the rainy season right now, so every morning is warm and sunny (and really easy to burn at 3000mts) and then the temperature drops and it turns pretty darn-tootin cold in the afternoon and evening. I later understood the need for 8 blankets on my bed (literally) and the value of triple-socking. Thank goodness I have three pairs of socks. 

It’s surrounded by the east by the Cordillera Blanca (permanent white snowcaps and glaciers) and on the west by the Cordillera Negra (no permanent snowcapped peaks or glaciers, hence black… racist?). The Cordillera Blanca includes Huascaran the highest mountain in Peru at 6,768 metres (22,205 ft) and the third highest in the Western Hemisphere. (thankyou Wikipedia, well put). 

Huaraz is known as the 'Switzerland of the South' because of its beautiful peaks that are visible from the city centre. The women where colour pink and purple Andean shalls, ancient women carrying their grandchildren in their shoulder slings, or going to market with a bag of vegetables and herbs. They were very tall hats and when it rains, place plastic bags over top. Luckily plastic is an ancient material and so they’ve been doing it this way for millennia. So not authentic, I want my money back. 

No, it’s lovely really, they sit on the sidewalks together, knitting everything imaginable, giggling away with three-teeth smiles or shouting a friendly GRINGITA (young female white American)! as I pass. I’ve yet to figure out just what constitutes a gringo, or gringa. My impression is that if you’re white and not Asian, you’re a gringo/gringa. If you’re Asian, you’re Chino. Doesn't seem to be much else in between those two categories. Even that line is blurred… a lady at the pharmacy helped me buy shampoo once in Ecuador. Got home and realized I had shampoo for Asian hair. 

There are fruit and juice stands on just about every corner. Sometimes people stand in the central plaza preaching from speakerphones while everyone ignores them. Also, they’ve yet to discover the value of a diversified economy and competition. And so, if you need cheese there will be 8 vendors in a line, one beside another selling the exact same product, for the exact same price. Not sure how the cheese sellers in the middle get any business or how they don’t strangle each other with envy. It’s pleasant really. And painfully frustrating when you need something specific and you know, somewhere in the city, there’s a row of 8 people selling that very item. 

One funny thing about this city is that the taxis and collectivos (taxis crammed with as many people as possible) drive around honking insistently at people. One time four in a row drove past all honking at me, as if when I hadn’t taken the first three, I would decide to take the fourth. Turns out people are just that indecisive and decide to get in only once the driver has almost run over their feet and opened the door on top of them. Mystery solved. 

Full Moon Rising

Well I've been inspired. Time to bring this baby back-to-life. Southern style - fried guinea pig and too much rice.

Between writing e-mails, posting pictures and trying to remember where I am, this feels like the most efficient and A.D.D-friendly way of sharing the moments.

So like a beautiful-creature and friend of mine, whose words inspired me to start this again, so did this full Andean moon last night over Otuzco Peru. I'm sure it rose just for us roof-top lovers and felion companions. And it in turn, inspired these words.

Otuzco nights

Otuzco Nights

The city sighs,

Childhood clamour, full-bellied hollers

snatched up by a concrete rooftop draft-

Almond-wide eyes, insatiable glee

-beckon the younger from plates of cold yucca and rice

to rutted cobble-stone lanes before sleep. 

Shadows of unsatisfied strays

between resolute sweet-vendors strewn,

casing gritty streets and mandarin lights

irradiate under a white Andean moon.

Sweet eucalyptus and late day cinders

Ground coca and charred sandalwood

temper dark chocolate walls –

melting five broad shouldered sierras

proudly hampered, cast aside -misunderstood.

Mothers with ladles, stained blouses, sweated brows

gather dewed wash from sagging terraced-lines

swinging small sweaters, socks and worn jumpers

to another night’s thin-air lullaby.