My Trip To Chachapoyas - Cuzco / Machu Picchu (Day 6 - 17)


Day 6 Cuichimal

The camp looked completely different in the day. We were surrounded by
high grass on the riverside. The horses were already assembled for our
departure to Mount Cuichimal, on which resided. I was given a gentle
white pasofino. The porter pulled up the strap on her tightly and I
could almost feel it digging into her skin. "Otherwise you'll fall off."
"Doesn't it hurt the horse to have it so tight?" I asked. He replied
"Si, but what can we do?"

We rode across the Vilaya river and through some hills to the town of
Congon. The villagers, especially the children, waved at us. We came to
the house of the family that owned the mountain that had the cliff with
the undocumented sarcophagi and dismounted. Lerche said that a group of
French adventurers wanted to visit the mountain some time ago. They
insisted they could go up the mountain without having to ask permission
from the family...the old man brought out a shotgun and fired it in the
air to run them off. 

To avoid any potential hostility, Lerche gave the old fellow some money
and expressed our gratitude. The old man smiled and looked at us
approvingly. One of his sons, however, did not seem to trust us and
could not help but denounce gringos in no uncertain terms. His brother
Jaime, on the other hand, agreed to be our guide.

Armed with a machete and a bag of coca leaves, Jaime led us up through
some fields to the edge of the thick cloud forest. No one had been up
the forest trail in months, so Jaime and Lerche blazed the trail for us
with their machetes. We could hardly keep up with them.

Both Ted and I cut our fingers on the thorny trees we grabbed for
support on the way up. The trail got steeper and the bush got thicker.
After a few hours, we took a break at a small clearing. Just about all
of our water supply was exhausted. 

We came to a stream flowing over an immense rock. Joel had brought a
water purifier and I agreed to help pump it. I climbed up the huge, wet
rock and found a small pool of cold, clear mountain water. I stuck the
nozzle in and we began pumping. I was perched awkwardly at the top of
the rock, and my ankles began to hurt, but the scene was very memorable.
There was very little wildlife to see in the jungle. We only saw some
parrots at the base of the mountain.

The trail became more or less vertical, becoming a virtual jungle gym.
It was very tricky deciding which branches and stumps were rotting and
which were strong enough to support our weight. The most treacherous
part was reaching the clearing from which we were able to view the
sarcophagi.

The trail led to a small clearing from which we could see down into the
valley and directly across to the strange cliff, which had no natural
access. It was about 100 yards away. Roughly 20 sarcophagi stood there
in two rows, armless, their big white heads cocked back and looking
across the valley. The first thing that struck my mind were the Kon-Tiki
of Easter Island. They appeared to be largely intact, but upon closer
inspection with binoculars one of them had a dark piece of textile
draped across it and a legbone stuck out of one. In one we spotted a
skull peering out of the hole in the bottom.

The shutterbugs set up their tripods, but it started to sprinkle. I
pulled out the emergency poncho I bought at Wal-Mart for 87 cents. Jaime
sat by the side, out of the view of the cliff and chewing coca, leaf by
leaf. He also had a small gourd in which he kept his cal, extracting it
in minute amounts on a small rod and putting it in his mouth. I asked
him for some, and he happily obliged. He seemed much more interested to
see a gringo chewing coca leaves than the 700 year old tombs on his
property. 

Lerche said the sarcophagi of that style belonged to the Chipuric
culture, successors of the builders of Kuelap, and are dated to about
1200 or 1250 A.D.. There are a number of other sites with sarcophagi,
but the accessible ones have been looted. These particular sarcophagi
were reported to have been seen by no more than 20 outsiders before us.
From the looks of the trail this seemed to be the case.

The trek down was long and slippery because of the rain. It happened to
be the only rain we experienced in Chachapoyas, and had lasted about 15
minutes.  We stopped at the old man's house once again and thanked his
family, took some photos and gave them candy bars. The hotheaded son who
objected to us earlier seemed to have calmed down.

We were all bushed. To our dismay, the horses had been taken back to
camp because there was no place to leave them all day. We all set off
separately, which in my opinion was a recipe for getting lost. As I
walked alone through Congon, a group of little girls yelled at me
frantically that the gringos went up the hill. I thought they were
intentionally misleading me. "Yeah, sure, I'll go that way." I looked up
the path and sure enough, I saw our group sitting at a table in front of
a house. Later I found out that Joel and his girlfriend did not follow
their advice. Maybe he should have pulled out his divining rods.

The house, indistinguishable from other clay huts in the village, was
actually a restaurant. We splurged on cold beer and pepsi cola,
pronounced "peksi" by the locals. The hosts were very nice and
attentive. A group of young males gathered at the edge of the property
to stare at us. The restaurant owner's dog went out and barked at them!
After securing a case of cerveza, we promised to bring it back the next
day (bottle deposits are serious business in the countryside). and went
back to camp as the sun went down. 

This time, we crossed a one-log bridge that was 30 feet above the river.
Some of the porters from camp came to meet us on the other side. Some
chose to walk across and others crawled while the porters cheered us on.
I crawled, and as I jumped off I snarled at the waiting porters like a
puma. They laughed. Jose Miguel and I made it fairly swiftly, and as his
girlfriend, Emily was clearing the last few feet of the bridge and he
snapped a picture of her, blinding her. She immediately began yelling at
him. "You bastard! Goddamn you!"

We arrived at camp in a much better mood than the previous day. We
enjoyed another hot meal and the Cuzqueña cerveza we bought in the town.

Day 7 Belen

I was apprehensive about jumping in the river, but I had to bathe
somehow. I merely splashed some of the refreshing cold water on my face
and arms. After all the pancakes we could eat, we mounted up and rode
the horses through the same village, and the same kids waved at us. The
ride up and out of the valley was spectacular. We could see other
valleys and other mountains. At one point we could briefly see the white
face of cliff on Mt. Cuichimal where the Sarcophagi stood, far in the
distance. the mountainsides abounded with chacras, gigantic palm trees
shooting up, and strange plants and ferns that looked like they were
from the cetaceous era. 

The trail became littered with rough stones. Many of the stones had
almost perfect 45 degree angles and flat faces - these were the remains
of a preinca staircase, which had not been maintained for at least 500
years, but was used almost everyday by the peasants. The population of
the province of Chachapoyas supported an estimated population of 500,000
to 600,000 before the Inca and Spanish conquests. This was easy to
imagine, given the extent of the ruins, staircases and terraces that we
saw. The population was reduced to about 10,000 by 1750. It is not clear
when the decline started, but it has been mainly attributed to disease
spread by Europeans. The original Chachapoyas culture was further
diluted by an admixture of refugees from other parts of the Inca empire,
and the original language and way of life disappeared. I asked to my
colleagues to imagine if the population of the United States dwindled to
almost nothing 500 years in the future, and what it would be like to
walk on an interstate highway at that time.

For lunch we had stopped at part of the trail that was reconstructed by
locals. They did a good job piecing together the old stones, but the
reconstructed road stretched only a few hundred feet in length. One of
the typical Chachapoyas buildings, covered in a mound of dirt and
vegetation, stood by the side of the road.

We had to dismount because the trail became too rugged after we passed
the highest point. Some of the older folks had a difficult time getting
across the clumps of dirt and rock, and the altitude probably
contributed to their sluggishness. I had little problem as I was chewing
coca and happily skipping along. We passed a couple more overgrown
Chachapoyan round houses along the trail, and encountered a number of
campesinos leading a few horses and mules loaded with aluminum siding or
food or other supplies.

The group descended down the other side until it flattened out, and we
aggregated in a pasture with some cows. A single porter arrived with the
pack of horses and they ran off on the trail into the valley; I guess
they were happy to be on a flat surface again, or wanted to finally get
away from the porter who had been throwing rocks at them on the mountain
trail. Lerche took one of the remaining horses and went to catch them.

As we sat in the pasture, Paul Beaver pointed out a waterfall on a
mountain up in the distance. With the naked eye, it appeared to be a
small white line, but through binoculars it was clearly a waterfall.
Damian Cruz, a local farmer with an interest in ruins, told Beaver and
Lerche that he went up there recently and found a Chachapoyas city
behind it. Amazonia is organizing a no-frills, bare-bones scouting trip
up there in August.

The trail into the valley of Belen was almost completely flat. I took
off on foot with some of the hikers. It was an undescribable pleasure
walking on solid ground, after leaving the rocky trail on the mountain.
Our day was enhanced by the beautiful pastures and river flowing beside
the trail. On almost every hill there was evidence of terracing. We saw
cows grazing, and to our surprise a pack of gallant horses running free.

The horses caught up with us. Jose Miguel challenged me to a race, and I
could hardly resist. I got on, and we rode further. We found Lerche with
the escaped horses. He was speaking to a solitary old man in a funny
hat. The old man happened to be the guardian of the Belen valley for the
week; members of the nearby farms take turns in being the sentries for
the pastures and livestock. He seemed to be glad to see us, and promised
to visit us at our camp later. Lerche asked him about two curious twin
peaks in the distance that seemed to be carved. The old man couldn't
even remember their name, but he said there was something special about
them and that they had a religious significance in the old times.

Our camp for the night was at a community building in the middle of the
valley. We had the choice to sleep on the musty clay floor in one of the
many rooms of the building or camp outside. The building wasn't really
private property, nor was it continually occupied, so people passing
through would sometimes chop up walls and doors to use for firewood.
Still, there was a latrine in the pasture behind the building as well as
running water.

The horses were set free to graze, and the campers set up their tents.
The porters built a square-shaped shelter out of the saddles in the
courtyard. After a nice dinner of rice, turkey & vegetables we made a
fire. I got to try some aguardiente (local hooch) that the porters had
brought. I learned some dirty phrases in Quechua from Jose Miguel (who
was from Cuzco), and repeated them to Renato, who was an experienced
traveller and knew some Quechua. We told some jokes and went to bed.
Spencer, Beaver's son, was already asleep and as usual, talking in what
Spanish he knew "Es-toy aprend-ien-do." ( I am learn-ing Span-ish)
"Inge, tu eres muy fuerte." (Inge, you're very strong)

Day 8 Colombia / Chachapoyas

I felt sick. I already had the runs from something. I don't know whether
it was from bathing in the Vilaya river at the camp, or some microbes
that made it through the water filters.  The group saddled up and slowly
trotted out of the valley and up through the mountain. On horseback I
managed to fish two ibuprofen out of my pack. 

There was evidence of terracing on almost a lot of the mountains here as
well as secondary growth forest on others. The mountains got higher and
the trail became rougher and more eroded, so we dismounted. The views of
the mountains and the cliff faces, however, were spectacular. On the
trail I encountered an older man missing an ear who was very friendly. I
didn't really understand much of his garbled spanish but I told him who
we were and that we were looking for old Chachapoyas ruins. He wished us
well.

We came into another valley and had a time getting our horses to cross
the river. We broke for lunch in a pasture. Peter Lerche and a few
others had arrived there earlier, and we learned that they had gone up
on the thickly forested mountain to look for sarcophagi that Lerche had
heard about. In the middle of the pasture was a large, peculiar rock
that could have been used for ceremonial purposes at one time. I had a
great idea for a photo opportunity, so Jose Miguel and I climbed up on
the top of the rock, and I told him to let his long hair down and pose
above me with my bayonet in both hands while I lay on the rock, as if I
was about to be sacrificed.
 
Lerche and the others had not yet returned when we set off again on
horseback. It was a long ride in and out of two valleys. At one point I
just got off and walked, sick of the endless bouncing back and forth. We
passed some more ruins on the trail. From a distance we could see the
city of Chachapoyas on a flat mountaintop. From the town of Colombia, we
would catch the bus to Chachapoyas and civilized living.

We passed a number of peasants going to work their fields. "How far is
Colombia?" "Twenty minutes, that's all." It took an hour. Whenever a
Peruvian tells you how long it takes to do something or get somewhere,
it is a good rule to multiply it by three. I met some women proudly
marching off to their chacra. Half of their teeth were missing, but they
were all smiles, and welcomed us to the town of Colombia. The town was
much bigger than Congon, and there were cars and two and three story
houses. I was amused by the number of little pigs running around in the
streets.

We made it up a hill to the main square; the bus was already there. As
we waited for the others to catch up, we proceeded to a store where we
got cold beer and soft drinks; Jose Miguel had them clean and polish his
muddy boots. I felt sick and nauseous; the cerveza probably contributed
to this. Jose Miguel's girlfriend, Emily, started up a volleyball gasme
with a little blond Indian girl - many of the natives in the area were
blond and light-skinned. She was wearing a faded "Top Gun" t-shirt.

The long bus ride to Chachapoyas was not very comfortable either. We
stopped at least five or six times so Inge could take pictures of
plants. I sat next to Lerche and learned that they stumbled into a
Chipuric mausoleum full of sarcophagi, they were intact, but the
contents had been looted. Hans told me they were close enough to touch.
He ran out of film before he got any pictures of them.

The views of the mountains were even better on the bus than in the
mountains. Particularly impressive was a narrow pass where a number of
crosses had been erected in the memory of those who perished in a bus
that dropped about 700 feet some years ago; you could still see a rusty
red fender in the gorge below. The anniversary of that day is known as
"Black Friday;" on the same day the Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path)
terrorists killed a group of innocent people and an airplane crashed. We
stopped to take pictures, and even saw some other tourists being driven
around.

The Gran Hotel Vilaya was amazingly nice. It was a new hotel, built by
the ambitious Gumer Zegarra, a native Chachapoyan about 40 years old,
who amazingly looked like Gomer Pyle. His parents passed away, and his
trips to the United States instilled the entrepeneurial spirit in him.
Hans and I paired up and immediately took hot showers. We learned
shortly thereafter that there were not enough rooms for the whole group;
the rest were still under construction. The alternative was to stay at
Gumer's house, possibly one of the nicest private houses in the city.
Inge did not get a room, nor did she want to share a double. She was
very insistent, and Beaver asked Hans and me if we would stay at Gumer's
house. We agreed, but I made it a point to finish my shower and shave
first.

It was Gumer's birthday, and we celebrated it at our farewell dinner at
a local restaurant, the Magdalena. I had "Bisteck a lo Pobre," (Poor
Man's Steak) an ironically named steak covered in eggs, plantains, rice
and pan fried potatoes. Lerche showed slides at the hotel afterwards,
and we saw a videotaped Peruvian news special on "Laguna de los
Condores," (Condor Lagoon) a recently discovered and unlooted mausoleum
site in the mountains in front of a lake. I was invited to go out to the
nightclubs with Alex, Jose Miguel and Gumer, but I was too tired and
still a litlle sick. I turned in at Gumer's at midnight.  I later
learned that the others got back in at 4:30 AM!

Day 9 Lima

In Gumer's living room was a strange portrait of his parents. Their
faces looked misshapen. Next to their portrait was a picture of the
virgin Mary, and on the other side of the room was an open gun rack with
a Czech-made bolt-action rifle. I wanted to pose in front of the
pictures with the gun for a picture, but we were running late.

In front of the hotel where the bus waited, I struck up a conversation
with a 70 year old man. I told him we had been looking for ruins, and he
said he had known about Laguna de los Condores for 30 years but nobody
listened to him. I introduced him to Lerche; I was surprised they did
not know each other already.

On the way out of town the bus hit a roof under construction, and it
took the roofers about five minutes to pry the out wooden planks wedged
in the bus's side. Luckily, there was no damage to the bus. At the
Chachapoyas airstrip, we chummed around with the military police and met
the much smaller incoming group of five travelers. We warned them of the
muddy, exhausting trails and bragged about the spectacular ruins.

The group finally boarded a Russian cargo plane that had been painted
purple. We were seated on either side of the cargo and luggage, which
had a large net draped over it. Locals had brought on board live
chickens, guinea pigs, and a couple of crates of bees (a few escaped and
were buzzing around in the back of the plane). 

I really started to feel sick. We stopped at the airport of Rodriguez de
Mendoza, a town also in the northern mountains. I stumbled down the
loading platform and tried to throw up behind the tall grass at the end
of the runway. I made it back to the group sitting around waiting for
the plane to be unloaded and loaded up again. Some of the natives
standing around had light skin and blonde hair. A few men in civilian
clothes had pistols stuck in their belt. After 45 minutes of sitting on
the hot runway, we got back into the crowded plane.

I felt a little better once we got to Lima. Alex Hererra, Tatiana & I
decided to take a taxi after no one from Inka Natura showed up. It
turned out they thought we were returning on the Grupo Ocho flight from
Chiclayo and Trujillo. Outside the airport (where the taxis are much
cheaprer) we found a Volkswagen Fastback driver who was willing to take
us all home for about $5. We drove by the famous Waikiki beach (Peru is
mentioned in the Beach Boys' song Surfin' Safari "...from Hawaii to the
shores of Peru") and saw countless surfers heading for the waves. I
finally made it back to the good ol' Hotel Jose Antonio, watched the
Cartoon Network and took a nap.

I had dinner with Rodrigo Custodio at Lung Fung, probably Lima's
spiffiest Chifa restaurant. Lima has one of the highest concentrations
of Chinese restaurants in the world. Next door was a casino and karaoke
bar. For a nice restaurant, the bathrooms were substandard. There were
no seats on the toilets.

I felt rather worn out, so I decided to stay in. I fell asleep on the
bed sideways, wearing my clothes and with the lights on.

Day 10 Cusco

I had a very good breakfast with Rodrigo before departing. He plunked
down the Inka Natura credit card and we were off. 

I was met at the airport by endless calls of "tourist information!
tourist information! hotel!" from people in uniform behind counters in
the airport lobby. This was highly comical yet annoying.

I was met by two representatives of Peruvian Odyessy, our other major
tour operator in Peru. Anna, my personal guide, introduced herself in
impeccable English and gave me some bottled water. She was an expert
guide, always helpful and very knowledgeable of the area's history. We
drove through downtown Cusco, and Anna pointed out some landmarks we
would see on our return. We drove on a well-maintained road to the
Chinchero market. Under the guidance of Anna, I bought a bag of fresh
coca leaves as well as some strange berries used to make
stomacheache-relieving tea. I didn't have a stomachache, but the small
bag of purplish berries looked really neat. (I did make tea out of them
once I got back to the US however).

I got some cocoa butter for my chapped lips at a local drugstore. The
medicines were scattered about the shelves. The old pharmacist said he
was a top druggist in Lima for many years. We went a block away for a
buffet lunch at a nice outdoor restaurant. In the garden were a llama,
dogs, parrots and a monkey. As I was getting dessert, the little monkey
jumped on my arm and reached into my rice pudding to grab the grape in
the middle, spilling rice pudding all over me. It was very funny, and we
all had a good laugh.

The nearby ruins of Ollantaytambo were very impressive. Original Inca
aqueducts ran through the streets of the town, and many folks lived in
houses with large Inca doorways and walls with Inca foundations. The
perfectly formed larger stones were always intact, and had withstood a
number of earthquakes. The smaller stones had been replaced with shoddy,
uneven rocks. We bought some cal for the coca leaves; this time it was
in the form of a ball and cost about 20 cents. Anna took me up to the
ruins of the temple as a local festival was just ending.

Dropped at Posada del Inca Yucay. Colonial styling.

Day 11 Machu Picchu
Train from Ollantaytambo.

Day 12 Huayna Picchu / Cusco
Climbed Huayna Picchu.

Day 13 Cusco / Sacsayhuaman / Puka Pukara / Kenko
Drove to area ruins, bought crafts. Hit my head on awning in street.
Shopping & eating in the afternoon. At night Ukukus & Kamikase.

Day 14 Cusco Pisaq Market & Ruins
Bought crafts at market & checked out Pisaq ruins. Nice lunch at stream.
Walked around Cusco streets & markets. Dinner at El Truco - very nice.
Relleno Rocoto & Anticucho. Went out to karaoke bar, sang, walked home.

Day 15 Lima
Said sad goodbye. Met Inka staff, went to Brazilian restaurant & met
Kit's clients.
Afternoon guided tour by Amalia. Rested at hotel and went to same
Brazilian place. Went out to Barranco to club.

Day 16 Lima
Tour of Pachacamac & Rafael Larco Herrera museum with Kika, city tour
with Hernando. Driver took me to crafts market. Went out on own. Taxi
driver tried to sell me coke. Went to bar with gringo music & european
clientele. Walked home alone.

Day 17 FLA
Nice breakfast with Ofelia, Rodrigo, and Inka driver. Lengthy security
check. Nice flight; flew over Cuba and neat islands. Customs lady was
mean, guy was nice. Long wait in Miami. Plane delayed; missed $200
travel voucher.


Return to Part I
Return to the Land O' Truth.