Where Has Corrigan Been?

Friends and Family;

I gather by the 10 emails (10!) in my inbox that I’ve either managed to break the Brown curse and become popular, or most of those emails are from Mom and Dad.

Where I have actually been is actually to the Colca Canyon, unnoficially known as the second deepest canyon in the world, with the first residing directly next to it.  It felt somewhat right to be hiking this canyon, given that I’d spent the last 5 days in the gloriously colonial city of Arequipa.  I don’t regret that length of time spent by any regard, it just felt nice to go from city hopping to do something natural for a change.  Now that I’m back though, I wish I’d spent more time, but Machu Picchu is not far away on the horizon, and there is one more destination before the inevitable (booked and deposit paid) trip up the side of the mountain to see the thing that everybody comes to Peru to see.

The Colca Canyon itself is a wonderously picturesque natural wonder of the world that should be on every list of Natural Wonders.  The Grand Canyon, while very beautiful, has nothing on this canyon in terms of complexity.  The majority of the canyon is a long desert with a mountain on the edge, but large, powerful and cold rivers criss cross the bottom, making way for certain oases that bloom like beacons in the distance.  One such oasis is called Llahuar (yah-war), and is officially a town, housing a total of just over 10 people.  The people there all live and work in the same town.  They range from delivery people to cooks, and they all support the local small bar/restaurant/hotel/hostel. Checking into the hotel is pretty easy, all you really have to do is arrive, and make sure that they don’t charge the beer you ordered shortly after the 7 hour hike that you already paid for to your tab.  After arriving, they offer you a pleasant dip in one of their “hot springs” (really just three hot tubs next to the freezing river).  Despite their inauthenticity, the “hot springs” are very welcoming, and feel great against raw shoulders and hips.

The next day felt like the longest day so far. Wanting to get an early start is out of the question; breakfast starts at 6am.  It was at that point, by far one of the best breakfasts I had since arriving in Peru.  It was pancakes.  Glorious, flat but nevermind, wonderful pancakes with butter.  Maple syrup would have been the icing on the cake at that point, but rarely do things ever work out perfectly.  I set out at 7:40, after paying for a pack lunch of rice, egg and tomato.

The road to Sangalle-the place considered to be the real oasis-is a long and arduous one.  The trail is not marked, but there are only really two decisions: right, left or back the way you came.  The trail not being marked certainly raised my eyebrows, especially when it turned into a natural stone staircase that ascended without an end in site.  Two hours later, I arrived at the deserted, except for the angry looking old man sitting at the top of the hill, town of Fure.  Not stopping long, I moved on towards the slightly larger town of Malata.  It was on this trail that I ate my pack lunch, and rode out the energy it gave me until I got to Malata, where I bought two protein bars and wolfed those down instantly.  The trail itself was picturesquely exquisite, and at one point I had to stop and hang my legs over the edge to just look at the peaceful, but tremendous beauty in front of me (this was of course done in the shade, as the sun was very hot at this particular part of the canyon).

The oasis of Sangalle (San-ga-ye) had been in site for several hours now, but the pathway down to the bottom of the canyon, where the oasis town resided, wouldn’t present itself until Malata was long past.  When I finally reached that, it was already 2 in the afteroon, and the sun was quickly disapearing behind the monstrously high mountains.  The light itself would last until 5, so I wasn’t worried, and it felt good to walk in the shade for once, and not in the tyrannical sun.

I finally reached Sangalle exactly 7 hours after I started.  Needless to say I was relieved, tired and ready to eat something.  I spoke for a while with the French bunch that pulled in an hour after I did and we made plans to have dinner together over a game of cards (The French have their own version of Loser, or for the less politely inclined among us, Asshole).  We had fun over undercooked and overpriced soup and spaghetti, and it wasn’t long before tiredness had gripped us all.  We made more plans to wake up early in order to make the 1,100 ascent early in the morning to avoid the scorching heat of the day.

The next morning, at a startling 4am, we were all up and climbing the side of the mountain (see the picture labelled “Ascent”), hitting switchback after switchback until finally, 3 hours later, we came to the top, and back into the small town we’d all started at.

And so ended my adventures in the Colca Canyon, a welcome break from the rapidity of city life that had me in its grips only four days before.  Now back in the city, I miss the canyon in all of its natural splendor.  I wish I could convey to all of you how beautiful it was, and how ruggedly unforgiving it was with the relentless switchbacks and climbs, descents and gravel paths.  If only I had more time.

If only I had more time.