Day 20 (4/13)

After a very relaxing day of rest in Cotahuasi, today marked the beginning of the last week of our journey. We departed Cotahuasi under clear blue skies just after 10:00 and immediately started climbing on a paved road towards the south rim of the canyon. Along the way we were struck with the extent to which every arable foot of ground had been terraced and planted.

As we climbed higher the agriculture gave way to fields of massive boulders that continued all the way upto the point where we crested the rim at just over 15,000 feet. At that point we were presented with a spectacular view of the snow capped ‘Solimana’ peak that sits at just under 20,000 feet. Recall this is the peak that showed up repeatedly in the background of the photo’s taken from the north rim. Now we were directly below it and I don’t know if it was the clarity of the air or some other unknown phenomenon, but I have never seen a peak with snow  as pure a color white as this one. It was absolutely gorgeous. 

For the next hour and a half, we proceeded southeast running at right around 15,000 feet with the Peak omnipresent to our right. At one point we took a detour that we thought might save us a bit of time, but turned out it was taking us in the wrong direction and so we turned around. The benefit of this detour though was that it provided a commanding view of the Solimana peak, which allowed for a signature shot I included in the photo gallery below. 

Around 12:30, we stopped at one of the handful of intersections we encountered during the entire day for an impromptu lunch of dried fruit and coffee. On the map, there was supposedly a town of Arma, but all we found was a single building. No matter, we ate our lunch and were on our way. At this point you will note that the dominant feature of the landscape changed from the snow capped Solimana peak by now to the north of us, to the set of snow capped peaks of the Corupana Volcano to our south. Somewhat less dramatic, but no less magnificent, this set of peaks stand at just under 21,000 feet. With our focus shifted we also shortly found ourselves dropping on an amazing stretch of single lane pavement past herds of Llama’s and hillsides covered with Saguaro cactus to the town of Andagua. 

Andagua, which bills itself as the ‘Corazon del Valle de Los Volcanes’, is a very orderly and somewhat unique town of a few thousand people. Unique for the fact that it is laid out on a grid of perfectly paved streets, each of which is lined with a column of evenly spaced streetlights, and unique for the fact that the central square in town features a beautifully maintained collection of topiary figures! Go figure. 

From Andagua, for the last leg of our day’s journey, we made our way through a lava field to a waterfall that had been called out on the map and had caught our attention. Having taken that site in, we proceeded around a nearby lake to our final destination of Chachas (cha-chas), where we arrived around 4:00, having completed yet another remarkable day on our journey.

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From Claudio

Hoteling

With heavy eyes, wearied bodies, laden with gear, cold, wet, seeking warmth, a meal, a pillow, a hot shower, a place for our souls to catch up with us, we look for a place to sleep at the end of each day. We always find something different, yet a few patterns stand out: we are received with a frown, a stern look, or cagey owners with serious faces. After a while, they smile and trust us. Hotels in the country offer labyrinthine accommodations with confined rooms, small windows, long stairs, narrow corridors, through-the-kitchen-entrances, dead corners, faulty toilets, sickly light, intrusive furniture, ageless mattresses, bug-ridden sheets, raw, brumal air. No matter, no matter, this will do, it has to, and the balming, sweet feeling of arrival. These grey cemented Bauhauses, half-built, half-designed, all have protruding rebars on the open roofs reaching out to an unresponsive heaven. As if they were built to oppress the body in which simple, functional lines are lost to a Brezhnevian socialist classicism and the architectural exercises on darkness and seclusion. 

But in the big towns we find the imposing, glamorous hotels in the center facing the Plaza de Armas, next to the Church – both institutions plotted by the Iberian darlings of oppression, submission and hell. I can see a Grand Inquisitor sauntering about. Splendor, opulence and stately names: “El Mariscal,” “El Presidente,” “El Viceroy,” “El Cardenal,” with their line of uniformed attendants -doormen, bellboys, concierges, gardeners, waitresses, cooks- diligent all, ready to serve. A bed in a Brezhnevian Bauhaus for a coin; a bed in a palatial chamber for a salary of a local. 

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From the Morning…

From the Afternoon…