Haberdashery: Better than head-smashery
Back in Pre-Hispanic times, two ethnic groups in the Colca Canyon area of Peru deformed their babies’ skulls — the Collagua into a taller, tapered noggin, the Cabana into a mesa-shaped cranium. Was the Collagua’s headscaping a disturbed bid for…
In the sun, in the shade
Today, the remote village of Cabanaconde in Colca Canyon, Peru feels like a place that’s just rolled out of bed — mussed, shuffle-footed, and a little slow to react. The mood is the same as in that first part of…
I’m a sad person holding a fork
What is it about having future plans for travel adventure that makes all the difference in how I feel about today? There’s a drawing that shows up on my computer’s desktop, in rotation with others I’ve kept because they make…
Views to die for in Colca Canyon
Having carrion-craving birds circling in the hot updrafts above you can indicate that those expert hunters of the dead and dying consider you a likely next meal. The condors in Colca Canyon, Peru may have smelled my sweat, thick with…
The greatest fool in Peru
During dinner in a rustic hiker guesthouse at the bottom of Colca Canyon, Peru, Todd decides to treat our fellow travelers to a conversation to remember, for all the wrong reasons. His choice? A story about a penis.
Hitting rock bottom in Colca Canyon
I’m not the kind of chick who cries. Though I’m overflowing with empathy, I’m cut from stoic stock. I cry more often while cutting onions than from sorrow or joy. Yet, at the bottom of the world’s deepest canyon, I…
Small town, big sky
There is a noticeable lack of urgency in Cabanaconde, Peru. It’s likely that this placid state is related to the lack of people and of things to do. Buses arrive, buses depart, one set of backpackers replaces another. Yet, it’s…
The condors of Colca Canyon have a posse
Who would travel deep into Colca Canyon via a pot-holed, fear-inducing, six-hour bus ride and still say to hell with seeing the area’s acclaimed and rare Andean condors? Anyone who hates early morning wake-up calls. Namely, me.
Let’s terrace the clouds
This bus smells like I imagine alpaca farts must smell — a mix of ripe compost, dry grass, wet wool, and barnyard sweat. For the next six hours, I have no choice but to breathe it in. As we begin…
Wetting my whistle with someone else’s spit
“Chicha de jora? Isn’t that the stuff they make with spit? Eww.” Such was the typical reaction when someone heard chicha de jora in the list of foods and drinks I wanted to try in Peru. That or a confused,…
