Return of the Mummy

Arequipa, informally termed “la ciudad blanca” due to its luxurious white buildings, almost Arabic in stone and construction, lies in the Andes mountains overlooked by the looming snow-peaked volcano of El Misti, which rises majestically some 5822 feet above the city. Bordering El Misti lay the summits of Chachani and Picchu Picchu, the superstitious “Apus” or Inca homes of the Gods and spirits controlling the nature of the universe, nestling this ancient town and UNESCO world heritage site below their watchful eyes.

Our first stop in this beautiful, dusty, sun-baked landscape was the museum to see a fourteen year old Inca maiden, Juanita, who was sacrificed at the top of Mount Ampato through a mixture of a sedative drink and a blow to the head. Her body was an appeasement to the restless earthly spirits who had, in the Inca philosophy, caused the latest natural disaster in anger against sins of the Arequipian people. Left in a shallow grave with metallic llamas, embroidered cloths, bowls and scallops, her body frozen in ice was preserved for hundreds of years and discovered by chance in a crater to now find itself inside a glass refrigerator. Here tourists can peer through their fingers and mist to gaze at her sinewy shrivelled muscles, still growing long black hair, crooked teeth or hunched-over posture. Undignified as her current state may be, she allows a unique vision of a primitive, glorious and difficult period in one of the most fascinating bygone human civilisations.

Following this, and abandoning our plans to fly over Nascar to visualise the mysterious Inca crop circles due to several plane crashes and escalating prices, we decided to take our lack of water ability and raft down grade 4 rapids up Chilli Creek (with several paddles). Suitably dressed like two M&Ms in yellow puffy buoyant jackets, we added helmets and wetsuits then clambered in to our raft with one guide, one safety man and one extra canoe whose sole purpose seemed to be to spray us in the face. Splashing over rocks through the Andean wilderness was a mixture between cold fingers, exceptionally beautiful scenery and a shot of adrenaline. One particular highlight was when the guide told us, “now hold on and when I say get in the boat, you get in the boat,” only for a huge wave to overthrow the raft causing speedy propulsion of its passengers downwards with the current, Becky losing grip and disappearing into the rapids. Luckily she was fine, and I got my come-uppance the next morning on our cycle ride down an active volcano.

Cycling El Misti, I had neither factored in the gravel and sand path, nor the lack of suitably sized bikes. Hence once at the peak, the massive distance between the male bike’s seat and handlebars, meant that when perched upon the bike it felt like riding a Victorian penny farthing over six foot boulders with each crunch, bump and skid juddering all the way through our arms and shoulders. The constant squeeze of brakes formed bruises on the surface of each palm. Far from being Lance Armstrong, it was more like a toddler with training wheels, slowly taking each skid and sand dune as it came. Becoming slightly more confident I looked up to see our descent down the path of the volcano and promptly my front wheel locked and flew out of a pothole, throwing me off my seat and both my bike and I down on to the sand path.

Needless to say, I was more relieved than Becky being on a ten hour toilet-less bus bursting for a pee, when we finally encountered an asphalt road where I could freewheel down to the base of the volcano. Becky managed another inhuman feat in the burning temperatures and thinning oxygen by racing the instructor up the tiered sandy hills. I took that opportunity to take a personal break in the car just being glad it wasn’t me.

The next day involved ‘voluntary’ work at a local Peruvian school for children living in extreme poverty. Taking a bus to the outskirts of Arequipa we were overwhelmed with the basic nature of the area; unfinished one brick wall thick houses, dirt strewn streets, rocks, rubble, children with dusty faces picking through the rubbish, and then one small three roomed school in which they could learn English and Spanish. After sweeping and mopping we lay in wait for the scrum that formed at the gates. Suddenly there came a deluge of tiny children calling us “teacher” and pulling at our sleeves asking us to show them how to do a jigsaw puzzle, listen to them displaying their counting talents or even give them a piggy back ride. After being used as the local lift service around the playground from a series of three year old boys who gave me no rest, not even when I lay flat on the playground floor, where they all grabbed a leg and an arm and tried to spin me round, we made our way exhausted but filled with a sense contentedness from the day.

On a whim, as the night crept in, we accepted an invitation from one of the volunteers at the school to a local rock concert of a famous Argentinean band. Joining the 9000 strong crowd we listened to a mixture of salsa, heavy rock, metal and Bob Marley covers as the light faded over the city, and it disappeared to become thousands of flickering electric lights in the distance as figures danced in the shadows.

On our final day in Arequipa as we bustled through the streets back to our hostel the ethereal sound of classical Beethoven violin music floated in the air. Stopping, captivated, Becky stared in to the Plaza D’Armas. “Where do you think that is coming from Becky?” I asked, wondering what orchestra could be playing at this time of the day in Peru. “Whatever it is, it is beautiful” Becky replied. In answer to our question the local garbage truck trundled round the corner, blasting the choral symphony from its speakers with a toot of its horn.

Farewell Arequipa and your odd singing garbage trucks, your white colonial buildings, your chequered travellers trousers, extreme sports, still-active volcano and absorbing Inca history. As the Peruvians shout and drum their feet whilst on their public bus service, shouting in their driver’s ear “Vamos! Lima! Let’s go!” the time has come for the end of this trip, final stop, Lima and then we shall see you very soon.