(Publishing on Jan 18 for Jan 14)
The night bus from Cusco proved to be very much like a business-class flight that taxied all the way to its destination without ever getting around to taking off. There were big leather seats that reclined a long way back but not quite to level, a small pillow and a blanket to help you sleep, airline-type food and a removable table to eat it off, safety announcements about the exits and what to do in the event of a fire, small TV screens showing a movie and a free headphones to plug in at your seat if you wanted to hear it. If you closed the curtains, the only thing that gave away the fact you were cruising at zero feet rather than 35,000 was the roughness of the road.
I had an unexpected burst of motion sickness early on, which almost never happens to me, and I think was caused by the bright screens on the dark bus. So I lay back and fell asleep about nine, and then was awake and asleep intermittently throughout the night. I happened to be watching as we passed through a still and silent Juliaca in the small hours, and again as we came into Arequipa, passing through the outer rings of the city until we got to the airfield-sized bus station not far from the city centre.
The guidebooks, the internet and various people we spoke to all warned us about taking taxis in Arequipa – apparently, the bad guys steal the good guys’ taxis, drive around until they find a tourist, pick them up in the legitimate cab, and then carry out nefarious acts such as getting them to withdrawn money from an ATM to their maximum limit. So when a middle-aged chap offered us a taxi in the bus station I stepped forward and blearily peered at the ID he was wearing like a short-sighted chemist examining a prescription. Not, of course, that I have the faintest idea what a legitimate Arequipa taxi driver ID looks like. But the act made me feel better.
He drove us straight to the hotel without any problems, and then insisted on getting out and knocking on the door and ensuring we got inside before driving away. That freaked me out slightly, but I ignored it. The hotel was very nice – cheap and friendly, and they were able to take care of us even at that ungodly hour. We slept for a while and then went back out for a look around.
Arequipa is known as the White City, either because of the number of central buildings built out of a white rock called sillar, which looks very like limestone, or because back in the day mostly white people used to live there. I am leaning towards the first explanation, though I have heard both with equal weight. There is a central square surrounded by a colonnade, and narrow, pleasant streets that radiate from it in straight lines. There are areas to shop, and there is a Radioshack, which I have enjoyed poking around. There are lots of nice places to eat, and in the evening streets there can be a pleasant atmosphere. Earlier today, we passed by the park when hundreds of families were flooding out after some unknown event, and the atmosphere was like that after a friendly game of football.
And yet, there is something here that bothers me. The consistency of the taxi advice is odd; I am guessing something bad of that nature must have happened several times to propagate the warning to such a degree. I´ve even seen it up on signs in tourist restaurants. The door to the hotel we are staying in is always locked; you have to ring a bell to be admitted even during the day, and before opening they check who you are through a little grill. On every ground-level window or door around the city centre there are either bars or a pull-down metal covering, and the consistency of the installation is almost total – I have not yet seen an unprotected entrance.
And then the edges of the city are a different planet entirely. No white-citybuildings here, but rather half-finished houses that may not have water or electricity, re-bar poking up from the walls towards the sky, lean-to shacks forming temporary housing, dogs nosing through piles of rubbish, people sitting around in groups idly.
Is this perceived danger all in my head? It may well be. Lima may in fact be far more dangerous, just with the danger further beneath the surface. AND it’s certainly hardly a coincidence that of the three towns we’ve got to know, there have been multiple policeman stationed anywhere tourists are likely to congregate. But there is something about Arequipa specifically that unnerves me. If I am doing you a great disservice, oh people of the city, please accept my apologies and let me know, should by some chance you read this.
During our first day in Arequipa, we saw the main museum and a massive convent. The central exhibit of the musuem is Juanita, the frozen body of a young girl from the Inca period that was discovered by a German archaeologist called Johan Reinhard in 1995. She wasn´t actually there when we visited, as they were working on the preservation of the body elsewhere, but there was more than enough to illustrate the story.
Reinhard had carried out multiple high-altitude excursions in search of archaeological finds throughout his career, and so was climbing a volcano called Ampato to see what he might find. Another nearby volcano was errupting at that time – an erruption lasting for a period of weeks, rather than an action-movie-style few minutes – and that changed the temperature enough in the region that the permanent snow at the top of Ampato retreated somewhat.
So Johann and the chaps went up for a look around, and we can safely assume they were rather taken aback to discover a 500-year-old mummy lying out partially exposed. She had fallen from a higher point due to the thaw, and was surrounded by various articles and bits and pieces that had been buried with her. The name Juanita comes from the feminine diminutive for Johann, by the way, so she is named after her finder. Further digging in the area resulted in more bodies, all of them children aged around 11 – 14, and one of them was on display in the museum when we were there instead of Juanita herself.
As best as I can understand it, the Incas worshipped the mountains as gods and believed they were alive. When there was an erruption, that meant the gods were angry, and a big erruption could have a devestating impact on the people in a wide surrounding area. Around 450 years ago, at the time Juanita was killed, there were a series of erruptions, and therefore the Incas had to take steps to appease the gods. They did that by sacrificing children.
How it went down was that a child would be chosen somewhere in the empire, and then brough to the mountains. It was a great honour, as they would become like the gods themselves, and indeed Juanita was probably royalty. She travelled from Cusco, a journey which would have taken a few months. Accompanied by the priests, she was then taken up the mountain. Both she and the priests drank a particularly strong form of local beer, plus took substances derived from hallucinogenic plants. Then she was killed. An analysis done in Johns Hopkins of her remains showed it was a hard blow over her right eye that ended her life. Then the priests buried her and completed the ceremony, and hoped that the erruptions would stop. Juanita went off to be with the gods.
Tough days indeed.
Anyway, aside from the museum and Juanita, we also went to see the monastery of Santa Catalina. It covers a huge space, taking up an entire large city block, and was only partially opened to the public in 1970 to raise money to get running water and electricity. Some nuns still live there today.
In the early days of the monastery you could pay to get in, and the more you paid the nicer your digs. So we saw some sets of rooms for one nun that had a piano and other instruments, a small room for a servant (which would be a poor nun), large kitchens for cooking, a room for entertaining, and so on. It certainly didn’t fit with any image I had of a severe convent comtemplating the glory of God.
The space itself is beautiful, the architecture solid and timeless. There are cloisters and courtyards littered with flowers, catching the strong sun, and works of art frescoed onto the walls for the contemplation of the faithful. It’s a fine place to spend a few hours.
Tomorrow we are leaving Arequipa on an organised two-day tour to see Colca Canyon and the surrounding towns, which we are able to book at very short notice through the super-helpful people in the hotel. More here after that.
