Beauty and Destruction in the Andes: Huaraz & Caraz, Peru

There must have been at least seven or eight guys on him.  All of them were crowded around in a tight pack making escape impossible.  In the center of the melee a lone Peruvian with dark skin and dirty black hair held his hands up to his face, attempting to ward off the random blows that the cluster of other locals were raining down on him.  The pack slowly moved down the street. Every five or six seconds one of the gang would throw a haymaker or open handed slap, never enough to drop the unfortunate recipient, but enough keep him dazed.
   It was 7AM and Molly and I had just gotten off of an all night bus that took us from the coastal city of Trujillo to Huaraz, high in the mountains. Still rubbing the sleep from our eyes, the fray unfolded in dreamy slow motion. All around in the street other locals half-watched while going about their morning routine.  Apparently the effects of alcohol on the indigenous population are well-known to the people of Huaraz and they looked on with mild disinterest.  Not wanting to get involved, Molly and I walked down the street in search of our hostal, leaving the ruffians to settle their dust-up in their own way,
   Huaraz, named for the Quechua word for dawn, is nestled in the mountains about 10,000 feet up in a range of the Andes known as the Cordillera Blanca. The Cordillera Blanca is home to the highest mountains in the world, outside of the Himalaya,s and the beautiful, snow crested peaks look down on the little city from every direction.

    After finding a hostel, we decided to acclimatize by taking a hike up into the hills around Huaraz. The path slowly lead us through the outskirts of town.  The streets were choked with outdoor restaurants cooking up all manner of mountain delicacies. Fried chicken, roasted guinea pig and bubbling pots of stew perfumed the air with their heady spices as we wound through the narrow streets.  

     Just beyond the city we came upon the ruins of Waullac. Dating to about 600AD in pre-incan times these buildings were constructed by the Wari people.  The site houses about five or six structures surrounded by small hollows dug into the earth.  Archaeologists believe that these were ceremonial burial sites of important members of the tribe.  We wandered through the ancient buildings for an hour or so eating apples and speculating about the people who had built them before continuing higher into the hills. 

Molly outside one of the ruins at Waullac.  It doesn't look so bad considering its 1,400 years old.

     Our destination for the trek was a tiny village high in the hills called Marian.  Because we had no map or guide to show us the way we had to ask people we met along the trail.  Everyone we met was wonderful and full of life, wanting only to talk to us for a moment and help us along the way.  At one point we ran into a tiny, wisp of a woman carrying a bundle of firewood at least twice her size.  She must have been in her seventies with dark brown, paper-like skin that creased and folded around her bright darting eyes.  She seemed delighted to see us. "Hola gringita y gringito!"  She exclaimed, laughing and waving at us. We spoke for a few moments, only understanding half of the words that came out of her toothless mouth, but laughing the whole time.

"Hello little white girl and little white boy!"

      The village of Marian was another half hour walk up the hill.  We passed tiny farms across which fires burned in the straw colored grass, set by the farmers to fertilize the land for the upcoming planting.  Sprawling alpine meadows fed herds of grazing cattle, pigs and llamas. We finally reached the village right in the middle of a soccer match.  Although the action was broken up a few times when some cowherds walked their animals across midfield it was a thoroughly enjoyable game.

     Before dawn the next day we set out in search of hot springs to sooth our weary muscles.  We found them in the town of Marcara. The springs themselves were a scalding 118 degrees and too hot to sit in.  Fortunately there was a different attraction at these thermal baths, steam caves.  Built into the side of the hill, ten doors cover the entrances to tiny caves about ten feet deep and six feet high.  Inside each cave a thermal vent releases a jet of steam that super-heats the air inside.  After fifteen minutes of relaxing in this natural sauna, I felt like my muscles were made of pienapple jello (a very popular snack here).

Too hot in the hot tub!

That evening we caught a minibus up to the small town of Caraz.  Leaning my head out the window, I took in the full beauty of the countryside.  The thin mountain air was filled with the scent of eucalyptus and wood smoke.  Great stands of these trees stood out dark green against the jagged mountains and above everything mighty Huazcaran, the highest peak in Peru, looked down like a snow hooded monk in silent meditation.

     Early the next morning the time had come for out first real hike. To get to the trailhead we had to pass through the town of Yungay, or I should say New Yungay. The mountain monks are not always so silent.  On May 31st, 1970 an earthquake triggered a massive landslide. Fifty million cubic yards of rock fell from the north face of Huazcaran into the valley below. Traveling at 250 miles per hour it buried the town, killing 25,000 of its inhabitants. Only 92 people survived.  The Peruvian government has forbidden excavation of the site, declaring it a national cemetery. 

    Moving past new city of Yungay we made our way into Huazcaran National Park. Our destination was a glacial lake about 14,800 feet above sea level called Lago 69.  The lake is famous for its unearthly blue color which it owes to the rich mineral content of the water flowing out of the glacier above.  The first part of the hike wound us through a wide valley with a swift running mountain stream flowing through the middle.  Twisted polylepis trees dot the landscape providing shade for the horses that grazed on the short grass.

  

   About a mile and a half later we reached the edge of the valley and began to climb, and climb, and climb.  As we ascended several thousand vertical I was struck by the way the vegetation change.  The scenery ran the gamut from sun baked desert to freezing glaciers and everything in between.  After hours of hiking we finally reached Lago 69 in the late afternoon.  The sight was nothing short of breathtaking. About 500 feet above the lake perched on the edge of a sheer rock face, the glacier spit out a delicate waterfall that cascaded into the azure waters below.  Every few minutes a sound like a thunderclap echoed through the valley as the splitting ice of the glacier creaked and cracked its way along the side of the mountain.  We stayed at the lake for about an hour and had lunch before the altitude began to take its toll and we started the long hike back to the trail head.

   We had no real plans for getting back into town.  The locals had said that many cars passed by on the way to Yungay so when we got to the road we just stuck our thumbs out and hoped.  Within minutes a rickety old fruit truck came bouncing down the road.  The driver agreed to take us into town for five soles (about $1.60) and since there was no room in the cab, we hopped into the back. The truck shimmied and shook while we held on for dear life for the entire hour and a half trip back into Yungay (plus a twenty minute stop at the drivers house to help him unload some produce).

   

   The next day we took a day hike in the hills around Caraz up to a small hamlet called Pueblo Libre.  The area is much lower than Lago 69 and reminded me of the desert around Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Golden red and orange hills were dotted with small trees, scrub brush and huge blue agave cacti.  Molly and I mused about the idea of opening up a tequila factory and retiring.  It wouldn't be a bad life.

TEQUILA!

   Later, as we boarded the night bus for Lima, I thought about the Andes and the folks we had met.  They  are a land and a people with two faces.  One of the is beautiful, wondrous and inviting that welcomes visitors with open arms.  The other is terrible and destructive in its wrath.  It is easy to get caught up in the spectacular, postcard panorama of the mountains and ignore the awesome power that lies beneath.  Similarly it is easy to become enraged at the business owner who tries to rip you off  and overlook the incredible warmth and curiosity that permeates the people of this land.  These two faces are different sides of the same coin and spring from the same source.  There would be no beauty without destruction in the mountains and there would be no warmth nor treachery without tourists. Woe be to the traveler who becomes transfixed on one face while ignoring the other.