Chachapoyos

I´m sitting in the internet Cafe in Chachapoyos, waiting for my bus to leave for Chicalyo and the beach. We just returned from three days of trekking(well kind of) to Kuelap on a pre Inca trail. Walking down the stone path which has been there for 1200 years towards a great ruined city seemed just like Macchu Pichu except that we were the only ones there. We did not see another tourist for the entire three day trek and when we wrote our names today in the guest book at Kuelap we confirmed that we were the only tourists on the site. But I suppose I should start at the beginning.
After spending a day relaxing in Chachapoyos(I guess it would have been more relaxing if someone had not stolen my credit card and I had not spent so many hours online thinking about it) we decided to get going again and booked a tour to walk from Lamud to Kuelap. We decided to go with a guide even though it is always more expensive when you have an all inclusive tour because we did not know if we would get lost on the trail. It turns out that two tourists went without a guide on the same trail and got lost in a giant cow pasture so I guess it was a good idea. We woke up at five in the morning to get started because we decided to do it in three days instead of four. Our first stop was sacophoguses high up on a cliff wall. Basically thse were upright coffins painted and shaped to look like persons. Insterestingly enough the Chachapoyans lived under the ground and buried their dead up high. I evaluated the cliff and decided that the rock was too crumbly to climb saftely so I accepted the guides theory that they lowered themsleves halfway down the cliff on ropes.
The path down to the Sarchophogi was wet and slippery and we hoped that the entire day would not be like this(it was).
Next we got back in the car and started down of the road the tour agency had told us that we could not rent taxis on(therefore needing their services). When they told us we were unconvinced that we could not pay someone to take us down the road, but they might have been right. Things were going fine, meaning the road was not worse than all the other horrible road we could not believe they took four door tin can cars on, until we reached a mud bog. The first bad sign was the giant six wheel truck, completely sunk in the mud on one half of the road, completely abandoned until the rains stopped. Laura and I figured our walk had begun but our guide and taxi driver were more determined. Did I mention that our guide was a precocious 17 year old who had already studied political science for two years at the University. Despite his book smarts and fancy job he was still a 17 year old boy who thought driving a small front wheel drive only car into a mud bog next to a giant truck was a good idea.
Laura and I just started laughing. Before driving in they did try to place a few stones and sticks on the path and drained a little of the water out. Nevertheless we were stuck as soon as we drove all the way in. Laura and I were not surprised. We wondered if they could understand that we were laughing at them even though we were speaking in English. Being macho they let us sit in the car for quite awhile while they tried to get the car out. We offered to leave to lessen the wait but they declined our assistance. Finally we had to go to the bathroom and they let us leave for that. When we returned(after sneakily taking a picture of the debacle) they were trying to push the car out. Without really asking we decided to take charge and go push with them. The car budged a little, and eventually with three pushers and one driver we were able to escape. We had no idea how the taxi driver was going to return once he dropped us off because there would be no one to push the car and he would be going uphill. We never found out what happened to him.

After driving a while more down the road we caught our fist glimse of the valley of Belen where a large river snaked across the green grass of the valley in a dramatic twisting fashion.
The Valley of Belen
We were glad to have the guide as we would have no idea were to start walking across the great green valley. It turns out that we definitely would not have gone the right was as we had to jump over numerous streams and finally ford a river barefoot to get to the start of the pre Inca trail we were going to follow. The rain kept starting and stopping so we alternated between carrying and wearing our ponchos.

As we started up the trail I had to ask our guide who put the stones there. He was like, oh yeah, i forgot to tell you that this road was built 800 years after Christ by the Chachapoyans. It seemed as if we were going to have to drag information out of him.
We stopped at a stunning view of a far off waterfall on our way up the mountain. We were occasionally passed by people and their mules weighed down with all sorts of things. One mule was carrying a large table strapped to his back. This was only the beginning of our experience with animal mistreatment. After 45 minutes or so of climbing up anchent crumbling steps and trails deep from years of horses and mules we started the descent which they had told us would last four hours but was not very steep. They made it sound like we would want to walk down hill for four hours as if it were easier. Given that the rain was now coming down more consistantly and that the rocks had been broken by mules I was not too excited about walking for four hourse. My knee with the help of some aleve seemed to be holding up fairly well though.
Carlos seemed to be driving a hard pace with little time for rest and after quite a few hours of walking through the cloud forest with rain I was starting to get tired.
I would drift of the back of the back as Laura and Carlos went on ahead. We had a few minutes to stop at our first Ruin which consisted of a number of circular houses overgrown with forest. They had once made up a city of thousands. Carlos presented us a piece of cake which we were delighted to eat at the ruins. After the ruins, as it continued to rain we discovered that our Ponchos were not actually waterproof and lamented that we had left our jackets at home because they had told us that they were providing ponchos. We should never trust the Peruvians! Matters got worse when I stepped down funny, my leg straighted all the way and my knee popped. It was only temporarily painful but it made me timid and eventually started to swell. My doctor had told me I could do anything as long as my knee did not swell so I faced the long steep descent in front of me with a fair amount of worry. As I limped down the trail, going twice as slow as my guide we were passed by a mother her son and three horses. I wished that I had them to ride but did not think it was possible on the path. To my surprise, she stopped and offered us a ride. I do not really believe in miracles but I thought this ladies kindness was a gift that would save my knee. I mounted the mule and started the very scary path down. The mule had to slide down slick mud, and jump down little staircases. I held on tight for the wild but breathtakingly beautiful descent to a small village. As we entered the village we walked past houses constructed of mud shelacked onto wodden walls. The little boy who was leading my mule threw rocks at an orange tree and ate them on the path. i was so impressed that this little boy of six or seven with leather sandles that slid of in the mud was doing a better job on the path than I was. We passed under trees with small red berry like fruits that Laura discovered were coffee beans. When we arrived everyone was gathered around a soccer field and our guide explained there was a grand fiesta going on. I gave the lady 20 soles in gratitude, or about a days salary for a teacher here. I wanted her to feel as lucky as I had when she offered me a horse. I knew if she had not let me ride I would still be slowly descending the mountain in the dark.

Over dinner I told our guide that I had a knee problem and would need a horse the next day. Horses were normally included in the tour but we had declined them thinking that we did not need to pay extra when we could walk. He had quite a time finding a horse, and loudly argued with various people about it in front of us. It was as if he forgot that we could understand Spanish when he started talking to other people in front of us. Laura reminded me frequently that he was only 17.

When the horse showed up the next day he took Laura´s backpack and put it in a saddle bag. I thought maybe we were getting two horses because the mule in front of me seemed much too small to carry me and the bags. There was no other horse. I easily mounted the mule and noticed that my feet almost touched the ground. I already felt guilty for riding it but I figured that most tourist choose this route so it isn´t a problem. The pequeno mula

The path started fairly well, with the guide pulling the rope tied around the mules head. Eventually he tired of pulling the mule along so he found a stick in the bushes gave me the rope and started whipping its back, yelling mula vamos mula. Even though he was not yelling at me it was consistant and always in my direction. My nerves were on edge and I felt bad for the horse. Every time he whipped it it jumped making it very hard to ride. Did I mention the stirrups were way to short so I could not really use them. Things were still going alright until we passed two other horses, a baby and her mom. Everyone got excited and my mule started chasing the other horeses around. If it really wanted to it could go fast, even though it was not willing to after being yelled at and whipped by Carlos. I did not really have any idea what to do but held on alright until it started running full speed under a low branch. I ducked just in time and got away with only scrapes on my back. If I had been a little less adept I would have been strung out to dry by my neck on that tree.
Laura eventually grabbed the rope attached to the horse and things were under control. Carlos did not seem quite as concerned about my physical saftey as the other guides who would not let me overexert myself.

We continuded down the trail which began with ups and downs. Things got really bad when we arrived at the climb. The mule continued to stop not wanding to go up steep stairs with a giant on its back. I felt incredibly guilty that it was being screamed at and whipped but knew that my knee was swollen and I would hurt myself to walk worse that the mule was. I could not imagine that tourists would do this if they did not have some medical problem keeping them from walking. I figured that they probably had a bigger horse, but later learned that my mule was typical even for men much larger than me. Every time it jumped up a step I feared the poorly attached saddle would fall of the back, luckily I would not have fallen very far off the animal. As it sunk into the mud I could often touch the ground with my feet. One time I feared I was stuck in a giant puddle when it sunk down to its belly in a large lake like puddle.

Once again I was having trouble with different cultures. I asked the guide if it was necessary to hit the mule and he said it was. Luckily after lunch another man joined us who spoke much more softly to the animal. It was worn out and often flat out refused to go up things. At these points I dismounted, climbed the stairs and remounted for the flats. This was not bad as I could go up on leg at a time, only using my good leg. Laura was way out ahead and I felt so bad for being a stupid tourist who got myself into something i could not handle. I had to remind myself that this was the first time my knee had been swollen the entire trip and that I had no way of knowing it would happen.

Finally we reached the top and in a few minutes a car came to pick us up. Did I mention that the entire path was breathtakingly beautiful? I tried to apprecaite it but felt more guilt.
Laura seemed to enjoy the trip and I was glad of that.
Laura stopping for lunch, the only time I was able to take a picture.
We drove to our hostel, were amazed to find it had hot showers. After showerig we feel asleep before dinner, woke up to eat, and then promptly went back to bed. I did notice the big dipper for the first time and was alarmed to see it upside down, pointing at the north star way below the horizon. It was strange to look at the stars and notice something was wrong and spend a minute or two figuring it out.
The next day we woke bright and early for Kuelap. We were literally the only people there except the workers who were working on restoration. The city was huge and facinating, well deseving of the advertisment slogan Macchu Pichu of the North. I could not beleive we were the only ones there.
Carlos gave us his speil as we walked around the fortress. The giant walled city was constructed to be extremely defensible and held Chachapoyans from 800 to 1500 when the Incas and Spanish took over in turn. Sadly, as in many places in Peru, the stones were stolen from many houses to build houses for the Spanish, but the remains were spectacular.
One of the houses of important people.