So, while I was in Huanchaco I figured that it’s not very likely that I’ll ever be returning to Peru. With that in mind, I decided that maybe I should divert from my coastal route and venture inland and have a look at Machu Pichhu. The recommended, albeit longer route would take me well south of Lima along the coast and then back northeast to the town of Arequipa. From Arequipa the next major stop is Cusco and from there transport to Machu Picchu can be arranged.

Arequipa, the White City
Arequipa is a popular tourist destination, second only to Cusco. It’s called the white city because many of its buildings are constructed of sillar, a white volcanic rock that is mined nearby. It’s a wonderful example of a Spanish colonial city and if it had been the first one I had been to, I would have probably been impressed. Jaded? Probably.

While I was impressed with the cleanliness of Arequipa and with the quality of my lodging, Arequipa didn’t really offer me too much more, granted, I didn’t give it much of a chance. There are some interesting things nearby such as the Colca Canyon; which is one of the deepest canyons in the world and home to the Andean Condor. There is also some world-class river rafting nearby. Perhaps I will have to give it more time on my return trip.

The most significant self-discovery of my trip so far came when I was hit up to donate to some organization that is trying to keep kids off drugs. A noble pursuit, sure, and also if a donation keeps someone from growing up to be a bus-robber or something, then it’s probably well worth whatever the donation is. I have a real problem with all of this though.

My first encounter with my feelings on the subject hit me on my ski trip to Kashmir. While I was in Delhi awaiting further transportation to the Kasmir Valley I took a bit of a tour of the old town. A rickshaw driver (pedaler?) took me to a Jain temple (Jainism is a Dharmic religion with many parallels in Hinduism). The walls of the temple were lined with gold, many of the accouterments of the building were made of gold. There was surely enough gold in this temple to feed several generations of underprivileged Jain children.

Not to get too deep into my own spiritual beliefs, suffice it to say that there was a time in my life where I believed that there was some nobility to eastern religions. That changed a bit when I learned that the Buddhists, Hindus…what have you, aren’t really much different than the Catholics, Protestants or whatever. When a Buddhist family has a sick child they can ask a holy man to pray for their sick child. Of course, these prayers will have a greater effect if accompanied with a little money. Wealthy families can, of course, pay more to the holy man, so wealthy children have a greater rate of survival (couldn’t have anything to do with greater access to medical care and proper nutrition could it?).

So, back to Arequipa. In Peru, and in fact in every Latin culture I can think of, the Catholic church is a powerful force and a very important part of daily life. The church obviously has access to vast amounts of money judging by all the wonderful churches that have been built. So, how is it that such a powerful force with such far reaching political and social influence allow children to end up as drug addicts in the first place? At the very least, the church could do something, ANYTHING to discourage procreation by people who lack the resources to properly care for their children.

It was with that thought that I had to tell the solicitor, “NO!!”.

And just now, I noticed my friend, Kimber’s status on facebook:

“True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar….it comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.” ~ MLK “Beyond Vietnam” speech

Chan Chan, a slightly obscure ruin in northern Peru was on my list of things that I would like to see, probably BECAUSE it is somewhat obscure. The towns of Trujillo and nearby Huanchaco were also on my list of places I might want to stop in. I first learned of Trujillo when I was looking for a place with the perfect year-round temperature. Daily highs in Trujillo seem to be between 79 and 81 degrees (F) every day of the year. Nighttime lows are near 60. In my opinion, that’s pretty close to perfect.

So, when I decided it was time to depart Mancora I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Trujillo was a nine-hour bus ride away. A very appropriate amount of time to spend on a bus in my opinion. During the taxi ride from Trujillo to Huanchaco we passed right by Chan Chan. Things were really falling into place. While I was having breakfast one morning in Huanchaco, a lady came by presenting herself as a tour guide; I inquired about a trip to Chan Chan and that was it…the final brick was set.

Ancient Civilization
So, what is Chan Chan? It is a ruin of the largest pre-Columbian settlement in all of South America. It is built entirely of adobe. An extensive canal system was dug to bring fresh water from nearby rivers for drinking and irrigation. The original people of Chan Chan are apparently thought to be descendants of Polynesians and it is believed that they came here on the Humboldt current (the cold water current responsible for the pleasant temperatures here) from Easter Island. The wooden sculptures made by the inhabitants (Chimu) very closely resemble the Moai of Easter Island. At the height of its existence some 30,000 people lived at Chan Chan. The ruins extend for over 20 square km.

Carvings Adorn the Walls at Chan Chan

So What Happened?
The “mud captial” of Peru existed for some 600 years from approximately 900 A.D. to 1470 A.D. It is believed that in 1470 the Chimu people were conquered by the Incas and that the architects and scholars from Chan Chan were taken to design and build Macchu Picchu. So, I suppose the argument could be made that without the Polynesians, Macchu Picchu would have never been built.

I can’t possibly convey what a great debt I owe to my good friend Ben Bachelder for lending me the phrase “special white man _______”. I first heard Ben utter this phrase during a travelogue he was giving at McMurdo Station Antarctica. Ben was referencing something to do with drinking water in third world countries and the awkwardness presented when a local host might be so gracious as to invite one in to their home. Ben said something like “…so then your host offers you a glass of water. What do you do? Either you can drink it, get sick and deal OR you can reach for your bottle of ‘special white man water’”. It loses quite a lot in print, trust me, it was funny as hell at the time and Marsha (my lovely girlfriend) and I have gotten a great deal of mileage out of the phrase.

The term “tourist” versus “traveler” is a bit of an issue with me. I firmly believe that if some place on the face of the earth is heavily touristed, it’s for a good reason. Either that place has some significant culture, history or natural beauty. I believe that only elitists would label some place unworthy of a visit simply because it is “over-touristed”.

My perceptions have been shattered. Here I sit in Mancora, Peru. I booked the Loki hostel ahead of my arrival here. This place epitomizes everything about “the gringo trail” and “over-touristed”. Don’t get me wrong, the hostel is a lovely place but DAMN….I’ve never been to a place that caters to “tourists” more than this place. Upon check-in, I was immediately encumbered with a wrist band (much like the one you might get at a hospital or when you buy an all-inclusive pass to the carnival). The idea behind the wrist band is for A) security…only those bearing the wrist-band are allowed on the property and B) It is possible to charge meals, drinks, etc to your room. While I appreciate the extra security, I resent the fact that I am immediately identified as a guest of this place when I venture outside the immediate premises.

The disney-ization of Peru doesn’t seem to stop at the Special White Man resort hostel however. EVERY restaurant, store, travel office etc seems to cater ONLY to tourists. I have spent a LOT of time trying my damnedest to learn Spanish and while I appreciate the ease with which I can order a meal, buy a bus ticket or get a taxi, I am a bit resentful that EVERY time I walk into one of the above mentioned establishments, the people speak to me first in English, the menus are in English and any other information I might need is also in English. I’m a bit conflicted actually. I appreciate that things are “easier” in Peru but I also feel that my experience is diminished because of it. In Ecuador this never would have happened. The people there, while certainly worldly, don’t cater to tourists much, if at all (outside The Galapagos). Either one learns Spanish or they have an awful time trying to find their way.

So, for the first time in my recent memory, I find myself in a place that I would define as “touristy” simply because the tourism here doesn’t appear to have grown organically. Tourists are catered to only because they are tourists and not because there is anything remarkable to see or do here. Granted, the surf break is pretty incredible, but it’s nothing any more spectacular than any other surf break along the many miles of the South American Pacific coast. I guess this is what people speak of when they express their loathing of “The Gringo Trail”.

Or not?

Travel forums as well as conversations amongst travelers are rife with tales of the dangers and hassles of crossing the border between Ecuador and Peru at Huaquillas (Ecuador) and Aguas Verdes (Peru). Historically, this area has been disputed by both countries, but more recently the countries have reached an agreement. As a result of the historical disputes there is a bit of a “no-man’s land” that stretches for approximately 3km between the two towns and the respective immigration control points for both countries. Con-artists, crooked taxi drivers and dishonest money changers take advantage of the lawlessness and naivete of foreigners who travel through this area.

It is recommended that travelers take international buses that will wait for you through all the border formalities and save the hassle from people out to scandalize them. I heeded this advice and found a C.I.F.A. bus from Guayaquil to Tumbes (Peru) which was supposed to be direct service (as an aside here, for some reason travelers whom I have spoken to seem to mistake “direct” for “express”…direct doesn’t mean that the bus doesn’t stop…it means that you don’t have to transfer to get from point A to point B). Anyhow, the C.I.F.A. bus service leaves a lot to be desired. It was standing room only for much of the trip to the border and the hawkers who got on everytime the bus stopped were quite annoying, but that’s life in Ecuador and that’s what I was there to experience.

At any rate, I was under the impression that bus service was to be direct all the way to Tumbes and that I would have to find a different bus from there to Mancora. So…when we stopped at the immigration control point on the Ecuadorian side of the border I figured that the bus was going to wait for me to process my passport (i.e. obtain the necessary exit stamp). I even confirmed this thought in my best broken Spanish…and believed that I received an answer of affirmation. I didn’t bother to grab my bag from under the bus….imagine my surprise when, after I got my exit stamp, I turned around to see the tail end of the bus zooming away! So, here I am at the dodgiest spot in South America (allegedly) and I am now separated from half of my belongings.

So…a bus line official sought me out, explaining that I could now get on a different bus that would take me all the way to Mancora. I explained to him that my bag had gone away with the other bus and I sure would like it back. He made a quick phone call and explained to me that the bag would be returned. My confidence in my own ability to speak and understand Spanish was now quite low given the circumstances…so I didn’t really know if I understood what was going on or if I could expect to ever see my bag again…nonetheless, I figured I had several hours before dark and I would harass C.I.F.A. officials until I got results. As it turned out, no harassment was needed as my bag did, indeed, return with the other bus (which had turned around and now headed back to Ecuador). I grabbed my bag and happily boarded the bus for M