From the jungle I head inland to Trujillo, a town filled with the history of the area, most notably the Moche and Chimu people. I'm here to see what is left of their civilizations and to marvel at their immense buildings.
Pre Spanish cultures used to live in Peru and South America for hundreds of years, building their own towns, spiritual cities, and cultivating the land. Not being the greatest historian I'd assumed that it was all Inca people in Peru until the dirty Spanish waiters arrived, but how wrong I was.
The Chimu were the big dogs in the Trujillo area, building a huge city by the sea now named Chan Chan. The place is huge and you can see why the elders and governers used to have people carry them around, which is also why you don't see many staircases, only ramps, so that 5 or 6 men could carry the noble about the place.
And like many countries around the world today the power and riches lay in the hands of the few, while the many toiled and worked for the nobility and for their gods, usually the sky, mountain, and sea.
Not that the nobility had it all their own way of course, if the head governer died then he was to be buried with all his belongings, the Chimu beleving that you moved onto the next world, and obviously you'd want to take all your bits with you wouldn't you?
But it wasn't just his belongings mind: his wife, his cabinet, his collection of Silver Surfer comics, his friends, and his concubines were all killed and buried with him! I can picture the scene at the concubines penthouse apartment,
"Wake up Chantelle, I've got terrible news"
"leave me alone Destiny, I was up most of the night with the Gov, I'm knackered, he's got the stamina of a man half his age"
" you're knackered? Well he's dead"
"dead! oh fuck Destiny, I'm his number 1 tart, they'll bury me next to his wife!"
The following day I head to see the Sun and Moon temple of the Moche people. The Moche turned up and basically wiped out the Chimu.
The Moche built a huge temple at the foot of the mountain to appease and pray to the Mountain god. They would regularly sacrifice a lama to the Mountain god, but sometimes, if they thought he was particulary moody, they would sacrfice a young male from the tribe, but not before they'd got him ripped off his tits on crazy juice, making it easier for them to smash his skull in and pour his blood onto the mountain!
Lovely people.
And whenever the spiritual head died, or if they'd been a earthquake, they would fill the whole temple (it's bloody massive) in with bricks, and build a bigger temple around it. So far they have uncovered 4 layers of the temple on top of each other, the work must have been back breaking. And you have to wonder why bother? The mountains not that bothered.
As I wander around I wonder about mans seemingly ceaseless need to occupy and conquer other people and things around it. I'd always assumed it was the nasty western cultures that would come to other peaceful countries then rape and pillage them until there was nothing left, but no. People were killing each other and stealing their land and property in Peru well before the Spanish waiters arrived with their diseases and paella.
And it makes me wonder that if God created man in his own image, then why is man such a selfish, violent, controlling, power mad, and nasty piece of work?
From Trujillo I head along the coast to Arequipa. I should be on a night bus, but I get the 24 hour clock wrong and miss it by 2 hours. Which then reminds me of a happy childhood holiday memory. When I say happy, I mean harrowing. My Dad thought we were late for the ferry home, causing him to drive through France at around 140 MPH, swerving traffic like Dempsey and Makepeace, whilst simultaneously screaming at the rest of us to be quiet.
It was only when I pointed out that the ticket was written in a 24 hour clock, and that we were in fact 6 hours early for the ferry that he stopped shouting, slowly slowed down, and put a Van Morrison tape in the machine. Mum started giggling, and then my sister and I started chuckling, and eventually Dad cracked a smile.
Anyway, I'm glad I got the day bus because the rolling mountains of Nascar and the coast of Peru was beautiful to watch slide by. I'd also been downloading loads of Kevin Smith podcasts, so the 17 hour bus ride was a pleasure.
I sign up to do a 2 day trek of the Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world, it's only the deepest because they choose to messure the canyon from the tip of the mountain that it sits below, it's cheating but the canyon is still stunning.
It's on this trek that I meet the biggest twat of my trip so far, a man so annoying that I cringe whenever he opens his mouth. Everything he says ends with him saying,
"nailed it"
He nailed the walk, the dinner, breakfast, 2 girls from Ireland, a german girl, Argentina, the sleep. everything. He jumps on the back of peoples jokes and then stamps it into the ground. He's loud and brash but without any content to what he's actually saying. I hate him. and he swears unnecessarily, which I fucking can't fucking stand.
The 3 French guys seem to tolerate him, I suspect because they don't quite understand him, but me? I get every word, every lie, every none existent girl he's 'nailed'. I understand everything, and why do I understand him so well?
Because he's Welsh. and he's from Cardiff. And his name's Gareth. The last time I was this ashamed to be Welsh was when Maureen from driving school was big on the telly.
The canyon is amazing, we walk for 5 hours down into the canyon, then have a lunch, before walking across the canyon to a spot known as the Oasis.
Owned by 3 families this area at the bottom of the canyon has around 4 tiny hotels or hostels. They have a fresh water swimming pools and amazing little mud bricked rooms to sleep in. It's beautiful but I'm too tired to sit around and enjoy it so I collapse into bed.
We get up at 5am, and start walking at 5:30am, the guide has noticed that I like to walk ahead of the group, he's assumed that I am a fast walker, rather than the fact that I can't stand to listen to other Gareth,
"you want to try to beat my record to go up?" he asks me,
"what time did you do it in?"
"It's meant to be 3 hours, but I did it in 1hr 35 minutes"
"you'll never do it Potter" pipes up twatface,
I shrug my shoulders and walk off, and I quicken my pace, put some music in my ears and dart up the canyon.
It's steep and the path basically zig zags across the side of the canyon, I start moving past the walkers in front of me and try using the local short cuts to shorten the walk.
The lack of oxygen makes my heart burn but I like the pace and keep going, I remember my father once said to me,
"Son, the quicker it's done, the quicker it's over"
He was talking about sex with my Mum at the time, but I like to think that the meaning is still the same.
I get up to the top at a couple of minutes before 7am, with lungs on fire. I sit in silence and stare at the incredible view in front of me, the only sound is my heavy breaths, but I savour the moment of tranquility and solitude, until of course, quite normally for a tip of a Peruvian canyon, I hear a Ludacris tune booming from somewhere.
Then round the corner 2 local farmer boys with a transistor radio rudeboy bounce towards me, we exchange hello's, they ask if I've just walked up, and what time I left, they seem impressed, and then they pimp walk it down the canyon, with Ludacris swearing in the background.
A strange way for my hike to end.
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