Good bye to the paved gringo trail

I've just arrived in Tingo Maria, Peru--the official start of Peru's jungle territory. And damn, it feels like jungle. But I´ll get to that in a minute. The last week has made for some good stories.

I traveled north from Lima to Huaraz about a week ago via night bus. I quickly found a hostel, where I befriended two Israeli travelers just minutes after arriving. One hour later, the three of us were headed towards, a significant pre-Inca ruin on the east side of the Cordillera. We had missed the comfortable and direct tourist bus, so we talked our way onto the much slower local bus, amongst the squawking chickens and other smelly animals. (Gringos are technically forbidden, but good Spanish makes almost anything possible.) Three hours later, we arrived and toured around the site with a nice French couple. Chavin was the center of major pre-Inca culture sometime around 1000 B.C., and much of it has yet to be uncovered, but what we saw was impressive. Much of the complex is a series of interconnected subterranean rooms--it was fun imagining what had happened in them 3000 years ago. After a bit, we returned to Huaraz via a 15,000 foot pass. I had gone from sea level to above the summit of Mount Rainier in less than 12 hours.

I loved my time in Huaraz. I stayed at a hostel popular with Israelis (no one told me I'd need to speak Hebrew to travel here) and made a couple friends--while we've parted ways for now, we're all headed more or less the same direction, so we might meet up again. I spent lot of time just walking around the town enjoying its sounds and sights. While Huaraz is a major tourist town, it's also the commercial center of the Cordillera, so people are alway coming and going, many wearing traditional clothing.

While in Huaraz, I went on a hike with a guy who worked in the hostel. Leo is from Huaraz and splits his time between the local university, the hostel, and a job with a trekking agency. He had a day off and wanted to go hiking, so I joined him. We took a taxi for about 45 minutes, then climbed for about two hours up to a beautiful alpine lake. Of course, there was no taxi waiting for us at the trailhead, so we had to take a different trail until we found a combi-bus to take us back. This trail wound its way through several tiny towns of Quechua-speaking natives. Time seemed irrelevant as we walked between steep, rocky fields of potatoes and corn. The whole time, Leo and I talked about whatever came to mind--at one point, he told me that I had asked him questions no other gringo ever had. That surprised me, because I was just asking simple things about his life and his view of the Cordillera's tourists.

I would have liked to do a longer trek in Huaraz, but the weather didn't cooperate, so I pushed on two days go. After a long 14 hour trip by bus, foot, taxi, microbus, and private car over the most terrifying road I've seen, I arrived in Huanuco, a nice town at the bottom of a enormous valley. (During the last leg of my journey, the driver played religious music and the woman next to me kept crossing herself. I didn´t mind a bit.) Even though the Atlantic was (and is) still thousands of miles distant, the river that bisects Huanuco eventually joins the Amazon--a powerful thought as one stands next to a little brown stream. I visited Kotosh (the oldest discovered ruins in South America, just outside Huanuco) and was married in an ancient ceremony to some lucky Peruvian woman. I hope she doesn´t expect me to look for her when I get back to Huanuco. After that, I walked into the hills for a couple of hours and marvelled at the sparse beauty of the Peruvian highlands. After that, I hitched back into town with a big family in a very little car.

That evening, I went to a local bar where I watched the Peru-Paraguay World Cup qualifier game with a rowdy crowd of Peruvians. What is it about me, soccer, and drunk people? Many interesting and oft-incomprehensible conversations later, I went to bed early so I could catch an early colectivo to the jungle.

And here I am in Tingo Maria. By chance, this week is the 69th anniversary of the town's founding, so there's plenty to do. An American-style carnival had been set up on the Plaza de Armas, and a party-like atmosphere envelops the whole place. It's fun.

The area around Tingo is the world's largest coca producing region, and although some of it is sold legitimately in leaf form, much is trafficked out of Peru and brewed into cocaine. I mention this because while I was looking for a hotel, I walked right into the middle of a military parade--ostensibly to honor the town's anniversary, but also a show of force by the Peruvian government. The message was, "We've got rocket launchers. Do you still want to grow coca?" And the answer will always be yes, because legitimate crops (potatoes, corn, coffee, fruit) simply can't pay the bills. I found an interesting article about the economics of coca in Tingo Maria that's a good read. (But don´t worry, mom and dad, this place is still safe.)

Aside from ruminating about the economic and environmental problems of the jungle, I've done a bit of hiking. Tomorrow I think I'll rent a canoe and go out onto the river for a bit, assuming there isn't another torrential downpour like last night. (I'm worried the road to Tingo Maria might wash out, leaving me stranded.)

Soon, I'll be on my way to Huancayo en route to Cuzco. This trip isn't going to be long enough.