And a stuffed fox hung up in front of a Arequipena ad featuring a bikini-clad woman:

The following day we walked back down to the canyon bottom and swam around in a little pool (and ate another delicious meal) for four hours before heading back up the canyon wall. The other side of the canyon (as opposed to the first side, which we climbed down) is about 1200 vertical meters from the bottom to the cliff edge. I’d been hearing about the Colca Canyon hike from my hostel-mates in Arequipa for a couple days, and most of them had told me their times (from top to bottom), so I was excited to see how quickly I could do it. You’ll be happy to hear that I made it, barely alive, in 1 hour, 21 minutes, about an hour before the next member of my little group.

We were treated to a two-star hotel in the little town at the edge of the canyon, which at that point felt like about a seven-star place (the showers. were. incredible) and as the Festival de la Virgen de la Candeleria was in full swing, we were treated to some pretty rhythmic, pretty drunken dancing by the indigenously dressed locals, which some of us joined in, to a certain extent.

Then, long, boring, uncomfortable bus ride back to Arequipa, broken only by a visit to the thermal baths, which was fun enough and involved a lot of bikinis.

I arrived back in Arequipa and toured a cool, old, huge, quiet monastery (twice!), where I took a great deal of super respectful photos:

Where the nunnies washed their undies:

Various dudes in states of piety:

I waited around in Arequipa for a few days, mostly goofing around with Elsa and Camille (who are there volunteering at an English school) and enjoying a super fun, very meaty dinner with Caroline (from Valparaiso, remember?). Because, of course, Astrid was coming to Peru, and Arequipa was our meeting point.

Entonces, we went to a fancy beach resort in Chala (on the recommendation of two little blonde kids from Mount Shasta), where we goofed around and played in the ocean and ate some delicious ceviche that may have made Astrid sick. Oh, yeah, and we looked at some ruins, sponsored by Pepsi.

Astrid in a hangmat:

On our collectivo ride to Nazca, we stopped at a pretty brutal car wreck on the highway and three small children and three really terrified women got into our little van. They’d been in the car accident and needed a ride to the hospital in Nazca, so I scrunched up into a little ball at Astrid’s feet and we all managed to fit in.

In Nazca we took a little Cessna ride to view the Nazca lines from above, which was fine (mostly because, unlike the complain-y Canadian behind me, I didn’t barf). It was mostly just cool to fly in a tiny airplane. I even got to wear a funny headset.

Tonight, Ica for sandboarding. It’s going to be tubular.

Yours.

This will be a quick rundown:

I came into Bariloche with a little bit of a mystery sickness, so didn’t do much the first night. The next morning I went to Club Andino to ask about backpacking where the grumpy, hirsute man behind the desk looked me up and down and recommended a 4-hour trek to Refugio Frey, which I decided to try out the next day. That afternoon, I took the turistas’ special, the Cerro Companario, which is a chairlift to a nearby peak that allows some pretty great views of the Lake District. I ran into some nice Israelis from the hostel at the chairlift and they decided to accompany me onward to Hotel LLao LLao where we walked around a bit and asked a confused ferry operator how to rent bikes. After a solid half hour of bad Spanish and pestering with questions everyone we saw on a bike, we decided to leave it for the next day, and I bumped out my refugio trek until the day after. That evening we went to (another) teenage dance club (this time with costumes, as it was the day before halloween) and when I ordered a Fernet & Coca, the teenager behind the bar asked me from where I came, evidently so a man standing on a table wearing a big 80’s wig and holding a microphone could point a laser at me and say “Bienvenidos, Estados Unidos!” or something.

At the Top of Cerro Companario:

We rented bikes the following day and did the Cirquito Chico around a big chunk of Parque Nacional Nahuel Huapi. There were a lot of hills and I am not in fantastic shape, but it was a blast, even if Miri couldn’t quite remember how to ride a bike at first. Bariloche has got to have some of the most amazing views of Alpine-type (Andino-type?) mountain scenery in the world; I’m sure my pictures will not do it justice. And I must have worked an amazing amount of charm, because the nice Israelis decided to join me on the Refugio Frey trek.

Biking the Cirquito Chico:

Which we departed for the next day. We spent the evening before asking Nacho (behind the hostel counter) a whole lot of questions to about how we might get to the trailhead, but still managed to miss our bus and had to split a (albeit very barato) taxi, which seemed a little weird.

Nacho had talked us into taking the 8-hour, more scenic hike out to the refugio, so there was a bit of a rush to get there before dark (as our transportation fiasco made us start a bit late), and it was a pretty tough hike with a lot of elevation gain (even though the Club Andino guide said that it’s “easy-to-moderate”), and we felt a major shift in temperature from the bottom of the mountain to the top. So it was very satisfying to arrive at the refugio after hiking through a couple snowfields, a fair amount of cold, damp wind, and a whole lot of rocks, as the refugio was pretty much the coziest place on earth. Alan, the 19-year-old Barilochean single-handedly staffing the place, greeted us through the kitchen’s half-door and told us what to expect before asking us into the glowing little dining room-cum-parlor that served as the main common area of the building. It was, well, magical. We had brought food but it was almost as expensive to pay to use the kitchen as to have Alan prepare something, so we asked him to make us a couple sundried tomato pizzas, which he had to do by headlamp (one of the coolest, quaintest things I’ve seen in a long time). The pizzas, the wine we brought, the candlelight, the tiny wood stove heating up the equally tiny cabin to about 95 degrees, the full moon, the frozen lake behind us, the wind howling (howling!) outside, the fuzzy stunted cat hungry for affection, our fatigue, our feelings of accomplishment for having climbed a mountain (which we did), and the excitement we all had to be there made it an admittedly fantastic night.

Check out Miri’s tour of the refugio.

Alan making us pizza by headlamp:

Full moon night outside the refugio:

Before Starting the Trek Down; L to R: Yours, Alon, Noa, Miri

I think I’m leaving for El Bolson tomorrow. Unless this really is bronchitis, which means that I may stay here and watch movies instead.

Yours,

Chau-Chau Patagonia

Update: Not bronchitis, I´m fine. I just needed some sleep.