Lima, Peru | Saturday 07 November 2009 17:12 | | |

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The first time I landed foot in Chachapoyas, I almost stayed forever. Firstly, let us clarify some information. There is one thing that is usually mixed up about the city of Chachapoyas. It is the fact that people believe it to be in the jungle, surrounded by rivers and inhabited by colourful birds that squeak at the top of their voices. When I was getting ready to go there to visit my mother-in-law, my mother –the real one –asked me jokingly not to bring back parrots and feathered hats just like every tourist who goes to the orient of Peru. The actual fact is that Chachapoyas is at 2,200 meters above sea level and is guarded by massive high mountains. The reason for the misunderstanding is probably that it is located in the department of Amazonas, which is immediately connected to the river and thus to the jungle.
“FUCK YOU!” shouts Glen. He drops into a lower gear, speeds up, dodging the rocks and suddenly throws the right side wheels up onto the curb. There is a terrible crashing as we run over rocks. The kids run like hell. In a couple of seconds it’s over. We are back on clear road again, both of us laughing hysterically.
“Shit!” says Glen as he jams on the breaks. “We’re blocked.” He leaps out of the cab and strides up ahead to check things out. There must be seven or eight trucks stopped. The drivers and passengers are all outside, talking to each other and scratching their heads. In a moment Glen comes back. “It’s blocked solid. They’re burning tires a hundred meters up the road. Wanta go see what’s up?”
Glen... I can’t even tell you his last name. He looks sort of like Mel Gibson and he has not a little of that Mad Max attitude. Dive in. Go for it full bore. He’s big with long blond hair and a long stride. His jaw is big, his mouth is big, his teeth are huge . I can’t understand half of what Glen says. His vowels are flat and his sentences are full of Australian slang that might as well be Chinese as far as I’m concerned. I have to ask him to repeat and then to translate. He tells me I’m not the only one who has trouble understanding him. I suggested to him once that maybe it was an attention-getting device, like people I know who speak so softly that you have to lean toward them and listen intently. Glen didn‘t respond. I asked him if he could understand me and he said yes, he could.
It’s about a half a mile back toward town. I don’t know how we had missed it coming. The driver reminds me that I had told him it was near the condor. Near is relative.
For the last three years I’ve been making one feeble attempt after another to see the ruins of Tiawanaku. I had visited La Paz in the early 80’s, had spent several days there with friends I had met in the U.S. I had crossed Titicaca in the hydrofoil, seen the Island of the Sun, the Island of the Moon and Copacabana. But I had yet to see Tiawanaku. It was a big hole in my education. I had read about the site, had even spent $300 for Arturo Posnansky’s book “Tiawanaku, Cradle of American Man,” had seen many photographs, but still lacked that first-hand experience. ![]() |
| A group of students and teachers from a tropical ecology class at Front Range Community College visited Peru this summer. (Courtesy of Barbara Patterson) |
| © colorodoan |
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