Robyn in Peru: Chachapoyas

Chachapoyas is a small city in the high jungle of Northern Peru. To get there, you take a questionable bus on a neglected road through the frigid Andes. During the rainy season, the route is impassable, and bandits lurk sometimes among the bends to catch an unsuspecting bus full of tourists. To reach Chachapoyas, one must be willing to take some risks.

But man, oh man, is it worth the risk.

We arrive in the city of Chachapoyas at an ungodly hour. Tired, freezing, underslept, and a little disoriented, we find our way to our hotel with just enough time to drop off our bags and splash some bitterly cold water on our faces, before we head to the Plaza Mayor to find tours to the ruins of Kuelap and Gocta Falls. Despite our lack of sleep, we are excited to get moving. We only have two days here, and we want to make it count.

Kuelap

The mountains surrounding Chachapoyas are bare, but green. Clouds linger just above the peaks, casting shadows onto the grasses and over the adobe homes. The Kuelap ruins are two hours away, along a bumpy dirt road through switchbacks and hamlets.

I remember when I first got to Peru, I had this sense of wonder and awe at this country's beauty. But my two years of living here have left me desensitized, and I stare at the beautiful scenery with only mild enthusiasm.

We arrive to the entrance and hike the two kilometers to get to the 4th-century fortress. Our guide is a local, born in the hills outside the ruins. Outside the tall, stone wall, a lady with us wearing high-heeled boots complains to him about the pace of the group.

"You must go at the pace of everybody!" she castigates him.

"I'll go at a pace that is normal," he replies slightly flustered and calls for us all to pay attention.

Not much is known about Kuelap. It takes 2 minutes to realize everything he is explaining is speculation. Archeologists only recently have started investigating, and so they can only conjecture.

That rounded upside-down cone-shaped building? It could have been for food storage, our guide explains. Or as a prison ... But then they found remains of young girls, who could have been human sacrifices, which would mean it's a sacred temple ... And oh, and by the way, it kind of also acts as a sun-dial.

I don't mind. I tune out midway through the tour and make up my own stories. I imagine little kids running around, chasing animals. What kind of animals would they have had up here? I wonder.

Our guide mentions that the fortress was never overtaken by force, but the Incas did succeed in conquering it. How, then? we ask. Did they surrender?

No, the guide explains. When the people inside refused to give into them, the Incas waited and watched. They realized that their food and water source was outside the fortress' walls and must be brought in. So they surrounded the building and prevented anyone from entering with supplies.

They starved them into submission.

I picture this ... families huddled together in their circular homes. Children tugging at their mothers' skirts for a scrap of food. Men hanging their heads in defeat as they gave into the Incas to save their lives ...

We stop for a moment on the edge, and our guide points out into the hills.

"That red house down there," he says. "I was born there." That is the home of his grandparents, he explains. He now lives next door.

We sit there for a while, looking out into the hills. You can see the small squiggly line of the road we came in on. Green mountains stretched out like a sleeping giant. Llamas graze below, most likely brought there for the tourists. But we are the only group inside the fortress.

I have heard that Kuelap is the next Machu Picchu. And I'm sure it could be. The ruins themselves are expansive, spreading out over 60,000 square meters. The view surrounding them is beautiful and vast. Perhaps with more excavation, more knowledge of what has been here, more tourists will come. And it will become bustling and commercial like its Cuzco counterpart.

For now though, it's quiet. The empty spaces and crumbled walls sit in near silence. Their stories yet to be told.

Gocta Falls

It is a two-hour drive on newly paved roads to a bustling little town near Gocta Falls. We step out of the van and see the cascading water off in the distance. Smiling faces direct us to a large, one-room building where we can buy our tickets and meet our guide.

Inside, a group of people all wearing matching vests are listening to someone who is pointing at a Powerpoint presentation projected onto the wall. I'm herded into a line for tickets and can only catch a word or two, but they appear to be in some sort of training session regarding customer service. Off to the side, a woman wearing the same vest stands near a rack of scarves and stitched bags and T-shirts that say "Gocta." The prices are clearly labeled, and I'm impressed with the professionalism demonstrated by all the smiling, vested people.

Our guide is from this village. He has a kind face and seems excited to lead us on a hike that he does daily.

The start of the hike is flat and easy with only mild inclines and plenty of hard stones. I ask our guide how long he has been working with tourists, and he mentions that he started when a German man came and "discovered" the falls in 2002.

I am floored. After only 8 years, this small Andean village two hours outside of the nearest city, has built such an operation.

The trail dips, and we head down into the valley, cross a bridge, and hike back up the mountain again. I'm beginning to tire. I brought tennis shoes and wore layers, but I don't have any water.

We turn the corner and are immediately hushed by a crowd waiting there. They are all staring up into a tree and taking photos.

"A monkey," our guide tells us. "What luck!"

They call it a night monkey, and it's sleeping in a branch meters from the trail. Someone lends me binoculars, but I can't seem to find it in the magnified lens. I decide to look with my own eyes and watch it for awhile. A branch hides much of its body, but you can make out its tail.

We're herded once again back up the trail, and we arrive at a small thatched building where I can buy water. I can't imagine how they get supplies there. Donkeys, I suppose.

We sit for a moment, catching our breath, and then decide it would be better to rest near the water and so decide keep going. They told us it would be roughly an hour and a half to get to the base of the falls. We must be about halfway there.

The trail is steep and narrow. Like the road to Kuelap, it twists and turns on the way down the mountain. And then, as we round yet another bend, we see it. Gocta.

We saw it, of course, before when we were in the village. But that was from a distance. We take pictures but don't linger. Our energy is renewed, and we rush now to reach its base.

The falls disappear again behind a cover of trees as we head further down the trail. I can hear it though. The sound of water tumbling from over 700 meters high echoes through my ears ... until ... finally ... we're there. At the base of the 3rd tallest waterfall in the world.*

And that feeling ... that awe that I thought had dissolved after 2 years ... is back in full force. I stand unable to move. It is so beautiful. By the time the water hits the ground, it is only mist. And I stand there, feeling it settle onto every inch of me.

We run down to the pool of water at the base and dare each other to drink from it. The water is so clear. I scoop my hands in and bring it up to my mouth. It's ice-cold against my lips and tastes pure. I know I will probably get sick in the morning, but I don't care. I didn't want to miss my opportunity to drink from one of the worlds most impressive marvels.

A few of us decide that we want to try and make our way directly beneath the falls. Our guide advises us not to.

"The falls produce a lot of wind," he says. "It's too powerful. Too dangerous."

We decide to try anyway, recognizing an opportunity for later regret if we don't. I borrow a poncho and hand over my Gocta bag (purchased from the smiling, vested lady). The rocks are big and slippery, so we take our time. With every step, the mist gets thicker; the wind from the force of the water, stronger. Twenty meters from the base, we are already soaked.

We get maybe 5 or 7 meters from directly beneath the falls before we have to stop. The force is too strong. We stand there for a moment, and let the mist fall over us.

When we finally get back to the others, we are laughing and smiling and sopping wet. The poncho did nothing to keep me dry, and I know it will probably be an uncomfortable hike back up.

I am so dumb with awe and excitement that I don't even care. I feel young and free and adventurous and like I can do anything.

We sit for awhile and listen to our guide tell us the myth of the falls. The reason why it was kept hidden for so long from outsiders. I don't catch every word. The roar of the falls makes it difficult to hear. But he starts the story telling of a farmer who lived near the falls. He would disappear from time to time without telling his wife where he was going. One day while she was washing clothes, the wife found gold and jewels in his pants pocket. She became confused and slightly suspicious, and so the next time he left, she went after him. She followed him to the base of the waterfalls.

There, she saw him talking to a beautiful mermaid. When he saw her standing there, the mermaid grabbed him and pulled him under the water ... never to be seen again ...

We start our trek back up the mountain. It's a difficult hike, and everyone goes at their own pace. Soon, I find myself in the middle. Alone with my thoughts and footsteps. I stop every 20 meters or so to hold my side and breathe. It's a steep incline, and I have to convince myself a time or two that I can actually make it back up.

When I pause to breathe, I stare back at the falls or, when I can't see them, I listen to them. And despite my aching lungs and tired legs, I am smiling a wide, dopey grin. I can't believe I am here. I can't believe I'm seeing this beautiful place.

Three-fourths of the way back to the village, I catch my second wind. I'm running. Leaping over rocks and slowing down only to maneuver the steepest of parts.

Maybe it's runners high; I don't know. But I feel amazing.

My second wind carries me into the village right behind my two long-legged friends who are leading the group. It's 4 p.m., but we haven't eaten since breakfast. We eat lunch greedily and then get back in the van to return to Chachapoyas.

As we drive along through the hills on the way back to the city, I sit and smile. The falls are out of view, and the sound of them is gone, but I close my eyes to make sure I can still see them in my memory. I don't want to forget this. I can't forget this.