John, Sue and I started out from Trujillo with the intention of going to Huaraz.  From our maps, it looked pretty straight-forward.  South along the coast to Casma, and then  inland, across the Cordillera Negra or ‘black mountains’, to Huaraz, which sits in an area known as the altiplano (high plane).  The Cordillera Blanca or ‘white (snow-capped) mountains are to the east.  We left early, anticipating a long, all-day journey, hopefully arriving in Huaras by nightfall.  But the day had other plans for us... .    Our first ride was in a monstrous truck carrying huge rolls of paper.  John in the back, Sue and I up front with the driver. For over four hours he had the joy of shifting gears, which he did as frequently as possible, around the lovely legs of first me, and then Sue, as we watched the desert of dunes roll by.  He dropped us in Casma, where we found out, after a half-hour trudge in the...

We finally made it to Huaraz, after a grueling all day bus ride from Pativilca, winding our way on narrow, pot-holed or unpaved roads through the soft green, brown and grey forms of the Cordillera Negra.     These gentle giants are called the ‘black mountains’ because they are not, like the higher, more jagged Cordilla Blanca, white with snow all year round.       The bus was crowded, as we’d been warned by our TV watching friends.     Most of us were gringos – back-packers, hikers, and on-the-gringo-trailers.     All in all a long-haired, somewhat scruffy lot, but no one in these parts seems to pay much mind to that.     At times we don’t look much different from the Indios, especially when we, like them, wear ponchos, big hats and sandals.          Taken from the window of the bus, while we were moving.  All that sand, one shovel at a time. The town of Huaraz is the ‘capital’ of the Ancash region, wit...

On our third day in Huaraz we got up early, hoping to catch an early bus to Yungay, and then go from there to the Langunas of Llanganuco, two spectacular lakes in the foothills of Mount Huascaran.     Although it was supposed to leave at 6:30, the driver kept making circles around the town as his ‘crier’ yelled out the bus’ destination – ‘caruuhasyungaaaaaaaaay’ – and grabbed passengers off street corners, out of restaurants and bars, and from every nook and cranny where they might be hiding.     We finally got on our way, driving through a truly beautiful ‘Alpian’ mountainscape, through a couple of small villages, to Yungay, a village almost totally destroyed by the earthquake of 1970.     All that remains of the central plaza are four dead palm trees, sticking up out of the now cultivated, or at least grass-covered, earth and rubble like silent sentries.       We were there awhile negotiating a ride in a truck to the Lagunas.  It ...

Ay!     Tengo resfriado!     Tengo resfriado!     I awoke today feeling the ‘grippe’, as they call it here, so I decided to take it easy, not go on any long hikes.     Instead I wandered through the mercado, looking at hats.     Everyone here wears hats – felt hats, straw hats, woolen hats, hats of many colours, broad-brimmed hats, happy hats, worn-out frayed at the edges hats, two hats.     Must buy a hat.     And a basket.     So many beautiful woven baskets.    I drank another jugo at a sophisticated looking jugo bar – not only does it have a dueno who sits behind a cash register hauling in the soles while two or three young boys mix of the pina, papaya, banana, manzana y melon, but it also has an amazing sign, advertising the benefits of jugos naturales para su salud, and promising that if the customer isn’t satisfied, their money will be refunded!            ...

It was (another) amazing ride, first up and through the mountains, our red and white bus slowly serpentining its way, bumping and clattering over the rough dirt track.  Until finally we reached the altiplano: a stretching sea of purple-green lichen and mustard-grey moss  brightened only occasionally by happy mulit-coloured wildflowers . On the horizon, now looming up menacingly, now distant and serene, the jagged crystalline snow-peaks of the Peruvian Andes.  I couldn't help feeling like an unwanted intruder in the vast silence of this top-of-the-world plateau.  It was shortly after noon, but we were so high that the sun, even at its zenith, was scarcely out of reach. Its golden light, worshipped since Incan time, brought warmth and beauty even to this barren plain.  But I had been in the Andes long enough to know the terrible cold that would descend as soon as the sun disappeared.    We began a slow descent into a bleak, but someho...