Winter getaway: Peru

It was the perfect send-off: two feet of snow on the ground, flocks of geese flying south right on schedule— the next day would be the winter solstice— followed by frigid temperatures, bitter winds and terrorist threats. As I trudged through the glittering, still-pristine snow, I was amazed to think that in a few days I would be trudging through the steamy heat of the Amazon jungle in Peru. I, too, flew south.

It was a journey of magnificent extremes, as any trip to Peru is likely to be: from sea-level to 12,000-foot altitude; from the thick, humid air of the rain forest to the thin cool air in the Andes; Incan temples inside Catholic churches revealed by the earthquake of 1950; ornate Conquistador architecture next to thatched-roof huts; fluorescent blue butterflies, pink dolphins, capybaras (the world's largest—and cutest—rodent), and long-eyelashed llamas all over the place outdoors; fluffy guinea pigs all over the place indoors.

Two sunrises: one on New Year's Day in a wooden boat on the Amazon River, and one on a peak in the Incan ruin of Machu Picchu.

Two potions: jungle moonshine is traditionally fermented by saliva (chewing and spitting), as is chicha, the potent highland beer.

Two doctors: one a half-naked shaman from the Yagua tribe in the rain forest, the other a fully-dressed physician from Wisconsin who came to Peru as a tourist 20 years ago and stayed to open a clinic in the middle of the jungle, accessible only by water.

Two cities in unlikely places:

The Andes require stunning (not to mention stomach-churning) ascents and descents from the Cusco airport, since the snow-covered peaks and icy lakes are so high and so close and so visible from the plane window. The rugged mountain chain looks, as a Peruvian told me, as if some enormous hand had crinkled up paper and then dropped it.

The clarity of the air, even on the tarmac, is thrilling. Besides cell phones, oxygen shots are for sale at the airport terminal. Women still wear their traditional brightly woven clothing and 19th-Century hats to market, and most mountain people live in villages with dirt floors. They keep their parents' skulls (exhumed after ten years) in a homemade altar in a wall niche.

Iquitos is the world's only city (half a million people) inaccessible by ground transportation, since it's surrounded by jungle— you get there by boat or plane, and it looks as sketchy and ramshackle as you'd expect. This is Fitzcarraldo land—there's even an opera house, which you know about if you've seen Werner Herzog's 1982 film. A wooden boat took us upriver to Explorama's posh jungle lodge (one of three tourist lodges created by a Peace Corps volunteer who never went home—the other two are much more "'basic').

Two surprising Lima museums:

An immense archeological site called Huaca Pucllana sits in the middle of Lima's upscale Miraflores neighborhood. For years and years everybody just assumed this big hill was just a big hill, but recent excavation revealed it to be a multi-layered pyramid, dating back to between 200 and 700 C.E., created by the prehistoric hunters and gatherers referred to only as "Lima People."

In the middle of a glitzy mall on Peru's Pacific coast— complete with a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise— is a gold museum with treasures dating back to 5000 B.C.E. El Dorado indeed.

Two mighty rivers:

The world's largest river, the Amazon, is 4,000 miles long and, at its widest point, 40 miles across.

The Urubamba River, high in the mountains at 11,000 feet, is the Amazon's main tributary, fed by glacial melt; we rafted a calm portion of it (with much shrieking, but no danger) and later witnessed its real power as it thunders deafeningly downhill for miles and miles, through Aguas Calientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu.

Two remarkable guides:

These men seemed to prove that if you're brilliant and eager, tourism— a five-year university study course— is the way to go. The profession requires a facility for foreign language, a miraculous memory for facts, and infinite patience with overweight Americans (why do such people go on such trips when they can't get out of a bus without help?).

Cliver grew up in an Indian village deep in the jungle, learned English bartending, and went on to become a university-trained botanist who speaks his native Indian language, as well as Spanish and elegant English, in addition to knowing the Latin name for every plant and bug in the rain forest. He could spy out the best-camouflaged tiny frog, and could play the box— a square wooden drum— with a pickup band after dinner.

Marco, a short, middle-aged, bespectacled man, was our guide in the Andes; he grew up in the Andes town of Urubamba, without electricity or running water. He didn't get his first pair of shoes until he was 16, but subsequently he won a fellowship to study art history in Italy; he can draw remarkable parallels between Incan stone carving and modern art (Henry Moore and Mies van de Rohe were my thoughts; Marco smoothly replied, "Less is more").

Marco is fluent in his first language, Quechua (an Indian language spoken by 5 million people in the highlands), Spanish and English. Until a few years ago, he led hikes on the Inca trail; he is deeply moved by its ruins. The full-trail hike takes between four and five days, and people emerge exhausted and bedraggled but proud. Once a year there's a race: best time for the whole route, up and down, is three hours, 20 minutes, which seems utterly inhuman and nearly impossible.

More amazing near-impossibilities:

Scientists realized that the real action in the rain forest takes place at the top, not the floor, so they built canopy walkways— 13 net bridges over the treetops. The first, a mere 12 feet high, progresses to the uppermost at 118 feet above the ground. These bridges are narrow and jiggly and altogether wondrous— more peaceful and revealing of the surrounding nature than ziplining (which I've done in the rain forests of Belize and Costa Rica), since they involve less speed and less teeth clenching.

As Sir Arthur Conan Doyle put it in The Lost World, "The more you knew of South America, the more you would understand that anything was possible— anything."

Shutting down terrorists

Narco-terrorism has replaced political terrorism as the cocaine market has grown: the U.S. is Peru's best customer. Coca leaves— used for tea and for chewing— are everywhere; every hotel serves them, to no apparent effect. The leaves are legal in Peru. As a crop, it's a natural moneymaker: The plant can produce a harvest three to five times a year and will grow almost anywhere and without any effort of cultivation. Ironically, drug addiction is not the major problem in Peru that it is in America.

I heard a talk by a policeman, one of 80 elite undercover cops—only 15 came back from a violent but successful confrontation with the terrorist group, Shining Path. He had the classic Inca look of dark skin, very black hair, hook nose and superb bearing. When I went up to thank the officer at the end of his presentation, he clicked his heels and saluted; the only appropriate female response seemed to be to curtsy.

A painting of the Last Supper in the Cathedral in Cusco's central square, the Plaza de Armas, shows Jesus surrounded by his apostles; what makes this painting remarkable is the food: In place of the Pascal Lamb on the central platter is a roasted wild chinchilla (often mistakenly identified as cuy— guinea pig, another Peruvian delicacy that's quite gamey and delicious). Strewn about on the embroidered tablecloth (!) are pineapples, mangoes and potatoes, with various other indigenous fruits and vegetables.

Hiking through the spectacular and majestic setting of the Sacred Valley, it was at Pisac— the first of the great ruins I visited— that I first heard the Peruvian flute. Sound carries eerily in this landscape, and a lone piper seemed to be serenading me over a walk that took hours. When I emerged, triumphant, having walked it all, there he was, selling CDs, telling me in soft, halting English, "I play just for you, Lady." Lady was well pleased.♦


To read responses, click here.