Part 4 - No blood, no foul
Day 11
I returned to the Espiritu Pampa village and heard the latest news of the paro. It was reported that the day before 2 people were killed and 18 injured in clashes between police and strikers in Kiteni, a town central to my escape back to Cusco. It wasn`t good, but the news also came that government ministers were helicoptering to the province of La Convencion to discuss matters with the strikers. The issue at hand was the massive gas project Camisea in the area which successfully exported the richness straight to countries like Mexico and the US while locals paid up to ten times the price for bottled gas as their Bolivians neighbours. The area is also one of the poorest with least infrastructure in Peru. And of course the government does not care an iota for those people. Peru is one of the most corrupt countries in the world it seems to me.
Day 11
I returned to the Espiritu Pampa village and heard the latest news of the paro. It was reported that the day before 2 people were killed and 18 injured in clashes between police and strikers in Kiteni, a town central to my escape back to Cusco. It wasn`t good, but the news also came that government ministers were helicoptering to the province of La Convencion to discuss matters with the strikers. The issue at hand was the massive gas project Camisea in the area which successfully exported the richness straight to countries like Mexico and the US while locals paid up to ten times the price for bottled gas as their Bolivians neighbours. The area is also one of the poorest with least infrastructure in Peru. And of course the government does not care an iota for those people. Peru is one of the most corrupt countries in the world it seems to me.
Maybe it was only the apprehension I`d had about my ability to achieve all that I`d wanted to, but during the entire time headng towards Espiritu Pampa from Huancacalle I`d felt that a foreboding sense of discontent and malevolance was growing, - from where I wasn`t sure. I set off at midday-ish downhill towards Chanquiri through more conclusively efficient agriculture including citrus and cacao. This caused another period of walking with few water sources as I came in and out of forest but not to any running creeks. A campo requested painkillers from me - instead I gave him anti-diaorrhea pills and had to explain it 7 times. Soon after a large tree smashed across the path about 10m ahead of me - a campo had felled it with his machete assuming there was no one on the path. I eventually found water then cleared to a landslide-affected road upon which I trudged until arriving at a steep descent to a river where a work crew were lunching in between constructing a bridge over the beautiful river. While photographing the intersting texture of the blasted rock a worker blew his whistle at me! Be alert, no alarmed, people. Talk about a culture of fear. What a shame it was to see this development after having seen how affected the ecosystems were already just because of subsistence farming - I shuddered to think of the area in 10 years time once ready access to disposable plastic and other rubbish comes.
I chatted about the usual subjects with the workers, one of whom promised to give me a lift to Chanquiri on his trail bike - sweeet! I waited in a filthy horrible town full of overbearing political advertising, dogs and rubbish for Eduardo to emerge. I thought that the shanty town was the ugliest place in history until I saw Chanquiri some 45 minutes later. A soul-destroying square of deteriorating buildings facing a soccer field complete with a uteful of local hoons showing off their aggression. Then (of courrrrse) Eduardo asked for a large amount of money for the uncomfortable ride, which he hadn`t mentioned prior to leaving in any way or form. I should`ve known, and gave him some of what he asked for, sat for a little weighing my limited options then hoofed it out of town towards Kiteni, the heart of the paro.
Chanquiri, Steady Eddy and the strike had spooked me and I felt very scared - I really felt like the area wasn`t a good place to be. I stopped at a nicer looking farm (the Jesus paraphenalia actually drew me in this time! Praise the Lord :) but no-one was home; I searched around for a quiet place to camp including in people`s cacao farms and in some scrub next to a creek but nothing stuck. With the light fading and after much fretting I pushed on to and through the town of Yuveni, of a similar design but much nicer vibe than Chanquiri. I didn`t want to be any where near any people if I could manage it so I kept walking, finally getting desperate enough to ask a passing local if they knew of a good pampa. He replied by saying before complete darkness I`d probably find nothing, so better to just crash on in under the cacao trees and find the best possible spot, which is what I did. The result was hardly flat with many sticks and rocks and I got a billion burrs in my leg hair and clothes as a free bonus extra. I was hyper on-edge and feeling very scared and vulnerable - paranoid for being discovered by the landowners (I occasionally heard distant barking dogs drawing closer), the strike and its stressful effect on the local people, very little money to buy my way out of it, always with the stares and `Gringo, gringo`and being totally alone.
But I was away from the road and pretty much in the bush - falling asleep without a fly that night kept a beautiful temperature and the sounds of the forest soothed me very nicely. It was one of the nicer camps I`d had actually, despite a rough bed and being woken around midnight by a mid-sized animal prowling through the forest right near my tent.
Day 12
I woke as early as possible to ruthlessly pack and get off the farm and back on the road. I soon stopped at a river for water where some local youths joined me, gifted me a few tangelos randomly plucked from in the tall grass and gave me the usual rumours about the strike being over that day. Keeping on I saw a black wooly thing in a tree which I thought was a monkey, despite it being well away from any kind of decent forest habitat. I was then offered a lift on another trail bike - this time I made it very clear I had no money to give. He didn`t seem to believe me but invited me on anyway, so upon arrival in Kiteni I gave him the last of my chocolates as a trade.
Day 12
I woke as early as possible to ruthlessly pack and get off the farm and back on the road. I soon stopped at a river for water where some local youths joined me, gifted me a few tangelos randomly plucked from in the tall grass and gave me the usual rumours about the strike being over that day. Keeping on I saw a black wooly thing in a tree which I thought was a monkey, despite it being well away from any kind of decent forest habitat. I was then offered a lift on another trail bike - this time I made it very clear I had no money to give. He didn`t seem to believe me but invited me on anyway, so upon arrival in Kiteni I gave him the last of my chocolates as a trade.
There were heavy, heavy scenes in tropical Kiteni. Barricaded on both sides by locals, many drunk, the town also contained a deployment of 350 national police to keep the peace (and kill people). The bored and edgy protestors crowded around me as I tried to pass through and I knew I`d have to stop and give my verbal support for their cause. One tried to assure me that they had no problem with tourists and that nothing would happen to me - I was extremely wary as I could hear the ape-like laughing and jokes coming from around the circle at my expense. I pushed on through to the bridge and passed easily through a line of fully equipped riot police - obviously they had no problem with tourists either as the locals were being subjected to full body searches and ID checks at the same point. In the town itself it seemed most locals supported the strike but were suffering due to two weeks without their usual supplies.
Kiteni is actually quite a pretty town - tree lined streets, a pleasant main plaza and large-town facilities set on a big rainforest river. I was extremely relieved to get some internet to communicate with the outside world - then I quickly decided to push on as I came, walking the road, hoping for cheap transport to the next roadblocked town. On exiting the town I again had to stop firstly for police then longer for demonstrators and saw the Red Cross and Government officials walking around doing stuff, what I`m not sure because their sure seemed no resolution in sight. When I finally got out I at last heard some realism from a (educated) local - Tuesday was a possible day for resolution. That day was Friday.
An incredibly uncomfortable triple on a trail bike soon failed as my feet continued to clip the road, but it got me a few km`s more towards Quillabamba, still 100km or so on the hellish road away. The midday sun was hot - I was accompanied for a few k`s by a local teenager but couldn`t summon the spirit to care much conversation with him. It was a horrible situation - I had no choice but to trudge on and hope for the best. Even this was very difficult and I stopped many times as my willpower faded. Finally I reached a point near a small farm and sat in the semi-shade - I was absolutely distraught and ready to give up. I had no idea how far I was from Palmareal, the next town and did not want to camp in the countryside again. At absolute rock bottom I cried in despair for myself.
But... at least I was alive, warm and watered. I ate the last of that days supplies knowing only one day`s worth remained - 'Hmm, Lembas bread... I ain't oweing much to foreign foods, but, this Elvish stuff, it ain't bad'. I steeled myself for asking for a place to camp once more and set off for the last few hours of the day. Soon though a combi travelling to Palmareal (in return from "strike-service" in Camp Kiteni) picked me up, and though at a costly 15 soles I took it gratefully as from that town Quillabamba was one step closer. Quillabamba itself, however, was still very much locked down in paro, but I had to cling to some kind of hope. At the next small town (not Palmareal) with true union grit the well-manned roadblock refused to let us through... until 5pm. 15 minutes of shouting and arguing and 15 minutes of relaxed chatting later (at 5pm) we were granted passage and continued another few hours to arrive late into Palmareal, where the Kiteni veterans held court in front of many townspeople to give the latest news. I was still by no means in a comfortable situation - I was as per usual exhausted and really didn`t want to camp on the local soccer field or at the school but it seemed those were my only options. I started off but was interrupted by Leonardo from Pulcallpa, a wild young man (also just returned from Kiteni service) volunteering at local schools with environmental education and at a local community with recycling and its library. I was taken aback - in this backcountry I hadn`t expected any kind of educated and overt benevolence as such. He then quickly explained he was walking back to a lodge (!) where he was staying with a Belgian lady, her Peruvian husband and their three children. They ran Sachahuares, the NGO for whom he worked and also had a permaculture farm at a town he said was 3 hours walk away. AND, he insisted that I would be welcomed there that night. My mind was blown, but I couldn`t just yet give over to complete relief as my paranoia and fear still held in me, despite almost instantly feeling like I could trust the guy.
After one hour of rapid walking and listening to even more rapid talking from Leo (about things like his intencion to prepare himself fully before first taking ayahuasca) a truck passed us going the other way, questioned us as to our destination then continued on. A little later though it returned going the other way - Leo and the passenger exchanged words briefly then we jumped aboard... yay!! I was shattered and barely able to hear what Leo had been saying because I literally couldn`t focus on walking and listening at the same time. Oh the bliss, and lucky too because I daresay the walk would`ve been 5hrs not 3. We bumped along including stopping to proposition a 13-year old girl to join us and for the truckies to smoke the weed Leo had exchanged with them for the ride - cheers mate! We arrived at strike-bound Chahuares where I paid the truckies some soles and Leo updated some locals on the Kiteni situation before we set out for another 20 minutes to Sachahuares including 5 last minutes of steep uphill. We finally made it. I was extremely dizzy and exhausted to the point of passing out and I dropped my pack and slumped into a chair while Leo disappeared to connect with Sabine and Roberto (Harry). I almost cried when their young son Kieran appeared to amiably greet me by name. Here was a such a precious thing; a child in his safe space without fear, and then I knew I could at last relax and let go. Such joy!! I felt relief like never before, and I had been truly, truly blessed. My eternal thanks to the universe. And a big sloppy kiss too. x
Day 13
The next morning I prepared a Huancacalle-style soup and Sabine added green papaya and pasta to create a delicious recovery meal. They had graciously and without expectation of payment invited me to sleep in a cabin that evening but weren`t able to extend the offer to include food as the strike was skyrocketting food prices and some things just weren`t available anymore. By that time I knew the strike would last the weekend at least, and although I desperately wanted to get back to Cusco and comfort I knew staying a few days at Sachahuares with this endearing family would do me a world of good, so I promised to re-imburse them with some cash for an extended stay the next time they were in Cusco. I met youngest son Ilian and wild Mirko with an agenda of his own who kept me entertainment and enlightened. That day Leo and I braved the midday heat to trudge 2 1/2 hrs to the town of Quelleno and our nearest internet. There I charged my music (yes!) and contacted the outside world. The whole town was dead, with basically lots of sitting around - it didn`t seem like the locals had much to do if they weren`t working. We arrived at home late and after more soup I prepared the last of the salty balls into a hot chocolate, which actually wasn`t bad and certainly would`ve tasted great with the 7 spoons of sugar Kieran put into his! On the way back from Quellono we passed someone arriving from Cusco! He`d come through Calca and Lares to Quelleno, which he said was doable... hmmm.
Day 14
I was loving having simple oats with cinnamon and sugar for breakfast and I even had cafe con leche - awesome! Then I helped with the depression food - peeling green bananas for boiling up as a carb. They really tasted terrible, but hey, right then I was grateful for any food I could get. Later I picked cacao - anything yellow or with a tinge of yellow is ready to be picked. After another awesome soup at lunch I needed to rest - I had certainly been pushed to the edge and my body wasn`t ready to keep exerting itself too much at all. Later in the afternoon I finished navigating the whole cultivated area at Sachahuares picking the cacao from their 70 or so trees. An aquaduct system runs throughout the property taken from a nearby creek and feeds their citrus, bananas, papayas, coffee, custard apples and of course chocolate trees, along with a smattering of native trees. Their simple but comfortable cabins are used mainly to house international volunteers who come to stay both long and short term. That evening we shared in delicious Belgian Birthday pancakes, even though it was no-one`s birthday - oh the joy with sugar!
Day 15
The next day the strike ended. Far out, what a saga, and not just for me - Sachahuares was also very keen to be able to get to and from Quillabamba for supplies and Cusco for business. Things had been very tight for everyone. I also found out there was a Western Union in Quillabamba - I would be able to get money there... what a relief. That day I felt strong enough to start a modified exercise regime again - 'His strength returns... and yet to have come so far carrying the Ring the hobbit has shown great resilience to it's evil.' I decided against going to Quillabamba to ensure that transport would not be a problem. Sabine and Leo cooked amazing beans with alpaca and rice, I internetted with my Mum for her to transfer me money and I again tasted my favourite food in the world -whole fresh cacao. Oh my god, sweet custard apple/lychee flesh on crunchable seedses combined with the uplifting high of chocolate. %·&(/ yeah! We saw a wicked-looking leaf mantis. That afternoon Kieran took me to his special waterfall and we swam and enjoyed the cool water - thanks Kieran! Later Sabine showed me photo albums and works from her organisation`s efforts with local schoolkids, like the doll and small backpack made from plastic bags in the top photo. They also took them on fun field trips, held agricultural field days for the community and got them earning their own $ through recycling. Just great work, and worth a visit if you wish to volunteer cheaply for a very worthy cause.
http://www.sachahuares.org/
I was sad to be leaving Sabine, Harry and the boys who`d offered to have me stay on as a volunteer for a while - this was very tempting but I was still very emotionally fragile and really I just wanted to get back to the comfort of Cusco, my friends and ultimately get out fo Peru. Being in that seeming impossible situation with little money, food, friends or options had given me a much more humble view of the world that I don`t wish to forget or let pass anytime soon.
Kiteni is actually quite a pretty town - tree lined streets, a pleasant main plaza and large-town facilities set on a big rainforest river. I was extremely relieved to get some internet to communicate with the outside world - then I quickly decided to push on as I came, walking the road, hoping for cheap transport to the next roadblocked town. On exiting the town I again had to stop firstly for police then longer for demonstrators and saw the Red Cross and Government officials walking around doing stuff, what I`m not sure because their sure seemed no resolution in sight. When I finally got out I at last heard some realism from a (educated) local - Tuesday was a possible day for resolution. That day was Friday.
An incredibly uncomfortable triple on a trail bike soon failed as my feet continued to clip the road, but it got me a few km`s more towards Quillabamba, still 100km or so on the hellish road away. The midday sun was hot - I was accompanied for a few k`s by a local teenager but couldn`t summon the spirit to care much conversation with him. It was a horrible situation - I had no choice but to trudge on and hope for the best. Even this was very difficult and I stopped many times as my willpower faded. Finally I reached a point near a small farm and sat in the semi-shade - I was absolutely distraught and ready to give up. I had no idea how far I was from Palmareal, the next town and did not want to camp in the countryside again. At absolute rock bottom I cried in despair for myself.
But... at least I was alive, warm and watered. I ate the last of that days supplies knowing only one day`s worth remained - 'Hmm, Lembas bread... I ain't oweing much to foreign foods, but, this Elvish stuff, it ain't bad'. I steeled myself for asking for a place to camp once more and set off for the last few hours of the day. Soon though a combi travelling to Palmareal (in return from "strike-service" in Camp Kiteni) picked me up, and though at a costly 15 soles I took it gratefully as from that town Quillabamba was one step closer. Quillabamba itself, however, was still very much locked down in paro, but I had to cling to some kind of hope. At the next small town (not Palmareal) with true union grit the well-manned roadblock refused to let us through... until 5pm. 15 minutes of shouting and arguing and 15 minutes of relaxed chatting later (at 5pm) we were granted passage and continued another few hours to arrive late into Palmareal, where the Kiteni veterans held court in front of many townspeople to give the latest news. I was still by no means in a comfortable situation - I was as per usual exhausted and really didn`t want to camp on the local soccer field or at the school but it seemed those were my only options. I started off but was interrupted by Leonardo from Pulcallpa, a wild young man (also just returned from Kiteni service) volunteering at local schools with environmental education and at a local community with recycling and its library. I was taken aback - in this backcountry I hadn`t expected any kind of educated and overt benevolence as such. He then quickly explained he was walking back to a lodge (!) where he was staying with a Belgian lady, her Peruvian husband and their three children. They ran Sachahuares, the NGO for whom he worked and also had a permaculture farm at a town he said was 3 hours walk away. AND, he insisted that I would be welcomed there that night. My mind was blown, but I couldn`t just yet give over to complete relief as my paranoia and fear still held in me, despite almost instantly feeling like I could trust the guy.
After one hour of rapid walking and listening to even more rapid talking from Leo (about things like his intencion to prepare himself fully before first taking ayahuasca) a truck passed us going the other way, questioned us as to our destination then continued on. A little later though it returned going the other way - Leo and the passenger exchanged words briefly then we jumped aboard... yay!! I was shattered and barely able to hear what Leo had been saying because I literally couldn`t focus on walking and listening at the same time. Oh the bliss, and lucky too because I daresay the walk would`ve been 5hrs not 3. We bumped along including stopping to proposition a 13-year old girl to join us and for the truckies to smoke the weed Leo had exchanged with them for the ride - cheers mate! We arrived at strike-bound Chahuares where I paid the truckies some soles and Leo updated some locals on the Kiteni situation before we set out for another 20 minutes to Sachahuares including 5 last minutes of steep uphill. We finally made it. I was extremely dizzy and exhausted to the point of passing out and I dropped my pack and slumped into a chair while Leo disappeared to connect with Sabine and Roberto (Harry). I almost cried when their young son Kieran appeared to amiably greet me by name. Here was a such a precious thing; a child in his safe space without fear, and then I knew I could at last relax and let go. Such joy!! I felt relief like never before, and I had been truly, truly blessed. My eternal thanks to the universe. And a big sloppy kiss too. x
Day 13
The next morning I prepared a Huancacalle-style soup and Sabine added green papaya and pasta to create a delicious recovery meal. They had graciously and without expectation of payment invited me to sleep in a cabin that evening but weren`t able to extend the offer to include food as the strike was skyrocketting food prices and some things just weren`t available anymore. By that time I knew the strike would last the weekend at least, and although I desperately wanted to get back to Cusco and comfort I knew staying a few days at Sachahuares with this endearing family would do me a world of good, so I promised to re-imburse them with some cash for an extended stay the next time they were in Cusco. I met youngest son Ilian and wild Mirko with an agenda of his own who kept me entertainment and enlightened. That day Leo and I braved the midday heat to trudge 2 1/2 hrs to the town of Quelleno and our nearest internet. There I charged my music (yes!) and contacted the outside world. The whole town was dead, with basically lots of sitting around - it didn`t seem like the locals had much to do if they weren`t working. We arrived at home late and after more soup I prepared the last of the salty balls into a hot chocolate, which actually wasn`t bad and certainly would`ve tasted great with the 7 spoons of sugar Kieran put into his! On the way back from Quellono we passed someone arriving from Cusco! He`d come through Calca and Lares to Quelleno, which he said was doable... hmmm.
Day 14
I was loving having simple oats with cinnamon and sugar for breakfast and I even had cafe con leche - awesome! Then I helped with the depression food - peeling green bananas for boiling up as a carb. They really tasted terrible, but hey, right then I was grateful for any food I could get. Later I picked cacao - anything yellow or with a tinge of yellow is ready to be picked. After another awesome soup at lunch I needed to rest - I had certainly been pushed to the edge and my body wasn`t ready to keep exerting itself too much at all. Later in the afternoon I finished navigating the whole cultivated area at Sachahuares picking the cacao from their 70 or so trees. An aquaduct system runs throughout the property taken from a nearby creek and feeds their citrus, bananas, papayas, coffee, custard apples and of course chocolate trees, along with a smattering of native trees. Their simple but comfortable cabins are used mainly to house international volunteers who come to stay both long and short term. That evening we shared in delicious Belgian Birthday pancakes, even though it was no-one`s birthday - oh the joy with sugar!
Day 15
The next day the strike ended. Far out, what a saga, and not just for me - Sachahuares was also very keen to be able to get to and from Quillabamba for supplies and Cusco for business. Things had been very tight for everyone. I also found out there was a Western Union in Quillabamba - I would be able to get money there... what a relief. That day I felt strong enough to start a modified exercise regime again - 'His strength returns... and yet to have come so far carrying the Ring the hobbit has shown great resilience to it's evil.' I decided against going to Quillabamba to ensure that transport would not be a problem. Sabine and Leo cooked amazing beans with alpaca and rice, I internetted with my Mum for her to transfer me money and I again tasted my favourite food in the world -whole fresh cacao. Oh my god, sweet custard apple/lychee flesh on crunchable seedses combined with the uplifting high of chocolate. %·&(/ yeah! We saw a wicked-looking leaf mantis. That afternoon Kieran took me to his special waterfall and we swam and enjoyed the cool water - thanks Kieran! Later Sabine showed me photo albums and works from her organisation`s efforts with local schoolkids, like the doll and small backpack made from plastic bags in the top photo. They also took them on fun field trips, held agricultural field days for the community and got them earning their own $ through recycling. Just great work, and worth a visit if you wish to volunteer cheaply for a very worthy cause.
http://www.sachahuares.org/
I was sad to be leaving Sabine, Harry and the boys who`d offered to have me stay on as a volunteer for a while - this was very tempting but I was still very emotionally fragile and really I just wanted to get back to the comfort of Cusco, my friends and ultimately get out fo Peru. Being in that seeming impossible situation with little money, food, friends or options had given me a much more humble view of the world that I don`t wish to forget or let pass anytime soon.
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