Churin
The week leading up to this trip, my roommate and I had been making some plans for an excursion to escape the gray fog of Lima. The idea was to get a group together and take a trip to the mountains. Tuesday of this week, after returning home from class I felt sick. I had the classic flu virus symptoms. I was not going to let this stop me, however, and I came home and sent out emails to my limited contacts here in Lima informing them about the possibility of a trip to Churin the coming weekend. The next day I felt better and was sure that by the weekend I would be ready for the mountains. Thursday night I was feeling much better; my immune system was winning the battle against the foreign flu virus. The problem now was that my email inbox lacked the desired responses of eager friends wishing to join the Churin caravan. It now felt as if the flu might just be taking over again. Disappointed with my lack of comrades and weak from the week of sickness, I decided to call off the trip. My roommate Gloria was disappointed and almost spitefully stated that she and her three year old son, Santiago, intended to go with or without me.
Friday brought with it sunshine and change of mind. After class, the grey that hovers above Lima was broken up by bright rays of sunshine. This soul refreshing sunlight suddenly changed my attitude about traveling six hours in a bus with a toddler. I was going to Churin. I packed my things and the three of us, Gloria, Santiago, and I, headed for the center of Lima to catch the bus. It was eight o’clock before we finally departed Lima crammed into a touring bus. Arriving late to the station, the only seats available were situated on the back of the bus directly above the rear axle. Gloria expressed some concerns; I however, naively doubted their legitimacy. It was as if everything that could possibly rattle the bus did so. It was an orchestra of loose window fixtures and over-head storage compartment clatter. Visions of blue skies and rocky mountain peaks dominated my thoughts and all the inconveniences of the less than luxurious land rover were soon forgotten. This was my first trip outside of Lima since I arrived in the Peruvian capital a month prior and the first time I really was able to comprehend its size and the scope of its sprawl. The city seemed to stretch out for eternity. When there was a slight break in the side by side housing structures I would ask Gloria who was seated next to me with Santiago sleeping in her lap, “where are we?” she simply replied, “Lima.” We did, however make it out of Lima, heading north on the Pan-American Highway. This smooth and straight section of the trip left me sound asleep. I would periodically wake to glance out the window; the bright moonlight in the clear night sky illuminated the desert landscape.
Hours into the journey, we were now off the paved Pan-American Highway, headed east to mountain town of Churin. Sometime later, I was awoke midair, hovering half-asleep above my seat. I tried to comprehend the situation when, BAM, my head hit the ceiling and gravity took over and slammed me back into my seat. Wide awake now I realized Gloria’s before mentioned concerns of our position on the bus’s rear axle. This was no Interstate 44, no Oklahoma toll road and these were not pot holes, these were craters! I began to wonder if the driver had fallen asleep or had been stricken with a heart attack and we were aimlessly tramping off road through the desert valley. These fears were only heightened when now, fully attentive, I watched, by moonlight, as the bus traversed the narrow and winding road twisting and gripping to the rocky mountain side. There were no guard rails to protect the “tourista” from tumbling down the cliff to the mountain stream below. I watched out the window as the driver flawlessly maneuvered along the road with no more than a few feet of leeway. With no real reason I began to relax and hum the Beatles classic “Let it Be.”
The barren peaks of the desert landscape reflected the moonlight with an almost snow-like appearance. I imagined for sometime slaloming down the steep slopes and for a moment I was back in Colorado. After hours of being jostled about in a cramped bus, we arrived in Churin. It was three in the morning when we walked through the quiet town. We dreary roamed the streets for a place to sleep all along being hawked by a man trying to get us to stay at his hotel. Refusing his offers, we found a room with two beds in a hostel for around fifteen bucks.
The next morning I awoke with a familiar feeling deep in my chest, the feeling of a bronchial infection. The past week’s flu and the humid air of Lima had given me a nasty cough. Refusing to allow this to hamper my weekend I walked down the stairs of the hostel and caught my first glimpse of this quaint small town nestled amidst the mountains. It was awe inspiring. The crystal clear sky and bright, warming rays of sunshine were instant medicine. I felt better.
We walked to the market and bought some bread and cheese and washed down the simple breakfast with pitcher full of fresh juice. With our bellies full of energizing carbohydrates, we sat about in search of Churin’s famed thermal baths. The geo-thermal waters were said to heal an assortment of ailments, bronchitis being one of them. We walked down the dirt road that meandered alongside the mountain stream just outside of town. The calmness of this small town was a welcomed relief from the noisy rush of the city. For the first time in over a month the sun warmed me to the bone. Just off the road was, Mamahaurmi, was a small resort with baths of thermal waters. Entrance cost just two Soles, less than a dollar. There were several pools of
water and lots of people enjoying a dip this Saturday afternoon. We walked through the park to the final pool situated beneath a waterfall and a few yards from the river. I quickly stripped down to my swimming suit and headed for the water only to be surprised that that “thermal” bath was less thermal than expected. In fact the water was downright cold, frigid! I thought to myself, ignorantly perhaps, that if I made it this far to swim in “thermal” waters, I was going to do it. This brute motivation did not last long, several minutes in the healing thermal waters were all I needed. What seemed like the true healing was lying beside the mountain stream and letting the strong spring sun warm and dry my body. The rushing sound of the rapids reminded me of home. It reminded me of my love for the river. With the rat race of the city hours away, I lay beside the river and relaxed.
After several hours of riverside relaxation, we took a moto-taxi to a mountain top trout farm. (A moto-taxi is a motorcycle with a carriage attached to the back end. They are cheap transportation if you for traveling short distances.) Lunch at the “trucha” farm was quintessentially Peruvian. The small restaurant sat atop a hill overlooking the town, flanked on each side by towering rocky peaks. The small trout hatchery, on site, provided fresh fish to the restaurant. Fresh and delicious, the trout was just what I had needed. Unfortunately, a rain cloud moved in during lunch but it was not enough to overshadow the authentic Peruvian experience.
We returned to the town after lunch, we checked into a new hostel for the night. The cold waters of the “thermal” baths must have done a number on my lungs because I felt worse than before. Almost immediately upon arriving in the room I was asleep. A several hour nap did me good. The sun had gone down while I was napping and after a quick shower we headed to the streets to find something to eat for supper. We found a small chicken place tucked away just off the center square. It was sort of a tacky little joint with bright neon lights illuminating the mirror covered walls. We ate pollo a la brasa, which is chicken cooked on a rotisserie, and I washed it down with a luke-warm beer. Neither the warm food nor the warm beer did much for my current lousy state, so I drank some hot tea and went to sleep.
The next morning I felt better, not much, but better. Being disappointed in our trip to the thermal bath the day prior, we asked around town where we could find some actual thermal waters. Directed to the outskirts of town, we took a taxi to a small “resort” nestled at the foot of a giant arid mountain. The 100+ degree waters we found here were just what I needed. Just five minutes in the steaming waters and I could feel my infected bronchial open and the congestion loosen. After voluntarily suffering the scorching waters I followed local custom and wrapped myself in a traditionally woven, native blanket. This practice is used to maintain the heightened body temperature and continue in the release of bodily toxins. It is a purifying technique and seemed to be very effective. I left the resort with a peaceful feeling. My chest was open and my entire body felt relaxed. We returned to the hostel with enough time to gather our belongings and head to the bus station.
The penetrating afternoon sun beat down on the bus full of people creating a rather sultry environment. I did not care. I was in a reflective and relaxed state. I just sat back without a care and gazed out the window at the Peruvian landscape as we journeyed back to Lima. Half way through the trip back a few seats opened up and I was able to secure a row to myself. I laid back, kicked my feet up and tuned my Ipod to some relaxing grooves and in what seemed like the blink of an eye we were back in Lima.
