The Town Too Beautiful to burn

While touring some historic homes in Athens, I was told, on two separate occasions, that I should also visit the town of Madison, if I liked historic places and architecture.  The first girl told me that that it is known as the city that was too beautiful to burn, which led me to ask if Athens was burned.  She didn’t know, but the second told me that Athens had been outside of Sherman’s path to the sea.  “In Athens, we destroyed our own history in our efforts to modernize.”  She said with chagrin.  However, she admitted there does need to be a balance, and Athens had been doing a lot to preserve its historic buildings since the late 1970’s.

I decided to take a day trip to Madison, and learned that the motto ‘Too beautiful to burn,’ was not exactly true. Gen Sherman’s army did burn the railroad depot and warehouses in the city, but they did leave the town itself untouched.  Also, although it is a beautiful antebellum town, it was really saved by the people who new Sherman.  Before the Civil war began, Joshua Hill was a US senator who lived in Madison.  Hill knew Sherman and asked him not to burn the city.  Sherman honored the request, and reportedly ordered soldiers to guard all the homes in the city to ensure they were not burned as the army passed through, tearing up the railroad and destroying supplies the southern army might use.  Hill’s home is on the walking tour of town, and I thought it was one of the most impressive ones in town.  

Today, the town continues to preserve its past with almost extreme measures.  As I drove through town, I noticed that the only national chain business around are kept on the outer edge of town.  I also was told that someone had tried to open a Hardees restaurant, but the townsfolk protested.  It was built anyway, and designed fit into the antebellum style of the town.  This did not appease the people of Madison who refused to eat there.  The place quickly went out of business and reportedly the building remains empty.  I tried to find it, but only found a BP station the met the same fate.  

Another thing I found odd was the city center was dominated by brick buildings, but beyond the city center, brick was very rare.  Apparently it was not as beautiful as the rest of town, because the area surround the center square did burn, in 1869, just as the city was beginning to recover from the civil war.  It was rebuilt in brick, giving it a different look from the rest of the city.

I started my tour at the Roger and Rose house, where I met Betty.  She was my guide and knew a little about Madison, because she moved there as a young woman.  She was looking for work and had an aunt that was packing parachutes at an Air Force base, and she hoped she could get a similar job.  However, her mother was afraid Betty might meet a man in the Air Force, and she would never see her again.  “Mom heard about a job for AT&T in Madison, so she boxed me up and sent me here.”  

Betty started out as a switchboard operator back then and continued to work for AT&T for 30 years.  An impressive career, that came with a pension, but she wasn’t done.  She then moved on to being a bus driver, driving 104 miles a day to “collect up my kids” from around the county’s farms and return them again after school.  She drove the bus for another 22 years, but she still wasn’t ready to retire.  She told me “I have found that I like livin’.  And I’ve seen my friends retire and say, ‘I’m not gonna do nuttin’.  But they ain’t with us no more.  ‘If you don’t use it, you lose it,’ is what I say.” So, she got a job with the Madison Historic Society as a tour guide, where she has been for the last eight years.  I don’t know if you’re doing the math, but that is 60 years of work.  I didn’t ask her how old she was but if she started work at 20 she’d be 80 and still guiding tours five days a week.  I asked if she was a volunteer, and she said, “No, I get paid enough to put gas in the car, and buy myself an outfit now and again.”  

I was beginning to realize she was a bit of a historic treasure, as she told me about the Rogers House, the oldest home in Madison.  The first owner bought the lot $111 in 1809, when the town was founded, and sold the house a year later for $1000.  Not a bad return on his investment.  Over the years the house had 17 owners until it was bought by the city and restored to what it would have looked like in 1873.  In one room they had stripped the wall down to show some of the original wall paper.  Betty told me, “They would have nailed the wallpaper up in the fall and taken it down in the Spring.  No insulation here, so the wallpaper kept in the warmth, and the cracks between the boards let in cool air in the summer.”

As a switchboard operator she said she learned a lot.  “That movie The Help, that could have happened right here in Madison.  Mmhmm.  You better believe it.”  She told me many of the homes in town have been in the same families for generations, and the Stokes-McHenry House has been in the same family for seven generations!  All these families had accumulated a lot of wealth with plantations and pastures across Georgia.  For example, Dr Eligah E Jones had a home on Main Street and owned 114 slaves and over 3000 acres of land across the state.  He worked as a doctor with the Confederacy, and his beautiful Greek Revival home is now the Heritage Hall, donated to the city in 1977.  When Betty came into town the slaves were long since emancipated, but the town was still divided.  There was a colored neighborhood, many of the families still had servants and the ladies of the house gathered and gossiped much like they did in The Help.

“When I arrived I was that girl that the women talked about in church, but I had an Ace in the hole,” she told me.  Her uncle was a member of one of the well to do families, and when she sat with him at church one Sunday, and was introduced as his niece, suddenly opinions changed.   “I was that same girl they had been talkin’ about just last week.”  

I asked if she still felt like an outsider in the town.  “No, I feel like a Madisonian now.”  She raised a family there, and now she even has great-grandkids there.  She said when she first arrived she lived in a boarding house between the Baptist and Presbyterian churches.  “You can’t miss it.  Blue with white trim, right between the churches on Mains Street.”  My walking tour of the town included her old home, known as The Magnolia House.  It turns out that during the renovation, they discovered a trap door and tunnel, believed to have been used as part of the Underground Railroad.

After we finished touring the Rogers House, she took me next door to the Rose House, which was built by Adeline Rose in 1891.  It is a small and simple home, but what is most impressive about it is Adeline, who was born into slavery, but “was the hardest workin’est woman” in town according to everyone Betty talked to. Betty said she use to hear about Adeline all the time when she first moved to town and set out to meet her.  She never did, but discovered, “She worked for one family, but did the laundry and babysat for nearly everyone in the county.”  She lived in the house she built for 68 years, until her death in 1959.  She had a boy and girl but outlived them both, so in 1966 the city purchase the home and moved it to the present location. As the brochure says, “It was felt that it was very important to save this little house built out of the labor of love of a woman who was born into slavery.”

As we toured Betty asked where I was from, and when I told her Wyoming, she said, “Oh, never been out that far, but I hope to take a road trip with my boy one day.  He’s 53, but he’s still my baby boy.  Maybe even out to Washington, and then we’ll loop back down and come back another way.”  

I said, “Well you should take a little vacation, and get on the road.”  

“Ah, maybe next year… or the year after that.” 

She then went on to tell me, “My husband use to drive long haul.  Every time he went on a trip our boy would say, ‘Can we go momma, can we go.’  Well one time the brakes went out on the truck.  We were stuck out on the side of the road overnight, and trucks didn’t have air in those days, so we had the windows down.  Boy, those mosquitoes ate us up.  After that, every time he had a trip, our boy would say, ‘We can’t go momma.  The bugs will bite us.’  I guess the brakes going out was a blessing in disguise.” She chuckled.

Well Betty, when you take that road trip, I hope you enjoy Wyoming as much as I enjoyed talking to you.

From Russia with Love?

I'm crushed.... I thought I had an impressive blog following from Russia, but it appears they may simply be trolling blogs for contact information for phishing scams.  As I mentioned in a previous post, I enjoy the stats that Google provides for bloggers on their site.  They not only let you know how many views your blog/posts have, but also provide information on which countries readers are connecting from and what websites/search engines are leading the most readers to your site.

On my blog, my second highest 'readership,' after America, has come from Russia and the most common referal site has been yandex (a Russian version of Google).  I was flattered, until I took a look at my spam e-mail folder and discovered many 'love letters' from yandex users like Juliya, who wrote:

Hi. I write this and I believe that you answer me. I hope you will be an interesting conversationalist and a good friend and maybe more. Many Humans began their relationship through correspondence. And so I decided to try it.
I am an educated, active, ambitious ... I appreciate in people a sense of proportion and the ability to laugh. :) But most of all I appreciate the confidence and the willingness of men to a new relationship. You are ready to start a new relationship? What do you think about this? Write to me. My email pinace@yandex.ru I look forward to a response. Best wishes, Juliya

'Her' e-mail sounds innocent enough, but also came with a warning from my e-mail spam box that the e-mail was similar to other e-mails associated with scams/phishing, and recommending I do not respond or provide personal details.  Such a shame, I thought Juliya and I could have been something, "and maybe more."

Meanwhile, I assume Tonya had been love struck by two of Cupid's arrows, because she sent me two e-mails... each from different accounts and with different contact information.  I liked her first subject line: 'Lets Talk More My Bunny.'  Aawwwe, we already have pet names.  In that e-mail she told me a bit about herself:  "I am 25, I have finished medical university in our city and now I work as the children's doctor. My free time I spend on a hippodrome, as I 7 years am engaged in equestrian sport.  I think more about my appearance will tell you my photos."  And in the second she focused more on me: "I would like to start correspondence with you, i have seen your profile and I'm very interested. I'm looking for loyal, romantic and intelligent guy for serious relations."

I'm sure we would have hit it off, but I think she should focus on giving great medical care to the children, rather than our long distance romance.  Although, I did appreciate the fact that she knew the way to my heart was talking about how awesome I am.  Thanks Tanya, I'm glad you noticed. 

With all the love interest from Russia, news of cyber attacks on the US from China, recent cyber attacks on S. Korea's banking and media industry, and a recent flair up in e-mail hacking on my friends' accounts, I thought I would also offer some computer/Internet security advice:

1) Not everything you read on the Internet is true.  Shocking I know, but please do a search before forwarding that warning or government conspiracy e-mail, or reposting it on Facebook.  Snopes.com is a good place to start for those.

2) If you receive an e-mail from a friend with a hyperlink or attachment, be suspicious first. (This is also true for social media posts)  If it contains no personal message from your friend, or the message is very generic, contact them and ask if they really sent it, BEFORE you click on the link or open the attachment.  This is a common way viruses, trojans, worms and other malware/spyware is spread. 

If your e-mail account is hacked and this kind of e-mail is sent from your account, or if you click a link or attachment on an e-mail like this you should:

a. Contact everyone in your contacts and tell them not to open attachments, or click on hyperlinks.

b. Delete the e-mail

c. Update your anti-virus/malware software and run a virus scan of your computer. 

d. Change your e-mail password from a separate/clean computer.  You may want to change other passwords you have for other accounts/services as well.

3) I could go on forever, but instead, here are some other good reference sites to learn more:

As I mentioned above: http://www.snopes.com/  Interestingly, snopes started as a 'mom and pop' website founded by Barbara and David Mikkelson, who did it as a hobby because they enjoyed researching urban legends.

Hoax-Slayer: http://hoax-slayer.com/ which "is dedicated to debunking email hoaxes, thwarting Internet scammers, combating spam, and educating web users about email and Internet security issues."

The FBI e-scam alerts: http://www.fbi.gov/scams-safety/e-scams Although, you know how efficient the government is... so if you find it here, it is probably already too late.

And, if you dont have anti-virus software, get some ASAP. If you use Microsoft software you are at greater risk because they are the largest target.  Also, for mobile devices Android platforms are more risky because their APP vetting is not as controlled as Apple.  If you are big into Android APPs watch your bills (phone and credit) closely, because free APPs can cost you big, when they are a scam.  But I digress... Here is a review of Antivirus software products with some good links for discount purchase: http://anti-virus-software-review.toptenreviews.com/ppc-index.html?s_kwcid=TC-17158-13623072708-bp-1466630141

4) Did you click those links on number three?  If so, please review number two?  I'm kidding, but seriously, be suspicious of links.  

5) If you read this far and you are actually a legitimate Russian who enjoys my blog, tell Juliya and Tonya I said Hello, from America with love.

Coffee and Music in Colorado Springs

Since I'm currently anchored on American shores, I thought I'd write a little more about the local scene here in Colorado Springs.  I guess that would make it Random Ramblings of an American, which is three out of four unitl I can get abroad again... or return to writing about previous travels.  At any rate, I hope you enjoy the ramblings...

COFFEE

In yet another study, they have determined that coffee is awesome, and drinking large amounts is not only unharmful, but may extend the life of drinkers.  I drink coffee, and I didn't need another study to motivate me to drink more, but in a recent visit to a local coffee shop I was humbled by true parishioners of the cult of coffee.

Urban Steam is a new coffee shop in Colorado Springs.  It doesn’t have the best location, tucked away on a side street behind a power plant’s billowing steam, which may have inspired the coffee shop’s name.  Inside, the shop has an industrial chic look with light fixtures you might see in a mine shaft, classic pictures of workers lunching on a sky-rise I-beam, exposed cinder-block walls, and concrete floors splattered with colorful paint.  On one wall, they have several colorful posters explaining the various attributes to coffee flavor surrounding a 'Coffee Taster’s Flavor Wheel' that looks like a round periodic table for a chemist studying the flavor and aroma influences of coffee.  Meanwhile, their menu was fairly stark with black and yellow large font lettering, reminiscent of a construction sign.  Unlike Starbucks’ wide array of flavored concoctions, Urban Steam would only deviate as far as offering a mocha. 

I got in line behind a local girl who was chatting with the proprietor about life and coffee and after she ordered I stepped up, ordered a latte, and asked if they could add a shot of caramel.  I could almost detect a slight wince at my request -- like the response one might expect at a fine steak house if you asked for A1 -- but he said he could do it.  I took a seat and he and the local girl began chatting again.  The first thing out of his mouth was, "I'm glad to see you’ve moved away from the flavored syrups." 

Ooh, nice jab. I thought as she replied, "Yeah, I really noticed how the flavored syrup was concealing the nutty flavors of the coffee."

I would have accused her of cheating by using the periodic flavor poster to bolster her response, but it was across the room, so I sat quietly, buried my nose in my book, and waited for my drink to arrive.  Meanwhile the next customer arrived and again struck up a conversation with the barista, like he was catching up with an old friend.  He too was a coffee connoisseur, and began discussing the various beans on offer noting, "I liked the coffee I had last time with the leathery notes." 

Taking this feedback the barista went down his shelf of bean jars and pulled one down, like a classic novel from the library shelf.  "You'll like this one then, it is a dirty bean." 

What?! Dirty? Are we talking about martinis or coffee here? 

My latte arrived and I must say it was flavorful. He had also gone light on the caramel, so I could appreciate the nutty flavor of the coffee.  However, I dared not compliment him on the coffee, for fear that he might launch into Quentin Tarantino’s coffee diatribe from 'Pulp Fiction':  "I don't need you to tell me how fuckin' good my coffee is, ok? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is."

Instead, I quietly enjoyed both the coffee and the friendly 'Cheers'-like banter in the coffee shop where everyone knows your name.

MUSIC

I arrived at the 'Black Sheep' to find a line wrapping around the building and down the street to the neighboring bar. The crowd in line made me feel like I was crashing a high school dance, and as I made it inside I found close to half the crowd had X's on their hands to indicate they were underage.  The venue has been a 'Best Live Music' winner in the local Independent paper for years, which accurately describes it as "vaguely dungeon-like."

The interior is painted in all black, except for the white venue logo in the middle of the side wall. The whole venue is about the size of a basketball court, but with ten-foot ceilings, you’re not going to be putting in a hoop.  Except for the benches lining the two side walls, the place has no furniture and consists of a long bar running back to the end of the building, on your left as you walk in 'at half court,' and then the standing-room only section on the other half court in front of the stage.

The pit quickly filled to near the 400-max capacity before the first act, Motion Trap, sauntered onto the stage.  Like the crowd, they were young and looked like they had dropped out of high school to come on tour.  The band was dressed in buttoned-down shirts and thin silk ties, and started us out with an electronic jam session. 

Their lead had a Justin Beiber haircut and a baby face.  He was so committed to his electronica art that he even arrived on stage smoking an oversized electronic cigarette, which seemed almost like a prop and reminding me of the hookah- smoking caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland.  During the set, the lead worked the computer mixer and played bass accompanied by two more guys on guitar and one on drums.  

The young band had not developed a strong stage presence and didn’t have lyrics for any of their jams, so it felt a bit like we had snuck into a garage session among friends. Their music was well received, but the audience was obviously more interested in the upcoming performances and I heard several comments from the crowd like, “I have no idea who these guys are.  I finally asked a bouncer, and he said they are 'Motion Track.'”

New Politics were far more comfortable on stage and quickly got the audience jumping with their deep bass beats and lyrical rap anthems.  The lead singer had incredibly high energy and as he danced, jumped and sang across the stage.  I began to wonder how he could maintain this energy and performance level through a set let alone an entire tour. 

At one point in the show the lead singer asked the crowd to create a circle in the middle of the venue and then asked those closest to the circle to kneel down so others could see.  "A little bigger or I might kick you guys in the face." he warned before he did a back flip off the stage to start the next song, followed by a break dance routine in the middle of the crowd, before returning to the stage to sing the tune 'Just Like Me.'

The bands lyrics seemed to be tinged with American political themes, like guns in schools in their song 'Dignity,' so I was surprised when the band announced they hailed from Denmark and touring America was a dream come true for them.  They left the crowd pumped and the bar raised for the main event: Twenty One Pilots.

As condensation began to fall from the rafters like rain and the temperatures climbed in the packed house, the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered in anticipation of the Pilots’ entrance.  Drummer, Josh Dunn, entered the stage in the bands Skeleton suit and began the first bass track before the singer, Tyler, leaped over the piano in a blaze of lights and smoke to open their set with 'Ode to Sleep,' which served as more of a wake-up call to the audience.

Their songs are laced with hints of suicide, but the band focused on overcoming the hard times. Between sets, Tyler took this to an evangelistic crescendo in a ‘Come to Jesus’ like moment.  He said, “I know I’ve asked this already, but I’m going to ask again; and only answer if you mean it; but I want hear you.  Are you happy to be alive tonight!?”  As the screams of affirmation died down he continued, “I know we struggle and may be facing the same struggles, but when you are down remember this night, this energy, this crowd.” And as the crowd roared, and the bass beat threatened to rattle the rivets loose in the rafters, they got the crowd jumping with their next song.  

If the Black Sheep is a dungeon, than a life sentence sounds pretty awesome in the company of bands like these.

I'll drink to that...

Beer, it’s what’s for breakfast, at least in Colorado, where I recently was told by a guy on a ski lift that he had a Maple Bacon Beer for breakfast.  “It was so good, I had a second,” he proclaimed.  Colorado has a booming Micro Brewery scene with close to 150 breweries; it was also ranked number one in gross beer production in 2006.  Colorado Springs is holding its own with several popular breweries dotting the cityscape.   Some could even fit into the ‘new’ category of nano-breweries, which focus on using local produce and products and only producing beer for the local economy.  Along with that local focus, many of them are also heavily involved in community events and support local causes. 

 

One example is Bristol Brewery, which holds a Karma night on Tuesdays.  Instead of discount beers, like a normal Happy Hour, this event donates a dollar from every pint sold to a local non-profit or charity.  I’ll drink to a cause any day, and to no cause at all on every other day of the week.  So on a recent Tuesday night, I wondered down to the brew-pub to support the ‘Incline Friends’ cause.  You might be inclined to ask: what are the ‘Incline Friends,’ and their cause?  And all I can say is, get with the times man, because even President Obama is a friend of The Incline. 

 

The Incline is a local ‘attraction’ -- an abandoned cable car track that climbs straight up a mountain towards Pike Peak from the tourist town of Manitou Springs. The cable car route was closed in 1990 when yet another rock-slide damaged the tracks for the last time, and the owners decided to abandon the track for their more profitable Cog Railroad. Despite ‘No Trespassing’ signs, rusted and cracked pipes, precarious old spikes, loose railroad ties and other hazards, the local community and tourists alike have been hiking the trail illegally for years.  But in January the President of the United States stepped in and signed a law clearing the way for legal hiking and the local community began enacting their plan to clean up and maintain the trail for safer hiking, climbing and in some cases crawling (the trail gains nearly 2,000 feet of elevation along the 4,000-foot long trail).  However, no sooner did the trail officially open for legal use, than a hiker was medevac’d with cardiac arrest, highlighting the ‘hike at your own risk’ nature of the climb. The total cost of the repair and maintenance plan is a million dollars, or about $250 per foot.

And so I found myself at Bristol Brewery’s Karma Hour, humbled by this mighty fund-raising task. The beers I drank didn’t even cover an inch of the cause, but I did what I could and met some characters along the way.  The first was Randall, an outgoing guy with shaggy curly hair and a full mountain beard.  He looked to be in his fifties and, after he introduced himself, I asked what he was drinking. 

 

“The Nitro Compass IPA.  It tastes better than the carbonated version and they pour it in a larger glass; and I make sure they top it up too.”

His response led me to two conclusions:  1) this guy drinks here often, and 2) he probably drinks a lot for the Karma causes.  He then continued to confirm my conclusions by telling me he drinks at Bristol almost every night, and after some banter about where I lived he noted he is in the same area and rattles off a few other drinking holes in the area, but none measure up to Bristol in his opinion. 

 

At that point another philanthropic drinker noted his woolen pants, which look like they had walked off the set of an old movie about climbers in the Alps circa the late 1800s.  They were an olive-drab-green cargo pant made of heavy wool.

 

“These are my Norwegian Army pants,” he proudly proclaimed, and then in the process of expanding on his Norwegian Army service he came around the to the point that he was only one generation further separated from the last King Harald of Norway than Prince William of the UK.  This strange and somewhat irrelevant fact led me to question anything that might come out of this guy’s mouth, but he continued his history of the region and said that all Scandinavians can actually trace their roots back to Norway. 

 

I, being Finnish, asked him if that included the Finns.  He said, no and that they actually were an Arian trans-European migrant group with ties to Hungary.  This had me intrigued because I knew that the Hungarian and Finish languages were on the same linguistic branch of Uralic.  The topic of language then led to a discussion of the Laplanders, or Sami.  They are also known as Finn by the Norse people of Norway (however the two groups are not the same), a Nomadic people of northern Scandinavia and Russia that are considered to be indigenous to the region.  He said they still don’t recognize the current national borders of Scandinavia as they continue to follow the game herds across the region, much like the nomadic Indian tribes once did in the US. 

 

Randall explained, “Border forces will stop them and tell them, ‘You cannot enter Sweden, go back to Norway.’  ‘What is Sweden?’ they’ll ask.  ‘This is Sweden.’ The guards will reply. ‘What is Norway?’ ‘Back there is Norway.  Where you came from.’ And the Laplanders will turn around and return, only to come back across somewhere else.”

The things you learn in a bar.  I had assumed this guy was just a local lush, but instead he was turning out to be a Professor of Hops and History.  He then transitioned to the modern male bar banter of women.  “You see that girl with the long black hair over there? I’ve been eyeing her all night. I think I’ll introduce myself.” 

 

I wished him luck and just as he was about to head over, she turned our way and he said, “Oh, wrong one,” and with a quick glance around the bar, he re-established target ID and headed off in the opposite direction.

Next I began chatting with Paula, and learned that the small, tightly packed space the Brewery currently occupied was about to close.  The Brewery will be moving and expanding into an old school building across the street.  I’d parked next to the old school and thought it was a good looking old stone/Neoclassical building, and it was a shame it was vacant.  Now it turns out the building is going to be put to good use by the Brewery, and I was excited about the move.  

Paula went on to say that the move was almost stopped by the city council, who felt that the brewery wasn’t paying enough to occupy the building.  I found this a bit outrageous because the Brewery was practically doing the city a favor revitalizing the old building.  Apparently the community agreed and petitioned on behalf of the Brewery, noting how much the brewery does for the city and local causes, in addition to providing great beer.  The council ceded and the Brewery is scheduled to open in the new location in March.  I look forward to continuing to support local causes in the new location, when it opens, and attending another class with Professor Randall, the Nordic historian.

Arequipa and Colca Canyon

After departing Nasca, I awoke as my overnight bus lumbered into Peru’s valley of the Volcanoes and Canyon country. The sun was beginning to rise and the terrain was showing more signs of life than the desert coast. The landscape was growing grander with deeper canyons, tall rolling hills, and volcanic rock formations rich in iron. The iron made the exposed surface rust red, but rocks that had recently split had an ashen gray core. We pulled into the Arequipa bus station as the city was waking up. Shop keepers were out sweeping or spraying down the sidewalks outside their shops, and people hustled about in coats and caps, as the higher altitude was continuing to bring the temperatures down.


Arequipa sits at the feet of several dormant volcanoes, the most prominent being El Misti with its classic volcanic cone topped with snow. Below these sleeping giants is the bustling colonial city that is known as the ‘white city’ for several reasons. The most common reason is the white volcanic stone from which most of the colonial center was constructed. That colonial center is still dominated by grand white buildings that make you feel like you could be in Spain. The second reason is from the native’s point of view, and is a reference to the light skin of colonial inhabitants that use to populate the central city while the darker native people lived on the outskirts. The last reason is the coca that is popular in the highlands of Peru, and ‘white’ references its more notable form: cocaine. However, you don’t hear much about Peru’s cocaine, even though the illegal production and trafficking of cocaine remains a problem. Instead, the nation focuses on the native traditions of chewing it, or drinking it as tea, and these products can be found at any corner market and most hotel breakfasts. But I digress.

Breezeway along the streets surrounding the central town square.

Beyond the architecture, the Spaniards also brought religion, and Catholicism shaped Arequipa as well. The main cathedral is the only one in Peru that spans an entire side of the cities central plaza, and just a few blocks north of the plaza, the Monastery of Santa Catalina occupies over two city blocks, like a small village within the larger city. After a short visit in the impressive central plaza, I wandered up to the Monastery.

I had to pay to get in, just like the nuns did in the Monastery's early days. In colonial Peru, the second son or daughter of the upper class would enter religious service, and in order to enter the St. Catalina's, they had to pay a dowry of 2400 silver coins (equivalent to $150,000 today) to live a pious life of poverty. Also, from the founding of the Monastery in 1580 until 1970, the only people allowed in were the nuns who committed to that life of piety. However, in 1970, the majority of the village within the city was opened to the public for the first time, and today only a small section is still 'active' and inhabited by the nuns.

Arch of Silence before the first cloister in St Catalina's

Public access is not the only thing that has changed, nor the most significant. In the early days the nuns were from the upper class and they entered their life of 'piety and poverty' with fine property, servants and 'social events.' They even hired musicians to entertain at their events and the monastery served as more of a ladies social club where you went NOT to be seen.

Eventually even the pope got word of 'Cantina Catalina' and the party ended 100 years before the doors opened to the public, when the pope sent in Sister Josefa Cadena to reform in 1870. Gone were the parties and the entrance dowries. The servants and slaves were also done away with, however, the servants were given the option to stay as nuns and equals to those they once served. Without the dowries, the nuns were forced to find new sources of revenue and the original chapel was turned into a bakery to produce breads and other goods to sell.

Finances eventually drove the decision to open the site to the public, as building codes forced the Monastery to renovate with electricity and plumbing in 1970. Without enough funds to pay for the renovations, they opened the majority to the public, and in 2012 I found myself walking under arch of Silence into the first courtyard, or Cloister, where novice nuns would spend 2-3 years in silence and study. I spent about 15 minutes before I graduated and move up to the Cloister of Oranges and beyond.

The Cloisters and streets are painted in rich and warm colors of indigo, iron rust red and white with murals on the walls and ceilings of the covered walks, surrounding the open courtyards. Off of the three main courtyards are pedestrian streets with the private residences of the nuns of the hay-day. The initial rooms for the novices were simple and sparse, but as they graduated up to the main streets and courtyards the residences became larger and more extravagant with kitchens, servant quarters and living areas. The grounds were peaceful and inviting, but also felt a bit like a ghost town done up to look as if the residents had just blown out the candles on their way out, having left the ovens prepped for cooking dinner later that evening.

Kitchen hearth inside one of the residences of St. Catalina's

After relaxing on the quiet, empty streets of St Catalina's, I wandered back out onto the bustling streets of Arequipa and right into a protest parade marching through town. I have no idea what they were fighting for, but I joined them for a block and then broke away to cross the river and visit the quiet hillside 'suburb' of Yanahuara, where well to do live and enjoy spectacular views over the city. The streets of Yanahuara were quiet and well kept, but I noticed each home was like its own urban fortress fenced in with ‘industrial chic’ corrugated steel walls all capped with barb wire. Rather than a gated community, in this rich suburb had a 'every family for themselves' vibe.

Scenic View in Yanahuara with El Misti Rising over the arches in the background

In contrast with the homes, I visited an airy, open public park with a popular vista of Arequipa and the surrounding volcanoes, framed by several arches made of the same white stone for which the city is famous. Tour buses were pulling in at a fairly regular interval, and the tourists would file out, take pictures, return to the bus, and move on. Small groups of children were wandering about with their teachers practicing English on anyone willing, and lovers were looking for friendly strangers to snap their photo with the scenic backdrop for their scrapbooks. I soaked in the beautiful view, weather and crowd, and then wondered down the road to the posh Sol De Mayo for a Peruvian lunch in their grass covered courtyard with live folk music and a small waterfall for ambiance.

After wondering the city for the day, I retired to get some sleep before my two day trip to Colca Canyon. When I boarded the bus the next morning, I discovered my two Canadian bus buddies from Nasca were taking the tour as well. We had shared three bus journeys in as many days, I was beginning to think they were stalking me, and I suspect they may have felt the same. When you walk around any major Peruvian city, you are hounded by tour touters, and the streets and shops just off the main square are filled with even more vendors; so it is hard to imagine we would end up on the same tours. I had taken whatever tour my hotel recommended, while they had done some serious pre-vacation planning, so I assume I got lucky with the selection.

Our tour was on more of an over-sized van than a bus, and we had a mix of Spanish and English speaking tourist, so our guide provided information in both languages. Before leaving the city we made a stop for restrooms, snacks and coca, and when we were back on the road our guide gave a quick beginners lesson on chewing coca. She explained the many health benefits of chewing coca, to include whiter, stronger teeth, calming upset stomach, and relieving the affects of altitude, which was what we aimed to do on our trip into the highlands. We opened our pouches of dry coca leaves and found a small 'stone,' which I immediately thought was evidence of shoddy packaging conditions. I was about to throw it out, when our guide explained this was actually the key to unlocking our coca. It turns out the 'stone' was an alkali catalyst, which is used to break down the leave as you chew it. As beginners, we were instructed to only break off a small piece of the stone, which was made of ash and limestone and looked like a chip of cement. Then according to tradition you take some leaves and give a blessing/thanks to the gods before gathering up a small wad of leaves to rap around the catalyst stone before tucking it into your cheek. Later that evening I awoke in a cold, dark, vacant van, parked in front of a small mountain inn, with a note on my chest to pick up my room key at the front desk, a wad of $20s in my pocket that I could not account for, and I felt 'used'... cocaine is a powerful drug.

I'm kidding, this was not cocaine, it was coca, and after an hour all I noticed some numbness in my mouth and throat. As we experienced coca for the first time, our bus climbed out of the city and higher onto the Alto Plano or High Plains that were reminiscent of the high plains of the Rockies. However, instead of seeing deer and Antelope, like you would in the Rockies, on the Andean high plains you see wild Vicuna (Vee-coon-ya), Llamas and Alpaca. Although they are famous for their fur, which is shorn like sheep, these animals are actually more closely related to the camel. Also, when you are traveling in Peru, Alpaca and Llama are common on the dinner table and taste a bit more like deer than sheep. I've never eaten camel, so I can't say how they compare on that front.

We made a few stops for tea and photo opportunities, before climbing over the highest pass and descending into the Colca Valley and the village of Chivay. The village was set on the inside bend in the river, and seemed to be dominated by hotels and restaurants to cater to the influx of tourism in the canyon. The main street was lined with brightly colored statues of dancers in various costumes of the local folk dances, and led to the central square.

One of many statues depicting traditional dances of the region, set along the streets of Chivay

After a delicious buffet lunch, we headed out of town to visit a smaller village that was little more than the central square and church. I learned that all the present day villages throughout the Colca valley were actually built/established by Franciscan missions during the colonial period. Each has a similar layout with a central square and church, and the establishment of these Spanish style villages, led to the abandonment of the original tribal villages throughout the valley.

Colca Tribe woman and her wares, above Colca Valley and the village of Chivay

We hiked out of the small town square, down to the river canyon where we got to see the remains of some Colcas for which the canyon is named. The Colca is a cliff side storage unit made of adobe brick inside large holes in the canyon wall, which looked a little like a giant abandoned wasp nest. Since the narrow sections of the canyon remain shaded and, like water, cool air sinks and flows down the canyon, the Colcas act as natural refrigerators where the natives would store supplies.

Colcas along the cliffs above the river.  The cool air and shade made these natural fridges.

We also learned that the canyon was home to two different tribes, which distinguished themselves by reshaping the skulls of their children. One tribe flattened their heads by putting a board on top of the young forming skull, while the other tribe narrowed the skull by binding it between two boards. When the Spaniards arrived, they banned the practice, so now the two tribes wear different style hats, one plain white, and the other covered in colorful embroidery. Unique tribal head wear is still common throughout Peru, and around Lake Titicaca I saw many different styles of hats among the many tribes that have shared the shores of the massive lake.

We returned to Chivay for the night and relaxed at a natural hot spring, before heading to dinner. I visited several hot springs during my stay in Peru and always find it interesting how different cultures develop and practice their bath culture. For instance in Turkey they are known for their bath houses, which were created because of limited access to bathes for the general public, a cultural imperative to wash before going to the mosque, and then further expanded as a source of revenue for the Sultan and city. Inside you get roughly scrubbed down and washed by a bath attendant, and then relax in large hot rooms made of wall to wall marble under tall doomed ceilings with skylights cut in the form of stars and cresant moons.

In Japan, they have a culture of nature worship, shaped by the Shinto religion, which I think ties into their bath culture, which are built around natural springs, and has a formal ritual or rules for the experience. At the bath house I visited in Japan, they had indoor and outdoor baths. The outdoor section had both large communal baths and small individual baths all fed by natural springs, which were surrounded by a small peaceful Japanese garden.

Like Japan, Peru also has a culture of nature worship and the hot springs I visited there were mostly open outdoor sites that seemed to keep the experience as close to nature as possible. Each site had 'descending' baths with the hottest pools closest to the source and cooler pools descending away from the springs and closer to the river where they drained off. At the second bath I visited, the three pools were built at the base of a cliff face, and had access to a riverside 'beach,' where you could to take a cold dip if you were so inclined.

Hot Springs in Chivay

After our relaxing soak, we went to a local pizzeria with local folk dancers for entertainment. The place had a brick oven for the pizzas, which filled the restaurant with smoke, which had to make the lively renditions of local dances in the thin mountain air a challenge. Despite the challenging conditions, our dancing duo danced through five or six different costumes and associated dances before the entertaining dinner show concluded.

Traditional dancers posing in front of the band during a dinner dance show.

The next day, we headed deeper into the canyon, which is actually twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. Our destination was a popular condor viewing location, and the deepest section of the canyon we saw on our trip. So, in the second deepest canyon in the world, we were also viewing the second largest bird in the world. The Andean Condor is the largest bird in the western hemisphere, with a wingspan that can exceed 10 feet. It is a buzzard, so unlike the bald eagle that has a head of white feathers; the condor is truly a bald bird with only a ring of white feathers around its neck. The massive birds soar on the early morning updrafts in the canyon and when we arrived there were 10 to 20 soaring in front of the viewing platforms, which were packed with tourist that had poured out of tour buses, vans and cars the lined the road, and packed the small parking lot. The viewing area looked like it could double as a desert climate botanical garden with a rich and colorful collection of wild flowers and other desert plants crowding the small plain and pouring over the 'edge' of the canyon. However, we were not actually on the edge of the canyon, but closer to half way between the highest peaks that rose, snow capped above us, and the river that looked like a small stream in the shadows below.

Condor flying over the Canyon as tourist snap away with their camera's.  

The condors seemed to have arrived and departed almost on cue for the bus loads of tourists, and after an hour of frantic filming and pictures the birds moved on, as the crowds of tourist returned to their coaches. The departure of the massive condors and thinning of the tourist crowds seemed to amplify the vastness of the canyon. Although I found the distinct canyon rim of the Grand Canyon and the expanse of its mile wide gorge, truly does make it more grand; the size of the Colca Canyon was hard fathom. At the Grand Canyon, I wished I could sprout wings and fly like the condors, to explore the canyon walls, sail out to the peaks and plateaus within the canyon, and gain a greater appreciation of its grandeur. At the Colca canyon, with the towering mountains looming above me, and the depths extending below, the idea of flying felt exhausting. I would have enjoyed sitting a little longer and soaking in the scene, however, the exhausting thought of flying made me happy to return to the bus for the long return trip to Arequipa.

Looking up the canyon.  It did not feel as grand as the Grand Canyon but it is twice as deep.