Day 39 – Colca Canyon

I was picked up from the hotel at 6.30am and after waving farewell to the owner – who I am sure had a new pair of socks on – we headed off for the first day of a two-day tour of Colca Canyon which if you happen to be sitting next to any Americans you can smugly tell them is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon (which is not even a real canyon, but that is another story). Ciara and I had deliberated long and hard as to whether to take a bus tour of the canyon or do a walking tour. We finally opted for the former, conscious that we would be doing a big trek from Cusco in a few days time. The fact that the walk started at 3am did not do much to help its cause either.

I was now at the mercy of the dreaded 'tour-group' and after about two hours I realised this one was going to be particularly bad. Anyone of a certain age in England will be aware of the sight before and after school of the 'Crystals Van' for those who are not, I shall elaborate, the Crystals Van was a minibus that would pick-up and drop-off children that did not attend normal schools because they were deemed – in modern parlance – special, or in the language of the times – the spastic mentalists. I was now on that van.

My favourite character was the bloke who put his bag in the overhead rack only for it to fall on his head – FOUR times. Nominee for the 'Person most likely to have their life ended before the end of the day' award was for the German girl who bought along a set of pan pipes and proceeded to play them for the entire morning. Sorry, that is not entirely true, she tried to teach herself how to play them for the entire morning. I can't begin to explain the reeking nuns.

At just after noon we arrived at the rather shabby hotel we would be staying at for the night, and not a moment too soon as I had been having a bit of trouble with my stomach due to a rather badly cooked chicken the night before, no sooner had we got into the room than I was in the toilet cursing the miserable chef and saying a quiet apology to the cleaners.

What I didn't know was whilst I headed for the toilet, Ciara had taken an instant dislike to the room and had gone downstairs to ask to be moved, imagine the delight on my face as I walked into the reception two minutes later to hear Ciara say to one of our fellow Colombian passengers 'That's settled then, we'll just swap rooms'. My valiant attempt to run up the stairs and air the room was in vain as the window steadfastly refused to budge and before you could say 'Must be the drains mate' the new occupants were over the threshold, lamenting the worst swap ever made.

The afternoon saw us taken to some volcanic hot springs which were a brilliant blue colour – at least the tourist pool was, the local's pool looked like it had been used to drown the town's dog population. I was more concerned with avoiding the Colombians.