Chavin de Huantar - Ruinas y Cabras

After a few days of rest and Spanish lessons, it was time again for a bold trip. And I had met just the characters to take it with: Ranid, the Ozzy (´Australian´ for the ones not in the know) bush guide named after a frog, and the lovely and very Swiss Ariane, school teacher and improvisation actress. You can imagine that that a day with the three of us could hardly be uneventful.

We took the 9.30 bus to Chavín de Huantar (which left around 11) and had a jolly nice ride through valleys, mountains and a mine (which they claimed was a tunnel). Ranid was lost in his Australian folk music while Ariane and I discussed the entirety of Greek Mythology in our 20 word spanish vocabulary.

The sun was shining as we entered the little village of Chavín, where we were kicked off the bus. The edge of the village was the site of the aptly named Chavín culture, which flourished around 500 BC in the highlands of the Cordillera Blanca. They were renowned for their pottery, metalwork, textiles and building prowess and exterted a significant cultural influence over the northern highlands of Peru ... (you still there ?) ... the site was not very big, but impressive enough. I always feel a kind of awe in places like this and it was awe that I felt here. There was a ´sunken plaza´ and a significant building with mazelike hallways which we could enter to wander and play around in.



But the real adventure was the return trip. As the bad kids on a school trip (and that was how we felt), we took possession of the back bench of the bus. Ranid performed the amazing feat of finishing a take away bowl of ceviche on the back bench during a section of road where the average location of the back of the bus was 2 meters above the road. Ariane filled the time practising the singing of her ´aaaaaaaaas´ on the bumpy road. I had to be the responsible again of course, performing useful but disappointing experiments in the same conditions with a nice and shiny bottle of Inka Cola.

We had some delays at the mine. Apparently their digging for the fountain of youth was not to be disturbed by passing vehicles, but soon enough we were on our way again. Not long after, the bus stopped. Some people wanted to get on. Some people and their baggage, a lively collection of sheep, goats and pigs, about 15 in total. So the top of the bus was appointed the cattle section. The only problem was getting the animals there. (Understatement follows) they did not want to come ...
An entertainign chase scene developed. Stout men being outwitted by the pigs and sheep they were trying to grab. Pigs squealing as if they were being taken to the slaughter (which might be pretty near to the truth).

It took a while but they got all of them and one by one hauled them onto the bus where they were tied down ... all but one. One clever and brave little cabra (goat) managed to run down a ravine and up a cliff, out of reach from its persuers. Being worth about 12 euros, the brave men decided not to give it up and as they went into ´dead or alive´ mode. They threw rocks and boulders from the top of the ridge, but to no avail. The goat had won its freedom, celebrated by a silent cheer from the three gringos in the back of the bus.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. While Ariane slept, Ranid and I gossiped heaps about her as it fits gentlemen. And then there was the little incident with the goat that died on the way, bleeding the side windows of the bus red in gushes. But we made it home in one piece, returning to Huaraz in the dark evening.

It was a Fullon! day.