Arequipa and the Colca Canyon, Peru

Wandering through the brightly coloured alleyways in Santa Catalina convent I found myself transported to another time. A time when nuns would quietly walk through the courtyards filled with bountiful fruit trees and bright bougainvillea. Tenderly cared for geraniums and cacti were sitting in terracotta pots placed against vibrant orange and blue walls. Cavernous rooms featuring modest beds and hard stone floors could be explored; homely comforts were few and far between except for in one room where scatter cushions were provided on the floor for the nuns to take a seat and read. Now, the city within a city is a place for tourists to explore, though the magic of the quiet place still remains.

Colourful Santa Catalina Convent

Geraniums 

The convent was by far my favourite place in all of Peru's White City, Arequipa. We arrived on a wet evening after crossing the border from Bolivia. Awaking the next day and in recovery from a full week of altitude sickness in La Paz we explored slowly and thoughtfully. Breakfast at a cute café on a corner set us up for the day and after strolling the streets we visited Santa Catalina convent.

Succulents and Blue Walls

The following day we were awake for pick up at 4am; we had booked a tour to see Colca Canyon. The 100 mile drive was long and took us yet again to high altitude. Thankfully the stops involved very little walking. We stopped for breakfast which consisted of bread and jam; if you've travelled in South America for any length of time then you'll be familiar with this typical breakfast set up, a few months in and I'm frankly tired of it. We popped into a little church; outside ladies in traditional dress showed off their pompom wearing alpacas which for a few coins you can photograph.

We continued on to the canyon which was breathtaking. It is the second deepest in the world at approximately 3,400 metres at its deepest point, twice as deep as the Grand Canyon in the U.S. The clouds gathered in the canyon below us and we were lucky to see majestic Andean condors soaring above our heads. The scale was vast and different to how I'd imagined. Growing up seeing photographs of the Grand Canyon meant I was expecting a dusty and barren landscape but the Colca Canyon is lush and green with crops and vegetation. Locals have preserved the Incan era terraces which lends a distinctly Peruvian feeling to the landscape.

We drove on to a little town where the guide seemed to know everyone; he took us through a bustling market where butchered animals hung from hooks surrounded by flies, fruits and vegetables were piled high on little tables and there were sacks overflowing with seeds and grain. We ate a buffet lunch on a long table with the rest of the group though we secretly bartered for a better price. There was spaghetti and tomato sauce, a Spanish style omelette with potato, salads and French fries. After gorging on as much food as we could manage we waddled back to the minibus to start the long journey back to Arequipa.

Lush Colca Canyon

Above the Clouds in Colca Canyon

The next day we booked a coach to leave that evening so we visited the cathedral on the leafy Plaza de Armas and ate lunch at a Mexican hole-in-the-wall café which was delicious. Cusco was our next stop which to me meant only one thing; Machu Picchu was merely days away.

 🎥 Peru video:

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Travelling as an Introvert

Just to give a little bit of context; I've always been quiet. In school I'd never raise my hand even if I knew the answer, teachers would comment that I was a daydreamer although they didn't phrase it in such a nice way. Dozy, that's what they used to say to me. It's a memory that still hurts. I'd pretend to write so that I wasn't asked a question in front of the class. Despite appearances I was paying attention, I just never let on; because if I looked like I knew the answer I might be asked about it or singled out. Being singled out in front of the class was the worst.

Quiet, shy with anxiety induced blushing. That last part is a wordy way of saying 'I go red all the time'. Not only if I'm embarrassed but if I see a friend in the street I'm not expecting to see or if more than a couple of people have their attention on me. Public speaking is a no-go and I find it very tough even joining a conversation at a party. Being kind of quiet is one thing but the fear of going red when I speak makes things so much harder.

There are lots of people I wish I had the courage to talk to more; when I was at university I had a network of my closest friends but struggled widening the net, I couldn't just walk up to someone and have a chat even if we were on the same course. The blushing would stop me, if it was someone I was intimidated by in any way or someone I admired then I knew I would embarrass myself so it was easier to not say anything. On my Fine Art degree I think I only had one critique with the whole class in three years, on my Fine Art Masters degree I didn't have any.

Now, being a shy introvert while travelling is hard. I'm lucky in that I have an outgoing other half who is able to chat to people freely. He can engage with strangers easily, enjoys socialising and doesn't fret about saying the wrong thing. He asks the questions and starts the conversations. I sit there listening, sometimes I try to chime in but a lot of the time I don't. If there's a social gathering going on in the hostel I usually won't take part. I find crowds or more than a few people overwhelming and small talk very tiring. The other day in Bogotá for example; Craig joined in with cocktails and chat with a large group of backpackers while I retreated to a quiet table to write in my journal and pet the hostels German shepherd. Like that wonderful Gemma Correll illustration I'm the one on the floor stroking the pets at a party. I worry that I'm perceived as grumpy or unfriendly sometimes because I'm not joining in. I'm sure my other half wishes I was more outgoing too; it would make things easier. It's always up to him to ask the bus driver if we're going the right way or to get directions from a stranger in the street. 

This is a very personal thing for me to write. Because being introverted, shy and awkward induces anxiety and makes me a very emotional person. On this trip I've cried a lot, when things haven't gone as planned or when I've found being away too overwhelming. I'll sometimes think about my quiet place at home, visions of surrounding myself in the cosy duvet that's thousands of miles away. 

Only in recent years have I learned why I am the way I am and by learning a little about myself I've also learned to accept myself a little more too. I read Quiet by Susan Cain recommended to me by an online friend. It radically changed the way I thought of myself and helped me to understand what being an introvert means. I've learned that I'm an INFJ personality type, apparently the rarest. It means that I'm a person that needs time to recharge often, that I can also be highly sensitive too. It also means that I'm a great listener to those that I feel connected with and that I have a great deal of compassion for others. It's what makes me a creative person, I see the world in a different way and I think (and overthink) a lot. 

I find it so challenging to travel, even with a partner because it goes against that voice in my head that says stay at home, you don't want to interact today. But, travelling is what I do and it is a big part of who I am. I've learned that I can be adventurous and quiet. I carve time out to be by myself which is a hard thing to do in a backpacker community but it's necessary for me. And I'm learning not to apologise for it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's ok, I'm realising that I don't have to be an outgoing person to be a traveller. It's not all Full Moon Party's and bar crawls. It's whatever I want it to be, slow days at a hostel, peaceful walks through national parks and plenty of time for contemplation.

Over the course of this trip I've worried somewhat about the way I'm perceived by others but by being away and out of my comfort zone I'm slowly learning not to care and to instead think about the positives of being an introvert. I take time to listen; to birds singing and to people chatting. I look more closely at details and thoughtfully leave myself notes to remember how I felt at that moment. I let my imagination run wild and ponder the big questions. I'm grateful to be able to see the world through my own special lens, one that transforms landscapes into paintings and flora into poetry. Being the quiet girl allows me the time to contemplate and when all is said and done I wouldn't change that for anything. 

Are you a quiet person, a traveller or both? Does it feel like being introverted stands in your way at all or that it defines you in a negative or a positive way? I'd love to know your thoughts. 

La Paz, Bolivia

We arrived in La Paz early after an overnight journey by coach. We were staying in the Sopocachi area near the cable car station. After breakfast at the hostel we got chatting to Ollie and Deniz and took a taxi to the Witches Market together. We wandered around the stalls which sold everything from llama jumpers to coca leaves.

We had lunch at a café, the little old lady owner said she'd make us big sandwiches to entice us to come in. When the sandwiches came we couldn't help but laugh, we ended up with two tiny slices of bread toasted on one side with a slice of cheese in the middle. We paid the bill and promptly moved to another café as we were all still hungry. While Deniz and I relaxed in the café Craig and Ollie popped to the tour office opposite and booked our Death Road tour for the following day.

Death Road

Little Helper

Morning, we rushed out of the hostel to get to the meeting point about twenty minutes away. I hadn't a clue what to pack for a day cycling down 'the worlds most dangerous road' and was feeling quite nervous. We boarded the minibus and met our guide. After a stop to pick up more passengers and waterproofs we were on our way. We were given coveralls, helmets and pads to wear and then we arrived at the start of the cycle. First of all came the safety advice which was pretty basic, there were two rules; "don't be f*cking stupid" and "don't take f*cking selfies". The guides words not mine. We toasted to Pachamama with a bottle of liquid which was almost pure alcohol, a drop on the ground, a drop on the front tyre and a swig ourselves. The alcohol burned my throat and made everyone pull the most unattractive faces.

We started the ride, the ground was damp and the air slightly misty. The road was smooth tarmac which made riding a breeze. Craig started to get frustrated as we were at the back and the girls in front were going too slow for his liking, for me it was about the perfect speed. The rain came, drenched us then went away again and the scenery was very impressive despite the low clouds clinging to the landscape. We stopped just before a bridge and cycled along a small stretch of road that was all loose stones and gravel. We were told if you can handle this then you can do Death Road. I was a little bit apprehensive, my wheels seemed like they could easily slip on the rocks so I was slightly worried about the more challenging terrain yet to come.

Cycling Under Waterfalls

Crossing the Finish Line

We threw the bikes on the minibus roof and drove to the start of Death Road. The landscape was phenomenal. Steep tree covered cliff faces and a dirt track that wound its way through the landscape were what faced us. We started the ride, I stayed at the back to ease into it. Eventually I overtook someone and found myself on the road with no one else to be seen. I had the whole landscape to myself and it was glorious. The road surface was better than I'd predicted and I kept to a speed I was comfortable with. During the ride we went under waterfalls and dangled our legs over the cliff edge for photos, we rode through deep rivers where my shoes filled to the brim with cold water and I managed to get so far behind I didn't know which way to go. By the end my brakes were starting to give up and so was I. For a ride that is primarily downhill I was exhausted. Craig was in his element all day, he raced ahead and I barely saw him. At the end as I rode in I got a high five and was so relieved, I'd not come off, not veered off the edge and had survived! We ate a buffet lunch and then headed back, the journey home would be a few hours so our guide suggested we buy bottles of cuba libre and turn it into a party bus. We turned the music up and drank our cocktails, singing along and chatting. As the sun set some of us *cough* Craig *cough* started to feel a bit worse for wear. By the end of the journey I think we were all broken, I saw some things which still make me smile and cringe to this day. But, what happens on the party bus stays on the party bus.

The next day we decided to take a ride on the cable cars to see views of La Paz from above. The locals use the cable cars in the same way as the buses so the ride was very cheap, it's a normal way to commute for them. La Paz from above is a sea of red bricks, all the buildings look the same and the views stretched on for miles. Once on ground level we treated ourselves to dinner at the restaurant we went to with Ollie and Deniz, it was international food and therefore higher prices but was delicious.

La Paz from Above

Sea of Red Brick

The next few days were a blur. We both woke up feeling absolutely awful. My whole body ached and I couldn't work out what was wrong. La Paz is at high altitude and so we thought maybe that was the reason why we felt so bad. We'd been in high altitude places for a while but had perhaps over exerted ourselves while here and not allowed enough time to acclimatise. We spent a few days in bed only venturing out to go to the pharmacy. We didn't want to stay in our hostel any longer as despite being ill we were being woken by staff late at night to answer questions and couldn't sleep with all the noise of guests coming and going. We moved down the road to a lovely bright room but despite the nice surroundings Craig wasn't improving. I was getting stronger each day but after about four days Craig could barely keep consciousness. I had no idea what to do so I spoke in broken Spanish to the hostel manager. He advised me to take him by taxi to a nearby clinic, altitude sickness can be fatal in serious cases and I was worried sick. Earlier in the year Craig had been admitted to hospital twice with kidney stones and all those feelings of worry resurfaced. I guided him to the taxi which the lovely hostel manager had prepaid for us, he could barely walk. Once at the clinic he was in a hospital bed within minutes and hooked up to a drip and oxygen. After several hours in hospital his strength was returning. Somehow he'd developed a throat infection alongside altitude sickness so he was given antibiotics and soroche medication to take.

The following day we left La Paz and took a coach to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca, we were at even higher altitude but it was the only way to move on with our trip and continue to Peru. Our plans of spending days island hopping on the colossal lake were dashed, neither of us were feeling well enough. We spent our two nights wandering very slowly, eating and watching films in our hotel room. It was a shame to end Bolivia in such a way but we can't dwell, we saw some amazing sights in our four weeks in the country.

 🎥 Bolivia:

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