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By
Rolly
Valdivia
Chávez
A
loud
honk
from
the
arriving
bus
sparks
commotion
and
murmurs
in
the
plaza.
Evening
mist
shrouds
numerous
greeting
rituals-hugs,
affectionate
words,
and
even
some
tears
here
in
the
town
of
the
great
canyon.
Twenty-four
hours
have
past
since
our
departure
from
Lima.
I
am
exhausted;
the
road
followed
a
diabolic
line
with
too
many
curves
and
ups
and
downs.
They
say
that
a
trip
to
Cotahuasi,
the
capital
of
La
Unión
at
8,492
feet
above
sea
level,
is
an
adventure
that
begins
with
a
very
long,
very
tiring,
and
even
torturous
road
trip.
They
are
not
lying.
The
motor
stops
growling.
Now
it
purrs
as
though
it
wishes
to
shake
off
exhaustion
or
show
its
satisfaction
at
having
beaten
the
challenges
of
the
road.
The
passengers,
mostly
sports
enthusiasts
from
Lima,
Lunahuaná
and
Arequipa,
tumble
out
and
begin
to
claim
their
bags
and
stretch
their
legs
in
the
town's
plaza.
Cotahuasi,
which
means
"House
of
the
Deep"
in
the
native
Quechua,
beckons
adventurers
with
a
seemingly
endless
variety
of
challenges.
Cotahuasi
Canyon
is
the
deepest
in
the
world
at
11,
488
feet
deep,
an
authentic
arsenal
of
adventure
activities,
a
bastion
of
adrenaline
riddled
with
paths
that
end
up
at
lagoons
or
in
the
majestic
mountains,
or
in
forests
sculpted
by
the
inspired
blowing
of
the
winds.
In
contrast,
Cotahuasi
town
breathes
tranquility
with
its
streets
in
orderly
disarray,
or
it
rings
devout
nostalgia
with
the
dissonant
clap
of
its
church
bells.
There
is
no
rush
here.
Time
is
frivolously
spent
in
conversation
in
the
main
plaza
with
its
dying
gardens
and
its
ever-dry
pond,
or
scrutinizing
the
sinuous
silhouette
of
the
highland
horizon.
This
night
hides
in
its
shadows
a
surprise
of
happiness
mixed
with
faith
and
of
prayers
wet
with
alcoholic
beverages.
Prayers,
dances,
and
toasting
at
the
Fiesta
de
las
Cruces,
celebrated
each
year
on
the
1st
of
May.
The
town
is
filled
by
religion
coming
alive,
shaking
off
the
drowsy
and
perpetual
calm
because
the
people-sorrowful
faces,
wax
candles
in
cracked
and
trembling
hands-take
the
crosses
that
protect
their
community
to
be
blessed
by
the
priest.
Outdoors,
under
the
starlit
sky,
vibrate
a
harp
and
a
violin.
A
human
ring
is
formed
and
in
the
center,
someone
performs
the
scissor
dance-in
one
hand
he
carries
metal
sheets
that
look
like
scissors
and
serve
to
keep
the
beat.
The
danza'k
(Quechua
for
this
kind
of
dancer)
jumps
and
turns
with
amazing
flexibility,
just
as
his
ancestors
did.
A
new
day
is
born.
The
sun
comes
out
and
colors
the
fields.
Today
the
adventure
begins:
rock
climbing,
mountain
biking,
and
hiking.
We
start
out
with
a
trip
to
the
Sipia
waterfall
in
a
vehicle
barely
adequate
to
make
the
journey
up
the
winding
ribbon
of
road.
En
route
in
our
tiny
van,
amid
the
loud
crackling
of
the
radio,
we
are
told
that
the
first
trickle
of
adventurers
began
arriving
in
the
canyon
in
the
mid
1980's.
At
the
time,
the
House
of
Depth
was
visited
only
occasionally
by
sports
enthusiasts
anxious
to
explore
its
"rooms",
ideal
for
many
exciting,
risky
activities
that
were
basically
unknown
to
the
locals.
But
the
big
burst
of
adventure
tourism
has
yet
to
arrive,
as
very
few
come
here
to
open
their
wings
over
Huyñao
peak,
blow
up
their
boats
on
the
banks
of
Alca
town,
throw
their
ropes
over
the
steep
and
thunderous
Sipia
waterfall
or
simply
walk
its
prodigious
valleys
and
its
ancient
communities.
All
is
possible
in
this
corner
of
the
planet,
but
very
little
actually
happens.
Despite
its
incredible
potential
as
a
tourist
destination,
the
area
seems
to
be
ignored.
"That
will
change,
with
time
and
work,"
says
the
optimistic
president
of
the
Association
Ñan
Perú
(the
Peruvian
Road),
James
Posso,
who
has
been
organizing
bicycle
tourism
and
eco-tourism
festivals
in
the
region
since
1998.
Posso,
an
engineer
by
profession,
led
the
team
of
professionals
responsible
for
measuring
the
depth
of
Cotahuasi
Canyon
between
1991
and
1994.
The
study
was
conclusive.
Cotahuasi,
declared
as
a
reserve
for
tourism
on
March
3,
1998,
is
the
deepest
canyon
in
the
world
at
11,
488
feet
(measured
in
the
sector
of
Ninacocha,
near
the
town
of
Quechualla),
beating
its
neighbor
Colca
Canyon
(previously
thought
to
be
the
deepest)
for
first
place
by
763
feet.
The
road
runs
out.
The
informative
talk
is
over.
We
have
to
walk
to
see
Sipia.
One,
two,
three
steps.
A
mule
driver
mutters
a
greeting.
Heart
pumping,
throat
dry.
Dust
abounds,
and
bees
buzz
but
don't
sting.
We
cross
two
suspension
bridges
that
sway
in
the
wind
and
suffer
under
the
weight
of
the
travelers.
Continued
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