Lost in Colca Mayo

A word to the wise: “I have a plan,” is Peruvian for “We’ll make it out alive. Probably.”

This is how I found myself rushing down the road in a rusty compact car, reggaeton blasting as we swerved along cliffs and drove straight through waterfalls. My Peruvian companions happily snacked on maracuya popsicles as if this roller coaster ride were no different than lounging on a beach, whereas my fellow American companion shot me a look from the passenger seat with every rattle of the car. “What did we get ourselves into?” it said.

It had all started a few days earlier. I was seated at the table in the kitchen, sipping my coffee as my host mom salsa danced around the living room, a common routine for us during my six months living and studying in Cusco, Peru. Luis Fonsi was playing through the speakers, and Mama Su pulled me up from the table to join her. “Échame la culpaaa,” she sang, slightly off key.

The front door burst open, and in came my host brother Edu. He was wearing his sunglasses despite the drippy day, and in typical Edu fashion his hair stuck up in every direction from his motorcycle helmet. He laughed at my horrible attempt to salsa dance but came across the room to join us.

“Gina,” he said when the song was over, “How would you like to go on an adventure this weekend? Somewhere sunny?”

I looked out at the drippy day outside, and answered yes without even thinking to ask any more questions. Cusco’s rainy season had been incessant.

“I’ll take care of everything,” Edu said. “We’ll leave this weekend. Trust me, I have a plan.”

We left that Friday at noon. Joining us was a fellow exchange student named Katie, who lived right above us with Mama Su’s sister, Tia Janet. The fourth and final member of our crew was our next-door neighbor Otto, whom we’d become quite attached to in part because of his adventurous spirit and in part because he was as dreamy as a telenovela star.

We took a taxi from our home of Villa Periodista to an unfamiliar part of town, a street crowded with people selling everything from fresh fruit to pirated DVDs. Edu and Otto navigated the crowd without a problem, speaking so fast the words hardly sounded like Spanish and haggling with an attitude that could only be acquired through years of practice. When Edu decided he was finally satisfied with a price, we all loaded into the back of the car and took off.

“Colca Mayo,” Edu finally revealed as we drove away from the city of Cusco into the Sacred Valley. “That’s our destination. Thermal baths only 4 hours from here!”

Before I knew it, we were winding through the Peruvian countryside, snow capped mountains speeding past the car windows and only slowing down when a woman waved us over from the side of the road to sell us frozen maracuya. Our car climbed the tallest mountain I’d ever seen, and soon we were winding through what felt like another planet, the fog so thick outside our windows that the world appeared as though covered in a coat of white paint. We broke out of the fog and into the jungle, crashing through streams rushing over the road and rolling past fields of bananas, quinoa and maize. Finally we reached the town of Santa Marie, and all happily collapsed out of the car and into the sunshine.

“What’s next, Edu?” Katie asked, as there were no hot springs in sight, only small, ramshackle buildings and mountains stretching up the sky. It didn’t even appear that Santa Marie had any residents, let alone hot springs.

Edu clearly did not have a plan, but he would never admit it. Instead, he wandered through the the ghost town of Santa Marie, shouting aimlessly until one store owner begrudgingly stuck his head into the street. We all happily clamored over to the tienda, loaded up on fresh apples and imported Coca Cola, and awaited further instructions from Edu. Instead of directing us any further, Edu pulled a freshly rolled joint out of his pocket and lit up.

His joint was down to a stub before he noticed us watching.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked us, seemingly unaware that he was, in fact, the one we were waiting for. “Let’s go, Colca Mayo is just a short walk that way.”

“Short walk” turned out to mean an hour long stroll down a bumpy dirt road, alongside the fastest moving river I have ever seen. Waves crashed beside us and mountains towered above us, shading us slightly from the low-hanging afternoon sun. Edu walked in front, lighting up another joint, Otto in the middle, heroically carrying all the camping gear, and Katie and I in the back, unashamedly checking out his butt.

We could feel it before we saw it, the steam wafting up the road and turning the dust into puddles of mud under our feet. As we passed the final bend in the road Colca Mayo came into sight, three transparent pools settled within the towering Andes. The adjacent wall was a staggering cliff, from which small waterfalls tumbled over the rocks and splashed into the steaming water below.

We spent hours in the baths that evening, soaking in the thermal water until our fingers were pruny. We jumped from rock shelves into deep pools below and splashed under waterfalls until our skin was flushed pink. Finally, we floated on our backs in the balmy water, staring up at the piercing stars.

It was only when we finally exited the baths and sat in a circle snacking on wafers that Katie dared to ask.

“Edu,” she said, her southern drawl apparent even in a foreign language, “Where are we going to sleep tonight?”

Edu didn’t know. He didn’t have a plan. But at this point, plans were overrated. We were on this adventure, and we’d make it out alive. Probably.

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