Traditional Andean women wear colorful wool leggings, hoop skirts, multiple wool sweaters, and black bowler hats. Sheep are abundant so the reason for wool is obvious, but European style bowler hats and hoop skirts?! "it is interesting to note that all bowler hats you see worn..trace back to the 1880's, when an enterprising British hat salesman, anxious to dispose of a factory overrun, convinced indigenous leaders that the hats were considered the rage in Europe. As European fashion was considered the ultimate word in civilized standards, the hats (and, incidentally, those ubiquitous billowy hoop skirts) became--and remain--the style norm for indigenous women in the Peruvian and Bolivian Andes." (Doing Business in the New Latin America: A Guide to Cultures, Practices, and Opportunities, by Thomas H Becker).
We are in Arequipa now, though by no means was the trip from Huancavelica to Arequipa a walk in the park. Leaving Huancavelica at 7 pm, our rickety bus took the trip in stride--a mere 11 hours of rough dirt roads between us and Ica, our coastal transportation transfer location before the 12 hour ride (on paved roads!!!) to Arequipa after a five hour nap in a hostel with pillows that may have been made with rocks. The dirt road through the Andes is not for the faint-hearted. The steamy bus which smelled of wet wool and body odor, had to make three point turns to navigate the curves down the treacherous single lane "highway", and passengers who couldn't afford seats sat on the isle side armrests, making for a rather cozy environment. Later, as we crossed a 5,000+ meter pass around midnight, our proximity to our wool clad highland neighbors proved to be a godsend because the bus windows leaked the frigid mountain air, dropping the already damp and cool temperature of the unheated vehicle. The bus stopped every ten minutes or so to pick up highlanders waiting for transportation on the side of the pitch black road, and again to drop off others who would walk away from the bus in to what appeared to be a wasteland, the darkness enveloping them long before anyone could tell if signs of life were about.
Despite the vulnerability of obviously being tourists, no one took advantage of us. Our bags were untouched, despite the ample opportunity for pulling them from the luggage compartment--even with my persistent window-seat night watch, I could have easily missed our packs in the constant luggage shuffle. Most people smiled at us. Others spoke to us, but I suspect that many people who might have said something, did not, because they only spoke Quechua and not English or Castellano (Spanish is referred to as Castillian, rather than Espanol/Spanish). Arriving at Ica around 5 am, we snagged a hostel, took our first shower (oh my gosh, there was hot water!) in several days, and slept for several hours before heading back to the bus terminal to see how soon we could escape the scalding hot, dirty, dusty tourist trap for the pure mountain air. Ten minutes later we were on a bus bound for Arequipa with tickets for the last two seats. This time we actually had the option of first class, and gratefully accepted, in part for the cushy seats, but mainly for the security of our baggage. The extra 15-20 USD is well worth knowing that you won't lose camping gear!The route took us South along the Panamerican highway, frequently in sight of the crashing waves, and sometimes seemingly on the waterline itself. Navigating rocky cliffs, and coasting along the desert highway, we were occasionally greeted by a shock of bright green farmland. These farmland oases lined trickling rivers, supporting small towns along the highway. Their precarious existence depends on water availability, but the soil and small amount of water supports cattle, asparagus, banana, and cotton.
If only the highway had been this nice....
