March 24: Arequipa

(Note: As I tell the story of this particular day, I'm using several images from the Santa Catalina Convent as a backdrop. Though, chronologically, I'm not quite there yet, it was just too amazing not to show as many photographs as possible.) I woke up to a perfect Arequipa morning, sunshine blasting in through the window of my single room (S/. 35.75). Simply opening my eyes to this clean slate made me feel a million times better than the day before. Determined to have a great day, I strolled downstairs to the dining room and enjoyed a complimentary breakfast of tea, bread, and fruit. Unlike the previous night when I first came into the hostel, there now seemed to be more signs of life - granted, most of these signs appeared to be nursing Arequipa hangovers.

I explored the hostel a bit more and found it to be everything one could possibly ask for in a budget travel accommodation... free internet, ping pong, TV room, bar, grassy courtyard, and more. Feeling completely relaxed, I began speaking with a friendly Dutch girl, and we decided to walk on over to the Plaza de Armas. This was my only remaining fear about The Point. At least judging from my cab ride over, I expected this to be a rather long walk just to get out of our residential neighborhood and into the heart of the city. Fifteen minutes. That's all it took. It was quite nice, actually. Too often, while traveling in countries like Peru, you find yourself in one of two types of places - the ultra touristy, or the ultra impoverished. Cuzco and Copacabana are perfect examples of the former. Conversely, most of Puno and various villages along the way represent the latter. Strolling along these middle class streets of Arequipa I felt as though I had a better idea as to what life was really like in this country. It wasn't a tourist trap, and it wasn't a slum (or basic needs community). It was just Peruvian life at, perhaps, its more common level.

The Plaza de Armas was spectacular. Arequipa gets its nickname "The White City" because of the white volcanic rock (sillar) that is used in the construction of many of its buildings. With almost 300 days of sun every year, that sun reflects off the walls around town creating an explosion of bright light. Dutch girl (who probably has an actual name) and I decided to, first, check out the San Francisco Cathedral. I sort of tired on Cathedrals somewhere around number ten million during my 2003 trip to Europe, but I was, nevertheless, quite impressed with Arequipa's. Outside, the square was teeming with life on this glorious day. Dutch girl, on the other hand, was teeming with parasites and decided to head back to the hostel. Back on my own, I decided to check out some of the local shops, first searching for an acoustic bass guitar and then some food. Though I found plenty of guitars and music shops right around the square, my ongoing search for a decent acoustic bass would have to wait until I got back to The States. Food, however, was plentiful. I chose to eat at El Turko, a small dönor kebab joint with a cozy, outdoor patio. Two things that need to happen in America: dönor kebabs and large, share-able beers.

After lunch I finally made my way over to Monasterio de Santa Catalina. Not to downplay Machu Picchu or Lake Titicaca, but this was undoubtedly one of the top highlights of the entire trip. As far as tourist activities go in South America, a tour of the convent is a little pricy. At S/. 25, I spoke with several backpackers who were actually opting not to go. Horrible idea... just pony up the eight bucks and enjoy one of the most beautiful architectural wonders you might ever see. Construction of the monastery began in 1579, forty years after the founding of Arequipa. Over the centuries, as it continued to grow and expand, it became a city within the city - a citadel that encompasses a large city block. Give yourself at least a couple of hours as there's really no point in rushing through this one.

The streets within the monastery honor several cities in Spain, their names etched into the brightly painted walls. At one time, 450 nuns resided here, and their unique lifestyle is beautifully preserved in each of the rooms one encounters along the walking self-tour. From the gorgeous courtyards to the remarkable cloisters, there's nothing about this place that doesn't make you appreciate the time and effort that went into both it's design and construction. The monastery is open from 9:00am to 4:00pm... the final exit time is 5:00pm.

After the monastery, I decided to chill out for a little while at one of the many upstairs restaurants overlooking the Plaza de Armas. I randomly chose a place called Sonccollay. Sitting on the balcony, enjoying my view of all the action down below, I ordered a mug of gourmet chicha, the Andean fermented corn beer. The chicha I had tried from the villagers on the Inca Trail was quite foul, but my S/. 3 Jora Aha (Purple Corn Beer) was delicious and sweet. While I nursed my low alcohol beverage and wrote in my journal, I enjoyed an Andean folk band playing further down the balcony at a different restaurant. It was a perfectly laid back afternoon, and I couldn't have been happier with the way things had turned out in Arequipa.

As I was finishing my chicha, the owner of the restaurant came out to say hello. He was a large, burly man with lots of hair and great pork chop sideburns - a Peruvian Elvis. His name was Walter Bustamante, and he invited me to come tour his kitchen. I was well aware that he was just trying to convince me to order dinner, but I was rather interested in checking the place out. What I figured to be just a hard sales pitch turned out to be a great experience. A small, dark room with a fireplace and large grill is where all the magic happens. With no modern cooking tools, and with no pre-prepared dishes, Walter explained the unique cooking process he had learned from his family elders. Then he opened up the grill to reveal a giant alpaca leg, glistening on top of large, black volcanic river rocks heated by hot coals underneath. I was sold. Having promised Walter that I would return the following night for an alpaca dinner, he sent me up to the roof with one of his servers to enjoy the view.

I decided to walk back to The Point before it got to dark, and found almost every guest in the TV room watching The Constant Gardener. I joined the group for an hour or so and then showered up for what I hoped would be a good night out on the town. Friday night is rum night at the hostel, and, between the hours of 8 and 10, one could throw back as many cuba libres as humanly possible for S/. 12. Danny, the Irish bartender, made quite sure that everybody got enough. Eventually, after ordering a pizza with another British guy, several of us settled in for some pre-going-out foosball and extreme Jenga. Extreme Jenga is pretty much like regular Jenga, except for the fact that the blocks are sawed off 2X4s that get dangerously restacked on top after they are pulled. People in other countries can actually hear the crash when the tower finally collapses, but only the faulty puller has to digest the horrible, green penalty shot. I have no idea what kind of liquor was in the glass, but it didn't seem to go down easy for any of the punished. Finally, around 11:30pm, we set off in multiple cabs for the Plaza de Armas. My remaining memories from the rest of the night involve cuba libre pitchers at Brewhouse, a nightclub called Deja Vu, and a taxi ride home while eating the spiciest dönor kebab known to mankind. I must've asked for it with everything. I don't even want to think about what everything may have actually been.

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