I write from Arequipa...

We are in the lovely "white" colonial city of Arequipa ("white" because many of the buildings are constructed of native white volcanic rock...very beautiful in a textured way). To get here, we survived the 6 hour bus ride to Nasca, and the 9 hour bus ride to Arequipa. That the buses were are embarrasingly plush helped (our seats, in addition to being very wide and cushy, reclined all the way...those of us in first class had our own bathroom, and on the Arequipa leg we were served a perfectly acceptable meal of lomo saltado and some gray, mucousy mass in a bowl...no bingo on the Arequipa leg). And best of all, there were no robberies of the bus!

In Nasca, we hired a taxi driver to take us to the mirador, a platform on the outskirt of town, from which you could see two of the Nasca figurines. The figures are drawn into the desert floor, are quite large, and have lasted (to Kristina´s continuing dismay) for 2,400 years. No one is quite sure who made them or why (the brilliant nut Eric Von Daniken (sp?) made a load of money arguing that they were drawn by the ancient astronauts, given some credence by the fact that you can really only see them from above...even from our mirador, for example, you could only see the "hand" and the "tree" (or at least that what they said they were)). We developed an alternative theory that the figures were created by townspeople in the 20s to create a tourist industry. As they say in Espanol, es posible. Kristina and I (we were the only ones on the platform...Riki and Malu took one look and huffed...as if to say, "what´s the big deal" and descended to shoot the shit with the taxi driver) argued about the lines, their significance, and exactly what they depicted. No conclusions. Our taxi guy took us to a hill nearby and made us climb it too...from that rocky perch we got to see lots more lines that seemed to emanate from our rock. Malu was so moved, he took a piss on the hill.

Our driver convinced us to head over to the Chauchilla Cemetery which, we were told, featured ancient, "pre-Inca mummies." Down a nauseatingly bouncy, dusty road, we soon found ourselves in a spectacular valley surrounded by beautiful desert mountains. Unfortunately, the cemetery stank of fakery. There were "grave sites," each covered with a little thatched roof, in which you would find "mummies," with accoutrement. They even hired some lackeys to pose as archaeologists...they would look around to see if anyone was watching, and pick up a brush and hit a rock or two. Pitiful. We lasted about 2 and a half grave sites and called it quits, headed to the museum where Kristina took the liberty of changing a major poopy diaper next to a child mummy.

Made it back in time to catch the 9 hour bus to Arequipa. Plush seats again. Spectacular journey, with desert moonscape on one side, the thunderous Pacific on the other. I took the liberty of popping a motion sickness pill and all was right. Good chat with Lady K and sweet Kanahe, interpeted occasionally by demands from the boys in front of us (Riki and Malu).

Arrived in Arequipa around midnight to find that our transfer was not at the bus station to greet us. So we, picture this, three worn adults, a rambunctious but tired 5 year old, and sweet Kanahe, set off across the dark bus station parking lot to attempt to score a taxi, in the dark, and in the cold. We managed after a few minutes (and he did not even try to rob or strangle us). But he dropped us off on a completely deserted street in front of our hotel, the door was locked, and it took awhile for anyone to answer. Not an all together pleasant situation. But taken in stride nonetheless (take that Pete).

Our hotel, the Casa del Melgar, is a beautiful colonial hacienda built in the 1800s, with twists and turns and staircases and courtyard...beautiful, clean, and cheap. My room felt like a castle, stone walls, cold, and dark...like I love.

We spent the day exploring Arequipa (and dealing with the dynamics of a demanding 5 year old (I don´t know how to spell it, but if you speak Cajun French, the appropriate term would be a "pesta mezair")...the 4 month old continues to be a complete and utter angel, smiles almost constantly, no demands, no whining, and always accommodating...I have been around a lot of children in my life and this one is truly amazing...I will take him). And on that note, one of the great unexpected pleasures of this trip is to watch people, particularly locals, try to figure us out. They see Kanahe first...and everyone googoos all over him. Then they see Malu and realize they´re brothers. Kristina is clearly the mama, as she is attached at all times to one of the children. But then there´s Riki, dark, bearded, mysterious and usually frowning, and me, oily and plump with bad hair...and there´s immediate and profound cognitive dissonance. The pieces of the puzzle do not fit. Some are brave enough to ask, "Where´s the papa?" Kristina laughs, and eventually explains. But few walk away happy or satisfied. There´s just something that´s not quite right. But everyone, everywhere, adores Kanahe...and touch him and poke him and coo at him. Professional women, policemen, Incan women. And when they find out he´s only 4 months, the cooing and giggling and adoration only worsens. We have come to exploit him, of course...so when we need to ask for a late checkout, Kristina approaches the desk with baby in hand, pleads for the extension, is refused and says, "Es para the baby" and they relent. I will never travel again without an infant.

And for you naysayers (Pete), we have made every bus and contact so far without incident (that is not to say that my blood pressure was not tested). And we continue to roll with the punches.

Oh, and today, after promenading around town to see the big plaza here, we jettisoned Riki to the internet cafe and headed over to the Santa Catalina convent. This place has been cloistered for something like 300 years and finally opened to the public (but for a corner where cloistered nuns still live) in the last few decades. It is truly a city within a city, spectacular colonial architecture, inflected by the use of the local stone...and beautiful indigoes, terra cotta red and muchas geraniums and twisted religious art (one bloody Jesus statue that even scared me). Kristina is a little peeved at what she perceives to be excess on the part of the so-called austere nuns...but nonetheless is considering moving in.

Off tomorrow with a private driver into the Colca Canyon where we hope to ride ponies on the precipitous mountain trail and see Andean condors catch thermals before our very eyes. We spend the night at the very end of the trail in the Colca Canyon and head back to Arequipa the following day (Kristina insisting that we stop at the stinky hot springs on the way back).

For Bonnye, the grandlala: everyone is in good health, in generally good spirits, and behaving. Stop worrying.