Welcome to our second installment of Matthew Bell's adventures from the middle of nowhere Peru! Bell, a NYC-based fashion PR maven, decided to bolt to Peru for a year to teach English and clear his head for a bit. He's posting about his experiences on his blog, Where Eagles Have Been -- and we're giving you special bonus installments here on TripOut.

This week, Matt takes on the deepest canyon in the Western Hemisphere (Sorry, Grand Canyon.), Peru's Cotahuasi Canyon. And things get bumpy, dirty -- and then a bit spiritual. Read on -- and pick up with the rest of Matt's canyon-scaling journey at Where Eagles Have Been, #20.

Peru or the surface of Jupiter? Read on to find out...

"Do you have your seatbelt on?" screamed some woman who I was totally not paying attention to, (In spanish of course). "Permiso? Permiso?"

"Matt!" our guide Joel tugged my shoulder, pulling me out of the trance I was in, "She's  tell you pon seatbelt. Police. Come here."

I laughed politely at his joke and meant to return to my happy place (we had been on the bus for about 4 or 5 hours) when he tapped me again and pointed to his belt and then looked at Lindsey and me.

"Really?" I looked at Lindsey, who looked back at me with the same lost look I had and we tried to find the seat belt. No luck.

But still. Really?

I had just spent a good hour or two trying to ignore the two men seated behind me rambunctiously coughing by  staring at the woman and her baby seated on the floor diagonal to where I was sitting on the bus. She was no different than any other Peruvian mother with her child nestled on her lap, wrapped in a traditional neon pink, black and blue satchel...but she was leaning against my knee, so I really couldn't help myself.

Besides, I think the child thought the bandana I had wrapped around my nose and mouth was amusing.

For a few minutes, she bounced exactly to the tune of the Ace of Base album that the bus driver was blasting though the bus's sound system.

But still.... really really? The police really wanted to make sure I had my seat belt on?

What about the man standing between the mother and an unmarked bag who had fallen asleep propped up on the seat in front of me, face-forward, at a 60 degree angle? Sure, every ten minutes or so his hand would rest against my leg for support until he came to and readjusted, but I don't think that would help him much if the bus tipped over and fell down hills we were winding about.

To ease my mind, which was still most concerned with the two men with the sweats and gutteral coughs behind me, I imagined the man in front of me was the switch on a turntable that changes the channel the music comes out of. Every time he swayed to the right, the music would cut out—which was a lot considering that the road we were on twisted and turned with the might of a JJ Abrams masterpiece.

But my favorite was when Thriller came on. I was that pretty black girl with the curly hair in the Michael Jackson video, backed into the corner of the bus he was the zombie reaching out to...

Bump! Joel and his friend Yolanda let us know that we were in Chuquebambe. The halfway point and where the road from Arequipa to where we were heading turns into a dirt path. "It will be bumpy until we arrive."

I get it Peru. I get it. Nothing in this world is for free. There is a price you pay for beauty. In NYC that means you'll spend an irrational amount of money on some cream so you can look fabulous at a party that a Real Housewife may or may not actually be at... but in Peru it means you'll get to experience the life of a suitcase before you can enter what you'll soon see, appears to be heaven on earth.

The police never got on and we continued on our 10 hour bus ride, slowly but surely bouncing towards Cotahuasi Canyon.

Cotahuasi Canyon is the deepest canyon in the Western Hemisphere and some say the world (there are a few gorges in Asia that are a bit deeper). The closest city is Arequipa which is 10-12 hours by bus—and bus is the only way to get there unless you own a helicopter, car or pair of ruby slippers.

The center of Arequipa is dotted with tourist agencies who sell tours and guides to various locations of note around the area, but they mostly push the city's most popular attraction—Colca Canyon. I forget where I first heard about Cotahuasi, but I had at least 4 different agencies tell me that the only way to "do" that one is to just get on a bus and go. "We don't do tours." "It's too far." "There's not enough interest." "Good luck."

I was lucky enough to stumble into Waiky Tours, an agency whose owner was very familiar with the canyon. He offered to be our tour guide.

Cotahuasi is, as one of the teachers in my school said, "The Jewel of Peru" (Ya mean like the Jewel of the Nile? No one laughed.). Because it is a half-a-day's journey away, not many people ever go there. And for this reason, it has remained completely pure. Like a floor that has never been swept, time has collected here since the dinosaurs roamed the earth and Madonna was sexy.

We arrived in the village of Cotahuasi at 2:30 in the morning. It was difficult to make out where we were in such darkness, but Joel and his english speaking friend Yolanda (A lovely Peruvian girl who, with Lindsey and myself made up the entire group) lugged our broken bodies over to what was to be the first in the most medieval accommodations I have ever laid my body.

Tourism is still not developed here, a fact highlighted by the stain on the wall behind my pillow.

The room wasn't exactly what I wanted to see after that bus ride, and it was here that I temporarily resigned my membership to the civilized world. I put my bag on the chair, hung up any hang ups  about dirty hotel room comforters and got into the bed. We had 3 hours until we had to start our journey the next day and I wasn't going to let stain on the wall behind my pillow keep me awake.

The morning sun revealed a hostel/home that was much prettier on the outside.

After drifting in and out of quasi sleep a few hours, Joel knocked on the door and I popped right out of bed, ate one of the 20 granola-energy bars I had packed, passionately made out with a Red Bull and threw on my bag. It was 5:30am, I had maybe 2 and a half hours sleep and it was time to take the 2 hour combi deeper into the Canyon borders to a small village called Pampamarca.

The combi. Jesus may "llumina" the way, but I just hope he'll save this farmer dude from falling out the door was we curve around extremely deep cliffs.

As far as I can remember, I was now the farthest away from a place people consider "somewhere" than I've ever been. (And together with that "somewhere" being Arequipa—what I consider to be a "nowhere", I can safely say this was the farthest away from home I had ever been.

We pulled into Pampamarca and headed directly into the town's only store, which is a general store, restaurant, fashion boutique and television viewing area all rolled into one. Finally, it was time for breakfast.

People in Cotahuasi appreciate working from home just as much as I do!

"Blaaba dadi aba con igo estomago colon" I heard Joel say in Spanish about our food. "Oh - so its good for your stomach and digestive track?" I replied, happy to finally have a guide who understood my ongoing issues with food here. "No no no," Yolanda stepped into translate, "It's chicken colon." 

So I gobbled up all the rice I could find on my plate that hadn't touched the chicken colon and began to get ready for our first treck to the Bosque de Piedras, a forrest of unusual rock formations, located just up the hill from Pampamarca at 4200 meters. The woman in the store was nice enough to let us keep our heavy backpacks there, so threw my camera around my neck, grabbed some water and then we headed out.

It was around now that I started to wonder if the bus ride, the disgusting bed, lack of true rest and chicken colon for breakfast was going to be worth it. Pampamarca was pretty and the hill looked interesting but did I need to subject myself to this level of pain just to see it? Just because Cotahuasi is very hard to get to and few people ever come here does that mean its going to be something really spectacular?

And so with these questions swimming around my head we start to hike.

The hill is covered by beautiful flowers of yellow, purple, orange, white, blue and red. This red one is called the Cantuta and is the national flower of Peru.

Red and White! Viva Peru!

About a fourth of the way up we passed a local woman, about 70 years old, chugging fermented corn beer (That's called Chicha y'all) out of an old Kola Real bottle. We all take a big sip and pass the bottle back to her. I tell her she chose an excellent place to rest. She smiled, revealing her several teeth.

We asked if we could take her picture and she said no. So here's a picture of a cactus that looks like a dick instead.

A further while up, we passed this ancient Wari tomb called a Chullpa. Joel said that the Spanish had raided the tombs a long time ago but left the bones. Since I doubt the Peruvian Tourism board has it together enough to put fake bones on the side of this hill that no one ever visits in the middle of nowhere, I believed him. I asked their permission (the bones that is) to take a photograph. What? I don't mess with ancient Peruvian spirits unless its an old bottle of Pisco.

Chullpa's lovely bones.

I stood at the Chullpa for a little while wondering who I was looking at. Wari Royalty? Wari Warriors? Scorcers? What life did these bones once lead? Whey did they get put in a Chullpa and why here? What did they look like?

The Chullpa must have lived their entire lives on this hill and over 1000 years later, here they still are, their decaying skulls looking out at me. Here I am, a 33 year old New Yorker looking back at them. If we were alive, what would we say to each other? I told them that even though they were like totally dead and had been robbed dry, they shouldn't worry. They still had an amazing home.

Chullpa. Terms of lease: Forever. Likelihood of view being diminished? Slim to nil.

The hill here used to be a Wari village, about what is today a good 5 or 6 hours bus ride from Ayacucho, the Wari capital. The Wari ruled Peru way before the Inca ever the Inca became HBIC and experts (as far as I can tell) belive that the War were just assimilated into Inca culture.

The Wari worshiped the mountains as gods and our guide explained that they settled at the top of this hill for its strategic location. Bordered by steep cliffs three sides and a narrow passage way to enter, few armies could successfully invade. I giggled to myself and imagined that I was a gay Wari advisor with the instinct to want to gentrify this beautiful wild land. "So what if we have to lug all of our supplies 2 hours up this hill and its like hours away from our capital. The view is stunning! Gorgeous! All the other tribes will want to move in!  And not that anyone will want to invade us all the way out here but if they did, the hills will keep them out. It's a no brainer!"

A Wari solider once stood here and looked out at his world. I looked here, breathed in unusually clean air for 2010, basked in the beauty of the flowers, mountains and ruin-i-ness of the whole place.

"Matt" Joel called, "Vamos! Bosque!" I know it sounds crazy but I'd never been in a ruin that was so untouched and the lack of residual tourist energy was sending avalanches of thoughts into my head. I could have sat here for 3 days and been happy.

But then I'd miss the Bosque de Piedras which is about a football field's length away. And It was here that I had my "ah-ha" moment. It was here where I stopped wondering if traveling here like a shitty suitcase, sleeping on top of decades of other people's, uh, sleep and being fed the asshole of some chicken was worth it.

It's easy to understand why the Wari used this place to worship their gods.

After a while I looked up and much to my surprise an enormous halo rainbow had wrapped itself around the sun, circumfrencing half the sky. It was as if the sun knew we were there and it was reaching down to say hello.

And God said, "LET THERE BE GAYS!"

There's a Janet Jackson Video clip in here somewhere. Or maybe Beyonce?

But seriously people. When we arrived, we of course ran around taking pictures and marveling at the natural, conical rock formations. But after a while I hung back and wandered around on my own. This was the world of the Wari. He looked up and could almost touch the sky. He looked out and rolling mountains stretched as far as the eye could see. And for them, it was enough.

Meanwhile over in Lindsey-land, she had been exercising her magic wooden flute playing skills. Who knew?

We ate some oranges and sat around talking and then, off in the distance, I saw a few black dots approaching. "Guys, look at that!" I said. Pretty soon two condors were spiral swooping across the sky past us just above the cones reaching for the sky and below the sun and the beautiful rainbow encircling it.

And then it was time to go back down. I won't lie. I standing there on that hill, underneath a gigantic circular, halo, rainbow in a field of mysterious, white cone shaped rocks, watching condors dance about, I got a little teary eyed.

It's night on top of the hill. There's a faint murmur in the air coming from a procession of Wari scorers, warriors, farmers, noblemen, women and children and the poor. A baby cries and underneath the voices, a steady percussion of feet hitting the dusty, rocky ground gives the otherwise cacaphonic scene a beat. The moon is bright glistens off the snowcapped mountain to the north. It casts long shadows to the west of the people, reminding them of the sacred conical rocks they are marching towards.

Tonight, they are going to the white rock field to worship the mountains, the sky and the condors. A star shoots across the sky and the wind compliments it with a strong breeze that wisks the women's hair out of their faces and into the air. A young boy puts is face into the wind and leans forward, letting the force of the air keep him vertical. An elderly man who has done this countless times drops the tool he was holding and smiles at the playfulness of the god of wind.

The procession stops and together they look up. They feel humble. A knowing faith mixed with instinctual curiosity.  A few feel skeptical and a few shiver with joy. They feel their hearts beating and a blind man listens to the chorus of breathing, knowing that something special is going on. It is quiet now. They have just reached the gate to the sacred place.

Matt's canyon-trekking adventures and spiritual reflections (and encounters with locals, forays into farming and hellacious bus rides) continue! Read the rest at his blog.

For more of Matt's wit and photos chronicling life below the equator, read his blog—Where Eagles Have Been: What the Hell Am I Doing? And check back here for more "Tales from the MIddle of a Peruvian Nowhere" soon!