As the sun begins to sink over the Altiplano, the canyon walls turn from gold to deep rust red.
Towering rock formations cast long shadows across the valley floor, and for a moment the landscape feels entirely still. Local legend says these stone pillars were once giants, transformed by the gods and left to guard the canyon for eternity. Standing in the silence of Tinajani, it doesn’t seem entirely impossible.
Reaching this remote corner of Southern Peru is the culmination of a journey following ancient routes across the Andes. Along the way, I discover a region where history, landscape and culture remain inseparable, and where travel is less about ticking off landmarks than understanding the places that connect them.
Arequipa
Arriving in Arequipa to start my journey, the city immediately reveals its setting: a fertile valley framed by three volcanic peaks, including the snow-capped Misti volcano that dominates the skyline. From the rooftop, Arequipa stretches out in shades of white stone beneath a cloudless sky.
The air is crisp and the light unusually clear, giving everything a sharp, almost sculpted quality. The historic centre is built almost entirely from sillar, a pale volcanic stone that gives Arequipa its name, La Ciudad Blanca, the White City. In strong sunlight, the buildings seem to glow, their soft tones shifting from ivory to gold as the day progresses.
Resting in the Plaza de Armas, the rhythm of the city becomes clear: arched colonnades frame palm-lined squares, while the cathedral anchors the space with its long, symmetrical facade and twin towers that mirror the volcanoes beyond. Life unfolds slowly, as cafes spill onto the square, church bells marking time against the backdrop of distant mountains.
A guided walk through the city set the tone for the journey ahead. At the Church of La Companía, I pause to take in the intricate baroque stonework, noticing how Indigenous symbolism is woven into its Spanish colonial form. It is a first introduction to the layered identity of the region where the cultural blending defines much of Peru’s colonial past.
Nearby, the Monasterio de Santa Catalina feels like a city within a city. Possibly Arequipa’s most photographed landmark, the Monastery is tucked away by thick adobe walls, which open to reveal a maze of narrow lanes painted in deep blues, burnt reds and soft ochres. Cloisters lead into quiet courtyards where orange trees grow beside ancient stone fountains. Exploring the small kitchens and sleeping quarters, it becomes clear how cloistered life once functioned in near isolation. Moving through it feels less like touring a monument and more like walking through a preserved fragment of time.
Arequipa is not just visually striking: it feels composed, deliberate, shaped as much by its volcanic landscape as by its layered history.
Crossing the Altiplano to the Colca Valley
Leaving the city, my route heads north towards the Colca Valley.
The landscape shifts almost immediately as the road climbs and the density of urban life gives way to open space. Volcanic peaks remain on the horizon, but they slowly recede as the vast plains take over. Rising through the mountains reveals an expanse of golden grasses where Guanacos graze. Distant snow peaks and occasional clusters of adobe homes appear isolated against the scale of the land.
We stop for coca-leaf tea in a small roadside café which offers a moment of grounding. The warmth of the drink, the simplicity of the setting, and the growing altitude all signal the transition into a more remote adventure. From here, the road into Colca narrows further, following the contours of valleys that begin to deepen and fold into themselves.
Colca Valley: living the landscape
The Colca Valley is one of Peru’s most dramatic landscapes, a place where human life has adapted to extreme geography for centuries. Ancient terraces climb impossibly steep canyon walls, tracing the contours of the mountainsides in neat, geometric patterns. Far below, the Colca River carves its way through the valley, threading between villages and fields that have sustained communities since long before the arrival of the Incas.
Puqio is our base for exploring this remarkable region. Inspired by the expeditions of the early explorers who ventured into the valley, the tented camp sits quietly among grasses and open countryside, its understated design allowing the landscape to remain the main attraction. One afternoon, we visit a local weaver whose intricate textiles reflect generations of tradition. As she works, patterns emerge that tell stories of the surrounding landscape, local customs and family heritage, preserving a cultural identity that remains deeply rooted in the valley.
Before dawn the following morning, we set off by road towards a quieter corner of Colca. While many visitors gather at the valley’s most famous viewpoints, our guide leads us to a lesser known trail where the chances of solitude are far greater. The climb is steep, the thin mountain air quickly making itself known, but with every switchback the view expands. Terraces appear to tumble endlessly down the canyon walls, many still cultivated today much as they were centuries ago.
Reaching the summit, we are rewarded almost immediately. A shadow passes overhead and a condor emerges from deep within the canyon, riding a thermal current high above the valley floor. Then another follows. Their vast wings scarcely move as they glide effortlessly through the morning air. Our guide points towards a distant carcass on the mountainside, likely the reason they have gathered here today.
For nearly an hour we watch in silence as the birds circle overhead. With no other travellers in sight, the experience feels wonderfully raw and unfiltered – just the immense scale of the canyon, the rising morning light and the unmistakable presence of one of the Andes’ most iconic creatures.
Tinajani: the Canyon of the Guardians
North-east of Colca, our journey continues across the Altiplano, the vast high plateau that stretches towards Bolivia. It is one of Peru’s least-visited regions, and the long drive only heightens the sense of remoteness. Valleys soften into open plains, villages become increasingly sparse, and the horizon seems to expand in every direction. There is a stark beauty to the Altiplano, a landscape shaped by altitude, wind and immense distances.
By late afternoon, Tinajani finally reveals itself. At first, there is little indication of what lies ahead, then suddenly the earth opens into a canyon carved from the plain. Towering sandstone formations rise from the landscape, sculpted over millennia by the erosion of an ancient lake that once covered much of this region. The scale is immediately striking. Rock spires, weathered arches and labyrinthine passages create a landscape that feels almost otherworldly.
According to local mythology, these formations are the petrified remains of giants, turned to stone by the gods and left to guard the canyon for eternity. Standing beneath them as the evening light begins to soften, it is easy to understand how such stories came to be.
Set within a private nature reserve, Tinajani embraces the landscape rather than competing with it. Restored farm buildings sit discreetly against the terrain, while a handful of tented campamentos are positioned to face the canyon walls. As darkness falls, subtle lighting illuminates the rock formations, revealing new shapes and textures in the stone and drawing the eye back towards the canyon long after sunset.
The following day, I set out on foot to explore. Tinajani rewards slow travel. Narrow trails weave between towering rock walls before opening unexpectedly onto vast natural amphitheatres. Along the way, hidden burial sites hint at the region’s ancient past, while giant Puya Raimondi plants stand like sentinels across the landscape. At nearly 4,000 metres above sea level, the altitude makes every climb feel more purposeful, encouraging a slower pace and a greater appreciation for the details around me.
As at Puqio, the experience extends beyond the scenery. Evenings are spent gathered around fire-cooked meals inspired by traditional Altiplano cuisine, sharing stories with guides and members of the local team whose connection to this landscape runs far deeper than any visitor’s. Outside, the temperature drops quickly as darkness settles across the plateau. With little light pollution and seemingly endless skies overhead, the stars emerge in remarkable clarity, stretching from horizon to horizon above the silent canyon.
Return to civilisation
The drive towards Juliaca marks a return to roads, movement and connection, a gradual reentry after days immersed in the wild.
There are journeys that reveal a destination, and there are others that unveil the landscape between. My route through Southern Peru belongs firmly to the latter, offering a gradual unfolding of altitude, silence and scale.
