The beauty of Peru, ready for a close-up
Award-winning Canadian photographer Vanessa Dewson turns her lens to captivating country
My most important travel essential, second only to my passport, is my camera. On any given trip, I search for beauty — in the land, the wildlife and the people. I look for light, lines and moments of magic.
A photograph is a second in time you can sit with, and let it transport you. When I’m experiencing a new destination, my senses can be overwhelmed, but lifting the camera to my eye and using the frame to focus in on a slice of life feels calming. It enables me to notice little details others might miss.
The last trip I took before the world shut down was to Peru, abruptly cut short just before I could reach Machu Picchu, the iconic ruins that had fuelled my desire to travel there. But what I caught on camera elsewhere along the journey helped me appreciate the beauty I did see.
Seeing, of course, requires a keen attention, which is put to the test as soon as I arrive in a section of the Amazon basin in southeast Peru, where creatures have perfected the art of hiding in plain sight. It’s difficult to fathom just how much life is teeming in the world’s largest rainforest, which covers around 40 per cent of South America.
As we make our way by boat from Puerto Maldonado to our remote lodge along the Tambopata River, I squint and scan the edges of the murky brown water, hoping to glimpse a jaguar.
My eyes dart every which way, from tufts of greenery to broken branches, until finally they land on an animal I’ve never spotted before: not one, but two capybaras, the world’s largest rodent. Lying completely still, with fur covered in mud, they’re nearly perfectly camouflaged, despite being about the size of a large dog. The herbivores are “kings of grass” that eat several kilos a day our guide tells us, as I take out my long lens for closeups of these curious creatures.
Further down the river, flashes of red, green and blue catch our attention. Peru is believed to have the second-largest number of bird species on Earth, and a salt lick has attracted dozens of jewel-toned macaws. We stay far away, careful not to disturb them, but my longest zoom — a heavy and cumbersome but indispensable travel companion — helps bridge the distance. I could’ve
spent the whole day watching.
When we eventually leave the humid, 40-degree jungle, our next stop, Cusco, is a breath of fresh, cool mountain air. At an elevation of 3,400 metres, the former capital of the Inca Empire is higher than Machu Picchu and more sprawling than I expect. Having already filled a valley, neighbourhoods creep up the surrounding slopes on all sides.
In the city’s historic centre, my eye is drawn to the architecture, especially the contrasts between the ancient Inca civilization’s
hefty, enduring masonry and the colonial-era brick buildings, which often had to be rebuilt after earthquakes.
One particularly famous artifact is known as the 12-angled stone, set in the exterior of the former palace of Inca Roca. Using tools fashioned from stone, bronze and copper, the Incas found ways to cut massive rocks so precisely that they fit together perfectly, and built walls leaning inward slightly to fortify them against seismic shifts.
The ingenuity of the Inca Empire remains on my mind when
we depart for the countryside, heading for the Sacred Valley. While most of the sites are ruins, there is one place where the work of the Inca continues today: the salt mines of Maras. For more than 500 years, salt has been continuously harvested from ponds carved into the side of a mountain.
Today, there are approximately 4,500 salt pans, each one owned by a family, and the community has exclusive rights. I zoom in on this massive, human-made mosaic, and play with how the lines of the stone rims fill my frame. Our guide explains that a natural spring picks up salt from the remains of a prehistoric lake, then fills up the ponds, where the water eventually evaporates, leaving behind a pink seasoning coveted around the world.
At our next stop, Parque de la Papa (Potato Park), we’re greeted by Quechua women wearing beautifully embroidered skirts, who show us another tradition being kept alive: weaving naturally dyed alpaca wool on back looms.
When I photograph people while travelling, I first make sure they’re comfortable, and then I try to capture an expression or a moment that tells a story or conveys an emotion. I also want to document what I learn, like the history of the potato, a Peruvian original and staple for more than 8,000 years, with roughly 3,800 varieties; the park has partnered with the Svalbard Global Seed Vault in Norway to ensure none will be lost.
I leave Peru with my heart and memory cards full. Having to depart early just makes me passionate to return and learn more about this country, with its wild creatures, rich heritage and captivating landscapes. Maybe next time, I’ll even see (and photograph) an elusive jaguar.