Caroline goes in search of the condor in Peru’s Colca Canyon and along the way discovers monasteries, mansions, a 500-year-old mummified girl and a bizarre convent where the nuns lived in the lap of luxury.

No way was I going to leave Peru without seeing a condor — it was this quest that first brought me to Arequipa. This southern city is a base for visits to the Colca Canyon which, in places, is twice the depth of the Grand Canyon, making it the deepest in the world. It’s also one of the best places to sight the elusive bird that is, along with llamas and pan pipes, symbolic of the high Andes.

I found there was more to Arequipa than canyons and condors, though. The city is known as the “ciudad blanca” as its white stone buildings are made from the petrified volcanic ash which spewed out of the three volcanoes surrounding it. The central Plaza de Armas is dominated by the imposing neo-Renaissance cathedral and the snow-covered cone of El Misti beyond. A wealth of elegant colonial mansions, churches and monasteries with elaborately carved facades are also off-set by the white stone. An added bonus is that, at 2335m above sea level, its climate feels distinctly balmy after the bitter nights of Lake Titicaca.

By far the most interesting building is the 16th century Santa Catalina Convent — the most important religious monument in Peru. In its prime, it housed over 400 nuns who were mainly the daughters of aristocrats and were given to a somewhat loose interpretation of the vow of poverty. No expense was spared in the decoration of their cells where they dined with silver cutlery waited on by their servants. Obedience wasn’t exactly the strong point of some Arequipeña nuns either. Perhaps the most spectacularly unsuited to the religious life was Sister Dominga who joined the order in a fit of pique after being jilted by her rich lover. Finding a life of prayer and contemplation unsuited to her passionate nature, she escaped by putting the corpse of an Indian woman into her bed and setting fire to it.

The passing of time has dissipated much of the scandalous luxury enjoyed by the early nuns, but the convent is still fascinating. Step inside the huge walled complex and you are transported back to old Sevilla. Archways open on to tiny cobbled streets and squares with fountains painted in pastel colours and decorated with hanging baskets and geranium pots. It’s almost a city in miniature.

Arequipa is also home to “Juanita”, a 14-year-old Inca girl sacrificed to the apus, the spirits of the mountain, more than 500 years ago. Her body was perfectly preserved in the icy slopes of the nearby volcano Ambato until she was defrosted by volcanic activity in 1995. She now lies in a glass case in the museum wrapped in the brightly woven Inca cloth in which she was buried.

The skin of her face has shrunk back to reveal a sinister toothy grin and the body is surrounded by offerings — tiny figurines made of shell and a little silver llama. Juanita has brought tourists to Arequipa but some say she has brought catastrophe too. Soon after she arrived, the city was beset by a series of freak accidents — two planes crashed nearby and at a firework display, a rocket brought down a powerline which lashed through the crowd killing over 40 people. Coincidence? Some of the locals think not and say she should be returned to the mountain. Last month another six Inca mummies were discovered buried in the ice of El Misti, undoubtedly a source of further disquiet amongst the local population.

Leaving the city, the road to the Colca Canyon skirts the foothills of the volcano Chachani and zig-zags up through a landscape of grey, dusty hills before reaching the nature reserve of Pampas de Canihuas. The landscape of bleak, yellow plains bordered by blue hills is dotted with grazing vicuña, wearers of the finest wool on earth. The vicuña is a member of the llama family and its wool has been prized since Inca times when it was worn by the ruling class. As a result it’s an endangered species.

From Pampas we drove up through scrub land punctuated by occasional areas of marsh caused by the snowmelt. At one of these, the relentlessly bleak landscape was enlivened by a flock of exquisite pink flamingoes strutting elegantly amongst the dirty pools.

The highest point, at 4800m, is marked by little towers of stones. It’s traditional for travellers to bring a stone from further down the mountain to place at this point to bring luck for the rest of the journey. From here the road descends to the village of Chivay, at the start of the Colca Valley. Two distinct ethnic groups have inhabited the area since long before the arrival of the Incas. To outsiders they are distinguishable by the colour of their hats, the Collaguas wearing white and the Cabanas black or grey. The market is full of women in colourful costumes — voluminous skirts decorated with bands of embroidery and waistcoats intricately worked with bird and flower designs.

From Chivay, a rough dirt road follows the side of the Colca Valley — a vast bowl covered with the swirling patterns of ancient agricultural terraces. The area was an important source of food supplies for the Inca empire. Every so often our progress was halted by a herd of imperious llamas, their ears adorned with tufts of coloured wool. We also stopped to admire the whitewashed colonial churches at the villages of Yanque and Maca.

Our final destination was the rocky look-out point of Cruz del Condor. Its steep, cacti-covered sides soon give way to sheer drops and you could just make out the silver line of the Colca river snaking its way through the bottom of the gorge some 609m below. And there, finally, were the condors. You realise how high up you are when they float up out of the blue haze of its depths and wheel majestically overhead before plunging sharply away again. They have a three metre wingspan and, for a bird that’s essentially a glorified vulture, a powerful grace.

It’s easy to see why they were revered by the Incas. We sat for an hour, mesmerised by their dramatic flypasts. Now I could go home satisfied.