the first night in peru was spent hanging out all night in the hotel in lima, drinking duty free scoth and enjoying the company of my travel mates, my cousin jake and his best friend. we talked to some fellow gringo travelers and shared advice, and got gradually more manic as the night went on. we arrived in cuzco at 7am the next morning, completely disoriented, and enentually found a hostel. a private room with three beds was under $20 and as we sat down to talk about the details we were served coca tea. as in cocaine tea. it would not be my last taste of the leaf.
we spent that day and the next planning our machu picchu journey, sipping the local beer, and getting toursit crap shoved in our face. food and souvenirs are cheap and the people are quite friendly, but the combination can be overwhelming.
muchu picchu journey, day 1: a very confused start. the guide said he'd show up at 7:30 and drive us to the bus station for the 8am 3 hour bus to the start. showed up at 7:50, on a bike. the bus was oversold, so peruvians sat in my lap. after we}ve been climbing a seemingly endless muddy mountain road with attempted construciton and closures for 6 hours through the rain, the guide decides its time to get out and get on bikes. the peruvians happily take our seats and stare dumbfounded as we put on some strange helmets, sit on the bikes, and start riding down to the jungle, instantly covered in mud. expectations were quite low at this point. it was about 40 miles downhill and turned out to be one of my favorite strange adventures. we eventually descended below the clouds, the road and mud on my face dried, no more consturction, great views over the amazon basin. my ass paid the price of entry to this paradise. my cousin{s bike exploded and was stranded in the jungle as night fell.
day 2 and 3 were about 30 miles through the jungle on foot with small packs, picking fruit off trees for snacks, chewing coca leaves and being dominated by mosquitos. we slept in busted hostels in small jungle town and failed to converse with the guide in spanish. we drink heavily one of these nights in a bar that was like an interrogation room from cop movies and are taught a drinking game that involves poking a cigarette into a napkin on a beer and having to drink the ash beer if you do it wrong. we try to explain flippy cup but it deteriorates into drinking a full beer every time you miss the flip. i got zapatos locos (crazy shows) and refused to go to bed when the guide said it was time and ran away while my travel mates convinced the guide to take us to another bar. he said i was a small problem. roosters do not just crow once during sunrise. those fuckers are relentless. we also crossed a rovier by a self propelled zipline and learned the hungry chicken handshake.
day 4 we climbed a moutnain in the dark to get to machu picchu for sunrise, then climbed
another mountain to be able to look down on it. absolute beauty. i was really expecting to feel a special power to the place, and i´m a little disappointed that i did not. perhaps it was that there were thousands of tourists and those that pray on them. either way, an incredible place.Despite sicknesses from the other two travelers, one (cousin's friend) of which resulted in a return to the US and some time in the hospital (pollo loco), we did manage to get to a hike outside of cuzco. We traveled uphill along a lush river meadow to about 14,000 feet, where we encountered a town that didn't even have a road within 5 miles of it. Their 'houses' were made of piles of rocks, the nice ones had roofs made of grass. They spoke Quecha, the language the country spoke before Columbus' "discovery", as did many of the small mountain town people we would later meet. After this difficult 15 mile hike, we got on a bus back to Cusco, which of course didnt have seats for us. It did, however, have a hog-tied goat, a bag of chickens, and a pig in a bag, attached to the luggage compartment (tied to the roof).
We left Cusco and spent a day in Lima. Lima has 8 million people, most of whom are very poor, but we found a cool kinda hippy disctrict. We walked along the beach for most of the morning, and had mystery meat sandwiches. As my cousin showered that afternoon, I wandered out of the hostel and met up with some peruvians and a swede, and within 5 minutes of walking out my door, was staring down the barrell of a cup full of peruvian tap water and san pedro, a psychadelic cactus with mescaline. The swede considered himself a shaman, and proceeded to tell me the way of things for the next several hours, and eventually gave me more san pedro, and a cryptic map to the world he insisted should be tattooed on my heart. He dropped a lot of wisdom, mostly about the power of love and the sun. I liked his phrase "soy un otro tu" (i am another you) quite a lot.
Huaraz was absolutely beautiful. Cool little mountain city. Nestled in the Cordillera Blanca mountain range, the highest tropical range in the world, with a peak towering above it at about 22,000 feet. Found a nice hostel with a great view. Went to a soccer game, whose highlights included the swat team coming out to protect a player on the other team, and a man in the stands near me repeatedly attempting to light a home made celebratory bomb but being too drunk to do so. Also sun burn. We then spent 3 days hiking by ourselves, which involved beautiful camp-sites, views of glacier capped mountains and bright green lakes, and making it to 17,000 feet, much higher than colorado's highest mountains depsite being only a pass through to the next valley. The trip also involved repeated encounters with bulls, and a severe altitude-induced panic while trying to sleep at 15,000 feet. It was among the worst I've ever felt, definitely the most home-sick.
We then spent some time enjoying Huaraz, and found a restaurant called chilli heaven which was the perfect antedote to bland peruvian food. We wandered into a climbing place at one point, trying to scout out another mountain journey, and walked out with our entire remaining 9 days booked, with a 5 day trek up to 6000 meters (about 20,000 feet) that included another 18,000 foot mountain, and an additional 3 day training hike. I became quite depressed by the revelation that we would be spending the entire remainder of our vacation suffering up mountains, and we decided to skip the training hike in favor of a night of drinking. that night we discovered Liquer De Coca and drank an absurd amount of it. we also drank some coke based energy drinks, as we were apparently in the midst of some strange liquid coke binge. Also had a day of rock climbing at a real cool spot, where I learned some skills that probably later saved my life, and a short day hike to another beautiful lake, where we fell asleep because it was after the night of drinking. Also considerable dreading turning to excitement over the impending summit journey.
Summit Journey:
Day 1, easy 4 mile hike up to base camp with mules carrying our shit. Turns out the guide is a big stoner. Decent weed. Base camp is above 14,000 feet, and has something like 50 other tents, yet every single person there was asleep by 7pm. Mt. Toclliaraju (6,032 meters) towers above us.
Day 2. Climb mt. Ishinca. 18,000 feet. Very very very hard. hardest thing i've ever done. leave at 4 am, 7 hours up hill, either carrying a bag of metal, or using it to climb. deep breaths stranglely unsatisfying. none of our equipment fit properly, and the metal spikes that attached to our shoes (crampons) were surprisingly difficult to maneuver. We made it though. The view from the top of the other glacier mountains made it almost worth it, but on the way down, hurting like hell and left behind by my triathlon running cousin and the guide, I decided I didn't want to climb the 6000 meter peak, it just didnt seem as fun as drinking more san pedro with my friends in huaraz. upon arriving at base camp, and experiencing some heaven in the form of my feet being dipped in the cold stream and an orange, eaten like an apple, I decided I might as well go for it.
Day 3. Even worse. Hike the incredible steep and rocky path up to high camp (17,000 feet). By far the biggest, heaviest backpack I've ever carried, food, tent, sleeping bag, clothes, ski boots, ice axes, crampons, climbing shit... fuckin sucked. Decided again that I was going home, i just dont have what it takes. Decided again that I might as well make a run at it. Needed to fix my mind though, replenish my strength reserves. Spent the next several hours sitting bymyself in my rented turqous and purple down coat, melting bags and bags of snow, repeating to myself that I would make it, I would make it, I would not be deterred by exhuastion. Whirled myself into quite an excitement, and slept only about 2 hours that night. Felt ready.
Day 4. Up at 4, prepared to suffer, completely ready, composed, willful. We find a slow hiking rhythm in the dark, going so slow that you almost rest while walking. the slightest move, such as pulling up the harness, leaves you exhuasted for several minutes but you keep walking. I alternate between thinking of my home bed, complete with naked kelly and feisty doggy that await me, and the idea that it is my swarn duty to push my little headlight spot on the snow up the mountain, while singing A Tribe Called Quest. Push it along, just push it along, all you gotta do is push it along... The sun rises, we're about half way there, and i'm starting to run out of energy, I can't eat, but I'm close. We keep pushing it along, and arrive at the last pitch, which gives Toclliaraju its "Difficult" Rating. over 60 degree angle for about 80 yards. We can hardly hear the guide's instructions for tying our harnesses into the rope over the howling wind, which scared my cousin like crazy, as he works in a climbing gym and understood just how many fundamental climbing rules we were breaking. I was just happy to be almost done. We climbed up the wall, clinging to the moutnain for some 15 minutes in the middle as the guide pulled up the rope we had just climbed and set it up again near the top. My cousin had another big freak out after seeing the poor excuse for an anchor and nearly headed down 30 meters short of the summit. But we fucking made it. I kissed the snow at the top and nearly cried. cousin was deeply shaken, convinced we were lucky to be alive and going down would be even sketchier. incredible view. survive the down-hill, sometimes elated to be done, sometimes completely drained, struggling to take the next step. then we got to high camp, packed our shit, and put those fucking bags back on our backs, and I really didnt think i'd make it down. got left behind again, and kinda fell apart. we were basically jumping from boulder to boulder, down a steep hill, with 50 pounds on our backs and no energy, and I just couldnt do it. I fell about every 10 feet and struggled to get back up every time and wanted to cry. at some point a peruvian porter sees me, constantly falling and looking defeated, and offers to help carry my bags, for free, because I clearly cannot. quite a blessing. I tell myself I earned it by going through hell and still trying to focus on enjoying the scenery. We sleep at base camp and I felt basically indifferent. didnt have the energy for emotion. I no longer hated looking at the mountain, became almost infatuated with staring at it, thinking and feeling nothing.
day 5: back downhill, mules carry our shit, we smoke a bunch, and I say goodbye to the rural peru with mixed feelings. i wonder more about why I put myself through these sufferings, and have a good answer, but thats for another blog. I had (and still have) a very clear mind and an iron confidence. That night I met a cute little columbian archeoligist and learned how to salsa dance...
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