Neat People, Neat Places

Hey guys,

Sorry it´s been a while since I´ve blogged, I´ve been distracted by neat people, neat places, and recently trying to pull myself together amidst it all!

After Machu Picchu, our group all stuck with each other for a little bit. We went to see another group of ruins near Cusco in what is called The Sacred Valley (after which we´d all pretty much decided we´d seen enough ruins for a while). We took a bus together to Arequipa, and besides just hanging around together in town, we went on a tour to Colca Canyon, which despite being the deepest canyon in the world, is most famous for the large number of condors that inhabit it. We actually didn´t see very many, since it´s nesting season - the worst time to go, apparently. Still, we all enjoyed just being together.

That would end, however, as it is common with the plight of the traveller. Whether it´s other people going their separate ways, or you going yours, there´s a kind of tragedy in the way that blossoming relationships are waylaid in favor of the road.

I would continue down the road myself by challenging El Misti - the 5,800 meter (19,300 ft) volcano that made like a perfect cone of light blue above the city of Arequipa. I joined into a pre-formed group made up of a Peruvian guide, two German guys, and a Turkish guy, and we set off in the morning (of what day I don´t know, it´s something about travelling that you often lose track) on what would be a two-day trip. The first day we would take a bus on a bumpy dirt road to the base of the volcano at 3,400 meters, and then hike to a camp at 4,500 meters. The second day we would get up at 2 in the morning, put on headlamps, and try to make it all the way up before coming back down and returning to Arequipa.

The first day wasn´t too bad - a fairly long and tough hike, but one which didn´t surpass altitudes I´d already experienced so far in my travels in Peru (On a hike in Huaraz, I´d reached 4,670 meters; A couple days previously, we´d taken a bus over a 4,800 meter pass to get to Colca Canyon, and then spent most of that trip above 3,000 meters). Still, upon reaching the camp, we were all fairly tired (except for maybe our guide), and were encouraged to sack out in our tents until dinner was ready. We would, after all, be getting up very early the next morning to start the climb. Upon being awoken, and stepping out of the tent shortly before sunset later, I was met with one of the most incredible sights I´ve ever seen. What had been just immaterial fog earlier, had turned into an expansive layer of puffy clouds below our camp. It was like we were just sitting on top of them. We were all somewhat amazed, and my dinner got a little cold while I ran around taking pictures. After dinner, we tried to get sleep which was difficult with all the noise of the camp, and perhaps with the altitude as well. It was the highest I´d ever slept by a good margin.

At 1:30am, we awoke to have a breakfast of bread, jam, and tea. We´d leave most of our gear behind in the camp, and set off. I noticed that our number had decreased by one. Apparently, the Turkish guy had gotten sick sleeping at altitude and would stay behind in the camp. About an hour and a half or so after we´d started hiking, I got very dizzy, and my vision started to go blurry. I told the group that I needed to stop and why. During the break, our guide explained to me that my brain wasn´t getting enough oxygen, and that I needed to breath more. Continuing on, I did as he said. I also developed a rhythm with my breathing and my steps, and things went better for me. It would continue to get harder though, the higher we got. We frequently needed to stop to catch our breath, and that sometimes took 10 minutes. Time also seemed to drag on very slowly. I´d check my watch and be surprised at how little of it had passed since our last rest point. After a while, it was agony; hour after hour of slow paced agony.

But I kept going. The other day I´d met a Catholic man who pointed out a verse from the Bible to me: "Why do you say: 'If it is possible?' Anything is possible for those who believe." I held on to that, as I climbed; as I patterned my breathing with my steps. Foot down - exhale. Foot up - inhale. Foot down - exhale. Foot up - inhale. It seemed to take forever. On one of our stops, one of the German guys said he was getting a bit of a headache. On the next stop he said it was worse. I asked the guide if it would be a good idea for him to take some pain killer - I had some. The guide said it would be, and so after he´d taken it and we´d rested a bit we continued on. After we´d spent a while longer scrambling over rocks, the German said it wouldn´t be good for him to continue. The guide told him he would have to wait in that spot until we climbed to the top and then came back. And so the two of us remaining and the guide made our way towards the summit: poco a poco, gasping for oxygen that was in short supply in the air around us. But my head stayed clear, and I was able to catch my breath during our stops. Eventually we closed in upon the summit, until we could see the cross that sat atop it. Once we had our sights upon it, climbing seemed easier, and after 6 hours from the camp that morning we´d reached it.

Along the way, a Peruvian guy had jovially skipped past us towards the top, and our guide had informed us that Peruvian guides such as himself could climb the whole mountain in 4 hours without much difficulty (we´d taken 11 between day 1 and day 2). It was hard to be bothered by that though as we reached the cross and looked down into the steaming crater of the active volcano. To me, it seemed as though faith had moved that mountain, or at least allowed me to climb it. And coming down was a bit of a different story than coming up. We took a different route which was basically just a big sand/rock slide. You could run down it almost just like running down a dune, and we did. It was fun, even though you got dirt in your eyes, your mouth, especially in your shoes, and just about everywhere doing it. We picked up our friends along the way, and reached the bottom exhausted, sunburnt, sick, dehydrated, dirty, and starving. It was had been an awesome experience, but it was nice to get back into town . . .

The next day, I pretty much sacked out.

The following day, I met up with an old friend that I´d met travelling in Iquitos, and I went with her and her friends to a Karaoke bar that night as would seem to be our tradition now (since that´s what we did in Iquitos as well). Once again, I had a blast. Turns out I really like singing and having an audience - who knew? CCR´s "Suzie Q" was my big hit this time.

Today, I woke with all my friends gone, and just me in this town. I spent hours organizing my things which were nothing short of a disaster. I was in a bad mood, and couldn´t figure out why. I´ve been riding something of a ride the last couple weeks without stopping. The mess of my things seemed in a way symbolic of the neglect that I´d shown for my own personal needs; the disorder on the floor, like a kind of disorder inside myself - as I´d been thrown around without regularity into new unfamiliar territory.

I´m hoping to continue my journey tonight - solo, just like it started. I´m going to take a taxi to the bus station, and see about getting on a bus for La Paz, Bolivia. My friends convinced me that I just couldn´t miss it, and so I´m now planning on taking a week and a half before crossing into Chile. I hear the salt flats there are absolutely unforgettable. I´ve had quite a journey in Peru - made some wonderful new friends, and had some amazing experiences. Through it all, I need to remember as I´m getting shaken around the things that are core to me. Another verse from the Bible comes to mind: "And now these three things remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." It´s something indescribable sometimes - the effect travelling has on you. Personally, I´m missing home. But I´m going to keep on going.

Love,
Stephen