4 days of beauty, sickness and pain in the Cordillera Blanca

Well, I made it back safe and sound from my first foray into the Andes, which consisted of 4 days on the Santa Cruz trek. The trek was entirely within the confines of the Cordillera Blanca, which is the highest mountain range in the world outside of Asia, with 33 peaks reaching at least 6000m. Keep the high elevation in the back of your mind, as I´ll be coming back to it a bit later in the post.

The photo to the left, which I did not actually take is of Huascaran in the Cordillera Blanca from the devastated town of old Yungay. The image is fitting in that the people here show the greatest reverence for these formidable peaks.

The party that ventured into the mountains consistd of my friends Tom, Laia and German as well as a Peruvian guide by the name of Vicky and a burro driver by the name of Juan. The first thing that you must understand is that the vast majority of treks that take place in Peru rely on the burro for transporting the bulk of equipment. This felt somewhat odd at first, as I didn´t quite feel right not carrying my own gear. Still, I went with it as opposed to trying to arrange my own all human-powered trek and I do not regret that decision in the least.

The trip got interesting before even setting foot in the mountains, as the group (sans Juan, who would meet us with the burros in the mountains) piled into a public metrobus, which is a glorified term for a tiny, underpowered toyota minivan, circa 1987. The bus appeared to be full as soon as we got on, with all of our gear and equipment being stacked onto an impossibly tall pile on the roof. However, along the 45 minute journey to the town of Yungay (new) we pickedup several more people, until even the driver acknowledged that we were full. How full is full? Try 19 men and women as well as one lamb, which announced its presence on the lap of an elderly Quechua woman 10 minutes into the journey. Ahhhh, public transportation. In Peru!

Despite the crowded conditions, the bus and its smiling inhabitants made it to Yungay safely, where we disembarked to hire a metrobus to take us 3 hours up into the mountains to the town of Vaqueria. But first, we had a slight delay as we waited for another group that would be making the trek joining us on the bus ride to Vaqueria. This gave me a little bit of time to explore the public market of Yungay, which was absolutely amazing. For whatever reason, the Quechua women at this market were dressed to the nines. The colors were magnificently bright, even brighter than normal. Due to my reservations, which I´ve already explained, about taking pictures of these people I don´t have any photos to show. However, Laia had no such reservations in Yungay, so ASAP I will be uploading her pictures of the marketplace (done, as you can see to the left). One thing that I´m sure most of you will find at least somewhat interesting is the picture below. Can you guess what animals those are?

If you guessed guinea pig, then you win the 20 sole prize for the day. Known as cuy (spanish not quechua, I will putup the quechua spelling shortly) these large rodents still represent the primary source of meat for many of the Quechua, living a semi-feral existence in the kitchens of these mountain people, feeding solely on the scraps left about in the kitchen. I must admit that I´m curious, and intend to feast on one of these beady eyed little creatures before leaving the Andes.

The drive up to Vaqueria was quite the event in itself, as the road was unbelievably windy (see pic to the left) and passed the largest and most famous laguna in the region, of which the name I can´t recall. Nonetheless, it´s color, derived from the glacial silt entering from its feeder streams, was the most brilliant turquoise.

The town of Vaqueria was a sight to behold, a gathering of mud brick buildings clinging to the side of the steep mountain valley. The inhabitants seemed remarkably unperturbed by the presence of 12 white people (which despite some variations in skin color we all were) in their small village. In the main building, which appeared to be part residential with some town offices (warning; assumption) below, five girls giggled at the foreigners below. I looked up and waved, and then watched all five heads disappear quickly out of sight below the sill. However, I kept my gaze and sure enough each face slowly returned, smiling.

The first two hours of the trek saw us descend and then climb up the other side the valley in which Vaqueria and it´s annexes lie. This allowed me to see a of how the village and its surrounding farms and pasture land are organized. I won´t go into that here, but if anyone is interested please just post a comment saying so and I will get around to describing the layout, partly from what I´ve observed and partly from what I´ve been reading (Tambo by Julia Meyerson).

Our camp that night was in a broad valley used as rangeland for cattle and horses by the local inhabitants and featured an impressive view of the mountains that we would spending the next 3 days in the midst of. This is probably the appropriate time to mention how fucking amazing the service provided by the guide company (Huascaran Guides) was. Not only did burros carry all except for a small daypack of mine, but the guide , Vicky, carried and served lunch for all of us and prepared breakfast and dinner at the campsite. The meals were nothing to sniff at to be sure. For instance, the first night we dined on thyme soup with queso followed by fresh trout served over fried potatoes with a tomato and avocado salad. Dessert, yes dessert, was in the form of a strawberry yogurt drink. We were also awakened every morning by Juan sticking a steaming cup of coca tea into the tent entrance and placing a basin of hot water to wash in outside. I know, ROUGH.

The picture to the left is the required shot out the tent door at first night´s campsite.

I must mention that at this time I was feeling almost no effects from the altitude, despite sleeping at an elvation of approximately 3800m.

The morning of the second day, we packed up camp and set out what I knew to be the most challenging day, the crux of which would be the 4750m Punta Union pass. As we ambled up the valley for the first 2 hours or so along relatively mild terrain, my headache gradually worsened. 2 hours in, every heartbeat was signaled by a low roar starting at the back of my head near the neck and traveling through every bit of gray matter I posses before crashing in a deafening climax at my temples. All I could think was ¨shit, I´m in for it.¨ Let me just say that the next 2-3 hours are a painful blur in my memory. I came close to succumbing to the rapidly advancing altitude sickness a mere 100 vertical meters from the pass, each step taking an eternity and followed by severe bout of nausea that, surprisingly, never resulted in me vomiting all over myslef and then tumbling unconscious down the mountainside. I can honestly say that I have never endured such physical and mental strain. The worst part is, the Santa Cruz trek is described as easy to moderate in difficulty in every guidebook that you can find. However, each of said guidebooks also mentions that anyone attempting it should make sure to take time to fully acclimate to the elevation before setting out. Apparently 3 days in Huaraz was not enough, and I paid dearly for my haste.

Anyway, I managed to make it through the altitude sickness and got over the pass. YAY! That night we camped at an elevation of 4200m, and I spent most of the night tossing and turning with a massive headache and unbelievably clogged sinuses. I don´t mean to ceaselessly bitch, I´m just trying to convey to everyone just how hard the altitude was to deal with.

The morning of the 3rd day I rose around 6am and immediately set about drinking copious amounts of coca tea, ingested several aspirin and took a glucose tablet to give my body a shot of energy. By 8am, we were on the trail again. Our first stop was a hanging valley about an hour outside of camp, from where we were promised views of Alpamayo, which is famous for its almost perfect pyramid shape. However, on this day clouds blanketed the top half of the peak, obscuring the pyramid that we had climbed to see. Rather than pout, we simply dropped our packs and lounged in the warm sun enjoying the views that we did have and catching up on the rest that was so cruelly withheld from us the night before. Eventually, Vicky suggested that we might take a 3 hour side trek to a laguna that sits at an altitude of 4650m. My initial reaction was simply ¨there is no fucking way that I´m going to climb almost to the same height as Punta Union and risk another bout of altitude sickness just to see some stupid turquoise mountain lake.¨ I was a little discouraged to say the least from my ordeal the day before. However, as the minutes passed I began to reconsider. After all, if I couldn´t pull myself together to do this extra bit of trekking, how would I ever be able to survive the much longer and more arduous trip into the Cordillera Huayhuash that I hoped to emabark on in another 4 or 5 days? When German piped up that he wanted to go see the lake my mind was made up. So, Laia, German, Vicky and I set off towards the laguna while Tom decided to stay behind and take a nap.

Much to my surprise, I felt great climbing up to the Laguna. In fact, after Vicky had estimated that it would take close to an hour and a half to reach the lake we made it quite easily in just under an hour. I could not believe how quickly my body had recovered from and then adapted to the elevation. The laguna itself along with the surrounding mountain peaks and cirque glacier that fed it were pretty impressive. However, for me the best part of the side trip was the confidence that it restored after my stuggles the day before.

After a half hour at the laguna, Laia, Vicky, German and I hiked back down, gathered up Tom who had fallen asleep in the sun and burnt the shit out of his lips (seriously, it was bad, real bad) and began the descent to the campsite for night 3.

Night 3 was relatively uneventful, as all of us were completely exhausted not to mention absolutely sick of the food on the trek. Granted, it´s amazing to have someone cook every meal for you on a trip like this, but after a while the limited offerings of flavors that you´re not used to in the first place really starts to get to you.

Now, I´ve said that night 3 was uneventful, but about 5am on the morning of the 4th day things changed quite dramatically. It all started when Laia woke Tom and I up, asking what meds we had with us and what they were good for. She had woken up shortly before to find German awake in a cold sweat with a very high fever. Of all of us, German was the last person that I thought would get sick. He had consistently been the strongest and most upbeat throughout the trek, always helping to lighten the mood or carry a burden. When I got out of the tent at 7am, German´s condition had not improved, in fact it had worsened with his fever climbing to 40 degC (104 degF). Things were quite tense as we packed up camp as quickly as possible and prepared to travel the final 10km to the village of Cashapampa where a metrobus would be waiting to take us to Huaraz. Since it was out of the question for German to walk the final distance in his state, Juan readied one of the burros for him to ride on. The walk to Cashapampa took somewhere on the order of 3 hours, but it felt much longer. Laia, Tom and I took turns leading the burro that German was riding on as well as giving him a shoulder to lean on for support when the path was too steep and precarious for him to ride safely. The scariest part was the extent of German´s disorientation due to the fever. He truly had no idea where he was, what was happening or who he was talking to. A little over halfway into the 10km, we were passed by another burro train that included a horse with a saddle. This proved to be a saving grace, as the train driver kindly allowed German to ride the horse the rest of the way out, which made things go much faster while providing a bit more comfort for poor German. The village of Cashapampa could not arrive soon enough, and we all stumbled in completely exhausted both mentally and physically. From there, it was a 3 hour ride in a hot, crowded bus back to Huaraz where the pleasures of a hot shower, a real toilet and a true variety of food beckoned invitingly.

So, that was the Santa Cruz trek in all of its glory. Overall it was a great and enjoyable experience despite the difficulties detailed above. The best part of the trek, however, was the display of friendship between German, Laia, Tom and I. I don´t know if I would´ve completed the trek, and I definitely wouldn´t have had as much fun, were it not for the encouragement and support of my three companions and in particular German.

It is now the day after the trek, and as I write this entry German lies recovering in bed under the watchful eye of Laia, much improved and with little fever to speak of. Tom headed north via bus to the town of Trujillo last night in the company of Canice, a young and fun loving Irishman that we met at the hostel. German and Laia will catch a bus bound for Lima tonight and just like that, the friends that I´ve made so far will be gone and I will be alone. While this is a bit saddening, I´m actually looking forward to the solitude and challenge that it will bring. After all, I embarked on this trip hoping to recognize and address personal inner conflicts, conflicts that have caused those I love most in this world as well as myslef a great deal of pain, and when I am out of my comfort zone with only myself to depend on is the only time that I am truly able to make progress in this area. So, rest assured my friends, I am facing life head on and not avoiding any of the pain AND joy that it brings.

Until next time...........