Cañon de Colca
First day
We wake up super early to taxi super early to get the super early bus to Cabon Conde, a tiny village way out in the Andes, from which we will embark on our trek. We arrive at the terminal with one minute to spare. I tell ya, we are having us some luck.The six-hour bus ride is twisty and bumpy, winding through the mountains on a dirt-and-rock road. The scenery, what I can see out of the tiny sliver in between the drivers' compartment curtains, is amazing. Mountains, plateaus, frozen streams, terraces, AND LLAMAS!!!!!! Sadly, most passengers prefer to keep their window shades closed, so my view was quite limited. Therefor, I spent most of the bus ride gazing at the tiny Peruvian baby sitting in her mother's lap in the seat next to me. She was in a papoose! She was tiny! She didn't make a sound the whole way! I want a Peruvian baby, too!
Finally we arrive in Cabon Conde, and I think -- WE ARE IN THE FUCKING ANDES.
We buy some extra bread and water at a market, eat lunch next to a locked park (what is it with this country), and begin to hike. Down. Down, down, down. DOWN SOME MORE.
ALL DAY, DOWN THE ANDES.
According to Wade's GPS, we climb down three thousand feet in four hours. In case you aren't aware, THAT IS A LOT. My big toes all killing me, and Wade the medic wraps them in tape and duct tape. This makes them slippery in my shoes.
We finally arrive at the bottom of the canyon just as the light of day takes its final gasp. We sleep in somebody's front yard, out in the open. There are thousands and thousands and thousands of stars. We are asleep by eight.
The other side of the mountain
I wake up incredibly sore, but excited at the prospect of walking straight today.
Oops, no such luck.
Today we hike up and down and then straight a little and then up a lot. I hate it. My legs hurt, my heels hurt, my shoulders and hips are sore from the pack. I feel absolutely spent. I feel as though I hiked really hard yesterday, all the way down the mountain, for nothing. There has been no rest time, no relaxation time, no time to regain energy for this next bit. It is very hard. I cry several times.
Oasis is Paradise
Eventually, in the early afternoon, we reach the oasis, a haven of green grass, thatched huts, a swimming pool with waterfall, and our gay American friends we met last night. Wade wants to sleep out under the stars, but I make it VERY CLEAR that I deserve to sleep in a bed tonight. I am sufficiently persuasive.
We speed change out of our dirty clothes and hiking boots into swimsuits. Even though the heat of the day is waning, I stay in the water. It is so cool, so smooth, so unchlorinated and natural, so soothing to glide through with out using my hiking muscles. I swim back and forth and back and forth, under the waterfall, floating on my back, spinning in the water, executing the few synchronized swimming moves I remember from college. I feel so comfortable. (We Ackermans were all fish in previous lives.) It is exactly what I need.
Napping and Bill Bryson take us through to dinner-time.
We take dinner (soup and spaghetti) at the hostel and plan to wake up early and climb up the mountain at dawn, catch an afternoon bus to Arequipa, then an overnighter to Puno. We count out the days and allow almost a full week in Cuzco for ruins and a possible trek, and three days at the end to veg out in resort-y Trujillo.
In the middle of the night, I wake up and realize how truly sore my calf muscles are. They hurt so much lying down that I am sure I will not be able to walk tomorrow. We decide to spend the whole next day in Oasis Paradise before climbing Hell Mountain.
Oasis really is Paradise
Swim
eat chocolate
write in journal
swim
nap
eat dried sweet potato chips
lay out
nap
swim
read
plan next move
I speak with some German girls who ask such questions as, "Are people in LA fit?," "Are people in LA good looking?," "Do you go to the gym?," "Does LA have gyms that are open all night?," and my personal favorite, "Which girl did The Bachelor pick?"
way up
Today, my ass was kicked.
We woke at dawn, dressed in the dark filled our water bottles by the stream. (Don't worry, Wade purified it.)
TODAY, WE WALKED UP.
up up up up up up up up up up up, up thirty-five hundred feet. The view became increasingly more majestic as we climbed. We passed some 'Raelis on the way and had a short debate over which was which, peach and apricot, mishmish and apharsek. Turns out not everybody knew which was which, even in their native tongue. THE PEACH IS THE BIG ONE.
What did I think about while climbing the mountain, you ask? Well, the first hour or so I went through every Civil Rights song I knew in my head. I did some of them twice. This Little Light of Mine I did five times. See the African Americans, they had them some struggles, too. They had walks, although theirs weren't straight up a mountain. When I had exhausted their songs, I thought about Harriet and the Garden, a favorite children's book of mine. That got me thinking about Annie Lennox (?) and what a great musician she is. The rest of the time I repeated in my head, Slow and steady wins the race. You know, from The Tortoise and the Hare? This helped the most.
The last thirty minutes were spent praying to God that we would arrive in Cabon Conde before the eleven o'clock bus left. How we rushed! How I climbed! I have never walked so fast in my life! I have never stepped through donkey shit with such abandon! And God heard my prayers, for we reached the town square with three minutes to spare (it's that luck, again). ALAS!!!! There were no seats available on the eleven o'clock bus.
We booked tickets on the one o'clock bus, ate popsicles and manjar/cheese sandwiches in the square, and interneted. Oh, internet. How I love thee.
Canon de Colca? I am not sad to see you go.
Canon de Colca kicked my ass. KICKED. IT. HARD.
Pulse while climbing up Cañon at 8500 feet:
Adina:180
Wade: 162
Pulse while at rest on the bus at 10,800 feet:
Adina: 90
Wade: 72
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