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Published: November 13th 2006
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Huayna Potosí
Climbed that there thing I did.
Photo thanks to: saludambiente.bvsp.org.bo
We are in La Paz and it has definitely been ups and downs the last few weeks in Bolivia. Emotionally and physically. The 'altura' here (excuse the Spanish words peppered throughout, I'm trying out my knowledge so you'll just have to look them up if it doesn’t make sense!) is 3660m, which is higher than anywhere in Australia I think, pretty cool huh? Not that I haven’t been higher lately(mind and body), actually today I was at the highest altitude I have ever been, climbing Chacaltaya, a 5400m peak in the Cordillera Real which strikes right through Bolivia and has some wicked high snowy mountains to show off. The cool thing about it though (well, one of) is that when I was at the top I had a perfect view of the mountain that Greg is on at the moment, Huayna Potosi, a whopping 6088m. He left for the 3 day trek yesterday and will reach the peak tomorrow morning, after some much needed pick-axe practice (he´ll be scaling sheets of ice maybe 200m high, you would want to know what you’re doing). I wanted to call out but I was afraid of starting an avalanche, not helpful!
The climb
A spot of ice climbing
Its easier than it looks, but you gotta have your wits about you just the same. (Huyana Potosí)
With a bit of a false start, some folks dropping out due to sickness, I was on my way. Just me and my bolivian guide. The first day was a lot of driving around for supplies and getting ourselves up to the base camp, but the day ended with some much needed ice climbing practice. Woo Hoo.
The next day we started our ascent. One the most dangerous parts was actually early on, when we had to walk on the 30cm wide wall of a resiviour. You´ve got icy water on one side and a hell of a fall on the other, neither are good options. We climbed all day through the heat of the sun and coldness of the thin, dry air. Seeing little wildlife, snacking on dried food and having great difficulty trying to understand eachother. For the record; while I didn´t carry the food or the (cast iron) stove, I did carry all my own stuff which was only fair. We arrived at campo Argentino with more than enough time to set up camp, have a simple meal and get "some" sleep.
Beeb-beeb---beeb-beeb. "oh it must be 1am? Time to get up
¡Que rica!
Hey, I was just down there. that mountian I guess?" Yes, we strapped on our crampons (boot spikes for climbing over ice) at about 1:30 and started the final ascent in almost pitch darkness. It´s not something I ever thought I´d be doing but life is full ´a suprises. Clambouring up steep sections, jumping over gaping holes in the mountian, all the while zig zaging 1,2 1,2 1,2 left foot, right foot.
You can see plenty of stars up there but we were also lucky enough to see lightning storm on the other side of the cordillera. From a horizontal position at only a handful of kilometers away, seeing great exploding clouds in the sky just takes your breath away.
Almost at the top we´d made good time, overtaking these crazy guys (Americans - no offence intended) who would sprint for 20 meters and take a breather for about 3-5 minutes! In any case. we it made to the "your almost there" but..."that last 200m of ice face is gonna be a killer" point. and man, it was a killer, especially with my head lamp failing and my rope getting snagged on some ice. Yeah I could have done without that.
After a
Up there
The summit from the half way point. total of 13 hours climbing over 2 days I did it, the summit. You can´t imagine sunrise over those great moutians at 6088m and well below freezing temperatures and you may not want to, but I can tell you its something you don´t ever forget. I wish the camera hadn´t chosen that moment to cease working due to the cold, so no picutre of me at the summit. Acutally some French guy has a picture, but I don´t like the odds of running into him again.
And that was it, we spent the next 6 hours climbing all the way down. I recommend paying a bit extra for a good tour company, after the ripped sleeping bag, the broken sunglasses, the failed head lamp and several other equipment issues, I was wishing I had.
So back in La Paz , this place is a huge crazy busy Mercado, each street lined with everything you could possibly want, fruit lollies chocolate sugary drinks in long glasses shampoo pasta clock radios fireworks Wolrd Cup fixtures charred hunks of meat and sooo much more. Most of the street vendors sit by the heavy traffic from 10am till late at night, talking
to each other, eating or just looking bored. Then there are the little old ladies, the symbol of Bolivia for me. Every second person you see is a short, round, brown wrinkly old woman, dressed in a bright pleated skirt and numerous shawls, and most often carrying a huge bundle of who-knows-what in the rainbow coloured blanket wrapped over her shoulders. These women rule the place and have the respect; they run stalls, yell at rascal boys in the street, or simply look at you with a long sorrowful stare that makes everything else seem irrelevant to their plight. There are also a lot of beggars who shrink into dirty street corners in their bundles of cloth. The shoeshine boys wear scary balaclava masks to save themselves or their families the embaressment of having to do this job to pay their way through school or uni. Armed policemen (and I’m talking huge black rifles and military outfit) patrol just about anything that could possibly need patrolling, banks, cinemas, street markets? I don’t understand most of the time. It is a strange mix of traditions and levels of authority. I don’t think this country would bore me for a very long
The streets
just keep going up an up and over the other side of the crater time.
The people are fantastic though, from friendly tour guide Javier who told me everything I wanted to know about the traditional 16 de Julio dances, to the quiet couple running a vegetarian place who I tried to tell about Australian sports (in my very broken Spanish) while we were watching the Argentina/Mexico match. In the hostel I also met a lovely Bolivian girl Rita who was looking after the lively children of the Iranian owner who was married to a Russian and had a beautiful little blond haired munchkin called Soraya who had grown up in Bolivia. How about that for cross cultural!
When Greg returned, wind-blown and exhausted, we took it easy for a few days. Also due to my unpredictable stomach(or rather the unpredictable Bolivian cuisine)I was bedridden for about a week before we had to move on. Lots more bad movies and MTV in the hotel! All we managed to do was go to the zoo down in the warmer part of the valley of La Paz, and it was depressing. No huge enclosures for animals to frolick in - the monkeys were tearing at each other in modest dome cages, and a great
forboding tiger was angrily pacing in its tiny room. The most impressive enclosure was that of the huge condors, who strutted around the man-made hill in their enormous wire dome, althought with their enormous wingspan I doubt they could really fly much. Didn't really make us feel good overall, and I wouldn't recommend it.
So that was our fabulous departure from the wild adventure of Bolivia, and we rode out on a 25-hr bus to Lima, me clutching my stormy stomach the whole way. Cruising past Lake Titicaca we wished we could have visited the Isla del Sol or Copacabana - next trip I suppose....and definitely back to this amazing country for more exploration of the mysterious jungle and the colourful culture.
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