Three Days (Part 2)

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"We saw shadows of the morning light
Shadows of the evening sun
Until the shadows and the light were one"
- "Three Days" by Jane's Addiction

Day Two

The leaf of a coca plant contains an alkaloid known as cocaine. This alkaloid has a variety of effects on the human body such as hunger suppression and pain relief. More notably, it can greatly increase the body's ability to absorb oxygen into the bloodstream. This makes it useful for fighting off the symptoms of altitude sickness and gives a bit of an energy boost.

Keeping a wad of the leaves in your mouth is hardly equivalent to snorting cocaine (obviously named for the key alkaloid). For one thing, to produce just 1 kg (2.2 lbs) of the narcotic, you need 363 kg (~800 lbs) of dry leaves. No one's mouth is that big. (Well...) Furthermore, to properly hydrolyze the chemical into salt form, it has to be processed with methanol and benzoic acid. So chewing a few leaves is probably not going to get you on the cast of Saturday Night Live.

Unfortunately, placing the leaves under your head as a pillow is as about as effective for sleeping as having the stimulant in your blood.

This is now very evident to me as I slowly come awake in the tent with my head on my coca-filled backpack and a nice crick in my neck.

Still, I slept well enough. I woke up several times in the night, but not for long. Staying awake is not an option after a day of climbing 1.5 km (~0.93 mi) under one's own power - not to mention whatever lateral distance we covered.

I can hear the sound of Sixto's radio playing softly and the portable stove as he prepares breakfast. I shove the disastrous pillow out from underneath my head and replace it with my arm. I'm not getting up until I absolutely have to.

"Breakfast!" calls Sixto.

Dammit.

Anna rolls over and smiles, "Good morning!"
"naf....shfrm," I say into my arm.
"Sleep well?"
"yam, msly."
"Are you talking to me, or your arm?"
"bof."

Stiff from yesterday, we hobble out of the tent and Sixto hands us bowls of hot porridge laced with jam. Have I ever eaten porridge? There was that cream-of-wheat crap I sometimes had to eat when I was a kid, but I don't know if that counts.

Anna and Sixto have coffee while I go back to the tent to start packing the sleeping bags into the sleeping bag bags - a feat I can accomplish, but swear requires a blatant violation of the laws of physics. I hold one of the small canvas bags up for inspection. It's tiny. If I fit in the sleeping bag, and the sleeping bag fits in here, can I fit in here? If so, Sixto can just dribble me down the mountain tomorrow like a soccer ball.

"No, don't bother," Sixto says. "We're going to leave the campsite here and climb for four or five hours more, then come back down here. If there is still time, we'll pack up and go down lower where it will be warmer for the night."
"Gotcha."

He says something else, but I can't make it out over the sound of the zipper as I close the tent flap.

I walk around and stretch my legs. I'm sore, but not too sore. I know how my quads work. The real pain always kicks in two days after - tomorrow. And we'll be going down by then, so I should be ok. Besides, once you get moving, you stop thinking about it.

Once they are done with their coffee, Sixto puts stuff for lunch into his pack and checks on the mule. Cabrón won't be coming with us since we aren't carrying anything and the path is going to get a bit rough. I feel a little sorry for him being stuck here all day grazing and drinking from the lagoon. But then again, what else would a mule do if he had a choice? Yahtzee?

The objective for today will be to climb up to another lagoon beautifully nestled in between two mountain peaks. We head off around to the other side of this lower lagoon and make our way across a level stretch of land covered in dry, brown grass. At the end, we make a steep, but short climb up and find ourselves at the rim of a narrow, shallow canyon. Another stream runs through its center - wider and faster than the one from yesterday. We carefully lower ourselves down the nearly vertical wall of the canyon and make our way across the water. There is no bridge here, so we step from rock to rock. From the top of the opposite and more gentle slope of the canyon, we turn and see a beautiful view. The sun has risen and is bathing the rocky canyon in orange light. Shadows are cast all about and mix frenetically with the brightly lit rock faces. This gives the surface a texture you can feel just by looking.

The hot sun is also lashing at us. The fleeces and sweaters come off and sleeves roll up. We throw on some sunscreen and keep moving.

After the canyon, we endure what feels like the toughest and longest climb yet. It takes a little over an hour. Once over, I look down at the progress we've made. The stream is a tiny thread moving across the earth below.

"I have to stop for a second," I say, crashing down on a rock.
"Yeah, let's rest," says Anna.

No longer burdened with babysitting the mule, Sixto goes at his own pace. He has been staying a few hundred yards ahead of us all morning. He climbs, stops, and waits for us to catch up. None of this affects him in the slightest - this is his back yard. He just prances up the slopes without a thought or stumble, like some sort of Andean android.

I'm running out of breath every five or ten minutes - way too quickly. I don't feel nausea, or headache, or any of the other more exotic symptoms of altitude sickness, but I just can't seem to get enough air in.

"Ok?" asks Anna as I shove some coca leaves into my mouth and take a drink of water.
"Yeah, I feel great, really. I just keep losing my breath. Once it's back, I'm good."
"Yeah, it's getting to me too. Much harder than yesterday. It's like we hit a magic line or something. If it gets worse, I have some stuff I bought in New Zealand we can add to our water. Its full of Potassium and amino acids or something. Gives you an energy boost."
"Cool. We'll see if we need it. Come on let's go. Mountain Man is waiting for us."

We move on to yet another climb. This one doesn't stop. It just goes on for nearly two hours. The air is thin and is still a problem, but we keep on. There is no way this mountain is going to beat us. Halfway up, Anna opens the little envelope of sugary gel in her pack and squirts it into my water bottle. Her water is nearly gone, so we just pass mine back and forth. Maybe there is a placebo effect, but it seems to give us a bit of energy.

Eventually, we make it and start working our way sideways along the mountain.

Then the real problems begin. Rocks. This time, it's not a fever-fueled dream.

I don't want to talk about this, but it's unavoidable. Macular Degeneration is an odd eyesight condition. I get a lot of compliments about how well I get around, but this is too much credit. I really don't have problems walking around in normal life. I see most objects just fine - trees, buildings, cars, people. I don't have problems crossing a street because I don't have problems seeing that giant '85 Buick barreling down the road.

The problem is detail. The Buick won't hit me. But I will never know it's a Buick. I'll never know that there is a crack in the windshield. I'll never see the man behind the wheel.

I'll see you walking toward me on the sidewalk (usually). But I'll never recognize your face. I don't know what color your eyes are. I've known you for maybe five or ten years, but I have no idea what you look like.

Details.

Did you ever see Robocop? Remember the big ED-209 bot that was dispatched to kill Robocop? That's me. The droid spent most of the movie running around blasting people in half with its machine guns. (I don't do that). It was fine as long as it was walking on flat ground. But as soon as it had to chase Robocop down a flight of stairs, the trouble began. It hovered one of those big, clunky feet out over the stairs for a second, shook a bit, then came crashing down on its head. Not programmed for this terrain.

Rocks are like that for me. Too much detail. The trail has ended and the side of this mountain has given way to an endless slope of white rocks of all sizes and shapes. I can see each individual stone, but I can't see their jagged and random angles. I can't see where the best footing will be for each step.

In the end, this yields a high cost of two resources - Time and Energy.

Time: Like the ED-209, I take a step by carefully putting a foot forward and testing the waters. I have to rely on tactile feedback to "see" the shape of the rock and decide how to shift my weight to it. Rocks slow everyone down, of course. But stepping in this manner increases the time by a factor of three. This means everyone else is moving three times faster than me.

Energy: Being filtered by a shoe, a sock, and a mesh of nerves in the foot that just weren't designed to capture highly detailed information, the tactile feedback is very often wrong. The step is badly placed, and balance is lost. This results in a sudden tensing of muscles all over the body. A series of quick movements are made to keep from falling and shattering one bone or another. The tension, the evasive action, and the heart rate driven by frustration and the short burst of adrenalin use up massive amounts of the dwindling energy supply.

I spent most of yesterday ahead of Anna and Sixto - sometimes as much as a quarter mile. But now I'm the one lagging behind. Anna stays behind with me. I can tell she's worried. I'm a little worried, myself. There are a few places where falling would mean certain death. In these cases I just hunker down and basically crawl across the hard spots. But how long can I keep this up before an ankle or a wrist get broken? We passed the frayed edges of the torn fabric of society miles back. And a broken bone would be an incredibly bad situation. Knowing this, I go as carefully as possible. I can do this, but it requires even more of the Time resource.

Toward the end, all the extra effort and the thin oxygen has me exhausted. It's not just physical exhaustion, but mental. It is mentally obliterating to have to put so much focus and concentration on every step for an hour and a half. We come to a small open area and sit down for a ten minute break.

"We have to do much better on time," says Sixto, darkly.
I look at my watch, "It's 1:30."
"Yeah, but at the rate we're going, and then going back down, we won't get back to camp until 5pm."
"So? There's still enough light by then."
"Yes, but someone will have come up from Sorata to keep an eye on the camp for us. They won't leave until we get back. They need 3 hours to get back down. If they don't leave until 5, they will have to do it in the dark."

Now I'm irritated. No one ever said anything about time constraints. I guess that was what he was talking about this morning, but still. I'm also irritated that no one ever mentioned the godforsaken rocks. But then again, I never told anyone I was half blind - we're even on that one.

Too tired to argue, I ask "Ok, how much more time to get to the top?"
He thinks, "Should be half an hour. But at the rate we're going, an hour."
"Ok. Let's do this. We go for another 30 minutes. If after that, it doesn't look like we'll make it, we turn back. Good?"
"Ok."

We get up and start over the rocks again - this time straight up. Sixto bounds up at his unthinkable speed and we follow. I will myself to go faster this time.

I do alright for several minutes then miss a step. My left foot slides down in between two rocks and twists. Not bad - but it hurts. I pull it out and check it. It's ok.

I look up at Sixto, "Oye."
"Qué?" he turns.
"Go ahead and take her up. I'll be back down there where we took a break."
He pauses, "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Ok."

He turns and keeps on. I relay in English to Anna.

"Are you sure?" she asks.
"Yeah, of course. I won't make half an hour. At least one of us should see it."

I head back down to the clear area, sit down, and put my head down on my knees. Fortunately, the frustration is intense enough to not hurt - it just numbs. Within half an hour, they will be standing at a hidden lagoon that lies at the extreme Overground in between the very peaks of two mountains.

I would like to see it. But to Hell with it - I'd like to be able to see what color your eyes are, too.

The hour that follows is neither sleep nor wakefulness.

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Almost exactly one hour later, Anna and Sixto come back down the rocks onto the landing where I sit.

"How was it?" I ask.
"Very beautiful," responds Anna. "I'll show you the pictures later. How are you?"
"Fine."

We have a quick lunch, and the two rest for a bit. Then we get up and start making our way back down.

Having rested and eaten some food, recrossing the rocky wasteland is a bit easier, and I make it out with only a few bruises and scrapes. I should have a broken or twisted ankle - but I don't.

We stop at one of the many streams to refill Anna's water bottle. She pops a few purification tablets into it, pauses, then tosses another one in for good measure. She asks me to mark the time on my watch. It takes half an hour for the process to take effect.

We begin to wind our way down the long path back to the canyon.

Climbing a mountain is hard work - especially at high altitude. Every step obliges you to pull your body weight (plus whatever is in your pack) up a little higher. The quadriceps femoris muscles at the front of the thighs are responsible for most of the work, and the amount of energy required leaves you huffing, puffing, and sweating.

Going down is a different story. Gravity does all the work for getting you down, so you don't lose your breath. But Gravity tends to want to do its work a little too efficiently, so you end up using a different set of muscles to control the descent. But these muscles aren't used to being worked so much in this way, so muscle fatigue sets in before too long. You're good for a while, but after a few hours, you will feel a slight tremor in your step. It is murder on the knees, as well.

We make it back to the campsite at just before 4pm. The person who came to watch over everything turns out to be a girl of about eleven years of age. Child labor is just one of those things in Bolivia that you learn to get used to. The assistant in the back of a micro will often be an 8-year old boy calling out the names of destinations and trying to acquire new customers. Or you will see a 12-year old standing outside a shop offering to sell fruit or whatever else he has inside. It isn't that kids are going out and getting jobs - they are helping their families. The micro with the boy hanging out of the open door is being driven by his father. The shop is owned by the kid's mother who had to run an errand. It isn't much different than an American kid who grows up on a farm and is expected to feed the horses before going to school. But it is still unnerving, and now I'm worried about this girl walking home in the dark, too.

She and Sixto sit together on a rock and speak to each other in Quechua. Anna and I climb into the tent to rest.

As a sentient species, we spend a great deal of time thinking about and discussing pleasure. We are connoisseurs of food, sex, mood-altering chemicals, love, power, and any number of other sensations that make us feel good. But I have always thought we overlook a very important form of pleasure - Relief.

There are all sorts of distressful states that make us miserable - hunger, thirst, pain, just to name a few. Relief is the very distinct and underrated form of pleasure felt when these states are alleviated.

One might argue that this is not a separate form of pleasure, but merely amplified and enhanced versions of the ones already mentioned. It is true that food tastes better after not eating for two days, and sleep is deeper and more satisfying after having been awake for 36 hours.

But between these pleasures and the misery that precedes them is a pinpoint moment of a truly unique sensation. Before the food tastes good or the cold shower lowers your body temperature on a sweltering summer day, there is a precursory pleasure - the cessation of suffering.

I lie down on the bedroll and relish the relief of being off my tortured feet and aching muscles. Five or ten seconds of a distinct form of bliss - a pleasure that is usually accompanied by the words "It's over."

The cold is starting to creep in - delivered by a harsh wind. The walls of the tent flap and rustle furiously. Five minutes go by and the wind is even more violent.

"Guys," calls Sixto.
"Yeah?"
"We're going to have to go lower. This wind is way too strong. It just tore a hole in my tent. And it looks like there is rain coming."
"How much further down?"
He pauses, "About an hour and a half."

I can't help but laugh. Just when I thought this rough day was over and we could relax, it pulls us back in. I translate to Anna.

"Oh God," she whimpers.
"I know. Look on the bright side. We won't have much more walking tomorrow if we go lower."
"I'd rather walk tomorrow. That's not much of a bright side!"
"No. No it's not," I laugh again.

We crawl out of the tent and begin packing things to bring down the tent. Sixto returns with Cabrón.

"No, no, I'll do all that. Go with Maria and start walking. I move much faster, so I can catch up with you later. You need to leave now so that you can get there before dark."

So Anna and I start down the trail with the girl whose name is evidently Maria. Anna bends down to help her tie a scarf around her head to keep warm, and we continue. As we make the descent, my knees and leg muscles scream in protest. The body has its own psychology, and mine had already been convinced that it was done for the day. Sorry, guys. But shut up and keep moving - it could be worse.

Like Sixto, Maria navigates the uneven and slightly rocky trail with an ease and speed that make Anna and I feel foolish. This is all perfectly normal to her. Perhaps she would be equally bewildered to see me dart between cars, mopeds, and swarms of pedestrians at break-neck speeds during Madrid rush hour - and wearing headphones at top volume on top of it.

We eventually make our way back to the gorge from yesterday. This gives an easier and faster walk along even ground for about half an hour. The scene is changed dramatically by the position of the setting sun. The shadows and colors are all different and give it a completely new feel. I would love to stop to take some pictures and absorb it again, but we need to get to lower altitude before it starts raining and gets dark.

At the end of the gorge, we begin the descent down to the small valley where we had lunch yesterday. Anna looks back from where we came.

"There he is. He's at the back of the gorge."
"Geez he's fast."

Sixto and Cabrón catch up with us about halfway down the slope. He points down to the bottom.

"We'll stop there where we ate yesterday. The wind doesn't hit there."
"And the rain?"
He looks over his shoulder to where it is now raining on our original campsite, "Possibly, but I don't think it will move down here. But at least it won't be as cold."

The sun sits perched on the hilly horizon just as we reach the valley. Sixto places a hand on Maria's shoulder and gives her some instructions in Quechua. She nods, waves goodbye to us, and skips off down the hill with a minimum of effort.

We unload the mule and start setting up the tents. I take a look at the tear in Sixto's small tent along one of the seams.

"Not too bad," he says. "It's fine without the wind and cold, and I can fix it later."

It is well after dark by the time dinner is ready. We sit and chat under the stars.

High up on the mountain behind us we can see the faint light of a lantern guiding its carrier slowly along a path.

Day Three

We awake to a much warmer morning than yesterday. We won't be needing any extra layers. A new pair of legs would be nice, however. I can barely walk. While Sixto and Anna have coffee, I stand in the field and do stretches to get my destroyed limbs working again. It helps.

"You don't drink coffee?" asks Sixto.
"All the time. But not while hiking. It will just have me starving to death in another hour." Hair-trigger metabolism.

But a few hours should be all we need to get back to Sorata. We came a long way down last night. The three of us are eager to get back and take some badly needed showers. Even Cabrón knows he's going home and is much less grouchy about letting Sixto tie the bundle of supplies to his back.

We start off across the valley and are soon back in the small farming village. Having made more room on her memory card, Anna stops frequently to take pictures.

At one of these stops, Sixto looks at me and points to Anna, "She's crazy."
"Definitely. But she takes good photos," I laugh.

At last, we reach Sixto's house. His wife and a few kids are sitting outside. Waiting? Sixto wrestles Anna's sleeping bag and bedroll from the tarp and hands them to her. We thank him, shake hands, and head down the hill toward the center of town.

Back at the hostel, we get our large packs out of the storage room and go to our room. The first priority is to drop everything, sit on the floor, and not move anything below our waists. This activity will require half an hour. We sit with our backs against the beds and just chat for a while. Whenever we need to move, we drag ourselves on our butts across the hardwood floor. This would normally make me feel like I am getting my jeans dirty. But having worn them for the past 50-something hours, I feel like I must be getting the floor dirty. But I really don't care, either way.

The next priority is to take a shower. Anna goes first while I continue to mop the floor with my sore ass - setting up the laptop for downloading photos from the cameras.

When my turn comes, I limp into the bathroom. It is the best shower anyone anywhere has ever had.

Next is lunch. There is a small restaurant next to the hostel that has Mexican food. As I fear, it turns out to be a spectacular disappointment and insult to Mexican cuisine. But it's full of carbohydrates, proteins, and vitamins, so whatever.

We sit at the table for a while finishing our drinks. We make plans to celebrate later in the evening with some wine at the hostel and a nice inactive game of cards. Suddenly, Anna's eyes widen.

"Oh no!"
"What?"
"I forgot my knife!"
"Where? Up on the mountain?"
"No, Sixto has it. I forgot to get it back from him."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No. We have to go get it, I paid 40 Euro for it!"
"Of course we do. Otherwise I won't be able to kill you with it in your sleep tonight." Luckily, she's used to my brand of sarcasm.

We leave the restaurant and walk across the plaza to the street that leads up the mountain to Sixto's house. We stand at the base of it and look up.

"This is going to hurt," she says.
"Lots."

My legs - realizing what it is I'm about to put them through - immediately begin to object.

"No, no, no," says the right one. "You have got to be kidding."
"Sorry," I say. "I swear this is the last time this happens."
"That's what you said last night!" he retorts.
Now the left one chimes in "What if we just refuse to go? We'll go on strike!"
"You'll go or I swear to God I won't numb you with a bottle of wine tonight."

A moment of silence passes. Eventually, the left one - always a little more resilient - sighs by scuffing the shoe across the pavement and gives in.

"Ok, ok. But can I kick the Polish girl?"
"You'll do no such thing. Now move."

Each step up the mountain is excruciating for both of us. We have no choice but to laugh about it all the way up.

When we reach the house, Sixto's wife and a friend are sitting outside talking. They tell us he's not home. I describe the knife to her and she runs inside to look for it among his things. As luck would have it, she finds it and comes back holding it up triumphantly for Anna. We thank her, make a second farewell, and head back down to the square.

The way down is equally difficult for our knees and is remedied with another round of giggling and swearing.

In the evening, we sit in the common room of the hostel with a bottle of Chilean wine and a deck of cards. In the corner, my laptop purrs happily and burns Anna's photos onto DVD's.

By the time the wine is gone, the outcome of the card game is neither certain nor remotely important. We crash into our beds and sleep.

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