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Huatapallana is a snow and ice capped peak that towers over its neighbours reaching an impressive 5,100 metres above sea level. Tim, Malaika, Cally and I decided to hike to one of its glaciers near its summit on the advice from previous and current travellers to Huancayo. Tim, being an adventure and outdoor enthusiast, was extremely excited. Malaika and Cally were dubious but intrepid nonetheless. And I had resigned myself to the fact that we were going to climb a friggin mountain.
We also conscripted two others to join our group: Karen, a volunteer at an orphanage, from the US, and Vaughn, a Canadian who was pre-med and volunteering at the Chupaca Med Centre with the four of us.
And so, on a fine Saturday morning at 8am, we all gathered in the centre of town, at the Plaze de la Constitucion and piled into a mini-bus with a small, but spry looking Peruvian man, named Juan. He was our guide for the day. He wore an all black get up, with a gray woollen beany. All he brought with him that day was a length of rope, which he coiled up and tied onto his back… hardcore. His Spanish
was slow and deliberate and well articulated which made him easy to understand.
On our bus, apart from the 6 of us, there was also an older couple from Lima that were in their 40s I’d say. They never made it to the top, and turned back pretty early. There was another younger couple from Lima, who also turned back. We found them back at the start sipping on coffee, asking how the trek was. The last two on our bus was a Frenchman, who was polite and unassuming and a German lady with painted on eyebrows who had obviously climbed many a mountain before. She had all the gear, and seemed to have no trouble with it at all.
At about 10am we reached what I will call “base camp.” Really, it was a ramshackle house with taxidermy animals adorning its walls as well as live ones having the run of the place - chickens, a cat, a dog, and a baby llama with white fluffy fur that seemed destined for scarves and hats and socks.
Another bus turned up with more people that were to join our little mountain trekking troupe. Among them was a
family of three with a young girl about 12 years old. I thought to myself, “If that older couple and that young girl can do it, surely I’d be able to.” But needless to say, the older couple turned back early, and I never saw that family of three return back to base camp when the trek was over, so I’m not sure what happened to them. I hope they made it off the mountain before it got dark.
We set off at about 10:30am and didn’t return to the start until about 4pm. It was a 3 hour hike up to the top and a 2 and a half hour return. Base camp was at an altitude of 4,200m and the glacier where we were headed was at about 5,050m. The air was thin, and as we walked and climbed, it grew thinner. The hike started off easy enough, but gradually became more and more difficult. Our guide made us all stop at a rocky pass about 20minutes into the hike and gave us all piles of coca leaves to chew, and a shot of pura cana, a type of Peruvian liquor. I suppose if we were a
little bit drunk, it might distract us from the sheer difficulty and lack of air that we were all about to experience…. But it didn’t.
I almost hate to re-live it with these words. At one stage, only being able to walk twenty or so metres before having to stop and catch your breath is tormenting. It was like I had grown old and invalid. My heart pounded and my breath was quick and could never be deep enough. My mouth was constantly filled with the bitter taste of coca leaves as I made a disgusting ball of them in the side of my mouth, adding more leaves every so often, masticating and swallowing the juice it made every now and then. Although, I do think it helped with the altitude sickness. I didn’t get a headache, or other symptoms. But I think I was lucky. One of the girls from the other bus lost her breakfast at about 4,800m and some people complained of terrible headaches.
Tim managed to do alright, and was one of the first people to the glacier. Malaika, Cally and I set a more moderate pace, taking in the scenery, let’s say, despite
our guide Juan saying “Vamos” and “Avanze” far too often. And once we made it to the glacier, it was with satisfaction and a sense of achievement we slipped and climbed onto its icy surface.
The trip back was definitely easier, and was mainly downhill, but we kept thinking we’d see the little ramshackle house around the corner, but it would keep eluding us. Cloud and fog started to roll in, and it became bitterly cold. I wondered about the people that were behind us whom I couldn’t see any more, the family of three, the girl that vomited. They were moving very slowly. Visibility was decreasing.
Eventually we reached “base camp” and were fed caldo de cordero, a warming flavoursome broth with lamb bits. Afterwards, we piled into our bus and left, exhausted, but happy.
That night we replenished our carb sources with some pizza and sangria. We played cards. We marvelled at what we had done. We laughed. We drank. We ate.
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