Hiking at high altitudes is MUCH harder than you'd think

I woke up at 4am, feeling significantly better. Not 100% mind you, but good enough to start the trek. Our ride arrived at 5am, and we rode with our other trekkers (the couple from Denver, and 5 Irish) over dark, winding roads over the mountains and down into the next valley.

After successfully not hurling on the winding, bumpy roads, I was relieved when we finally arrived at the starting point. At which point our 10 porters/guides set up a table a continental breakfast of sorts?!? Yes a crew of 10 for the 9 of us. Kind of how I always imagined hiking Mt. Everest would be.

That equates to roughly 9,200 feet for those playing along at home. The hike was steadily uphill all morning into a narrowing valley. It was truly picturesque. Check out this video, the distant mountains and sky look like a painting.

I hung out in the back mostly. Exhausted. I hadn't eaten much in over 2 days, not to mention had mostly been laying in bed not moving. Certainly not preparing myself for the upcoming hike. As the morning went on, I felt steadily better.

The mountains were spectacular. The Andes is one of the newer mountain ranges of the world apparently, and whereas the Rocky Mountains generally top out around 14,000 feet, the Andes regularly push up into 19,000 feet and higher.

Although there isn't a ton of wildlife up in these altitudes, we did get to see some pretty cool stuff. Looking back, it's funny that we were excited to see llamas (by the end of the honeymoon it basically felt as exotic as seeing a dog), but these were the first we would encounter.

As my condition improved, we stopped for lunch. Rounding a giant boulder in a flat grassy area next to a stream, we came across a tent. Our tent. The porters and mules had gone on ahead (maybe calling them porters isn't correct since the mules were carrying everything, but I will use it as shorthand for cooks, tent guys, mule guys, etc) and set up our meal tent. We had a meal tent?!?

As someone who has never hiked with guides and porters before, it was surreal to arrive to a fully furnished meal tent, and separate portable toilet tent. There were place settings. Napkins. Metal napkin holders at the center of the table. And lunch was already being cooked. 3 courses later, I felt guilty about all the work I didn't have to do. But full. And happy.

For a little while.

As we set off, I regretted eating a normal sized meal, or even eating at all. My stomach was not happy with me, and I began to slow down, stubbornly refusing to let a mule carry my pack. 4 of us were carrying our own packs at this point, the other 5 had paid to have the mules do the work.

Every so often we'd come across a tiny little village. I don't know how they do it. Living up in the mountains where it was only possibly to grow one or two different crops (usually potatoes), miles from civilization. Granted, it was beautiful...I just couldn't fathom what they ate, and how frustrating it must be when you need to trade for things.

I kept expecting to round a corner and have the spectacular scenery take a short break, but it never happened. Each view was more striking than the last.

As the afternoon went on, I felt weaker and weaker. They held back a horse for me, in case I wasn't able to keep walking. But, I was able to compose myself for this picture, right before we arrived at camp.

As we came over the top of a small hill, our campsite came into view. Set in a wide flat area, half covered with stone rubble (I'm sure there is a better way to describe it), it was literally a beacon to me. I stumbled up, got in our tent (which was already set up for us of course), and promptly took a long nap.

It was fairly cold as I awoke, the sun disappearing from the mountains, and the wind whipping down through the valley. I had missed afternoon tea (which was at 4pm when we arrived, it was now 6), but thankfully had regained some of my appetite. The food was again amazing, although the fact that we had just hiked over 10 miles uphill probably had something to do with it.

Nothing interesting happens

Day 5: Cusco

Today was pretty much pointless. We took a taxi down to Enigma to pay for the rest of our tour. I mostly just laid there on the bench feeling sicker and sicker. Somehow, we were there for over an hour. Ugh.

Still spanishless, Janet braved some more errands on her own, such as buying hiking poles and trying to get medicine for me. I can only imagine her trying to describe my symptoms. Back in the hostel, I laid there motionless, either sleeping or listening to music, or both.

At night, Janet went back to Enigma on her own to meet the rest of the group and get final instructions. She met other honeymooners, a couple from Denver?!? who were thankfully able to hook her up with some semi-prescription drugs. This meant that I wouldn't have to rely on any of the other remedies suggested to us: coca tea, chamomile tea, or hot coke. The soda.

We had to have the unfortunate discussion of whether or not Janet would take the trek without me if I didn't feel better by morning. Recovery didn't seem likely, and we went back and forth on the issue for a while. I can't even remember what the consensus was. The most likely scenario was that we would have to skip the trek and meet up with the group just before heading to Machu Picchu.

Luckily for you, no pictures or videos exist from today. They would have been boring anyway!

Ryan gets sick, details omitted

Day 4 - Cusco

Yes, it's still day 4, but now it's nighttime. Not surprisingly there is no interesting footage of my afternoon in bed, battling altitude sickness. Figuring that as a young healthy buck I would be less prone to such nonsense, I was pretty disappointed.

We were advised to be in Cusco 2 days before the trek began (it begins on Day 6, and we arrived here on Day 3) to allow time for adjusting to the altitude. Symptoms of altitude sickness include: headaches, nausea, fever, diarrhea & vomiting (which lead to dehydration), lethargy, loss of appetite, etc. Which of those affected me is not important, nor is why I know those symptoms off the top of my head, and not any of the others.

After sending Janet out into the wild on her own (scary since she basically only knows "agua", "gracias" and the numbers 1-6 & 8), she graciously entertained me by the fire in the dining area.

After eating nothing but a lone (but tasty) tangerine all day, it seemed like I should probably try to eat something. The restaurant Chez Maggie (of which there are at least two on this block) would be our evening meal and source of entertainment:

The artistically illuminated Plaza de Armas at night:

And finally, what goes down, must come up:

Local protests? Stomach protests? Tomorrow has to be better, right?

Protests & riot police in Cusco - we're safe, right?

Day 4 - Cusco

So far, nothing really crazy had happened on our trip. Until day 4. We had prepaid half the cost of our 4 day trek (culminating with a visit to Machu Picchu) and needed to get across town to pay the remaining half. The protesters had a different plan.

These were planned protests mind you. Except for many of the establishments serving primarily tourists, the rest of the country had shut down completely and took to the streets protesting the government. We wandered around looking for a taxi, bewildered.

We would pass alongside a group one hundred strong, marching down the middle of the street, carrying banners, beating drums, and chanting protests in unison. Relieved, we would turn the corner onto the next street, only to find another group.

In between, a group of national police would scurry by, riot shields in hand, attempting to blockade one street or another. On more than one occasion, a mini-tank rolled by, dropping off a new batch.

I didn't know whether to be worried or not. On the one hand, we were just tourists and no one seemed to be paying attention. We could freely move in and out of the crowds, even walk past barricading officers. The protesters were peaceful, and didn't seem to be looking for a confrontation.

On the other hand...why were all the banks heavily guarded? Why were the police so anxious to seal off the area around the primary government building? And, wouldn't a "wealthy" tourist be the perfect target of violence for a repressed working class?

We wandered in the general direction of our tour company, but gave up after 1 mile. Not a single car could get through the morass. Even if they could, I wasn't convinced the office would even be open. Weaving back down different streets, the chaos was the same everywhere.

Still peaceful of course, but I must have subconsciously been counting the number of police I'd seen. Peru is safe, right? Stable too? It would only take one nervous or provoked policeman to ignite this situation...

As fascinating and viscerally satisfying as it all was, I became increasingly uncomfortable. It was time to return to the tourist safety of our hostel.

Behind that big wooden door, it didn't take long to forget the entire situation. Easy to imagine it was a normal day outside. Safe in the castle.

Later in the day, while sending emails at the internet cafe next door, the proprietor jumped up and ran over to the front doors, quickly shutting and latching them. Suddenly it was quiet. The natural light sucked from the room. In the 24 hours we had been in town, I had never seen them closed.

A few tense minutes passed.

The doors were reopened. It was sunny out. People walked back and forth as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

T-shirts, cocaine, and kindness in Cusco

Cusco, Peru

Brushing past a horde of scurrying schoolchildren, I passed through the narrow archway. In an instant, I had gone from blending in, to the obvious foreigner. As I moved upstream through the crowd, the wind whipped against my skin and it became clear - I was the only idiot wearing a t-shirt.

---

All the travelers go to Cusco. Why? Because it’s the staging ground for Machu Picchu, and why else would you visit Peru? Well it turns out there are plenty of reasons, and Cusco itself is one of them. This modestly sized city in the Sacred Valley has tripled in size to around 350,000 in just the last 20 years, no doubt because of the massive influx of tourists stopping through on their way to the ancient Incan city in the clouds.

(image courtesy of Cacophony)

At first glance, it’s almost too perfect. Beautiful, hilly cobblestone streets in every direction. Artistic nighttime lighting and shadows straight from a Hollywood set. A group of children doing group aerobics in a public square.

However, if you confine your visit to the main streets surrounding the Plaza de Armas, Cusco can feel like a Disneyland of shameless sales pitches. Every establishment within a 2 block radius (amounting to…hundreds?) has someone stationed out front just dying to sell you a meal, tour guiding services, international calls, or even cocaine. [Aside: While feigning shock and disgust, I was secretly flattered to be “cool enough” to have received the offer]. The annoyances are easily ignored (I suggest: “Ya comi”. Translation: “I already ate”) but there are a few areas in particular where you’ll find it hard to carry on a conversation uninterrupted.

Wander just a few blocks in any direction, and traveling abroad will feel like just you always imagined it. Get lost in a local market selling food you’d be afraid to eat. Peer through ancient doorways into secret courtyards and twisting hallways. Run your fingertips along an Incan wall, centuries old, and gaze up at the modern structure built atop it.

(image from Wikipedia photo gallery of Cusco)

And of course, just when you think someone is trying to sell you something, remember that Peruvians can be downright over-the-top accommodating and helpful. Which brings us back to me in my t-shirt, at night, at 10,000 feet. In the middle of winter.

Aware of my own condition, suddenly, I was my own hero. Yeah, that’s right. I was born and raised in a little place called Wisconsin. Ever heard of it?

Inner monologues don’t make public heroes out of idiot tourists.

I would survive the arduous trek back up to my hostel, where, despite the promises made, my laundry was 30 minutes late. With barely enough time to adequately clothe myself, my wife and I hurried down to the travel agency to pick up our bus tickets.

And again, despite the promises made, no tickets.

(image courtesy of orignal)

With less than 25 minutes to spare, the woman at the agency grabbed us and ran out the door. Here we were, two comparatively giant white people with enormous backpacks, being dragged through the streets of Cusco by a woman just barely over four feet tall.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I kept losing her in the crowd: a passing loud and colorful street parade of children, cruelly of identical body proportions to our scurrying hostess.

Figuring she was driving us to the bus station herself, I was surprised when she hailed a cab. Figuring she was making sure we would be driven to the right place, I was surprised to see her in the back seat, pinned beneath a pack several times her size. She didn’t drop us off at the bus station either, or let us pay for the cab. Figuring she was simply showing us which gate to head towards, I was surprised to see her paying the departure tax for our tickets. Then, after a hasty and bewildered goodbye from Janet and I, she shoved us off through our gate, and disappeared into the crowd.

(image courtesy of Kaldoon)

Cuzco, rising altitude and tension

Day 3: Lima -> Cuzco

We got up early and breakfast was delivered to our room, again (apparently there aren't enough seats at the table downstairs for everyone?). The scenic seaside route to the airport gave us yet another perspective of the city, and got us to the airport without incident (although plenty of near accidents, and by "near accident" I mean: the type of rare occurrence that would get you the bird and a sound honking in the US, but happens here about every other minute). The only notable story at the airport was that we resigned to eat fast food, and then unknowingly paid extra because we ordered from the guy standing in front of the counter with a menu (instead of the people behind the counter). He did bring the food out to us at our table, but I think I would have rather saved the $2.

Going from sea level to ~10,000 feet wasn't easy on everyone. The white-knuckled guy next to Janet gripped his seat for dear life (which actually had a calming effect on her). For the first time, I saw someone use the barf bag. For real. Visions of that scene from "Stand By Me" danced in my head...

We were greeted at the airport by a traditional band (yes that's right, it's pan flute time!), whose sweet song echoed throughout the baggage claim. The cynic tourist in me found this highly amusing. I believe my inner monologue was "They're putting on quite a show for us, aren't they?"

Navigating through at least 30 locals shouting, pitching their hotel, asking if we needed a ride, and saying anything they could to start a conversation, we hopped in a cab and rode to the tourist district surrounding Plaza de Armas (the main square in town). We would have arrived a bit sooner, but the protests scheduled for tomorrow were already in effect:



And here are a few photos:


We were able to snag a room at the awesome Los Niños Hostel. It was started by a woman from the Netherlands who was disturbed by the number of street children in Cuzco, so she began adopting them. 12 boys later, she had a pretty full plate. The proceeds of the hostel go to helping the children of the city, so everyone doesn't mind paying a little bit more.

I'm silently enraged right now because we did not take any photos or videos of the hostel. Basically you walk into a beautiful stone courtyard with chairs and tables scattered about a central fountain. The rooms are arranged on both the ground level and second floor around the courtyard. Luis (named after one of the adopted) would be our room for the next 3 nights.

[Edit: I found this great picture on the Los Niños website:]


While I wandered around the city, Janet tackled some much needed studying (apparently getting your MBA is serious) in the internet place across the street. For 40 cents an hour, you are basically sitting in a dank room (which smelled a little bit like pee) with 6 computers. Head through the doorway in the back and that's where the family lives, seemingly in poverty. It's truly amazing how everyone seems to be a businessperson of some sort. I guess that is what happens when there are very few decent jobs.

It didn't take me long to feel lost. Turn here, turn there. Suddenly I am the only tourist in a giant market with fruits, vegetables, and giant chunks of meat hanging from the ceiling. Sometimes it is fun to just wander aimlessly, pretending you don't exist and trying to observe without interaction or judgment.

For dinner, we ate at Victor Victoria where we dined on some excellent quinoa (a native Andean staple...supposedly the healthiest grain in the world) and alpaca. Which I enjoyed (tasted like pork). I semi-regretted it when I saw a really cute alpaca on the sidewalk the next day (it was on a leash). Yeah, I'm a softie.

Armed with that knowledge, you won't be surprised that I didn't order this:



Long ago, someone decided that guinea pig would make a great Peruvian delicacy. Yikes!

At this point, we were getting used to drinking bottled water (something we never do at home). And Janet's spanish was coming along nicely.



Hard to tell which she's better at. Right?