I find it funny, how right after writing that last blog, saying how I found it hard to capture images of the "real Peru," the urban culture if you will, that I go out to buy some supplies for my trip to Laguna 69. I go to this mini-supermarket in the centre of Huaraz. And as I'm paying at the tills, I look up towards the entrance of the shop to see these two girls with a camera trained right on me. As I look at them, they kind of turn slightly, pointing the camera off a little bit, and just freeze in an attempt to hide what they were doing. And as I walk by them, they can't even help themselves from giggling.
They couldn't have picked a better time eh? Less 30 minutes after I write a blog about how disrespectful it would be for me to just wander around the markets of Peru, sticking my camera in peoples faces in an attempt to capture the real Peru.
I really don't mind though.
I'm never going to shy away from the fact that I love the attention. And besides that, I think it's kind of different for me. Because apart from anything else, I'm used to it now. Just because of the way that I look, I become something of a minor celebrity in these parts. Of sorts anyway. And I'm the outsider. I'm the one intruding into their lifestyle, not the other way around. Yes, getting photographed just buying groceries is a bit much. Because you kind of like to run your daily errands undisturbed. But they probably aren't going to see someone looks quite like me for a while, so fuck it.
They couldn't have picked a better time though. I still say that the other way around, me taking photos of the locals just trying to go about their daily business, that would be disrespectful.
And my goodness gracious, I was hungry but couldn't be bothered with a restaurant, so on the way back I stopped off at a street vendor. And my fucking God you can really eat cheaply in this city!
1 sole, about 22p can get you a burger from a vendor.
Makes me kind of feel like I was living pretentiously when I was eating in restaurants at 3 soles per meal.
Going on a day-long hike early the next morning, perhaps I could have done with something a little more practical in my stomach. Especially as seeing as I was up at 5:30 that next morning I didn't have the time for any breakfast. But fuck it. Lives and learns.
I had been assuming that some kind of hearty snack would be available on the streets as vendors often come along the windows of the buses selling all kinds of treats. But on my journey all the way to Cebolla Pampa, the start of the Laguna 69 trail, all I was offered was pop corn. So that was my breakfast.
And I felt somewhat like I'd been misled as to the popularity of this trail, seeing as I'd been told that it was a hot-tourist trip, and that I'd more than likely meet some other people on the way there, going on the same route. So I had in my head, tourists. Tourists equal vendors, as one thing that is very apparent in South America, is that if there's a demand for something, no matter what or where, there's almost always someone willing to supply it.
Even in the most precarious places like up mountains, if there's people there, you'll find vendors. But having made it clear to the collectivo "conductor" exactly where it was that I wanted to be dropped off, it became very apparent that I was in the fucking middle of nowhere. No people. No shops. No buildings of any kind. And it was very, very lucky that I had made this trip to the supermarket on the previous night. Because I very nearly didn't on the assumption that I'd be able to buy some kind of food out here. But had I done that, the only nutrition I would have had to accompany me on this 16km mountain trek, would have been pop corn, and last nights burger.
Looking the way I do, there really are advantages and disadvantages. People will see me. People will look at me all day. I get a fuck of a lot of attention. And sometimes this can be a bad thing. But at times, it really can be great.
En route to Cebolla Pampa, I had to change Collectivo buses in the town of Yungay. And I get there no knowing where the fuck I was going, or which bus to get on.
But within about 15 seconds of getting off my first bus, I have 2 men arguing over me, trying to convince me that I want to get their collectivo to Cebolla Pampa. Being white, this was pretty much the only reason that I had to be in the area. So all I have to do is stand there, wait 10 seconds, and someone will come and offer me a bus.
It really is great to be white sometimes.
These buses, not really made for white people though. Because the typical Peruvian male, is somewhat shorter than me. So the last thing I really needed before a 16km hike was to have 2 dead legs being cramped into one of these things on a rocky, dusty, Peruvian mountain road for over an hour.
But you do what you have to do. It's not like I'm going to pay for a taxi now is it?
And thankfully we stopped off at what I will try to term, a Peruvian service station. And by service station, I mean a mud-hut and a table. But whatever. It gave my legs a bit of a break. A stunning drive in itself though. Driving through these mountains, it was worth the pain. Some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever seen. And for some people, they call it home, with the moutains lined with farms.
Absolutely spectacular.
My day was only going to get more so from this point though as I got dropped off, literally in the middle of nowhere. I couldn't even see any kind of trail, with my only clue being this sign with a picture of a tent on it, pointing down this rather steep verge.
And this would continue as I had to often explore to figure out exactly where it was I was supposed to be going. Because this supposedly tourist-rich route was desserted, and at times untrodden.
I passed cows. But people, no. And my route took me across rivers. No bridges you understand. You use what emerging rocks you can to keep your feet dry. And at times the unmarked trail would involve walking along rocks, which obviously leave no mark. It was at times something of a challenge to figure out exactly where the fuck it was I was supposed to be going, because I had no map. It was really a case of hope. Though I'm rather experienced at being lost in the middle of nowhere nowadays. So I always found a way to stay on track.
Touristy though? Not at all.
In fact it was well over an hour until I saw the first, and only other people that I would see this whole trip. I was about 30 minutes or so ahead of them, near to the top of large verge that I'd had to scale. And I could see them below, barely, barely visible they were so small. But this was not designed to be an easy hike. And at altitudes that would reach 4,620 metres, I found myself doing one Hell of a lot of climbing.
3 hours for an 8km route one-way might sound pathetic. But my God I was suffering.
Void of any proper meal in probably 24-hours, I was getting by on high-sugar snacks that I'd bought the night before. They were all that was keeping my legs moving. But for a guy that had spent do long down on the beach prior to Huaraz, hiking up mountains at this altitude was borderline suicide at times, as I did go on to develop a thumping headache for large portions of the walk.
This was altitude sickness as bad as I'd ever felt it.
Regardless though, you have to soldier on. It was only going to get worse, but I didn't come here to go home with my tail between my legs. So you drink loads of water, take what breaks you need, and keep on feeding sugar into your body to give it the spark to keep on moving.
Worth it?
Absofuckinglutely!
One of the most spectacular places I have ever been to, I'll let my photos do the talking and I hope that they do justice to what was just an incredible landscape.
The weather was ever-changing in these mountains and valleys. Going from dripping heat to wind and rain in moments. And it was unfortunate that as I arrived at Laguna 69 after a trying 3 hours, the clouds formed and it was here that was about the heaviest rain I saw all day started to fall.
Even then, the blue of this lake was mesmerising. In the sun I shudder to fathom its beauty. Headache, altitude sickness or not, this was something special. Well, well worth it. And I could comfort myself from here knowing that from this point, everything went down.
No more hills to climb, and a gradual decrease in altitude, which could only be a good thing.
It was perhaps 10 minutes into my return-journey that I finally crossed-paths with the two people that I'd seen as dots for previous sections of my ascent. One was an Australian, with a Peruvian guide. And they would be the only other people I would see this whole trek.
Tourist hot-spot? Not on this day.
The way down was almost as invigorating as the ascent. Because as the weather continually changed, so did the landscapes, with snow-capped peaks previously hidden being revealed for the return journey. And areas previously laden with cloud now appreciating the sun's rays, it was almost like walking a new route.
My headache unfortunately didn't subside as I descended. And once I was getting towards the trail-head, it was becoming unbearable, with the simple thought process that I didn't have a choice, keeping my legs moving.
I really had no idea how I was going to get back from here. My hope, my assumption was that there would be a collectivo going by in my direction. But this was no highway. This was an unpaved mountain road in the middle of nowhere. I really didn't have a clue what would be going by. But this was not even the worst of my problems.
Head banging, I sat on a rock by the side of the road. Thinking it would help, I proceeded to drink much of the water I had remaining...
Nope.
Without warning, this came right back up coloured by the pink sugar snacks that I'd been using to keep me going for this trek. And in the space of the next 3 minutes I would proceed to throw-up a further 3 times. The final one being a full on vomit dripping out the nostrels and everything.
I was sat on a rock at the side of the road up in the mountains. Still not one car had driven past. I had no clue how I would be getting back to Huaraz, and I did not feel good. This was very literal altitude sickness. My head was banging. And the feeling of sickness did not subside.
Whether a bus would come along or not, I wasn't sure. If it did, would I even be able to get on. Because I wasn't sure if the vomit was done or not. So for about 40 minutes, I just sat there. My arms crossed over my knees and my head resting in my arms. This was not a fun time to be Jro. Almost in delerium, I watched as perhaps every 5 minutes or so a vehicle would pass. But nothing of use to me. I was waiting for a collectivo that may never arrive. But I was dreading it when it did.
With this headache, how the fuck could I ride this rocky moutain road? How? These things have a capacity of maybe 15 or 16 people. But there'll often be 20 in there. Unsure if I could even ride the bus without vomiting, what the fuck was I even going to do if a bus did come. Could I even get on?
As a precaution, still having a small amount of pop corn left, I emptied the contents onto the road and kept the bag in my pocket.
As a last resort, this was what was going to keep me chugging onto the bus floor.
It was the least of my problems, but by now the rain had started to fall again. This time pretty hard. This was not a fun time. So when a collectivo eventually rounded the corner, I had no choice but to board.
Having been here 40 minutes already, to let it run by I risked spending the night on this mountain road. But man, I could not have been more thankful that there were only 2 other passengers. Perhaps the quietest collectivo I've ever been on, it could not have come at a better time, giving me the option to not only sit away from people, but also next to an opening window. Just in case.
The first part of this journey, for every rock, pot-hole or bump that we barrelled over, I could feel my brain moving about within my skull. But as I'd suspected, the way that I was feeling was a simple adverse reaction to the physical strain at this sudden altitude. And as this bus spent about 75 minutes descending down the mountain road, every minute I started to feel more and more human again.
As the air thickened, normality gradually returned. And by the end of this first bus, I felt almost chirpy.
That was tough. Man that was tough. And that time feeling like I was feeling, sat at the side of the road, wondering if I'd even make it out of the mountains back to Huaraz, that was not a fun time. But knowing then what I knew now, would I do it again?
Without a doubt. Because some things, they're just worth the pain.
Not many other places in the world can you see things like that. I'd take that headache ten-times over if I had to. Pain heals. But that kind of thing, seeing those things, it sticks with you a lot, lot longer. Worth every second. And to some extent, maybe it makes it even more special. Because you know that you had to work for what you saw. And maybe that just makes it even better.
The Austrailan and her guide had boarded the bus shortly after me. So we all got what was termed a taxi from Yungay back to Huaraz.
I say taxi. The driver was wearing decorating overalls. I think that he was just on his way back to Huaraz from work and thought it be worthwile to pick up some passengers as he charged the same as the bus. Can't blame him to be fair. And being alone, I wouldn't have got in here. But there were 3 of us, so I did.
He could have been a taxi driver mind as he did that act dumb thing that they do when you give them 5 soles for a 4 soles journey. And they pretend that they don't know what you're talking about when you ask for your change. I was not in the mood to be fucking about though. And I was not getting out of his car with my sole.
He got the message soon enough.
I walked with the Aussie girl for a bit, who had been under the assumption that she was going on a group-tour to Laguna 69. It was just that she was the only one that turned up. So I think she was actually kind of thankful to have someone else to talk to on the way back. Because this guide, he was a bit crazy.
Back at the hostel, I actually have a dorm-mate. Which is shit. I like having my own room. An English guy though. And I am in dire need of a proper meal right now having eating nothing but pop corn and sugar snacks for 16km of mountain hiking, and 4 hours of buses today. So we both go out. Get a pizza, which is an expense that I would rarely afford myself at a whopping 10 Soles. But fuck it. I think I'd earned it the way that today had gone. Though even this large pizza wasn't enough to fill me up, so on the way back, I go back to this same street vendor that I'd been to the night before.
People often accentuate the negatives of being white in a Latino city. The obvious vulnerability perhaps. Personally, I like to think of the positives. And one positive of being memorable, is I never have to ask for anything twice. Because without saying a word, this vendor remembers exactly what I'd had the night before, and how I had it.
It makes my life a lot, lot easier.
Well today, the option of going for another hike really was off the cards. And I think I've learnt a valuable lesson that next time I'm at altitude, which won't be too long with Bolivia looming. Give myself some time to climatise.
It's probably not the best idea to just go swanning off up mountains alone.
Although saying that, I would do it again in a second.
Today though, today was just to be a day of getting things done. I got a weak variation of a full-English breakfast this morning. And I was hoping that with the owner being an English expat, that this could be the first proper fry-up that I've had since I left England. It disappointed though. And was I given that in an English cafe, I'd be sending it right back to the kitchen.
With my night-bus to Lima looming tonight, I was hoping for today to be a productive day. But diabolical wi-fi and scheduled virus-scans meant that I spent more of my day looking at a blank laptop screen than being productive. And I still haven't been able to yet arrange anywhere to stay in Lima. A city that I'll be honest, I am not looking forward to visiting in the slightest.
I've met a lot of people that have been to Lima. And none of them tend to speak positively of it. It's expensive and it's shit is the impression that I've received.
Expensive I have already gathered by looking at hostels today. And were it more feasible, I might even be tempted to pass right through. But again the problem of Peru's transit comes back to haunt. As rather than being one bus station, there are individual companies dotted all over the city, spanning perhaps 10km between the furthest ones. And I have no idea which of these will take me to Huacachina, my next intended destination. So almost for the necessity to figure out exactly how to leave Lima, I need to stay for a couple of days. And I suppose it would only be fair to make up my own mind about the city.
I do know some people there that I've met on my travels so it'll be good to be hooking up with them again.
When I do eventually manage to get a hostel though, how often I actually leave it before I depart Lima may be a contentious issue if other peoples opinious are anything to go by.
It's not often that I go somewhere under the expectation that it'll be shit. But that is what I'm doing for Lima. Hopefully I'll be proved wrong.
Another night-bus looms for tonight. Not that that's anything uncommon for me now.
Huaraz: Absolutely stunning.
It's a little touristy for my liking. But it was Peruvian enough that you could still get a local experience here. And when you combine that with the epic scenery, it was well worth the short visit. Because it's rare in life that you have the opportunity to see landscapes of such beauty as I saw here.
I'll keep the headaches and the sickness. Because they just made it even more worth it.