Viajar el mundo: The Cult of Trekking

31 de Agosto

Doesn't look too far away does it? Lets trek

High over the plains, looking out towards rural Peru, and her staggeringly beautiful mountains yet to come, the lands of contrast continue here in South America. We have just completed Huaraz, in central Peru, nestled high in the Andes. We travelled down here from a few dirty and dusty days in Northern Peru, rushing through cities, towns and dumps for some peace and quiet, some beautiful nature and scenic tranquillity. We were hoping to laze back in hammocks, catch up on some reading, take in the views, and hope not to starve ourselves to death of lack of oxygen. After getting through the high cities of Bogota and Quito, we came one better, as Huaraz sits at approx. 3100m above sea level.

Another overnight bus, but this time one of comfort. That is, fully reclining seats, a movie without violence reminiscent of women at a Boxing Day sale, and passengers without livestock on their laps. We arrived into town with the sun, and were greeted by snow topped peaks that lap the community, a place where the Andean way of life is more pronounced here than other places we have seen so far on the continent with traditional dress and cattle rustling through the streets.

Huaraz is a noted backpacker and hiker magnet, where such gather to plan and attempt multi day treks of the nearby mountainous regions, such as the Cordillera Blanca and Huayhush ranges within the Andes. They are serious adventure people who wear extremely expensive clothing (I guess its important to look good when your frozen body is airlifted from a mountain top) and address each other with “Dude”. Rather than stay in the centre, we headed for the hills, higher ground to a place called the Way Inn Lodge. It’s like many a mountain retreat, with magnificent, unparalleled views of the Andes, cosy log fire cabins, homely meals, and absolute peace and tranquillity second to none. But without the prices you would expect to pay. We paid approximately $12 each, for a dorm bed, in a cave, complete with comfy warm beds with duck down duvets. There were only 4 of us in the cave, as a lovely friendly South African couple had also made the trip. Food was delicious, and was only an extra $25 a day per person, for all our meals were, which were pretty much vegetarian, as we had realised we had unwittingly joined a cult.

The walker would soon be devoured by the giant bird angry at cage containment

Ruins in Chan Chan. If they can't ruin it, no one can.

The Flintstones had all mod cons in their caves

The creeper would soon block any remaining sunlight, consigning the trekkers to live with the cult forever

"Ok, we aint seriously walking up that are we?"

Yes my friends, this hikers, travellers, adventurers retreat was not really such. It was an Ayahuasca Retreat. Ayahuasca is a mind bending hallucinogenic drug, noted by those in the know as the most potent psychedelic drug on earth. It is gathered from a vine grown in the Amazon, and then concocted into liquid form and passed onto gringos and hippies for their experience, or ceremony as they call it. Basically, it fucks you up somewhat for four or five hours, but the hippies at the Cave Cult will tell you it takes you into a higher level of consciousness where you can experience your spiritual beliefs and dreams and me at utmost peace with yourself. All the while you are vomiting and shitting sand for days. Or spiritual cleansing, as these folk call it.

These retreats run most of the year round, and they accept non-greenies in between while they wait for suckers to sign up. But you will still be treated like a participant is preparing for a ceremony. Which explained why we couldn’t get a steak or a beer for the whole time we were there, as potential users must abstain from booze, meat, animal fats and sex for a week before their “ceremonies”. Mind you, if you saw these people, keeping off the rooting wouldn’t be a hard decision to make.

The conversations around dinnertime are classic. Trying to understand what the Jesus these Jonestown people are on about when they tell you that they drink the juice from the cactus they call San Pedro the Knowing Plant to obtain spiritual enlightenment and how drinking certain leaf and flower potions can alter your blood type to reach further spiritual and emotional highs is not an easy activity.

We should at this stage let you all know that we didn’t partake in any of these activities. The worst we are guilty of was smuggling in a packet of crisps cooked in animal fat and eye off a baby lamb to dish up with some new potatoes.

So we left them to their permaculture and dreadlocks and entered into our own mind-numbing realm, altitude sickness. The arrival day activity was breathtaking, literally. Walking up a simple flight of stairs involved stopping for a rest for twenty minutes and a possible call to a paramedic. The nausea and headaches, the brain numbing stupor, the loss of appetite, and the regret of not popping those prescribed pills the night before: a deflating experience all part of the experience of these climes.

We pulled ourselves together by dinner time, aided by a few cups of coca leaves, which generally have as much effect as a face full of exhaust fumes, but we went with the flow, and rested up, eager to take on a mountain the next day.

From our cave the view is spectacular. Just checking The Guide to Superlatives now, and I will run out if trying to describe what we were greeted with each and every day. The closest peak is Laguna Churup, a crystal clear, drinkable lagoon at the foot of Mount Churup, 4500m high into the Andes. Together with our new South African friends, we grabbed the hippie issued trail map from the Lodge reception, crudely drawn with what resembled a crayon outline across a dark scanned map of the area, and labelled difficulty level “Easy”, with a total return time of 4-6 hours. Sweet, we thought. We will leave after eggs on toast, grab a cheese and not sure what the hell that is sandwich to go, and be back in time for mid afternoon reflection on our nice stroll.

Fred was the experienced climber of the group, and led the way. Across fields marked by scattered stones and past cattle farms, we saw the peak in the close distance. Assuming it was just over a ridge we were approaching, we were becoming very excited at being able to witness ourselves the sight that signifies the town. Two hours into the trek, as scheduled, we turned the ridge and looked up. Not only was Churup still there, but also he seemed to be moving away from us at a steady rate of knots, higher into the distance. So we climbed. And climbed. The steep inclines became stingier with air, and every ten steps were followed by a few minutes rest, as the oxygen became more and more scarce. Gradual steps became struggles over and over cabled rocks, as the lips became parched and the sensation of chewing on cotton wool increased the time needed to complete the trek. Running out of water, we turned to the flowing stream of snowmelt, drunk straight from the source, pure and refreshing as you could wish.

Stumbling, with slightly heavier feet, earth was beginning to give way below us, and pebbles and stones were left reeling over the edge into the abyss of a valley below. Higher and higher we pushed, with now six hours passed, with the peak still in sight, but the lagoon nowhere to be found. The thought of giving up was real. Turning back and rolling down back to the Cult was more preferable and easier right then. The inedible sandwiches were churning in our bellies, and our stitched, parched lips struggled to release words for rations of air became essential. But what kept us going? Was it the desire to achieve what we set out to do the motivating factor, or was it the fear of having to listen to how the vegan’s way is the only way? Then at once, after one last scramble over boulders, our oasis was there. The signpost told us, our 1500m climb for a total of 4500m was complete. All that was left was to savour the moment, to rest a while, steal whatever air was around, and knock ourselves out of astonishment from this magnificent environment we were part of. And to plan to kill the pricks who drew the map.

We shared a cup of tea, donned our cold weather winter jackets and beanies, caught our breath, and watched. We looked at higher peaks in the distance, and thought, you know what, we could probably do that right now, such is our high on life. So while the Cult below was ceremoniously preparing to substitute life for substances, we were experiencing the real thing.

We enjoyed the top for as long as we could, only soured by the fact that we needed to return by sunset, which we did, nine hours after setting out on a four hour walk. We returned starving and thirsty, but our breath back. What we would have done for a steak and beer!

Why do people trek anyway? It seems to just be a walk. What is the goal at the end of it? Why do people conquer Everest? Just to say they have done it and because it is there? All I know is, the next time somebody tells you that it will be a fantastic idea to trek 4500m plus in altitude for 8 hours, kick them fair and square in the balls, and run, stopping every ten metres to catch your breath.

We slept very well that night. And early the next day we departed the Lodge and left behind our suicidal cordial and headed into town for a lunch of half a rack of ribs and some bloody cold beer.

Two hours into the trek, and all smiles. For now....

The baby lambs would be led to a very tasty grave.

"Im sure the map is in here somewhere"

"Just where the fuck am I?"

The sign imitation contest wasn't going too well

Peru didn’t start off too pretty. After crossing the border from Ecuador, where literally the mountains ended and parched desert began, we continued on for six hours to Piura, a city considered the most important in higher Northern Peru. Clearly, the main industry is sand and tumbleweeds here. The bus choked into a noisy and traffic snarled town. The trees here are all brown and sandy. They are not dead, they are all simply covered in sand and muck from the all to frequent sand storms that envelope the town. The incomplete roads and half gutted buildings further strengthened Piura’s contention for the Biggest Shithole on the Planet award. Watch out Gosford, New South Wales, you have some competition. I bashed my head against the window of the bus trying to comprehend why the author of the Lonely Planet guide I was reading, wrote that reaching Piura was “Like coming to an oasis in the desert” Well if I am ever lost in the Sahara, I really hope I stumble upon an overflowing rancid diarrhoea filled toilet cubicle rather than a place like Piura again.

So we left. Stayed there twenty minutes to get a bus out of the place. Which were very popular. Not many come back funnily enough.

Then there was Chiclayo, a smaller town further down the coast. Needing somewhere to stay for a night, and getting desperate to get rid of the memory of Piura as well as it also getting late, we checked into the first hotel the taxi driver dropped us off too, which could have easily have been mistaken for a rubbish dump. Although a tip full of used syringes might have been more hygienic. The mouldy shower recess, the carpets sticking to the floor by way of human fluids and possible animal hair, and a bed that even bed bugs wouldn’t dare set camp upon. The rats outside were protesting over the living conditions here. What a place. We thought we would escape the filth by dining at a local restaurant but soon we shared our table with fleas while we sipped hot beer and the cross eyed teenage waiter forgot our order for over an hour.

After showering for an eternity the next morning so as not be mistaken for beggars when we went out into the street, we took a bus to Trujillo, a little jewel in Northern Peru’s crown. Lovely colourful buildings surrounding wide-open plazas and a countryside dotted with excellent historical ancient mud brick ruins in Chan Chan. It was a pleasant place to stay, despite the ATM, which took $300 of our money after accepting our pin number. You’re doing it wrong.

So now we are in Lima, where Kylies sister Nicole has joined us for three weeks. She has brought us Twisties and Cadburys chocolate, so we certainly better look after her.

Hasta luego