The Final Day of the Lares Trek

The final day of the Lares Trek was upon us.

And as the world is an angry angry beast, sleep before this final night was not all that stellar. You may think that, once again, it was too cold. But in this thought you would be incorrect. You see it was not too cold, but rather too hot. Yes, while we were at a higher altitude, it was a much warmer night, and thus the thermals did nothing but create an uncomfortable balance between being too hot, or removing some of the sleeping bag, only to then be too cold. But once again all of this was forgotten when tea was brought to my tent.

And the white noise created by the running stream nearby did wonders to help create a calm, and relaxed attitude for this final day.

After a breakfast of delightful pancakes (I'm told this was “pancake day” some sort of Jesus thing, I believe? I'm not to up on my theology/mythology/what have you.) I was told that lemon and sugar made for the best toppings. Clearly these people have never had real maple syrup. They said that they had, but when I asked how much the bottle cost and discovered it was only a few dollars, I knew they'd never tasted the real Canadian treat – as the hours required collecting sap, and then reducing it by 80% over a constant flame, can only be purchased for twenty dollars a bottle. Any less, and you're taking chances with the flavour. On the other hand, it doubles as a tasty treat when poured over clean snow.

So pancakes we had, and hot chocolate too. Then our camp was broken down for the final time, and we were off. I may have downed a few more pain killers.

As we walked longer than needed be the day before, our walk today was a short three hour hop down the road. Leaving the hills behind, and entering the cities, the children's faces became much cleaner, and their clothes far more modern. I still wonder if those in the hills were merely in costume. It seems strange that a few kilometers could create such different cultural norms.

Down the road we hopped, talking merrily all the way, tra la la – and then we were stopped. A mud slide had closed off some of the road. Workers were chipping away at the rock with picks to cover the slide. Watching for a moment or so, we then decided to waltz right through, hoping for the best, trying to become as little covered in the sticky barrier as possible.

Towns, rocks, mountains – and then we had reached our destination. An anti-climactic end to the three day journey. Looking back it could have been compiled into one day for many, I do believer. The first three hours were relatively tame, as were the last three. It would have made for a 16 hour hike. While that might have been pushing it somewhat two days at the most this trail should take. Still – I was grateful for the three.

Our ending place was a restaurant where lunch would be served. But before that some people went off to see the temple of the sun. I'm sure this Inca ruin was lovely, and marvelous, but when I heard that it required climbing a terrible number of steps, I was sure that I needn't visit it.

Returning to my reading of the Lord of the Rings, I once more felt that I could relate to Frodo's never-ending march across middle earth. (I hate Frodo, mind you – and feel he is the most terrible of all characters in said text, not unlike Harry Potter, in his own series – but never mind that. Sam. I could relate to Sam.)

When people returned with tales of big rocks, overshadowed by bigger steps, I felt that – despite how amazing it would have been – I made the right call. And then we ate. And it was good.

With lunch over, we headed out to our hotels, and the trek had come to an end.

I'm sure I meant to stay awake for a while to go out for dinner. But this was not to be. Checking into the hotel around 3:00pm, the next time I recall seeing was 7pm. When I did awake though I explored, explored as far as the balcony outside my room. But from this balcony, what sights could be seen. The temple of the Sun was carved and built upon a mountain of which I had a perfect view, amazed by the scope, and scale of the creation. What work would have been involved to create such a thing?

And then opposite there was another ancient building carved into an opposing mountain. As I turned my head once more, I was boxed in by yet another part of the Andes towering overhead. And all before me, the stylized roofs of rural Peru.

While I did not climb the ruins myself, I feel that I enjoyed and appreciated them all the same. As I stood looking out into the night, I was again overcome by a growing tired. But before I crashed yet again, I made way to the shower. There I stood for an hour, until the warm water ran cold, and I could stand it no more. Closer to clean, I was now, after so long without any showers. And my body rejoiced.

At some point between exiting the shower, and trying to decide what to do next, I aparently passed out on my bed.

Lares Trek Day Two

An hour after attempting to sleep I woke up freezing. I curled into a ball within two warming bag like sleep things. This did nothing. I pulled the sleeping bag over my head, tugging the draw string so that only my nose peeked out. Still, nothing. Grabbing my thermal shirt from my bag, I put it on, without ever leaving the comforting non-freezing cold of my sleeping bag and then attempted once more to sleep.

An hour later I woke up. Thermal on, check – only nose poking through, check. I grabbed my thermal pants and wrestled them on without leaving my bag of pretend warmth. I fell asleep.

An hour later I woke up. What more could I do? I grabbed a toque from my bag and pulled it over my head, under the sleeping bag, nose only poking through and fell asleep.

An hour later I woke up. Socks were applied. This is all I could do. And it seemed to work.

An hour later – someone knocked on my tent offering me warm tea. It was time to get up. Of course it was. My clothes were soaked with sweat and dew. It was gross, it was disgusting, I was not well rested. And if not for the tea hand delivered to my tent, I would have been a far grouchier human being.

I pulled on clothes, and headed out into the world. Breakfast was waiting. I talked to others who had rented sleeping bags. Their nights were just as pleasant as mine.

But then there was food – breakfast – you know, warm something, followed by more warm something, and tea. By the time we were finished the porters had broken down camp and already started trudging on to the next stop for our trek. And then we were told it was time to start out. After some complaining, this was agreed upon as the correct choice of action, as the end wasn't getting any nearer, and thus began the Day (day day) Of (of of) Hell (hell hell) and so on and so forth.

We had 900 vertical meters to climb, over six kilometers. And once more things started off relatively flat. This would not bode well for things to come. Before leaving camp I bought a brightly coloured toque to keep my ears warm. This would prove to be my bane; while my head was warm, my face was now targeted by the sun's burnings rays. And it was slightly unpleasant, shall we say. [note: my face is still peeling as I right, but only the right side. Joy.]

Once more, I knew I was surrounded by beauty, but I could take in very little of it. In fact all I could really appreciate were the few square meters surrounding my feet. As I hopped over rocks, and crossed rivers, trying ever so hard not to sink my foot into the chilling waters, I was overcome with a sense of pushing forward.

Now and then the group would stop to rest. Stopping to rest – this does nothing for me. I can not rest a moment, and then start off with a new found energy, and so while they stopped I pressed on. And then they would catch up, and pass me, only to pause again, while I went beyond them. And as such, it was through this leapfrogging motion that I made my way along the trail.

Twice in my solo travels did I need to pause and wait for others to catch up. Once was due to a horse which I was only slightly terrified of – never mind that – and the other was when I couldn't see the trail any longer. Two paths broke away, and being up in the hills, I decided it would be best not to just choose one and hope for the best.

It was during these solo treks that I finally started to feel at peace with the walking. Sure it was still hard, and my legs ached, and at times the ethereal voice of Katherine was joined by Matty P issuing words such as “Come on Mikey, you can do this, you got this!” as might be said when attempting something difficult or strenuous, such as preparing a sandwich, or searching to the back reaches of a cramped refrigerator. More often than not those words would be claimed as I approached a “Sick” score in Tony Hawk for PS2. Now, however, it was pushing me to the top of a god awful mountain.

When the two paths broke away, I climbed to a small peak where I could see the surrounding valley, take in the marshes, the llamas climbing through the hills, and the trees winding along the ridge line. My momentary encampment also offered me a view that would assure visibility of the group when they finally decided to press on. There was only one flaw to my plan. At 4300m up, with no defense from the wind, it was cold. Very, very cold.

Still – it was my place to stand alone, and survey all that had become my surroundings. For ten minutes I gazed out, and began to appreciate my location.

And then the correct path was pointed out by a passing guide. Up, up, to the mountain pass. The last one hundred meters were by far the steepest, and the hardest. Knowing that there in front of me was the highest point I'd ever need climb did nothing to help me press onward. I sloughed on, left foot, right foot, right foot – no! - the models doom.

In time, I ascended to the top, and was able to look down around me in all directions. And then, at that point, the walk became fun.

After one or two jumping pictures were taken, we began to hike downhill. The world became a bit more beautiful, the mountains sprung to life, everything was pleasant and ideal. Already the pain of the climb was starting to leave, and the thoughts of impossibility were removed from my mind. Obviously I could have accomplished this all along. There was never any doubt, yeah?

And down we made our way to a trout-filled take surrounded by small houses, homes for farmers working their fields and terraces. It was there that we stopped for lunch.

It should be noted that full on half the people on the trek were chomping down on imodium tablets with every meal, attempting to avoid the use of the bush toilet. I shook my head at their effort, but it was quite the impressive one. They tried hard.

Lunch was large and long. And starting off after again proved to be the most difficult part of the post-peak hike.

The trails continued along the ridges, passing idyllic scenery finally able to be appreciated. It crossed through towns celebrating Carnival, blasting the oddest music from homes equipped to do so; our guide was smacked in the face with coloured flour, being a tradition of this celebration, you see. We then peeked inside a local house. One room, fire always blazing, a few chairs a bed for the family, cups suspended from the ceiling. Llama skins over every rafter. Outside were freshly removed skins drying in the sun.

And then on we pushed through a town, past our original camp site for the night, and on one more hour. It was at this point that my knee blew. Much like 2008 it was nearly impossible to bend it, and for an hour still ahead of us, this was less than ideal. Though the rest of the walk was simply down a road, it became difficult for me to even keep up and keep the group in my sight as they carried on to the camp site.

There was some anger, some rage, some upset about the fact that we didn't stop where we should have. But silence kept, and on I pressed until I could see the red tents in front of us. These tents were ill equipped for the cold. They had arm holes where you could reach from the inside to the outside. In other words there were holes in the tents. While I'm sure they may have been wonderful for summer camping at sea level, this high up they did nothing for comfort or warmth.

When I reached camp, I was tossed a few advil for pain and swelling and downed them. Then promptly passed out in my tent. I awoke hours later for dinner, my knee feeling strangely better.

Over dinner people talked about their new found love of camping, commenting on how they might camp in the future. Once more I kept my mouth shut, but another, through rolled eyes, pointed out that real camping does not come with cooks, or people to carry your gear, set up camp, and break it down in the morning.

Silence as this new information was thought over.

Once more cards carried the night along, until it was time to put on thermals, jump into the tent, and attempt to sleep through one more night.

The Lares Trek - Day One

Everything is possible once you've accomplished it.

Heading through Cuzco over the cracked roads, and rocky surfaces nothing was thought of save for the days ahead. All of which seemed manageable to my ill prepared mind. Stopping for a moment we picked up the four girls, remnants from another GAP adventure. They fly where we ride the bus; they have included that which we cover additionally.

Stopping at a market each trekker stocked up on coca leaves for the high heights ahead. With my bag secured I reached for double protection, swallowing an altitude drug, also good for epilepsy, and all number of other ailments. If realizations like that don't terrify you of modern medicine, then... still, one taste of the leaves, a reminder of what was forgotten, like so much past-felt pain, and you'll be looking to harsh chemicals for the days ahead.

The girls bought small sandals, and pencils to give to the potential children that would be met along the path. The path; it sounds so simple, so passable, something never thought to be feared. For the moment we all held to this, I believe.

Though this belief was clearly proved false when two of the girls began talking about renting horses to carry them from one end of the trail to the next. The two boys seconded this idea, and soon the bus was abuzz with hope of trek avoidance. Some spoke out to the ridiculousness of trekking on horseback, but I kept quiet. I'd already made myself enemy to one by stating that I might like to eat a baby seal. I tried to explain that this was actually one of the few “traditional Canadian meals” if one were to define traditional Canadian by our native cultures, but none of that would be heard. Walls were already up.

Australians.

Well, not all – some are quite lovely indeed. But...

If one wanted a horse, why would one have bought a walking stick? Still – once again, it was best I just keep my mouth shut. Logic has no place in a bus such as ours, as it trundles along cliff faces with precarious clearance before plunging us into the deep valley below. Of all the roads we'd tackled in Peru, these were by far the most terrifying. Yet there seemed to be so few crosses marking the places where people careened over to their death. I can only assume that this is due to the fact that accidents happen so regularly that each cross is taken out as soon as it is placed along the edge.

Gallows humour became a game for the ride, looking over and trying to guess how far our bus would roll before stopping. Would we make the stream, or would we be stopped by the trees halfway down? Could we survive or would those rocks crash through instantly killing the person near the window that caught the unlucky role?

This continued until a voice at the back suggested with some force that I should stop talking. That I should stop talking, one should note. Not any of the others taking part in the same game. I have little patience for people who dislike based on the speaker rather than the idea. I have little time for those who hate the idea of eating baby seals as well. Most baby seals get killed by their herd, best I should eat one – a quick death, rather than the horrible crushing and starvation. But I do lose myself.

I do not buy into the fact that when two opposing ideas collide the passive option is the one that should rule by default. If two people are nervous about their impending doom at the hands of some unknown minibus driver, and one finds peace in morbid humor, while the other finds peace in silence, I do not concur that silence should be the correct option for the moment. This did not win me any diplomacy points, and yet it managed to sate my fear for fiery death, thus I consider it a move for the best.

Stopping, we were let out at the town of Lares to look around, take pictures, and watch the town set up for their Carnival festivities. Because of this the horsemen refused to leave the town, choosing to stay and celebrate. Thus hopes were crushed, and all were committed to the trek ahead.

Bubble gum was also bought. It contained Bratz tattoos. I put a high heel and a large Capital B on my left hand. As I type this days later, it has still to be fully rubbed away. These are some high quality bubble gum tattoos.

I've been considering a tattoo for years now, as – like smoking – I think they are cool. Still I have no tattoo, nor am I yet to smoke. The latter, I fear a cancerous death, and quickly emptying bank accounts. As for the former I can think of nothing I'd want on me that reflects who I am in a timeless fashion. If anything, I would perhaps consider an 8-bit Mario or Luigi... but even then, I don't think that would be right, as thus no tattoos do I have. I need content myself with the high heel and the capital B for as long as they last.

Moments later we were at the start of the trek. But first some would throw themselves into hot springs for an hour. Luckily it started to rain heavily during this hour, preparing the trail for optimal hiking conditions, and raising moral to its highest levels. As dipping time expired we began.

Step one: A brief climb lasting about three minutes, already out of breath it became obvious that thoughts of this being easy were greatly miscalculated. For the next two hours we hiked at a steady pace, over little elevation. Now, this might seem like a good thing, but the whole time I was aware of the eventual peak we had to reach. Every kilometer over flat land meant that the incline would be that much worse when it finally came. Clearly I was looking at this as a glass half full situation, as – of course – is my innate nature.

Just as we were all overcome by hunger tents were pointed out to us. Our lunch stop awaited us. The porters run along the trail and get set up, with our meals nearly prepared by the time we reach them. Clearly this trek isn't effort for all people. Still – I bet I could classroom manage them to the floor! Or something like that. Could they make a class of thirty eighteen year olds walk around the room backwards? Well – maybe.

Lunch was locally caught trout, and it was fabulous. There were some local children around looking for free gifties, and other such things. One hiker gave them balloon animal balloons. I told him it was a cruel gift. He didn't understand why that should be so, but as for me – I have nothing of painful memories relating to he struggle of trying to inflate those horrible monsters. Thirty minutes into our eating, the child still struggling to gain even the least bit of inflated plastic, my point was taken. A pump that came with said balloons was used. I made a ridiculous hat for the child. And a terribly deformed dog. It's been some time since I'd ever used them.

After lunch we began to hike once more. It was said that there was three hours ahead of us. This time we were headed up and up, and it was quite the unpleasant experience. I knew, in theory, I was hiking through grass covered mountains, through indigenous villages, and alongside beautiful streams, looking at the cascading water down falling along the outcroppings feeding the streams. I knew I was in a beautiful location. I saw my feet.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. I felt like a model; I felt as if walking was hard work.

At times I heard the voice of Katherine calling through the ether telling me to quit being such a wimp and just get through it. Fair enough. An hour later though, I was just about ready to collapse, yet there was still two hours of hiking left:

“We're stopping early today, we're at camp.”

Ohh. Good. Interesting.

As I found my tent, shivered relentlessly from the cold temperatures high up in the Andes, and realized that I should change my shirt soaked from sweat and rain, it didn't don on me that stopping early today would mean walking more the following day. I didn't care. I just switched into my fantastic Marc Echo Boba Fett “I'm going to rob you, because you can't see my face” hoodie, and hid inside my tent, trying to stop shivering.

I had rented a sleeping bag for this trip; I was assured it was rated for the required temperatures. This was not to be. But more on this later.

I huddled into a tragic ball listening to the others playing football outside, the ball being kicked into my tent every now and then, bringing me back to reality. And then dinner was called.

Dinner. Hot foot. Hot delicious food. This was perhaps the best part of the trekking – eating. Because there is nothing fun about walking uphill at length in the rain and feeling pain. The question of, “when will this become fun,” was often posed.

Hot dinner came with tea, and soup, and a main – this would be standard for all following meals. And the hot liquids worked wonders to re-energize. For desert there was a pudding made of purple corn. Everything made from purple corn is wonderful, and we need to import this substance! Never mind that it only grows in the valleys within the Peruvian highlands. With all our modern tinkering and genetic tampering surely we could get this to grow in the fields back home. Stoufville, here it comes!

With dinner finishing the night was wound down playing President, or Asshole, or Scumlords and Warlords (if you're Australian), or... Well we'll not repeat the German word for this game. The local Peruvian rules were that a 2 beats one pair, two 2s are needed for a trip, or a quad. And if three cards are played in sequence, the sequence must be adhered to. Example: Player one drops a 4 then a 7 is played, then a 9, then a 10, then a jack. The three in a row has just come to be, therefore the next card must be a queen. It adds a little local flavour.

At some point I headed to bed, crawled into my sleeping bag liner, then bound myself up inside the sleeping bag. Then closed my eyes and fell asleep.