Trekking Through Time: Peru (Pt.✌🏼)

The hike that (almost) never happened.

Journal Intentions for Peru: To sit with my shadow side, in silence, and just exist.

Travel is one of those paradoxal realms that has the ability to make you feel both big and small at the same time, the world's vastness revealing the magnitude of our own existence while simultaneously expanding our perspective. Like, a liminal space, that can reveal a deeper truth and understanding.

I now know what it feels like when your body remembers it knows how to breath on its own.

A reminder that breath happens low. And that, when our physical body is literally stretched, and more expansive, and pushed to the max, it remembers how big it can be.

39 years worth of cultural conditioning to counteract being small, I found myself curious to inhabit as much space as possible. How much space, literally, metaphorically, existentially, can I take up?

Here’s, more or less, how it started… 👀

(P.s. Speaking of shadow, I must tell you that Anna booked me my own private porter to carry camera gear the entire trek. I’m NOT EVEN JOKING. 🤣 🤷🏻‍♀️ Silelo was a GEM in more ways than one, and I’m SO grateful I was able to have this experience without the (literal) weight of my camera.🙏🏼 )

Salkantay Day 1: 🌌 Bus to Sky Camp | 12,467 FT

The early AM hotel breakfast was full of conversation analyzing which buffet selections would be best for nervous stomachs and unknown bathroom options for the day ahead.

We spent the rest of the morning re-organizing our luggage. Moving all our supplies, clothing and toiletries to the bag they provided us, while packing up the things we didn’t need in the luggage that would meet us in the Sacred Valley after the hike. We vlogged about the process of “making cuts” while repeatedly weighing the packs our porters would take on the horses ahead of us along the trail. (Full Vlog coming at the end of this series.)

We checked out of our hotel around noon, grabbed a quick lunch and loaded onto the bus with our guides Raul and Al, and 16 new friends, headed to our first night of camp in the remote village of Challacancha.

We spent the long drive getting to know each other, sucking on Coca candies to ward off the altitude and motion sickness while listening to Raul share fun facts from the back of the bus.

Challacancha is renowned for its vibrant festivals, where age-old Peruvian rituals and Andean culture explodes against the backdrop of the Andes.

We arrived at dusk and pulled off on the side of the road, told we’d make the 15 minute walk to camp on foot due to a landslide that blocked the road to cars ahead. The views the entire drive were all encompassing but stepping off that bus in the quiet, evening light was so unbelievably peaceful.

The unexpected walk was a welcomed way to stretch out from the ride and slowly acclimate to our camp surroundings, navigating the uneven stone paths to our glass houses one-by-one with phone flashlights and headlamps.

At the welcome meeting in Cusco I had volunteered to bunk up with Jessica (From Washington State traveling with her partner Ramona and their cousin Wen) to minimize the number of tents needed since we were both odd numbered groups. In the dark chaos of our arrival, I somehow ended up with a whole glass house to myself!

(Ok universe, I see you answering the call 👀)

We quickly split off to unroll sleeping bags, settle in, and wash up for our first family-style meal together.

As we sat around the table, Raul, talked about the importance of family, and how we would be each others family during our time together. A commitment to care for each other, support one another and hold space for each individual experience.

We were instructed not to set alarms and to expect a 4:30am Coca Tea delivery to our rooms with breakfast planned for 5am.

Off to our glass houses we went, taking turns in the community bathrooms, and manifesting a sky full of stars, and a good night of sleep.

It took awhile for my body and mind to settle, staring out the glass ceiling, nervous excited about the day ahead. I put my camera on the tripod and attempted some long exposure shots of the stars, journaled a bit and snuggled into my sleeping bag.

Salkantay Day 2: 🏔️The Salkantay Pass | 10 Hrs (🔚This part’s important) 15,190FT

4:41 AM: Our second in command, Trail Name: Big Al, arrived with the mornings coca tea and a smile! I slept well and woke up rested and high energy. I immediately got to work prepping my feet with blister pads, as I drank my tea and listened to the birds.

There is no kind of travel magic on the planet like waking up to the morning light, in a new place you’ve just arrived to, in the dark. We grabbed a quick breakfast, packed as quickly as possible and got out to explore camp for the short time we had left.

The chilly, damp air caught between mountain views will leave you speechless. You can’t help but be completely present in the prep done to arrive to this exact moment, and the realization that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be right now.

6:00 AM: We huddled together for the first of Rauls many future pep talks, this one inspired by the film Avatar, and said our goodbyes to Challacancha.

Around 7:00 AM we arrived to Soraypampa 12,795 FT, paid 1 sole to use the baño and cheered for our porters and horses as they moved on ahead of us to set up for lunch near the top of the Salkantay Pass, where we’d reunite later in the day.

A group of us took turns sniffing Richard’s (From Quebec, Trail Name: Kilimanjaro) condor pee. 🤣 🫣

Just kidding.

Agua De Florida is sometimes used in high-altitude regions like Peru to help alleviate symptoms related to altitude sickness. This magical elixir isn’t scientifically proven to open the lungs, but some believe that bold scent may provide a sensation of increased airflow or respiratory relief. It’s calming affects may help reduce stress or anxiety associated with altitude sickness, which can, you guessed it, improve breathing!

(I still have absolutely no idea who started calling it condor pee. I don’t think it was Kilimanjaro) 🤷🏼‍♀️😂

I made sure to bring some home from a market in the Sacred Valley.

The climb to Humantay Lake at 13, 780 FT wasn’t long, but it was STEEP and with breathing a challenge, we took it fairly slow, reaching the top in 1.5 hours. After freezing our butts off taking photos, I peed in a bush, and we began the 1.5 hour hike back down to Soraypampa.

We quickly split off into 3 differently paced groups, each taking in the colors and textures of the landscape while trying not to step in horse poop.

(It takes MUCH focus, I SWEAR.)

We arrived to Salkantaypampa 13, 615 FT and stopped for photos, water and snacks as the group trickled in somewhere around 11:00 AM.

I started to feel a shift in the energy when we noticed the large groups of people coming back down the hill we’d have to take up to the pass. As we sat waiting for the group to catch up, we could see the sadness in the faces making the climb down and just knew something wasn’t right. A variety of guided tours and hikers with solo permits, gathered in small groups hoping for any information.

Raul quickly huddled us together and told us that he got word from his team ahead, that recent heavy rain caused a landslide, making the trail impassable. And that we’d likely have to hike back to Sky Camp for the night to formulate a plan. Without service to reach his team on the ground in Cusco, he headed back down to Soraypampa to call for direction as we anxiously awaited for news.

Everyone made use of their time differently. We swapped adventure stories, took naps, did yoga, and walked barefoot in glacier water. As time went by, and the hikers cleared out, we began to prepare ourselves for the reality that the trek might not happen, oscillating between both grief and relief as we talked out possible alternatives.

At 1:14 PM we saw Raul running up the hill we had traversed just hours before, with news that we were moving forward! 🤯

But it was too late. After sitting for so long, we not only lost mental motivation but the altitude hit us HARD.

We were sick.

It was going to take every ounce of energy we had to get through the next leg of the journey, at the highest altitude, feeling the absolute worst.

And a horse. It was going to take a horse.

After quickly snagging our impromptu rides, totally NBD here, 😎 Anna, Diane, Michelle and I split off from the group continuing on foot, (which, BTW, proudly included our Badd B Abbey 💪🏼) and headed into the switchbacks up the mountain.

So now it’s 2PM somewhere short of 15,000 FT, on the edge of a mountain, horseback, with altitude sickness, and it starts pouring rain.

At 2:30ish we arrived to Soyrococha at 14,435 FT to camp for lunch, thanking our horses for getting us there safe and hoping some food would help everyones spirits.

Despite the high winds and rain beating against the tent, we could still hear poor Wen get sick just outside.

Eating what I could, I took some pain meds, had an embarrassing moment in the pop-up toilet where I literally peed through my underwear because I was both fighting the wind, and confused by all the layers I had on, and (less than) quickly geared back up.

Despite being hours behind schedule, but feeling better, we were highly motivated to make it to camp before dark.

The rest of the days journey would turn out to be the most beautiful, and the hardest. When I go to write these recaps, I use the timestamps on my photos to help recount the details. But what I find even more interesting and revealing are the pockets of time where there are no photos or video.

The times when I was in it.

The gaps from 4pm on, increased with miles and exhaustion as the daylight, and my patience slowly diminished.

At 4:10PM, we reached the top of the Salkantay Pass, the highest elevation we would reach on the trek at 15,190FT. We could hear the glaciers cracking around us, a thunderous sound I’ll never forget.

Looking back on the significance of this moment, I wish I’d have taken more time there, to really soak it in. But with the sun (and some of our spirits) going down, still hours ahead of us, and really nervous about the dark, we snapped some quick memories, listened for glaciers and got back on the trail.

By this time, everyone was over it. Michelle was repeating, “I hate rocks! If I never see another rock in my life I’ll die happy!” as Kilimanjaro cheered her along, and reminded her to put her “ rose-colored glasses on.”

We’d split into 4 or 5 differently paced groups. I started in the back with Michelle, Richard and Mark and Abbey, Anna and Diane were up front in the second wave.

As the sun started to set, a fire lit under me and I just took off like I was being chased.

I was over it.

The fear of traversing the rocks in the dark sent out a smooth hit of adrenaline and pretty soon I was all alone, in the dark, on a trail, that really didn’t feel like a trail. It’s not that I was scared, or unsafe, I knew I wasn’t far from either group in front of or behind me, even if I couldn’t see them.

I stopped to dig out my headlamp when out of nowhere I saw a small light coming from the direction I’d just been, quickly getting closer and bigger. It was Silelo!!! He’d been carefully watching me all day, staying close by in case I needed to swap a lens or grab a new battery, but in the dark (and probably like, “whoa girl, where’d this energy come from?!”) we’d been separated. I was SO relieved to not only be with someone, but someone that knew where the heck we were going.

Until I realized he didn’t. 😂

Not speaking one another’s language, we walked in complete silence along the river, sharing the sounds of our breath (His coming with such ease, and me really working for it).

As we traversed the dark, rocky streams, he’d hold my hand to steady me as I’d jump from rock to rock, sometimes even grabbing a large one nearby to create a new step for my short stride. At some point, could be hours later, we started to get closer to what felt like civilization. I followed Silelo up to a nearby house, that I assumed was was ours, HALLELUJAH WE ARE DONE!

But as I got closer and didn’t recognize the faces, I could tell they weren’t understanding Silelo’s question, so I asked if they’d seen the alpaca tour group come through. They said, “Yes! They went by 15 min ago!”

Relieved in the confidence that we didn’t pass it and were so close.

Somewhere around 7:30 AM, after 13ishhhhh hours hiking, I stumbled into our dark and muddy camp, with just my porter in toe.

I found a tent, dropped my pack and re-joined the first group around the dinner table with celebratory cheering and laughter. I sat quietly with my tea for only a moment before the overwhelm of the noise and exhaustion took hold of my body. I tapped Abbey on the shoulder and said, “ I’m going to my tent, and I don’t think I’m coming back.”

(Guess culture for: I’m skipping dinner, please don’t wait for me)

I sat alone in my dark tent for a moment collecting myself and strategizing my next move while my feet dangled out into the mud. Lit only by headlamp, I took my evening altitude med and carefully removed my mud and horse poop covered boots, feeling instant relief and freedom for my toes.

It took the last of my energy reserves to keep from getting absolutely everything in that tent dirty. Waving the white flag, I put my fleece sleeping layers right on top of what I hiked in that day and climbed into my sleeping bag.

I listened as the groups trickled in, and cheers erupted. Just as I was sinking in to sleep I heard a knock at my tent. Raul, making sure I was feeling ok, brought me soup proudly affirming it would help with recovery.

It absolutely did. Both body and soul.

I laid in bed thinking about the next day, and the unknown landslide waiting ahead.

… to be continued…