Sunday 9 February 2014

The Trail of Woe in Mendoza


,,,Or the day we paid 150 soles to walk two horses up and down the mountain… take your pick.

The trek to the Laguna Huampata Valley in Mendoza that I described in my last post was the #1 recommended thing to do when visiting.  My plan to take the shorter and easier route had also included using a horse to help these old, tired bones safely up the path was incorrectly translated and put me on the most physically challenging climb up and over two mountain ridges. 

All of my limited physical resources were spent getting to the valley, as described in my last post.  Having already blogged the first leg of my descent this entry will be based on my limited recollections of the next few hours. 

 So let’s see… after a brief stop at a shaded rest station I had donned my “big girl panties”,  stood myself back up on feet that felt like hot coals and hobbled gingerly back to the rocks and mud waiting on the continuation of the hazardous trail’s descent, under a full, blistering, sweltering, unrelenting tropical sun. 

We could just leave it that I came pretty close to my last call, but what would a blog be without details?

Sunhat on and sunscreen re-applied I began the last leg of the trek feeling like my legs were working oddly, feet dragging and knees not receiving the message to bend. 

It took only minutes for a terrible thirst to take hold, and dehydration began to impact both my strength and thought process.  My mantra after each excruciating step became “you made it through the Inca Trail, you can do this”  over and over.   

The “Guide” seemed as though he had no idea what to do with me. 

So much pain.  If a step was big I held on to a wall for support as I placed a foot ever so gently and moved one more stair.  When the stairs got too big to even try, I leveraged myself down and sat on my bum and pulled my self forward and down.  I had sent everyone ahead not wanting them to stop, wait and watch.  They didn’t go too far, usually they were sitting there patiently when I finally made it around a bend or two. 

And the heat.  It not only pounded down from the sun, but also radiated up from the stone and walls of the snaking trail.  Sometimes the muddy areas were replaced by a fine white sand that reflected heat at me. 

It got so that I was trying to keep from crying out each time my foot had to take any step, steep or not.  Praying for shade, but not an iota.  So. Damn. Thirsty.

I sat and cried for a while, and didn’t care that people were waiting for me.

I pulled myself together and up onto my feet and went back to one foot at a time, balancing against the sides of the trail which now seemed to keep the path company. 

My physical state continued to deteriorate, I was dizzy, and alternately hot or icy cold.  My tongue felt swollen.  My feet, ankles and hands were swollen.  My eyes were dry when I blinked.  The thirst was clawing at me.

Knowing that the others were at least two switchbacks ahead of me, I began taking the “shortcuts” that were almost vertical, but were easier to slide down on my bum, or turn around and work backward.  Both of which still hurt but anything to get me the #%$@ of this mountain.  I didn’t even care that I was in prime spider, snake, scorpion or whatever territory.  Just held on for dear life where needed.

At one point I collapsed at the side of the trail where I sat for long moments trying to decide if I should just lie down and go to sleep, or to try and find it in me to keep going.  I thought about my kids, and the friends and people who love me, and I rolled over to get up on my hands and knees, and slowly gained my feet.  I leaned against the wall and waiting for the spots and dizziness to end.    One foot after the other, slowly, ever so gently, I turned a corner to find and found my waiting party.   And another steep shortcut.  I indicated to the guide that I was taking the shortcut, and he warned me that it was very steep.  I slid almost the entire way on my butt, and at one point had to turn over and slide on my stomach  to  make a particularly out of reach step. 

Even the shortcuts had me slower than everyone else, although they too seemed to be finding the walking difficult by this point.  I found myself rejoining the main path just in time to see the guide and horses disappear around the bend and down the trail in front of me.

Time had marched on, and as the sun shifted slightly to the west there were small inches of shade to curl up in for moments at a time if the rock wall was high enough and the curve of the path allowed.  If I found such a spot I curled up into it and removed my sunhat to try and cool my head for a few moments. 

I caught up to the guide as he took a break in one such spot, and collapsed, chest heaving, shivering and having difficulty speaking.  The guide offered me some of the water he had taken from the river, and I gulped it down knowing that the danger I was in right then was far worse than any problems a water bourn illess might cause in the future.  This gained me a few moments of sweet relief. 

The others and the horses moved on, but I told them I needed the shade for a while longer before I could continue.  I was sitting on a large rock slab, which suddenly seemed a great place to lie down for a while.  Once I felt more collected, and my heart rate and breathing seemed improved, I sat up with the intention of standing.  And had to lie down as stars, spots and dizziness hit. 

Not Good.

I tried it again and managed to get up.  And my downhill adventure continued, in a  much diminished capacity (I know, sounds like it could not be possible right?).  Getting disoriented, my thought process was slowing down, and I began to misstep and slip.  Which of course hurt like hell.  I was leaning  against walls for support between steps, and sitting in the shade patches that grew bigger as time passed.

More bum descents.  Next was crawling.  But there came a point I thought I WAS finished.  Done. Rescue me or not, but I was done. The mountain and sun had won

So I lay down and closed my eyes, knowing the dizziness and heat would have their way and I would pass out. 

And then, as I was letting go, a niggle at the back of my brain pictured a first aide kit.  And I remembered through the fog that I had put a first aide kit in my backpack on a whim, containing packets of electrolyte  powder.  Slowly the questions formed in my mind: How would I get it?  How would I take it? We don’t have a cup… but didn’t the guide have a cup he used at lunch?

I took a deep breath and called out as loudly as I could manage, and somebody answered from the trail below.  I took another deep breath and asked if the guide was there with his horse carrying the backpacks?  Yes came the answer.  Fight the dizziness to ask, did he still have water?  Did the lunch supply pack have a cup?   

Thankfully yes to all three. Suddenly I had hope that this sucker wouldn’t kill me.

I called down that I needed them and while waiting I tried to sit up.  Took two tries but I managed.

I gulped down the solution once it was mixed, and (after it must have finally occurred to him that there was serious trouble) a few minutes later the guide appeared with the black horse.  It took some time, but I managed to be helped up on my feet. 

To my incredible relief I had apparently, miraculously, made it to a point in the trail where it was mostly safe for the hot / tired horse to manage to carry a rider.  With a great deal of dizziness and help I was lifted into the saddle,  and held on and stayed in the saddle as I was led the rest of the way back to town, with only a few sections of frightening and difficult passages for the horse. The guide  had called ahead and there was help waiting to for transport from the end of the trail back to the hostal. 

It was then that it was revealed that this was our guides first solo run, and that he was really there to make sure the horses were ok.  On hindsight that explains why he had no real understanding about sunstroke or heat exhaustion, or what he should have done to help me… totally out of his depth. 
Come to think of it now, it must have also been the reason he did no real “guiding”… no talking about trees, plants, animals, birds, the history of the trail.  I am not sure he averaged more than 3 sentences an hour. 

All in all, an eleven hour nightmare.

Anyhow, back to the hostal for:  1)  More Gastrolyte  2)  Badly needed shower   3) Pain Meds in a rainbow of colour.  4)  More water… lots.  5)  Bed.   All within minutes of me walking through the door..

Put my legs / feet on the wall for a little while as I rested, the coolness of the walls seemed to calm the bottom of my swollen feet.  Or the pain meds kicked in.  More Gastrolyte and then I slept for 16 hours.  Crawed out of bed, and one of the hostal owners daughters was a kind guide to a place where breakfast and coffee could be found.  Wasn’t particularly hungry, but I knew I had to eat.

Alfonzo appeared and an invitation was offered.  We debriefed about the trek.  Pretty sure he felt bad.  Me, I was just glad to be alive.  I had my doubts several times on the way down.

During breakfast I mentioned the view of the local market out of my rooms' window, and that I wished I could buy some local coffee to take home.

He seemed eager to please, and as the market was only around the corner it was an easy, albeit slow and tender wander.  And what a fantastic market it was. Huge, with the largest assortment of fruits and vegetables that I had ever seen.  Lots of other stuff as well.  Managed to buy a huge red pineapple and a couple of other local fruits I had never seen before, both just inside the market doors with no more than a few steps needed.

Very small town, and it was only two blocks to a local missionary who sells organic coffee, the proceeds of which are distributed among local childrens charities he supports.  I bought 10 lbs worth at a reasonable (not cheap) price, and felt good about doing it. 

This lovely couple make and sell cakes to support themselves, and also apparently have a thriving business selling green smoothies to a large clientele first thing in the morning, every morning.  It was a short but pleasant visit as both he and his wife spoke good English.  Nice People.

With A glass of “Sweet Lemon” (very different) juice, and a green smoothy under my belt, it was time to say goodbye.

Still dizzy and weak, but slightly revived by breakfast and the smoothy, we took motor transport for a  small jaunt about town before I asked to go back to rest before my bus back to Chachapoyas.  Sound asleep as soon as I was horizontal.  Reluctantly I roused in time to get to the depot for the  hairy bus ride home where I was either a) sleeping, b) asking to be let off to use a bano along route, or c) hanging on for dear life.

Took almost a week for me to feel normal again, and my friends teased me about all the "siestas" I took.


Monday 3 February 2014

Mendoza, part 1



Various reasons have conspired to keep me from blogging for the last couple of weeks, so to keep it simple I am going to forego my usual chronological format and just talk a bit about experiences and, if I am diligent, the somewhat boring daily details from here on in.

Last week I headed to Mendoza, a sleepy little coffee growing hub about 3 hours away by bus.  You know, one of those god awful, terrifying, windy, one lane bus rides.  I have put off this much desired little jaunt since witnessed the aftermath of a horrifying car accident off this road while on one of my little country walks a few years ago.  Seven people dead after a taxi missed the curb, took out the guardrail and toppled down the side of the mountain.  Shudder.

Well I took the bull by the horns (or bus by the seat?) and finally made the trek.  A very early bus departure deposited me in time for a full day of what to do, and I had great plans to do a leisurely 2 – 3 hour meander by horseback up to a place called Laguna Huamanpata Wednesday.  It is this lovely Wednesday to which I will regale you with details.

There are two ways to get up to this incredibly beautiful and bucolic valley.  The aforementioned short and easier route (especially by horseback), or a gruelling 5 hour hike up and over two mountain ridges.  I picked option A, and added horses to boot as I have become, (how to put it delicately?), plump and sedentary over the past couple of years.

Alfonzo, tour guide extraordinaire, made the arrangements and a little before our planned  5 am. departure (rush, rush!) I was met outside the hotel with rubber boots and my steed, a sweet little white mare.  Alfonzo accompanied us in the dark as we walked a few blocks, until the trail head where he left us in the hands of our guide and my riding began.  I should have known at that point that the messages had gotten crossed because I thought there was a drive first but Alfonzo said no.

It was a lovely start to the day.  Although it was still well before daybreak the air was warm, bugs seemed few and we passed quietly a variety of small homes, animals and a small stream.  Unlike the slightly feisty larger black horse bringing up the rear, my dainty girl seemed eager to take me to my destination in a well behaved manner. 

Our path began a zigzag ascent, and by the time the sky lightened we were well above the city, and the view as the sun rose was spectacular. 

The next thing I knew we were into a steep incline, with large and irregular stone up-steps (can’t call them stairs. yet.).  My mare was strong, but it didn’t take too long before she was struggling.  But on we went, saddle creaking, and the clop of hooves becoming more uneven as the roughness of the terrain increased.  My girl attempts a large step, falters, and Linda takes tumble #1 of the day as the saddle slips off sideways.  No damage done, but there is no way I could ask any more of my mare.  She was obviously not up to being ridden any more. 

Ah the fun begins.

A short discussion ensues and the larger black steed is offered up for my riding pleasure.  My little mare is given the task of carrying up lunch and daypacks… can you really tell if a horse is relieved?  Mine seemed to be.

Onward and upward.  My new charge managed for a while, but somewhere past the 3 hour mark the stupidly steep incline became slippery.  Topple #2 occurred as my horse lost his footing in the mud trying to manage a particularly large step, and tumbled sideways.  As we were falling I (somehow?) remembered to kick my feet free of the stirrups so I wouldn’t get tangled and mangle my leg.  It escaped me at that instant that the horse actually falling ON TOP of me would undoubtedly have a graver outcome.  Somehow the horse managed to avoid landing on top of me, found his footing, and stood sweating, his chest heaving, awaiting his verdict. 

I too picked myself up and shook myself off, grateful to be uninjured, bumps and bruises not withstanding.

No way was I going to ask him to keep carrying me, especially as I looked at the coming trail, all mud and huge lunging stone steps. 

Thus began the trek up the mountain I had specifically tried to avoid.  Made it over the first ridge and rode for a bit while the terrain was even, but the muck began in earnest and neither horse was having an easy time pulling up their hooves out of near knee deep mud.  Here and there were sections that had log walkways laid down, which were easier for humans to navigate than my four footed friends.  I was sure there were broken legs happening at any moment.  More walking, and another climb that I could not ask my horse to tackle with a rider.

Sometime after the 5 hour mark we emerged at the edge of the valley.  Breathtaking.  No lake,  but beautiful none the less. 

Our final destination was a group of cabins across the valley, where we were to lunch.  There was not enough water to take the waiting jungle equivalent of a canoe, so we made our way on foot over the grass covered mud basin… which was a whole different kind of fun.  Squelch, squelch, sink, swear, squelch, sink… etc.  By now the sun was high in the sky and the temperature was sweltering.  (did I forget to mention that Mendoza is 3 hours east of Chachapoyas… and considered a jungle town?)

We reached our lunch spot at very long last, and I gratefully collapsed.  Avocado sandwiches and fruit were on the menu, and disappeared rapidly.  Quick trip to the loo, a giant piece of wood carved into the shape of a toilet, with lid.  After a quick pee I filled the waiting bucket with water from a faucet conveniently provided for that purpose, poured it down the toilet and voila!, instant flush.  Took a picture cause I thought it was genius.

While I had stopped “having fun”  a couple of hours earlier, the view of the meandering river and valley, dotted with big sprawling trees, seeded with herds of horses running free and surrounded by a thick wall of jungle vegetation was worth a climb.  Just maybe not the one I had experienced.  Before long there was talk of heading back to town, and all I could think was HOW the “@#%$@” was I going to make it?  I was done. Physically DONE.

Without any choice (to stay forever didn’t seem possible, rescue by helicopter… unlikely) I put on my big girl panties, slapped on some more sunscreen and bug spray, and squelched my way back across the valley.  A short, blissful and much appreciated ride back to where the stairs and mud began again, and I dismount onto feet that were on fire… up and over the ridge, then a brutal descent...  Poor dear horsies.  A short respite from more rocks and stairs that I had managed on foot with a brief ride before again dismounting at the return of the mud bogs and logs, followed closely by another steep, slippery, rocky  climb. 

But I am pretty sure that I rode into the shaded rest stop after I desperately climbed on the stronger horse, after making that it could safely handle the slight slope and drier path. 

Taking stock I knew I was in trouble.  I drank the last of my water.  It was 1pm there was at least 4 more hours to go, almost entirely by foot if the ascent was any indication.  And we were headed down at the absolute hottest time of the day, full equatorial sun and almost no shade.  I sat slumped, exhausted, thirsty and my feet hurt each time I took a step.  How I longed for my hiking boots, left behind in the hotel in favour of the guide recommended rubber boots.  In spite of the excellent wool hiking socks, the constant slipping inside the boots was in the process of blister making. 

All around me was evidence pf an Alto Mayo jungle, and as tired as I was I spent a few moments just looking and soaking it in.  Ferns, Bamboo, Grasses. The forest cut back from the path. Dozens of butterflies… most that I had not seen before (still hard to photograph), and birds both flying and watching.   As the horses fuelled up eating the grass, underbrush and bamboo, I looked at the view from high atop the mountain. The vistas were incredible.  The surrounding peaks covered completely in wild, old growth Alta Mayo.  Tropical Cloud forest as it is meant to be.  And there was no sign of Mendoza far, far below. 

Since I had previously donned my “big girl panties” I leveraged myself off the bench and cringed as my feet took my weight, placed sun hat firmly on head and hobbled back to the trail.  I mentioned to the “guide” that everyone was out of water and he said he would get some from the river. Cringed again as the first rule of good potty health is never drink the river water.  Hmmm.

 Tomorrow let’s talk Heat / Sun Stroke.

Wednesday 22 January 2014

A whole bunch, and not a lot…




Pet Peeve:

Line Jumpers:

What is it with people that they have to get ahead of the line?  Whether it is at airport boarding gates, bank queues, bus stops or in my most recent bothersome incident at the government office.   

This is the place where I got my government permissions last year.  I had already paid the fee (see last post) and so knew I had only one office to report to, and it was on the third floor.  The guards at the stairs directed me to a set of seats, second in line.  When there was a group of 8 or so we were all directed up to the third floor and put in a row, in order, and asked to wait.  Ten minutes later another group of 8 arrived and sat down.  A few moments later a security guard came to take us in to the office, and proceeded to take the people who had just arrived.  When we objected, the (insert favourite expletive) inconsiderate, lowlife line jumpers just smiled and rushed away. 

Added another hour to my morning.

Part of the morning consisted of waiting across the street at a café for an hour while my papers were “processed”.  Coffee was decent, and it gave me an opportunity to people watch. 

And of course coffee is a great, well, “facilitator”, if you catch my drift.  Off I went to find the biff, which brought back to reality the expectations of cleanliness and equipment in most establishments. 

No toilet seat
No toilet paper
No latch on the door.

(if you are squeamish jump a paragraph or two…)

But I really, really had to go.  What to do?  Extract from my purse the emergency stash, wipe bowl lid, cover bowl lid and (ick) sit.  A very short time later I was done, wiped, stashed the used goods in the garbage can (at least it was not in a pile on the floor) and flushed.  No water to flush.  Really?  What now?  Can’t say I have ever been faced with needing to fish and dispose. 

Ewwwwwww.  Sorry.  Not gonna do it.  Uh unh, no way, you can’t make me.  So I gently laid the last small piece of emergency TP over the evidence and did a very hasty exit. 

Ah the joys of travel. 
After finishing up with my paperwork, the next target was the National Museum.  All these trips and I had never been.  Of particular interest was the exhibit done in honour of the victims of the civil war of 1980 -2000. 

People here do not speak of it.  It is considered the height of indiscretion to bring it up unless someone happens to mention it.  None of my acquaintances has yet. 

The exhibit was testament to the horrors inflicted by both the Shining Path and Tupac Amaru Guerrilla forces and the Government Anti-terrorist forces.  So much terror, so much death.  Family member against family member, villagers against villagers. 

Done chronologically it depicted death and despair, and towards the end of the exhibit it had rooms dedicated to the orphans, women, and the “disappeared” (those who were taken and have never been heard of again. 

I came away disturbed, not only as a decent human would about the inhumanity and loss, but also with the certainty that many of the people I know were likely forced to take sides and pick up weapons. 

It also explains Jose’s very quick approval that the people ambushing the busses from Tarapoto last year had been summarily executed.  Shiver.

Next up, a rant about the drivers!

Friday 17 January 2014

Get up and go day.



Today was a get up and go day.  Glad I could get out of bed.

Having extended my stay in Lima thanks to so many down days, I had put off a few “must do’s” that had to happen on a weekday.  .

I need to go to the DIGEMIN office to get “permission to sign contracts” from the government.  Last years experience taught me pay the fee at the bank before heading downtown.

So first up was a visit to the Banco del La Nacion.  There was a huge snaking line of people waiting to get into the bank.  I tried looking at all the signs posted on the tall black iron gate outside, but saw no clue as to whether I needed to join these other 100 or so souls, shifting from foot to foot and fanning themselves with their paperwork. 

I spy a security guard controlling traffic into the building and bravely wormed my way over to his post, showed him my paperwork, and in halting bastardised Spanish asked him if I needed to join the line.  A few false interpretive starts, and then to my delight he put me in an alternate line that had a mere dozen people in front of me.  Sweet. 

A very nice (and patient) teller eventually understood what I wanted to do, and poof!, money exchanged, receipt issued and I was sneaking out a side gate to avoid passing all those people still shuffling and fanning outside.

A hot humid few blocks down the road (the one that was choked with gas emitting, honking, wacko driven cars) was the office of Taca Airlines (Ahhh… air conditioning!), where I booked a flight to Trujillo for Sunday… for about the same cost of a bus ticket.  Why spend 10 hours in a bus when in an hour you can be there?)

A desperate need for a pee had me entering a Starbucks along my return route.  I dutifully bought a drink and snack, which satisfied the security person guarding access to the washroom.  They take their “patrons only” policy very seriously here.  And why wouldn’t they?  Their washrooms are what the Ritz is to a backpackers youth hostal.  Modern, clean, toilet seats and paper, soap and paper towel, and the toilets flush!  No doubt they have to hold back the hoards.

That was the end of the only spurt of energy I have had since arrival, so I weaved my way back to the hostal and crashed.  Woo-hoo the excitement of the day.

Thursday was a no go, walking in circles, confused and had not bounced back from yesterdays successful missions. 

That Leaves only Friday to complete my business before the offices closed for the weekend.

It will be an interesting day.

Wednesday 15 January 2014

Still sleeping



Ah, exotic travel… The sun.  The culture.  The freedom.

I am still waiting.

Even when I don't start out at "exhausted", past years have shown me that me, myself and I are gifted with a few down days before the fun starts.  So far we are on schedule. 

Ah, desperately needed down time and sleep. 

Thank goodness for the Hostel “El Patio”, my oasis in the centre of this crowded, noisy city of 9 million Limeños.  I can look out the window into the fountain and plant filled courtyard.    Not much else is happening.

Snoozed through my ferry ride to Vancouver, had a lovely visit with my friend Martha and her daughter Rose.  My flights were uneventful and I mostly slept my way through them. 

I will say that the Toronto Pearson Airport showed signs of the recent ice storms and bad weather the city has experienced.  Thick sheets of ice sat between the runways, and it looked like they had not managed to clear all the tarmac.  Thankfully the weather was good and there were no flight delays. 

Sure is quite the trek between domestic and international gates though.  Luckily the flight from Vancouver was on time so there was no huge stressing about missing the connecting flight… minor stressing yes, but what is travel without it? 

Airline food and bathrooms.  Need I say more?

Immigration and customs were a breeze this year, airport pickup waiting, as were the front desk staff.  Nice room, little kitchenette, hot showers.  Sleep, sleep, sleep.

Must remember:  keep mouth closed while showering, use bottled water to brush my teeth, and used toilet paper goes in the waste basket beside the toilet.

So no great blogging still.

Now I am taking myself and my crazy swollen ankles back to bed for... wait for it… a good nights sleep!



Not really a post

Can't get any more tired than complete exhaustion, which has been my state of being for several weeks now.  My first exciting day in Lima was spent sleeping.   I managed to surface long enough to eat dinner and take a stroll.  Now it is back to sleep for me.  Tomorrow might include a proper blog entry.  

Here's hoping.

ta.