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.