Reflections on a Year

When I said I was going traveling, people thought it was great. Some (many?) were even envious. When I said I planned on going for 5 months, I usually got looks of shock and disbelief more than anything else. Even people that go to study abroad don't normally spend that long away, let alone if you are going for a girl. The girl no longer a part of the picture, I headed out on my own to explore the world, and I have now passed the one year mark. Still going strong, I am intent on making my way back on bus, racking up the days and miles on my long journey back home. After a year out of the country, the majority of it spent on the road, I decided I might reflect on my time spent throughout South America.

The thing is, I don't know exactly where to start or what to focus on. There are the odd experiences, though a complete compilation would likely take a better part of my day to create and your day to read. Some that come to mind, however, include finding a chicken foot in my soup, shaving with a swiss army knife, or spending 36 hours on a bus traversing half a continent. Other's cultural norms have become my own, like unwillingly becoming part of a game of freeway chicken everytime one takes a taxi, becoming a real-life frogger in daily street crossings, and accepting the fact that some things just don't work most of the time and there ain't nothin' you can do about it any the time. Some will remain strange, like watching grown women pop a squat in the middle of the street or men relieve themselves on walls/lampposts, both unabashedly. I have broken records on the amount of people and things, living or otherwise, that can possibly be packed into a van. My concept of personal space has been gradually and forcibly changed by by the afore mentioned bus rides, coupled with heavy eyed strangers nodding off onto my shoulders. Life can sometimes revolve around toilette paper, which I worry about having with me at all times more than I do my passport, and upon returning, I am sure I will quickly wear out my welcome when I throw my used TP into friend's waste baskets rather than flushing it down (apologies in advance). Red brick sky-lines, smoking cars, and chaos have become normal, as have smiling faces, friendly hellos, and help happily offered.

I could switch directions, and elaborate on the more serious and profound issues that have presented themselves, as my eyes have been open to a world that I didn't know existed, the realities of which I never understood. I now understand how filthy rich I am and how dirt poor others live; I know the blessing of progress and the hopelessness brought about by perpetual (political, economical, or otherwise) failure; I see how our selfish, greedy ways of making sure we get ours gauruntees that others lack theirs. One does not understand the incredible blessing of basic priveleges bestowed upon oneself as a matter of birth until scenes of people destitute on the street, unable to find work, become part of one's daily life. This destitution, mind you, brought about not by lack of personal attributes or ambition, but the mere result of the reproductive lottery of which we all partook. I have been seen throught the lenses of racial stereotypes, an uncomfortable and unpleasant experience. I have worn the same 2 pants, 1 pair of shorts, and perhaps 6 shirts for over a year now, yet I am humbled when I realize this is perhaps just short of a full wardrobe for some families of four, not just for a year, but until the ragged rags must be replaced when time necesitates rather than after some arbitrary space of time.

Whatever I happen upon as I explore this nook of the world - amusing or sober, simple or profound - it always, in some way, teaches me. My beliefs, my values, my faith, and my habits are challenged and shaped by those that I see and speak to, whether it be the old man holding out a hand for aid with a beaming 3 tooth smile, the straight-toothed westerner sharing with me their view of the world, or everyone else in between. It is the characters, after all, that give travel its character, and make it memorable.

Alas, I feel my words will probably remain just that, mere words. Though possibly evoking smiles or, incredously, cause for reflection, they will never in anyway be able to convey to you the meaning that I deduced from the experiences themselves.

So my advice? Go out and see the world for yourself.

Travel, experience, learn, and live.

It's crazy, I'm thinking, just knowing that the world is round,
And here I'm dancing on the ground,
Am I right side up or upside down?
And is this real, or am I dreaming?

- Crush, Dave Matthews Band

The Chimborazo Experience

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Encouraged by traveler's "been there, done that" checklists and wide popularization from guidebooks, superlatives (highest, deepest, furthest, longest) have become something of a phenom in the travel world. Qualifications can, at times, be key. Sometimes subtle in their nature, they sometimes border on ridiculous. Personally, I have survived the world’s deadliest road (Death Road, Bolivia), walked the floor of the world’s second deepest canyon (Colca Canyon, Peru), been to the world's southernmost city (Ushuaia, Argentina - Note the subtlety in defining it as a "city," though all of Antarctica and lots of "towns," "villages," and "pueblos" still can be found further south), and seen the world's highest high-rises (La Paz, Bolivia - Highest not as in tallest, just the high-rises built at the highest elevation). Like I said, qualifications get a bit ridiculous.

However, when enticed with being able to climb to the world's furthest point from the earth's center, I was intrigued. This seemed a worthy challenge, a cool superlative to add to the checklist, and would give me bragging rights on all Everest or K2 summiters (right...). Reaching the 20,702 ft (6310 m) Whymper Summit would not only be a huge goal, but let me break the 20,000 foot elevation mark I have been wanting to do since climbing Volcan Misti. Some might be asking how can a 20,702 foot peak be farther from the earth's center than the 29,035 foot Everest? Thanks to a little phenomenon called equatorial bulge, Chimborazo is in fact 2.1 km further from the earth's center than Everest. However, some GPS surveys have lowered Chimborazo's height, making Huascaran in Peru a contender for the title, thus negating this little conversation and my whole reason for climbing Chimbo. We'll just assume for now that Chimbo still holds the record.

So you can understand the experience a little better, let me describe Chimborazo. Ecuador's highest mountain, its upper summit is the Whymper Summit with the purported height of 20,702 ft(6310m). Just below is the Ventemilla Summit, some 40 m (131 feet) lower, which we will call 6267 m or 20,561 feet, though this may be the actual Whymper Summit elevation. Either way, I wanted to reach the far from the earth's center Whymper summit. Though only 131 feet higher, it is not easily reachable. An exposed snow ridge connects the two summits, taking 45 min to an hour to cross (one way), thus significantly enlongating the trip, and making it dependent on weather and snow conditions at the top. Such is all mountaineering, and if I managed to make it up to the high Veintemilla summit, I would need a bit of luck, not to mention extra strength, to reach Whymper.













Still trying to acclimatize, Kate, Ryan (not me), and myself (me) took a bus up to about 14,300 feet (4350 m) and walked down to a small indigenous village to spend the night at 12,500 feet. After a short walk with bleak scenery, other than Chimborazo nearby, we arrived out our dwelling for the night. Unprepared by such a cozy little place, whose interior took on the popular image of the modern mountain cabin, we enjoyed it to the fullest. We could have spent much more than one night there.













In the morning we were picked up and shuttled up to a base refugio located at 15,750 ft (4800 m), where we prepared our gear and walked up to the climber's refugio at 16,400 ft (5000 m). Now part of our group was Flo, a frenchman who had just started his trip in Quito, and who was biking all the way down to Tierra del Fuego. Burly. We passed a cemetery on the way up, whose headstones honor ameteur and experienced climbers alike, a strong reminder of the power of the mountains (it may have also included the members of 1976 SAETA Flight 232, whose plane wreckage was found by climbers on the remote eastern slopes in 2002). Weaving our way through the Sunday Ecuadorian hoards, we arrived at a crowded refugio an hour later. We decided to walk a bit more to help ourselves acclimatize, ate a lunch/dinner at 4:00, discussed our route up the mountain, then turned in at 6:00 pm. It was an unproductive rest period, where we barely racked up the z's, and did little more than just sit there and be stressed about not sleeping.

At 10:15 pm we were up and getting stuff assorted, eating a breakfast/dinner before starting off at about 11:30 pm. After an hour our group was basically split up. Kate and Ryan went with one guide, and Flo and I each had our own guide. Roped up to our respective guides, we methodically placing one spiked foot in front of the other as we trudged up the snowy, icy hill. As for views, you saw the lights of distant cities and towns in the valley floor below and whatever your headlamp lit up in front of you. Sometimes flakes of snow picked up by the wind fluttered brightly across your view. It was cold, and only got colder with every step up the hill. More exposed regions made us victims to the fierce wind and the icy blasts of air it shot at us, intruders on the mountain slopes it frequently patrols. At 17,400 ft (5300 m) I felt good, at 18,000 ft (5500 m) I started to get a headache. On the way up to 19,000 ft (5800 m) I wanted to vomit and my head was far beyond comfort but not yet troubling, but nearing 19 I felt fine. That only lasted a while, and by 19,700 ft (6,000 m), as my French friend Flo put it at a break, it would be courage that would get us up to the top of this hill. As we climbed still higher my feet were heavy, my body cold, my stomach queasy, my head aching. Every step was cumbersome, every breath forced. Eventually we hit a ridge where the wind blasted over the top, carrying a chilling wind forcefully into us. We started a slightly rising traverse, and despite the relief from climbing, walking still wasn't exactly easy. After just a few minutes though we reached the Veintemilla Summit (20,561-20,430 ft/6267-6227 m). With the nearly flat "climb" to this summit, it was pretty anticlimatic; I didn't even know I had hit it until my guide stopped, threw down his ice axe, then hugged and congratulated me. It was 5:00 am, and the blackness of night still engulfed everything. I asked my guide about going to Whymper, shouting over the severely frigid wind that was stonger and colder on Veintemilla than below. "No way," he said. "Not in this weather. We would freeze on the walk over." And indeed we were freezing already, despite only being stopped less than a minute atop Veintemilla. Disappointed, I had my guide take a picture of me in the dark atop Veintemilla, and even this was a chore, as the camera was freezing in the wind and the view screen icing over. Quickly stashing my camera, we started our descent via the more direct Whymper Route. It was a tiring descent that took 2 hours, with the sun finally coming out and illuminating the mountain side with an hour left to the refugio, about 6:00 am. From there it was a short walk back to the lower refugio, where we were shuttled back to Riobamba to get some rest.



L - Shortly after descent. Blurry, but you can still see the ice plastered on us.


Below - Sunrise on descent















It was the most depressing summit I have ever made. Not only was it so dark that we could see nothing, but my "summit" of Veintemilla wasn't actually the summit, just a flat high spot on the mountainside. I was unable to reach my goal, not because of my own strength or will, but because of bad luck with the weather. But that is alpine climbing. I can't describe to you the cold that wind up top brought, but if we had tried to walk one and a half more hours in it, we would be frozen climbers still atop the ridge. Although descending was the right call, I can't help feel some disappointment in being unable to go on, to top out on the farthest point from the Earth's center. That superlative will have to remain off my achievement list. However, as I mentioned earlier, sometimes qualifications can be key, so I guess I can make my own qualitative superlative here. I could say that I have been to the second farthest point from the center of the earth, but then why not the furthest, reachable point from the center of the earth on the chilly morning of July 28, 2008. Oh yeah.

El Altar Trek

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As I mentioned in the previous blog, I met up with some Aussie friends, Kate and Ryan, who were also interested in climbing Chimborazo. Chimbo is a big mountain (controversely elevated at 20,702 feet, though it may actually be 20,501 feet), and acclimatization was an important factor to consider for a succesful summit. Though we had been trekking around Huaraz, it took a few days to arrive in Riobamba, which is only at 9,000 feet (hardly comparable to 20,702 feet), so we felt it would be prudent to try and get a little higher. We decided to take a couple days and head up to a lake formed in the crater of a blown out volcano and that was reported to be pretty, ultimately reaching an elevation of 13,800 feet. Still not very high, but not many options existed for us to acclimatize.


























Above: Entering the clouds (L); Climbing (R)

Middle 3: Good views on the trail...and not such a great view

Bottom: Mud (L); There's still room...(R)


It ended up just being a wet, muddy, arduous two day trek. Island hopping our way up a muddy cattle track, we arrived in a pretty valley, though most of the peaks surrounding it were clouded over. We then climbed up to "see" a hardly visible lake hidden in the clouds, before heading back down to the valley floor, where we cozily camped for the night, three of us squeezed into a two-man tent. Overnight it rained, and the already muddy and wet trail became muddier and wetter. I gave up island hopping, and just sacrificed the shoes and clothes, eventually trudging straight through the mud and muck. It was still a slippery undertaking, and although we didn't always remain on our feet, we did pull off some pretty miraculous saves. Luckily the ranger station at the bottom had a hose where we could was off the knee high mud clinging to our clothes, skin, and the insides of our shoes. Arriving back in Riobamba, we booked our Chimborazo trip. The trek resulted in some good photos and memories of our ridiculous walk, and I think we all reached the same verdict on the trip. Mud sucks.

Deportation to Ecuador

With a fast expiring tourist visa in Peru, I had to forcibly deport myself to Ecuador, just making it across the border before my time ran out. I might have even been over by a day, but luckily for me, the border agent figured either I was just within my limit or not over enough to deal with the headache of calling me on it. From Huaraz, it was an overnight bus to Trujillo, where I spent the day wandering a relatively dull city, catching another night bus to Piura, where I bought a ticket for an international bus that morning to Loja, where I managed to find another overnight bus to Riobamba. Arriving at 7:00 in the morning, I promptly found a hotel room and crashed on my bed until about 1:00 that afternoon.










L - Typical day at customs; R - Ecuadorian Ronald McDonald


Riobamba doesn't offer much within its city limits, but on Ecuador's Corridor of Volcanoes, it does have a lot around it. I came to climb Volcan Chimborazo, whose 20,700 foot peak is heralded as the farthest point from the center of the Earth (more on that later). I met up with some homies (Ryan and Kate) I met in Huaraz, all of us hoping to climb Chimbo while still a bit acclimated from our time spent in the Cordillera Blanca. In the meantime, we went to a nearby town to ride the Nariz del Diablo (Devil's Nose) train, but ended up opting out on the overcrowded, touristy ride. Instead, we wandered the town, visited Saint Peter, then headed back to Riobamba.










L - Takin a picture of the big guy; R - Saint Peter
Avove Right - Saint Peter's toes

Downtime in Huaraz

Although much of my time here in this spectacular region of Peru has been spent trekking, I have still managed a fair number of rest days. Reasons range from resting and planning for the next trek, to good coffee joints with great libraries, or to watching how Peruvians throw down a good old Peruvian strike (though we avoided rioting and looting here this time around, our strikes back home are still mellow in comparison). The reading available here is awesome, with two of the gringo coffee places strewn with popular magazines focusing on everything from mountain sports to European politics. They also offer good cups of joe and just plain mean (in our american way of using bad words to signify things in a very good, cool way) espressos. I have enjoyed the switch from terrible fiction novels, having read a few Pullitzer Prize winners, studied up on some mountaineering skills, and assessed political opinions on our current and hopeful leaders. I even tried a crosswords in one of those "smarter" magazines, Harper's magazine (side note: Harper's has a brilliant article in their June 2007 edition entitled "Undoing Bush," very relevant with the upcoming election. Try to find it if you can; it will be worth your time). I don't know why. I could get 10 words on a peak performance day in our Cal Poly campus paper while waiting for class. On the Monday edition that is. Wednesday's puzzles just depressed me and Friday's proved that there are way smarter people living in the world. So what compelled me to try Harper's puzzle remains a mystery. After reading the rules to the puzzle:

Each Down answer must be altered before being entered, in a manner that must be
determined by the solver. The new words produced include two proper names. Clue
answers include seven proper names. Answers at 38A and 32D are uncommon, the
latter being British slang. The answer at 37A is a variant spelling. As always,
mental repunctuation of a clue is the key to its solution.

I cooly lay aside the magazing and picked up "Rugor: the Dragon in Love", my eight-year-old reading level book that helps me with my Spanish. After a few minutes, the throbbing in my head dwindled away.

Unfortunately, not all my time spent in the city of Huaraz has been relaxing or enjoyable. In fact, some has been downright stressful. For my last trek, I rented a helmet, ice axe, and crampons in order to safely cross a glaciated pass. Because of the strike I mentioned, most businesses were closed, so I ended up renting from a company I wouldn't usually deal with. I was, however, only renting equipment, not relying on them for any service in the mountains, and the equipment I could inspect before paying for it. How could they rip me off?

Before paying, I asked if it would be possible to receive money back if I happened to come back before the amount of days I would be paying for. "Yeah, yeah, no problem my friend, that is possible." I should have taken a deep breath right then, and perhaps smelled that foul odor that usually lingers around portable toilets and bull pens. I wasn't planning on coming back early though, just wanted to check. So I paid S/ 230 = US$77 for 7 days rental. Not really that cheap, but you can't really put a price on safety.

You all know the trek didn't work out so well, and I came back early. I returned the equipment and asked for my money for the three days I would not be using the equipment. Blank stare.

"What money?" My overly friendly, full-of-promises friend asked.

"The money you owe me for the three days I didn't use the equipment, that you promised to return to me if I came back early. There is your equipment, here in good order on the fourth day, so I would like the S/ 100 you owe me (acutally it was S/102...but who will argue about a few soles? I'll tell you momentarily...) for the remaining three days," I replied.

Basically the answer was no, you can't have your money. I reminded them that they had said I could, and were therefore breaking our arrangement (besides, why wouldn't I just pay for a day then anyway if I couldn't have my money back if I returned early?). Knowing I was right, they then said that I was asking for a lot of money. Darn right! That is why I want it back, other than the simple principle that you owe it to me. I was told I would have to wait and talk to the owner, who would be back in 7 to 8 days from climbing Alpamayo. I unhappily explained that not only was that a ridiculous request, but that I needed to leave their country within that time period because my visa was expiring, and things would need to be resolved earlier. It was simple enough: return my money that you promised to give me, and I will leave you alone.

Then began this ridiculous game. It was too much they said. They don't earn that much. They don't have that much money. Would I take half? 70%? Could I come back tomorrow? They would have the money then. I played that game for four days, and got pretty fed up with it, especially when it became clear they had no intention of ever finding the full amount. Not only could I not believe their audacity to ask me for a discount, but even worse was their continued lying about not having money. Not only did they have the money on the simple principle that I had had the money, that I had turned it over to them in a very real from of S/230 worth of bank notes, but furthermore, groups were coming in and paying for trips that cost way more than S/100. On the last night of our encounters, I tracked down my friend renting equipment for a multiday climbing trip (read: lots of money), and then his partner coming back with a food list to buy at the market (read: also lots of money). I explained that to them. How can you have enough money to rent equipment and buy food, but not enough to return my comparitively small amount of money? That I had given to them anyway! No good answer for this.

Four days of this nightmare I endured, including waiting on the last day for an hour when my friend failed to show for our prearranged meeting in which he would have my money, for sure, without a doubt, the full amount, amen. That is when I tracked him down renting equipment, probably also hiding, in a nearby gear shop. After heated discussions, he finally gave me S/ 29 and a map valued at S/ 70 (which he tried to tell me was worth S/ 120, but I already had purchased the map, so I happened to know the value). And those 29 soles I had to argue up from 20, then 25, then 27, and finally 29 (remember that bit about arguing over 2 soles?), with his mother, father, and another business partner asking me to accept a lower fee, that it was just a lunch value that I could pay for, etc. I told them I waited four days, ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, payed for a hotel room, and couldn't do anything else but come argue with them everyday, unable to make any plans of my own, and if they would like that bill as well, I would be happy to give it to them, as long as we were still on friendly enough terms to be buying each other lunches.

Pulling teeth would be an apt expression for that experience, and I wasn't even the only one with problems that night. Another group who had just come back from a trip wanted a refund for something, and this poor Spanish guy, while witnessing all this drama, was set to go on a climb the next day. He had requested a guide with specific qualifications, was told he would get one, but when he verified the qualifications with the local agency, they told him his guide was not registered. So he was trying to get a qualified guide for his trip on the following day. There should be a plethora of complaints registered against the company in the next week or two.

I guess I can laugh about it now, but meeting with them was not enjoyable, especially when told bald faced lies by people whose word means a little less than nothing. However, I should note here that I love the family who runs my hostel; they have been absolutely amazing and made my stay in Huaraz even that much more enjoyable. People like this can be found throughout Peru as well, but, unfortunately, so can the others. So watch yourselves closely if you are ever down here, because despite being a seasoned traveler, you might still find yourself on the losing end of a bad deal.

The Canyon Hopping Bust

So with my Peruvian visa set to expire in just a few weeks, I planned one last trek in the Cordillera Blanca before being forced to move on (probably for the better...I should come home sometime, right?). It was going to be a sweet, hardcore route through the southern part of the Blanca, which I have stared at from Huaraz but had yet to hike through (all the other treks were up North); sweet because of the views, and hardcore because of the route I had planned. I could go into detail about what I was planning, but as the title divulges, the trek was ultimately a bust. Heading in I didn't feel well, had a headache, cough, and just lack of energy. After a short first day I camped, hoping that an afternoon rest and night's sleep would rejuvinate me. I felt a little better in the morning, but after hard day up a steep, glaciated pass, then a knee-aching downhill to the valley floor, I was once again wasn't doing so well. Head throbbing and enervated, I was just not up to the route I had planned. So day three I headed out. I was still able to see some great views, though I am bummed I didn't feel well enough to do the whole route I had planned, because many more were sure to come. Here is a link to some cool sights of what I did do, and a video from the top of the pass I climbed.

Trek Photos

Coming Back Home

My heart joins many of yours and those of the Tahoe community, among others, in mourning for Clay Beck. Clay in his own unique way defined and shaped the word "hometown hero." For my part, my heartfelt condolences go out to his immediate, extended, and Tahoe(and beyond)-extended family.