Sunrise was at 5 am, finding no reason to stay in our tent, still wet from the nights downpour and ready to go we left the small clearing and started down the actual trail leading to Choquequirao. My small toe had begun to rub against my boots the previous day and I was worried enough about it to ask Blake for an extra pair of socks and put them on as well, so we had to stop for a minute. The old mule man that we had just passed walked by and asked what was wrong, we said all was well and continued on when I was ready.Soon after that we came upon a tarantula standing still in the middle of the path, it never moved, people even told us about it later in the day, maybe it was frozen or something, we couldn't say. Also along the way to the bottom of the hill we met a couple of local Peruvians who wanted photo ops with us, so of course we obliged.Next we came upon two Canadian hikers who told us we could make it all the way to the top of the ruins in one go, but it was really quite steep and we would be dead the next day. After that we met a troop of British ex patriots living in Texas who said essentially the same thing, they also told us that there was a really nice camp before the ruins where there was good food and great views, and so we continued on down the mountain.Finally making it to the river at the bottom, we came upon a large government run camp where we signed in and asked the old man working there if he could help us with cooking the potatoes we got back in Cochora, he did and we helped him dehusk his corn. When we bought water from him it was 10 s/ for a 2.5 liter bottle, 3 times the normal price, I was confused at first and even tried to argue the point but his wizened old eyes just glazed over with a tired, unhappy look and I swallowed my tongue. Blake looked at me with lowered eye brows and said cynically, "What did you expect, were in the mountains, it's Disneyland prices.."Our potatoes were finished and I grabbed the biggest one we had and chomped down skin and all, while Blake got a couple small ones and removed the skin, mimicking oma's voice he said, "Danny, tell Blake to peel the potatoes.." just as she did all those years ago in Germany. We laughed and continued to eat. Very soon after I began to feel heavy in my stomach. A German couple walked into camp just as we were about to ascend to the top, they said we were crazy to climb in the hottest part of the day, this made us reconsider so We walked over the cliffs edge that dropped down to the river and sat there talking about our trip, our families and our lives here in South America.A few hours later we packed up, left one of our packs with the old man and headed up across the suspension bridge and to the seemingly endless switchbacks that followed. I was quickly overtaken by the heaviness in my stomach and was struggling to keep up with Blake, even though all I had to carry was the little fanny pack that disconnected from his big one. "come on Danny, you can die when we get to the next camp, just get there and die, die.." feeling the urge to vomit every "die"he uttered I asked him to refrain from any more talk of death and we continued on.We turned the corner of a long switch back and I was ready to collapse, Blake was standing in the path ahead of me without his pack on and shouted "come on were here finish with some class!" I entered the camp, ignored the old lady there greeting us and proceeded to throw up all over the rocks beside here camp. The water here was 12 soles...We set up our tent and a couple from the Netherlands joined us.The Lady made us all soup, I did my best to drink the broth but had to excuse myself to vomit yet again, she made me coca leaf tea with herbs but it didn't really help me. When night fell and i was still throwing up she kept calling me out of bed, I didn't feel like doing much of anything, plus I didn't understand what she was saying, luckily though the dutch girl translated from inside her own tent, "she wants you to drink something.."I crawled out of our tent and went over to the edge of the rocks where she handed me a large cup of clear liquid with strange herbs in it, I took a large swig and immediately cranked my neck to the side at the strength of the brew, "this is tequila!" I shouted, "sii! es Tequila!~haha" She chuckled. She said something else and again our dutch friend translated from the darkness, "she says it will kill whatever is in your stomach." Knowing the power of this vile substance I closed my eyes tight and finished what must have been 5 to 7 shots of tequila mixed with herbs unknown.I thanked her for the drink, she laughed solidly and patted me on the shoulder, returning to her witches hut hidden in the darkness beyond our tents. I too returned to my abode and feeling quite relaxed all of a sudden fell quickly to sleep...
Choquequirao - Taking on Water
When we decided to come to Cusco, it was to climb Matchu Pitchu, after arriving here in this beautiful high mountain city and talking to the people who actually live here, we've been swayed away from the "old mountain" and directed towards a different climb, one only recently discovered, known as Choquequirao, one of the last hold outs against the spanish colonization.So we headed out early from Ninoskas to catch the transport out of cusco, but that turned out to be completely unnecessary because there wasnt enough people to fill the van until almost 12 noon. There was a little hole in the wall toilet that a burly old Peruvian woman stood guard at next to us, I asked our drive how much it cost to use the toilet, he told me but i didn't understand, so he reached into his pocket shuffled through the coins he pulled out and poured the exact change into my hand. I protested but he just smiled and walked away.I would have been more grateful in the long run had we not discovered he was charging us both 10 soles ($3) more than everyone else for the ride. Or at least that's how I see it now, since the same ride back was 10 soles less... who knows.So after an hour and a half we reached the valley where a large road reconstruction project was underway. We had to wait an hour to pass but during that time we got out and followed our drivers example by partaking in the locally produced ice cream, which was essentially sugar-water frozen in thin plastic tubes that you can bite or squeeze to extract the precious chilled substance, precious only due to the heat I should add.
Hours later we made it to Curawasi where we bought mangos and baby peaches for our trek, a sad cargo list to be sure, but head strong young men we are yet, so on we went from there in a taxi to Raymon, a small little side street village where we were to get our next taxi to Cachora. Our driver quickly shuffled us into his relic Toyota wagon and drove towards Cachora without a word of price uttered. When I asked him the price he told us 30 soles, which I immediately refuted and told him 10 each, he didn't like this at all, so I told him to turn around, which he liked even less... after a somewhat intense exchange of misunderstood or not understood at all remarks we turned back to Raymond. We picked up two more locals and were on our way yet again. We coasted down the mountain, almost all the way with the engine cut off, finally making it to Cachora. When we did we saw the locals give the driver 5 soles and when we gave him 10 each he asked for 20 more! we just shook our heads and walked towards the small shop closest to us. He followed of course, every odd minute repeating his mantra, "20 more.." I gave him a baby peach and made clear nothing more would be forthcoming from us with a slightly cocked head and a tired looking 1000 yard stare. He made his way back to the relic and drove away back to the beginning of town. We got a sack of uncooked potatoes at the small shop, along with some more water, we also inquired about the mule to carry our bags but in the end decided that we would do fine without it, a mistake we would almost immediately come to understand as near tragedy.We took off down the hill and made our way on to the trail. After a few confusing forks in the road we made it to the main trail. Passing a few steers on the way, one of which lowered its head at Blake and had us both looking for the nearest tree to climb, or rock to bash its head in with, (ridiculous of course, but that's how we think) We made it to the edge of a mountain side, where the last house for miles could be seen, the sky was darkening and rain was on our mind, we asked the old couple that manned the house where we could camp, the staunch, storm weathered faces of the old couple squinted in the direction of where we were to camp, a small outcropping cleared for the cows to rest, protected by the hillside from the wind it seemed the perfect place. We camped out and laid ourselves down, as soon as we did it began to rain, the streaks of lightning across the sky were astonishing and the thunder that followed no less spectacular. We counted the intervals to determine their distances, and quickly discovered that they were happening all around us at many different distances. Trying to sleep, we quickly discovered that we were not truly sheltered from the elements, leaks sprang from every corner of our tent, one of which came right beneath my head, a small hole allowed a constant stream of water to soak my down sleeping bag. We quickly got up and tried to remedy the matter, but we had nothing to stop the leak, until I remembered my tendency to put band aids from the Seven Gables Inn in my wallet for the numerous cuts and scratches I acquired their, luckily I had one left, not to be screwed again later I tore it in half and used it to stem the icy tide of water flowing into my sleeping bag. Several other things kept us up in the night, a car stopping directly above us and staying there, lights shining into out tent, more water finding its way in, not to mention the 7 continuous hours of rain that fell on our tent and the intermittent roar of thunder piercing our ears. All in all though, we were happy to be away from the pollution and bustle of Cusco...