Hiking Vinicunca (Rainbow Mountain)

In the wee hours of the morning, I paced the floor waiting for the van to pick me up. Already wearing four of my five layers of clothing I had horrendous thoughts of my body freezing to the core while hiking Rainbow Mountain. The cold, I reasoned, was more because I was anxious and sleepless. Surely the van ride would be toasty. They picked me up first and the van arrived to two other hotels in pitch black. I closed my eyes willing myself to sleep since this drive would be about 3.5 hours, and there would be nothing to see. Except that I couldn't. I was too cold and too jittery, drifting in and out of icky sleep haze. Around 4am the van crashed to a halt after a rear tire went flat. A moment of stillness was followed by a deep breath and the hasty application of a headlamp as the driver and guides climbed out to change out the tire. Hearing the struggle of the battery powered air pump, I hoped they worked their magic, and fifteen minutes later with a few false starts the van lumbered on.

The break of dawn meant I could visualize the dirt road as we clambered through the Andes. I almost wished I hadn't, with a plunging ravine on one side and towering claustrophobic mountain on the other. And with summer construction coming to an end, the multiple bridges that would carry us across creek beds consisted of lashed planks of wood. The driver had to aim very carefully and at other times had to detour up the mountain side to get across. No worse for wear, we arrived to the trailhead around 6:00am with demands to use the three free standing bathrooms and promises of hot breakfast at a house down the hill. No electricity, no heat, no running water- but no matter, the people living here are well suited to the environment. Most of the locals wear sandals for crying out loud! They prepared a tasty and simple meal to set us on the right foot: flatbread and jam, plantains, scrambled eggs and tea. By this time I had already re-applied every single item of clothing and even resorted to turning a pair of extra socks into leg warmers.

The sun has magical properties, this I am certain. I understood why people used to worship the sun the moment the sun peeked over the crest, highlighting the 21,000+ foot snowcapped mountain named Ausangate. Though still cold, I became a new woman, feeling pretty awesome among the hundreds of alpacas resting by the houses. A few courtesies were exchanged between the alpacas and myself and up we went. Almost immediately I was huffing and puffing, but happy to be hiking at 7:00am along the fresh water stream, past the first mess of rocks and steepness. The hike ought to take 3 hours to summit and 2 to get down. By this time I wondered what the kids, Mark and Josh were doing, but I didn't have time to dwell because I needed to focus. Our guide told us explicitly that falling down wasn't allowed. I thought for me that was a tall order, but I was determined to make it.

Hiking through the valley at our first respite of level ground, farmers,  and horses passed us on their way down, cheerful in the morning sun. We saw herds of alpacas across the river and even on the ridges way above us. Our guide mentioned something about mountain lions being a problem up here which I found surprising. The many dogs along the trail were the solution to protecting the farmer's stocks. They also made great hiking company, more so than the token horse named Poncho Rojo who hiked with us (someone in our group rented the horse to ride when she got tired) He made a big crabby deal out of my taking his picture and probably would have flipped me off if he had fingers. So I steered clear of him altogether.

Every so often we would stop to regroup and rest. My resting heart rate sat at 100 and quickly jumped to 144 when I began hiking, so I was pleased that my heart wasn't going to explode. My lungs however were definitely working over time. Thank god for a long history of tortuously boring controlled breathing exercises I did as an aspiring musician a million years ago. I could recenter myself and keep going. My knees didn't like it, but I didn't care. Most of the way I had a children's Brazilian song about a girl named Mariana counting from 1-10 stuck in my head which drove me mad, and my singing caught the attention of one of the guides. His wife is Brazilian and they have a three year old daughter, a romantic tale that began in Lima a few years back.

The song was forgotten when I hiked up the final 100 yards where a stone enclave had been erected to direct hikers. Yes the view was great, but I still couldn't see the telltale idyllic bilateral slope of the mountain that all the tourist agencies displayed. This mountain was actually an extinct volcano and the rich elements within the earth give the vivid stripes of reds, blues, greens and yellows. (Only two other mountains are known to have this unique characteristic: Hornocal mountain range outside a town called Humahuaca, Argentina; and in the Zhangye Danxia Landform Geological Park in Gansu, China.) In order to get that view, I had a few hundred more feet to climb beyond the walls. To the left I climbed onto dusty, crumbling white trail where the pieces all fell into place at 16,490 feet. The 365 degree view of the area was perfect: Ausangate behind me, endless red and fierce mountains to my right, Vinicunca (Rainbow Mountain) in front, and the steep valley from which we came to the left. I enjoyed my moments of solitude and photo taking before the crowd of "late arrivals" swarmed up to bask in their own victory.

As all good things must come to an end, we regathered and hiked back down. I didn't enjoy this one bit with my knees screaming and toes red hot in my hiking boots. The good news was I saw things I hadn't noticed on the way up. Like the psoriasis-like plaques of vivid green lichen growing on volcanic rocks rising from within the mountain; the groups of farmers sunning themselves among their herds; the hundreds fuzzy black and orange caterpillars racing across the trails. The place had its own definite sweetness. And harshness. 

At last I arrived to the house where we ate breakfast. Lunch was being prepared, so the group splayed themselves out in the dry grass for final relaxation, because we'd soon realize our meal was a whole other sort of exercise: soup, garlic bread, grilled chicken breast, noodles, vegetables, white rice, spaghetti pie and a last round of tea. All that food went in my belly, and then it was time to head back along the winding dirt roads leading to Cusco. Exhausted, I managed a shower before collapsing into bed, with a grin on my face knowing Mark and Josh would get to do this adventure the following day. 

Morning primping rooms. 

Alpacas of the morning.

Beginning the hike.
Photo by Mark

Along the valley.

She's wearing sandals people.

Keeping to the left. 

Best bathroom view ever.

Trail leading to the saddle of Rainbow Mountain.

At the top!

Rainbow Mountain!

Rainbow Mountain Slopes.

Credit: Mark, who ventured a bit further with his guide
the following day.

16,490! Yes- that is Zinka on my face. 
Yes- I convinced my group to wear it.

Hauling packs of Coke to sell at the summit.
Ausangate Peak to the right (21,000 feet)

Summit getting crowded;
on the way down. 

The manes are cut short to prevent
cold weather damage.

House on the right: where we ate lunch.
Ausangate in background.

Taking a load off.

Reaping the rewards of not moving. 

Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu! Do I really need to say more? Ok maybe a little. It was painful waking the kids up at 3:45am, dragging them onto the cold ceramic tile and getting them dressed- neither kid could function and I can't say I blame them. One mention of seeing Machu Picchu though, helped their frosted spirits of the morning. The driver picked us up at 4:15am with an estimated arrival time to the train station in Ollantaytambo at 6:00am. Traffic wasn't a problem, but police stops along the dark road were. At the first stop, our driver handed over documentation which didn't seem to make them happy so he was asked to exit the car and enter the station. I wasn't sure if they were bribing him or needed decent light to read. I wasn't even sure he'd come back. Ten awkwardly silent minutes later, he popped back in the van as if nothing had happened. About 30 minutes later it happened again, but this time the conversation between the police officer and our driver seemed more tranquil, as if they were discussing the weather. The command of "go with God" was given and off we went.

It was barely light at the station, but already packed with people going in the exact direction as us. We waited patiently for the announcement to board Inca Rail, and at 6:40am we embarked on the bumpiest train ride ever. I love how kids give you no warning of tummy troubles. Halfway through the trip Deets was on my lap drawing pictures of volcanoes and birds, when he stopped, coughed, and barfed all over the table, himself, and me. That was drippy and gross, but particularly entertaining to the passengers across from us. This is exactly why I always carry baby wipes with me. Mark convinced Deets to sleep off the second half of the trip, while the rest of us drank our "free" drinks. This was where I got to try tea infused with coca and eucalyptus, and Peruvian coffee. My god, they were good. Once drink/snack service finished, then came the next wave of entertainment: the bathroom line drama.

I mentioned the train was bumpy, which meant the line to the bathroom needed to be spaced apart so that one would end up flinging their bodies on the tables or each other. Our neighboring seat mate took this as his opportunity to jump the line, destroy the bathroom, and coyly say thanks to the line of women staring at him horrified. They tried to gain strength in numbers by bunching closer, but no sooner did the woman in front turn her head to chat with her friend in line, did another neighboring seat mate cut in front. Faces of disgust was all they could do. It was rather unfortunate too, that Margo and I got into the back of the line (she has this obsession with using strange bathrooms- I suspect it helps with the monotony of waiting) and when we popped out, the last man standing was sent back to his seat. But for a good thing: after nearly two hours we had arrived to Aguas Calientes, placeholder for the busses and trail hikers to get to Machu Picchu.

It was around 8:30 and we were relatively on time. I didn't know this at the time (Mark swears he told me, I'm certain he didn't) but we had to be at a specific trailhead inside the park by 9:00am or we'd miss our window. We paid out more money for bus transportation to get to the entrance, which was a series of dusty hairpin turns to get to the top within 25 minutes. We arrived, stripped clothes, and had a pee break before presenting passports and tickets to the entrance. I heard something from Mark that we'd had no less than 10 minutes to get to a trailhead- but which one and which way?! 200 feet inside the park and we were faced with: left or right. We chose right, an unfortunate decision.  By the time this was realized, we were on the opposite side of the park and missed our chance. It took about 20 minutes for the sting to go away and to accept we wouldn't be hiking up what I now as Sun Gate. It's the hike that gets you the most idyllic view of the giant peak Huayna Picchu.

We hiked up, we hiked down, we hiked in circles and peeked through windows of time. The kids were amazing and entertaining, free climbing where it was safe and holding our hands when it wasn't. They played king of the mountain and this ridiculous game of "do you like ___?" It's similar to the game of "would you rather?" I loved people watching. The mountain was crowded, but at least it was filled with enthusiastic people from all over the world. I mean, there were a few a-holes, but there always are. Mark took 659 photos to my scanty 279; it was fun watching him analyzing a shot then attacking.

Due to an urgent bathroom break the last half of our time there caused Mark, Deets, and our friend Josh to split up from me and Margo. She and I were left to master the mountain on our own. We made our way to the upper route of the trail which is killer. Margo made zero complaints and just went for it. This sounds pompous, but people were impressed by her energy and I was as proud as a damn peacock. We finally caught sight of the boys on the decent and made our way out to catch the bus back down. There was ice cream and beer waiting for us before getting on the train and again to our driver who waited for us since 6:00am that morning. Mark convinced him to stop at the Sacred Valley Brewery for one last time and then make our way back to Cusco (don't worry, we tipped him well). I had to settle myself for an early sleep since the next day I was scheduled to get up for a 2:15am pick up time to hike Rainbow Mountain...

Waiting for the bus in Aguas Calientes

The big MP.

Climbing.

Climbing.

Climbed.

Back side of MP.

Sacrificial block- carved straight from the mountain top.

Through the foliage.

Margo choosing her weapons at the brewery.

Light saber rock guns.

Walking Around Cusco

Temporarily satisfied with seeing Incan ruins, today was another "light day" touring Cusco. On the agenda: visit a few churches, markets, and time permitting- a museum or two. Because our days seemed to mostly start at Plaza de Armas, we had already tracked down two: the Cathedral of Cusco aka Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of the Virgin, and Church of the Society of Jesus. Church services were always going on so we didn't get a chance to visit inside. Continuing on our jaunt, we passed by Church of San Francisco and the Church of San Pedro, both which had a live marching band getting ready for processionals down the street. 

Margo was in some need of butt paste (hiking is hard work on wee bums!) so I detoured to a pharmacy while the others peered inside the doors for details. Busy with preparations and/or services, we missed these as well. No matter because we arrived to the San Pedro Market, which was full of entertainment and colors. Stacks of bamboo, buckets of juice, and piles of vegetables were everywhere. Then we wandered inside the tarp covered portion, and even Margo was distracted from her bottomly discomforts (man it's dry here. In Cusco, I mean) to stare at the products on offer. The cool morning weather meant glorious smells of fresh meats, produce, and breads. 

Walking back toward the Plaza with efforts focused on getting lunch, we turned onto a pedestrian street attracted by sounds of traditional drums and flutes. We walked right into a tiny courtyard where the musician was playing in full-on Incan dress. Of course the herd of alpacas totally eclipsed this experience as the kids rejoiced and begged to feed them. Donation in the pot, the kids stuffed corn husks in their faces, squealing with joy. It was all good and fun until the alpaca lady tried to put Deets on an alpaca. Neither the creature nor he were impressed. Taking this as our cue, we had one other church in mind: San Blas aka Saint Blaise, patron of throat illnesses, animals, wool combers, and wool trading. Seems appropriate. Up the steps we went, where- yes the church was closed. But no matter, we were waaaaay overdue for lunch so we stopped at a volunteer run cafe right on the square: The Meeting Place where proceeds go to local charities. They make big-ass yeasty waffles, and killer mango lassis. I ate so much I felt drunk. To walk off the food stupor, we made our way home for an early evening. Tomorrow would be another epic travel day to: MACHU PICCHU! Estimated time of departure: 4:15 am...

 Many vendors serve the juice
in a plastic sack with a straw instead of cups.

Outside the San Pedro Market.

Bamboo and coconuts.

Fresh and cool air running through the market.

Gizzards? Feet? Beak? All included.

Margo wanted to know why their eyes were still open.

Alpaca feeding time.

Shaggy.

Margo, Em, Deets and Josh.

Planning.

Cusco's Saqsaywaman Hike

As far as Mark is concerned, a "light day" means not getting into the car. It doesn't mean we don't explore and hike any less, or take a thousand pictures; it does mean a nap at some point during the day which really, everyone likes.  On our first "light day," we started the morning walking down to Plaza de Armas for morning drinks and walking straight back up the thousands of steps to visit Saqsaywaman (sounds like "sexy woman" when said by Margo) an Incan citadel that overlooks Cusco valley at 12,142 feet. To use the word "impressive" doesn't quite explain the feeling when you get there. Maybe stupefied, monumental or profound? In any case, the carved mortarless rocks are very cool. We conquered the top of the fortress and upon taking a water break, Deets asked if we could visit Giant Jesus, better known as Cristo Blanco on the neighboring hill. So we did. At 26 feet tall, it's a tinier version than Rio's Christ the Redeemer who is 125 feet tall. 

By now we all reached a threatening point of crabbiness and thirst, so initial plan was to grab a snack then nap. But first we had to go back down the thousands of steps thinking we could cut across the hill and find something on the way. Of course we made our way exactly back to Plaza de Armas and totally distracted: adorable kids in school uniforms running around, music playing, photography exhibits on the square... there is almost always something going on here. Instead, a friendly voice directed us to a Papachos for local beer and burgers, and coloring for the kids (and me). The hostess handed over crayons and pictures to color which offended Deets to no end. He only colors on blank paper thank you very much. Perhaps it interferes with his creative mojo, but every time we have to talk him down from his indignation and tell people thank you for the gesture. Weirdo.

One long walk and several hours later than previously hoped, we made it home- and passed out. We probably ate something later that night but I don't remember. I'm sure it was amazing. 

Saqsaywaman.

Taking a rest. Saqsaywaman.

Cristo Blanco.

Saqsaywaman.

Photo credit: Deets.

Camera standoff with Dad.

All dressed up for the photo.

Saqsaywaman.

Saqsaywaman.

Sacred Valley Tour, Peru

Even though we all were tired enough from traveling and sun exposure, sound sleep was hard to find. In a matter of minutes we all became nose whistling mouth breathers in our heatless apartment. Sure we were provided a space heater and were nearly flattened with layers of heavy blankets, but finding a stable temperature proved quite difficult. Plus we'd later learn that the home owner would charge us over a 100 dollars to use the (useless) heater, which made the house feel even colder. For the first few nights Mark and I ended up playing musical beds (the house did have seven total) in three different rooms to deal with insomniac children, dry coughs and snores, and ice cold feet against overly warm bodies.

Nevertheless, we all woke early from jet lag and the excitement of seeing giant stacks of handcrafted ancient rocks, perfectly placed during the Incan empire. We hired a driver to do a circuit tour around the Sacred Valley- someone experienced to handle steep hairpin turns and navigating amongst the masses of tour buses on two lane highways. I'm prone to car sickness so I won the front passenger seat, but nearly regretted it when the sun hit the dashboard.

Our first stop was a alpaca/cultural site called Awanakancha that introduced us to the many types of even toed ungulates which we could feed with unlimited stalks of greenery. The alpacas were a huge hit and not just with kids. I didn't see a single person frowning there, even if we were in tight quarters with a mess of camera happy and selfie stick jabbing tourists getting herded down to the line to the other end. Past the alpaca pens, we watched weavers, corn shuckers, and jewelry makers present their talents with adorable children right by their side. If the kids were excited about feeding alpacas, I was over the moon looking at the variety of potatoes and corn grown in Peru. I love food so much.

Onward we went to Pisac to gape at ancient terraces, tombs, and fortresses at 10,826 feet. Nothing says fun than walking halfway up the mountain when your daughter announces she needs to use the bathroom in the most urgent way. We could tell on a few less worn paths people unfortunately had marked their territory in ungallant ways. Undeterred, we found the proper bathroom and continued our venture up to the fortresses lined with empty rooms, perfect for playing "cozinha," Margo's Brazilian version to playing house... or rather "kitchen." And as we became champions of the Incan Fortress, we quickly headed back to the van to escape the increasingly congested stairways.

I suspect we were ragingly late on our return, having spent over two hours hiking. Everyone was in dangerous range of hangriness, but still opted to run through Pisac's giant market at the bottom of the mountain. Deets was obsessed with getting a chess board, and Margo wanted to buy her classmates toy alpacas. Those missions accomplished it was another hour fifteen minutes to get to the brewery we'd picked out for lunch. Mark reasoned we could avoid complaints of car sickness if the kids slept on empty stomachs. He was right.

We passed through a couple towns, one being notable for its famous grilled cuy (Guinea pig.) Sure enough, Calca, a town with puma pride, had women waving their cuy-on-a-stick to cars; the shiny taut skin charred to a deep maroon/brown, feet and heads intact. I enjoyed this so much I didn't think to take a picture. Once out of their town, Mark muttered something about my responsibility to look for the brewery that may or may not be directly on the roadside; or possibly across the river and past the railroad tracks. Knowing how late we were for lunch, I was freaking out that I'd miss it, saving all my attention to blurry buildings and unreadable signs. We lucked out, and the driver deftly turned into the parking lot for Sacred Valley Brewing Company (Cerveceria del Valle Sagrado). Beered and fed with ample time to play with rocks and harass the local cat, we were all fit for another stop: the Ollantaytambo Ruins at 9,169 feet.

Our driver gave us 45 minutes to ascend and return to the van. Craning my view to the top, I doubted this to be feasible. But the kids all but ran up the steps, nary a complaint to be uttered. We traversed across stone irrigation channels, up the terraced layers, and past thousands of tons of carved rocks with spy windows in between. We made it back filthy to the core and only ten minutes late!

I was certain this was the last hurrah for the day, especially since it was 4:15pm already. But some time later the driver abruptly turned left into Chinchero at 12,343 feet. He gave us thirty minutes, but with the dropping sun and cold temperatures, we kept on schedule, giving Margo exactly five minutes to make her (losing) case not to see rocks anymore. Deets however gained his second wind and was climbing on anything he could make purchase on, followed by sprinting across a terrace field which quite frankly was irresistible even for me. When Margo caught up, she ran too. And 28 minutes later we collapsed in the van watching the sky turn red, orange and purple- a twilight comparable only to a Colorado version. We arrived home around 8pm, with the bus depot across the street already filled with empty tour buses from what was likely a full day for many others.

Alpaca saying hi at Awanakancha.

Weaver at Awanakancha.

Potatoes of every shape and size.
Awanakancha

Incan ruins in Pisac.

Pisac ruins.

Pisac Market.

Pisac Market.

Mmm. Beer.

Ollantaytambo Ruins from below.

And above.

And from the side. Expert terracing.

Needing no encouragement.
Ollantaytambo.

My Margo, so fearless.
Ollantaytambo.

Chinchero Ruins.

Chinchero field that drops off to nothingness.

Chinchero at sunset.

Chinchero Champion Climber.

Chinchero local.