Author Archives: Simon

Canyon Country

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The group of us at the canyon


Every now and then we end up in a place that isn’t remotely like the South America we expected. It’s happened twice this week, in Arequipa and then the Colca Canyon..

Locals are fond of saying that “When the moon separated from the Earth, it forgot to take Arequipa”, which may be overstating it somewhat, but the place is pretty striking. Another legend that’s perhaps more believable is that the fourth Inca ruler was passing through the valley and became so enchanted that he shouted out to his guards ‘Ari, quipay’ – “let’s stay”, thus giving the city its name. I think we all let out a collective ‘wow’ when on the first night we turned into the European-style central square, lined on three sides with arched buildings and the other with a huge illuminated cathedral – this wasn’t what we expected of Peru!

The city sits in a valley beneath the picture-postcard Misti volcano and Chachani (which is apparently one of the easiest 6000m summits in Peru, but we decided against it this time!), and despite its sprawling size, the centre manages to feel tranquil and tourist-friendly.

The highlight of our time there was the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a gorgeous 16th century convent with fortress-like walls occupying a whole city block. The place is labyrinthine inside, and you can wander round all the old nuns’ cells (complete with attached kitchens), and stumble into lane after lane of photogenic colours and crumbling beauty. We were entertained to hear that the Convent was known as a bit of a party house during its time; the rich Spanish daughters within confined to a life of religious servitude opted instead to continue their lifestyle from outside, with between one and four (black) slaves apiece, holding regular parties, and even inviting musicians from the city to perform for them – until the Pope found out and imposed a strict discipline some three centuries later!

Flowers at the convent

Our second surprise was a couple of nights ago, when eating at our hostel in Cabanaconde at the Colca Canyon. Not only did our drinks arrive before we’d finished our food (actually before the food even arrived!), but they were out of stock of one of the pizza toppings and came over to apologise and ask what we wanted as a replacement! Pachamama Hostel – highly recommended!

The Colca Canyon is 3191m at its deepest, making it twice the size of the Grand Canyon, and the second-deepest in the world (the deepest is 100m more, and just next door, but much harder to reach). There’s a viewpoint at the top that’s famous for Condor spotting, and it didn’t disappoint – in the hour or so we were there, we saw about 10 condors, perched on rocks just below us, and then soaring into the blue sky above. At one point, one flew only a couple of metres above us – with wingspans up to 3m, it’s a scary sight when they block out the sun above!

A condor coming in to land – amazing photo thanks to Simon Barrow

(Other) Simon and I spent a tough day walking down the canyon side to an oasis at the bottom, and then after a swim and lunch, back up again in the hot afternoon sun. It was satisfying if entirely exhausting, and right at the bottom we had a revelation – at just 2100m above sea level, it was the lowest we’d been in 4 weeks! As you’re walking down, you can see the thousands of distinctive pre-Inca terraces that mark out the contours of the hillsides in furry green vegetation, and when you look carefully, tiny silver rectangles which when you get closer slowly turn into houses.

There are various isolated communities around here clinging to the sides of the mountains, only accessible on foot – and a hell of a trek down and back up the canyon at that, since they’re on the other side. Much like we experienced in Langtang in Nepal, one can only imagine the difficulties people here have accessing basic amenities like healthcare when it’s a multi-day hike to the nearest road. We as tourists may take (false) pride in having ‘done the canyon’ in a day, but it’s a different matter when it’s part of daily life.

Simon

Floating Islands and Steamships

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Local women at the island

Following the beautiful blue shore of Lake Titicaca, we crossed the border into Peru and the town of Puno. Two things immediately stuck us – firstly, rickshaws are back for the first time since Asia (going to have to give them a try!), and secondly, it’s absolutely freezing!

The cold is a bit odd since we’re on the same lakeshore (and hence altitude) as sunny Copacabana; it might have something to do with the city being in the shadow of a mountain for the afternoon. On our first night we needed all the extra blankets and layers we could muster, on the second the water tank above the hostel even froze solid according the owners!

Puno is the jumping off point for the lake’s famous floating reed islands, a big tourist trap but also a chance to see a way of life that has been relatively unchanged for generations. When the Incas conquered the area 500 years ago, the Uru people fled onto the lake, initially living in boats, and then on floating islands they made from reeds out in the middle of the lake. The 42 islands host a dwindling population of a few hundred that is arguably maintained only for tourism. with most now living on the mainland instead.

The islands require considerable maintenance, with new reeds laid on top of the old every two weeks or so, and an ongoing harvest to fulfil this need. You can imagine there’s also a bit of a fire risk with cooking on an island made only from dry reeds – the trick is apparently to insulate it using stones, and I guess there is at least plenty of water nearby! And no, we didn’t ask about how they cope with drinking the lake water that is also where the sewage goes…

Although one of the most tourist-filled things we’ve done in a long time, it was a fascinating view into a different way of life, cut off from much of modern life (even if the new introductions of solar panels are beginning to change that). It was also fabulously colourful, with the women in brightly coloured traditional dress giving us a chance to look inside their homes and meet their (very sweet) kids.

The Yavari in the late afternoon light


(Other) Simon and I also took the chance to visit an entirely different piece of heritage – the oldest steamship on the lake, the Yavari. It is quite a story, with it and a sister ship built in Birmingham (UK) in 1862, in 2766 iron parts, which were then ‘shipped’ to Puno – round Cape Horn to a town which is now in northern Chile, and then over the Andes to Puno, initially by train, and then by mule for the final stretch when the line ran out! This took an amazing six years! The ship was launched on Christmas Day 1870, and ran for many years ferrying passengers across the lake, with llama dung used instead of coal for the engines.

After being abandoned by the Peruvian Navy and left to rust, it was bought by a British woman for $5000 in 1982, and has been lovingly restored and is now a floating museum and mini-hotel. We were shown around by the ship’s engineer, a man who must be in his seventies and enthusiastically showed us every detail with a passionate explanation in Spanish. The place positively gleams with the polished brass and love and attention it has received, and we were similarly beaming after being shown around the cabins, engine room and bridge by someone who had clearly put their all into it. It was quite a contrast in waterbourne living to how we’d started the day, but just as eye opening and a great sample of another side to life on the lake.

Simon

The birthplace of the Sun

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Not the Aegean!


The Incas believed that Isla del Sol in the middle of Lake Titicaca was the birthplace of the sun, and it’s not hard to see why.

Basking in the high altitude rays atop the ridge running through the centre of the island, you can gaze at the shimmering blue water of the lake, with the white peaks of the Cordillas Real in the distance. Although touristy, once you get out of the small town, it feels like you have the place to yourself, walking past terraces and up stone staircases that have been there since the time of the Incas 500 years ago.

Inca Steps

We’re on the boat back to Copacabana now, having spent a perfect couple of nights on the island, walking, eating the local speciality of trout and soaking up the sunshine. It was a perfect way to recover from the exertions of climbing Huayna Potosí, and we’ve all got a tan too!

Simon

Sunset at the mirador, with shadows of Laura and I

La Paz

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Government building in the main square


We’re leaving La Paz, a city with jaw-dropping views and lung-straining altitude. I’ve got a big smile on my face as we’ve just had our final view of Huanya Potosí, one of the stark white peaks that overlooks the city, and where we were at the summit only 26 hours ago.

The guidebook had warned us to be in for a memorable sight as we arrived in La Paz, and it certainly didn´t disappoint. The city clings to the edges of a wide canyon, and as you come in from El Alto, the sprawling metropolis on the flat above, you´re treated to an incredible vista across the valley. I think everyone in the bus actually gasped when it first came into view!

We´d been warned to expect a busy, congested nightmare of a place, but ended up pleasantly surprised – yes, there was a lot of traffic, but down every one of those roads was a glimpse of the terracotta city heading up the hillside behind, or the incredible snow-capped peaks of Illimani which towers over the sprawl.

Street with a view

We spent a couple of days wandering around, soaking in the altitude (which wasn´t a big deal for us since we´ve been around this height for a few weeks now), eating tasty pizza and admiring the unique mix of cosmopolitan suits and government buildings set against the colourful traditional dress that many still wear. One distinctive sight is that of the shoeshine boys who occupy every corner and kindly offer to polish even the most travel-worn fabric sandals (not today thanks). Many are students earning some spare cash to support their education, but interestingly all cover their faces with balaclavas because of the shame of being associated with such a lowly side-job.

Shoeshine boys - note the covered faces to hide their identities

We also took the chance to drop into the Coca Museum, which provides an informative and balanced viewpoint on the Coca industry. Bolivia is the world´s largest Coca grower, with the vast majority of the crop destined for cocaine in America and Europe, and a battle that´s been raging for decades about how to best deal with the problem – fuelled in large part by the US DEA´s policy of destruction at source that has largely failed to realise an economic solution for the impoverished farmers trying to make a living.

The museum made a strong case for the benefits of chewing coca – common in South America for generations as a antidote to altitude. This is a very different effect from the concentrated cocaine highs people seek in the west, and is legal in many countries here – in fact we had Coca tea at breakfast this morning! There´s good scientific evidence to show its benefits for improving worker stamina (which the Catholic church recognised some time ago, rescinding their ban of the plant when they realised their slaves were much more effective when chewing the stuff!); it was really only when the western world turned it into cocaine and started exporting the stuff that the trouble started. The point is well made that in addition to the raw plant, the process of refining Coca into Cocaine is largely dependent on large quantities of imported chemicals – and you can guess which western nations they come from, in contravention of Bolivian import laws!

The exhibition also touched on the fascinating tale of Coca Cola and its chequered history – essentially originally including cocaine as its stimulant, and happily bragging about it on the packaging! Amid ongoing discussion about drug policy in the UK and across the world, it´s easy to see the problem as being cleanly divided into rich drug baron suppliers and western consumers, and a solution being destruction of the crop at source. It was certainly interesting to see things from the other side – the problem from Bolivia´s perspective is the huge demand from the west which has corrupted a practice that has existed for centuries and – as is also the case in Afghanistan also – can´t simply be solved by burning fields of crops.

Simon

Huayna Potosí

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Huayna Potosi


Part 1
I’m writing this from a refugio at 5200m, on the side of Huayna Potosi. It’s a peak that looks over La Paz, and at 6088m is just over the magical 6km mark. It is also said to be one of the easiest places in the world to scale a peak this high, given the headstart you get from La Paz being at 3500m. However, as my co-climber Simon (yes, it is a little confusing!) put it, its a bit like saying ‘a slow Ferrari’ – it is still high, and cold, and our attempt at the top tomorrow will involve leaving at 1am, donning crampons and ice axes and climbing for 6 hours in the dark to hopefully reach the summit at sunrise. It’s too dangerous to climb during the day as the ice and snow melts and makes it treacherous.

Yesterday we had our first practice on a glacier, which should be fairly representative of the conditions as we go up – compact snow and ice. We have these huge boots which are double-layered like the ones you’d use for skiing, and to the bottom of these you attach ice climbing crampons – jagged metal things with points sticking out in all directions to grip the ice. The ice axe itself is a strange thing to be tottering along with; I’m not sure I would normally opt for a serrated axe to steady myself when walking, but it seems to do the trick!

Walking on the glacier was fine with the crampons on – we learnt the techniques of keeping your whole foot against the ice so all the points dig in, and crossing your feet as you slowly make your way up the incline. We then got to the ice climbing – to say it was a tough challenge would be a massive understatement! We initially thought the guides were joking when they threw ropes over a 10m high section of ice complete with overhang. But no, with two ice axes and on a safety line, we each attempted to scale the vertical cliff, summoning energy to hurl each axe into the deep blue ice, haul yourself up on the few centimetres of purchase they appeared to have, and then kick your boots into the wall for all their worth to try to get a grip ahead of the next round. Absolutely exhausting, and we’d only climbed 5 or 10 metres! It was with some nervousness that we asked the guides how much of the ascent tomorrow would require this technique. We’ve had some different answers – somewhere between 10% (so 45 minutes) and 5 metres. I’m certainly hoping for the latter!

Practicing ice climbing - this was hard!

A long way up! That's me at the top

The refugio here has got fantastic views to the neighbouring peaks, emerald green lakes and the swirling clouds forming around and spiraling off the nearby mountains. It’s also consequently a bit exposed – sitting here in the early afternoon I can hear the wind howling over the roof, and without any heating, I’m still a bit cold in three pairs of trousers and three fleece layers!

The walk to high camp

In 24 hours time it’ll all be over, we’ll have made the summit or not and hopefully be on our way back to a hot shower and warm bed back in La Paz. But for now, we’ve got a few more hours to kill (we’re going to try some high altitude frisbee!) before dinner at five and bed at six in preparation for the final part of the adventure.

High altitude frisbee!

Part 2
Well, we knew it was going to be tough!

It’s pretty hard to sleep at altitude as it is, and even more so when you’re in a cold room with 20 other people squeezed onto mattresses and a howling wind tearing down the mountain making the building shake. Needless to say, we didn’t get much rest before we got up at midnight!

After a light breakfast of stale bread and jam, we donned all our layers and headed out into the darkness with crampons, an ice axe and a head torch. For safety we were roped together, the guide at the front, then me, and finally (the other) Simon at the rear. You hold the rope in one hand so you can feel when the person behind is slowing, and in the other, your ice axe as a walking stick.

The journey to the top was a long trudge on compacted snow, winding our way along a well established track up and around the mountain. The tiredness, altitude and reality combined to create some strange sights: the beautiful star-filled night sky above, and below, thousands of twinkling lights too as our head torches reflected in the snow crystals; and when you lifted your head from the monotony of watching the boots of the person in front, you could see the procession of identical triplets of lights making their way up the mountain from those in front and behind. Without any moonlight, it was the only way to get a sense of progress amid the blackness, and a sense of what steepness lay ahead. We were fortunately towards the front; we later spoke to those at the back who said that every time they looked up, the lights high above were an ominous indication of how far they still had to struggle on.

As the night wore on and we climbed higher, it got bitterly cold and even the bottles of water we had inside our coats froze solid, making dehydration an issue. We tried to eat some of the peanuts and (frozen) chocolate bars we’d brought with us but we were both feeling a bit sick from the exertion and altitude – and our bodies no doubt confused at being force-fed in the middle of the night! At one point we decided to put up our hoods as a final layer of warmth in addition to the balaclava, hat, scarf and helmet we were both wearing. The strap for my helmet wouldn’t do back up, and I spent an agonising five minutes with hands steadily going blue desperately trying to fix it, before the guide deftly sorted it out for me. Unable to feel anything in my hands and with the knowledge that we still had an hour and a half until the warmth of sunrise, I was pretty tempted to turn back, but the guide encouraged us on, and so the slog continued. We were both feeling the altitude, and the pace was slowing, but we were still moving – and faster than the other groups we passed who were pausing for breath every minute or so. I think spending the past few weeks at altitude must have done us some good!

We looked up at one point to find our first view over the surrounding peaks to the yellow lights of the metropolis La Paz and El Alto some 20km away. We could even make out the white lights of the airport runway. It was a real sense that we were getting somewhere – and we were finally walking on the high part of the mountain we had seen when leaving the city a few days before.

The lights of El Alto - you can see the airport runway in white

Finally, after some easyish ice climbing up a steep slope, we hit ‘polish ridge’ from where we could see the summit above us and an impossible view the other side of the ridge to the lights El Alto. I say impossible, because I couldn’t look – it was utterly terrifying. (Mum, you might want to skip this bit and go forward four paragraphs!)

That path is about a foot wide!

The ridge is named after a Polish soloist who fell to his death from here in 1994, and it wasn’t hard to tell why. On one side, a steep slope of 200m at say 60 degrees, down to snow and rocks the way we’d come up. On the other, that view to the city, a 1000m sheer drop, and a strong wind. To get to the summit, we had to edge along the ridge for 100m or so. Oh, and did I mention that this icy ridge was less than half a metre wide in places?!

Inching our way along, we didn’t get off to a good start. I had the cord on the wrong side of me, and as I tried to step over it, the guide moved off, pulling me off balance and prompting some frantic shouting on my part! After sorting things out, we set off properly and I think we both had the same thing on our minds – what to do in that quarter of a second if you feel yourself slipping or hear someone else go? The idea is that at least one of the other two people on the cord will be able to anchor themselves sufficiently to hold the weight of those dangling, but there wasn’t exactly much in which to get purchase with our ice axes, and it seemed like it would very much be luck rather than certainty. Later, Simon comically suggested that perhaps the better strategy would be for someone to throw themselves off the other side of the ridge as a counterbalance, but I’m not sure what our guide would have made of that!

We were perhaps halfway across when we realised a horrible reality – there were people coming the other way, as this was also the return route from the summit! Unfortunately for those we passed, they had to take the slightly more exposed upper of the foot-wide tracks in order to squeeze past. In normal circumstances, it might have been a time to high-five those victorious from the summit; I’m not sure our sense of balance could cope so we just exchanged weak smiles instead!

We scrambled up a snowy bank to find ourselves at last on the summit, the pre-dawn sky giving us just enough light to admire the incredible view. At 6088m, it’s the fifth highest mountain in Bolivia, and higher than any point in Europe, Africa or North America (except Mount McKinley, which is 100m higher). We were exhausted but pretty pleased with ourselves! From the top, we could see Lake Titicaca to the west, and the Cordillera Real mountain range stretching south east and below us. The mountains clearly divide Bolivia in two, with the high and dry altiplano to the west, and the humid and low amazon rainforest to the east. As if a perfect example of geography, one had low cloud stretching as far as the eye could see, and the other was barren and clear.

Kazoo at the summit

Simon & Simon at the summit. We're on a slope, I'm not a dwarf really!

We had brought some Scottish whiskey in a hip flask to help celebrate at the summit, but with the ridge awaiting us – and this time in a slightly more tricky downhill direction – we decided this wasn’t the time to induce even more wobbling that normal!

As you can tell by the fact you’re reading this, we made it down alive and mostly well – although I think that’s probably the first and last high mountain climbing adventure for both of us!

Simon

Sunrise over the mountain


The peak casting a shadow in the early morning light