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We just reached a pit-stop and already some of the kids are tired. Our group has quickly dispersed – with the faster, more fit students charging ahead in front, and others struggling to keep up from behind. The early whining kind-of makes me laugh. Pushing kids to their absolute limits is a key component of Globetrotter travel. If only they knew… this challenge is just beginning. J
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We are nearing 15,000 feet in elevation and the effects of the altitude are definitely starting to take their toll. Even I am finding myself short of breath, and I know I am more prepared than most. The kids are doing great… struggling, but doing great.
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We just made it to a very small town called Waka Wasi, which means in “the cow’s house” in keshwan. Waka is the first sign of real civilization we have seen in hours. There is an older woman sitting alongside the trail with her three children. They are selling handmade wares and have 4-5 bottled drinks among their inventory – no telling how long those things have been around! At this point, I have Sarah Catherine, Ricky, Kevin and Victoria Idol in my group. I pull out 15 soles (about $5 US) and buy five braided bracelets from the woman. I pulled my struggling hikers together for what I am sure was a cheesy, but desperately needed pep talk. We tied on our bracelets, put our hands in the middle and cheered, “1 – 2 – 3 HOPE!”
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My group finally made it to the turn – the spot where we were supposed to meet for lunch. Mario, Qlyl, Kierra and Barak arrived before us. They were lying on the ground exhausted. Upon our arrival, the porters decided it was time to set up tables and fire up their stoves. The kids head up for lunch and Freebird and I are about to head back out on the trail in search of the three remaining students who have yet to arrive.
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Freebird took the lower trail and I took an upper, less descript path that I am guessing was “paved” by the goats and alpaca roaming the mountainside. We both encountered local village kids along the way who were eager to help us with our search. In no time, we had an old-school communication chain up and running. The kids would run ahead until they found another kid from another village. They would explain that we were looking for the Americans, and then those kids would take off running until they had reached the next village, and so on, and so on. Updates quickly started making their way back to us. We were informed that one of our three missing hikers had refused to get on the horse we had sent for them. The other two were boycotting the horses as well in support of their fellow traveler.
Holy smokes… talk about a test of patience! 15 of our 18 team members were waiting to set-out for the next leg of our hike. We were racing against day light and here were three American teenagers throwing temper tantrums in the middle of the Andes. We had to make a decision about what to do next, so we decided to call it a day and pitch camp at the turn.
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Our last three hikers have finally arrived. They were tired and stressed when they came up over the crest of the hill. One was actually furious, but has since apologized to the group for his heated outburst.
It’s freezing cold here, literally, and because trees do not grow at this altitude, the women who live in the shack near our campsite are helping us collect animal dung in order to build a fire. We are all gathered under a small red tent, reflecting on our day. The cooks are so dear. They continue to bring in snacks, dinner and (of course) more cocao tea.
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It feels like midnight but it’s only 7:45 pm. We are in our tents and getting ready for bed. It’s too cold to brush our teeth or change our clothes. Several of us tried to use the bathroom behind a stone wall nearby… no luck. After taking a quick second to soak in the majesty of the Southern Cross, I have slipped into my sleeping bag, and I am clinging to the used plastic bottle the cooks filled with hot water for me after dinner. I am wishing I had ten more of these bottles. The word “cold” does not do this justice.
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