Hiking my way through October

Had to wait a few weeks for some exciting things to happen, but we’re back now! September closed out with a bang and now I’m struggling to hold onto the slippery days of October, which, as predicted, are passing by way too quickly. Part of this is my own fault, however. Between work at the COAR, starting a 120-hour TEFL course, volunteering to teach two extra English classes a week for students in Chile, and finalizing the book of student poems to be published, I haven’t kept myself idle. Which is great, to be honest, because all of these activities have given me a lot more structure and routine in my day-to-day life, banishing the melancholy ennui that seems to knock on my door the minute autumn rolls around. I also am BURSTING WITH EXCITEMENT AND PRIDE about this poetry book, because my students are the most creative, wonderful, perfect writing rockstars, and I can’t wait to share the finished product with them and with you all. I’m struggling a bit on the timeline, because my life is tied to la hora peruana, plus my own Ramsey Family Time, which means absolutely nothing is on schedule like it should be. But! I have high hopes that I’ll have it sent in and published before I leave Chalhuanca at the end of November, so I can give the copies to the students themselves. I admit that a good chunk of the book consists of mini chapter introductions where I just brag about my students on end, so I might need to work on cutting down words! 

Anyways...in other news, Aiden, Eliza and I just returned from an intense 3-day trek to Choquequirao, which is a protected cultural site similar to Machu Picchu, about three hours away from where I live. Choquequirao, now mostly well-preserved ruins, was once an important outpost in the Incan empire Tahuantinsuyo, and the settlement itself was used for ritual and ceremonial events. About 29 miles away, or a 7-10 day hike, you can reach Machu Picchu! The Choquequirao (choh-ke-key-rauw) ruins date back to the 15th or 16th century, and the settlement includes stone houses, ceremonial temples with chambers for mummies, agricultural terraces, and hundreds more buildings where ancient Incans lived and worked. Choquequirao comes from the Quechua words choq’e, meaning metal, and kiraw, meaning cradle or crib, which is why the site is known as the Cradle of Metal, or cuña de oro/metal in Spanish. 

Day 0: 

Choquequirao is only accessible by foot or by mule, and we ended up hiking over 30 miles over the course of 3 days, with 1500 meters of elevation descent and then 1500 more meters of elevation gain on the first day. We started our journey by taking a combi from Chalhuanca to Abancay after work last Friday, and then we took another taxi from Abancay to the town of Cachora, about an hour away. In Cachora, we waited on the side of the highway overlooking the rolling mountains for Eliza, our friend and fellow ETA coming all the way from Puerto Maldonado, a city at sea-level in the Peruvian jungle. Once Eliza’s bus dropped her off, we crammed into a small truck and started the jolting, bumpy ride to Capuliyoc, the small outpost at the beginning of the Choquequirao trek. Exhausted from a long day of traveling, when Fernando, our taxista, dropped us off in Capuliyoc, we were immediately ready for a hot meal and a warm bed. While we waited for the dueña of the lodge we were staying at to finish up dinner, Eliza taught Aiden and me how to play rummy, and we were quickly defeated multiple times because Eliza is secretly a cardshark, and not because any lack of skill on my part, ok? After scarfing down dinner, we sat and chatted for a bit about the plan for tomorrow while cradling steaming hot mugs of anise tea. We also decided to record our trek vlog-style, and we laughed self-consciously while filming the first one before getting ready for bed. Thankfully, we weren’t camping over the next few days (because that would have meant carrying a lot more equipment on our backs), but I had tried to pack light, and therefore ended up sleeping in the clothes I’d be wearing the next day (it was cold!). 

Day 1: 

The next morning, we woke up bright and early at 4 AM to beat the sun and heat and start our hike. We strapped on our headlamps, hoisted on our backpacks, and started marching. It was a bit tricky in the complete darkness on the rocky and unfamiliar path, but I can’t lie, though I’m not a morning person, it’s always so fun to be awake when no one else is. I also felt a shiver of excitement that I wouldn’t truly know what the start of this hike looked like until we returned the way we came, in three days. We navigated our way in the inky morning darkness, headlight beams swinging to and fro as we got accustomed to the path and our surroundings, passing by occasional signs reading “No Apoyarse” (do not lean on) next to gaping holes of dirt that crumbled into the abyss below. Fun! It had been a while since I had gone hiking/backpacking for real, and I had bittersweet flashbacks to camping trips with my family, and my 2021 adventure on the Appalachian Trail in Greyson Highlands for a few days.

For the first few hours, we picked our way down the dirt path in silence, adjusting to the early morning and watching the sky slowly lighten. As we got going, we quickly heated up, even though it was already sprinkling rain, and heavy blankets of fog and mist obscured our steps. About an hour into the hike, we reached our first stopping point and mirador, so we stopped for a bit, already applying sunscreen and insect repellent, swigging water, opening cereal bars, and chatting about how it was going so far. The sky had lightened to a pearly gray, and through the early morning mist, we could see the golden-brown swaths of the mountain side, with the trail winding along it like a pale swatch of untanned skin. The trail itself already had pushed us through many switchbacks, to alleviate the steepness of the descent, but I knew my knees would be feeling sore from our halting, jarring steps down the mountain. We filmed some more vlogs at various moments throughout the morning, and by 8:30, we had made it down the majority of the mountain, and the sun was fully out. Not far below us, the teal waters of the Río Apurímac rushed eagerly, and we could distantly see the bridge on the banks that would carry us from the first mountain to the second to start our ascent. 

When we reached the bridge, we all agreed we wanted to take a quick break and swim in the river for a bit, so we changed in a truly atrocious abandoned bathroom (it had not been cleaned in a very long time. Unfortunately, it had still been used.) Eliza and I struggled into our swimsuits, trying to avoid touching any surfaces, while Aiden patiently waited outside, looking like the epitome of a dad with his belt, trousers, fannypack and sunglasses, leaning against a stone wall. At this point it was only 9:00, but it felt like half the day had gone by already, and between the bugs and the heat, we were ready to stick our sweaty, tired bodies into the river to cool down. We crossed the bridge, immense and green and swaying a little bit...and then mountain-goated our way down to a small beach to the side of the bridge. This is where I have regrets. I definitely should have put on more bugspray before getting into and after getting out of the water, because I’m positive this is where I acquired 90% of the bites that still itch to this day. However, after flinging down my pack, I made a beeline for the water, ready to jump in before I got too cold from the wind. The water was FREEZING!!! Like all water I’ve swum in here in Peru, there was a frigid chill to the river that kind of settles into your bones, so you either have to dunk under immediately, gasping at the cold, or swim desperately in the hopes of warming up your muscles. I did both, and I can attest that neither really worked. But the water felt incredible on my calves and feet, which were already aching from the tireless descent down the first mountain. Eliza, coming from sea-level, hadn’t totally acclimated to Apurímac’s elevation while also dealing with an injured knee, so she followed me into the water, hoping for an ice-bath effect. It was lovely and refreshing, but we had to be careful to stay in our little inlet, for fear of the rushing current washing us downriver. The sun warmed the top of our heads as we paddled in the chilly water, talking about our aching legs and how many miles we had left to go. When each of us decided we could no longer withstand the cold, we came out to dry off and have a mini picnic, while I decided to peruse the rocks and air dry while looking for cool beach trinkets to take with me.

At last, it was time to pick up our packs again and resume the trek. We all shimmied into dry clothing and our hiking boots once more, and tilted our heads upwards. The mountain loomed before us, all baked sun and gritty rocks, so tall we couldn’t see the top of it from where we stood. And so we started our ascent. At first, we were rejuvenated by the dip in the river, our full bellies, and the huge sign that welcomed us to the official Choquequirao Archaeological Park. Little did we know that we still had 6 hours of hiking ahead of us. 

Due to some slight miscalculations in distance, what we thought would take us 5 hours total turned into a 13-hour hiking day, start to finish, before we reached our lodge for the night in Marampata, at the top of the second mountain. Struggling through the heat, enviously watching other hikers coming down the mountain wishing us luck, navigating the no-see-ums and gnats, sweating through vicious switchbacks, we were relieved when we finally made it to Santa Rosa Baja, about 2 hours of straight ascent after the river swim. We stopped for a quick snack, some Coca-Colas, and to watch two small sisters fight over toys before we meandered back onto the path, ducking around stubborn mules and sweat-lathed horses also making the same trek, but with mounds of supplies strapped to their saddles. The trail itself was gorgeous, when you took the obligatory pause after a particularly rough and gravelly switchback to look out at the landscape now far below you. Scraggly trees and strips of tan trail interspersed huge boulders and craggy cliffs. Every once in a while you’d come across some hidden lilies among the brush, or a bee perusing a bright yellow cactus flower, and you’d close your eyes and tip your head back while the breeze caressed the sweat off of your heat-reddened forehead. After a few more hours, the clouds blessedly blocked the sun and the brush filled with the scent of rain. Fat droplets plunked down on our heads and backpacks, large enough to feel but not heavy enough to do anything about it. If anything, the rain was a cooling balm to my overheated soul and overexerted legs, which had fallen into a mindless autopilot of step, heave, step, heave while I tried my best not to twist my ankles on loose rocks or step into fresh mule-pats. 

At one point, not long after leaving Santa Rosa Alta, we came across a group of Argentinian hikers descending. “Take it slow and keep steady,” they told us. “Invest in hiking poles!” “Only three hours til the top!” I laughed at that last one, thinking they were pulling our legs–they seemed like the type of middle-aged guys who would enjoy messing with our heads. Unfortunately, they weren’t. When their guide appeared behind them, I asked how long until we would reach Marampata. “Three, maybe four hours, depending,” he replied. I cried a little bit inside, stunned. In my head, we were less than 30 minutes away! But there was nothing else to do. No one and nothing around. We either made it up the next three hours before dark, or we slept on the trail, on the dusty, rocky ground of the path. As we didn’t have tents or bedrolls or even an extra sweatshirt, that was not an option. But as we continued the ascent, in the back of my mind I kept my eyes peeled for niches in the boulders or cave-like recesses where I could hide myself from the elements in case I never made it. 

Dramatic, I know, but in the moment it felt that drastic. Each of us had slowly separated from each other, going at our own respective paces, and with Aiden far in front of me and Eliza somewhere behind, it was hard to convince myself to keep going at times, especially when blisters began to form and my quads cried out for rest. But somehow, repeating the same song in my head over and over like a mantra, we finally made it to Marampata, and I’ve never been so relieved and ecstatic in all my life to see the tiny cabins and buildings that made up that small town, nor the mules and horses blocking our path into it. Once we arrived, everything faded away like a fever-dream. We had booked some small cabins, so I set my stuff down and immediately headed to take the coldest shower of my life. Once I felt sufficiently scrubbed of sweat, I collapsed onto my tiny bed in the cozy cabin, massaging my legs and stretching to ease the tightness I felt. When everyone had arrived and showered and felt human again, we had a small dinner, made our final vlog of the night, and went right to bed, seeing as we’d be waking up again at 4 AM the next day. I wrote a quick entry in my journal, and just to compare, here is the vibe from the night before starting the trek: 

4/10/24

Today we got to the first post before starting the trek tomorrow! It was a long day, with work in the morning, two combis, waiting for Eliza in Ramal for an hour, and a trip packed in a truck over some “roads” that were very messed up. But, in the end, we got to Capuliyoc, where Eliza taught us how to play Rummy while we we waited an hour for dinner: milanesa de pollo. 

Tomorrow we’re going to wake up at 4 am (!!!) to start the trek–the longest and most difficult day–but I’m super excited. It makes me feel like I’m camping again, because as I’m writing I’m wearing my little headlamp so I can see – there aren’t any lights here. Besos y suerte!

And here is the entry from after day 1. Huge tone change. It was rough, but worth it: 

5/10/24

Today was literally the hardest day and the hardest hike of my life. We woke up at 4 to start the trek from Capuliyoc to Marampata, which was SUPPOSED to take 5-7 hours, so we’d get there around noon. LIES!! The second half (from Chusqui-algo) was straight uphell and with so many rocky switchbacks and mule-patties to avoid. It wasn’t all unpleasant, I had a lot of fun at certain times, but all will to live or rational thought left my body around 1 pm, when we discovered that Marampata was NOT 15 minutes away, but actually 3-4 more hours of straight uphill trekking. My backpack got heavier with each step, and I’ve never sweated so much in my life. This was going on hour 8-9 of hiking. So mentally and physically I’m drained. But we did vlog updates all day today which was fun and tomorrow we get to see Choquequirao finally! I won’t lie, after this trip I will be horizontal for at least a week. Soooo excited to sleep tonight and to see the views tomorrow! 

Michi count: 5

Day 2: 

Waking up the next morning before dawn was one of the hardest trials of my life. I dragged my body out of bed, muscles kicking and screaming, brushed my teeth in the dark, and headed upstairs with my headlamp for a cup of coffee. While we sat groggily in the dark morning, half-heartedly eating some bread and clutching our mugs with freezing fingertips, I was delighted to find the house cat gingerly approach me. After some gradual convincing, meowing noises, and some morsels of bread for a bribe, the gray kitty finally acquiesed to me petting her. She settled on my lap, nosing at the table for more crumbs, and purring so loudly my heart squeezed. She was the most gorgeously gray cat with deep dark eyes and as always, I wanted to take her home with me. I am very cat-starved, although I see michis slinking all over Chalhuanca. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stay and cuddle the kitty. It was time to hike to the ruins!

The trail to the ruins was pretty mild, compared to what we had done yesterday, and as the sun slowly rose and trickled its rays through the canopy, I was stunned by the views of the surrounding peaks and valleys. It was sublime. After an hour and a half, we reached the first terraces leading into the main center of Choquequirao. For the next few hours, we all kind of split up and wandered the ruins at our leisure. The views were incredible, and I felt so awestruck to finally have made it to this ancient place. Even better, there was hardly anyone around, and as the sun broke through the clouds, I saw the preserved stone houses drenched in warm sunlight, while all around us, surrounding mountains looked on stoically. I walked around old stone temples, indents in the ground surrounded by low stone walls that were once workshops, and trekked down some very steep paths to see the terraces on the other side of the mountain. The stone terraces are classic Incan architecture; they were used for agricultural purposes, for livestock, and to transport water. These terraces at Choquequirao were the most incredible ones I’ve ever seen, however, because rows upon rows of the dark grey terraces had been built with white stone llamas decorating them. From afar, it was stunning to see the lines of llamas peppered along the terraces, and up close it was clear the terraces had been built with such care and deliberation. The fact that they still stand, untouched, completely blew me away. 

If you ever go to Choquequirao, you must hike down to see the stone llamas. It’s difficult on the way back up, but it’s so worth it, and I would have done it for the views of the opposing mountains alone, to be honest. I did make the incredibly stupid decision on the way back of hiking straight up the terrace steps, rather than the path I had come down with all its switchbacks. My legs have never trembled more, and I definitely could have fallen and never been heard from again. But! I did it, I made it, and here I am. It was an incredible experience I won’t forget. 

The rest of our day was spent hiking back down the huge mountain I had complained about going up yesterday. We crossed the big bridge again, while the sun was setting, and made it to our campsite about an hour or so after dark, which was a bit spooky. After a hot shower, some chifles, and conversation with a few of the other hikers we had met, Eliza, Aiden, and I all passed out, ready to finish the final part the next morning, though a bit reticent to return to our regular lives away from the calm silence of the mountains. 

Day 3: 

Our final day retraced our steps from the first, except this time we climbed back up to Capuliyoc in the blazing sunlight, no misty morning mountains to be seen. The plains waved with amber grasses, and the river wound below us, its rushing waters becoming more and more muted the higher we climbed. We passed many hikers just starting the trek, and envied their fresh and happy faces. After four hours (no sweat, at this point!) we finally reached the top where we had started out, and we collapsed on benches truly relieved and proud of what we had accomplished. We sponged-off the sweat and dirt, had some delicious sandwiches, and said goodbye to Eliza, who was heading back to Puerto Maldonado. Despite the hardships and the sore muscles, I would do that trek again in a heartbeat. I would even do it backpacking/camping style! But I would definitely recommend giving yourself more than 3 days to complete it, just so you can really appreciate and soak in the magic of Choquequirao. It was definitely great preparation for the 5 day trek I’ll be doing in December to Machu Picchu. It was also a much-needed respite from civilization and people; there were moments where I was hiking solo where I could only marvel at the fact that there was no one in sight, and I had the mountains all to myself. 

More updates and exciting news to come! 

Love, Chels