A Peru-tiful Life: Chachani

I recently returned from a vacation in Arequipa city. In between oogling architecture, eating multiple daily ice creams, and making fun of the pant choices of European men, my friends and I decided to climb one of the picturesque snow-covered volcanoes surrounding the city. We settled on Chachani, which soars to 6,075 meters.

Now, I was confident. I live at 4,100 meters and am a marginally high functioning, currently parasite-free adult. What would 2,000 more meters be? On top of that, base camp was at 5,100m, so we only had a thousand to climb on the day of the ascent. Piece of keke.

There’s nothing quite like the realization that your self-confidence was completely misplaced, but we’ll get to that later.

We rode out of Arequipa and after a stretch on the highway, turned off onto a dirt road where shortly after, we got a flat.

Thankfully, it was a nice day.

Just as we were ready to be on our way, our driver blacked out from the altitude. He was fine, and we refused to take it as a portentous sign. No problem.

We eventually made it to the drop-off point feeling hydrated, sugared-up, and confident.

This feeling dissipated as soon as we started hiking.

We were a bit above 5,000m, and felt the altitude, taking deep breaths and fighting away fuzzy edges in our peripheral vision. Slowly, slowly, we made our way to base camp.

Our guide, Jose, was a champ. I can’t emphasize enough how he took care of us and kept us positive. When I was freezing, teary eyed, retching, and generally cursing the world on the mountain, he got me going again. But that comes later.

Here the ladies are posing with the route up the mountain.

The camera’s perspective significantly flattened it. The path was imposing. Thankfully, we got to laze around camp for the afternoon and rest up. I was wandering around camp in the mid-afternoon wondering why I could see my breath. It wasn't too cold yet. It took me a while to realize that it was the dry mountain air sucking the moisture from my body.

Our bellies protested our noodley dinner.

All of our blood was being dedicated to basic body functions and general survival, so none wanted to be directed to our stomachs for digestion. We ate some anyway, since we knew we’d need the energy.

This photo is of the sunrise, and we were already well up the mountain.

We woke up at 1:30 in the morning to begin hiking at 2. It wasn’t like we were going to get a lot of sleep anyway. My heart was racing as I lay in my sleeping bag and I had to consciously take deep breaths in through my mouth to keep from hyperventilating. That was the point when my confidence that I’d be able to sashay up the mountain started to wane.

We began trudging at 2. It was difficult. Every step required focused effort. As we climbed higher into darkness, the air thinned further. I felt increasingly wobbly and couldn’t tell if my blurred vision was due to nearly blacking out, or because it was nighttime. I was so dehydrated that sips of orange Gatorade tasted like Ocean flavored Fanta. My toes were frozen and my core would get chilled during our breaks despite layers of down and fleece. I look like some kind of misguided early 2000’s preppy kid with multiple popped collars.