Aiming for the Top

The climb to the summit of Huayna Potosi (6088m, 19974 ft), 24-26 April 2010

Warning: This is a long post, but I wanted to capture my impressions while they are still fresh in my mind. I hope you enjoy it.

Since the very first time that Milos read about the “easiest 6000+ m climb”, he had it in his mind that we should do it. I was a little less excited. I hate the cold and was picturing myself out-of-breath the whole time. (Hey, I still get out-of-breath during more high-intensity cardio workouts at the gym and we’ve now been in La Paz for 8 months. So as you can imagine, I had my doubts as to my physical abilities at high altitude.) But nevertheless, we added it to our Bolivia travel checklist back in October and then forgot about it for a while. The best period to make the climb is between May and September, so we decided to put off the decision until then.

Well, fast forward to mid-April. Somehow Huayna Potosi came up again, and we decided to ask a couple of agencies that do mountaineering trips about prices and the general itinerary. Milos got even more excited after this. I still had my doubts. The biggest one was whether to do the climb in two or three days. Three days allows you to spend more time at various altitude levels – 4700m, 5200m, and then finally 6088m – and acclimatize. But they told us since we already live in La Paz (at 3600m) we were pretty well acclimatized and could do it in two days if we wanted to. The advantage to doing it in two days is that you spend only one night at high altitude, where it is often hard to sleep. We asked people who had done it before for advice and we got different recommendations – one person said, do it in two days, another said do it in three. Then I started hearing about the people who hadn’t made it to the top. In the end, we decided that getting in more time to rest between climbs would probably increase our chances. Or if not that, at least calm my mind.

The night before our climb, I couldn’t sleep very well. I had an upset stomach and kept getting chills during the night. I thought to myself, “Great, we finally sign up, and now I get sick.” But since we had two more days until the actual final climb to the summit, I decided to take some Cipro and sit it out. We met our mountain guide, Felix, at 8:30 am and drove to a house in El Alto to grab our equipment, which we would learn to use later that same day: climbing boots, crampons, harness, ice axe. We then drove to the base camp of Huayna Potosi at 4700m (approximately 1.5 hours outside of La Paz). After an early lunch, it was time to practice some ice climbing. We walked for 30-40 minutes to the edge of the glacier where we put everything on. Climbing boots resemble ski boots – they are quite heavy and inflexible. Then we practiced walking, climbing up a 70-80 degree wall, rappelling down, etc. It felt just like rock climbing (well, except for the bulky boots and ice axe in hand). Having never used crampons before, I was quite amazed at how well they grip to the ice. After about an hour or two, we walked back to base camp and relaxed for the rest of the day. On the way back, Felix told us how in the 1980s the glacier had extended much further down. We would have been walking on ice instead of rock. Many of the neighboring peaks had been covered in snow back then. Sadly, much of this snow is now gone, and the glacier (like many of Bolivia’s glaciers) has receded significantly and continues to do so at a disconcerting rate. That night we were alone in the lodge at base camp. During high season (June-July) apparently this and the other 1-2 nearby lodges are full to capacity and the surrounding area is dotted with tents. The accommodations were pretty basic but comfortable and warm enough: sleeping bag on a mattress in the middle of a big room.

The next morning, we set out to high camp at 5130m. We retraced much of the route we had taken the previous day and then continued up the rocky slope. We reached high camp in about 2 hours. On the way, we passed several groups of climbers making their way back down. Felix would stop to chat with each group’s guide about their climb. With the exception of two people (out of about 12 we passed), none had made it to the summit. Talk about discouraging statistics. Felix told us that approximately 70% of people who attempt the climb, make it to the top of. Just three days before that, he had made the trip with two Brazilians. They hadn’t made it either. He told us the most important thing is neither to be negative nor overly confident about the climb. The goal was to set your mind to it and then just take it one step at a time and go slow. Apparently, many people overexert themselves at the beginning, only to have zero energy left for the final climb to the peak. That afternoon, we had more time to relax. The peak of Huayna Potosi towered above the lodge. I spent most of the afternoon gazing at it and making peace with the mountain. I thought it couldn’t hurt if I didn’t feel intimidated by it. Late in the afternoon we were joined by four French guys and their two guides. The nine of us were the only ones staying at the lodge that night. After an early dinner, we went to bed at 6:30 pm. Felix was going to wake us up at 1 am and after a quick breakfast, we would start the ascent to the summit.

I didn’t sleep very much between 6:30 pm and 1 am. The wind was howling madly outside and for some reason I couldn’t fall asleep (perhaps it was the altitude, like everyone says). I just dozed off a few times. At 1 am, Felix greeted us with the news that we would have to put on more layers. Apparently, the wind wasn’t usually this strong. I put on almost all the clothes I had brought with me. Two layers below my skiing pants and five layers below my winter jacket. It turned out it wasn’t that cold after all, but I was happy with all my layers. At around 2:30 am we set out to the edge of glacier, donned our crampons and fixed the rope to our harnesses. Felix led, I followed, and Milos came last. The four French guys were also tied in twos to their respective guides. And so we set out, headlamps on, one slow step at a time. There was almost a full moon so we could actually make out a little more than just our immediate surroundings. I tried to concentrate on the walking and not to think about anything else. I knew we had a long way to go. Felix had estimated six hours. One-two, one-two, one-two I would count off in my head. Breathing was getting harder, but somehow I managed to keep a rhythm. At times, I felt a nauseating feeling rise up from the pit of my stomach, but I tried to suppress it. I just pretended it wasn’t there. I knew that if I started thinking about it, I would not make it far. The first portion of the climb was fair, the incline wasn’t too steep. The wind was strong, but not super cold. And it helped to have others in our group. I just focused on making it to our next rest point. I wasn’t even thinking as far as the summit. There was a long way to go. I had been told that when people make this climb in the middle of the night, they often ask themselves what the hell they are doing there. I had suspected that I would ask myself the same question, but I didn’t. I guess by that point, I was determined that I wanted to be there and my only goal for the next however many hours was to make it closer and closer to the summit. Why I was there was an irrelevant question. As we continued to make our way up, the French guys gained on us and slowly disappeared out of sight. We passed a couple who were debating turning around. We trudged on.

Felix had told us that many people turn around at the pequeño palo, a 50 m section with a 45 degree incline at approximately 5700m. You need to climb up on all fours, and the wind right after that section is always strong, as you end up in an open pass. Make it past that section and you are halfway to the summit. But climbing up the wall takes a lot of energy out of you. We started taking breaks more often. Milos started having a hard time breathing and had to stop frequently to catch his breath. But we managed to keep a more-or-less steady rhythm. We passed another couple who were wondering whether to turn back. The girl wasn’t feeling well, but the guy wanted to continue. Their guide was waiting for them to decide what they wanted to do. We continued.

The next section was fairly flat, but at this altitude even walking on flat ground was quite tiresome. We would make brief stops to catch our breath, drink some water, and eat chocolate for energy. I didn’t look at my watch. I didn’t want to know how long I had to go. I kept the rest stops as my intermediary goals. We had to step/jump over a few crevasses but all in all it was a pretty uneventful stretch. As we stopped for another break, Felix told us we had just one more steep section to go and then we would be right below the peak. At that point, we saw that the last couple we had passed had decided to continue. They had caught up to us. The girl still wasn’t feeling very well, but had decided to power on. We talked them into continuing with us. The sun started peeking out from behind the horizon and it revealed a whole new world: glistening snow and ice formations, mountain peaks in the distance, La Paz and El Alto down below.

With ever more frequent breaks we made it to the last stretch before the summit. We would have to hike up a stretch of medium steepness (approx. 30 degrees), then climb up 70-80 m stretch with a 45-50 degree incline on all fours, then walk carefully along the ridge at the top towards the summit. People were inching their way up. Some were already at the top. The goal was in sight. By the time we made it to the 45-50 degree section, some people were already coming down. The problem was that they blocked half of the path up and made it even harder for us to climb up. This section truly felt like being on a vertical rock face (although I realize it was far from 90 degrees). With each step, we had to dig the ice axe into the slope, make a step up digging the crampons into the ice and then push/pull ourselves up in order to repeat the same steps again. The problem with being tied to someone else is that you have to keep up with the average speed. Milos needed to stop more often to catch his breath. I wanted to keep a steady pace because I felt that if I stopped too much my legs would just refuse to continue climbing. The people coming down didn’t help either because they limited our reach. I don’t know why they hadn’t waited for us to climb up the wall before coming down. But somehow we made it all the way up. The other girl gave up, but at least at that point she was able to join the group coming down, so that the guy could continue with the guide. He made his way before us on the ridge. Felix told us not to look down. On the left-hand side was the slope from which we had just come; on the right-hand side was a free-fall area, a vertical drop that seemed to have no end. So, yes, it was better not to look down. Luckily, the wind wasn’t very strong at that point. We edged along and sooner than we knew it, we were there. We were at the summit, 6088m above sea level! We made it up in 5 hours. I could hardly believe it. My eyes teared up. The summit itself is pretty small in area. There is nothing marking the top. It was just us, the other guy (who turned out to be a New Zealander), the two guides, and the magnificent panorama all around us – the rest of the Cordillera Real peaks to the north-west and south-east, Lake Titicaca to the west, parts of El Alto to the south, and the clouds above the Yungas to the east. We spent about 20 minutes on top basking in the sun, enjoying the views, and assimilating what we had just done. Then it was time for the descent. Yes, unfortunately, there isn’t time for too much relaxation since you have to be pretty alert on the way down and can’t let your body go into “rest mode.”

As we made our way down, I understood why this climb is done at night. (Well, the more technical reason is that the slope is more stable at night when the temperatures are lower.) But the psychological reason is that in the ignorance of darkness chances are lower that you will get discouraged. You can’t see how far you still have to climb. All you see is the area within a 2-meter radius and you press on. Walking the same route in the daylight is a completely different experience when you can appreciate the scenery around you – the heaps of snow, icicle formations, crevasses in various shapes, the imposing slopes. The more we descended, the more my disbelief grew. We had climbed all this? The descent gives you a completely different perspective. We made it down to high camp in about three hours. We then took an hour to eat and gather our strength for the descent down to base camp (another 1.5 hours). Oh, and before we left high camp, we added our names to the other writings that dotted the walls of the lodge. It was a tough but very gratifying experience. And it gives me a whole new appreciation of the world of mountaineering and all the people who make summits such as Everest or K-2. Felix suggested we join him on his next climb up Mt. Illimani (6462m) on 1 May. I think we may skip that one, but I may consider another climb in the future, who knows?

Am I Becoming Paceña*?

*resident of La Paz.

When I was told that I would be going to Santa Cruz for work, I couldn't wait. Santa Cruz is Bolivia's biggest city (bigger than La Paz or El Alto) and is the capital of a department in the Eastern Lowlands that is as different from the Altiplano as can be. The best part: I hadn't been there yet. I was looking forward to experiencing the warmer weather, more relaxed lifestyle, and more liberal point-of-view of cruceños (Santa Cruz residents) that I had heard so much about.

The differences are apparent as soon as you land at the airport. Viru Viru International Airport in Santa Cruz is much bigger and modern-looking than the El Alto airport that serves La Paz. As soon as you step out of the plane you get the whiff of a tropical climate (Santa Cruz lies at 450 m above sea level compared to La Paz's 3600 m). I felt like I had just arrived at a resort destination. The ride to the Pro Mujer office was along a flat road lined by palm and jacaranda trees. There were no steep, curving descents, no rocky hillsides like from El Alto; in fact, I couldn't even spot a hill in the distance.

Santa Cruz is laid out in concentric rings. This makes it fairly easy to judge distances (second ring, close to the center; eighth ring, far). Because the surrounding area is flat, there are no natural restraints to growth and supposedly the city is growing at astounding proportions. The city center is small, with relatively narrow one-way streets. The avenues that form the rings are much wider (usually two to three lanes in each direction). Unlike La Paz, Santa Cruz is a shopper's paradise - plenty of fancy-looking clothing stores with big windows displaying the latest fashion line the streets. It also has a lot of restaurants, bars and cafes, most of them with outdoor seating. (One forgets what it is like to live in a place with really hot summers.) People also dress better, drive fancier cars and in generally like to show all of that off. However, that's all mostly in the central areas. Drive a little bit further out and you will see the same dusty, garbage-strewn streets as you see in El Alto. With a couple of differences: in Santa Cruz most people are dressed in short sleeves, skirts/shorts, and sandals, and not bundled up in multiple layers like people in El Alto; and then there are the horse-drawn wooden carts ... much like the gipsy carts one can sometimes spot in the less glamorous parts of Sofia. It is too cold for open carts at 4000m. More than anything, the outskirts of Santa Cruz reminded me a lot of Nicaragua - one- to three-story buildings, dust, tropical vegetation, scorching sun.

When it comes to the people, there are also considerable differences. There is a long-lived animosity between cambas (the inhabitants of the lowlands) and collas (the inhabitants of the Altiplano). Most times it takes the form of jokes and innocent leg-pulling, but sometimes it borders on discrimination. Personally, the first thing I noticed about the people in Santa Cruz (or at least the ones in customer-service positions) is that they seemed to be in a bad mood and definitely less friendly. There was no exchange of greetings, no smiles. I was really surprised, as I hadn't yet experienced that in other towns and cities in Bolivia. Most had the attitude that you were bothering them by requesting their attention. I guess I had gotten "unused" to that kind of attitude although it is also pretty common in Bulgaria, for example. My "favorite" example is from a big-chain supermarket. A colleague and I went to buy some water; she was at the register in front of me. She handed the girl a 20 Boliviano bill to cover the 3.20 Bs charge. The girl's comment was, "Don't you have 3.50?" Wow, it's not like she got handed a 100 Bs or 200 Bs bill. My colleague told her that she didn't have change. The girl then tried to give her gum as change instead. My colleague wouldn't have it. At which point the girl angrily exclaimed, "You are supposed to have change when you come into a supermarket." Hmmm, and here we were thinking that it's the supermarket that is supposed to have the change. After all, you are not a little kiosk on the street. But, I guess we were wrong. I am not trying to be smug or anything, but this kind of thing has never happened to me in La Paz. And it's not so much the fact that she had no change that bothered me, but her attitude. Instead of being apologetic, she was mean and made it out to be our fault. That is one example. But there were multiple instances during my three-day stay in Santa Cruz when I felt that people were rude to me for no reason. I am not quite sure what it is, perhaps people there think they are better than everyone else. After all, Santa Cruz is the richest city in Bolivia; people are used to abundance and don't have to deal with a harsh climate (the region has the most fertile land and is the agricultural mecca of the country; in addition, it is rich in natural resources). They don't have to work as hard as the people in the Altiplano to make ends meet. Maybe that's why they don't feel the need to be nice to customers. Or maybe that's the normal state of being and nobody really notices it or cares. Or maybe these were all just coincidences, and people are in fact super nice. Or maybe I have become the adopted paceña (as my colleague sometimes calls me) and am defending "my city". Either way, it left a bad taste.

Another big difference are the men. While in La Paz men don't really pay much attention to women on the street, in Santa Cruz they stare blatantly, whistle, and sometimes shout out obscenities. I guess, the hotter climate brings out the more sexually liberal spirit. In that sense, the Altiplano parts of Bolivia really seem to be an exception to the Latin American guy stereotype.

All in all, I think I prefer La Paz over Santa Cruz. I will give it another try though in a couple of weeks when Milos and I will be making a trip to the city and the Jesuit mission towns in its vicinity. Hopefully, the rural parts of Santa Cruz department will make a better impression on me than the city itself did.

Reminiscences

The other day, I realized that I have only four more months left in Bolivia. Time has flown by. It got me thinking about what I have gained from being here - a place that was unknown to me seven months ago. Some things were obvious: it has helped me improve my Spanish; it has helped me learn more about the inner functionings of an organization that provides both microfinance products and health services and education; it has allowed me to explore places that I had never thought I would visit. 
Other things were less tangible. For example, it is almost impossible for me to imagine going back to the "developed" world. The place where everything functions, where driving infractions are taken seriously and punished, where time is respected, where such a thing as "customer service" exists. It seems like I lived in that world in another lifetime. I have gotten so used to riding on often crowded minibuses to work, that I can't imagine getting on a subway where, god forbid, you make eye contact with someone. That is just one example - the concept of personal space is very different here. 
While coming down from El Alto a couple of days ago, I saw La Paz sprawled out before me, lights twinkling all the way in the distance. It is one of the views I enjoy and will miss the most. I thought about all the frustrations I felt at the beginning and how I don't feel them as much anymore, although nothing around me has changed. I guess I have. I realized that you can only feel frustrated if you come with preconceived notions of what a place and its people should be like, of what is the "right" way to do things. Once you overcome that, it is much harder for the differences and so-called quirks to get to you. This should have been clear to me. After all, I have lived in foreign countries before. I guess deep inside I knew that but I had never voiced that thought coherently before. What is infuriating at first, can become endearing over time.
I am not certain of the point when I started feeling less like a tourist and more like a someone who actually lives here. Perhaps it came at the time when I started relating more to my colleagues, or the time when merchants would quote me the local and not "tourist" price, or the time while talking with our organization's clients (women of low socioeconomic and education levels) they asked me when I would come back to talk to them again. Whenever it happened, one thing is clear. It is harder to leave behind a place once you cross that line. Once you have let the local people and culture get to you.