Fri 12.09.25

The day started the night before as my panicked self frantically walked the cracked streets of Huaraz, waiting for my laundry to be ready.

I knew of the 4:30 AM pickup, but I hadn’t considered that laundry would take so long. My self-cursing self should have been grateful instead, for my broken Spanish and unassuming charm had been able to convince the laundress to prepare my dirty clothes for a same day collection. I needed them to be clean – I didn’t wish to embark on a 10 day hike with smelly clothes!

Perhaps then it wasn’t my charm, but rather my stinking desperation that prompted the laundress to be so kind.

I took my clothes, packed my bags and hit the bed at 9:30.

Small Talk Cut Short

My excitement (read: the need to piss) woke me up at 3:20, a few minutes before my alarm rang.

Hurriedly, with my sympathetic nervous system on overdrive, I left the dorm without disturbing the peace of my fellow travelers, and landed in the kitchen.

I was eager to break my fast: Greek yoghurt made of Andean cow milk with the flesh of the cartoonish Lucuma fruit folded in.

I thoroughly enjoyed the meal, though it was hardly sufficient for my calorie hungry state.

At checkout, I met Timothy and Bob, two sleep-deprived crazies like me who had chosen to embark on this adventure. Unlike me, they were having their first sips of the (excluding in Utah) universally condoned drug: coffee.

Moments later, the doorbell rang. They had come to pick us up.

Soldiers in the Night

It was dark in the pickup truck and I couldn’t make out the face of our conductores, who drove us assertively… a grand total of two blocks to the agency. The English lads and I were in agreement that we could have walked, but I guess the luxury treatment is part of what we paid for.

Soon after, a couple of other pickups arrived bringing more foreign faces.

And in a jiffy, Paul (the agency’s owner) and his team split us into separate minivans. My awe at how organised they were distracted me from the sadness of being ripped apart from Timothy and Bob, whom I was warming up to, and Roy and Shabestan, a sound English couple I’d met a few days back.

The minivans were definitely a downgrade from the private pickup: cramped and with no AC!

Dusty Start

The silence on the minivan rang loudly in my ears only. The rest of the group already knew one another, as they’d met on an acclimatisation hike organised by Paul. I’d opted out of that one owing to the fact that my knees were busted from a dangerous hike the day before.

I sat at the back next to my daypack. In front of me sat Michael and Grant, a couple from the states. Next to me on the other side of the aisle sat Sarí, the second youngest on the trip, with a year on me. In her front was Eileen from Canada.

Somewhere far ahead in the minivan sat the rest of the hiking group: Rosha and Mr. Kerr, an Australian couple, and their friend Oates (giving our group a total of four Australians, including Sarí), Maphre and Gwyneth, two French medics, and our guide, Robin.

The ride was bumpy and dusty. My sleep deprived state did not help me make friends with Sarí, despite her best efforts to break the ice. I spent most of the time with my eyes closed, never quite catching sleep.

We rudely stopped for our first view: dunes of mountains.

Shortly after we found ourselves at the edge of civilisation, at the village of Pocpa, where we had a lovely breakfast: omelette served with flatbread and fruits and vegetables. The highlight of the meal was the avocado: perfectly creamy, and unlike those in Europe, not one bit shy.

I briefly met everyone for the first time. My brain was still half-asleep so I was not assed to expend much of my limited social battery. This was very much unlike travel mode Tsunami. Could it be that my life threatening hike earlier in the week shifted my perspective?

Our First Hike

The sight of mountains made me feel better. Our camp site sat at 4180 meters, the highest I’d have ever slept at. For reference, Huaraz sits at around 3100, so we’d climbed a kilometer by car.

We started ascending, with Robin keeping a very slow and steady pace. Despite this, I felt some effects of having climbed so high: a faint headache and a hard-pounding heart. My snacking on dark chocolate didn’t seem to have done much. I hoped that it was due to the lack of sleep, and prayed to the mountains for no issues on harder days.

We ascended around 500 meters to the viewpoint, and the views were stunning… but they were only a taste of what was to come.

Skinny Princess Treatment

Once back we were treated to our first lunch: a warm soup, followed my a fresh salad, and… nothing?? Is exactly how I felt when nothing came after the salad.

But how could this be??

My panicked mind screamed. I need protein!

What’s more, everyone else in the group seemed to be full, so Robin decided to cancel snacks for tea time!

I resigned to sipping coca tea bitterly.

My stomach growled and I found the conversation in the mess tent unamusing, so I joined the crew tent, where Robin, our donkey drivers, Jawad, Jeffrey and Sami were helping our chef Mohammad Patis make dinner.

To my horror, it turned out that they were making a fava bean stew (picante de habas). And to even greater horror: they seemed to be unaware of my deathly intolerance to them. And to make matters even more horrifying: after communicating the same I didn’t notice them taking extra precaution to use separate utensils to prevent cross contamination!

So you can imagine that dinner was a rather stressful experience for me, and left me more calorie deprived than I started. I left my rice completely untouched. In that moment I also decided not to hang around in the kitchen again, putting my complete faith in the mountains.

Negativity aside though: the fava bean stew (minus the fava beans) might be my favorite dish from the whole trip. For dessert, we had strawberries poached in a sugar, cinnamon and clove solution. I would have preferred to have had the strawberries on their own, though I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t appreciate the warmth of the syrup.

I slept fairly early that night, and with improper insulation of my sleeping bag (silly me: I didn’t zip it properly), leaving me to shiver during my sleep on what was one of the warmest nights of the hike!

Sat 13.09.25

I woke up cold at 3 AM needing to piss. I don’t normally have an intense need to urinate at night, but on this trip it worked like clockwork: every night at either exactly 2 or 3, I’d need to face the treacherous journey to the toilet: bullshit, horseshit, donkeyshit, and the occasional stream. Once back in the tent, as any sensible person would, I kept trying to steal a few more hours of sleep before the usual 5:30 AM start. However, it would take time for my body to warm up to a comfortable sleeping temperature. On the days when I was able to fall back asleep, an error of drinking (even if only a little bit) right after pissing would trigger another wake up at 4 or 4:30 AM.

Despite all this, I felt very well rested on most nights. So on the second morning I was one of the first in the mess tent, fully packed up and excited for some calories.

As people were piling in, I prepared myself a lovely hot chocolate infused with coca tea powder. All the criticism from the group (mostly from Sarí, whom I do appreciate for looking out for me) about the amount of gear I’d brought with me was melting away with every triumphant sip of my hot chocolate.

It. Felt. Fucking. Great.

We were all chatty in the morning, but my personality was split as soon as we got breakfast: fruits?? I NEED protein. And no this is not some carnivore diet fanatic talking: my body really craved some material to repair the damage I’d done to it.

I ended up consuming lots of bread with strawberry jam.

Mitucocha – Muddy Lake

We went up to 4685 to view our first lake, and initially, it looked rather disappointing. I’d already seen still deep blue glacial lakes in the Cordillera Blanca… why should I have been impressed by a dissectedshit-coloured lake that reminded me of the muddy beach of Clevedon?

But then I took a serious look at my surroundings.

The scale. The diversity. The strong winds.

This was already so different to what we had seen yesterday. We went from mountains that looked almost barren from the yellow grass coating them, to mountains of yellow, green and white, and of sand, dirt and rock. The lake was looking more like copper and iron with every other glance and I was at awe at the wind-bending rocks. This is when I learnt that no single view on the Huayhuash mountain range is the same.

I dared to go a bit further than the group and the wind hit me with all its force, reminding me to stay humble.

The descent was easy. Our camp looked lovely with the towering mountains in the background.

For lunch, to my delight, we were served chicken! I enjoyed the meal a lot and relished every last piece of camote.

Niñacocha – Fire Lake

After lunch, Robin told us of an option to do an afternoon hike to another lake. We were all eager for more views.

The walk was relatively easy, and I felt a tonne lighter having taken out my sleeping bag and other unnecessary gear.

On the way we passed by a giant rock with a bull skull resting on it – the kind of stuff that makes for an ominous scene in the movies. To me, it was anything but since this was the rock Eileen used for a piss!

Unlike Mitucocha, Niñacocha was very peaceful. There was barely a hint of wind, maybe a whisper every other minute. I lied next to the lake without heed for my surroundings. I could have dozed off.

For afternoon tea, we were served bread and guacamole (strangely made with peppers instead of tomatoes). This sat well after our hike, and made me hopeful for dinner.

The rest of the time we killed by playing Spades with Iranian rules (حكم كلاه). Mr. Kerr and I on one team, Sarí and Rosha on the other. We smoked them.

Dinner came, and while the fish we got was my least favourite meal of the trip, my body was immensely grateful for the protein.

For dessert, we got served aguaymanto in syrup. For me, far better than the strawberries from the night before, as the golden berries added a tang that balanced the sweetness of the syrup.

And afterwards, Robin shared some information that added sourness to the sweet peace that I was experiencing. You see, I entered the hike with the assumption that we’d have internet on day 5. I don’t know where I’d heard this, but I was certain of it. This was despite everyone in the group telling me otherwise. The information Robin shared was that there is internet only on day 7 at the hostel in Huayllapa. I was very distraught after hearing this as I’d told my family and friends that I’d have internet by day 5… I was so stressed thet they would be stressed if they didn’t hear from me!

Robin calmed me down though, saying that there is an option to pay for internet at a village near the next campsite.

With my hopes up again, I said my goodnights and prepared myself for another cold night of sleep… though this time with my sleeping bag correctly zipped up.

Sun 14.09.25

We woke up to a thick, gray and cold mist covering our campsite.

Most people were disappointed with this – I guess you want as clear a sky as possible for the best views.

I on the other hand was secretly pleased: the curious part of me wanted to experience all kinds of weather on this trip, and the creative one kept humming that one song from the Hobbit a gazillion times… the mountains were misty, and it was fucking cold.

For breakfast we got a lovely omelette and a siete semillas (seven seeds) porridge. Most of the group didn’t like it, but I found it warming with nice earthy hints.

And so began our day walking in the misty mountains.

View After View After View

I was wrong to take what I had seen so far as impressive.

The structures we saw this day were magnificent. Bold. Still. Intricate. Delicate.

I wish that my pictures captured what my eyes saw, and I wish that my words could make you feel how I felt. Alas, I must make peace with approximations.

Right before descending, we were able to catch a glimpse of the famous three lagunas that we were going to see more closely the day after: I took a photo of Robin as he stood before them, ready for conquest.

The descent to our campsite was super steep. We descended around 500 meters from 4650, but over a really short distance (I’d wager not more than 4 kilometers).

My knees were ready for a nourishing lunch.

Carhuacocha – My Favourite Campsite

Lunch split the group into two camps. I was in the one that really enjoyed it. We had what felt like a zucchini or squash stuffed with minced beef, vegetables and queso fresco.

Post lunch, I took the liberty of reconnecting with Roy from the other group, inviting him for a dip into Carhuacocha. Together with Sarí and Dom (another sound fella from the other group), we tentatively dipped our toes into the lake, disturbing its stillness… until I slipped on the rocks and plunged in head first.

The water was cold, but fresh. Definitely welcome after three days without shower.

You might think I’m crazy for ignoring the mighty NHS’s travel guidelines and swimming in the lake. Your opinion is doubly valid because of the cuts on my body after slipping on the rocks.

But do I regret it? Look at the views of the lake and tell me, honestly, would you not have been tempted?

We sat and spoke by the lake for some time. It was really fun and truly a memorable moment from this trip. Despite my love for exploration, and contrary to my introverted tendencies exhibited on day 1, this is what traveling is about. It’s about the small talk with strangers, who in that moment are your companions. I don’t know any of Dom, Sarí or Roy very well, and I may never see them ever again… but we also swam in an icy lake over 4000 meters, so there is a unique closeness that I feel towards them, and will feel forever.

As we were leaving the lake, Cabo and Ella passed by us. They were two independent hikers, who had become friends just before hitting the trail. In that moment I saw in them a shade of myself: the solo hiker. However, seeing them so drained, barely surviving on the empty calories of junk food, and needing to set up camp themselves made me grateful for our guides, and also my group, whom I was starting to think of more as ‘team’ and ‘friends’, due to feeling much closer to them!

The only thing I disliked about the Carhuacocha campsite is the amount of Israeli propaganda I saw. Truly a blemish on what is otherwise an incredibly peaceful place.

A few more photos of the serene Carhuacocha.

The Stressful Wifi Hunt

Between lunch and tea, and between tea and dinner, I had a side quest which was taking much more of my attention than I wanted.

After our swim I asked Robin where the mystical village with the wifi was. I needed to tell my family and friends of my wifi day mixup. He pointed me to the other side of the lake and said: “See the blue house over there? You speak Spanish, you’ll have no problems. But go after 3”.

I felt a great sense of relief when I heard these words. My Spanish isn’t great but I was certain I had the words to get what I wanted.

And so euphorically at 3, I legged it to the other side of the lake, past where we’d gone to swim, for wifi.

The blue house was empty. “No problem! I’ll be back” I thought.

I asked some of locals near the house to confirm that the owner would be coming back. They told me to come back after 5.

Back at camp, it was time for tea! We were served tequeños and I had to make my friend Sebastian proud by defending his Venezuelan heritage… you see: tequeños are Venezuelan even if every Peruvian you ask claims otherwise. In defense of the Peruvians though, their tequeños are very different (though I’m sorry Peru: much less tasty!).

And so at 5 after tea, I crossed the lake again.

The blue house was empty. “No problem! I’ll be back again!” I thought, still optimistic.

I asked some other locals to confirm that the owner would be coming back. They told me to come back after 6.

And so for one last time before sunset I went.

The blue house was empty. “No problem! I’ll be back after dinner.” I thought mustering a bit more optimism.

But the same locals who told me to come back at 6 killed it: “The owner won’t be coming back tonight”. It felt like I got punched in the gut.

On the way back to camp, I ran into a farmer and desperately asked her if she knew anything about the whereabouts of the mysterious owner of the blue house. She reassured me that they’ll be coming back, though after dusk as they are now tending to their cows.

With confidence I told myself that I’ll be back after dinner, but I felt a great sense of stress inside. I carried it with me to dinner.

I was silent for most of it.

The soup was warming as always, the main filling and tasty, and dessert passable… but none were enough to pull me out of the catastrophic cycles I’d created in my head.

Dinner was over, and I was tempted to walk over again. But the barking of the stray dogs triggered PTSD from the dangerous hike I did earlier in the week. I couldn’t muster the courage to go again that night. I decided to wait till the morning.