Singing in the Rain

I havent gotten much sleep in the past week. We have been so busy, I hardly have time to think!
After getting off the overnight bus from Cochabamba to Sucre, there was no time for a nap. Sucre is a beautiful colonial city. All the building are white and the colonial style churches reach up towards the sky, mimicing the mountains behind them. Unfortunately we didnt have much time to explore the city because we had too much preparation to do! We immediately began to organize our food and gear for the trek. After a late dinner and last minute packing, we went to sleep for a few hours. At 4:30 am we woke up, loaded onto the bus, and headed out to start our trek.

The trek was unlike any trek Ive ever done. While we were surrounded by natural beauty, staying in tents, and cooking over camp stoves, we werent really in the wilderness. Instead, we were floating in and out of rural communities. Our first night, we arrived in a village looking for a field to camp in. Because it was raining (read: POURING), they offered the local school house for us to sleep in. It was wonderful, and dry, and totally different from what I was expecting. The next night, we set up our tents in a family´s livestock pasture, right next to their grazing donkeys. The family who owned the land entertained us that night by showing us showing us local weavings, and the youngest boy played a traditional Andean flute. On our last night, we camped in the yard of an old church. We awoke in the morning to water balloons being launched at us over the wall surrounding the near-by school.


I am fortunate to have seen so many different mountains in my life. Each range is so different and so unique, yet I always struggle to distinguish them. During one of our silent periods on the hike, I meditated on this point and tried to eternalize the personality of the mountains around me. While there are many similarities between the Himalayas and the Andes (particularly their importance to the populations that respect and depend on them), there are also very, very strong differences. To me, the Himalayas are dramatic and sublime; they are sharp angles of dark gray, living green, and bright white. In contrast, the Andes are tranquillo and have a nurturing beauty; a careful marble of purple, aqua, brown, orange, and sage.

Despite the distractions of being surrounded by 19 other people (13 students, 4 instructors, a guide and an intern...not to mention a dog who will be discussed soon), it was impossible to ignore the astounding beauty surrounding us. My favorite moment of the trek was on our third day, during our hike through a GIANT crater. The crater itself is a giant hole sunk into the ground, most likely formed by an ancient volcano. It is surrounded on all sides by scalloped hills of exposed, layered rock. These hills are unlike anything Ive ever seen: concentrically layered like an onion with bright aquas, oranges, purples, and browns. (Just wait until I am able to post a few photos, which hopefully will be soon!) As we headed over the pass and out of the crater, the weather rolled in. Clouds and rain soon obscured our view of the mountains, and made it difficult to see even the person walking in front of us. My boots were weighed down with at least 7 pounds of mud. But as I looked down to see just how much mud really was clinging to my boots, I was suprised. Yes, there really was at least 7 pounds of mud on my feet; that part wasnt suprising. I was suprised because the mud on my feet, just like the rock on the mountains, was in layers of so many colors. It looked as if someone had painted an earthy, jewel-toned rainbow onto my toes. I smiled to myself, alone with the simple, astounding beauty of mud, before something snapped me back into the reality of being in a group of 20: Greg squealing as he sunk calf-deep into a soft spot on the trail. I laughed out loud and smiled even bigger, because the only thing better than the beauty of Pacha Mama is experiencing it with lovely people.