This essay is Day 2 of my trip to Peru. You can read Day 1 here.
Thank you for the notes of anticipatory and low pressure encouragement from those of you who’ve been really kind about wanting to hear about this trip. I’ve been worried it’s not of interest to anyone but me, but your sweet emails indicate otherwise. I appreciate your patience as I sink back into the experience and try to capture what it all meant with words that often feel too little for the task.
Here we go. Day 2.
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Day Two
The morning we left Santa Rosa Alta for Choquequirao, breakfast was crepes with pictures on them drawn in some kind of peanut butter. My sisters said ‘llama’. Mine said ‘condor’. Another good omen.
We were on the trail by 6:30am and right into it. No gentle meandering before the hills. Just right up the steep shins of the Andes. Today we’d reach Marampata, and then onto the ruins at Choquequirao. We’d return to Marampata to camp for the night. Another long day.
My friend Lexi told me before I left to remember to look up. I stopped after about 30 minutes of hiking to look up, and this is what I saw:
Seeing how far I’d come was exhilarating. I’d walked all that way in a day— it was mind blowing. Some days I can’t make it 30 minutes on a treadmill. Safe to say I got in my 10,000 steps before noon.
To be honest, much of the hike into Marampata is blurry. I was hyper focused on the task at hand: walking. The trail was littered with loose rocks the size of softballs. At times it felt like the ground was moving under my feet. The whole trail there was steep switchbacks. Sixteen of them to be exact— more climbing than hiking. Overall elevation gain for day 2 was about 2,700’ in 4 miles.
My body was all, what the fuck, Kate, and my mind was all, I know baby, I’m sorry, and my heart was all, you will never be here again— pay attention. Again, my heart for the win.
Up ahead, I heard my sister call out 16! as she started up the last switchback. We’d been going for almost 3 hours. I’d been focused on my feet. The next time I looked up, my sister, Scott, and Stephanie (2 other badasses in our group), were standing at the edge of a cloud.
We were at 11,000’ in elevation. It was cool. It was clear and sunny. We shuffled into Marampata a little battle worn but strong. Joseph and I named our group the Choque Champions. On the last blessedly flat stretch into camp, I reached up and touched the Joan of Arc medal on my necklace. I felt like a badass from the neck up. My body was questioning my sanity.
I finally had the wherewithal and coordination to get my phone out of my pack as we walked the last 100 yards into camp. I fell instantly in love with Marampata. Not just because I was going to get to sit down there for a bit, but the colors on the buildings were so vibrant against the green of the earth and the blue of the sky. I was fully present and totally aware of how far from home I was, how I got there, and how incredibly lucky I was to be there. My legs needed a little convincing, but the rest of me was all in.
We were all pretty tired and sore. Even the 35 year olds. We would’ve been happy to rest longer in Marampata, but Joseph was pushing us on. He wanted to get us to the ruins with enough time to explore and have a proper lunch before we had to head back to camp for the night. It was another 2-3 hours to the ruins. Have a snack, he said. We’ll have lunch at the ruins.
This was when I saw the old woman for the first time. My sister had ordered a coffee at the little snack window. When I came back from using the bathroom she asked if I wanted one— duh caffeine yes please. My sister called to the little old woman through the window, and she appeared from the back. All 5’ of her. She was in traditional Peruvian dress— bright purple and red colored wools.
Uno mas café, por favor, señora? My sister with the spanish. Me mute, but nodding, and taking in the old woman. Memorizing her.
I don’t know what it was that drew me in so hard. Her face was like looking at flyover states from a plane— miles and miles of lines etched onto the beautiful landscape of her face, and it all made sense from up here. I just knew I’d think about her for a long time. We’d have another enchanting interaction later that evening when I got back from the ruins. I’ll get to that.
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A funny thing happens in mountains that vast. It’s like the distance is so great, it actually picks up the curvature of the earth— objects appear closer than they are. We left Marampata, and it wasn’t long before we got to an arched sign welcoming us to the ruins. You could see part of them tiered into the mountain across the valley. They felt close. (Reader, they were not.)
(Video: view of ruins from across the canyon.)
The trail from Marampata to Choque was up and down. Not as difficult as the previous day and a half, but still long and challenging. My legs were sore and shaky. I was grateful for the stretches of shade and lower temps, but it was still hard. I tried to stay focused on one step at a time, but I was running out of steam.
By the time we reached the ruins, my legs were on strike. The tour around the ruins was breathtaking, though. The views, my god.
(Video: view from Choquequirao ruins)
I’m not gonna lie. I was really happy to reach the ruins, but I also felt like one. I spent the first 30 minutes in Choque lying in the grass in one of the stone structures, which wasn’t at all bad. The sky was incredibly clear and blue. The grass felt amazing on my back. I could’ve rooted there, I think, and lived a happy life right there next to a dandelion.
After a half an hour of rest, Joseph took us on a formal tour of the ruins. (Read: More hiking.) Toward the end of it, we reached a large, circular area— high and flat, and ringed with a low rock wall. The Inca’s performed their sacrificial ceremonies here.
The 5 of us were sitting on the stone wall, the canyon behind us. Joseph stood before us, telling us the history of the site and the meaning of the sacrifices. Suddenly he said, CONDOR!
It floated up from the canyon below us like a prehistoric creature. I stood up with surprising speed given the state of my legs, and spun around. It was right there. Holy shit. I was fumbling with my phone, trying to open the stupid lock screen without taking my eyes off the bird. It was so big. Face ID wouldn’t recognize my face to open my phone. Probably because my mouth was hanging open. I didn’t get any shots of it up close.
In seconds, it was moving away. Never once flapping its wings. Just banking its huge wings against the air rushing off the earth, getting smaller and smaller as it soared away. It was over in an instant.
I can’t explain what it meant to me to have seen that condor. All I can say is, I hope whoever created it thinks we’re all as beautiful and graceful as that incredible bird.
(Video: by the time I got my camera open on my phone, she was miles away.)
We ate lunch in the ruins. It was windy, temps the coolest we’ve had so far. After I ate, I laid back down on the earth, wishing I were a seed or a blade of grass or the day-moon I was staring at. Anything without legs.
It took us over 2 hours to get back to Marampata. My body was spent, but I was happy. That condor made my day. We had a celebratory beer in the old woman’s cantina when we got back to Marampata. I don’t drink much anymore, but that was the best beer I’ve ever had in my life.
Sitting in the cantina, I was hyper aware of how far I’d walked— across mammoth mountains and bone deep canyons. There was more awe in my veins than blood. I was just visiting this beautiful place, but people lived here. Live there still. In a week, I’d be back home with all my comforts, and the old woman would still be in the Andes. The condors would still be soaring over glaciers and Inca ruins. Joseph would be taking a new group of people to Choquequirao.
And that thought was how, I think, I got obsessed with the old Peruvian woman. In a week, a month, a year she’d most likely still be in Marampata. Making food and café for caffeine starved hikers. Sweeping her dirt floored snack bar, and cleaning her cantina until it sparkled.
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After the best beer in the world, I went to pay my old woman friend for the shower. Two solès. But when I got to the shower, the door was locked. I went back and tried to explain to her what happened, but my Spanish sucks. She followed me back to the shower and I pointed at the lock on the door. The terrain of her gorgeous face broke into a wide smile. She shrugged her shoulders as if to say Whooops, then held up a finger and walked away.
She came back with key after key. Then with a man, who had a different key. She’d try it in the lock and when it wouldn’t open, she’d turn and look at me like, can you believe this shit?! Then she’d smile, hold up her finger, and go away again.
The last time she came back, she gestured for me to follow her. We went through a wooden gate to a small adobe home behind the cantina. A young woman came out with a little boy. The old woman said something to her in spanish, laughed, turned to me and said, aqui. She was pointing to a spotless, painted cement bathroom attached to the side of the home.
The young woman went around back and turned on the water heater. I promptly took the best shower of my life.
When I saw the old woman later, she was busy making dinners for people in her little cantina, but she raised her eyebrows at me like she was saying, so how was it?
Si, si! I said. “Muy muy bien. Gracias.
Her face lit up like a sun. “Bien, bien.” And back to work she went.
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I’d love to say I slept like the dead that night, but I did not. The zipper on my sleeping bag broke. It was the coldest night we had. Every time I moved, the cold air rushed into the bag. I was freezing. I got up several times because my stomach and bladder like to party in the middle of the night. It’s great. I felt bad because I knew I was keeping my sister awake with all the unzipping and zipping of the tent door. I woke up in the morning wondering how the hell I was going to make it through the day.
But a weird thing happens when you are stripped of options. Like in life, no one comes and rescues you at 11,000’ in the Andes when you feel fucked, either. I was sore and exhausted, teetering on misery, but also felt strangely ready for more. Part of that comes from being with my sister. For a thousand reasons, I always feel buoyed when I’m with her. I know nothing bad will ever happen to me that she wouldn’t die to keep me from. And vice versa. She regulates my nervous system.
So, that morning at breakfast, while I shivered through Advil, oatmeal, and coffee, I accepted that I had no idea how I was going to do the thing. I just did one thing. Then the next thing. Until I was pack on and headed down 16 switchbacks. Back to the Apurimac, back to Chiquisca, where we’d rest for much of the afternoon, waiting out the heat of the day.
To be continued.
So much vicarious awe!! Thank you!
You are doing such a brilliant job of taking us with you. 💜