Marci Soifer

Now I can officially say that I have hiked in the Andes. I just returned from what I would describe as a weekend of images, sensations, and voices that have been etched into my memory. I left the house with 10 other volunteers and our tour guide, named Poncho, at 7 am on Saturday. We drove for two hours, passed the outskirts of our small city (the Ayacucho metropolis sits inside the Ayacucho region, and to differentiate from the entire region, the city is locally called "Huwamanga", pronounced "hoo-wah-mahn-ga") and around many mountainsides. We arrived eventually arrived at a random site that felt arbitrary, at the edge of a lush, green valley bordering with mountains peaking inside the clouds. At this moment, our tour guide asked the bus driver to honk a few times.

In the time it took for each of us to unload ourselves and our packs from the bus, a group of three indigenous men (and one boy) came from what could have been the sky. They rode in on horses, with nearly 12 llamas in toe. Quickly, the men grabbed our packs and placed them inside burlap bags, which were sown with single lines of yarn and placed on the backs of llamas. In the meantime, I layered up with basically all of the long sleeved articles of clothing I brought, hat, two pairs of pants, and double woolen socks to outfit myself for the 20 degree weather. Once both the llamas and the people were prepared for the journey, we set off.

Although we walked along through the plush, green valley en route to the mountains, I already felt the difficulty of each breathe at such a high altitude...my poor Michigander lungs. This hindered my pace a bit, and slowed my steps enough to notice the green, spongey spores of grass growing close enough to form spongey, elevated pads of ground that acted like little trampolines for my feet. We were all dealing with the altitude difference, so I did not hold anyone up, and instead watched the group wander as a pack through this green mass (sprinkled with llama droppings, which the natives use for energy and fire) and uncharted trail. In awe of the site, no one spoke and the only sound that spread across the valley was the cow bells on each llama following behind.

Beggining our climb seemed gradual, but as I listened to my body, the struggle of my lungs only worsened and my heart rate elevated quickly. I was determined to keep up, and my shortness of breath matched the others in my company. Alas, we kept up, with frequent periods of rest. Each time we breaked, I would ignore the vertigo (that seemed to seep into my senses), and allow my head to dismiss all footwork so my eyes could take in the scene. And, I kept saying to myself that this site (the Andes, these formations) could not get more vast, expansive, unique, or breathtaking. However, the higher we went, and further we walked, the more I found myself shocked at my surroundings. I was in the desert, close to snow caps, overlooking lagoons, and walking over lush greenery, all over a span of 1150 feet (bringing me near 6000 feet above sea level). And, I made it to the top. The ascent took 4 hours, but the descent speed by in a little over an hour.

Once we got up and over the moutain, the llamas joined what appeared to be hundreds of their family members in a small village of indigenous villagers. This would be were we would sleep for the evening. The village was a conglomeration of 10 standard 4-door car sized huts, comprised of varried sizes of rocks and a grass roof, supported by pieces of wood. The men and women were bundled in intricately emroidered bright colored fabric, in ponchos, multiple skirts at once, and long sleeved tunics. Under their black, weathered hats, their dark, coarse faces seemed to have endured the harshest of seasons. They shared the inside of the homes with us, allowing us to go inside the huts and find 5 people living inside just one, with a fire burning a stew of corn and grains (their only food, with the acception of llama and alpaca meat). We smiled at them as Poncho spoke, in Qechua. The very interesting piece of our visit in their homes was just as we looked at their dress, and examined their living quaters, they stared at our rain-resistant coats and our clunky hiking boots. Surely, we were just as foreign to them, as vise-versa.

We slept in their one-room school house, and ate a fabulous meal, complete with wine. Sitting still at this altitude, I still found myself gasping every so often. But, I enjoyed the meal and the wine, just enough to have to visit the outhouse a few times (or you know, use nature's bathroom). We laughed and shared stories until the latest we could stay up, which was a drastic 9 pm.

This morning, we awoke to Poncho reminding us that it being Christmas day, we were to get up, and prepare to celebrate. We changed into costumes he brought, which were authetic Peruvian dresses, skirts, and ponchos, so each of us looked just like the indigenous villagers. We gathered the 100 toys that each of us had purchased in the market (10 each) and packed inside the packs, and got cups, a pot of hot chocolate on a fire, and individually wrapped cake together (that Poncho had packed). The most local villagers only numbered 30, but by 9 am, about 200 villagers had assembled, since the word had spread that we would be hosting a Christmas celebration. We served the hot chocolate and cake to their callous hands, and distributed the toys to the wide-eyed children, who had liekly never seen battery operated cars or little tea sets before this Christmas. And, they all got a real kick of our costumes, since we really did look like idiots, and even they could tell. But, we were able to laugh together, and it was apparent that we had made this a special Christmas for these people.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon watching a llama get sheared (which I did not enjoy, nor do I feel the need to describe), and embarking on a two hour long horseback ride. My horse was a funny creature, and seemed to be a fan of the gallop (which my butt and thighs enjoyed less). However, I was able to coerce him (aka, the village men who owned the horses and followed our trail on foot) to stay with the group. It was beautiful to see the countryside and walk along the valley in between the moutains from the point of view of the horse. And, I was thrilled to see that after about a half an hour on horseback, we approached another village where the children outside played with the toys we had given them hours before. The community of indigenous people stretched for many, many miles, and some of the people who lived further must have left their homes at 7 or 7:30 in the morning to all gather with us at 9. I was amazed, and so glad that they joined us.

I returned this evening to our house, took a shower, and joined a few interested people from the program in lighting the menorah. I am glad to have the ammenities that I have grown accustomed to (and of course, glad to be Jewish), but I will not forget the indigenous communities who let me in this weekend and allowed us to bring them a special Christmas. And, the images of the Andes are cast in my memory.

This was a long one. Thanks for reading. I'm going to sleep...time to prepare for work tomorrow.

Next time...