Day 3
When I woke up on the 3rd morning at the camp ground, I finally walked to the other hut to check the person who arrived yesterday while I was too sick to get up to say hi. In this mountain, high up, who came alone, like I did, probably should be my friend. It was still early 7am in the morning and there was no sound from the tent.
The sun was warming and comforting. The lakes were quiet. So I went to the stream to wash my face, so refreshing. My head still a little spinning, I was still weak. But it was better.
I returned to my little hut, started making breakfast. Quinoa with cocoa powder, some nuts, some rinses. The mountain was gentle in the morning, with warm sunlight coming into the hut. I felt content, knowing it was the current moment that was important. The ambition to go to the rainbow mountain and to finish the full circuit became less important. Or I knew at that point, I didn’t want to finish it alone.
I thought about why I came into this mountain. I didn’t even know why, only remembered I was scared and felt strange on the way here. I didn’t know what power pushed me to that little town called Tinki, with women wearing a completely different hat style and I could barely find a second tourist rathe than me. It was raining when I arrived, and the street became muddy. People, kids, dogs still walked around the main market. I didn’t want to look so different, but had no way to not look that way. I went back to the hostel room, it was cold, but the bed was comfortable with a few layers of heavy blankets. I walked up to the kitchen to make a few eggs. Someone walked towards me, we briefly said hi. Ok, finally a tourist. I need to talk to him. But he disappeared too quick. That’s alright.
While staring at the mountain and let myself fall into the thoughts, someone walked up to me from the lake. A pair of shorts, a t shirt, lazy hair.
“Buenos dias! Come estes?” I sent the greetings.
“Bien. Y tu?”
“Bien… tu hablo Ingles or Espano?”
“Both.”
“Me, un poquitp Espano, mas Ingles.”
That was the point I used all my Spanish skills. At least he spoke both, which might help if we end up walking together.
“De donde eres?”
“Australia.”
“China. Where are you going?”
He took his time to slowly let out the words.
“I’m not sure yet. Just stay here for a night. Maybe walk to the lake. I need to stay here one more night and get my bike from Upis tomorrow since the person who has my bike won’t be here today.”
“Ausangate lake?”
“Yes, sounds right. You?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe go back, or stay here. Or go to a different lake.”
“Yeah, why not stay here? With all this.”
He looked to the mountain, the lake, the llamas, just like I did the entire morning.
“I remembered you from yesterday at the hostel.” He added.
“Oh it’s you?!”
“Want to walk to the lake together?”
“Yes! I might need some time to get ready.”
My head was still a little spinning. Still felt weak. But just walking to the lake would be manageable, without backpack, but with a new friend.
So we got on our way. He talked very gentle and slow, with the Australian accent just as the podcast blogger I followed for a while. I felt at ease, and also slowed down my talk.
We walked carefully, looking at each new plant we didn’t know and getting amazed. Taking photos, appreciating the surroundings. Whenever there was an uphill, we both heavily breathed, and took a break after that. We talked about cameras. He had a film camera, but no space to take it for this hike. He used to have a digital camera, but liked the film more. We tested my camera with some manual settings, taking a few photos. We talked about different countries we are from, have been, and how are the people there.
We decided to walk back before going down too much to the lake. Suddenly the weather changed. The sun was gone and the wind started sliding in like knives.
“We got a weather to go back.” He twinkled.
When we got back to the base camp, it became cold already. Gone was the gentle, warm mountain view. We moved our tents from the hut to a bit far away in the open air. The lady said someone would be here tonight and we had to move. Then the wind got stronger. The lady and her friend said we should move to the small yard surrounded by rocks, which reminded me of where lamps sleep back at home in Inner Mongolia. So we helped each other, carried our tents as standalone houses to the new neighborhood.
I was lucky to meet this guy. I simply couldn’t imaging to be here by myself alone. Or with this lady, whom I couldn’t communicate because of the languages.
I remember it was a good afternoon, like those many Saturday afternoons. There was not too much to do. We stayed in our separate tent, but opened the door to show some welcoming to each other. I was finishing ACOTAR and he decided to start a harry potter sampler in Spanish on his phone. Sometimes the dogs came, wanting to get into the tents, so we got play a little.
“Would you like to listen to the first chapter of the first book of Harry Porter in Spanish?
“I’d love to.”
So we both extended our heads out of the tents, while keeping the body in the sleeping bag. It was funny. I started recall how harry porter started with the Dursley family. In Spanish it seem more interesting, or maybe it was the way he read. After a while I was too tired extending my neck and went back to read ACOTAR. Not sure how long later, he told me he finished the first chapter.
It was dinner time. We shared the pot and gas and food to prepare dinner. I couldn’t believe he brought in rice, potatoes and various vegetables, also alpacas meat – that was a full meal in this middle of nowhere. But I also had avocados, tons of pans. So the cooking started. Olive oil with pan bread and vegetable soup with rice. We cooked for a long time if know the thing about cooking raw lentils with camp cookers. But it was so good. Healthy, hearty.
That evening I got to know he was biking alone from Cusco to the Amazons. He told me about the pink river, living on a boat, or the pink dolphin, somewhere truly magic, different and touches you, a different part of the world. He had traveled for 10 years, back to school and came for another ride. This was his first solo bikepacking. I asked the life in Melbone, or maybe Sydney. The coffee there, parks there, and a rugby community there. I have been thinking about a way of living in a city, but also keeping your spirit free to be able to travel alone and discover the new parts of this world. It felt somewhere here I found some clues. It eased me to see people live a life as I imagined. Or maybe we all toggle in between, constantly adjust. But I know then that is possible – we design our own living.
