“Vamos!”
While offered with a cheery inflection, “vamos!” none-the-less conveyed a command to resume planting one foot in front another as we climbed to the 15,200-foot pass. My footfalls were slow and consistent. With each step I repeated to myself one word of a four-word phrase: Step, “you”, step, “got”, step, “this”, step, “mom.” However, as I continued up the incline inching closer to our goal, my pace slowed dramatically. I adjusted my mantra to: right foot, “you… you,” left foot, “got.. got”, right foot, “this… this,” left foot, “mom… mom.”
I looked ahead hoping to spy horses coming down the trail. Turns out that the best course of action when meeting a horse train while trekking near Salkantay in Peru is to stop, move to the side of the trail and let the horses pass, which offered easily a minute’s rest. Unfortunately, no horses were in sight.
An alternative hope: perhaps our guide Dalmiro would spot a flower or snake or point out a butterfly to us. Any educational stop offered more than sufficient time to regain steady breathing and simultaneously gain insight into the flora and fauna of Peru. For instance, one morning Dalmiro actively poked a snake with his hiking poles as he informed us it was indeed poisonous.
“Why are you poking it then?” I questioned.
“To catch it so everyone can see it!” Dalmiro responded enthusiastically.
Fortunately, the snake escaped into the undergrowth neither poisoning someone in the group, nor having its head chopped off.
During our downhill walks, our group’s conversation would be filled with laughter and plenty of games of broken telephone.
Just yesterday as we returned to our lodge, I found myself defining prophylactic for our Peruvian guide, who offered an animated analysis of why sexual drive is much stronger among jungle inhabitants than up in the mountains. His analysis—it all comes down to the amount of skin showing.
However, as we slowly progressed uphill, no voices broke the still air. The only sound was heavy breathing and, wait? What was that? An avalanche?
I looked toward Salkantay Peak and pointed with my hiking pole. My husband stopped and looked in the direction I was pointing.
“What do you see?” he asked.
As his question wasn’t of the yes or no variety I was unable to answer, having absolutely no spare breath to form words.
He seemed to catch on and followed up with, “An avalanche?”
To this I was able to actively respond with a nod of my head.
By the time we had paused a minute looking for the telltale puff of snow on the peak, I had regained my ability to speak and even pulled out my water bottle for a few gulps.
Looking ahead, I could actually see our destination—we were nearly at the pass—and with a final bit of focus and a couple dozen repetitions of my mantra, I indeed did have this and soon was happily basking in the sunshine at the top of the pass.
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