Happy Birthday Tree Ferns

It's May 2nd 2014, the day I turn two decades old! What present do I give myself?

Tree ferns.

The plant in which pterodactyls like to hide.

But let me back up. Last night, the day after finishing my Salkantay Trek to Machu Picchu, after not nearly enough rest and relaxation in Cusco, I flew back to Ecuador. It was an evening flight to Lima and then to Quito, where I landed at 12:15 in the morning.

"Happy birthday," I told myself quietly as the Ecuadorian customs officer checked my suitcase.

It wasn't until an hour later that I arrived at my hostel's lobby. There, in the middle of the night, I pulled my extra luggage out of storage and rearranged my belongings. I wanted to leave all my wool garments, alpaca-themed gifts, and winter clothes in Quito. In the Amazon I would be needing quick-drying pants, long-sleeved shirts and plenty of socks -- plus my Birds of Ecuador book, of course!

Without showering or brushing my teeth, I stumbled into my assigned bunk bed in the eight-person dorm room. It was with great sorrow that I yanked myself from bed a mere three hours later. Juan Carlos, the driver from my next destination (a research station in the Amazon called Estación Científica Yasuní) was scheduled to pick me up at 6:30am.

I sat on the curb eating a grand birthday breakfast of peach yogurt, the kind which comes with a little plastic cap full of powdery frosted flakes and a two-piece miniature plastic spoon. Just the thing to ring in my second decade of life.

Juan Carlos showed up an hour late due to traffic, or because of the thermos of coffee he had brewed, or maybe just because that's still "on time" in Ecuador. I got the backseat because another volunteer was in the front.

During our twelve hour drive to the research station, I got to know the two friends who would keep me company for the next twenty days: the jovial Ecuadorian man, Juan Carlos, and the sarcastic Dutch girl, Renate. We played loud music, stopped for bathroom breaks, and ate a delicious lunch of fish grilled in leaves and jungle green tea in the Amazonian city of Coca.

Arriving at the RepSol oil company checkpoint reminded me of last September, when I first visited Yasuní National Park with my study abroad program. This journey was much the same.

Even the friendly mama dog was still there, begging for love as usual.

Juan Carlos, Renate and I wandered around the barely-existant settlement of Pompeya while we waited for the RepSol canoe and barge to take us and our truck across the Napo River. We attempted to deliver a box of medical supplies to a house of nuns, but nobody was home.

The RepSol motorized canoe docked at Pompeya.

As we arrived to the other side of the river, I noticed the gorgeous wall of tree-ferns you saw at the beginning of this post. I wasn't with family or even people I knew on my birthday, and I wouldn't be unwrapping any presents, but I soaked in those elegant tree ferns and gave them to myself as a gift.

We bumped along the gravel road for a couple hours. Juan Carlos stopped the car to cheerfully greet every Huaorani by name, reaching out to touch the children and clasping hands with the adults. He speaks fluent Huao-terero.

Finally we arrived at the research station, just in time for dinner and desert of grape jello. It sure wasn't my grandma's famous chocolate birthday cake, but it was a fabulous end to my twentieth May 2nd on Earth. What better way to celebrate a birthday than to enter the lungs of the planet, the largest jungle in the world, the home of jaguars and river dolphins, the Amazon Rainforest?

The five buildings of Estación Científica Yasuní, as seen from the back.

Estación Científica Yasuní seen from an overlooking cabin.

I hope we humans manage to curb our tendency toward destruction so this place will be around for many more birthdays to come.

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There and Back Again (to Machu Picchu!)

Continued from my last post about Middle Earth: The Fellowship of the Trek, Lord of the Rings Style.

Day 3: Cloud Forest and Hot Springs

Sunrise in the Cloud Forest.

The Fellowship awoke a precious hour later today, at 6:00am, to begin Day 3 of the Salkantay Trek. We donned short sleeves and bug repellent, letting the pack mules carry our wool hats and scarves.

The snow-melt stream seemed to lead directly away from our last view of Salkantay Mountain. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Our journey was generally uneventful as our trail undulated up and down next to a river valley. We crossed several barren hillsides, and our guide explained about the massive landslides that sometimes occur in the wet season. (Luckily, we were in the dry season.)

Then we got to this cliff... When I was a couple meters out on the path, I looked down a hundred feet of crumbling sand and froze up.

Photo credit: Adam Wroe.

"Just one step further," I told myself.

"Okay, here I go!" I replied to myself mentally as my body instead chose to sit down. It was like I was under the Imperius curse. (Whoops, messing up my fantasy metaphors here.)

Our guide Javier had to come back and rescue me, leading me across the crumbling trail by the hand, after which I sat on a rock and tried to control my eyes, which were now producing tears against my will.

"Want some chocolate?" asked my friendly hiking buddy. "They say it's good for dementors and heights." I accepted, of course, and felt much better.

We hiked to a small town, where we ate lunch in an outdoor cinder-block restaurant. There, we lost the first two members of the Fellowship when the French couple branched off to complete a shorter version of the Trek.

Too bad for the French couple, who missed out on our afternoon in the hot springs! (Sorry, I don't know of any good Lord of the Rings metaphor for that... unless you enjoy bathing in the Dead Marshes?)

The hot springs. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

The natural hot springs were our first "shower" in three days, and man were they delightful. We switched between the cold waterfall, the warm bath, and the hot pool until darkness fell.

 Day 4: Zip Lines and Train Tracks

This morning we were offered an optional zip lining activity for $30.

"No thanks, I'll walk instead!" I said. Apparently everyone else had a different idea, so where did I end up?

Riding atop a giant eagle? I wish!

Flying 100 meters above a river valley on Ecuador's longest zip line. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Weeeeeeeeeeee...... (That can be interpreted as a sound of glee or the sound of me peeing my pants, whichever you prefer.) (No I did not really pee my pants.)

Way to ruin a morning. But wait, it gets worse.

The suspension bridge. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Then we walked on a wobbly string of wooden planks back across that same valley. The things humans do for fun!

I tried not to sour the festive adrenaline-fueled mood, but I did not sugar coat my response when I was asked how much fun I had.

"None."

The railroad tracks to Aguas Calientes.

After lunch we began walking from Hidroelectrica, a massive new hydroelectric dam, and followed the railroad tracks all afternoon. We passed (and got passed by) all types of backpacking tourists and hippies.

A tourist stopped to show us her new butterfly friend. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Looking up a sheer rock wall of lime-green bromeliads.

The spiky green mountains were surreal, and we got occasional glimpses of rock walls or terraces in the high peaks. "Is that Machu Picchu?" we asked one another excitedly.

I was weary and footsore when we turned a bend and found ourselves in Aguas Calientes, the self-proclaimed "gateway to Machu Picchu." Here we would spend the night in a blessed inn, just like the Prancing Pony in the most important way possible: it offered a bed.

Aguas Calientes, "gateway to Machu Picchu." (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Thank the lord for showers and beds!

Day 5: Machu Picchu!!!

And curse him for alarm clocks... We awoke at 3:50am so we could hike to the Ancient City of Men, Machu Picchu, by sunrise.

In the dark, we lined up at the Lower Gate with a hundred other tourists. 

We climbed the Endless Stair from the dungeons of Moria to the summit of Celebdil. (Actually, we climbed from the riverbank to the entrance of Machu Picchu.) The staircase was comprised of 1700 Inca steps, carved from uneven stone and worn by years of travel.

The silly part about the whole "Machu Picchu at sunrise" thing was that the sun rose behind a thick fog while we were climbing, and the sky slowly got lighter. Not all the dramatic. My advice: just sleep in and enjoy the climb after a nice hot breakfast in town!

Or eat a banana at the top, like me.

The foggy morning.

I could see all the way back to Hidroelectrica, where we began yesterday's hike!

We took a guided tour of the city, and I was stunned by the technological capabilities of the Incas. The stonework was incredible.

Perfectly carved stones and trapezoidal doors. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

This wobbly-looking shrine to the gods was carved from bedrock.

Most of the walls have stood the test of time intact, if a bit crooked.

Archaeologists have recorded sixteen distinct types of stone wall in Machu Picchu, from rough piles of rocks to perfectly carved blocks. The walls had a hierarchy, with the best masonry being reserved for temples.

Our guide pointed out an amazing detail where an outer wall of a building transitioned from very good stonework to absolutely perfect stonework. Inside, there was a partition between a royal house and a temple, and the temple got the better wall.

According to our guide, no modern human has been able to recreate the perfect stones using hand tools like the Incas had. It remains a mystery how the Incas managed their incredible masonry.

My hypothesis: the Incas were actually Dwarves.

The large-scale carving of terraces was mind-boggling as well.

Although most the Nine Walkers left after a couple hours, two faithful companions and I roamed the city all day. And thus the Fellowship was broken.

These houses would have been covered with thatch roofs when Machu Picchu was inhabited in the 1400s.

We walked through the city streets, pretending to do business with the local butcher or baker. We  stumbled upon forgotten shrines and unmowed lawns and even a couple of humping llamas.

I felt like a kid running around a life-size dollhouse. I could have played "Inca" in here for days.

Steps off the edge of the world.

We walked along a narrow, deserted pathway above Machu Picchu to reach the Inca Bridge, a real-life version of Durin's Bridge from Khazad-dûm. Just like the Dwarves, the Incas used this bridge as a defensive mechanism. The wooden planks of the bridge could be removed to prevent enemy invasion of the city.

The Inca Bridge.

The zoomed-out view of the mountainside looked like this.

The cliff.

It was hard to tell, but it looked to me like that line of greenery stretching across the cliff used to be the path. The sheer cliff must have been about 500 feet tall, and seeing that narrow path carved down its center with no railing gave me the absolute willies.

Archaeology was obviously the highlight, but there was plenty of animal life here too.

Big millipede.

Curious llama.

 Blue-and-white swallows.

A camera-shy viscacha.

Watching swallows swoop around their stone-wall nests and llamas clip the grassy lawns, I was struck by the idea of how little life has evolved since the days of Machu Picchu's prime. In evolutionary time, 600 years is the blink of an eye. The Incas must have gazed upon these same swallows. Did they see them as pests? Or revere them as messengers of the gods?

There was only one animal I couldn't place...

Some sort of fluorescent green mutant alpaca? (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Well, I tossed my jewelry into the firey pit of Huaynapicchu, that mossy mountain in the background there, and that's almost where the journey ends.

That night I ate dinner alone: an exorbitant plate of chicken enchiladas at a touristy Mexican restaurant. I took the train back to the Shire (Cusco) where I arrived at midnight, cold, sore, and exhausted.

The next morning, five of the original Nine Walkers reunited in the Starbucks Coffee in Plaza de Armas, Cusco's central square, to share our photos and say goodbye for the last time.

(Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

So that's the tale, folks. I completed my mission in Peru. I survived the Salkantay Trek. I journeyed There and Back Again.

I apologize for any confusions I created about what belongs in Peru and what belongs in Middle Earth. Thanks to J. R. R. Tolkein for inventing the coolest land ever. Heartfelt thanks to Adam Wroe for taking all the gorgeous photos and, moreover, for convening a Starbucks reunion to share them. To the Fellowship, it was a pleasure adventuring with you. Best of luck on your future journeys!

The End

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The Fellowship of the Trek, Lord of the Rings Style

This year a lot of my friends have been studying abroad in New Zealand, and I have been perpetually jealous of all the Lord of the Rings in theirs lives. (Check out my friend Emily's blog, Kiwis Hobbits and Rocks.) Well, I finally got my own Lord of the Rings experience right here in South America!

Day 1: Cusco to Sorypampa

On my eleventy-first birthday (or my eleventh day in Peru) I woke at 3:30 in the morning to embark on the exquisite five-day Salkantay Trek to Machu Picchu.

This is what I looked like at 3:30 in the morning.

We rode for an hour up the windiest switch-back roads imaginable, and we were more than a little carsick when we arrived in Mollepata for our last hot breakfast. I ordered banana pancakes and spicy hot chocolate.

The Nine Walkers.

The Fellowship of the Trek was comprised of three Americans, two Australians, one Israeli, two Frenchmen, and one fearless Peruvian guide (who was taking the photo) to represent the free races of Earth.

We hopped in this truck for the first leg of the journey due to muddy conditions.

Our progress was halted by a slumbering Warg in the trail.

As I noted in my last post, the mountains of Peru remind of of the Misty Mountains of Middle Earth. As we hiked toward our campsite, we approached Caradhras (or Salkantay Mountain) itself.

Caradhras (Salkantay Mountain) looming large on the horizon.

We made it to our 3800-meter-high campsite, Sorypampa, by noon. After lunch we hiked the steep cow pasture out back to reach an epic blue lake.

Wildflowers in the cow pasture. This blue flower is lupin.

And this yellow flower is a margarita.

Every step up the grassy hillside was like a 10-meter sprint. I was dizzy and winded just standing in that high mountain air, and I took a break every few steps. The feeling of powerlessness was eerie, as though a spell had been cast on our bodies or we were fighting to walk through an invisible sticky substance in the air.

The climb was well worth this view! (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

The Fellowship reaches Laguna Umantay beneath the snow-capped Umantay Mountain.

We camped beneath the snowy peaks of Umantay (5700 meters) and Salkantay (6200 meters), my personal Mountains of Moria.

As I settled into my tent for the bitter cold night I discovered my sleeping bag, rented for $15, did not have a zipper. The night was freezing, pitch dark and claustrophobic, but I managed a few hours of shut-eye before dawn.

Day 2: The Gringo Killer

Dawn clouds over my Mountains of Moria. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

The cold, dark morning broke when we set off on our notorious Day 2 of the Salkantay Trek. Today we would walk 22 kilometers over the Pass of Redhorn (or Salkantay Pass) at 4650 meters of altitude. We felt giddy and unprepared, no matter how many training walks we had done or how many coca leaves we were chewing. (Coca leaves are a traditional Peruvian remedy for altitude sickness, but they just make my tongue feel funny.)

Before long, a ferocious Peruvian Balrog known as the Gringo Killer was upon us.

This is what the Balrog of Morgath looks like.

This is what the Balrog of Salkantay, aka The Gringo Killer, looks like. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

The Gringo Killer is a steep section of switchback paths leading directly to Salkantay Pass. This stretch took me an hour of measured breaths and mental concentration to complete. I'm happy to say I, unlike Gandalf the Grey, made it through alive.

The wildflowers, like this waxy red poppy, got even more exotic at this altitude.

I didn't expect to see any insect life in this cold Paramo region.

Stinking of victory, we finally reached Redhorn (Salkantay Pass) and saluted La Pachamama, the traditional Andean goddess of mother nature, by pouring water into the earth and leaving small offerings of food on the stones.

Victorious at 4650 meters!

The way down was a huge relief to my lungs, though not so much to my knees. The landscape was epic and the sun was fierce, burning the tops of my hands and my forearms through my clothing. I kept looking back over my shoulder at the towering form of Salkantay Mountain to remind myself it was real.

The descent. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Vivid red moss grew on alpine stones.

An enormous boulder dropped by receding glaciers and modeled by yours truly.

Suddenly our surroundings changed and we entered Lothlórien (or in other words, the cloud forest biome.)

The gateway to Lothlorien. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

Lush greenery and low clouds appeared on the valley slopes.

I captured this creature thinking it might be a Nazgul, but it turned out to be a friendly chicken.

Flor de Choclo, or Corn-on-the-Cob Flower Trees, brightened the landscape.

There was sweaty grit between my toes and my burned hands were starting to itch when we came upon a little house with a grassy yard in the river valley. Hallelujah! Here we set up camp. The night would still be cool here in the cloud forest, but not nearly as frigid as our last stop.

Camp in the cloud forest. (Photo credit: Adam Wroe.)

After a week in Cusco of being slightly ill, adjusting to the altitude, and fretting about the strenuous second day of this trek, I felt extremely accomplished. Technically we weren't half-done yet, but it would be a downhill stroll from here. (Or so I thought.)

To be continued in....  There and Back Again (to Machu Picchu!)

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