Exertion, Expansion, Exasperation
Our week in the jungle had ended at last, and we emerged feeling as though we had been there for months. The adventure, however, was far from over, and there were still many wonders awaiting us in the week ahead.
The morning after saying goodbye to the bulk of our group, we awoke, packed, and took a light breakfast with Keith before heading for the airport. It turned out that Keith was on the same flight as us, and we spent our two hour layover in Lima talking about Keith’s property in Colorado — a house he’d built himself, nestled amongst great, craggy cliffs and bordered by a gurgling stream. We finally parted ways when it came time to board our flight to Cusco, and we promised we would come to visit if we had the chance. The rest of the day was a blur of travel and transition: the flight, arrival at Cusco, luggage collection, and the taxi back to Chris and Lisa in the Sacred Valley. We had been on the go all day, and arrived past sunset on the back end of the ninety-minute drive tired and sleepy, only able to give the briefest account of our time at Arkana to Chris and Lisa before excusing ourselves and collapsing onto the couch-bed upstairs.
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The following day was blessedly relaxed, giving us the opportunity to rest and recharge. Together, Alessandra and I walked Chris and Lisa through the profound experiences of the previous week, reflecting on them in full for the first time as River gleefully tottered around the room, presenting all his toys to us as we talked. In the afternoon, we took a collectivo to Pisaq, enjoying a delicious lunch and fleetingly browsing a handful of shops.
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Having had a full day to recoup our energy, we were refreshed and ready for action once again. A good thing, too, for it was time to return to Cusco ahead of our next major excursion: a trip to Rainbow Mountain. The morning was slow, and the afternoon was eaten up in a collectivo ride into the city, followed by a taxi to our accommodation. The journey to Rainbow Mountain took three and a half hours from Cusco, and we were to be picked up at 3:00am the next morning, so it was necessary to stay overnight in the city itself. We had paid for an Airbnb at the top of a set of stairs, and were relieved when we reached the rooms and could divest ourselves of our bags at last.
Adam and Stephanie — the young couple from our retreat — were also in Cusco for the night, so we all agreed to meet up for dinner. The evening was spent as one big group, introducing Chris and Lisa and speaking broadly about self-development and spirituality.
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The day of our trip to Rainbow Mountain began in the dark. We awoke bleary-eyed and groggy, stumbling out into a van that shuttled us and our small party out of the city and through the thick fog that wrapped the countryside. There was a stop at the midway point, where we sleepily ate the breakfast provided, and then we were on the move once more, zig-zagging up narrow switchbacks and trundling over rocky dirt roads until we reached our destination.
We parked up alongside a heart-shaped lake, where a scattered collection of stalls had been set up selling sugary snacks and warm clothing, grilled corn and hot chocolate. Ignoring these, we set our sights on the uneven track that wound its way up the valley and toward a peak, out of sight. The view we were seeking was an hour’s walk away, and at 5200m above sea level, the air was so thin it was like trying to breathe through a straw, our hearts pumping desperately in our throats.
Love is the answer
The ground was green and rocky, scattered with chunks of loose stone and tough, bright moss. Great herds of alpacas roamed along the steep slopes either side of us, and horses carrying less able-bodied tourists passed us by as we walked, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The final part of the ascent saw a shift in incline that had us gasping for air after one-minute bursts of activity; but eventually — chewing coca leaves to help with the elevation — we made it to the top.
The meetup point was a flat section on one of the peaks, overlooking two broad valleys that unfurled below on either side, stretching away into the distance. Our mountain was one of a chain that divided the valleys, rising in the middle-distance to meet crisp, white glaciers. Rainbow Mountain itself rose up from the other side of the valley beside us, the various minerals in the rock bleeding streaks of red, yellow, ochre and grey-blue that washed down its sides like watercolour on parchment, spilling into the greenery below. Lakes dotted the valley floor, shimmering gently in the early morning light. We stood for some time, but we still had a final climb to reach the peak of our mountain, up uneven stone steps that we scaled in blocks of five before stopping to catch our breath. The panorama of colour and light that laid itself out before us, however, was well worth the climb.
Spectacular vista
We stayed at the top for a spell, glad that our tour group was one of the first up the mountain for the day as we watched the ant-trail of backpackers moving slowly up the path along the valley below. Chris, Lisa and River soon joined us at top, and we took photos with the llamas and alpacas standing along the sides with their guides, bedecked with Peruvian tassels and gazing sideways at us through brightly-coloured plastic sunglasses.
The tippy top
The walk back down was less arduous, but headaches and dizzy spells accompanied the downhill journey. We were all well and truly spent by the time we reached flat ground, happy to settle back into our seats in the bus once more as we began our three and a half hour drive back to Cusco. Between the exertion and all the driving, none of us wanted to do much else when we arrived, shedding our packs and lying down in silence for a long while. Eventually, however, the issue of dinner had to be addressed. The idea of another drive being intolerable, we settled on ordering pizzas from a local restaurant. Chris and I went down the road to pick up our order, and could not, for the life of us, find the damn place. We didn’t take our mobiles, either — why would we need them when it was just around the corner? — so Alessandra and Lisa couldn’t get in touch to give us directions. If it weren’t for the owner seeing us walking up and down the main road, we would never have found it, for the ‘restaurant’ turned out to be a pizza oven in some guy’s back garden. It was excellent pizza though, and we feasted before turning in for the night.
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After the voluntary ordeal of Rainbow Mountain, we were all content to spend the following morning resting. We played with River as he took a washtub bath on the lawn, read a little, and packed our bags. We had booked another early morning hike for the following day, and had decided to stay in Cusco for the last two days of our trip.
By late afternoon we were ready, bidding farewell to the house and the Sacred Valley through the window of our taxi as we travelled the winding road to Cusco for the last time.
The Airbnb we had booked was spacious and comfortable. When we arrived, we dumped our bags in our rooms and went out at once, hunting for a shaman shop recommended by a few members of our Arkana group. The lady who ran it sold the usual knick-knacks and trinkets, carved pipes and statuettes; but the main reason for the visit was the vendor herself, who gave psychic readings to those who visited her shop.
When we found the shop at last, the woman welcomed us in with genuine warmth. We asked her about the readings, and she told us that she had been able to read energy since she was a little girl, using her talent to help others. She looked at us each in turn, and told us what she saw. When my turn came, I was told that my energy is very unusual, and that a lot of it is concentrated in my hands and my heart. She described me as being many different things, and added that if I were in a world where I could have multiple bodies, I would be everywhere all at once. She also told Alessandra and I that, though we are quite different from one another, we will continue to come together in every life. Our children, she advised, will look like me, but have Alessandra’s energy.
The old woman was pleasant and generous with her time, but it was difficult to suspend disbelief. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the reading, and we browsed a few stone statues she brought out for us, recommending these as protective amulets. The price was too steep for us, but when we declined, the woman assured us that our selections would be waiting for us if we ever returned.
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The next day was the most gruelling experience I have had in years — and this after Rainbow Mountain. We had booked a trek to Humantay Lake, and, like Rainbow Mountain, this involved a bus pickup at an ungodly hour. We awoke at 4:00am — which we considered a luxurious sleep-in after our last hike. By 4:45am, we were in the van and on the road, speeding through twisting mountain tracks that fell way into valleys filled with thick clouds. The start of the trail was three hours away, and we dozed fitfully for the drive.
The beginning of the track was simple enough — relatively flat, winding through a valley flanked by craggy cliffs, high waterfalls spilling out endlessly from the rock and cascading into mist before reaching the ground. We could see the jagged peaks of several mountains ahead, dusted with a powdery snow which had caked on thickly and covered the dark rock further below. One area had experienced a landslide a few months back, collapsing several houses in its path, and the rubble still choked the path as we picked our way through.
Cascading down into nothing
Eventually, we passed through to a small town in the mountains, and from there began the ascent. You might think, as we did, that a lake would be out on a plain or in a valley somewhere, and it would be a simple walk to get there. Not this lake. Humantay Lake was high up, its waters cradled by mountains on three sides, a narrow pass through to the shore accessible only by thin walkways up steep cliffs. The elevation was less than that of Rainbow Mountain, but my lungs and heart didn’t seem to notice or appreciate the difference. We struggled vainly for air, muscles burning, as we trudged inch by inch up an incline that seemed to go on forever, enviously eyeing the mules that wiser tourists had rented to get to the top. River was the only one who wanted to walk, and he voiced his dislike of being strapped to the baby carrier by bawling non-stop for the entire climb, making the whole thing that much more stressful.
We continued on like this for over an hour, our destination seeming no closer, when we were faced by the final section: a steep climb over loose jumbles of stone, up narrow paths that hugged tight to the side of the mountain itself. Just as it felt as though we could climb no more, we passed a ridge and between the rocks, and the view opened before us. We had made it at last.
View from the top — if you squint, you can see the village that marked the beginning of the steep section
Humantay lake was a crystalline blue expanse of water, fed by myriad waterfalls of icewater that trickled down from the white-capped mountains looming above it. Despite our fatigue, we had one final climb, up an uneven animal track that led to a sweeping view of the lake in its entirety. We stepped shakily onto an overlook that jutted out from the cliff face, and sat atop a great boulder, drinking in the reward for our efforts.
What a view
When it was time to head back, we staggered wearily down the rocky track, grateful that the descent was only taxing on muscles alone; our breath easy and slow. In the treacherous way of mountain weather, it began to hail as we reached the town at the mountain’s base, and the hail quickly turned into a downpour. The rain quickly soaked me through and, when it was clear that it would not be letting up anytime soon, we continued on our way. The weather only began to clear when we reached the long line of vans and buses that marked the beginning of our walk, and when we found ours, we climbed in and collapsed gratefully into our seats.
Our exertion had been such that the drive back and stop for lunch blended and blurred together. It was night by the time we arrived back at our accommodation, and we passed to our rooms in a daze.
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I shall describe the days constituting our return journey to Perth in a single entry, for the boundaries between one day and the next disappear in the fever-dream of long-distance air travel. The flights themselves were unremarkable, but the process leading up to them was harrowing to the extreme, and warrants a full accounting.
Our first flight — Cusco to Lima — wasn’t until 3:30pm, and so we spent our last morning in Peru with Chris, Lisa and River. Together, we wandered the streets in search of a moseño — a wooden, flute-like instrument — to bring home to Hans, who had requested we pick one up if we could find it. We did not find what we were after, but bought a few simple wooden flutes and other items in our trawling of the local markets. We returned to our Airbnb for a rest and, upon waking, wheeled our bags out to the street. Alessandra and I said goodbye to the others as our cab pulled up, and made it to the airport with two hours to spare. Plenty of time to allow for a domestic flight — under normal circumstances.
The app for Latam airlines had not allowed us to check in electronically the night before, so we walked over to the self check-in machines and went through the prompts. No dice. The attendant directed us to a ‘special assistance’ desk, where a disinterested-looking woman took our passports and spent the next twenty minutes tapping away on her keyboard and staring blankly at the screen. Eventually she looked up and deigned to tell us why it was taking so long. It was an issue with Alessandra’s German passport, apparently — since we were returning to Australia as our place of residence, Latam’s system only wanted Australian passports, and the desk attendant couldn’t figure out how to input Alessandra’s German one. She asked for Alessandra’s visa details and continued to tap away without further comment, but forty minutes later, neither she nor the other nearby attendants could figure out a way to check us in.
Finally, they decided it was time to call their supervisor, assuring us that there was still plenty of time to resolve the issue. If they had been competent and responsive, we might have believed them, but after calling the supervisor, one or the attendants stood and began braiding the other’s hair. They gossiped and giggled together like schoolgirls as we stood there, waiting. Twenty minutes more passed, and still no sign of the supervisor. We began to get worried — it was less than an hour before our flight, after all, and the staff in front of us seemed to have forgotten we were there. The relief we felt when we saw another woman approach the desk was short lived, for the others responded by packing their bags and standing. The woman we’d first spoken to apologised as she walked away, informing us that she and the others had to go, but they had updated the new attendant on our situation, and she would continue to follow-up on our behalf. Her last words to our new attendant were that the supervisor still hadn’t come, and it might be worth trying to call again. Then, with a flick of her newly braided hair, she and the others strutted out of the booth and away, forgetting both us and our plight as they ascended the stairs for whichever plane had the misfortune of carrying them to distant lands.
The new assistant was more pleasant and attentive than the three vacuous placeholders who had previously been the face of Latam airlines. She called the absent supervisor again, and began to problem-solve in the interim. After 1.5 hours of standing at the God-forsaken desk, the supervisor arrived at last. Like our previous contact people, she, too, sat typing for some time — but with a focused intensity that suggested actual effort. Finally, the supervisor advised us that the issue wasn’t with the German passport at all. It was, instead, to do with Alessandra’s New Zealand visa.
You see, one of our flights had a refuelling stopover in New Zealand and, despite the fact that we would not even be leaving the plane during this time, Alessandra needed a visa. Though it seemed somewhat unreasonable, Alessandra duly paid the fee and obtained the visa several days in advance, as was recommended. She had a copy of the visa number and details on her phone, too, so there should have been no issue. But there was. The supervisor invited Alessandra to hop over to the other side of the counter, where she pointed out the problem. Often, she explained, the system did not register or accept the New Zealand visa details. When this happened, Latam’s solution was to call New Zealand, who would then manually override the rejection. The problem was, New Zealand wasn’t answering.
Then, she delivered the bad news, harsh and blunt, with fifteen minutes until our departure time: we would not be able to board our flight. We couldn’t catch any of our other flights, either, since they were all connected, and an issue with one affected the whole chain. In short: because of the New Zealand issue, it would be necessary to buy new tickets for every stop on our return journey to Perth. Furthermore, we would need to arrange it all ourselves, and would not be able to obtain a refund for any of our existing flights — despite the fault being with Latam.
I could barely breathe, and Alessandra was moments away from breaking into tears. Through no fault of our own, we were being told we would need to arrange and pay for a new set of flights…and I would almost definitely miss my next set of surveillance scans, which were booked for the morning after we had expected to touch down in Perth. I was furious with the total lack of care and shirking of responsibility by Latam, who wanted us to pay for an issue with their system that they were both aware of and unable to address. The supervisor finished her work by tearing up our printed tickets and returning our luggage; though she did give us a contact number for Latam, to support rebooking our flights.
You might think that it couldn’t get much worse, but it can. We tottered away from the front desk in a daze, holding the little piece of paper, but we couldn’t call the number scrawled on it; we had bought a local eSIM for Alessandra’s phone for maps and messages while we travelled, and the data had run out earlier that morning. Cusco airport also happens to be one of those smaller airports that has no general wifi. So, we had no data, no wifi, no flights home and no accommodation arranged. We couldn’t even contact Chris and Lisa.
Seeing Alessandra’s glazed defeat, I swallowed my own dread and pessimism, reassuring her that most cafes have free wifi, and there was one just upstairs. We would start there. Together, we made our way there, slumped down on the chairs, and ordered a mango juice as payment for the wifi password. From there, we contacted Chris and let him know our predicament, and he advised us to buy $10 worth of Skype credit to make the necessary calls. Slowly and surely, progress was being made.
Alessandra remained shell-shocked and incapacitated, so I downloaded Skype and set up our account. I called the number, and was relieved when it began to ring; but the automated voice guiding us through the available options was in Spanish, so I was forced to shake Alessandra and hand her the phone. She took over robotically, navigating the divergent support paths designed to steer you away from the human call operators.
At last, we got through. Alessandra explained the nature of our situation: that we had been taken off our booked flights due to a system error, and needed to reschedule. The $4500 cost of buying new flights was difficult to swallow, but our focus at that moment was simply on getting home, and we were making progress at last. The support person put us on hold several times as she looked into options. Then, fifteen minutes into the call, the hold music stopped abruptly. Whilst on hold, the operator had hung up on us.
Neither of us felt anything at this point — too much had gone wrong, and too quickly. We exchanged numb, blank looks for a moment, then dialled the number again. There was nothing else for it. This time, while we waited, I drafted a scathing review of Latam’s customer service, while Alessandra doodled grim stick figure drawings on the scrap of paper.
She had them electrocuted, I made them dance
When we got through, we immediately felt as though the customer service rep on the other end was giving our situation his full attention, so we took a deep breath and began.
This second call lasted over an hour and a half — which probably grated on the café staff, since we were at our table for nearly three hours, having ordered nothing more than a chocolate cake and a juice. We were put on hold several times, and were in a constant state of fear about the call ending abruptly, but it did not come to pass. Initially, the man helping us couldn’t find any flights leaving that evening that did not fly through New Zealand (for we did not want to have to delay our flight any more than was absolutely necessary, but couldn’t afford to risk a repeat of the visa issue); however, we looked into it ourselves whilst on hold, finding a 9:30pm flight and pointing it out to him when we reconnected. After some shuffling around and a whole lot of wait music, our support rep told us that he could get us on the set of flights we’d found…but whilst we did not have to pay the full price, we would be fined for the late reschedule, since the issue we had experienced was technically with New Zealand, and not Latam. The total cost? $2500.
Alessandra looked at me for confirmation. Inwardly, I cursed that we had not taken out travel insurance that covered flight cancellations. I looked at the situation, and saw no other way. Despite it not being our fault, the error that prevented us from boarding our flight was a grey zone of responsibility, and I did not see a way we would be able to get our money back for it. As a last ditch effort, I asked Alessandra to explain our situation — that I have terminal cancer, and needed to fly home in time for an urgent scan the day after we were to arrive.
The man on the other end of the line shifted course immediately, asking if we could provide proof of my condition and providing an email to send it to. It seemed there was an ‘exceptional circumstances’ clause in Latam’s policy, and our support officer was determined to make use of it. I found an appropriate document — fumbling the phone in my effort to be careful and almost hanging up the call in the process — and sent it through. After a few more minutes of tense waiting, he came back to tell us not to worry; he had sorted everything so that we were booked on the 9:30pm flight and subsequent connections home, with no fee attached. We could expect our tickets by email shortly.
We thanked the customer service rep profusely for his time and dedication, our blank, empty distress giving way to a flood of relief and gratitude; and, three hours later, we were safely aboard our first flight home.
On our way at last
We were not quite out of the woods yet, however. Tension bubbled to the surface once more as the captain of our plane to Lima announced a forty-minute delay for take-off — which would leave us only forty-five minutes to clear Lima’s customs and immigration; and get to the gate for our connecting flight to Santiago de Chile after touching down. A further twenty minute delay in disembarking had us ready to run through the terminal. When we were released, we bolted like greyhounds on race day, shooting past long stretches of terminal in a blur of wrinkled clothes and sagging backpacks and, with less than thirty minutes to spare, made it to the gate.
We arrived in Santiago exhausted and beaten, with an eight-hour layover ahead of us. Drained beyond measure, we decided to splurge on entry into one of the airport lounges, where we slept, ate, and refreshed ourselves. Ready for the world once more, we whittled away the remaining hours sitting outside the airport Starbucks, where I updated my journal and sipped at my first cappuccino in weeks.
There is blessed little else to report on for the remainder of the trip. Santiago to Sydney, for me, was fifteen hours of Harry Potter movies and meal breaks, with cramped legs demanding the right to extend as far out as they were capable of extending. Alessandra’s experience was worse, with one final bit of bad luck: she contracted gastro, and the symptoms began just after takeoff, meaning she was either in the toilet or had her face buried in a paper bag for much of the flight. Sydney was another mad rush, for we needed to pick up our luggage, check it in again, and take a shuttle bus across to the domestic terminal — all within a little over an hour. We barely made it before boarding, and dozed fitfully through the final flight home.
Mum was there to pick us up when we arrived in Perth once more, and we told her snippets of our adventures through the drive back to her place. Then we wheeled our bags into the downstairs gazebo, readied ourselves for bed, and fell into the covers.
Home sweet home
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Thus ends our trip to the Amazon. It was a beautiful experience, full of deep insights, healing and connection. Alessandra and I both benefited from our time away, and we return with both hope and determination in our hearts as we face the trials ahead of us. For myself, I am glad that I can stand ready for the future with my shadow-brother in my heart, my fiancée by my side, and my family and friends all around me. I have never felt so blessed.
Many of the most profound lessons have already been described in the last two entries in this blog, but there is always more to learn. Here are a few of the things we discovered this week:
Don’t underestimate the impact of elevation on your cardio. Good God.
From our treks: some of the most beautiful things lay on the other side of a whole lot of effort — and they are even more beautiful for having earned the right to see them.
In crisis, take a deep breath, remain calm and problem solve. There are often things you can do — despite the strong pull to keep going over what you cannot do. The latter will blind you to the former.
A lot of people don’t care about you or your problems — but many others do. The trick is finding the right people. There is a generally approved-of cynicism in the Western world, and it’s easy to subscribe to it; however, it’s only half the story — and as with any total belief in a partial truth, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. See the other half of the story; a little luck and readiness to believe in the good in others, and you’ll soon find them everywhere you go.
Off the back of points #3 and #4: try not to make assumptions, because assumptions have a tendency to end up proving themselves true — even if they were not true initially. If we’d assumed we couldn’t fly home the day we began our journey home, we wouldn’t have looked into it, and we wouldn’t have flown home. If we had assumed no-one would help us, we wouldn’t have had the excellent customer service rep that supported our rescheduling. If we had assumed there was no way out of having to pay the fines to reschedule, we wouldn’t have bothered mentioning the terminal illness, and we would have paid the fines as a result. Assumptions are subtle in the way they influence reality; they set up what we notice and ignore in situations, and tell us what to pursue and what to give up on. Our assumptions are almost always proved right — but not because they are right. More often, it’s because we only see what we were expecting to see, and the other paths that could have been available to take close silently, entirely unnoticed.
If possible, arrange for a minimum of one and a half hour layovers between flights. Anything less is a gamble, at best.
GET TRAVEL INSURANCE FOR FLIGHTS.
