Peru, part II: Cordillera Blanca
Our spirits now fortified against the most extreme of disappointments, the road from Peru’s north-west coast toward its mountainous interiors, could throw at us what it liked. Bring on the potholes and narrow, one-lane roads with two lanes of traffic. Bring on the blind curves and bad drivers. We were mountain-bound and nothing could get us down. (Well, there was that one thing but we’ll get to that.)
Sometimes guide books try too hard to be impartial, looking for a bright side rather than facing the dim. The Lonely Planet struck a semblance of harsh but adventurous describing the north coast as nothing more than “unruly”. It left much to the imagination indeed, and we couldn’t have imagined it was to be such an eyesore (see previous blog post for details).
When we moved on, we moved fast, shooting from sea-level to 13,000 feet in a day. As the miles ticked over, we regained our hope in humanity and in Peru’s original promise. The Cordillera Blanca, the central section of Peru’s Andes, is one procession of astonishing snow-capped peak after another. The Tetons, hitherto my standard for dramatic and magnificent mountainscape, were no match — with over 50 peaks above 18,000 feet, only the Himalayas are. But bigger isn’t always better and more not necessarily more-better. It only takes one mountain to elicit rapture.
My revelation came after a chilly night huddled next to the fireplace at Laguna Paron (a gobsmacking turquoise glacial lake), where we we carved out a campsite next to a mountain refugio. It had rained that day and we napped instead of hiking the 10 km trail toward another lagoon and waterfall. My eyes were tired and legs asleep from being propped up against the corner of the small fireplace, shared by three pairs of feet — mine, Tim’s and the refugio’s keeper, Raul. We had been silent, staring at the logs as they flickered and eventually dissolved into ash. When I finally stood up, I was so intent on brushing my teeth and climbing into bed before the warmth of the fire wore off, I was thoroughly lodged in my own head. Then I opened the door and stepped outside. The night sky was pierced brightly with stars, broken clouds and a just-waning moon. The stars were so crisp and so close and mesmerising but Tim said something to pull my attention from above to across the lagoon. I hadn’t wanted to shift gaze but the instant I did it was impossible to contain the gut-punch: The Mountain. I think I said, “What the?”
The lake ribboned toward a sharp arch of a single snow-capped peak bathed in moonglow, flanked in our view by inferior mountains. We hadn’t yet glimpsed it, for all the cloud cover and rain of the afternoon. There is was, a throne to the gods: Artesonraju.
The drive through Huascaran National Park, which incorporates much of the Cordillera Blanca, was similarly dramatic, though nothing of the winding-blow of that moment. But for the first time since we entered Peru, we didn’t mind driving switching mountain passes, and in fact, the road was excellent.
Unfortunately, our mountain-high began to evaporate somewhat with a reality-check just before New Year’s. Babo started to lose power and would only operate in second and third gear. We managed to limp into the next town and stop at a gas station staffed by a friendly local attendant who informed us our problem was likely a result of the poor quality of the gas we’d been given. He advised we buy the premium stuff from henceforth. He wasn’t wrong, but the damage was done and refilling the tank wouldn’t help it. I won’t bore you with the details, I’ll only say that the fix involved numerous phone calls to our most trusted mechanic, my dad in the US, the relaying of information from his mechanic, viewing several YouTube tutorials, and a fleet of Bosch mechanics in the mountain city of Huarez. We learned the value of my brother-in-law’s role at the Chevron refinery, our lesson (now we inspect before we buy), and a few new vocabulary words — solenoid, for one.
After a few days we were back on the road, this time Machu Picchu-bound. It would take four twelve-hour days of solid driving to get us to Cusco, once the nucleus of the Inca empire, and now the obligatory entry-point for Peru’s most famous ruins.
