Climbing El Misti: One Step at a Time

Yesterday, I completed one of the most arduous tasks of my life: climbing to the summit of El Misti Volcano in Arequipa, Peru. El Misti is 5,822 meters (19,101 ft) above sea level and takes two days to ascend (for reference, Machu Picchu is 2,430 m or almost 8,000 ft). 

El Misti Volcano

On Sunday April 10th, five of us, Joel, Edgar, Nicolas, Lina and I, started at the bottom of the volcano (3,300 meters), and then hiked for 4 1/2 hours to base camp (4,500 meters). We had a delicious minestrone soup and pasta dinner made by Joel, our guide, attempted to sleep a few hours before ascending to the top at 2 am for 6 hours. It was pitch black at that time so we trekked with headlamps and snow gear on. All we could see was black sand, rocks and one shoe in front of the other.

Base of El Misti - starting the trek

Selfie at Base Camp

Sunset overlooking Arequipa

My family has a history of altitude sickness, and even after taking all the preventative measures to decrease the symptoms (soroche pills, coca tea, chocolate, etc.), I still felt the altitude two hours into the ascent. Even though this was physically a tough trek, I knew it would ultimately be a mental battle. I almost gave up because the pain in my head worsened with every step, and I had to stop every 30-40 steps to catch my breath. The rest of my group wasn't affected by the altitude so I felt like I was dragging down my team with my slow, haggard pace. I told them they should continue without me and I would make it up to the top eventually at my own pace. Joel even offered for me to return to base camp at that point. It would have been so easy to turn around, head back to base camp and sleep in my warm sleeping bag free of suffering, but I was determined to make it to the summit even if it killed me. I had to prove to myself that I could do this. 

For the next 4 hours, I just kept telling myself, "10 more steps, 10 more steps... Slow and steady wins the race. I listened to my iPod to keep from psyching myself out in my head. Around 4 am it started snowing and we had to bundle up even tighter. The water in my water bottle also froze. The climb itself was pretty steep, and I did my best not to look down the mountain because one misstep would send one tumbling down the entire rocky mountainside. Edgar encouragingly waited a few feet ahead of me each time I had to catch my breath and steady my spinning head.

Around 6 am, we saw the first rays of sunlight creep up from the black horizon. I cringed inside out of frustration because I wanted my friends to see sunrise from the summit but they were too kind waiting for me. I cursed my altitude sickness and wished I could be like them, chugging along at a good pace without as much pain. I'm used to being fit and fast, holding my own well in a group if not leading, so this experience was extremely humbling.

View from Volcano Crater 

Volcano Crater

We made it to the volcano crater at 7 am, but then had one last hour to the peak. This last hour was the most grueling. My head felt like it was exploding, and I had to step every 10-30 steps to catch my breath and clutch my dizzying head. "You're almost there, almost there. You can't stop now!" I told myself. I could see the huge cross at the top of El Misti where my new friends had just arrived. Nicolas and Lina came down to cheer me on 50 meters from the top right when I started crying because the pain was too much. It hurt like hell, like my brain was expanding but my head was shrinking. The strong wind lashed snow at my face as I numbly moved one foot in front of the other until we finally reached the top. "Touch the cross," they told me. I placed my gloved hand on the hard silver metal with disbelief. WE made it.

The guides said that usually only 75% of people in the groups make it to the top but 100% of us made the ascent! Joel and Edgar said I was really strong (muy fuerte!) because most people would have turned back long before. I didn't feel strong, just grateful that I achieved what I had set out to do. I truly couldn't have done it without the support and encouragement of my amazing guides/friends. I'm also grateful for my Chinese middle name, 毅 (yì), which fittingly means "Persistence" and kept me on task. I now know that if you are determined you WILL succeed even when others or your genes tell you you can't do something. Just remember, one step at a time, and eventually you'll make it to the top!

El Misti Summit!

Magical Night in Tayrona

As many of you know, I've been traveling the world since October, 2015. I decided not to blog, despite many of your requests, because I was posting photos each day to document my journey and wanted to write about my journey unfiltered by writing for an audience. But last week in Tayrona was too beautiful to not share, so here I am breaking my decision to not blog about my trip :). Hope you enjoy! 

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Don Pedro in the Day

What a magical night! I'm currently in Tayrona Park at the elusive Don Pedro campsite. It's 8:50 pm and I just walked around the grounds, mesmerized by the stars and the quarter moon beneath the wax palm trees. 

Imagine—walking softly, you feel the crunch of dirt and leaves beneath your feet. It’s early, yet the space is extremely peaceful. You raise your eyes to the sky as puffy white clouds glide smoothly over the moon like a loving mother cloaking her baby. You crane your neck up to admire the 30 towering wax palms peppering the campsite. These trees majestically arch up to the heavens framed by speckled stars. You recognize Orion's Belt, the Big Dipper and other constellations. It's rare to see such a clear sky— no light pollution at all. The stars are so bright, the night air crisp and clear. And the moon, oh the moon! 

You feel a pang of regret that your camera can’t capture this extraordinary moment, can’t capture the stars hanging in the sky or the moon peeking out behind the trees. You attempt to take a picture anyways and all that appears on your screen is blackness. You tuck your camera away in your pocket with a sigh, returning your gaze to the sky. You open your eyes as wide as possible as if this would better imprint this moment to memory forever. In a way, it’s a blessing that you can’t even begin to capture this vision in a snapshot as it makes you appreciate it, savor each second even more. 

You look around you, enveloped by nature, and a huge wave of gratitude courses through your body as you are again reminded of the beauty in the world and how insignificantly small you are! You feel one with the earth, one with the ground, the sky, the moon, the stars, the universe. You feel a tingling in your fingertips that spreads to every cell of your body, filling you with wonder, joy, excitement and love.