Eureka! Villarica!
Suck up the flu because today, my dear, we are up this morning at six to go climb an active volcano. Villarica is her name, and she is that steaming, angry-looking summit glowing red you see from your bedroom window.
I am not a friend of summits. Ever since we climbed the 6,088m Huayna Potosi in Bolivia and had to turn back at 5,500m because the altitude was crushing me, any sort of mountain peak is a nightmare. I wish I didn't, but I already see myself having to quit midway and, what's worse, having to live with the knowledge that Alex did not get there either, because he would never leave me behind. When I think about how important reaching the peak is for me, I keep thinking about our Spanish teacher in Bariloche. We did manage to squeeze in a few lessons, and one of our assignments was to read a list of "the best things in the world" and come up with our own best and worst list. I remember in my best list the first thing I wrote was "traveling the world with my best friend", but the first thing in my worst list was "No allegar para la cumbre" (Not reaching the summit). For now, Huayna Potosi is my only "white whale", and I have no intentions adding up to it, so I will be climbing until I cannot climb no more.
The way I figured, the odds were in my favor. I had a great ski pole, just the right size, and out the six of us, three were girls who really didn't look like they were in any better shape than I was. When we were gearing up, Hen and Keren were worried the climb is a bit too difficult for them and that I, Alex, Shir and Almog, after traveling in South America for as long as we have, will advance much quicker and leave them behind. Of course we assured them that we wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, and as soon as everyone was ready we began our ascent.
For the first ten minutes everything was going quite smoothly. I grabbed myself a spot in the front lines and was humming my usual favorite Russian cartoon songs when yesterday's flu caught up with me. One by one, first Almog, then Shir, and then both Hen and Keren passed by and I, huffing and puffing like a broken train, fumbled behind. One step up, rolling half a step down on the volcanic gravel. Shortly, the whole group split up and I could see the others advancing at a steady pace higher and higher, while I, Alex, and the assistant guide advanced at my, pathetically slow pace as I had to stop often to catch my breath. I was so ashamed. This whole story was starting to sound all too familiar, especially when I asked the guide if he thinks I'm going to make it to the top and he asked me in return whether I really wanted an honest answer to this question.
I thought all is lost. I am cursed! Cursed with wimpyness and spinelessness. I should admit defeat right here and now and not make an even bigger fool of myself. This was the only thing going through my mind. In intermissions, between the bouts of feeling sorry for myself, I was listening to Alex. He kept talking about Brazil and all sorts of other insignificant at the time things and, step by step, unbelievably, we caught up to the rest of the group who were sitting on the edge of the snowy portion of the hike, putting on their crampons and unhooking ice axes. They must have been as surprised to see me, as I was to see them. "Hooray! You made it!" squeaked Shir and for a second there I wondered if she knows how lucky she was that my own ice-axe was still unhooked.
Some rest, a snack, and on we go. I don't know how, but what happened was nothing short of a miracle. I still think they must have slipped something into my water, but whatever it was - it worked. The flu was nowhere to be seen, and I was literally jumping behind the guide urging him to go faster. Others were in awe. It looked like someone stuck an "Energizer" up my behind and when the passing by groups who saw me an hour ago asked what happened to me, our guide said laughing: "Just changed her battery".
We kept advancing, and my newfound strength didn't seem to run out. I was no longer the first one walking behind the guide though. Hen was now in front of me. Holding on to her hand the guide was leading her up. It was her first summit, and it looked like she had enough. She was really tired, and we all kept encouraging her, but two hours or so before the peak she quit. It was unfortunate, but she had to stay with the assistant at a rest point, and wait for us to descend. We kept going, but soon enough Keren gave up as well. In my and Alex's opinion, both girls could have gotten a bit further with the right encouragement, but it was three against two. Keren has asked whether we think she can go on, but Shir, Almog, and the guide said she mustn't because she is not strong enough. By all means, not a good advice; Keren later told us she was so disappointed in herself she could not stop from crying the whole time it took the assistant to come get her.
Shortly after, we were there. I did it, and now was inhaling the toxic fumes of the crater as a reward. My nose and mouth felt like they were rinsed in vinegar, but I conquered my first peak and this small victory is mine. Going up was only half the fun. After choking nearly to death from the acidic smoke coming out the crater, we went straight down the mountain on our behinds. No joke, it was all part of the plan. Part of our equipment were pants complete with a layer of rubber at the back and in many areas where we had to slowly zigzag on the way up, we could now slide down controlling our speed by jabbing the ice-axe on the side of the slide. A frightening, at first, but exhilarating experience.
The journey, for me, ended in a race. A race against myself, time, or god knows what. The only thing I know is that it was definitely a race. We were heading towards the end when we reached a point I knew took me more then an hour to get to from the bottom. "How long is it from here to the end?" I asked the guide. "Twenty five, maybe twenty minutes." I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to four. "I have to get there by four o'clock," I told the guide and began running down the hill. I don't remember feeling anything like this ever before. All I knew is that I wanted, No! needed to get there, to be at the bottom before my watch showed 04:00pm. I ran, ran out of breath, breathed, and ran again. This race wasn't about anything that I can wrap my head around even now. Not about reaching a goal, impressing somebody, or proving something. When it was over, I stood at the bottom with exactly two minutes to spare and knew that now I have one more thing to add to my "best list," but damn me if I knew how to word it.
I am not a friend of summits. Ever since we climbed the 6,088m Huayna Potosi in Bolivia and had to turn back at 5,500m because the altitude was crushing me, any sort of mountain peak is a nightmare. I wish I didn't, but I already see myself having to quit midway and, what's worse, having to live with the knowledge that Alex did not get there either, because he would never leave me behind. When I think about how important reaching the peak is for me, I keep thinking about our Spanish teacher in Bariloche. We did manage to squeeze in a few lessons, and one of our assignments was to read a list of "the best things in the world" and come up with our own best and worst list. I remember in my best list the first thing I wrote was "traveling the world with my best friend", but the first thing in my worst list was "No allegar para la cumbre" (Not reaching the summit). For now, Huayna Potosi is my only "white whale", and I have no intentions adding up to it, so I will be climbing until I cannot climb no more.
The way I figured, the odds were in my favor. I had a great ski pole, just the right size, and out the six of us, three were girls who really didn't look like they were in any better shape than I was. When we were gearing up, Hen and Keren were worried the climb is a bit too difficult for them and that I, Alex, Shir and Almog, after traveling in South America for as long as we have, will advance much quicker and leave them behind. Of course we assured them that we wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, and as soon as everyone was ready we began our ascent.
For the first ten minutes everything was going quite smoothly. I grabbed myself a spot in the front lines and was humming my usual favorite Russian cartoon songs when yesterday's flu caught up with me. One by one, first Almog, then Shir, and then both Hen and Keren passed by and I, huffing and puffing like a broken train, fumbled behind. One step up, rolling half a step down on the volcanic gravel. Shortly, the whole group split up and I could see the others advancing at a steady pace higher and higher, while I, Alex, and the assistant guide advanced at my, pathetically slow pace as I had to stop often to catch my breath. I was so ashamed. This whole story was starting to sound all too familiar, especially when I asked the guide if he thinks I'm going to make it to the top and he asked me in return whether I really wanted an honest answer to this question.
I thought all is lost. I am cursed! Cursed with wimpyness and spinelessness. I should admit defeat right here and now and not make an even bigger fool of myself. This was the only thing going through my mind. In intermissions, between the bouts of feeling sorry for myself, I was listening to Alex. He kept talking about Brazil and all sorts of other insignificant at the time things and, step by step, unbelievably, we caught up to the rest of the group who were sitting on the edge of the snowy portion of the hike, putting on their crampons and unhooking ice axes. They must have been as surprised to see me, as I was to see them. "Hooray! You made it!" squeaked Shir and for a second there I wondered if she knows how lucky she was that my own ice-axe was still unhooked.
Some rest, a snack, and on we go. I don't know how, but what happened was nothing short of a miracle. I still think they must have slipped something into my water, but whatever it was - it worked. The flu was nowhere to be seen, and I was literally jumping behind the guide urging him to go faster. Others were in awe. It looked like someone stuck an "Energizer" up my behind and when the passing by groups who saw me an hour ago asked what happened to me, our guide said laughing: "Just changed her battery".
We kept advancing, and my newfound strength didn't seem to run out. I was no longer the first one walking behind the guide though. Hen was now in front of me. Holding on to her hand the guide was leading her up. It was her first summit, and it looked like she had enough. She was really tired, and we all kept encouraging her, but two hours or so before the peak she quit. It was unfortunate, but she had to stay with the assistant at a rest point, and wait for us to descend. We kept going, but soon enough Keren gave up as well. In my and Alex's opinion, both girls could have gotten a bit further with the right encouragement, but it was three against two. Keren has asked whether we think she can go on, but Shir, Almog, and the guide said she mustn't because she is not strong enough. By all means, not a good advice; Keren later told us she was so disappointed in herself she could not stop from crying the whole time it took the assistant to come get her.
Shortly after, we were there. I did it, and now was inhaling the toxic fumes of the crater as a reward. My nose and mouth felt like they were rinsed in vinegar, but I conquered my first peak and this small victory is mine. Going up was only half the fun. After choking nearly to death from the acidic smoke coming out the crater, we went straight down the mountain on our behinds. No joke, it was all part of the plan. Part of our equipment were pants complete with a layer of rubber at the back and in many areas where we had to slowly zigzag on the way up, we could now slide down controlling our speed by jabbing the ice-axe on the side of the slide. A frightening, at first, but exhilarating experience.
The journey, for me, ended in a race. A race against myself, time, or god knows what. The only thing I know is that it was definitely a race. We were heading towards the end when we reached a point I knew took me more then an hour to get to from the bottom. "How long is it from here to the end?" I asked the guide. "Twenty five, maybe twenty minutes." I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to four. "I have to get there by four o'clock," I told the guide and began running down the hill. I don't remember feeling anything like this ever before. All I knew is that I wanted, No! needed to get there, to be at the bottom before my watch showed 04:00pm. I ran, ran out of breath, breathed, and ran again. This race wasn't about anything that I can wrap my head around even now. Not about reaching a goal, impressing somebody, or proving something. When it was over, I stood at the bottom with exactly two minutes to spare and knew that now I have one more thing to add to my "best list," but damn me if I knew how to word it.