7 Flights in 5 Days

And though, I know mass emails seem oh so impersonal I beg your pardon from all of you whom have rapid internet in the comfort of your own home/office. That said, when I receive emails in response I am like a happy puppy wagging her tail and will always write back! I´d hope I´m not writing to a wall. So for those of you that I speak to once a month or see everyday or keep in touch online or when I show up on your doorstep... when you think of me- write me because 256 days (the number of total days I´m in South America) is a long stint without the comfort of friendly voices.

I leave this long winded introduction with one last warning for the newcomers: 1) one never means one, as in "one last thing", 2) my grammar is poor and my spelling is worse, especially the more Spanish I speak, 3) brief and succinct I am not nor will I ever be, 4) reading just the beginning and end is not good enough. I hear it takes about 15 minutes to read beginning to end so... you could print it out, and read it over coffee or cereal, or on the pot, or on the clock if you have one of those mundane entry level jobs. And so good luck. Happy reading.

To keep everyone on the same page, pardon me as I backtrack just slightly. I left my apartment in Columbus, Ohio on July 16th set to being 9 1/2 months as a nomad. With my things stored in my parents house in Maine, I set off as the guardian of 4 11 years olds at a CISV international camp in Hamburg, Germany. I will skip all the details as I sent 3 emails from the village. I returned August 16th to Columbus for a whopping 8 hours, returning to the airport, which I left at 9:30pm the previous evening at 5am. Holy ungodly. I arrived in Bangor, Maine at noon that Friday, a jumble of emotions, overwhelmed with the prospect of packing efficiently for 8 1/2 months in a variety of climates, while still extremely jet lagged. I only made it until 8 o´clock the first night at home before I was fast asleep and unable to pick up my head. I was just glad not to have fallen face first into my dinner, for it is rare that I get to enjoy my mom´s home cooking.

The next 2 days were a blur of sleeping, shopping, packing, crying, screaming, hair pulling and arguing. There were tears shed over the pack I bough which didn´t sit correctly on my back so on the day we were leaving my mom and I set out to be there when the outdoor store opened its doors. They had one small pack- it fit- I bought it. We unpacked my too-small pack, packed the new one in the store with the tags still on and I walked up to the register with the pack on, turned around and had the cashier scan the tag. He politely asked if I would like for him to take out the stuffing. I laughed and said I just packed it but thanks. This is probably a first for you. This was only one of a few setbacks in the packing process. Of course being her I wish that I had brought a few extra things- notably a pair of jeans considering it´s much colder than I expected and probably will be until we get to Chile in December.

But back to pre-departure. We left Sunday at 5 or 6pm (the latest was supposed to be 4 but of course there was a packing set-back) for Boston where we stayed overnight and left the following morning at 8am for our flights. Rachel and I flew a different airline so we left the ´rents in the hotel airport van (oh yes the beginning of this backpacking trek is a family vaca, something we haven´t had since 2004) and flew via Atlanta to Quito, Ecuador. Ma and pops met us on the other side of immigration where they called out for us as we looked into the sea of faces and "bienvenido" balloons. Rachel and I were greeted with no such fanfare. We grabbed a cab and off we went to Quito´s Old Town, arriving in front of a beautiful hotel build in the colonial style where we were greeted by a doorman and porter. Living in style. I told Rachel to soak it up now ´cause she ain't gonna have it after these 2 1/2 weeks. My favorite part of the hotel is the third floor with the hammocks and beanbag chairs. It would be this free internet station, if not for finding it on the last night in the hotel and after going to the internet cafe tonight for several hours.

The first morning in Quito (last Tuesday) went something like me attempting to get everyone out of bed, showered, dressed and ready. It was like pulling molars. My whining and pleading only got me so far. Eventually the entire Wiseman clan made it down to breakfast. Even after that our "quick" stop back in the room meant frustrated attempts to get the safe to close, calling the front desk, being told it needs new batteries and waiting and waiting... for the man to return. You can see patience is not one of my virtues.

Finally we set off to walk around the colonial Old City with its cobblestone squares, churches, and theaters. One of the few places we stopped inside was the iglesia (church) de la Compañia Jesus, which is said to be gilded in 7 tons of gold and to have taken 163 years to build. We also visited the small museum of the Ecuadorian painter, Camilo Egas, who depicted the indigenous people. After a delish lunch at a veggie restaurant we all met Lolo (the Ecudaorian leader at my CISV village and roommate) at her university. She showed us around New Town, the artisan (in other words "touristy") market and the trendy bards and clubs. We took a rush hour bus, where I had people pushing me from both sides to get off, to the point that I felt like it was a giant tug-of-war. Rachel and I were so tired we didn´t even attempt to go to dinner. Our folks surprised us by bring us back fruit salad and garapiñado (sugar coated peanuts- I have missed those).

Wedneday´s 6:45am wake-up call marked the beginning of our acclimatization training program. At 8 am on the dot, Reno arrived in his dusty Landrover in a blackened explorer hat (in homage to Steve Erwin perhaps). Reno was our main man for this first week. Innocence was bliss in our case... we had no idea what kind of week we were in for and what challenges we would literally face and climb over. We drove south dodging cars as we left Quito, leaving behind the smog-filled city for the fresh air and scent of eucalyptus and pine trees. At a gas station we took a sharp left and headed up a bumpy road to get to the base of Pasochoa- the base of which is set 3470 meters above sea level. Pasochoa was a long climb despite the fact that we only went a total of 7 miles. It´s amazing how much altitude plays with you and what toll it takes on your body. The air is thin, which leaves your chest burning, thumping up and down with your inhales half as long as your exhales, and at times only in gasps. But we all made it to the summit at 4180 meters.

We returned to Quito, my muscles aching. Rachel dozed off in the car, while my attempts to sleep were thwarted by the bumps that momentarily threw me off my seat. Rachel and mom napped once we finished our shower rotation to scour off the dirt. Dad and I went in search of Tigerbalm (for my poor sore Calv's, quads, and gluteus minims) and bottled water. I love how many small little stores there are so that you never have to walk more than a few blocks for what you need. The grocery store was right next to the hotel but when we went to check out we got in the wrong line. The man in front of us had about 40 bags of oats which the cashier proceeded to ring through individually and then when he got to the salt the man had to go back down the aisle to check if he was getting the right price for the salt. Oye.

Most everyone was half asleep by the time it was 8 o´clock, the agreed upon meeting time for dinner with Lolo and her mom. There was an argument before we left because mom had returned to the hotel from her day out in the city to find her purse had been slashed. Nothing was stolen, she was just upset, justly so, about her new bag. Dad jumped to the conclusion that it must have happened on the bus and therefore we should only take taxis from that point on. Not only were we talking taxis we had to take one that the hotel called and privately contracted. It took the cab 10 minutes to arrive and in the end he didn´t even know how to get the restaurant. We had to stop twice and wait as he attempted to get directions from little shop owners. In the process we passed a big crowd and police car where Rachel saw a body covered by a sheet on a stretcher. With that behind us, we arrived at Cafe Mosaico, went upstairs and took in the gorgeous view of Quito with its squares and cathedrals lit against the dark star-less sky. Ecuadorians are infamous, even among the Latinos, for being late (Reno being the one exception that I´ve found thus far). Considering we were also late we had enough time to find a table on the balcony and look over the menu before Lolo and her mother arrived. Dinner and conversation with Lolo was nice but by 10:30 my eyelids were drooping and thankfully I was asleep in bed not long after that.

Thursday was another early morning- wake up at 6:30, breakfast at 7, in the Landcruiser at 8 on the dot. As we fought morning traffic and navigated the general chaoticness of driving in a city without enforced traffic laws, I slowly woke up and began to take in the city as we headed south to our second mountain, Guagua Pichincha. This one was a shorter climb but more technical. The route up to our starting point winded up a mountain road allowing us views of the surrounding mountains, the organized fields in perfect squares and the contrasting haphazard brawl of the city spilling over to the shanty towns. We were accompanied on this day by Pirata (Pirate), Reno´s dog, a mutt of many things, 2 of which were probably terrier and dalmatian. The patch on her eye, among other trains, earned her the name Pirata. Reno saved her from the streets. Born a mountain dog, she followed the road and began a life on the streets. This dog was incredible, she would run up and down the path 3 times as we huffed and puffed just to get to the top.

Reno dropped the three of us off at 4200 meters (slightly higher than our summit from the previous day and told us to walk up the road to the refugio, a small house, where he would park the car and await us. Rachel had a little bit of a rough start but made it up. We grabbed our packs, a quick drag of water, mounted up with hats and gloves and stared our ascent. I find climbing up sand the hardest so for that first part I turned on my inner Lamaze voice and repeated "inhale...and...exhale..." Then came the fun part: scrambling on the rocks. We reached the false summit knowing it was too soon to be true. On our way we saw the crater caused from the ´92 eruption of the volcano. You could still smell the sulfur and see the volcano puffing out its smoldering smoke. We later reached the summit at 4780m and had lunch on top.

Our descent was our first crash lesson in walking down a mountain of sand. Once you get off your butt and get the hang of it, it´s actually a thrill. I think of it as a mix between skiing and snowboarding- but on sand. On the firmer ground you have to traverse back and forth but when it´s soft you take huge step, dig your heels in and wait until the friction stops you, then you take your next step until you´re practically running down the mountain. Down we went, dust flying everywhere, penetrating deep in between our toes and pores (later to also be found in my ears and scalp). On our return to Quito we stopped at Reno´s office to try on our mountaineering boots (feeling and looking quite similar to ski boots) which we will use on the glacier Cotopaxi, our final ascent. We returned to the hotel and stared to pack our things for the next 5 days. We went out to get Rachel a headlamp (an oversight in our mad dash to pack) and for a bite to eat.

Friday I thought I would finally get the chance to sleep in, however, I was awoken at 7 by the yelling or rather raised voices of my parents and sister arguing over who´s sleeping bag was who´s and who knows what else. My stomach started rumbling and it dawned on me that I had come home with a stomach ache that turned ugly at night. It wasn´t calming down so popped an Imodium- a perfect cure. I finished packing and layed back down avoiding the idea of putting any kind of breakfast in my stomach. Not feeling well, plus having a cold and getting a bloody nose that morning made me quite the grumpy bear. Nonetheless we packed up Reno´s Landcruiser at 10am (a more decent hour for "vacation") and headed off for the next 5 days- the last 2 determining if we would summit Cotopaxi. A few hours later we arrived at a guesthouse near the base of Iliniza. We had some lunch and headed off for an easy day. We wouldn´t be summiting just walking along the trail towards Iliniza. On our walk a momentary hail storm had dad pulling out his zip-on Gortex pants which he oh-so-suavely hopped around trying to balance on a hill to put them on. After all the struggling I had to tell him that he put them on backwards.

Upon our return from our hike the guesthouse had filled up with a group of 6 French climbers, one of whom was 6 months pregnant (somehow I don´t imagine summiting mountains at 5000m plus white 6 months pregnant, but more power to her!). I can´t even imagine. It´s like having a pack on your front and back. In these altitudes every pound that you take you´re going to feel. The other group was from a company that mixes tourism with development projects. They had several 20-22 year olds from the US, UK, Ireland and Scotland. There was a lot of time to sit around and chat by the fire as dinner took awhile. Nonetheless, I was huddled under 2 blankets fully dressed and fast asleep by 10 o´clock.

Saturday greeted us with an even earlier wake-up call at 4:15am. Still dark outside, I got undressed and dressed under the covers so as not to loose precious body heat. We ate breakfast, though the sun was still not up, at 5am. By 5:30 we were on the road although we had a slight road block, quite literally, the gate was chained and locked so we drove back to the guesthouse and got directions to take a different road. We would not be deterred. We had great weather all day. The sunlight of the sunrise illuminated both the Northern and Southern peaks. The South was covered in sheets of snow, while the Norther had icicles curving around its edges. We began at 4020m, told that we could reach the summit of Iliniza North in 5 hours (although many groups takes 7 hours to ascend). Behind us another mountain´s summit could be seen just above "la sopa" (a word used by Flora to describe the cloud "soup" in the Swiss Alps). It´s a funny feeling but at these summits you literally are in the clouds and can see them suspended, moving just in time to reveal the view or obscure it. We began our ascent, one foot in front of the other. At these altitudes you start slowly and try to keep a steady pace. The idea is to continuously walk without taking large pauses. The approach to the base of the mountain took a few hours and we reached the refugio with a most desperate need to catch our breath.

We climbed up the rest of the way using handholds, which were luckily plentiful as the volcanic rocks were sharp and irregularly shaped. We dug in the ball of our foot so as not to slip on the snow and wet dirt, which was wet from the melting icicles. We were lucky to have sunny, beautiful weather that allowed us to climb glove-free. From one side we saw the crater filled with a green lake, perfectly contrasted to the gray pebbles and black earth. Our hike reminded me slightly of Forest Gump when he runs across the US several times. We just kept traversing the mountain, climbing up one side, across it to the other and finally making one last scramble for the summit. The summit was well worth the work. Reno hugged us at the top. there was a cross and a rock large enough for Rachel and I to have a seat. Reno ties himself to the cross and takes a step back on a more distant rock as my father makes his way to the top. We didn´t stay long but it was long enough to taste the sweet glory of conquering. You see a mountain and look it up and down, assess it for all it´s difficult points and you decide it´s worth the sweat, effort and gasps for air. For me the views, clean air and thinking time make it worth-the-while. The ascent took a little under 5 hours, taking us to the highest point yet 5126m. It took 2 1/2 hours to descend with our perfected sandboarding techniques.

From Iliniza we took our packs from the guesthouse and went up to the hacienda that Reno designed and built mostly from recycled materials. The doors to the bathrooms are wood from the boxes that cars are imported in. The walls are insulated with locally grown grass. The food is organic or locally grown for the most part, other than the few Swiss/German touches. Reno has an impeccable amount of knowledge about his country´s politics and corruption along with his vision to bring sustainable eco-conscience tourism to life. He hires, when he can, people from the village to work for him or to set up their own micro businesses by giving horseback riding tours and so forth. We met his llama, Evo, and alpaca, Udo, got settled, took our first hot shower since leaving Quito (or shower for that matter), and settled down in front of the fire. Dinner was incredible- pumpkin soup with fresh cheese, veggie lasagna, organic salad, and a cooked maracuja in anis and cinnamon. I went to bad dressed in my "panties" (long-underwear en español) and poncho.

Let me start (or rather continue) by saying that practice does not necessarily prepare you for the actual challenge. Sunday was perhaps a false hope for our abilities on the beast of a glacier topped mountain that we would be mercifully tackling. It was a comparatively tranquil day with a wonderful 8am breakfast of yogurt, muesli (the lasting impact of Reno´s culinary tastes from his days in Switzerland), homemade blueberry jam from the backyard, fresh pressed juice and French press coffee. Later that morning we headed in to the National Park to face the mountain. After catching a view of the herd of wild horses as they ran by, we began winding up the gravel road that clung to the mountainside. It took an hour to climb the dirt path up to the refugio at 4800m considering that it was a weekend the small platform was full of Ecuadorians and tourists alike who had come for the view, some leaving lunch behind in the non-flushing outdoor toilets. We bypassed the madness and headed out another hour to the base of the glacier to dip in. It was here that we learned how to put on our gaiters and crampons (perhaps best described as a metal structure similar to cleats but with much larger metal teeth). Off we went in a duck chain zig-zagging up the icy mountain, turning out of feet in ballet second position to walk straight down, using just the 4 point on the balls of our feet to go up and learning to use our ice axe for support as we climbed.

We left the glacier feeling more prepared. It was in these "tests" of sorts that it was determined it might be best for Rachel not to attempt the big kahuna of an ascent. Reno told her it was a valiant and a mature decision that showed her character. The air was slightly tense as Reno made a comparison between Rachel and I. Tension was eased as the discussion took a more positive turn and they talked of having her go out on the horses. After another organic and gourmet dinner and conversation that lasted long after dessert, we returned to our rooms to read and fall asleep draped in ponchos.

Monday was the beginning of the Big Day. We were told to rest and I used the opportunity to make some headway into "One Hundred Years of Solitude" Dad and Rachel, meanwhile, took the alpaca, Udo, for a walk. Apparently they should have brought Evo (tha llama) because Udo was quite assaulted as to where he was being led. After whining and bucking his head back towards the hacienda he finally did a 180 degree jump to turn himself around and, in what Rachel described as part of his pompous nature, strut himself back home.

At lunchtime the other guide, Julio, arrived. We had just enough time to slip into our long-undies, snow pants and strap up our mountaineering boots, which after walking in them for hours make me wish there was a ski lift to take me up and some skis to strap on. We pile into the Landcruiser and kiss Rachel goodbye. We haul our sleeping bags and gear up to the refugio and claim a bunk bed with a barely-there mattress. We drink tea but at that altitude I lost my appetite. I decline the repulsive thought of trout soup and went upstairs. I attempted amid all the coming and going of people, the clunking of the boot against the wood floor and the chatter of people preparing for the climb ahead of us. Fully dressed in long underwear, snow pants, 2 pairs of wool socks, 2 jackets, a gaiter and hat I wiggled around to get warm in the freezing cold refugio. It was impossible to sleep so I settled for rest. I fought the urge to pee as the non-flushing outdoor bathrooms were not appealing, although I finally gave in, went and slept from about 9 ´til midnight when we were all awoken by our guides. We had some tea and an attempt at breakfast before we fastened our harnesses, lathered on sunscreen and set out fully covered except for our eyes. There were 4 or 5 groups of 2 or 3 people with a guide or two or none, all clearly with varying experience. We walked following our guide´s footsteps as we left the refugio at 1am with only our headlamps to light the way.

Upon arriving at our starting point, we strapped on our crampons, hooked in the rope to our carabeaners and set off. It was not exactly like our friendly practice where I was sweating so much I had to take off a jacket. It was cold and the gusting winds would knock you off balance if you didn´t put your foot down. We walked on for a few hours. It was our luck, at first, that we had a full moon and we were told the view from above would be beautiful and that even the Northern Lights could be seen. The weather changed and the winds blew more fiercely. I was working so hard climbing the steepest slope I´ve ever been on that I didn´t even realize it was snowing. Exacerbated I reached the point that dad and Reno were waiting at. We were told it was a storm and that we had to go down. Truth be told I don´t think I would have made it all the way to the summit. The point where we stopped was half-way, 600 meters from the summit and at 5400m. It was the highest I have ever climbed and a huge challenge for me. I guess that is something. As we went down we lost the path completely. The guides called back and forth their opinion on where to go. Dad was exacerbated and suggested waiting until daylight while I wanted to press on and not sit around only to freeze. My headlight was a dud and consequently I was depending on the light of the person in front and my guide behind. I fell into a small crevasse which scared the bloody hell out of me but it was only big enough for my foot to fall in.

To everyone´s amazement eventually we heard the rush of the river that was able to flow towards the bottom of the glacier (or to where global warming has caused it to retreat to today) and we found the path back towards the refugio. We were the first group to arrive around 7am: my dad and I, our guides and 2 young Ecuadorian mountain lovers. The rest followed suit and we all holed up to attempt to get a few more hours of shut-eye. I got none but didn´t want to leave the cocoon of warmth that I made for myself. Eventually my dad couldn´t stand it anymore and woke Reno was we eventually packed up our things and left bringing with us a Ukrainian girl who had come up to the refugio without acclimatizing and had gotten sick just from being in the refugio. We returned to the hacienda for a hot shower, warm soup, and to pack our thing to return to Quito. We said our gracias and farewells to Reno, who´s company and conversation I will truly miss. Mom came home an hour or so later and filled us in on all of her adventures- I think it is her traveling spirit that I have inherited from her, if little else in my looks and personality. Within a few days she found offices I couldn´t find in the guidebooks, went to local restaurants, has learned some new Spanish vocabulary, met and traveled with a family from Arizona, and taken local buses. On top of doing all of that she still had the energy to do the 3 of our laundry in the tub for that matter (I´m not sure this fancy hotel approves of our drying clothing all over their banisters). We went for dinner at this place that I picked out with Rachel- very chique and gorgeously decorated.

Tomorrow I will see 3 of the 4 kids who went to CISV village in Germany and Lolo to celebrate her birthday a day in advance. Hoping to catch a performance of the folkloric ballet at night. Plus we have to pack all of our things so that we can change hotels for the night and keep up at 4 am (not even the crack of dawn) to catch our flight on Thursday to the Galapagos. I will take impeccable notes and have a 6th edition some days after I return on Monday or Tuesday