The Choro Hike

So whilst in La Paz I decided, despite the vomit session, that I would sign up to do the three day Choro hike in the Ande mountains. Evil Jess, Fenna, and two new amigos, Dan and Holly would be in my group. I figured it was time I got off my lazy holidaying ass and did a bit of exercise, what with Maschu Pischu looming. From the sound of things it would also be a nice easy introduction into the hiking world, the tour operator promised 3hrs downhill the first day, 7 the next, mostly down, and 4hrs downhill the last. But I soon realised that tour operators lie.

The trek started 4900m asl high in the mountain, so high that literally nothing could grow. Not a weed or an ant could be seen. It was also damn cold, we were starting our hike literally in the clouds. Our guide was Angelo, a lovely Bolivian guy who had worked as a computer programmer before realising that life at a desk was not for him and he returned to study tourism. He does the hike twice a week, meaning, he gets one day off a week, and trust me, its a hard job. He was also joined by two helpers who carried the tents and food.

The first day was actualy 7hours, steeply downhill. The trek is an old Inca trail, which basically means it consists of randomly placed rocks which form a dangerously slippy path. That day I also realised just how hard down hill is, by the end of the day I could hardly walk! Our first day was also a wet one which made it particularly tricky. Despite all the pain and difficulty, it was remarkably beautiful, by the end of the day we´d reached 2800, and the jungle base. We´d gradually witnessed moss and small plants appearing, until we were suddenly in the thick of trees and bushes.

The 2nd day was 9 hours up and down. I had considered myself to be reasonably fit, but prehaps a month and a half of procrastination had taken its toll. At points I thought I would die. I also never considered myself to be afraid of heights, but there is something unnerving about walking alone a cliff edge with woobly legs. I had resorted to a trusty walking stick half way through the day. I also foolishly asked Angelo what happens if someone has an accident on the trek. Theres no roads along the way and very few inhabitance. He let me know that a donkey can be called to collect the person for the bargain price of 500 Bolivianos (50euro). Eek...

What was also very interesting was the homes we passed along the way. Very simple and basic, made of wood and straw, the people usually kept animals and small farms. Some had water, some had electricity. We usually camped at some house for the night. The 2nd night we camped with a family that had an unestimated amount of children. We heard a baby crying and were told he was sick. I can´t imagine how they managed a sick baby in the thick of the jungle and mountains... It certainly made you realise how sheltered western children are. The following morning Dan found the cheeky cracker stealing boy eating a battery. Paniced, he tried to get him to spit it out, but the child just grinned. He went to Angelo, ´Angelo, he´s got a battery in his mouth!´. Angelo told the boy to open his mouth, he looked in, then turned to Dan and in a congradulative tone replied ´Yes, its a battery!´

That night I´d collapsed to bed exausted, dreaming of mosquitos and falling off cliffs, only to be woken at 3am to a surrounding storm and a tent full of water. We did our best to stop the water from spreading, but it was a tiring wet night all round.

The last day came and we hobbled our way through the remaining jungle. We came to the Japanese Gardens, where an old Japanese man came in the 70´s to set up his garden and live as a hermit. About 5 years ago he retired from his hermit existence and set up an ecolodge and opened his Japanese Garden to those that wonder by. He was a hunched enthusiastic old man who asked where were from, then would disappear into his house and return with a bunch of postcards from your country. We got his address and promised to send him more when we returned to our homes.

We finally reached our end point, a small town with a road out of the mountains. We celebrated by going for a swim in the river we´d been following on and off for the last 3 days.

The drive back to La Paz was possibly the scarest occasion of my trip so far. I don´t know if I´ve previously mentioned it, but they drive like maniacs here. Driving in the clouds, around the bends of a cliff, and our driver thinks its a good idea to start over taking!! I have a new respect for Irish drivers.

It was then back to La Paz, it took 3 days for my legs to fully work again, but it was most definately worth every minute.