Camino Del Puma - Part 3

Click here for part 1 and part 2!

a guest post by Derek Schad and Andie Capace

Day 8: Chucuito to Juli: We ride flat pavement all the way to Juli. We find that our AirBnb does not exist. We find refuge at Hostal Roma. We check in and head back out for lunch. We are about to walk into a spot just off the square when we are stopped by a Peruvian family visiting from Arequipa. They recommend another place just down the road. We of course take the locals' advice. We sit in plastic chairs at a plastic table while a man and his nephew throw meat onto the wood-fired grill. The nephew’s little sister shyly stares at us from under her wide-brimmed hat. Their mother prepares the potatoes and corn. We agree that this is the best meal we’ve had so far. We glug our beers and we are happy. That night I wake up to Derek shaking feverishly beside me. His teeth are chattering from chills. His skin is so hot. 

Day 9: Juli: Derek has food poisoning. He can barely move. He rotates doses of ibuprofen and acetaminophen. I convince him that maybe a little sun will make him feel better – it doesn’t. We start the TV show ‘House’ from episode one. 

Day 10: Juli: We complete the entire first season of ‘House’. Derek’s fever and chills are still raging and he can still barely move. 

Day 11: Juli: We are well into the second season of ‘House’. Derek tries to convince me that he is well enough to bike – it doesn’t work. He has not been able to leave bed or eat anything these past couple of days. Today he eats some bread and crackers. In the evening we sit on the roof of the hostel and decide that we need to push on. To compensate for this setback, we will have to forgo the Bolivian portion of the route. But it’s okay – Peru is giving us everything we came here for and then some. 

Day 12: Juli to Totoroma: Derek is still shitting himself – fever subtle – but finally feels like he is well enough to continue on our journey. From Juli we cut south across a smooth paved highway that brings us all the way to where we find camp in Totoroma. A small hill in the countryside that we share with sheep and alpaca. It is peaceful and quiet and calm here. The sun is just starting its descent. A motorbike drives by and the little boy on the back jumps off. He is on his way back from school. His name is Nic. If Nic wasn’t 8 years old I’d have thought he was the mayor of this town. He walks straight up to us and greets us directly, shaking our hands. Then the questions: “Where do you come from? Where are you going? How old are you? Is your bike for sale? What do you eat? How do you cook your food? How do these work? (clipless pedals) What is this? (a helmet) And this? (a tent) And this? *pulling up Derek’s shorts* (a tattoo). His little sister, Erica, seemingly appears out of nowhere. For as forward and direct as Nic is, Erica is as coy and sweet. The Q & A continues. It only pauses for a moment when a big dog runs toward us and Nic and Erica stop to yell and throw rocks at it. They are protecting their new friends. They help us pitch our tent and make a fire. A white van rolls up and their entire extended family pours out of it. They shake our hands and ask us all the questions and Nic and Erica answer for us. They are engaging and helpful. We go to bed exhausted, hearts warmed. 

Day 13: Totoroma to Campanani: Derek feels very ill. Spirits are low. My newly-developed fear of dogs is real and they are everywhere. I tell Derek I want to take a bus back to Arequipa. Derek says that is impossible. I know this already. And I know regret always outweighs fear. The regret I would feel for not completing this thing would far surpass the fear I feel towards getting attacked by wild dogs. We meet a woman along the way who insists we come to her house to see her cat and the remnants of an ancient Incan mill that sits on her property. We say goodbye and cross a river where we fill up on water, drink coffee, eat snickers and talk about fear and life. We climb into remoteness and pass an old church that makes us wonder. We continue climbing and just as we begin our descent a man rolls up on his motorbike. He says it is very dangerous territory and to be careful moving forward. He makes a gun sign with one of his hands and says, “Bam! Bam!”. Fuuuck, I think. Well, there’s only one way out of this place. And that’s through. It is a beautiful day. We make it down and out and over the canyon without any trouble. We eventually start riding along a small river and find a sweet place to camp nestled into a hill. A man walks up with his dog. He talks so fast and in a language I do not recognize as spanish. Until he points up the hill and says: “Hay puma.” Well, we came this far. What will be will be. He continues down the dirt path to his grandmother’s house. He returns hours later, in the dark of the night, with offerings of candy and eggs. 

Day 14: Campanani to Challapalca: We start the morning by climbing over another 15k’ pass. Food is scarce. We stop in a sad town and make sad grated-sardine sandwiches on stale bread. For as hungry as we are, cracking open a can of what looks like gray putty almost makes us lose our appetite completely. Even the stray dogs won’t eat the bits that fall on the ground. Derek struggles, physically, as what little nutrition we are able to consume he is unable to metabolize. Despite this, his mental fortitude shines. We find camp in a volcano-ringed desert basin at the foot of Mount Titiri at about 14k’. Derek collapses into bed.