Conderiri Trek and Climbing Huayna Potosi, near Tuni and La Paz, Bolivia



Our first camp under the Condoriri mountains



Our second ¨camp¨ under the massive South face of Huayna Potosi (it looks small in the picture)

After looking at the calendar and realizing how much more we want to do, Michael and I decided to leave the very next day after Death Road for a 3-day trek across the Conderiri, a beautiful area of the Andes that starts from Tuni, about 3.5 hours outside of La Paz, and ends about half an hour from La Paz. Having no idea how to organize mules to carry our stuff, find the right trials (there are NO maps in Bolivia!), or what food to eat along the way, we decided to have our first trek guided.

Our guide was Franz, a good-natured Bolivian who kindly tutored Michael in all Spanish climbing terminology. Michael may not yet know his colors, but he knows how to say ride, face, camp, ice screw, ice ax, picket, rope, and all sorts of other technical words. Over the course of our trek and later climb with Franz, we exchanged valuable phrases such as “Okie Dokie” and “this weather is shit.”

We left from Tuni, a mountain village of about 15 families who live in mud and brick houses near a lake looming beneath the Andes. Live seems to revolve around llamas and mules – I don´t think much has changed for these families in several hundred years, except the increase in tourists who come and pay to use their livestock for trekking.

Thank goodness for those mules! I couldn´t thank them enough for taking my huge backpack as I panted over the 5,000 meter pass (roughly 16,400 feet). The mule driver was a traditionally-dressed woman named Veronica, who covers these mountains regularly in slipper-like shoes, a huge skirt, and a brightly colored large cloth that wraps around whatever she needs to carry and is slung over her shoulder like a backpack. Side note: women all over Bolivia wear this and, while I love all the bright colors, I can never figure out what they carry in those huge clothes! It could be flowers, fruits, wood, a baby… the put the cloth over the top to protect the load (or child) from dust, sun, or rain, so only when some stray part (a little hand, or a flower stem) emerge from the cover can I guess the contents of those mysterious packs.

Veronica has clearly spent her life in these hills and looked anywhere from 35 to 45 years old. I think we were both shocked to discover that we´re, in fact, the same age. What completely different lives we have.

The trekking itself was phenomenal . We had drastic and powerful views of snow-capped peaks with the constant company of curious llamas. Our first night was spent in a refugio (a hut with basic cement walls and a roof), which was opened via the far-side window (that instilled a lot of confidence, but no one showed up to kick us out), and sat over a gorgeous glacial lake seemingly crowned by the circle of peaks around it.  The second night´s refugio was almost as outstanding… the location, not the building itself… but it´s so difficult to describe this beauty with words. I´ll just have to wait until we can post Michael´s pictures.

I was personally fascinated with the owner of the second refugio, an elderly lady (goodness knows I can´t guess how old!), who lives in those mountains with her llamas, setting them free to roam at dawn and herding them back at dusk in that long skirt and slippers, through rain, sleet, snow and sun. Her life story should be in National Geographic – but they´d have to find a local translater, because what she speaks is far from Spanish. It took me by surprise to hear so many clicks and swishes of her toungue, with her expectant face and smile looking up at me. I was so confused and had no idea what to say… so I smiled back and yelled for Franz. She shared some of her llama with us that evening, butchered by her hand that morning.

Three days and many photos later, we emerged near La Paz, but we weren´t ready to leave.  So we talked with Franz about a 3-day climb starting the next day. Our plan was to climb two of the peaks over the lake near our first refugio on the trek. So we left for Tuni again the next morning. Unfortunately, the clouds had come in and it rained and hailed the entire drive to Tuni. Perhaps we should have stopped sooner, but we kept thinking it would get better. It didn´t.

Just outside of Tuni, our taxi came across a river that it apparently expected to drive through. We were skeptical that this little Toyota, older than myself, would make it. The driver seemed so also, so we sat in the little car for a good while, watching the windows steam up and the freezing rain pelt the outside of the car. If we wanted to do this, we´d have to wade across that river with our stuff, making the next 4-hour walk extremely cold and uncomfortable (the temperature couldn´t have been above freezing). We would have no fire, no heat, and really no chance to warm up for the next three days until we got back to La Paz. Michael could have gone forward, but, at that moment, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and curl up in a down comfortable with my kindle. So my chivalrous husband told Franz we wanted to change our plans and turn around.

Of course, we´d already paid for a three-day trek, had everything ready, and we would never see that money again. So instead of finding that hot shower, we switched mountains in the hope that the weather would clear by the time we wanted to summit. We set our sights on Huayna Potosi, a prominent mountain close to La Paz, towering above the city at 19,974 feet – just shy of the 20,000 ft mark.

We stayed just off the road in some government hydro-electric plant building (how does our guide know these people?), and hiked up to base camp (Campo Rocka, or Rock Camp) the next day, just above the snow line and beneath the glacier we would ascend. Rock Camp was one of the better refugios, with actual bunk beds, somewhat comfortable cushions, and a wobbly table – more furnishings than we´d seen in a refugio yet. The day passed unremarkably, resting in dense clouds and occasional rain before our summit attempt the next morning, hoping the skies might clear.

Our prayers were answered and sometime before our 1 am wake up call, the stars emerged. There was a very slight moon, making the early morning sky feel so close that we could touch the stars. The sky was big and dark, with a beautifully pronounced milky way and shooting stars. It was truly magical.

We summitted just after a gorgeous sunrise, around 7 am. Michael´s body was coping a bit better than mine with the altitude. I was dragging by the time we hit the final ridge, taking at least two breathes per step, fighting waves of nausea and some vertigo. But we took it slow and, step by step, we both made it to the summit in relatively good spirits.

Being at that altitude and feeling its effects has given me a new appreciation for those people crazy (and rich) enough to climb Everest, another 10,000 feet or so above where we stood for a few moments. At one point, Michael got a bloody nose, perhaps induced by being freezing outside and then drinking hot tea. It was epic. I couldn´t stand to see so much blood… and it lasted for about 5 hours. I was about sure something had erupted in his brain and we were bound to be helicoptered out, but Michael insisted that there simply wasn´t enough oxygen for his blood to clot quickly. Of course, he was right, and it eventually subsided.

Our descent was quick, easy and extremely bright. My 70 SPF sunscreen, hat and sunglasses couldn´t compete with being that close to the sun and, yet again, I got sunburned. My nose may never be the same after this trip.

By the time we got to Rock Camp, the clouds were moving in again. We may have hit the only time within 7 to 10 days that we could´ve summitted the mountain with a view. We headed back to La Paz and found my long-awaited hot shower.