alex chiang: web 6.0

Trekking.

The word sounds so romantic, evoking images of intrepid backcountry explorers wandering through remote pristine virgin wildernesses taking in beautiful vistas and generally having a good time.

This is, in fact, quite possible — if you hire a guide who loads 500 kilos of equipment onto 50 burros and his (underpaid) employees rush along the trail to set up your camp and cook your dinner hours before you arrive, leaving you to amble about at a leisurely pace and basically just show up and have everything taken care of.

Then, you get things like freshly killed chicken for dinner cooked on a propane tank (yes — just like the one in your backyard grill), while sitting in actual chairs at an actual table while drinking tea (with extended pinky finger, of course).

If that is the case, then trekking is EASY and FUN.

Needless to say, Cara and I did not enjoy such luxuries on our trek, as we had 0 guides and 0 burros and 0 employees to carry our stuff. So we brought along what we could fit into our backpacks for a 4 day exercise in altitude, slogging, and malnutrition.

The circuit we chose is named the Llanganuco to Santa Cruz trail, and is described as an “easy beginner’s route”. Ha! Let me repeat: ha!

Whoever wrote that description must have had the first style of trekking in mind. Carrying 40 lb. packs at 4000m is NOT an easy endeavor. Especially while eating only 800 calories a day.

We managed to make a slight error in food management, in that we brought enough for two meals per person per day. Normally, that would be enough food for us, but those meals were mostly freeze-dried things that didn’t have nearly enough calories to sustain four concecutive 8 hour days of hiking.

By the last day, while looking enviously at the guided trekkers with 4 course spreads, I was ready to start begging or trading for food. The ramen noodles and soup mixes we brought along were pathetic in comparison.

Another interesting thing to note is that high altitude really sucks. We camped at 4400m on our second night, and woke up to miserably persistent headaches and nausea. The type of headache was on par with the worst wine or whiskey hangover you’ve ever had, with none of the fun the previous night. The racing pulse and general feeling of malaise basically make you wish that you were dead, so that your body doesn’t hurt anymore.

But aside from all that, the trek was somewhat enjoyable. The views were actually worth it, surprisingly enough, and on our last night of camping, we were treated to a view of Alpamayo (once described as the most beautiful mountain in the world) as it was lit up eerily by the moon all night long.

Next time, though, I’m getting a burro.

Greetings!

It seems to me that one will never talk about defecation so often or as frankly as when one is traveling in a foreign country that is not the United States.

Much like the Eskimos and snow, Cara and I have many words and descriptions about the color, consistency, and frequency of our bowel movements. I suspect we could provide much material for Ph.D theses in linguistics for years to come.

We’ll think nothing of launching into detailed (much too detailed) descriptions of our poop any time, any place. Thank the gods that the locals don’t understand English, as we’d likely get kicked out of many eateries on the grounds of being unsophisticated savages.

An interesting note: toilet paper is at a premium here. Thus, a roll of TP is as essential as your passport, and you’d no sooner think of leaving the hostel without it than you would neglect to bring a wallet, or pants. Also, as the water is not exactly of the finest quality, we have with us two small bottles of handwash. I dread the day when they are no more.

But enough of that talk. My last two days were spent rather miserably, as I tried to convince my body that the altitude isn’t as bad as it makes me feel. And of course, along with the fever and headaches, was our favorite friend, runny stools.

By the way — I hope that you’re not eating a meal whilst reading this email. Apologies for the belated disclaimer.

Things are on the up and up, though. Tomorrow, we leave for a 4 day trek on a route called the Llanganuco-Santa Cruz trail. It has quite the stellar reputation, and I’m looking forward to it, although my bowels have their doubts.

That’s it for now. I’ve got to run (or alternatively, I’ve got the runs).

Hola todos,

Well, we made it safe and sound to Peru. Spent the first few days in Lima. Some parts of the city are horrendously dirty, others are quite lovely. Miraflores is the clean upscale section, and it’s where Cara and I stayed for two nights.

Our first minor adventure occurred there. After playing touristas in the city for a few hours, we returned to the hostel to find an elderly Korean woman crying. The employees came running up to me asking if I could talk to her. I guess they figured since we both had epicanthic folds, we’d have an easier time communicating.

The lady’s daughter was 4 hours missing and she wanted to call the police. At one point, there were eight people trying to calm her down. To make a long story short, the daughter sauntered in after we had endured the mother’s hysterics for over an hour, whereupon she got the international scolding of “Why didn’t you call?”

Yesterday, we took an infinitely long bus ride, and are now in the mountain town of Huaraz (3097m). It’s beautiful here, with views of the Cordillera Blanca right in your face. The altitude hasn’t caused too many problems; only a slightly effervescent always omnipresent headache, which I suspect will disappear soon.

A few more days of acclimatizing and we’ll attempt a trek through the mountain range. I have yet to try the Andean speciality of guinea pig, but that is high on my list of things to try.

I’m wishing that I retained more from my high school Spanish classes. We’re managing, but only so. The locals must think it very strange, in that we can only communicate in a single tense: the present. Vague memories of the preterite and present perfect haunt the halls of my mind, and the subjunctive is just a wild dream at this point.

Wishing for a babelfish,

/Alex

Hello there!

For one reason or another, I’ve gotten ahold of your email address and decided that you want to hear from me this summer. Perhaps you’re an old high school buddy or college drinking pal. Maybe you’re a climbing partner or a member of my family. Or maybe you’re just plain lucky.

But don’t panic, for no matter what category (or categories) you may fall into, rest assured that you’ll be given equal treatment as anyone else:

Impersonal and Generic

Just imagine! The first step towards a truly egalitarian world society is occurring in your inbox RIGHT NOW!

For you, gentle reader, have earned an illustrious spot on my world famous BCC list. Yow!

I’m hoping to keep y’all updated on my travels in Peru this summer, due to my delusion that some of you out there may actually care about my whereabouts.

Incidentally, if you don’t hear from me by August 5th, there is a very good likelyhood that I am, in fact, dead. In that event, I’m sure that my family will want some of my possessions and so they get first dibs, but the rest may be freely distributed amongst yourselves, auction style. Items go to the highest bidder, and the proceeds shall be split amongst the Access Fund and the Electronic Frontier Foundation (www.eff.org). You may contact my mother Grace, at gcchiang@aol.com for more information.

The extent to which I am joking is left as an exercise to the reader (but I really am serious about the Access Fund and EFF!).

Anyhow, I am about to embark on a magical and mystical tour to a distant and strange land — JFK International Airport.

Cheers!

/Alex