The night before, in the dark, the Arrieros came by and invited the guides to come eat some asado by their fire which was built against the casa piedra. It was already late and I tried to decline. Juan came along side me and whispered, no, that invitation you cannot turn down without causing tension. It would be an insult to them. We have to go. Its 11pm I said. We have to wake up at 4:30am. We will just go for a bit he said.
We can’t just go over empty handed. How about this cheap bottle of champagne? I offered.
No they won’t drink that, they are simple men, they drink wine.
So I took over our last bottle of wine to be a good guest at the fire.
All the other men and women staff of the other guide services, all the arrieros sat around a fire and a grill. Young people, beautiful in the moment of that small fires light.
I thought about what one of the Mulas Locas said to me about the pastoral scene of the arrieros in a circle laughing and cooking and drinking wine. It was so perfect, that he would always remember how happy and simple the scene was and he would wish he was back here once it was all over. It would never leave him.
At 12:30am we left the fire and went to finalize our packing for the Mulas Locas cargo boxes.
The alarm rang for the guides at 4:30am. The guides only got a few hours of sleep. Stoves kicked on and breakfast was served at sunrise.
The Arriero, Molleja, a kind faced, middle aged man in a boina ferried everyone over the Rio Del Vacas on two mules. He sang songs and chatted with us loudly in spanish and some was understood and much was not over our short ride.
Mulas Locas entered the Valle de Relinchos and got its first views of the peak which they would try to climb in the coming weeks. There wasn’t much ado over it, a few took selfies and many were snapped in quick pictures on the windy pass but we had to push on, barely able to comprehend the immense first look of the mountain.
Soon the valley opened up and the view never changed of the great mountain for many hours and it felt, that the ragged footed band had not moved any distance despite walking forward for hours, as if the trek itself was a creative punishment meted out by a vengeful greek god.
On a stop the team spied a herd of Guancos grazing across the creek and with them were calves and the little golden critters ran and played with each other and were nuisances to their mothers.
Around a corner and all the green disappeared from view and the world was only peaks and snow and dirt and rocks before we all pulled into Plaza de Argentina. They enjoyed the charchuterie plates and toast and crackers and dips, and showers and dinner on plates and not in mess kits.
They all went to bed before last light.
-Don Nguyen
