I couldn’t believe my own body.
On the third day of the trek I woke up feeling warm and cosy. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was… and when the memories of the day before hit me, I feared the moment I would have to make my legs work. The pain of the night before, going up those stairs at the camp, was fresh in my mind. And yet, as I slowly pulled myself out of the bed, putting my feet on the floor, and rising from the solid mattress, my body had no complaints.
I walked slowly to the bathroom. No pain. I squatted, bent my legs. Did I feel some residual soreness? Perhaps. Other than that, it seemed like I was ready for another day of walking.
And while I was somehow impressed with my muscles and their endurance, I also couldn’t believe our luck with the weather. And it seemed that Julio, our guide, couldn’t either.
Just the week before, strong rainfall had caused landslides, and hikers such as ourselves had to take alternative routes. It is true that the dry season was just starting, but it’s also true that weather in the mountains, especially in the Andes, can be truly dramatic, often surprising hikers by changing from sunshine one minute to thunder and rain the next.
In fact, just the night before, the skies had been cloudy. I thought we would wake up to a rainy day. I had been carrying my raincover in my daypack just in case. And even as we were starting the day with what seemed like yet another day of sun, Julio reminded us to keep these in our bags.
The landscape was dramatically different now. At much lower altitudes, the weather was warmer and more humid, the vegetation luxuriant and dense. The third day is often considered a break day. The greenery softened the walk, and the soft, muddy ground cushioned the soles of our feet. We passed through passion fruit plantations, and the almost constant sound of water was an indication of how much life there was at a lower altitude. Waterfalls were a constant refreshing presence. I’m always astounded by the deafening noise of an immense body of water falling from a great altitude.
Precisely when the Andes were about to show off how powerful the tears of the sky can be, we got lucky. Our guide Julio had managed to secure a van to take us to the experience of the day – we would be making our own coffee. I didn’t even have to take my rain coat out of the bag. The rain started the moment we got inside the van. From there, it was a short run to one of the sheltered porches of Cafe Canela. And Pachamama was being very good to us – because it was in that moment that the heavens opened, as if the many waterfalls we had been spotting that morning had come together to rain on us. And there we were – under safe roof.
Coffee is my favourite beverage. I started drinking it at a very young age. In Portugal, when we talk about coffee, we talk about espresso – rich, with a balanced bitterness, strong. That was always my favourite way of drinking it, and to be fair that’s how most people in Portugal do. It’s a ritual – one in the morning, another one mid morning, after lunch and even after dinner. Caffeine does not impact my sleep anymore, and in fact my body is so dependent on it that if I do not take coffee first thing in the morning, I know I’ll have a headache by lunchtime. And due to this dependency, I have tried coffee in every single country I have visited, and of course South America, being one of the places where coffee comes from, is king. I loved drinking coffee there – but I adored the process of actually roasting it even more.
I had never seen unroasted beans. I had no idea they would look like peanuts, one of my favourite snacks. In my infantile little brain, I imagined the beans were already dark inside the plant… but I supposed I had never truly thought about it, perhaps because I’ve always seen the finished product, without questioning it, ever – which is very unlike me, in fact!
It reminded me of when I thought cod didn’t have a head. In Portugal, traditionally cod is sold salted. You walk in the supermarket and see them cut open in the middle, completely dried and flat without a head. So as a child I thought that was what the fish looked like – headless, just the body, flat. Nobody told me “by the way cod has a head”, the same way no one had ever said, “This is what coffee actually looks like before it’s roasted.” Of course it makes total sense. Why did I think otherwise? It just shows how much your knowledge of the world is limited by your experiences and the environment that surrounds us. Which is just another reason why I travel.
We all took part in the roasting process, stirring the beans in a large pan over a simple stove, with a wooden spoon. It was important we kept stirring, no pauses, no breaks, to ensure the beans were roasted evenly and did not burn. Soon enough the smell of rain was replaced by the warmth of coffee aroma. Once the beans were evenly roasted, it was time to grind them – once again, a very manual process, with a manual grinder. My poor arms did not have much strength, but we all helped. Finally, we were rewarded with the delicious drink, the fruit of our communal efforts – I almost want to say we did it from start to finish, but we skipped the harvesting, and something tells me that is indeed the hardest part.
I bought some beans there and I’m still drinking coffee at home from that little place. The beans are almost gone, but how incredible is it to make a trip last beyond memory through the little souvenirs you bring home?
Our accommodation for the night would be in the actual jungle, at Lucmabamba. Once again I was impressed by the luxurious conditions – I had my own little hut, with my own bathroom. The rain had stopped whilst we were savouring our coffee, and while the weather continued to be humid as it always is in a tropical forest, the raincoat stayed in my daypack, unused.
That afternoon we had two options – we could rest at the camp, or we could go to Cocalmayo Hot Springs, near Santa Teresa. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to go to the hot springs. I deserved it after so much walking, and I do believe in the healing properties of water. Most of us in the group decided to go. After pushing myself so hard for the past 3 days, I could hear my body thanking me as my sore muscles relaxed in the warm waters.
When we arrived back at camp it was already dark. As I walked to my little hut listening to the murmur of different insects and creatures, I tried not to think about my biggest fear – spiders. The fact that I survived four months in Southeast Asia a few years back with only one big spider scare is a miracle in itself. So before I finally had a shower, I checked every single corner of the hut.I can be brave – I travel extensively on my own – but a spider indoors turns me into a completely different person
Day 3, the “rest day” or “break day” was officially over. Day four was another hard one… but of such tales I will write in my next post.
Love, Nic
The Winged Bone 