Let's Talk About La Campana

First heres a picture. 

Second, they call that Cerro La Campana. For those of you who don’t know, “cerro” is Spanish for “hill”. Does that look like a hill to you?!

(enter your “awh hell naw!” here)

Ok good, I didn’t think so either.

            Everyone and their brother (meaning a bunch of kids from my study abroad program) have hiked this bad mamma jamma. So I have been waiting and waiting for my chance to conquer the hill. And so the chance was born.

            Our Chilean friend Kenneth (who actually looks german) decided to skip his Friday class and accompany us ladies to the hike of death (for his 4^th time or something crazy like that). He drove, we spoke Spanish in the car, the drive up north was beautiful, life was great. Then we started walking. Excuse me but when the heck did walking get so hard?!! I was struggling big time. After about 10 minutes of labored walking I reached that point of no return: if I started sweating now it was NEVER going to stop. So we stopped to take off our outer layers. It was at this point that Kenneth spots my water bottle. This is not your ordinary water bottle, people. This bad boy is a liter and a half. And HEAVY. He cocks his head to the side and says, “hay un fuente a la mina” (there’s a fountain at the mine). At this point all Spanish has flown out the window:  A FREAKING FOUNTAIN?! WHY THE HECK HAVE I BEEN CARRYING THIS THING?! Kenneth, knowing quite a bit of English, laughs at me and advises me to leave the water behind. So Erin and I (she also came overly prepared) end up setting our huge bottles in a bush on the side of the way.

I imagine that delight of having a post-birth, baby free belly is about the equivalent of the relief I felt when I lost that store bought water that caused me so much pain. (But lets be real for the record, I would have rather lugged that whole water bottle around Chile than have a kid right now.)

Now baby bottle free, we hiked and hiked, attempting to speak in Spanish but ultimately failing in the end. Although putting one foot in front of the other appears to be a simple enough task it is not. When you can feel the burn of buns and thighs being sculpted into pure stone every ounce of your brain power is needed to lift a foot, push it forward, and put it back down again, all while breathing, keeping balance, and trying to remember the last time you applied sun screen. If ever the Olympics gets a little creative and creates "the fall games” I would officially suggest the port of Speaking Spanish as a Second Language While Hiking.

The rules are as follows:

1.     A native Chilean Spanish speaking guide will lead you in your hiking adventure.

2.     He/she will initiate a conversation with the hiker.

3.     The hiker must continue conversation.  

4.     Every time the hiker makes a grammatical mistake they have to repeat the "Tres tristes tigres…" tongue twister

5.     Every time there is a pause of longer than 5 seconds on the hiker’s end of conversation the hiker must do 5 calf raisers on the nearest rock

6.     The hiker is disqualified if he/she cries

7.     At the end of the hike the points will be tallied like they are in golf. The hiker with the mostest wins

8.     No one is going to even make it to this point at some point each hiker will be curled up in a ball crying out of sheer frustration at the loss of Spanish abilities while hiking

**There is no gold metal awarded. Only a 1.5 liter bottle of Nestle Pure Life Water will be received as a permanent reminder of a fruitless struggle.

Now where were we…

Ok so we make it to the mine/water fill up station. We are not alone. There is a group of Chileans. And 2 frisky cows. Let's be perfectly frank. These cows did NOT belong there. And as cute as it was to watch a cow wrestle with thin air, it was not fun to see that thing turn and run in your direction. It turns out that no, the cow was not gunning for me because it could smell my fear, it wanted water. Had I know that he wanted water I would have saved my bottle and thrown it at him while he was a safe distance away. Let me also point out here that I’m not afraid of domesticated animals. Horses, llamas, gold fish, all fine with me. But cows? Lets get real. Those things have horns. And I have a face and belly that I would prefer stay un-trampled.

 So to further avoid catastrophe my friend Jenna and I decided it was time to use the facilities. And by facilities I mean the nearest un populated area with good tree cover. Long story short, after a very detailed and visually demonstrated lesson about how to successfully pee in the wilderness I am holding Jenna’s pants because she just can’t do it. I in the mean time am so thankful that I have already successfully taken my own advice because I was laughing so hard that I would have gone right then and there in my own britches.

And from there on out things are pretty standard. There’s a lot more hiking, and more hiking, and climbing some rocks, and hikking, and picture taking, and finally the “summit”. It’s a beautiful view despite the fact that there are clouds below us, blocking parts of the view. But nevertheless, the view was breathtaking and although I already knew it would be, I told myself that it was worth the hike. We munched some food, took more pictures, shot a baby video for a short documentary we would like to call “Kinientos Dias de Mochilla” (500 Days of Backpack). And thus the honeymoon phase of this adventure comes to a close.

The hiking back down part was downright dreadful. I don’t know if both of my knees have hurt so badly simultaneously in my whole life. Before this day I also don’t know that I’ve ever had the thought that jumping off of a mountain would be less painful than the thought of finishing a hike. Now I do. So one awful bad mood, 3 hours, and an attempted Spanish conversation about rugby and pole-vaulting later we made it to that special point in the trail. The place where we abandoned our water babies. But low and behold there they are, just waiting for us to reclaim them, weighing the same ridiculous weight as before, just mocks us. And here to me left the bottle remains. After our experience together I’m not sure if I have the heart to open her. Perhaps I will bring her on my next trip: the Atacama Desert. I’m feeling a new tv series coming on: (sing to the tune of the Carmen San Diego theme) “Where in the World is Kait’s Bottle of Water?”  

                                          (Post-hike...my face says it all)

En Fin.

***I hereby dedicate this blog post to Charlie Harrisberger, my darling ISA director in Texas, who for the last few weeks has less than subtly requested a new blog post.                                        This one’s for you kiddo. ***