UCL Quimsa-Cruz Expedition 2004

The trip is really split into three parts:

1. Preparing for climbing. A week or so in La Paz organising and acclimatising.
2. Climbing. Three weeks on our own in the mountains.
3. Recovering from climbing. Two weeks travelling around Bolivia, enjoying the simple comforts of beds and showers.

We were a six strong climbing outfit funded by our university (University College London) in Bolivia, with the intention of making some first-British-ascents in the Quimsa-Cruz mountain range.

The highlights from the preparation stage were definitely the day spent downhill mountain biking (see Going Down’s Never Been Better) and the acclimatisation trip to the Zongo Valley (Acclimatising to Acclimatisation) although the whole experience was brilliant.

We were based in the Hotel Rosario (see review) and spent our days running errands to prepare ourselves for the climbing. Many of these revolved around food, buying rice, pasta and noodles; biscuits, chocolates and fudge; frankfurters, spam and tuna; eggs and flour; tea and "Toddy"; fruit and veg. We had about 8 large sacks filled by the end of it and I personally had a thoroughly entertaining time using my newfound Spanish skills (I’d just done a beginner’s course) to get our orders across. Particularly memorable uses of my Spanish involved trying to describe a funnel, attempting to buy gas canisters (see Acclimatising to Acclimatision – Part I) and being told that a toilet wasn’t working due to "ice-cream" (or at least that’s what I thought she said).

A popular excursion from La Paz is to cycle down The World’s Most Dangerous Road. For about we spent a day doing some incredibly exciting downhill mountain biking, reaching some impressive speeds, seeing some amazing views and generally having a great time. I’d thoroughly recommend it. Even if you’re not into biking, it’s still great fun – I cycle but only to work and back, but this was awesome.

Half a vertical mile took us up to the Zongo Valley for the sake of acclimatisation. It was disastrous for the half the team who suffered from altitude sickness but absolutely fine for me since I was on drugs! Again, the trip treated us to some inspiring views, this time of Huayna Potosi (a 6000 metre peak we climbed after the expedition) and back over the city of La Paz.

Quick Tips:

Work the streets.

So much of the fun that I had in La Paz was simply from wandering around town, shopping in the markets, trying to make orders at the street-side stalls and generally feeling the vibe of the city.

The place is so cheap that you can afford to eat out all the time and try new places. The stalls that line the streets sell pretty much everything you need (and a whole lot of stuff you don't e.g. dried lama foetuses) and you know everything is affordable. And, unlike many other places I've been, I don't recall having any trouble with people trying to overcharge me because I was a tourist.

Also, as every guidebook will tell, brace yourself for the altitude, especially if you're flying in straight from sea level. It's pretty high up and you'll be lucky to get away without any symptoms. So just take it easy on those steep streets.

Best Way To Get Around:

Obviously the best way to experience the city is on foot but if you're just trying to get from A to B then there are two main options:

Firstly, you can just get in a taxi. As ever, arrange a price in advance, but you should find that you can get all the way across town without spending very much money at all.

The second method looked far more exciting but I'm sorry to say I never tried it. There are these little minibuses that drive around the streets with someone leaning out the window shouting out incomprehensible destinations. If you happen to recognise something they say or just fancy a joy-ride then hop in and they'll take you wherever they're going for a ridiculously small fee.

Probably my favourite hotel in the world.

We stayed there for about a week before going off into the mountains and then on a couple of occasions after getting back.

It's more luxurious than what I would usually choose when travelling, but this wasn't a normal trip. And given that it's in South America, it was not exactly expensive (~US$30 a night).

I saw half a dozen or so different rooms during our stay there, and all were of the same high standard (although I'd particularly recommended the large room(s) on the top floor, which offer an impressive view over the city and mountains beyond). The rooms are all cozy, the bathrooms clean, and the showers hot. There's plenty of room for storage (and they'll keep bags downstairs if you ask - we left stuff with them for three weeks whilst we went away). The decor's pretty cool too, as it is throughout the whole hotel.

Included in the bargain price is the best breakfast buffet in town at the hotel's restaurant. Andean muesli with yoghurt, all the pancakes you can eat, fresh fruit, cereals and plenty of tea and coffee. Definitely worth getting out of bed for (plenty of non-guests come in to pay for it, and I would recommend you do the same if you don't decide to stay here!). The restaurant does good food in the evenings, as well; it's one of the better restaurants that we visited and a good, easy option if you don't feel like venturing out.

There is a pleasant reception area on the ground floor when you can help yourself to Bolivian popcorn and coca-tea (or whichever of the many tea bags take your fancy), use the Internet, and browse some books.

The staff are all incredibly helpful; they catered to our unique needs on several occasions (e.g. booking taxis, giving local advice, organising our six-man team's ever-changing sleeping arrangements and storing 20-odd huge sacks full of climbing gear and food when we weren't even staying there).

There is an Internet-ready computer down in reception and three more up in the cafe that opens in the evenings (all free).

So, for about $30 a night, you get a great, cozy hotel, friendly staff, an impressive breakfast, and Internet access, all in a good location.

I would strongly recommend this hotel to anyone paying a visit to La Paz.

www.hotelrosario.com

We felt somewhat extravagant (and a little bit boastful) about the fact that we were staying in the most expensive hotel in town, but given that it was less than US$30 a night, we didn't think about it for too long.

Situated near the waterfront, Copacabana's Hotel Rosario is definitely worth a visit if you're not on a tight budget (there are hostels starting at around US$3 a night if you are).

It is a very well-kept place with extra-polite staff. The rooms were very clean during our stay, though not all that big.

The restaurant inside is excellent and served up the best fish I think I have ever had the pleasure of eating. It only had to travel about 100m to come fresh from Lake Titicaca, and you could certainly taste the difference. I would strongly recommend an evening meal here, even if you don't stay the night. The breakfast buffet is great, too, with a huge array of fresh fruits, and you can watch the waiter fry up an omelette to your specification.

It is the sister hotel of the Hotel Rosario in La Paz (also reviewed). It will never hold quite such a special place for me as the La Paz version, but the del Lago is certainly a little more upmarket.

Overall, the hotel has everything you want and some nice food to boot. There are other cheaper hotels around, some of which are probably just as nice, but this one is pretty sound and, by Western standards, pretty inexpensive.

Today we are going to cycle down the most dangerous road in the world.

We have detailed directions to lead us from our hotel (Hotel Rosario, see review) to the Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking HQ (so-called because our trip we see us taking a continual descent of some 3,000m). Our map says that we’ve arrived, and so does the minibus, the roof rack of which houses 30 identical mountain bikes in a row.

Olly, the man in charge, comes to greet us. He has a very loud cycling top covered in bike-related sponsors and is sporting a messy, bleach-blond haircut. To say he fits the bill of an extreme sportsman is an understatement. His image only slightly undermined by cranking up some David Gray on the car stereo.

There are a number of different companies offering similar excursions in La Paz, but we went with Gravity following a guidebook recommendation.

“I can’t say much about our competition for legal reasons and all that,” Olly informs us, “but they’re all really crap and shit.”

There’s a dozen or so other gluttons for punishment who have signed up for a day’s biking, and we all pile into the minibus.

“When we get there,” Olly announces over his shoulder from the front of the bus, “We’ll give y’all a helmet, a top you can put on, and some gloves.” He pretends to attend to the stereo, then turns back to shout: “Oh, and a bike.” Everyone nods. “That was a joke,” he informs us.

This is gonna be a long day.

The bus pulls over into flat, dusty area at an altitude of 4,700m (a bit higher than Mont Blanc), and we filter out of the bus to enjoy the 360-degree view. Kitted up, everyone takes their bikes for a spin.

“If we shout things at ya without saying "please" or "fank you," it’s not cos we’re from Israel, it’s just cos it’s important and we ain’t got time to be polite”

Olly’s warning fresh in our heads, we push off downhill.

“Five BIKES apart,” Olly shouts after us, “not five inches!!”

After a few minutes of steep downhill racing on smooth tarmac, I’m starting to adjust to the feeling of continual plummeting. It’s quite strange indicating your intention to overtake a 10-tonne truck on the open road but infinitely enjoyable grinning at the driver as you pass by their window.

The adrenalin rush is over for a while, and we’re faced with the prospect of a short uphill section. Our team has decided to take this opening for exertion at altitude as an opportunity to maximise on our acclimatisation (we are here to climb mountains after all) and so set off at full pelt. Trying to keep up, I find myself huffing and puffing up a hill, rapidly gaining on a red-faced Ted, who, despite all efforts to the contrary, seems to be rolling backwards. His chain had come off, but somehow, by pedalling with spinning legs like a cartoon character about to start a chase, it jumps back on.

All seems to be well until I’m overtaken by a girl from our group who tells me that my chain has come off. I’m temporarily impressed by her good eyesight before I realise that my chain has actually come off and is dragging behind me in the dust.

Olly, it turns out, is not all bleached hair and bad jokes, as he somehow manages to fix my snapped chain in a matter of seconds. Nonetheless, I’m too far behind the others and am loaded into the van. Olly tells the driver that he’s going to cycle alongside the van and hold on so he can keep up. There are a couple of girls from our group who decided against uphill cycling at altitude and opted for the bus instead. I strike a conversation with them whilst the image of Olly’s bike shrinks into the distance to a cry of, “Slow down, you EFF-ing bastard!”

The next stop sees us at the start of what is officially The World’s Most Dangerous World. I wasn’t entirely sure how it qualified for such a title, but I heard someone mumble “12,000 recorded deaths,” and I’m as yet aware of any other contenders for that particular throne. Besides, the surroundings are more than enough to help forget the death toll – we are looking down in a valley entirely filled with cloud and the silhouette of a distant mountain range skirting along the edges in the distance.

The pace slows now, not through fear, but rather as a result of the change in road surface. My doubts about whether or not this qualifies as "the world’s most dangerous" now shift to whether it even qualifies as a road. I’m plagued by the ongoing choice of standing up on the pedals and testing the limits of my calf muscles or sitting down on the saddle and enduring the ass-beating of a lifetime.

Despite the apparently agreed norm of sounding a horn before rounding any of the many sharp corners on the WMDR, there are a number of close encounters with vehicles of the four-wheeled kind. These surprise meetings are made all the more scary by the road’s nickname, and the fact that to my left is an incredibly steep drop into what looks like the abyss due to the dense cloud that fills it.

At the bottom of our downhill race, we reach a small collection of huts and are greeted by a “crazy toothless woman” (Olly’s words) who distributes beers amongst us. She has a 12-year-old daughter Olly describes as his “future wife” and an 18-year-old one who runs out and punches him in the stomach. “She thinks the best way to tell me she fancies me is to hit me,” he tells us. I couldn’t help thinking there might have been another reason.

At a nearby hotel, we hand back all our gear and laugh hysterically at my teammates’ dirty faces--that is, until I catch sight of my reflection. In the shower, I spend about 10 minutes trying to open the little shower gel ball I’ve been given before resorting to biting it. I only got a brief taste of soap, but apparently it would have been a lot easier if I just let it dissolve in the water.

Back in the lobby, a slide show of photographs taken on the day’s trip is playing, and I strut to the buffet table proudly wearing a T-shirt declaring “I survived The World’s Most Dangerous Road” on the back and on the front “Going down’s never been better.”

The alarm sounds at 12. I'm never sure whether it should be 12am or 12pm, but either way, I did know that it was midnight, and I was supposed to be getting out of bed to climb a mountain.

Ted was thoughtful enough to get out of bed to help us prepare, even though he knew he was too ill to join us. I'm not particularly fussy about what I eat in the morning, but let me tell you that opening a foil packet and chugging down a lukewarm chocolate pudding at midnight, having just got out of bed, is certainly a strange experience.

Come half-twelve, we were outside. Normally, when you start a day's climbing in the mountains, you start from a tent: a little polyester igloo with no room to maneuvre and, often, sub-zero temperatures. To start out in a hut with space heaters and a kettle for tea was a real bonus. It meant that it took time before the cold seeped through my gloves and froze them rather than them starting out that way.

"This is wicked," Sarah says, and she's right. It's pitch black and absolutely silent. We can see nothing more than what's illuminated by the blue pool of light shining from our head-torches, and we try to follow the path where we can but are more than happy to scramble off-piste when the opportunity arises.

"Sarah," I whisper, "I think we're at Camp 1." It's usual practice to climb this particular mountain in two stages over two or more days. Huayna Potosi is 6,050 metres high and lies just outside La Paz, which is itself at about 3,700 metres, so that helps, but two kilometres of vertical ascent is still a bit much for a single day. However, having just spent a month at between four and six thousand metres anyway, we figured we were well acclimatised enough to tackle it in one day. It looked as though we had reached Camp 1, where most people start the summit attempt on their second day.

As if the cluster of tents wasn't enough of prompt, an 8-foot cairn reaffirms my suspicion. Tip-toeing (in boots) through the camp, the glacier rises in front of us, and it's time to kit up - crampons, axes, and rope.

It's still pitch black, and we seem to be trudging along an endless path of snow hardened by the footprints of all the other people that have followed the same route. I'm starting to get cold, and walking with crampons is starting to become quite a slog. After passing a couple of tents pitched in deep snow, we approach a short section of steep ice.

The stretch of ice provides a welcome break from the monotony of footsteps on the glacier. As I pull over the top, Sarah calls my attention. "Oh my God." With the views around us, I couldn't help but say it out loud. Below us is a thick blanket of clouds with a mountain range skirting along the top, silhouetted by the bright oranges and reds of the sunrise. Behind us, we can see the sprawling city of La Paz, thousand of tiny lights in the distance.

Thank God the sun's coming up - I'm pretty cold now and really can't feel my fingers. Ahead of us, we see some other climbers for the first time. A large number of people that climb Huayna Potosi are tourists paying guides to take them up rather than regular climbers. As such, our guidebook had a description of the route that we had memorised for the trip. Given that it is normally climbed over two days, the total ascent time given in the book is 12 hours. I had been quite concerned about what we were getting ourselves into since we first read about the climb. It's about 7am now, meaning we've been going for six hours or so - only halfway.

Up ahead, there's a long stretch of steep snow sweeping up to a peak. What at first I thought were rocks lining the slope, in fact turn out to be people. We've gone from complete solitude to being just another couple of climbers on a busy mountain. A realisation comes over me: the reason all the climbers are condensed on this stretch of mountain is obvious - it's the summit! If we kept up with guidebook time we should have another 5 or so hours and I was worried we weren't going to be that fast but as it turns out, we were well ahead of of schedule and only about half an hour from the top.

We summitted at 9am. Despite being at 6,000 metres in the early hours of the morning, the last push was hot work. Wearing three layers as I slogged up, I was sweating buckets, cursing myself for not taking some clothes off before we got onto the steep ground. Regardless, the summit was bliss. It was a proper mountaintop: a tiny little snowy ledge with complete 360-degree views, miles above anything else around. It's perhaps the best view I've had on the top of a mountain, and it definitely gave me the best summit photo (see below).