La Campana

Last week I told my host mother that I was going to La Campaña on Sunday with a group of students in CIEE. Every day after that, she’d ask me, “Donde vas domingo?” and I’d patiently respond with the same answer: La Campaña. Only when we were both home late on Sunday night did I learn that there is a difference between la Campaña and la Campana. The first is just a campground in general, and the second is where I actually went. La Campana, a cerro in the Andes. 

Standing on top of a 6,168 foot tall mountain, overlooking miles upon miles of mountains, forests, cities, and even the ocean. Friends? Check. Endorphins? Check. Homemade bread and spinach tortilla for lunch? Check. Fresh mountain water? Check. Favorite running shoes? Check. Chilean flag? Courtesy of two friendly Spanish hikers who were enjoying the view as well. I couldn't have asked for anything more really.

On Sunday, a group of CIEE students and I climbed Campana, my first mountain climbing experience. The first three hours of the climb were hike-like; the trail was a skinny, dirt and rock path, shaded by trees and interrupted only by the occasional large boulder, and although it was steep, the trekking was straight forward. We stopped a few times to fill up our water bottles in the fresh water stream, and thanks to a plaque on a rock, the only male student on the hike, and a little bit of imagination, we were able to hear the words of Darwin himself, describing his thoughts when he traversed the same mountain we were struggling up. 

Then came the real climbing. For the last two hours of our journey, we looked less and less like hikers, and more and more like bears, scrambling up the field of rocks on all fours, sweating, stomachs growling. (below is Caterina-one of my hiking comarades with a beautiful name) 

But of course, it was all worth it, for when we arrived at the summit, the view was stunning. 

Coming down was, in my opinion, much more difficult, and despite my arm flapping balance strategy, I fell 6 times. Also on the way down, yo toque una tarantula! Toque does not mean stomped on, or crushed, or ran away from, or screamed at, or pushed off the cliff; rather, it means touched. When we were about half an hour from base camp, somebody spotted this little guy (later named Carlos), and after much convincing on Ceasar’s part, the tarantula was passed around several pairs of hands. It’s hard to say who was more scared, us or Carlos. Here’s a photo of Ceasar and Carlos when they were first getting acquainted. 

Here are my hiking companions!!

And here's what La Campana looks like from the base camp. 

The bus ride back was quite, as most us were either eating fruit and cookies or sleeping. When I returned home, the house was empty, and my dinner was waiting patiently for me on the table. Turns out my family had gone out for “once” at a nearby cafe, and so instead of eating alone, I had a skype dinner date with my mother and brother in the United States. Over my chicken, rice and salad, I got to listen to my brother’s first week of high school experiences and hear about my mother’s week of work; it was almost like I was back in my living room, eating dinner with them in Wisconsin. I always miss them most after our weekly skype session, but it’s an experience I’m extremely grateful for. Needless to say, I slept well that night. Yet another great day in Chile :)