I hiked innumerable mountains and ruins while living in Peru and I can say, without a doubt, the Montaña de Siete Colores (aka Rainbow Mountain) was the hardest and most rewarding hike of them all.
I booked a tour with a group of friends from my school. One girl's host family had connections with a travel group and set us up. All I had to do was give her the money and show up on time. We left early in the morning while it was still dark outside, piling into the passenger van's I'd become so accustomed to in Peru.
From there, we set out on a 4-hour drive toward the mountain. I was impressed by how quickly the climate changed. Once we got to the mountain range, we saw snow and our breath cloud in front of our faces. We stopped a little over halfway through for some breakfast and could buy gloves and hats there. I bought some blue alpaca gloves to protect my fingers from the temperatures, and we piled back into the van.
Arriving at the base of the hike, we saw people piling out with walking sticks and hiking gear. I quickly noticed a difference in the air. While it was crisp, I couldn't seem to inhale enough of it; the altitude change was making its presence known. The entire drive there, I had been contemplating if I should hike or hire a horse. The air made my decision for me. I've had some bad experiences with altitude sickness in the past, and I wasn't interested in any repeats. I chose to pay the S./ 50 for a horse and head up the path.
My friends who elected to hike (there were very few) say that it was extremely difficult. I don't doubt them because there were some patches of the path that a horse could not climb with a human on their back, and we had to dismount and hike. Those few patches of hiking felt like miles. I was gasping for breath after a few steps. Eventually, at the end of the path, we had to dismount the horses and climb the rest of the way ourselves. I had to take breaks while walking the short distance.
Before I share what reaching the summit looked and felt like, I'd like to go into some more detail about the hike up there.
The people we rented the horses from were locals who make countless trips up and down the path each day. I think their lungs are made of steel. They don't speak English and assume you don't speak Spanish, so they communicate with a lot of hand motions. The thing that struck me most is that they wore (what looked like) hand-crafted sandals. They walk the horse (or donkey) up the mountain, so you don't need any riding experience. You quite literally hold the reins and sit tight, taking in the views. The woman walking my horse had the sandals on and they broke about halfway up. Her feet were already covered in mud and I watched with curiosity to see what she did next. I felt bad having her walk me all the way up this mountain, especially since I know how to horseback ride. I wanted to tell her it was okay, but I knew she wouldn't accept since they expect a cash tip at the top.
I watched her reach into the fold of her skirt and pull out a plastic bag. She efficiently used the back to tie her shoe back together, and as if nothing happened, we continued on the journey. It was long. I don't know exactly how long it took, but I remember my sit bones beginning to feel sore. All I had to do to forget about the uncomfortable feeling was look up. The mountains were breath-taking. I know I say things are breath-taking often ( I can't help it, this world is just so beautiful!), but these were incredible views. The mountains were covered in a snowy coat and rose into the sky with such grace and certainty. I felt my heart singing, and I hadn't even seen what I'd come for yet.
For those who know me well, mountains hold such a special place in my heart. Their meaning and presence are deeply moving to my being. In fact, of all the tattoos I have, my mountain range brings me the most joy. Pictures can do what I saw no justice.
At the point where we dismounted our horses to finish the climb on our own, there were some people cooking on a rock and a little stand offering snacks. I briefly wondered how they got there, so high up. Do they climb up here every day for work? How did they bring all of these supplies up? Does it stay here once they leave?
My train of thought was quickly interrupted by the realization that I had to go to the bathroom. Badly. I looked around and saw white snow and open land everywhere. There was nowhere I could pee without being seen. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a port-a-potty of sorts. I sadly noticed that it was out of the way and would require more difficult climbing, but my bladder didn't care. I set off toward the "bathroom" and struggled to get in and go to the bathroom. The door didn't close and should it swing open, it would expose me to everyone still climbing up. I had to hold the door closed with one hand, try not to touch anything (it was very dirty), and fish out my tissues with my other hand (there was no toilet paper, of course) all within a space that barely fit my body.
After that adventure, I set back out and finally summited. It was outstanding. I honestly had quite low expectations going into it because I thought all the pictures online were grossly oversaturated and photoshopped. It turns out they were not. Montaña de Siete Colors is truly that colorful and the snow seems to part just to expose the brilliant reds, yellows, and greens of the mountain.
While in Bolivia, I had seen a different "rainbow mountain" in the Desierto de Dalí, but this time was different. I'm grateful to have gone while there was snow because it offered a brilliant contrast. There was a young boy at the summit asking for money to take pictures with his llama. Other than that, it was only hikers at the top and as we gazed across the mountain range, I realized that we were the only people in sight.
After taking photos and absorbing the beauty at the top, we began to descend. It was honestly more difficult than the walk up. The steep mountain was covered in slippery snow, ice, and rocks. While I luckily kept my balance, I saw many unfortunate hikers slip and fall down the peak, getting covered in cold, wet mud along the way. After moving very cautiously, I made it to some flatter ground and continued the walk down. It was just as beautiful going back as it was coming up.
As we got closer to the end, it started to rain and we became cold and wet, but it could not detract from my glee. We eventually found our van amongst the other identical vans in the mud lot and sat inside with the heat turned up waiting for the rest of our group to arrive and begin our journey back with the imprint of Montaña de Siete Colores' beauty forever stamped in my memory.
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