We arrived in Huaraz after our luxury coach journey to be collected and driven all of two minutes by taxi to our hostel. Even on the short journey it was obvious that Huaraz had changed hugely in the last 10 years and judging by the amount of building, is set to change further.
The Hostel was called the Churup (www.churup.com) and we had booked it on line before we left Lima. The place was fantastic, it is easily the nicest hostel that either or us have stayed at in all of previous travels. It is brightly decorated with first rate en suite rooms dripping with original paintings, complete with a sun terrace and homely lounge with wood burner.
The next day was spent relaxing and wandering around town, where I was horrified to discover that “Buddy Christ” who had towered over one of the main plazas, had been knocked down. “Buddy Christ” was a 25 ft high awkwardly disproportioned statute of the good Lord with his arms outstretched in a pose better suited to the Fonze. Having got over this shock, we found the Huascaran Tour Agency (www.huascaran-peru.com) and enquired about organising a trek. After much discussion about the weather we decided to opt for the Cordillera Huayhuash rather than the Alpa Mayo circuit or the Santa Cruz which I had done 10 years hence. This trek would be a little different than the Santa Cruz: rather than a hand drawn map, we would have our own guide and instead of carrying all of our food and gear we would have 4 donkeys and an arrearo (Donkey Master - So how I feel that Vas may have missed his calling...)By way of acclimatisation, we hiked up to Lake Churup and enjoyed the sunshine. It took us a lot less time than stated and we surprised the owner of the travel agency when we bumped into him on our way back to the hostel. Apparently we are “Muy Rapido”.
On the morning of the trek we got picked in a taxi by “Miguel” our non-English speaking guide. Naturally with my gift for languages this was not going to be a problem... Miguel was good looking young guy in his twenties all of about 4ft 5” with what looked like one half of a Chelsea smile - I didn´t like to ask how he had come by that.
The first part of the journey was by public bus to Llamac - you know the sort all and sundry strapped to the roof etc.- this part of the journey was on brand spanking new roads that cleverly through the mountains. At Llamac we transfered into a smaller, older bus with larger, more aggressive looking tyres - which were going to prove important. The next stretch was un-paved and rutted in the extreme, with some evil twists and turns and some precipitous drops at the edge. Luckily our driver was more than up to the task - so skilled was he, that he did not need to have both hands to steers, nor even to keep his eyes on the road, instead he managed to carry on a loud conversation (It had to be loud for him to be heard over the the Pervuvian/Bangra folk fusion that was banging out of the stereo) with much gesticulation which keeping the wheels inches from the edge of the track.
Safe to say we arrived in one piece having had to pay our first installment of the “tourist tax” - There was a barrier across the road leading into the town, which wasn´t lifted until we had paid a fee to the local community. This was the first of several tax stickups that happened over the course of the trek - each time we had to fill in form and hand over payment before receiving a selection of fantastically stylised receipts - The locals seem to have taken to bureaucracy in big way. I don´t begrudge paying the money though - it goes towards the installation of amenities like drop toilets at some of more popular campsites.
Once through the barrier, we met Nichol, our donkey master, and his 4 beasts only one of who name I can remember. The donkey was called “Rambo”. Whilst Nichol loaded the burros, we set off with Miguel to the first campsite. This was principally following a dirt track that wound its way through a narrow steep walled valley to the Santa Luis Mine. Beyond the mine the valley opened up with views of the mountains in the distance. 
The first campsite (Quartelhuain) was on a grassy valley bottom near a stream. Nichol had already arrived and set up a massive pink and black Tepee, which was to be the mess/cook. He hadn´t pitched our tent as it was buried in the bottom our large pack, but he was itching to get involved and couldn´t resist helping me. We chilled out until dinner which proved to be a serious multi-course affair . nibbles, soup, followed by “segundo” (Second/Main course) and some kind of “postre” (Pudding). We sat on our little camping chairs around a table in the tepee and were served all kinds of delicious meals - whats more when we offered to help clear up, they were at first surprised and then flat out refused -this was some seriously luxurious camping. After some fluent phrasebook based Spanglish we discovered that Miguel prefered to be called Micky, Nichol had 3 children, told them we were married, that Kirsty was teacher and after some considerable confusion Senior Informatics Manager for local government got translated into “President”. From this point onwards, I´m just going to say teacher too.
The next day we were up early and immediately drugged by Micky with a large dose of Coca tea - Micky swears by it - to the extent that he even puts leaves in his hat when he has a headache. Personally I think it tastes like Privet Hedge leaves in hot water - but hey let´s just roll with it. We were the last to leave the campsite, the other groups that were camped near by left as we were packing our bag (This seems to be the contribution we are allowed to make to the process of striking camp). We were soon off, leaving Nichol to marshall the donkeys. The route almost immediately climbed up from the valley floor towards the first pass. As soon as we hit steep ground, we began to pass the other groups - one by one- we picked them off, getting to the top of the pass ahead of the rest. Micky looked somewhat startled by the pace and again we refered to as “Muy rapido”. As it turned out so was Nichol and he met us at the past before trotting off downhill.Due to the “muy rapido” revelation, Micky decided to take us on a “Micky route” which was a detour from the main path. This was great as it allowed us to contour round the pass to another higher lake and then drop down into the next valley all the while with stunning views of the snowcaps. Once again we were too quick, so Micky took us on a lap of another lake lest we arrive at camp indecently early!
After spending the night at Janca we went another Micky variation on the standard route and instead of going around, we climbed up and into a hidden valley that took us to another high lake with more rugged mountainscapes on all sides. Micky´s route took us on a high contour following the mountainside round to the righhandside before opening up a view of Lake Carhuacoch as it straddled the end of our valley and swept down to the heavily glaciate peaks of Yerupaja in the distance.That night we camped above the lake shore in the shadow of the
mountains. At dinner we resumed our stilted guidebook conversation accompanied as ever with much laughter and gesticulation. Having established that Nicol was married, I asked Micky if he had girlfriend. From the ensuing conversation, we learnt that Micky had a girlfriend back in Huaraz, but was also renowned for hooking with his female clients - particularly the French ones. Micky asked me if I had any girlfriends and somehow the conversation ended up with Kirsty telling him if I did, I would be sleeping with the donkeys - which the Peruvians thought was hillarious- and would become a running joke.
Day 4 took us down the valley on the left hand side of the lake towards the snowcoated peaks of Yerupaja. At the end of the lake we took a sharp left and began climbing. This first climb took us to up into another valley beneath the mountains. Here we climbed a large Morraine that had a formed a huge rampart pinning a ice covered glacial lake against the mountainside. As we were takeing pictures, we where joined by a group of Aussie trekkers who asked us to take a group photo for them. As we were heading off, Micky signalled us to turn round and there in the distance were the Australians getting naked for another photo.
Leaving our naked antipodean friends behind, we climbed the up to the Siula Punta pass, which at 4834 is 24 metres higher than Mont Blanc. After resting at the top an taking some more pictures we dropped down into the valley below and headed toward the lake. On the way we passed a herd of cattle with brightly coloured wool “earrings” and saw a couple of local dwellings in the distance. The local houses are incredibly poor looking one room single storey structure built haphazardly from rocks and roofed with long sheaves of ichu grass which grows abundantly throughout the mountains. We were some way away, but two boys came running towards us shouting for “caramellos” (Sweets) we detoured and gave them both a hand full.
We got to camp ahead of all the other groups again, had lunch and were just settling down with our books we the heavens opened. We lay there smuggly for the rest of the afternoon watching as one by one the other groups trudged into camp soaked.
The next day we were heading to Atuscancha were Micky assured us there were some natural hot springs but only limited spaces for camping. This necessitated the only time on the trek were we left camp before any of the other groups. After some “rapido” trekking and donkey work we reached a solitary gate at the head of the valley. Said gate was armed by a ubiquitous local family, dad wearing brown panama hat, mum knitting and small child cossetted in about 10 woolen layers playing with a lamb. These were the local tourist police and this was their barrier. We could of walked round the gate - there was no wall either side - but that didn´t seem very sporting. So once again we paid our money and got another colourful reciept.
Leaving the guards behind ready to pounce on the next trekker, we pushed off and got there just before lunch and camped right next to the springs. The hot springs was basically 3 concrete tanks of various sizes getting larger from right to left, set on the middle of the valley floor. The first and smallest was for washing clothes, the second for washing you and the third and largest was called the “swimming pool” although it was far too hot and far too small for anything other than floating. We´d been in the pool for about 2 hours before the other groups started to arrive. First were the Germans, then a large group of Israelis in their early twenties, which included several plump girls in bikinis - this seemed to be quite a hit with the local guides and Donkey Masters who spent the rest of the afternoon starring at them as they frolicked in the pools. Last as ever were the Aussies.
Day 6 took started with brilliant sunshine and took us up to Punta Cuyoc Pass, which at just under 5000m was the highest on the trek. We made steady progress and did our usual overtaking which still seemed to amaze the other guides - Micky seemed to have got used to the “rapido” pace by then. The top afforded good views of the surrounding mountains and the valley below, but the clouds were coming in fast, so we decided to head straight to the campsite rather than detouring through the San Antonio pass. On the valley, on route to the campsite, we passed a strange rock shaped by a long melted glacia to look like an elephant lying down. As we got into camp the sun broke through the clouds again and lit up the valley briefly with a wonderfully warm golden light, and then it was gone 
Day 7 took us on a detour to the only accessible village: Huayllapa. Once again before we could get to the village there was a gate manned by the usual suspects, although this time one of them was armed with a machete - not sure why - but it looked cool with his football shirt and wellington boots. Having paid of fee, we descended into the village, passing women each wearing atleast 10-15 skirts and a number of brightly coloured cardigans topped off with the local brown pananma. Each woman was a knitting whilst walking and was accompanied by one or more children (Each with standard issue pet lamb) and or donkey. The women look some colourful and impressive, unfortunately it somehow doesn´t feel quite right to brazenly stand there and take pictures of them -and who know what they would think if I got caught trying to do it surreptitiously - so unfortunately as yet no pictures.
Into the village we wound through narrow dirt streets until we reached shop, brightly painted in greens and reads with a picture mountain hanging above the door. The shop was an real Aladdin's cave, low ceiling with all kinds of random stuff hanging from the rafters and stuffed onto the shelves. I tried to buy some beer, but was told that you couldn´t take glass bottles onto the mountain. Undeterred by the by the glass bottle situation, with the prospect of making a sale at hand, the shopkeeper disappeared down the road and returned with a slab of cans.
That night we camped at 4800, and spurned on by the beers, I tried to tell our Peruvian friends, Mike Campell´s Pirate joke. Here the phrase book let me down, which no translation for the word pirate or alphabet - however this didn´t stop us from having a chorus of “arrghs!” and much laughter, before Nichol steered the conversation to his favorite subject namely me sleeping with the donkeys and Kirsty sharing his tent...
The next day we awoke to frozen tent, coated in sheets of ice which promptly fell on my head when I opened the door. Todays leg was another Micky special, ditched the normal route and headed up the flank of Diablo Mudo, scrambling the last 200 metres to over the 5000 metre mark and just below the glaciated summit,, which looked painfully close - however no crampons or axes. Climbing the rock at this height was absolutely exhausting - we would make a couple of moves and then have to have a rest - and this was only Mod/Diff grade! We were rewarded with a magical 360 degreeish view of the Huayhash. After taking pictures of each of us jumping in the air (Micky insists) we traversed a snow field and headed down towards our final campsite.
The last campsite (Lake Jahuacocha) was by far the most stunning location, sited on the flat grassland at the base of the valley, with grassy mountains on both side funneling your gaze down on the gleaming crenellated peaks of the Jirishanca massive soaring to 6094 metres above you.
The following day we had planned to walk up to another viewpoint high above the valley, unfortunately Kirsty had a bad stomch (I won´t elaborate...) so we stayed in the valley. This was no great loss as the weather had closed in an most of the views would have been masked by cloud. Even better, Nichol revealed his hidden talents as a fisherman and spend the day catching enough fish for lunch and dinner. That night we ate well and shared a final carton of wine by way of celebration.
In the morning we walked back to Llamac said a fond farewell to Nichol and the donkeys and boarded the bus back to Huaraz.
