South American Explorer

When you are on a horse you feel like a king or an outlaw, says Morgan Stair, who survived an eleven-day horse trek across the world’s longest mountain range.

 

The travel office in Huancayo, Peru is run by guide Lucio Heraldo. He is in the midst of collecting maps and explaining our route when he pauses and looks intently upon our faces.

 

 “Where you are going there won’t be any tourists. Be careful,” he warns.

           

My travelling partner, Frank Lettier – an adventurer and heavy drinker – responds with a resounding bellow, “Lucio! If we wanted to be careful we would`ve stayed home.”

 

Our trip to Peru is two-fold: one, we want wild, primitive, free and beautiful landscape to traverse; and two, we want to recreate the rugged individualism that is the backbone of America’s identity. From John Wayne to Thoreau there has always been a core element in the American psyche to live without rules and regulations, like outlaws. As Frank said, “England has Shakespeare. America has the Western.”

 

The idea to ride horses across the Peruvian Andes originated at four in the morning on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, DC.

 

Frank had taken a train from Chicago to visit me in Washington and our excitement snowballed into a marathon evening of drinking and talking. I was then working for the Department of Education, and Frank, at sixty-nine, was a retired physical therapist. He had crossed America, Spain, Scotland, and Sweden all on horse back. His first trip was a 1,700-mile ride from Chicago to Cody, Wyoming. He recounts endless stories about his adventures with a hardy laugh and captivating detail. Intoxicated from my drink and energized by his love of life and adventure, I suggested he take me on one of his horse rides.

 

And so we arrive in Lima on June 3^rd, 2008. From there we take a tourist train from Lima to Huancayo – the train ride starts at sea level and steadily climbs over 15,000 feet, giving it bragging rights to the second highest train ride in the world. This is my first glimpse at the spectacular but barren landscape of the Andes.  

 

Huancayo is located at 11,000 feet and has a population of roughly 325,000. It is a bustling mid-sized city equipped with pollution, traffic, crime, and poor architecture. The first order of business is to buy the horses. This is an important element of the trip and you realize why once you begin riding. Somehow the bill of sale connects you to the animal. It is now yours. It is for you to take care of and it is your responsibility.

 

With each passing day the bond between myself and my horse becomes stronger.

 

Sahka and Relay are most likely Peruvian Paso horses. Sahka is purchased for US$680 and Relay for US$750, the difference due to having won a long distance race last winter. We hire a driver to transport the horses to Pachachayo, where the journey begins.

 

We succeed in looking like two western outlaws. A thin layer of dust and beer cover my one change of clothes: an army-green collared shirt, a pair of jeans, grey boots, and a mesh baseball hat from my little league baseball team. Frank wears black jeans and a red replicated US 7^th Calvary shirt with a black cowboy hat. He looks like General Custer. I hope we don’t die.

 

For equipment I have a saddle, hackamore, black duster, saddle bags, sleeping bag, horse blanket, flashlight, toothpaste and toothbrush, contact solution, glasses, small first aid kit, a bag of coco leaves and a pack of cigarettes. These last items are for ‘goodwill collateral’ if we met locals along our trip.

 

For food, we only have seven cans of various beef-type dishes, some cheese, a large block of bland chocolate, and an over-sized bottle of rum.

 

I was slightly worried about food even before we left America, so I also packed six power bars. For two grown men embarking on a journey for an unknown length of time this seems to be an incredibly small amount of food, but as it turns out we only went without food one day during our whole trip.

 

The first night’s camping and following morning’s routine is more or less repeated for the subsequent ten nights. Everything comes off the horse each evening. The horse blanket is used as a ground cloth and the saddle as a pillow (no harmonica music though). The horses are tied to fences, rocks, or housed in corrals when we are in a town, and they graze all night on grass. In the morning we brush off their backs, saddle up, and usually walk for about an hour or two before riding, to loosen our joints.

 

Horses represent strength, power, grace, beauty, history, nature, and you can’t help but associate with these images when you are riding one. As we progress on our journey, our horses become just as important to us as the trip itself. When you are on a horse you feel like a king, or an outlaw.  

 

Also, when you are riding a horse you are not physically exerting yourself as you are when you are hiking or biking. Frank and I can manage long conversations; we share a beer, or just admire the surrounding beauty. It is a slow, casual pace that allows you to become totally absorbed in your own thoughts, the journey, and the scenery.

 

In the highlands of the Peruvian mountains the land is not necessarily privately owned, and it is not under the protection of the federal government either; parcels of land are under a communal agreement. The land is shared by the native populations or towns located on them.

 

As we ride across the Andes we come across rustic farms, llama, sheep herders and small towns.  

 

The Peruvian people we encounter are nothing short of being the friendliest people I have ever met. Often locals go out of their way to point out directions, offer food and tea, or make sure that our horses are well fed and safe for the night.

 

On day seven we cross the high altitude plateau of the Central Andes mountain range. We ride over mountain passes that are so high that the surrounding landscape looks like the inside of an empty carton of eggs, and we ride around cool mountain lakes that housed families of trout – served in the towns with a little oil and salt.

 

On the western side of the Andes more plants, trees and grass grow, which allows more farming and larger towns. We spend each day’s ride either descending a thousand or two thousand feet or ascending a thousand or two thousand feet.

 

One day after riding for eight hours in the hot sun we look across the ravine and see where we had started that morning.

 

Small clusters of towns are scattered around this area, so instead of riding over high mountain passes, we ride from town to town. The majority of the locals are called to the fields each morning by bull horns placed throughout town. During the day most street-level entrances are boarded up until the evening.  

 

Then, after eleven days of riding we come to the outskirts of Lima. We have traversed the Peruvian Andes and feel like kings of the world, so we decide to end our trip in spectacular fashion at Hotel Palmero – an escape for moderately wealthy Limans. The air and scenery reminds me of Arizona: dry, blue skies, and manicured green lawns. Essentially, we feel like we have ended up in the Garden of Eden. We eat a huge portion of Peruvian meats and drink many Pisco Sours.

 

Before we left the States, my uncle warned me about saddle sores, my brother told me I needed to learn Spanish, my girlfriend bought me a compass, my co-workers thought I was crazy (I quit my job by the way). Frank’s friend told us to carry a gun, and Lucio told us to be careful. Perhaps only by luck did we manage the trip without any major catastrophes. I can’t wait to do my next one.

 

Morgan Stair is a teacher at Cesar Chavez Prep, a charter school in Washington, D.C. He has traveled extensively throughout the world, but this was his first trek on horseback. His friend and travel companion Frank Lattiere has traversed Scotland, Spain, Sweden, and the United States on horseback. They are planning a trip next summer to ride across Wyoming.