Entry 10: Baring It All to Become an Inca in Peru

Richard Writes:
The second day in the Andes began with a wholesome bowl of guinea pig soup. Basilio’s homestead was put together with warmth in mind: the stone walls are thick, woolly hides hang about the place, and a fire rages continuously in the corner. The only thing lacking is a chimney, so we spend our meals draped in a choking smog, my unaccustomed eyes watering in the smoke.

Wrapped in my host’s poncho, and with a few boiled potatoes safely stored in my pockets, I joined my comrades for the day’s climb. From everyone’s coughing, I sensed the chimney situation was shared among us all, but we were all in high spirits. We were surrounded by mountains, which glistened in the sunshine. The weather was glorious and we set off in the merriest of moods. Picture us then: rosy cheeked and optimistic, hearty, even jogging at one stage, as we took on the mountain for the first time.

Eight hours later much had changed. The sky, which earlier had shone a faultless blue, now hung heavy and black and rumbled ominously. Freezing rain lashed down. The rocky terrain, once so steady, now gave way treacherously, sending us stumbling onto our knees. And our faces, earlier so eager, were now weary and grey. Brad’s lungs were on the point of collapse; Mark was enduring a raging headache from the altitude, while Rajko was lamenting his decision to wear shorts. I myself was powerfully hungry (my potatoes were long gone). Shivering and fairly dispirited, we pressed onward and upward, numb hands tucked under armpits for warmth.

At last, we reached a plateau, and in its middle, a small lake. Our guide announced that we had reached our destination, and nodded to the water.

“El lago sagrado.”

It was perfectly still, and even in the darkening light it seemed to glow, an astonishing turquoise hue. Though deep, at its bottom you could see plants and pebbles quite clearly, and I knelt by the bank and dipped my hand. We were close to the snow line but my numb fingers couldn’t feel the water. It was an odd sensation, mercurial almost, like I was brushing air.

My moment’s contemplation was interrupted by the sound of my teeth chattering, and I felt it was time we headed home. Our guide felt otherwise. Taking an orator’s stance, he declared in simple terms that to become Incas we had to swim in the lake. I was about to remind him that we had no trunks, but it seems that had I done so I would have missed the point.

We undressed quickly and obediently. Corey was first to dive, a flash of white skin darting through the fumbling crowd and off the bank with aplomb. Such decisiveness galvanized us all, and without prolonging matters I yanked off my trousers with shivering fingers, turned, sprinted, and leapt.

Now I am no nudist, but I can’t deny that I felt rather exhilarated. Naked as the day I was born, buttocks pointed skyward, I flew like a cold bird over the water. It was a glorious, exciting, uplifting moment. An albatross must get that feeling every day, but for me, that one nude leap into the Andean air was about as close to nature as I’ve ever felt.

In the next instant, I was in the water, and all was pain. Icy, confusing, strangling cold – the sort that tightens your chest and stiffens your muscles. Thrashing like an imbecile, I swam back toward the bank, and slipped on the rocks on my way out. Shaking violently, I dragged my clothes back on and blew air into my hands to give them some life. My head ached mercilessly, I couldn’t feel a thing, and all the joy of the dive had disappeared. I like to keep an open mind about most things, but if I ever dabble with nudism again, it’s not going to involve a freezing lake. The one greatest consolation was this: the cold would fade as soon as I got home to Basilio’s, whereas being named an Inca – that lasts for life.

Corey’s Lesson:
The commitment to honor

Peru was my location. It's hard to imagine an event that could be more catered to a Spanish-speaking Alaskan mountaineer than a race on foot carrying ice in the Andes.  With few locations left, I was embarrassed to be the only athlete with no wins, and saw this as my best and potentially my last opportunity to prove I deserved my company. My performance in practice gave my hosts great hope that I would win the prize llama for their family. Hiking every day beneath beautiful 6,000-meter (19,685-foot) peaks and then watching them cast in moonlight from the thermal hot spring, I was falling in love with this location. All until the locals pulled out the whips.

It turns out the sport we were training for was a hybrid Incan-Catholic reenactment of the crucifixion of Jesus where we had to whip each other to repent for our sins. Initially the whipping seemed playful, and I pretended to whip my partner (by hitting the ground at his feet) to be respectful of their tradition and try to remain nonjudgmental. It had been clear from our travels that a huge problem among developing countries was foreigners coming in and telling the people how they should live their lives, and I did not want to contribute to that imperious trend.

My simulated whipping fit appropriately until we made our pilgrimage to the sacred glacier. On the morning of the race, having tested the course and feeling very confident, I was suddenly asked to be publicly whipped.  We'd been through plenty of excruciating pain on this adventure and it should be clear that was not the issue. But by laying down on the snow and accepting ceremonial whipping, I would be choosing to participate in violence. The overarching teaching from every tribe that we visited was an ethic of compassion where they taught us to strive in every action to limit our harm on everything around us.  I desperately wanted to compete, but all I could think about was watching the look in my mother's eyes when she would watch me sacrifice my values for pride and personal gain.

I finished with the fastest time. But I did not race with the others. I was disqualified from the competition for my unwillingness to participate in the whipping ceremony. I sunk into wrenching regret as my host family and many of my travel companions expressed their disappointment for my decision. But while the zero on the scoreboard shamed me, hindsight soon proved that I had scored a huge victory for myself.  Despite hallowed tradition, the potential for personal gain, and the pressure of most around me, I had managed to listen to my heart and stand strong for what I believed. In the words of my late Boy Scout role model, "Without honor, a man is nothing."

Comments

[Tammy Denton]

Rich,
You're quite intriguing to me. I admire the way you have embraced the culture of each tribe and I envy your writing skills. It's too bad that I can't have a real conversation with you. Best of wishes, Tam

[Roxanne]

Richard, okay now I know its not the British accent that I like so much. You have once again made a bad situation (the icy cold lake) sound like poetry. I don't write often enough; you inspire me to.

In fact, I think that is why I enjoy watching the show so much. Because it inspires me.

Now, I understand that a majority of things aired on TV programs are only snip its of reality, but this show really is a one-of-a-kind. I really can't get enough of it. The athleticism, the camaraderie, the eagerness, and the friendly competition that all of you present is great to watch. I wonder if Discovery channel is going to ever be able to reproduce such good TV without you and the other guys in the program?

Now I only hope you all can remain humble with all the pleasant feedback everyone is giving.

[Justine]

Rich, your entries are amazing. You and the others bring much more depth into the cultural aspect of your guys' journeys, while Discovery focuses on the physical, competitive aspect. Yet, in the end I'm sure it will be the cultural experiences that will stick with you for a lifetime, and not who won the challenge.

Anyway, I love this show (it never fails to give me a chuckle or gasp in wonder at the athleticism of the natives), and I am always rooting for you, Richard. You're also the best looking one. :)

Cheers.

[Traci]

Richard, I love your entries. Sure, I watch every minute of the show with equal parts envy and awe, but the words you use to describe the actual experience enhances it all the more. As others have said, the show is positively inspiring to me, seeing what you have all experienced has pushed me to get out of my rut and get moving.

Corey, I wish you had a little more face time onscreen to fully get who you are and what makes you tick. Your entries are very introspective as well, and although I audibly groaned at your withdrawal from the race (I think I might've yelled, "It's in the bag, dude!"), upon reading your thoughts, I can nod my head and respect where you're coming from.

Best wishes, all!

[Splotchie]

Another fabulous blog entry Richard. I just love the way your write as it is always so entertaining. Congratulations on your second win of the season. You are competing so very well and should be very proud. Unlike many of the others, you just slog along without complaint or excuse and shine whether you win the event or not.

[Katy]

Richard, love your writing.

Corey, I know you are at the mercy of the series editors, but I was confused as to why you were able to bring yourself to kill the guinea pig but couldn't 'participate in violence' when it was your own rear end at risk? Is there a more elaborate theorem behind your decision? I was disappointed. Would have understood if you had both refused to kill the guinea pig and refused the whipping ritual.

[Katy]

Richard, love your writing.

Corey, I know you are at the mercy of the series editors, but I was confused as to why you were able to bring yourself to kill the guinea pig but couldn't 'participate in violence' when it was your own rear end at risk? Is there a more elaborate theorem behind your decision? I was disappointed. Would have understood if you had both refused to kill the guinea pig and refused the whipping ritual.

[Elihu Vedder]

Corey,

I don't understand your claim that "you tried to remain nonjudgmental". In refusing to participate, you basically condemned the Incan's religion as unworthy because it is "violent". No one was really harmed by the whipping; it was entirely ceremonial. I think you owe the Incas an apology.