Day 1.
We started from a small village Paratepui at around 1pm instead of planned 11am. A group of 5: a very nice young Argentinian couple who offered me a corner in their tent, another nice Argentinian couple in their 50s, and me. We still look clean and smell nice. There were other groups starting at the same day as we were: Brits and Germans, and as I soon discovered a group of 32 Russians...like those typical Soviet Russians I could easily recognize from a mile away.
It was just 14km untill the first camp, but the distance is not the issue here. Its hot as hell, you go up and down the hills constantly and you carry at least a 15kg backpack - thats what makes the difference. I had no any difficulties walking/hiking for days but when you carry a 1/3 of your weight.. By the time we reached the first camp (after 4 hours) I was nearly dying. Like a zombie I helped with setting up a tent, dinner and I continued dying in a tent.
Day 2.
I woke up with a stoned numb back after the previous day and because of sleeping on the ground. Catwashing myself in the river, breakfast and another 6 hours up/down the hill walk till the next camp.
7pm and I went to sleep lullabying by 32 Russians singing Russian gypsy songs around the imaginary fireplace. And I asked...not any God, not anyone specifically, I just asked for help because tomorrow was supposed to be the hardest day climbing up the mountain; and I got that help. I slept like a baby and in my dreams that night I saw my old good friends from Irkutsk and New York, I saw my parents and my brother, and I felt so good and warm, I felt all their support. Might sound silly but that's what matters when you are about to climb a mountain for God knows what reason.
Day 3.
I woke up full of energy ready to climb. Surprisingly how I was literally dying at the first two days and how my body could adjust for toughness just within 2 days. 3km and 2 hours up from 1873 to 2650 attitude through rain and mud and we were at the top. YAY.
My happiness was endless when I saw our camp for the next 2 nights. It was just a cave, or hoteles how they call them here.
Day 4.
But my happiness easlily vanished when it rained the whole night and didn't stop in the morning. It wasn't just raining, it was pouring. They said Roraima sent the rain because the night before 32 Russians were singing and dancing. Roraima doesn't like any noise and you better keep your mouth shut once you reach the base camp and on the top of the tepui.
We were supposed to walk around but our guide told us to wait for rain to calm down a bit. We waited...and waited, and waited for some more, then a little more, and then a bit more. It finally kinda sorta cleared and we decided to go.
Its like another planet there. Thats probably how the earth looked like at a dinosaurs age. Ancient plans, ribbon waterfalls, graceful arches, strange rock formation, valleys brimming with quarts, crystaline pools in a massive sinkhole. Even with pouring rain it was Wow. I could only imagine how magically beautiful its there with sunshine.
We got soaked to the skin. I had only my underwear dry. I took off the wet nastyness, didn't wait for dinner and just hybernated in my lovely sleeping bag.
Day 5.
I opened my eyes and could still hear the damn rain. Oh well we had to start getting down. Because of 2 days of non-stop rain we had to cross a bunch of waterfalls on our way down (they weren't there on our way up) and 2 rivers that now were up to to my waist on our way to the first camp.
First river...there is a robe accross the river, the stream is damn strong, and we took our boots off to cross the river just in socks. I was somewhere in the middle of the river fighting against the rapid stream when I felt that something fell off the side pocket of my backpack...my boot...my beloved hiking boots I especially bought for this trip. My mortification was deep and endless when I was following with my eyes my lovely boot taking away from me by the river. I teared up when I realized that I had another full day of walking barefoot now because those were the only shoes I had with me for Roraima trek. My grievance changed to anger...for the weather, for the rain that made the rivers go up, for me not securing my boots good enough. I showed the middle finger to Roraima and that was my good bye. My face was Mexicanish brown. My legs were muscly and covered with puri puri bites (little invisible motherfuckers literally ate me; 2 weeks after the trek and I still suffer from those bites). First thing I did once we returned to Santa Elena...I bought myself a bigass box of extra chocolate galletas. Because I deserved it.
/January 25-30, 2012/
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