A Village in the Clouds

We woke up before dawn with our packs on and loaded the back of the truck. It was about 30 years old and was reminiscent of one of those supply trucks from World War Two. We loaded it with milled lumber, fish netting, plastic jugs, a finished door, and two windows. We climbed on top and started the drive further up into the mountains. Some slept, others passed around water bottles and coca leaves. Locals would jump on and off the truck taking it part way to easy their own journey. Anything anyone had was offered instantly to anyone.

Around mid-day we reached the end of the road. We met some villagers with two donkeys to take some of the supplies, The rest had to be carried. A young boy named Elvis eagerly took my pack so I ended up taking an eight foot post over my shoulder. We started our journey in the truck above tree line so we were about 15,000 feet at this point. I had been in country for about a week and the altitude hadn't really hit me much thanks to the coca leaves and tea. But, every breath I took was more shallow than the last. After only a few steps I felt stabbing pains in my chest, and felt as though my brain had been replaced with helium.

A half hour in, with no path just a thin line of villagers and my compañeros making their way over the bare mountains. Just small lakes and grasses. I have been wheezing for the past twenty minutes and was relived to notice so was my friend who was nicknamed "superman" in the states. Those of us with the lumber on our backs (and used to living in a lower country) lagged further and further behind. Yet, just as everyone else we were witness to how villages in the sky experience weather. All at once. There were five minute periods where it would be hailing in the sunshine. Foggy and Hot. Bitter cold and wind. Superman and I began to talk about how great its going to be to get indoors. All we have to do is just get to where we are going.

So we march forward. The line of people ahead of us had vanished for some time but around the next bend we hear voices. Our slogging pace quickens. Once we're crest the final hill we are shocked to see no buildings (the village is still a quarter mile away) there is just the villagers come to greet us and thank us for our help. Then the skies open up and a rain/snow/hail congratulates us on our trek. I set down the lumber open my arms wide, tilt my head back and open my mouth.