Low humidity

Once the bus had found it way through the narrow streets of the city and finally come to a halt at the back of the Z bus station, we stepped out in the crisp mountain air at half past five in the morning. Even while still coming down the steps, we were greeted by enthusiastic calls about "information" with a sort of Peruvian-English twang. I collected our backpack which had landed behind and mostly under the big bags and boxes of unidentified goods thanks to the "smooth" turns of the trip. Before Michael had returned from the gents', I was approached by a friendly young man in the otherwise deserted waiting hall. He wanted to escort us to a cheap hostal, and we decided to give it a go. A short walk took us to the hostal located inside a green glass door and up some steep stairs, where a big lady showed us two different rooms, both with three beds. The first one had a fantastic view of...a 1 by 1 m venting shaft or something similar, and a dubious shower. The second one had a view of lots of electrical cables, but also the surrounding snow-clad mountin tops and the street outside. We opted for the latter. Then our escort did his worst at selling guided daytrips, and we bought the lot: the lagoon, the chavin ruins and the glacier.
After that, we ventured outside to find...breakfast! Just around the corner, a sandwich shop looked quite inviting, and there we sat down to enjoy fresh juice and sandwiches - nothing like a chorizo (the Peruvian style) sandwich and pineapple juice with honey to get you going again! The middle-aged shopkeeper and her daughter bustled in the miniscule kitchen behind the counter. Outside, the sun slowly rising and entering the vally, the little old ladies of Huaraz, or maybe rather from the villages, spread their colourful fabrics and knit-wear on the pavement. The weather felt such a nice change from our usual coastal, humid and cold desert. In Huaraz it was a dry cold but with promises of hot sunshine later in the day. Then there was the thing with the altitude. I had started noticing it on the bus. According to the advice of Michael's French colleagues, I had taken an aspirin and drunk a certain US soft drink containing caffeine. I didn't feel sick, and fortunately that didn't change for the whole stay. But every so often I felt like I had forgotten to breathe and found myself gasping for air. It was only uncomfortable the first night, when I was really tired and got it into my head that maybe I would stop breathing in my sleep and not wake up. It kept me awake for some time, and a slight cold didn't make it better. Still, there is nothing to put you to sleep like pure exhaustion and lots of fresh air!
Anyway, after breakfast we had a well-deserved hot shower each and contemplated going to sleep. But the guided trip we had signed up for was to start 90 minutes later, so I said no. Instead we packed mosquito repellant, camera, aspirin, toilet paper, sun screen, water and sweaters and waited for pick-up.
The tour bus was small but, to me at least, ultramodern. We picked up some other visitors around the city, and every time the bus stopped, locals tried to sell water and snacks to us, especially the coca sweets that were supposed to make you feel better about the altitude (or rather, the swift changes in altitude as you go up one hill and suddenly realise that you are 1000 m higher than where you had breakfast).
As we left the city behind us and headed out on the sometimes tarmac, sometimes gravel road, Michael fought to keep our eyelids from having their way. The landscape was lush with eucalyptus trees (courtesy of the Spanish), different types of giant grass, corn fields and orchards. Along the way I kept getting excited about seeing a pig or a donkey tied to a pole, eating away at the undergrowth next to the road.