Finding Power (and Oxygen!) at the Rainbow Mountain in Peru
My inner circle considers me brave for unloading the conventional markers of success in order to endlessly travel the world. Courage no longer looks like approaching my supervisor about a promotion — it looks like arms raised in the foreground of Machu Picchu. Fearlessness was putting an offer on a house. Now, it is scuba diving in deep turquoise oceans with lemon sharks. Gutsy used to taste more like 17 courses of sushi rather than roasted guinea pig or grilled crocodile. Bravery while traveling abroad isn’t proposing DEI initiatives to corporate executives, it is beseeching strangers for help.
A month in Peru was chock-full of immersion in culture, history, UNESCO World Heritage sites, and altitude. Cusco, home base for our Peruvian adventure, is over 11,000 feet (3,000+ meters) above sea level. Altitude sickness is common here and coca leaves are plentiful. The leaves are a natural relief from nausea, headache, and fatigue. I crammed coca leaves in my cheeks, unashamed of looking like a squirrel with a nut.
Rainbow Mountain kicked my coca leaves’ ass.
Rainbow Mountain was discovered in 2013 when snow melt exposed the mountain’s rainbow hue. Composed of 14 different minerals and 3 hours outside of Cusco, the top of Rainbow Mountain is over 16,000 feet (5,000+ meters). And it’s really freaking cold. And you have to get up a zero dark thirty to arrive.
Armed with layers of alpaca wool socks, sweaters, and gloves plus 2 packed coca leave cheeks, we started the hike to the top of the mountain. One more glorious moment of brave to make my inner circle proud.
Kind of.
Altitude sickness is a thing at this height. So much so that there are horses with guides dotted along the hiking path for anyone who is unable to make it without assistance. I stopped. I started. I told myself I could stop after I walked 100 steps. Then it was 75. Then 50. Then 20. A couple dropped out. Another woman opted for the horse. I pushed myself and I chewed every ounce of those leaves until they looked like a knot of soggy oregano. I failed to make it to every marker I targeted. That rock. That tree. That lady. Just stay in front of that lady. Then the lady passed me.
I cried.
Five Black women on their descent quickly swooped in on me, a band of fairy godwomen. “Are you OK?” “Girl, breathe.” “You’re going to be fine.” All at once I felt my tears dried with a wool glove, a warm hug with another, and a, “Here, breathe this in. It helps.” She rubbed a salve on her hands that opened my stressed lungs. Another women presented me with a can of oxygen. “We don’t need this anymore, you have it.” I couldn’t muster the words so I hoped they read the gratitude I attempted to communicate through my eyes. “You can do this.” “It’s worth it.” “We’ll see you at the bottom.”
They each hugged me again, which only made me lose more words and find more tears. I only had the sign language for thank you to give. Each one smiled one more time and I watched them bound down the mountain with ease.
The thing about me is, I might cry, but I will do it. So I dried my tears and repeated my favorite Arthur Ashe quote: Start where you are. Do what you can. Use what you have.
What I had, after starting again, was access to a horse. I paid the guide and rode the horse in glory to the top of the mountain.
I am not brave because I made it the top, I am brave because I accepted help rather than surrender. I am brave because I acknowledged my limits. I am brave because I am acknowledging that the power of this care came from the hands of Black women.
I have no regrets, other than not getting their names. Whoever you are, wherever you are, you have my deepest gratitude. You have my recognition of our power to care for others. You have my assurance that I will pay it forward.
🎬 There’s something that surprises almost everyone about this hike. It’s much easier to see it than read about it. Watch us hike on YouTube.