Photo of the Day: Our Campsite at Qoyllur Rit’i

We camped out for three nights (June 6-9) in the valley below receding Qolqepunku Glacier. That dark mountain on the right used to be covered with snow and ice. Once upon a twentieth century…

I look at this photo, and what strikes me is how pleasant and cozy the scene appears. Warm sunlight, plenty of space between campsites.

That’s anything but the truth. Climbing out of that tent in the frigidly cold morning was torture. I got dizzy bending over in the high altitude and sort of collapsed onto this chair just minutes before El Fotografo snapped this shot. There is an 11-year-old child inside the zippered tent, refusing to come out after a sleepless night of listening to the nonstop drumming and loudspeaker announcements.

The day this photo was taken pilgrims began swarming the site. Tents were pitched all around us. We fenced off our area with wooden poles and rope, but one comparsa insisted that this spot was theirs, and they attempted to bully us into relocating to another space.

I stood up and faced them, folding my arms: “No! No es aceptable.” My voice was low and firm, like the tone I use to train Lola in the park. “No!”

The men in the comparsa (I swear they were the same comparsa who had tried the same thing with us last year) stared down at their feet.

I was not budging. El Fotografo had set up the camp himself the prior night in the dark, an effort so massive at that altitude that he passed out, face down onto a mat, for 30 seconds. People do die at Qoyllur Rit’i — from cold, altitude sickness, over exertion. I wasn’t going to risk that scenario again.

My tone of voice must have convinced them. They backed off and started setting up a tent one foot from ours. A small victory.

By mid-afternoon that day, the valley was crammed with tents and people sleeping under tarps. Groups of dancers were stomping in rhythm to bass drums, passing within inches of our tent as they made their way to the glacier. When you lay down in the tent, you could feel the moss-covered ground trembling beneath you.

By 4 p.m. the sun had disappeared behind the mountain peaks, and breathing in the cold air was like gulping ice cubes. Then to nightfall.

Camping at Qoyllur Rit’i.