Intro
The sky over Arequipa remained a hard, cloudless blue today, offering a deceptive sense of calm before tomorrow’s departure. My legs are rested, but my mind is occupied with the logistics of the seven-day mostly self-supported climb toward Puno that begins at dawn. Today was about understanding the literal foundation of this ‘White City’ while navigating the bumpy cobblestones and dusty outskirts one last time.
Oats, AirTags, and Old Plans
- I woke up at 08:15 to the sound of distant traffic and the immediate realization that my peaceful stint in Arequipa is coming to an end. Breakfast was a utilitarian pile of oats mixed with yogurt, fruit, and nuts, followed by a somewhat questionable side of bread topped with avocado and canned tuna. It’s the kind of fuel you eat when you know the next week will be spent rationing dehydrated meals. While I ate, I spent a long time on the phone with my sister and Mary, planning my father’s 70th birthday for next year. It’s strange to talk about party venues and guest lists while staring at a bike that needs its AirTag battery swapped and a pile of laundry that needs to be hand-washed before it gets caked in Altiplano dust again.
- By mid-morning, I had the bike prepped and my kit hanging to dry in the thin, dry air. I spent an hour researching Bolivia, trying to map out what happens after I survive the climb to Puno. The transition from ‘rest mode’ to ‘expedition mode’ is always jarring. You go from worrying about whether your t-shirt is clean to worrying if you have enough calories to sustain a 1,500-meter vertical gain in a single afternoon.
The Neon Glow of San Camilo
- I headed toward Mercado San Camilo around noon, the bike tires humming over the uneven city stones. The market is a sensory overload of hanging meats and stacks of citrus, but I was there for the Rocoto Relleno. I found a stall and sat down to a plate of the stuffed peppers served with pastel de papa and arroz verde. The heat from the pepper was immediate, a slow burn that stayed with me for an hour. My table neighbors, seeing me sweat through the spice, struck up a conversation and poured me a glass of Inka Cola. The synthetic, bubblegum sweetness of the neon-yellow soda is a weirdly perfect foil for the spice, and we toasted to the road ahead.
- After lunch, I wandered to the Plaza de Armas and managed to snag the last spot on a van heading out to the Ruta del Sillar. We made a quick stop at the Yanahuara viewpoint, where the Misti volcano stood sharp against the horizon. The guide let us taste ‘queso helado,’ which, despite the name, contains no cheese. It’s just cold, creamy cinnamon-infused ice, but it was exactly what I needed before heading into the heat of the quarries.
The Architecture of the Earth
- We reached the Añashuayco quarries by mid-afternoon, and the scale of the place is difficult to describe without sounding dramatic. I stood in a massive canyon where the walls are sheer faces of white volcanic tuff. The most striking thing wasn’t the height, but the sound: the constant, rhythmic tink-tink-tink of chisels against stone. Local masons were standing on wooden scaffolding, hand-carving intricate facades and figures directly into the cliffside. I ran my hand over a freshly cut block and felt the chalky, white residue of the sillar coating my palms like flour. This is where the city comes from—it’s literally carved out of the volcanic debris of the mountains I want to climb tomorrow.
- Later, we hiked into the Quebrada de Culebrillas. The walls here shifted from bright white to a soft, dusty salmon color. The gorge narrowed as we walked, leading us to ancient pre-Inca petroglyphs. Seeing the carvings of pumas, snakes, and condors felt different than seeing them in a museum. These were markers for ancient travelers, ritual signs left to Pachamama to ensure safe passage through the mountains. Standing there, framed by the peaks of Chachani and Misti, I felt a kinship with those old travelers. They were looking for protection on the same high-altitude paths I’m about to grind my way up.
The Seven-Day Weight
- I got back to the hotel around 19:30 and went straight into provisioning mode. I hit a local bakery, hoping for a stack of ‘nutritional’ dark rolls, but they only had one left. I pivoted and bought three large focaccias instead, along with a heavy bag of bananas, mandarins, and avocados. Back in the room, the floor was covered in gear. I spent an hour meticulously packing the food reserves for the seven-day push. Every centimeter of my panniers is now accounted for, including a massive 2.5-liter bottle of water I picked up at a Tambo convenience store on the way back.
- Dinner was Ocopa Arequipeña at El Fuego de San Antonio, a restaurant built into the same white sillar stone I’d spent the afternoon touching. The sauce was fresh—I could hear the blender whirring in the kitchen after I ordered—and the potatoes were heavy and filling. I’m sitting in my room now, the bags are zipped, and the bike is leaning against the wall of the courtyard. The curiosity of what lies between here and Puno is starting to outweigh the nerves. It’s a long way up, and there aren’t many places to stop, but the bike is ready even if my lungs aren’t.
Overnight
I stayed at a central hotel in Arequipa, chosen specifically for its rooftop area where I could dry my laundry and the secure storage for my bike as I finalized my heavy packing for the Altiplano.
Reflection
Seven days of mostly self-supported climbing requires more water and bread than my panniers seem physically capable of holding, yet somehow, it all fits.