The sum of steps is more than a summit reached

It was a chilly and clouded morning, that Sunday the 5th of July. We had been climbing for almost 7 hours in the darkness of a windy Ecuadorian summer night, our steps lit by ice-topped headlights and our hearts pumping to fight the lack of oxygen. I had fallen several times into glacier cracks en route. Climbing out of them demanded an extra toll on my already low energy levels; staring into them and seeing nothing but a black void made me appreciate even more the special training we had received in glacier-climbing. It was 7am on the dots: we had made it to the top of the southern slope of the Cotopaxi, Ecuador's second highest and still active volcano. 5860 meters above sea level, and all I could do was drop dead, exhausted by this supra-humane nocturnal effort.

Camera freeze at 5860m - summit reached!

I had always enjoyed hiking in the mountains. At high-school, two teachers used to organise ten-day sports-and-hiking camps in the Austrian Alps, which I joined several times. I hadn't been much in the mountains since, but it only felt natural for me to join a group of friends who wanted to climb the Cotopaxi three weeks into my fresh arrival in Ecuador. I thoroughly enjoyed that experience - although unsuccessful due to rather harsh weather conditions - but I also quickly realised that climbing at 5000 meters above sea level is a different cup of tea from hiking at 2000 meters.

Inspired by the ever-present mountains and volcanoes that I can see from my office on a clear day, and the unique páramo-ecosystem typical of the Andes in this part of the continent, I decided to continue the hiking and step it up to the next level. So I joined the Rocks meet ice climbing programme of Ruta Cero, a local agency that organises these kind of adventure trips. The goal was clear: get yourself prepared, both physically and technically, to reach the highest, snow-capped tops of Ecuador's awe-inspiring volcanoes. The remaining third part required to reach this objective - mental perseverance - was something you had to come up with yourself.

Although we started off with a huge group, only 18 of us made it to the first big challenge, the Cayambe volcano (5790m). There we got our final lesson of the programme, taught to us by Mother Nature herself: when the volcano doesn't let you to reach her summit, there's nothing you can do about it. Relentless stormy winds of up to 120km/h, gently carressing our faces with icy hail, and temperatures of 15 to 20 degrees below freezing devoured our energy levels in a whimp. At 300m below the summit, mildly hallucinating from exhaustion and the lack of oxygen, our team decided it was safer to head back to the refuge instead of continuing to fight a battle we could only loose. The Cayambe had thinned our ranks to a core group of 7 die-hards - three of whom women! - who would attempt to reach Cotopaxi's southern crown...

After a three-hour hike from the refuge, we set up our tents at base-camp, at 4700m. Fortunately it hadn't started snowing yet, so it was fairly easy to do so. Meanwhile, our guides started preparing dinner in the kitchen-tent. As we joined them to warm up with a cup of tea, the atmosphere couldn't have been better. We had known each other now for quite a few trips. These kind of extreme experiences - and, honesty abides, Halli Galli - had made us bond pretty well, so we had plenty of stories and banter to share. 

Base camp 

The crew in the kitchen-tent

Being at 4700m is no excuse not to keep up with your dental hygiene!

At 6pm it was time to hit the tents and try to get some rest, for we had to rise and shine at 11pm. The biggest challenge was to get dressed in that tiny tent - think of heavy skiing shoes with laces, three layers of clothing, a climbing harness and gaiters. After a quick breakfeast - let's be honest, your stomach doesn't hold much at that time of the night - and filling up our thermoses with hot water, we were set to go at 12:15am. It wasn't until the glacier began that we put on our crampons and formed teams of three (two lunatics and a guide), tied to each other with a rope. We generally took a rest every hour and a half or so, unless something unexpected happens, such as falling into glacier cracks - a trick I turned out be quite good at.

Time to get the crampons on

The toughest part was no doubt keeping up my energy levels - and along with them, morale. Some five hours into our ascent, I didn't have much energy left. I had been eating energy bars and sucking panela for some energy boosts, but after a while exhaustion becomes so omnipresent that whatever rest I got, I literally wanted to fall down and do nothing but rest. The thin air was not only affecting my ability to breathe normally, it also got me a headache (or was it from the exhaustion?) that pushed my morale down. At that point, it was just a matter of climbing step by step, relatively straight forward when on ice, but less so on snow, where every step you make turns into half a step you slide down.

Reaching the summit was just a momentary experience. It was clouded and everybody was pretty freezing, making it a matter of resting a bit, grabbing that camera to make a few shots (they came with a natural frost effect) and climbing down to a more sheltered part of the slope, so we could get a decent rest before rushing down (it took us just 2 hours and half to reach base camp). As the sky started opening up a bit, we got a sight on the vast plains surrounding the Cotopaxi and we could catch a glimpse of Ecuador's highest dome, the Chimborazo. Despite the majestic sights, all I could think of was my bed and how much I wanted to rid myself from that terrible headache. (Note to self: next time just ask your companions if they have a pill for that with them.)

Reaching the summit, on two or four feet (courtesy of Diego Villacres)

Back down at the lowest part of the glacier (courtesy of Diego Villacres)

The true, lasting experience from these adventures, however, has no doubt been the companionship of the whole group. I did not just reach the summit on my own, we had all made it together. At every moment there has been someone to lift up spirits, to share your agony or to grab your thermos out of your frosted backpack. The ultimate goal is not to reach the summit, for it doesn't tell much about how you got there. No, the true challenge is to make sure that your team stays safe while crossing mental and physical boundaries you had never imagined you would cross. The reward the mountain spirits offer you is the unique experience of sharing these life-altering moments with like-minded people. They make you forget all the hardship and suffering you experienced, making you long instead for the next summit to be shared.

(I know, I shamelessly breached my five-at-a-time rule. The experience largely exceeded my self-imposed space, and this way you got a better impression of it, I hope...)

You can't drink gold, so just swallow bullets

Last week, Ollanta Humala's government has marked another black page in the history of Peru. In a country that has been marred by social conflict as a result of mismanaged extractive industries - a sad continuum across governments of the past two decades - five people have been killed during a peaceful protest march in the town of Celendín, Cajamarca province. One day later, some 20 combat-armed policemen threw Marco Arana, one of the figureheads of an indefinite strike against a huge mining project planned in the province, brutally off a bench in a park of Cajamarca city. He was forcefully grabbed by the head (a jaw was broken), pushed to the ground, hit several times in the kidneys (having passed a severe kidney operation earlier this year) and then abducted to prison [see video below, in Spanish], where he was held without charge and further beaten. His lawyer was refused due access to her client by police officers who could not present any credentials, upon which the officers maltreated Arana's lawyer as well. Apparently, Arana's only crime was to have worn a cardboard sign around his neck saying "Yes to life, No to gold" in a public space during a state of emergency.

Once again, peaceful protest has shown how powerful it can be, considering that the regrettable answer of a seemingly powerless government has been to resort to lethal violence. To be honest, it really takes my breath away to see how far governments are willing to go to safeguard investment commitments made by extractive industries in a region that has patently objected such environmentally damaging investments in its livelihoods. Even more so, when the current president was elected by promising Cajamarca's electorate to respect their decision not to support mining projects in their region, for "you cannot drink gold, so it is of utmost importance to protect natural water sources such as your beautiful lakes and prevent their contamination".

All these lofty promises have been mysteriously forgotten, as President Humala is fully committed to have the infamous Conga mining project started, a Newmont Mining Corporation investment that will affect four precious lakes - essential sources of clean water for the nearby communities - by converting them into depositories for toxic mining waste. Of course, promises have been made to treat the water and turn it into Peru's purest drinking water, but evidence of such practices are scant, not to say inexistent, in the country. Even one of Peru's star projects in terms of social and environmental responsibility turned out to be a fraud, deforming newborn lamas and contaminating nearby rivers.

What strikes me most is how the government has unequivocally sided with private industry, instead of being the gatekeeper that veils over the balance between the public's and the private sector's interests. How else to explain that national police officers are being transported by buses from the Yanacocha mine company (daughter holding of Newmont Mining)? Human rights violations as the ones described above, committed in plain daylight, in front of twenty cameras, while the region's provincial and local authorities have been drawn away from the scene to the capital, do not occur unless they are sanctioned from the highest level downwards.

I cannot even figure how these policies go down, from top government figures into the heads of the national police. It sure is no bed-time story material, judging from the police man's reaction to a Cajamarca inhabitant asking him why the police is treating citizens in such a horrible, irrespectful way: "Because you are a bunch of dogs, you son of a bitch!" And then to figure that this has been happening at a far wider scale over the past year in Syria, under the all-seeing eye of the international community, as world leaders are belt-tightening their way through domestic crises and smother their electorate with election-proof foreign policies...

For those interested, here is more information on the criminalisation of social protest and Marco Arana, and the social conflict as a result of the planned Conga Mining project. There is also a petition running on Avaaz, in case you would like to support the communities of Cajamarca in their struggle.

Win-win diplomacy

Old people have something intriguing about them. It is as if every wrinkle has a story that formed it, and every hair a life experience that coloured it grey. Most of the times, I simply admire the history they embody, while imagining what their lives must have been like and which mesmerising stories they carry with them. Sometimes, though, I seek engagement, to learn about their lives, to listen to their memories, and to share some happiness. After all, a lesson learnt now might save you the trouble of missing the mark when you get to face it later on.

That's how I ended up having lunch with UNDP Ecuador's outgoing Resident Coordinator and Country Director, whose retirement (not to be mistaken with idle leasure time) awaits him in but a few months time at his beach-front house in Panama. A lifetime of experience within the UN system made for some good conversation and useful career tips, which I'm happy to share here.

Source: Oxford Leadership Academy

As for your career, whichever direction it may take, the above image pretty much sums it up. Find something that you are passionate about, that you love doing. Make sure you do it well enough so that people are willing to pay for it. If, on top of that, this something of yours happens to be something people need, then you've got yourself a dream ticket. Things rarely come that easy, though. Therefore, plan ahead: start thinking now about the spot in which you'd like to see yourself working in say 5, 10 or 20 years; check out job vacancies that match that very profile to see which road to take to gather the required experience and skills; and watch your own back: no one will take care of your career but yourself, no matter how lofty, noble and high-spirited the organisation you work for presents itself to be.

When asked about his rule of thumb for multilateral diplomatic settings, he was very affirmative: make sure that your actions offer a win-win solution for all parties involved. You won't make nor keep any friends by getting what you want at their expense or by critising without offering alternative solutions. In a world of connections, networks of success are built through win-win diplomacy. Thus, think twice before saying or acting, strike the right balance between content and form, and always make sure to have a trump card to put on the table.

A last piece of advice from this social media savvy, TED-talks aficionado: always save some part of your earnings for whatever unexpected calamity may hit your path, or for a tranquil retirement. Not that he will rest on his laurels, of course: consultancies and teaching will fill up much of the years to come, to pay the bills and take care of his family. After all, that's how he had envisaged his 80th birthday (still some time away, though): surrounded by his family and friends.

Bathroom with a view

Three months into my stay in Ecuador, I figured it would be nice to give you an insight into life at 2,800m. I inherited the room of a friend of mine, in the apartment of an Ecuadorian guy in the historical centre of Quito. Some of the big advantages of this apartment are its character and that of the condominium (as opposed to living in a concrete building, where you know that people six floors up and down live in exactly the same apartment as you do), the cobbled streets with their colonial-era houses and a gamut of small shops, the panoramic view over Quito on my way to work, and the daily exercise from having to walk four steep blocks uphill to get home. Oh, and did I mention the view from the bathroom?

Huasipichay (housewarming) in my new apartment

My street, running down all the way into the convent of St. Francis

Panoramic view over the historical centre on my way to work

 Bathroom with a view (on the Basilica and St. John's monastery)

My first preoccupation in Quito was to get the hang of city and how to move around here. The centre is extremely well connected with the rest of town through public transport, and (cheap) taxis are abundant. Quite rapidly I stumbled onto some nice people, expats and locals, with whom I play football and basketball on a weekly basis. Ecuador being relatively small, we often go on a trip in the weekend to contrast the hectic city-life. And if not, a nice stroll in the centre is always a relaxing way to spend the afternoon.

The procession on Holy Friday is as good an occasion as any other to sell some soap bubbles

Stuck at 5,400m due to bad weather conditions during our ascent of the Cotopaxi

Crazy fun at the Green Waterfall (Cascasda Verde)

With so much activities at hand, it took me a while to sort out my room - for it had only come with a mattress. A few trips down to the furniture shops of Santa Clara, the helpful hand of our neighbour carpenter and a Sunday afternoon stroll along the local painters' exhibitions at Parque El Ejido gave my room the touch it needed to feel more at home in my new home. Latin America being Ikea-free zone, it's been quite a new experience to have had some of that stuff custom-made, like my desk and leisure pillows.

My room, with a view on the Cayambe...

... and a comfy wobbly chair

As for my new job, I have been lucky to land into a great team of Ecuadorians, an energetic Italian lady and a charismatic Cuban boss. This week off to my first field mission and trying to get a regional project started together with Bolivia -  busy times. And boy, what a view do I have from my office. That's right, envy me!

View from my office at the 10th floor

Juan Montalvo's good ruler

Ok, I promise, I will stop writing about this subject for some time now, but it was just too much of a coincidence yesterday night, when I was reading a chapter in The Ecuador Reader by Juan Montalvo, a 19th century writer from Ecuador, and one of Latin America's greatest literary minds. In his essay On the Spirit of Association, he writes the following two passages which struck me in the light of recent events:

The good ruler has a clear conscience and does not lift his head in fear when he hears that a certain number of people have gathered together.

The government that sees only danger in whatever occurs in the Republic is a Polyphemus, having only one eye: a cruel and villainous giant, he seizes his guests and devours them; a formidable son of the earth, he makes all tremble. But no one lets pass the opportunity to throw a stone at him and, when the moment comes, to deprive him of his sight.

Juan Montalvo, detractor and wise insulter (source)