I write to you from a cozy, comfortable cafe in Huaraz, listening to the Spanish commentary and accompanying cheers from cafe guests on the World Cup game between Egypt and Argentina. We’re one week into our three month journey in South America, figuring out our wants and needs day by day, allowing the trip to unfold as we go. We arrived in Huaraz yesterday morning (July 6th) at 5:30am. We kept our bikes packed up in their boxes for the overnight bus ride, assembled them at the bus station, and rode out to find our hostel. The bus station was deceptively clean and well kept; I honestly wasn’t expecting shiny white tiled floors. A wider truth followed as soon as we stepped out onto the street: Huaraz is dirty. There’s trash, dust, dirt, and dogs everywhere, the air smells and tastes of exhaust from tuk-tuks, trucks, vans, and cars. And it’s surrounded by gorgeous, snow-capped mountains. Big, big mountains. Carlos said it reminds him uncannily of cities in the Himalayas.

We’re taking a couple days to acclimatize before we begin riding our bikes. Huaraz sits at 3091m (10,141 ft) and our transition to the altitude from Lima, which is at sea level, has been notable. We’ve also been dealing with some mild GI upset (there was a meal we ate in Lima that we suspect is the culprit) and are taking some time to recover. So far we’ve explored around town, eaten, slept a lot, watched part of a movie, and drank a lot of coca tea. Over the next few days, we hope to do some day hikes in the area surrounding Huaraz, to practice going up higher and higher and enjoy the mountains.

Some fears settled in for me yesterday. Mainly the altitude and the dogs. Yesterday I felt a lot worse about our trip, feeling like I wanted to bail completely and go home. Forget the bikes, forget Perú, this is way too much. It was the breathing. I couldn’t catch my breath on the first day at 3000m, and knowing we were going to be biking much higher, the whole sensation felt a bit like the onset of a panic attack. It was a combination of other things too; a dog barked angrily at us while riding to our hostel, the streets are completely chaotic and overwhelming, our hostel is far from the main drag of Huaraz, and the workers at the hostel seemed pretty apathetic on first impression. We weren’t exactly “welcomed”.

After getting settled, we left for the day to explore town and find a nice cafe to hole up in. We found one. It’s definitely for the mountaineering tourists. Pretty much every customer in here is a Westerner clad in fancy hiking clothes. The only Peruvians are the waitstaff and owners. You can have your laptop out and no one will bat an eye at it. There’s cool art hung on fake exposed brick walls, house plants, a small library, a fire place, big windows, a skylight shining through an exposed wood beam ceiling, and the staff is really friendly. When we walked in I immediately felt relief from all of the overwhelming fears I’d been battling since the morning. And then I wondered at that relief. I felt relief because I felt comfortable here, and frankly, because Carlos and I weren’t the only foreigners. What made this place feel comfortable? Well, it’s nice. It literally sits two stories above the chaos and filth of the streets below; we ascended two staircases to get here. It’s also expensive, which makes me think that the quality of the food will automatically be better and safer than whatever it was that gave us diarrhea. In a word, it doesn’t feel poor. So I get to sit with that realization, that I like nice things, that I have enjoyed a very high standard of living for my entire life, even when I felt poor, and that, like my wise goddaughter Claudia once said, “I don’t think it’s sketchy, I think we’re just pampered.”

With this realization that my perception was a big part of the overwhelm, Huaraz began to feel much more beautiful and enchanting. We left the cafe yesterday to go to a bike shop for a part that Carlos lost on the journey (amazingly, only one screw was missing after our boxes were torn apart by the TSA and left open for the rest of the trip to Lima). The bike shop is named Enchúlame La Bike, literally “Make My Bike Cute”. We met Iván, the shop owner, and asked about the screw, which led me to voice my fears about altiude and dogs. Iván responded with so much chill it was contagious. He gave us some very good, very specific advice on altitude, like not to sleep above 4200 m (13,800 ft), and that the problem with altitude is when we experience a significant gain over a short period of time, like the bus ride from Lima to Huaraz (+3100 m in 8 hours). He said that on bikes we go slowly, we acclimate as we ride, make sure to sleep low, and if all else fails, go back down the mountain.

On dogs, he immediately noticed my fear and told me it was obvious. He said this wouldn’t help me at all. Dogs respond to our emotions and our energy, much more than they do to words or commands. He told us to go without fear and worry, to stop if we are approached by a dog, speak calmly to it, maybe throw it something to eat, and that we’d probably be fine. He rides his bike all the time in these mountains, and dogs are not a concern to him. This information all sits well within the accumulated years of experience riding our bikes in the Ozarks and having to deal with the dogs there. I know I have a great deal of fear with dogs when riding my bike. Working through my fear isn’t the same as believing all dogs are my fluffy friends and I have nothing to be cautious about. And giving into fear isn’t the same thing as exercising care, control, and caution.

This trip has been a vehicle for me to continue to work through some of my inner world problems. If I choose to be fearful, I will see danger everywhere. If I choose to be consciously aware, I will see dangers as they arise and act accordingly. My second day in Huaraz has consisted of being blown away by the white mountains of the Cordillera Blanca looming in the distance, and feeling safer, more at home with the chaos. And yes, we did return to the fancy cafe.