John Mattson

“Speak English to me!” Exclaimed the beautiful Peruvian woman very frankly from the balcony of her mansion. She had thought that the cliff below her home was unclimbable, and wanted to know what in tarnation this gringo was doing in her backyard. A fairly extreme scramble had ended there, and I did not wish to retrace my steps.

Dozens of maids and other workers rushed out onto their balconies, and every dog in the neighborhood was barking.

I had just returned from a great adventure of skiing on the highest volcano in Peru with “Team Ned,” and had left a day of buffer on my schedule to spend in Lima. This grand old city flourished during the 17th century, and was once known as the Pearl city of the universe. But that was before the ocean currents changed and destroyed the fishing, and the rich tyrants destroyed the government.  It has obviously deteriorated a bit since then, but it still offers brilliant coastal views, interesting museums, and some of the best restaurants in the world. My favorite restaurant, “El Rustica” sits right on the ocean in the upscale neighborhood of Baranco. The ceviche is fabulous and the open air dining let’s you enjoy the smell, sound, and sometimes wetness of the crashing waves.

I was staying in the nearby tourist friendly “Miraflores,” which is a couple of miles up the coast, but the general area is fairly elite, and relatively safe for gringos. There is a pleasant and safe path that follows the coast and affords spectacular vistas, but it crosses one fairly deep canyon, and the bridge is quite a ways inland. I had taken the long path on a couple of occasions and had also explored a trail that went directly through the canyon. It involved about 200 vertical feet of scrambling and crossing a semi-busy highway, but it was substantially shorter. I had taken this route the day before and felt safe on it, but this time I decided to follow the road down the coast. This would avoid climbing and descending the big hill, and I knew that the restaurant was near. The roadway started out with a wide walkway, and it was obvious that others had taken it, so I proceeded cautiously, and could almost smell the fresh fish as I wandered onward.

The road that I was following quickly joined the Pan American highway, and the traffic became extremely dense.  The restaurant was now very close, but the path got even narrower, and crossing the busy freeway did not look like a good option. I was about ready to turn back, when I approached a large mesh fence. The fence had been erected to contain the small avalanches of rocks that were constantly sliding down the steep embankment, but there was a faint trail between the fence and the manky cliff. It looked a lot safer than the road, and El Rustica and the pedestrian bridge that crossed the turnpike were now in sight.

But my hopes were suddenly dashed when I encountered an old rock avalanche that had closed the path. The old slide had become infested with dense brush, and the trail suddenly stopped. An old homeless peasant suddenly emerged from the dense brush. He didn’t harm me in anyway, but his presence made me feel a bit more wary of what other hazards might be lurking.

I tried to bushwhack my way through the dense brush and loose debris, but my intense efforts were futile. The restaurant was so close, and I really didn’t wish to retrace my steps, so I contemplated my fate for a few seconds.  I was reluctantly ready to give up and turn back when I noticed a trace of a trail heading up the steep headwall.  The trail quickly vanished, but by now my alpine climbing instincts had kicked in, and I wandered upward.  The route, which was probably a first ascent, involved up to 5.7 vine assisted mank and the crux move was a mantle off the remnants of an old retaining wall. It was an adrenaline filled solo, but I finally arrived at a friendly plateau.

I was hoping to find a public trail or road at the top of the cliff, but instead it was the backyard of a luxurious condo complex.  A 12 foot tall concrete wall protected most of the building from intruders, but a few of the condos had taken advantage of the terrain and had sculpted luxurious backyards that enjoyed the constantly changing vistas of the Pacific Ocean.

Suddenly, one of the dogs started to bark and a few curious servants appeared on the balconies!

“I am a gringo and I am lost,” I tried to convey in my broken Spanish.

The 12 foot wall looked unsurmountable, but I spotted a reasonable route to one of the yards. It involved a 5.3 vine scramble that awakened every dog in the neighborhood, but I didn’t get shot, and luckily, all of the dogs were locked behind fences.

Everyone within earshot was now out on the balconies, and the caretaker of the property suddenly arrived on the scene.

My Spanish was good enough to convince him that I wasn’t a danger, but he told me to stay right where I was, as he summoned the owner.

After more than a few minutes of waiting, the beautiful woman finally appeared. She was very well dressed and looked very dignified, but her manor was not friendly.

“What you are doing is extremely dangerous, and you are very lucky that you haven’t been injured.”

“I’m really sorry and I didn’t mean to intrude, but I am an experienced climber and Peru is one of my favorite countries.” I replied.

She looked very intelligent and influential and I was really hoping that we could get to know each other and I was hoping for at least a short conversation about my latest adventure, but she quickly instructed her manager to guide me to the street, and retreated back to her mansion.

“OK! You can come this way now,”  exclaimed the manager in Spanish, as he carefully opened the gate. The path took us through an elegant yard with a small swimming pool and lots of ancient looking relics. He carefully opened the door, and led me through the luxuriously decorated home.

“What you just did was very dangerous, and you are very lucky that you didn’t get injured or killed!” He exclaimed, as we left the condo and entered an elevator.

“Si! Si!” I agreed. “But I am an experienced climber,”  I added in my broken Spanish. He shook his head and gave me a somewhat strange look, as he lead me to another gate and wished me luck. I thanked him and tried to give him a tip, but he politely refused, so I left a card with my website for the owners.  I don’t think they bought my book.

The exit gate was on a friendly street in Baranco, and a short stroll brough me to “El Rustica”. It was the best adrenaline buzz of the whole trip, but a great pisco sour calmed my nerves, and the ceviche was worth the adventure.

John is a local Ned Head, and is the author of the award winning memoir “Dancing on the Edge of an Endangered Planet”  www.danceonedge.com