I had made reservations at a local climbing lodge that offered room and board, transportation to the mountain, and if needed, a guide. I walked down the street indicated by the locals and soon was at the entrance of the lodge. The door was answered by an old Mexican woman and after looking up my information she showed me to my room across a small courtyard. The room was small but clean and comfortable; and as an added bonus I didn’t have to share it with anyone. Once again I dropped my bags off in the corner and went out to explore the village while it was still light.
Walking through town was like taking a small step back in time. While there were still plenty of old Toyota and Nissan pickups rattling around the dusty streets, there were also many carts drawn by mules, livestock being walked through the street, and wild dogs running through the streets eating scraps and garbage. The town was littered with garbage everywhere. Plastic bottles rolled around the streets and empty chip bags could be seen protruding through the dirt. Kids chased soccer balls around or sat on the street corners and listened to songs on old battered radios.
As I turned down an alley, I finally got a clear view of Pico de Orizaba between the buildings. I had missed it on the drive in because of clouds surrounding the peak; but now it finally presented itself in all its glory.
The snowcapped peak of Orizaba towers above the surrounding landscape at 18,618′ (5,675m) with a ridiculous prominence of 16,141′ (4,922m). The sun behind it casts a pyramid shaped shadow that extends for miles across the valley. Suddenly, the sheer immensity of the peak was impressed upon me and I realized that this was not going to be like any other mountain I had climbed. It was an exciting, nervous and adrenaline filled feeling and I loved every part of it.
I slowly wandered back to the lodge and discovered that two other climbers had arrived. Two women from Colorado who were planning on making the climb the same morning as me. It was nice to finally have someone that I could speak English with and we discussed the upcoming climb and our trips thus far. The old Mexican woman entered the courtyard and informed us that dinner was ready. I once again was excited for the authentic Mexican meal that I was about to partake in and eagerly sat down at the community table.
Our host brought out some warm homemade tortillas and refried beans and we all quickly ate the appetizer. Soon the main course was presented and although I wasn’t entirely sure what I was eating at the time, to this day I’m still pretty sure that it was lukewarm noodles covered in mayonnaise. Since I don’t even enjoy mayonnaise on food items that mayonnaise is intended to go on, the lukewarm noodle were perhaps one of the worst things I’ve ever eaten. Authentic Mexican, 2; Me, 0.
That night our host introduced us to our drivers for the next day and told us that they would be leaving for the mountain at 10 am. The drivers would drop us and our gear off at the climbing hut located at the base of the mountain. Here we would spend the night and then make our attempt at the summit with an alpine start around 3am. I got my gear ready for the next day and then wandered back outside and tried to get some food for the trip. I had been worried about passing food from the United States through customs, so I had decided to purchase food in the village in an effort to make things easier.
This ended up being more difficult than planned because not only were most stores closed after dinner in Tlachichuca, they didn’t sell anything that I wanted to eat on a climb anyways. Weird deep-fried puff chips and canned beans were in abundance but no climbing food that I was really accustomed to was available anywhere. Eventually I found a few fresh tangerines and decided to give up on finding more fresh food and just look for a loaf of bread and some sausage instead. With those items I surmised that I could last a day on the mountain even if it wouldn’t be particularly enjoyable.
Of course, all the bakeries were closed but I finally found an old Mexican man selling loaves of bread out of the trunk of his car. I bought a loaf and continued my search for some sort of sausage that would last a night in the mountain hut and a day on the mountain without refrigeration. I found a shop that was still open and that had various kinds of meat hanging from the roof. All the meat that I saw laying out in the shop looked like it would be much better situated in a freezer instead of the warm Mexican air, so I did my best to ask the butcher for something cooked. He pointed to some sausages hanging from the ceiling and after a few moments of me desperately trying to communicate that I would die if I ate raw sausage, and a few moments of what I assumed was him telling me that the sausages were indeed cooked, I handed him what seemed in my mind an appropriate amount of money. There were no prices on anything, so I assumed this was how things were done. He looked at my money and cut me off what apparently was an appropriate amount of sausage. It seemed like a fair deal and I thanked the man and went on my merry, albeit still somewhat skeptical way.
I had everything I needed and headed back to the lodge. A couple blocks away I noticed a small taco stand that was still open and with my stomach still painfully empty from the night’s earlier attempt at dinner, I decided one last try at authentic Mexican.
The air had finally cooled down a little bit and there was a small crowd gathered around the taco stand. A man stood in the middle of the booth cooking meat in two large skillets. Tonight’s options were beef or chicken and I ordered two of each. He quickly made the little tacos and I added the toppings from the dishes on the counter in front of me. The tacos were delicious. Finally authentic Mexican for the win. The delicious tacos somehow added an enormous amount of contentment to my mind that I honestly needed that evening. There were only four seats at the stand, but most everyone was content with standing and lingering in small groups so I was able to finally sit down and take the scene in. Hanging out and eating little tacos while little kids ran around chasing wild dogs through the village square instantly relaxed me and I felt that summiting Orizba was going to be no problem.