Coca leaves are the base ingredient for cocaine. They have been consumed by Andeans for 4,000 years. Coca leaves are certainly not as potent as cocaine, but as I would later learn, they’re not to be underestimated. Old women in hand-made felted wool skirts and hats embroidered with flowers sat cross-legged on the ground chewing dried coca leaves, grinning numbly and gossiping wickedly. I chatted with them, lounging in the grass as they smiled curiously at me, green leaves stuck to their gold capped teeth. Glasses of Peruvian wine, beer, and chicha morada (purple corn refresco) were passed in my direction, each person ensuring that I always had a full glass—I learned to refuse their overbearing hospitality. While chicha morada certainly helps endear strangers, rapid consumption of home brew at 14,000 feet elevation is inadvisable. Respected though they be, I didn’t want to end up drooling on the ground with the toothless elders.

The next day I traveled to Mount Huatapallana via a steep, narrow gravel road squeezed between the peaks. No buses went to this trailhead, so I hired Fidel, a taxi driver who couldn’t decide whether I was a gringa or a nice Peruvian girl who should marry his son. Regardless of who I was, he volunteered himself as my guide for the day, pointing out sights and improbable potato plots planted by tiny Andean women at 16,000 feet. Stopping the cab in front of a bustling convenience store, Fidel explained that we needed coca leaves and sugar cane liquor to combat the altitude and gain energy. In the name of cultural exposure, I skeptically but happily accepted Fidel’s advice. Andean campesinos chew coca leaves and drink the cane liquor (referred to as “combustible”) to give them the energy to work without resting or eating at high altitudes. The Incas chewed coca leaves as well, using it not only as a meal replacement, but also to numb their mouths in order to remove and replace teeth with gold and silver nuggets.

Climbing the steep ridge with Fidel, I paused to catch my breath and admire the llamas grazing on wiry gold grasses amongst lichen spotted rocks. Realizing that I had only traveled 20 feet in as many minutes, I groaned knowing that my soroche (altitude sickness) would worsen. My legs, strong from two months of biological field work, had no trouble with the rough terrain, but my respiratory system was on a different track. My pulse audibly pounded in the back of my skull, demanding more oxygen.

Observing my discomfort, Fidel insisted that I partake in “mas coca, mas coca mi amiga”. I complied, stuffing two hearty pinches of coca between each cheek until I looked like a chipmunk. Twenty minutes later, I scratched an odd tickle on my collar bone and was startled to feel that my hand came away wet and covered in leaf particulate. I had drooled down my chin and the front of my rain jacket. My entire face and upper neck was so numb from the coca that I hadn’t noticed. I spit out the coca leaves as best as one can do with a numb face. Using my pointer finger as a scoop to empty my mouth (because I was incapable of puckering my lips to spit) wasn’t my classiest moment. While coca is chemically unrelated to Novocain, it felt as if I had been anesthetized by the dentist’s new intern.

We stopped to admired a lagoon resting under an intimidating snow peak obscured by currents of fog racing around its steep slopes. After giving me a capful of cane liquor, Fidel dumped the clear liquid into his bare hands, murmuring and tossing it reverently toward the moody mountain. Answering my confused look, he explained that he was asking the Gods for a clear view. Moments later, the fog disappeared for five minutes, exposing the stunning crest of the Andes… as well as rapidly forming water logged thunderheads. Right. Off we go. We scampered back to town for a hot lunch - where I continued to drool uncontrollably for the rest of the day.