La Rinconada

It happened that right after we retired and left the Keys in September 2021 we had Thanksgiving with friends in Pensacola and talk came up about our travel plans. I was actually a bit reticent about speculating about what we might do. Talk is cheap; driving to Ushuaia is hard and  boasting about what you want to do sounds absurd when you have only driven 800 miles so far from Key West.

Call me sentimental but I miss these gatherings full of food and talk and gratitude. Phil, above, is a man of extraordinary accomplishment. A translator by trade with knowledge of many languages, he has walked the US coast to coast and has traveled to I think more than 120 countries with the idea of visiting all 195 before he dies. He has seen some weird unsavory places.  

Dusk was falling and the food was eaten and the day celebrated. It was really good, you know the feeling. 

“Do you know where the highest human settlement in the world is?” Phil leaned across the table. 

“The Himalayas somewhere?” I hazarded a guess. 

“No,” he said, “it’s a mining town in Peru.”

“Apparently it’s the Wild West there and very dangerous.” Fantastic. Let’s go. 

After plowing through the appalling traffic in Juliaca we needed to find some place to sleep before attempting to drive up to the highest town in the world. This was not as easy as you might think. We tried a spot recommended by overlanding friends from Germany. Down a narrow single track road for six miles. 

It was a peninsula sticking out into the lake just west of Huancané and we no idea what to expect, certainly not a wooded hilly farming community. Nor were we happy to see rain. The locals ignored the weather and went about their business like it was a sunny afternoon. 

Then the hail began, a real ice storm such that it looked like snow. We couldn’t believe it. 

We had very low expectations of the campsite suggested to us but we pressed on ready to be surprised. 

When we arrived at the overlook there were two cars enjoying the afternoon and the view of the lake was merely an arm of the highest navigable body of water in the world. Our friends we figured out, had taken a steep dirt trail down to the village at the water’s edge and that track was now a mud bath. We drove back to the main road and had a think. 

The problem with driving to La Rinconada (Corner Town) is that it is a dangerous place, genuinely so. It has a fearsome reputation as the most lawless town in the Americas. It is not a place for tourists and you will not find any agency offering to take you there. There are no entries in iOverlander to guide travelers. Its sole claim to fame is that it is the highest permanent settlement in the world at more than 16,000 feet. Of all the journeys we have undertaken La Rinconada is hands down the most perilous destination, without exaggeration but I wanted the altitude trophy and I got it, 16,340 feet precisely. 

My plan was to get as close as possible, wild camp the night before and then leave at dawn and get to La Rinconada as early as possible when the drunks and assassins would all be asleep. That at least was my hope and as plans went it was a good one and in the end it worked: here we are, we lived. 

Google said this disused quarry we came across was 90 minutes from La Rinconada so we thought it was perfect and we settled in for a cold night. And then we got the knock. In van life “the knock” means your free camp is interrupted by a knock from the old bill. The fuzz. The cops. Luckily they were just checking on us and we passed the test and they left with a cheery wave and the hope that we would sleep well. At that altitude sleep wasn’t so easy but I set my alarm for five am. 

As wild camps go it was pretty nice if you ignore the trash. 

We had bought dinner from a street food stand, roast lamb chunks with various Peruvian potatoes. It could have used a sauce but we carry our own so all was well. The plates we use are Corel and we’ve had them since we bought them for our boat in 1997. They may have lead in them but I think it’s a bit late to worry. 

Someone was tired so we put his bed in the night position on the floor. During the day it rides on our bed and he jumps up there when he wants to be home. At night he looks even more adorable like this:

I was awake before dawn. Layne stayed in bed and we two walked for a few minutes then Rusty took up his position next to me and we were on the road to our destination. 

Normally I never drive after dark and this drive was hell. Suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of the morning mining commute with hundreds, and I’m not exaggerating, of vans in columns of ten hauling miners up the mountain to work. And they drive like maniacs with death on their minds. In the town of Putina the police were stopping everyone and checking IDs. They couldn’t believe there were only two people in this van. One stepped inside, saw my wife still asleep alone in all that space and agreed we were just two people (strange people at that) and on we went into the night. I’ll bet that’s the first motorhome he’s stopped on this commute…

The road was pretty crappy, a mixture of broken asphalt, potholes, random stretches of dirt and all of it constantly being filled with more and more cabs and pickups and r briskly dump trucks. It was grand central station on a nightmare road. 

To make things worse the road, Highway 34H, was narrow enough you had to touch the ditch to pass each other and the Peruvians do not slow down, they have no idea their vehicles have brakes. It was the worst three hours of our lives on the road. 

These cement slabs are fords designed to flow the water safely across the road in rainy season and they are annoying but cheaper than bridges. 

The road is giving way. Slowly. 

Dirt road ahead, and lots of vans.,,

No slowing down allowed.. 

Try to imagine being part of a head on confrontation. I was worried we were going to get dented any time. Or pushed into the ravine! Nothing happened but it was three hours of real stress I cannot deny. 

Imagine this as your commute: 

Slowly we climbed up to 15,000 feet. Not high enough. We started trying to keep up with a giant truck.

We called him Honey Badger because he rolled slowly but with nothing stopping him. Even the most aggressive vans stepped aside  for him and some stopped so we slipped in behind him and rolled along. Check out the van on the curb  below:

We got separated from Honey Badger in a bad stretch of dirt. I just couldn’t keep up as he rolled through huge holes without slowing. 

Trashing rivers is a sport around here. 

Traffic was constant and aggressive making hairpins unusually exciting. 

Finally the roof the world.

Alpacas grazing. 

Can you imagine ranching three  miles up?

Our route up via Putina and Ananea and down by way of the Bolivian border marked by a black line. The photo above was before Ananea on the way up.

There it is fifteen miles away by Google Maps, the rising sun twinkling on the tin homes of La Rinconada the town sitting under the Sleeping Beauty glacier. The highest town in the world. 

Now we are among the open face mines. This is gold country and these rocks lining Highway 110 are the ore from the mines. 

People live here. It’s just gross. It smells like a meth lab, all chemical nastiness and the clouds are hanging low. 

About ten miles from our goal is the last normal town, the regional capital called Ananea, a place I had considered suitable for a last resort overnight stop much closer to our goal but we are at 15,500 feet and breathing is hard up here. Sleeping would be extremely unlikely in the low oxygen levels. 

Welcome to the golden city of the Andes. Gold mining is the local business and they won’t let you forget it. 

Breakfast food trucks on Main Street, Ananea at 7:30am on Monday morning. Soup, sandwiches, empanadas, rice and roast alpaca, or juices.

The final six, beautifully paved miles to our goal. As gross as this area is, I was excited. 

Mine machinery crosses the highway at designated crossings. 

Pumping polluted waters out of the ground. 

There it is: 

There is no trash collection in this town. 

The trash stretched for miles. 

Four way flashers on and I got out barely able to breathe and stumped down the road to get the vital picture. 

Main Street. Too rough for us: 

Lower Main Street blocked by trucks loading lumber. Layne said she thought the place’s reputation was over stated. However when I suggested we walk deeper into town she demurred. 

Probably we would have been fine but I didn’t want to drive GANNET2 on these mud paths with no idea where we were going or where we might get stuck. Or get a flat. 

Rusty loved the cold air, 31 degrees F, but with no breeze. 

She got off a bus and walked past so I said good morning and she smiled and I said we were the town’s first foreign tourists in 2025. “Welcome!” She said.

We made it. 

I said good morning to one guy as he passed  and he came back and started chatting. His name was Guido and he drives a dump truck for one of the mines. The city’s population varies between 30 and 50,000 miners who come up to seek their fortunes in the gold mines while some get regular jobs servicing the mines and the  miners. The pay scale is for miners is appalling. They work 30 days for free and on the 31st they  mine the ore for themselves keeping what they find. The health of people digging for gold at around 17,000 feet is appalling. They suffer horrendous rates of disease and death struggling to live and work hard in the oxygen free atmosphere. 35 years is the average lifespan of a dedicated miner at this  altitude. No living thing grows here as it’s never warm enough to germinate seeds. Year round the temperature rarely breaks 50 degrees. It is a hellscape.

Guido had never seen a motor home so we gave him the nickel tour. He had a great time and told us we should walk through town to see the mine. He was also appalled I was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. Have you no coat he asked, worried for me. It’s not cold I said as there is no wind. I’m becoming like Rusty. 

Time to go; we’d had enough. Turn on the cabin heat…up to high. 

Yes the comment previously is correct. Let’s maintain the beauty of the countryside by not throwing trash. I just photograph this stuff, I don’t post these absurd signs…

At first glance they look like people fishing. Closer indirection reveals water pumps in rafts in the lake of toxic goo. Time to get the hell out of here. 

Goodbye La Rinconada. Hope we never meet again. 

“Don’t contaminate the environment” (unless you are mining). 

And if it hadn’t been for Phil I’d never have got to see this place. Imagine that.