At the top, I was welcomed by a farmer and his father, who at my request allowed me to camp on their small piece of land. For the first time in my life at over 3000 m altitude. After I set up the tent, with little nephew Juti watching me the whole time, together we helped his uncle Segundo weed alfalfa for his guinea pigs. Using a knife that looks like a sickle, we cut the whole plant off at the root. He tells me that his family only speaks Quechua, the language of the indigenous people. For me, this is completely incomprehensible.