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I’d been looking forward to this for months. This was going to be the highlight of my trip – climbing Peru’s Vinicunca, or as most people call it, Rainbow Mountain. The pictures online made the mountain look incredible, as though it had been constructed from thousands of multicoloured lollipops, carved into a series of perfect waves. Nothing would ruin this day. Not the journey. Not the altitude. Nothing. And then I woke up. My eyes flicker open, only to be greeted by the sound of rain thrashing against the windowpanes. It’s 2am and even though my alarm has yet to go off, I know I have just minutes to gather my belongings, before the bus arrives. Even though the humidity is unbearable, I still have to slip on several long-sleeved shirts, some nylon trousers and my worn-out boots. The only thing left is my St Christopher necklace – a lucky charm that’s guided me throughout my travels, but it’s nowhere in sight. As I frantically search the room, the bus begins to announce its presence and I realise my efforts to find it remain futile. I try and leave my anxiety at the door, but as a close friend and I clamber into a packed minibus and prepare for a three-hour drive, I am terrified to think of this daunting challenge without luck on my side. At some point my mind drifts off to sleep, only to get abruptly woken by the bus bouncing on top of a rickety path. We had arrived at our starting point, where we are greeted by a herd of alpacas eyeing us suspiciously and gusts of crisp, chilled air. Once we stock our bellies up with scrambled eggs, fruit salad and bread, we’re ready to make our first of many steps up the mountain. As we venture forward, the terrain ranges from rocky pathways and vast landscapes painted with blends of burgundy and olive green, to snow-capped peaks that leave you breathless. Yet, I wish that was the only thing that left me breathless. As any newcomer to Peru would know, the altitude takes time to get used to, and I had yet to get accustomed. Whilst chewing on coca leaves helped ease any aches and nausea, this wouldn’t save me from the highest heights. As we enter the final hour of our climb, the group seems spread out, with me in the middle and my friend at the back. The altitude sickness inevitably becomes too much for her. On hearing the news that she was turning back; I run after her – a decision I would regret. As we hugged goodbye, my breathing starts to struggle as do my legs, and the summit starts to feel that much further away. Luck was not on my side. With the mountain having yet to reveal any of its kaleidoscopic beauty, my perseverance starts to dwindle. I was at the back of the group, slowly crawling towards the finish line. Yet even as the air thinned and the clouds intensified, I knew I had to complete this. I had to reach the finish line. For my friend. For myself. 100 metres from the top and slight shimmers of blue and yellow started to seep through. As I slowly crawl to the top, what I believe to be deliriousness, instead is laughter and joy. The rainbow is revealing itself, one colour at a time. As I reach the crest, the terrain is coated with colour, from incandescent pinks and reds, to lime greens and icy blues. It takes my breath away. It’s like a painting brought to life. As I made the brief climb up to its peak, all I can feel is joy. Pure, undiluted joy. Looking back at that moment, with the sweat running down my cheeks and the sunshine caressing my back, I couldn’t help but feel like this was one for the fortunate few. Even though I didn’t have my St Christopher necklace guiding me through it, I knew was with me, in spirit. Lucky enough, it never truly left me. It was in the hostel room all along, awaiting my return.