CHOLITAS ESCALADORAS MAYAS
indigenous Aymara women climbing world’s highest mountains
My heart is pounding; each beat echoes in my chest. Every step feels sluggish, as if time itself has frozen. A desperate urge to move faster claws at me, but deep, swift breaths hold me back. My head feels heavy, the pain refuses to fade. Focus is slipping, yet I fight to steady each step. The world is eerily quiet; only the rhythmic scrapes of crampons against ice break the silence. In the distance, city lights glimmer like the scattered stars that illuminate the night sky above us. Around me, the glacier stretches in white expanses, its deep crevasses like veins weaving through the ice, as if the frozen earth itself is alive. A treacherous sound of a rumbling serac nearby bumps our adrenaline and sends us running uphill. False alarm, we are safe and continue forward, climbing up a steeper and more exposed section. We stop. My gaze rises towards the stature ahead, wearing bright purple polleras (layered skirts) and a light blue fleece. Over her shoulder lies aguayo (woolen bag) of more colours than my vocabulary can capture. Equipped with a white helmet, a green ice axe in her right hand, crampons, harness, and, neatly coiled across her torso, rests a rope. She moves with practised ease, guiding a client just a few metres ahead. Our gazes meet. She smiles at me, her brown eyes sparkling with determination, and at that moment, I know she is exactly where she belongs. Huayna Potosí, this is her mountain.
Huayna Potosí stands in the background, bathed in the soft light of the morning sun.
I never imagined that one day I would be climbing a six-thousand-metre mountain side by side with a cholita. To be honest, I didn’t even know who a cholita was until the pandemic in 2020. Interested in learning Spanish and discovering more about South American culture, I stumbled upon a documentary called Cholitas. It follows a journey of five indigenous Aymara women on a quest to climb Aconcagua, at 6,962 metres the highest mountain of the Andean mountain range and one of the Seven Summits, wearing traditional colourful clothes. The team completed their mission, and two reached the summit, making history as the first Indigenous Bolivian women to stand atop the tallest point on the continent.
Ana Lía Gonzáles - Lita
Dora Magueño
One of them now stood beside me, kindly offering coca leaves to ease my altitude sickness. I had met Ana Lía Gonzáles, or simply Lita, just two days before. Staying at Refugio Vista Panorámica at the base of the mountain to improve our acclimatisation after a heavy flu, we sat at the same table as her family and a Canadian and Bolivian climber they were guiding. Marco and I planned to ascend the mountain without guides, and Rozenn joined us to spend a day at high camp. While preparing simple pasta on a gas stove in the kitchen, Rozenn and I struck up a conversation with her mother, Dora Magueño, a mountain chef. Wearing colourful polleras, a yellow-brown apron, and dark brown hair tied in two braids, she radiated strength. Behind dark glasses, her brown eyes glittered, and her warm smile, revealing golden teeth, was contagious. We learned that, along with Lita, they were part of the team climbing Aconcagua in the documentary I had seen. With her husband Augustin, a friendly UIAA-certified mountain guide, she built a high-altitude refuge, Las Rocas, standing at 5,200 metres on a standard climbing route to Huayna Potosí. Accompanying him to the high mountains as a chef, she was also eager to climb. In such an environment, it’s no wonder Lita started climbing when she was only 12 years old.
Dora and Augustin in front of hand-buitl Las Rockas high-altitude refuge at 5,200 metres.
After arriving at the Las Rocas refuge the next day, they held a traditional Aymara ceremony. Lighting a small fire at the back of the beautifully hand-built rock shelter, whose construction reminded me of rustic churches, they began pulling a mesa from a bag. A mesa is a small paper plate containing sweets, specific images relevant to a person's desires, herbs, fruits, and coca leaves. It was burned over the fire as an offering to Pachamama, Mother Earth, asking for her protection of the mountains, success on the ascent, and other desires. Everyone circled the burning flames, pouring alcohol and chanting their wishes. I hoped for my dad’s recovery, as he had suffered a minor brain stroke just a week before I left home. We gazed at the glaciated mountain peak, quietly lost in our thoughts as seagulls soared above. Bitterly cold, we retreated inside for our final meal before an early sleep.
The alarm went off at midnight. Not that I needed it; between the high altitude and sheer excitement, it was hard to fall asleep. Lita and Augustin kindly invited us to follow their team. They climbed the mountain regularly and knew every crevasse trap on the path. We geared up, ate wraps with peanut butter and marmalade, drank coca tea, and stepped out into the darkness.
Seven hours later, we were all standing on top of Huayna Potosí. The views were immense—an endless expanse of the altiplano, a high-altitude plain on one side, and the green hills of the Yungas, the transition zone between the high-altitude Andes and the lowland Amazonian basin, on the other. The peaks of the Cordillera Real curve like a snake from the south to the north, starting with majestic Illimani on the south and Janq'u Uma on the north.
Sunrise just a bit bellow the summit of Huayna Potosí, with views over Illimani - the guardian of La Paz.
But the summit wasn’t the end of our journey. In the following weeks, I got to know Lita, Dora, Augustin, and their family better. They live in El Alto but are originally from Zongo, a small village nestled below the eastern slopes of Huayna Potosí. No wonder their lives are so deeply intertwined with the mountain itself. Over refrescos, what they call carbonated drinks like Coca Quina, I listened to stories about cholitas and understanding the significance of their mountaineering feats.
Cholitas are Indigenous Aymara and Quechua women, recognised by their distinctive traditional attire: colourful polleras, vibrant layered skirts, embroidered shawls, bowler hats, and long braided hair. They carry food and equipment in an aguayo, a simple yet colourful woolen bag tied around their neck and shoulders.
In the past, cholitas faced significant discrimination and exclusion, especially in urban areas like La Paz and El Alto, where they were often banned from certain public spaces, denied access to jobs, and rejected by mainstream society. However, in recent years, they have reclaimed their cultural heritage, breaking barriers in politics, business, fashion, and sports. This transformation was the result of decades of social, political, and economic change. Indigenous rights movements in the early 2000s empowered Aymara and Quechua communities, gaining further momentum with the election of Evo Morales, Bolivia’s first Indigenous president. Although his later years in power were marked by controversy, his administration promoted Indigenous rights, culture, and identity, leading to laws against discrimination.
With economic independence through entrepreneurship, education, and professional careers, cholitas gained the confidence to fully embrace their identity with pride. As more cholitas openly celebrated their heritage, their traditional attire, once seen as a mark of oppression, became a powerful symbol of cultural identity and resistance. Today, they are icons - leaders, businesswomen, activists, and mountaineers.
Cholitas Escaladoras Mayas - Indeginous Aymara women mountaineers.
Spending time with them, I’ve come to understand that their strength extends far beyond the mountains - they are reshaping traditions, rewriting history. As my time in Bolivia ends, I prepare for one last climb - hiking up to Glaciar Viejo, the 'Old Glacier,' on Huayna Potosí with these incredible Aymara mountaineers. Camera in hand, I jump breathlessly around the group of cholitas, trying to capture the perfect shot. Hopefully, these photographs will help them secure financial support for future projects, especially Lita, who dreams of climbing 8,000-metre peaks in the Himalayas. Watching her and the other cholitas move effortlessly across the ice, I can’t help but feel in awe of their resilience and determination.
It is a privilege to be here, sharing a day with Lita, Dora, Augustin, and the rest of their family in the place that feeds their soul. As we descend from the glacier, the sun begins to dip behind the jagged peaks of the Cordillera Real, casting a golden glow over the mountains. I take a final look at Huayna Potosí, knowing that this journey has changed me in ways I never expected.
