Life at Plaza de Mulas: The Base Camp Behind the Climb
Every summer in the Southern Hemisphere, a few hundred international mountaineers make their way toward the base camps of Aconcagua with one thing in common: the hope of reaching the highest peak in the Western Hemisphere.
Plaza de Mulas, the base camp for the Normal Route, is the second-largest base camp in the world, behind only Everest. And for four months every season, it becomes a small city with everything you might find in Mendoza: good food, fine wine, hot showers, and landscapes that are genuinely difficult to describe to anyone who has not seen them.
Since commercial climbing began on Aconcagua in the late 1980s, and the mountain entered the Seven Summits circuit, the flow of people arriving at Plaza de Mulas has grown steadily. What was once a quiet and isolated site is now a lively, functioning community at nearly 4,500 meters above sea level. Each company, depending on its size, deploys a team of base camp staff, cooks, porters, and guides to manage and maintain its camps, which can range from a handful of domes to nearly twenty.
And when the operation reaches that scale, you need a small army of capable, committed people to make sure that every climber, for most of whom this is their vacation, has a good time. Last season alone, we hosted nearly 600 trekkers and climbers across our own expeditions and those of companies from around the world.
There is a common misconception about where climbers spend most of their time on an Aconcagua expedition. If your answer is the high camps, you are wrong. The total time spent between the two base camps is, on average, slightly longer than what is spent above them. Trekkers and climbers alike spend the majority of their days in base camp resting, eating, hydrating, acclimatizing, and waiting for the weather window that will give them a real chance at the summit.
For most visitors, the idea of living at base camp for a few days sounds appealing, and it is. But for the people who work there throughout the entire season, it is something else: a mix of demanding routines, logistical complexity, and constant human interaction. Plaza de Mulas is a small Babel. People arrive from dozens of countries, all carrying different languages, expectations, and levels of anxiety.
Some have been preparing for this expedition for the better part of a year. Some are nervous. Some are already counting the days until they can go up. The base camp team’s job is to make all of them feel, as much as possible, a little bit at home, thousands of miles from their actual homes, from their families, from everything familiar.
That is not a small thing. Anyone who has spent time at Plaza de Mulas, whether working, trekking, or climbing, tends to say the same: you arrive as a visitor and leave as someone the place has marked. It usually takes no more than a few days to understand why.

