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Published: July 31st 2009
We knew what we would be doing on July 22nd even before we had booked our RTW flight tickets. Way back then we committed ourselves to the 4 days 3 nights Classic 45km Inca Trail. We had been told that spaces on the tour are very hard to secure, and this only increased our determination to include it as part of the trip. No one told us, however, just how tough a trek it was going to be!
Our Machu Picchu experience began at 7pm on the 21st July when we attended our pre-trek briefing in the Llama Path Office where we met Raul, our guide and co-trekkers Diana and Faraz, for the first time. The company encourage you to view it like forming a small family of trekkers, guide, porters and chef. It is designed to be a family that will support you and turn you into a trek survivor. The fact that Raul was already using words like "survivor" should have made me suspicious, however his pep-talk served more to ignite our curiousity and desire to succeed. He was good at his job, but he would be - this would be his 507th Inca Trail! After a quick
dinner that night we returned to the hotel to decide what items from our large backpacks would make the cut into our 5kg duffelbags which would be carried by one of the porters. The rest was staying in the hotel for the next 4 days.
Sleep didnt come easy, and given that we had a 5am pick-up, we really could have done with getting a good nights rest. But the adrenaline of the challenge ahead of us had already kicked in, and thoughts just kept whirring around in my head until the alarm went at 4.15am. We were met at the hotel door by Raul and two of the porters who immediately took our duffelbags. The rest gave us a royal welcome by clapping us as we boarded the bus. I was mortified and didn't know where to look.
First stop on the bus was 2 hours away in Ollaytantambo, a town we had visited as part of the Sacred Valley Tour a few days previously. Raul encouraged us to doze again and complete our nights sleep. At Ollayantambo we pulled up at a restaurant for a hearty breakfast and an opportunity to purchase some last minute supplies.
Over breakfast we chatted easily with our co-trekkers as we tried to size up their athletic abilities. At first glance we readily placed ourselves at the bottom of the trekking pecking order. These guys had clearly seen a lot of the inside of a gym in the past year, we had driven by several and were beginning to regret not going inside more often!
Back on the bus after breakfast we went practically off-road as it took a bumpy dirt road at the side of the train tracks. With no hope of some last minute sleep, we began to admire the scenery around us. As early as it was, there were already local people working out in the fields with two cattle pulling a plough through the arid land. The fields were surrounded with stone walls capped with cactus growing on them. There were plenty of sheep, black pigs and the odd donkey roaming around peacefully. We were slowly easing ourselves into a different way of life, enjoying the simplicity of the Andean mountainside.
At 9am we pulled into a carpark that is known as
Kilometre 82. It is the drop off point for most trekkers who arrive
by bus. Everyone bailed out of the bus and the porters set about dividing their loads. We went to work at applying suncream and insect repellant and generally preparing ourselves for the day ahead. Raul handed us our groovy walking sticks and we felt like real pro's. The sun was shining and we were upbeat about the challenge ahead. Day one is the easy one after all!
After a couple of cheesy photos we set off towards the checkpoint that allows you into the Machu Picchu National Park. It is here that they limit the number of entrants to 500 people per day, although this figure must include the porters, so it is usually more like 200 tourists/300 porters. The porters too must check-in, and have their back-packs weighed to ensure they don't exceed
25kg.
We crossed the bridge and set off on a dust path with a gentle incline. This was what Raul referred to as "Andean flat" (which is very unlike Dutch flat!). As we stretched our muscles and the sun warmed our backs, our mood improved. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. We got to know each other, exchanging information on our professions,
previous visits to each others countries etc, and gradually noticed the extra pressure on our calves and thighes as the path curled upwards. When we came to a rest in the first village we noticed two things. The first being the french campsite style WCs, the second being a better appreciation of the task ahead of us as we got a view through the valleys ahead. I also managed to sit on and break my fabulous fake Gucci sunglasses, and cursed myself for not bringing a back-up pair in my bag. Moments later we were tasting the local brew of
chi-cha and its non-alcoholic pink counterpart. As we did this the Red Army jogged by. The Red Army is the name bestowed on our new brothers, the porters. Nine men of various shapes and sizes sauntered by as we clapped them on. When we clocked the guy carrying the gas canister and a couple of sleeping bags bringing up the rear, I suddenly felt very stupid for passing any comment on carrying my own measily 3kg day pack.
We rounded a corner and caught sight of the Red Army looking more like ants as they made their way up
a diagonal staircase on the mountain side in front of us. I admit I gulped, and got flashbacks of our Inca staircase climb in
Pisaq a few days previous - the one that nearly killed us. I had already decided that I was doing this trek at my own pace and was taking my own "pauses" earlier that morning. Diana attacked the steps with gusto. Philippe was up there with Faraz, although admittedly both were regularly stopping to "admire the view". I was about 3 minutes behind, huffing, puffing and struggling with the larger steps. I felt embarassed but my body just refused to move any faster. I reached the top amid claps from my co-trekkers, and just to compound my shame they all looked remarkably fresh-faced! Just as I was ready to attack Raul during his "don't take long breaks as it cools down the muscles" pep-talk, I realised that I had already recovered myself. This was a pattern for the days to come.
We plodded on over various terrain until we reach our first Inca site at which Raul was talking, we were sitting and I was happy! I was surprised at how much Inca knowledge Philippe
and I had picked up from the various tours we did around Cusco. We were starting to get to know these interesting and intelligent people who had created the path below us. Aside from marrying their brothers or sisters, they were a pretty advanced bunch!
A short descent later we reached our lunch time campsite. We were amazed at how hungry and then how well fed we were! The ingenious chef had managed to prepare a three course meal on the side of mountain. After our meals we were left for 20minutes to digest while lying out in the sun. We were pretty happy with our lot, but were daunted by the steep climb that Raul mentioned was planned for later on. Apparently we would climb farther than most groups, to reach campsite 1B as this meant for an easier first climb on Day 2. We kept ascending until we came to a small village. It was campsite 1A. Given the roaring pain in our calves I think we would all have quite happily slept there, but the National Park has rules, and we had to sleep in our assigned campsites. "Just a little bit further and we get
to the checkpoint" said Raul. Ok, we acquiesed and walked on. Turns out the checkpoint was where Raul had to prove that he still had 4 tourists in tow. It was also about another 90minutes of steep climb from our campsite. During the final 20minutes I actually had to give individual instruction to each leg in order to get them to move. It was so hard, but when we arrived to the campsite as dusk was falling I actually felt we deserved the clapping we received from the porters. I could have kissed them when I saw our tents fully erected and sleeping bags in situe. As we changed out of our damp clothes Philippe and I congratulated each other and marvelled at how we were over a quarter of the way through the whole trip. We were actually doing it!
As hard as it was to get our bodies to move again, the smell of popcorn enticed us into the dining tent a few minutes later. We had a
happy hour where we gulped lovely hot camomile and coca tea and discussed our various aches and pains. A short while later another feast was set in front of
us. Sadly most of us just wanted to eat a small bite and run to the sleeping bags that looked better than any 5 star king sized bed at that moment. First though we met each of our porters as they introduced themselves and told us a bit about where they were from and about their families. We were warned that we would have to remember their names on day three, and so tried our best to distinguish them. The youngest was about 22, the oldest being 46. All came from a pool of three villages. As we learned more about our new family, I was happy that we had done our research and supported a company that treats its porters fairly. They all had sturdy boots and bags and apparently have a health care package provided by Llama Path. As Erminio filled our water bottles with hot water, we giggled as we looked at the clock and realised we were crawling into bed at 8pm!
Wrapped up in about 5 layers of clothing, I was sure we would sleep "like a baby llama", but for some reason sleep evaded me. I listened enviously to the gentle drone of
snoring coming from a nearby tent. Every sound in nature was multiplied and analysed. I became more aware of my aching joints and of the tight sleeping bags. I was too warm, tetchy and just couldn't drop off. Philippe wasn't fairing much better. When I was awake before the porter called us the next morning, I knew I mustn't have slept much. Over breakfast we realised that Faraz hadn't slept much either. Apparently it is relatively common and has to do with being in such new surroundings.
Having woken at 5.30am, we were as clean as we could get, well fed and ready to hit the road by 6.30am. Faraz was showing signs of altitude sickness, but we set a slow and steady pace and inched ourway up towards the first pass. It was to be a 4 hour trek, split half way with a break. I had adopted a different strategy to day 1. I now only looked at the metre of ground immediately in front of me, and took short, regular breaks to look back on how far we had come. Step after step, after step. Pause, don't look up. Just keep going. God knows how, but
I found some determination from deep inside me. It also helped that I wasn't last anymore. Faraz was suffering badly, and eventually got some smelling salts from Raul to open up his airways more. As we came to a village on the hill I spied my secret weapon. Not bothering to negotiate, I purchased a bottle of Coca-Cola from a village vendor. Like Popeye I felt instantly refreshed! We gradually noticed the temperature dropping as we chipped away at the hill and the steps, zoning in on our target of
"Dead Woman's Pass". Diana and Philippe were at the top when I eventually made it there. We proudly clapped on Faraz as he soon followed. I was impressed at his determination and could only imagine the agony he was in. Being at 4215m is a strange feeling. It is as high as I have ever been, but being there in the middle of the Andes with cloud rising around us was mystical and very cool, literally. It is very cold up that high!
What goes up, must come down. It began to drizzle and a further two hours of downward steps were lying between us and our campsite. With
our kneecaps howling at us and our concentration shot we landed at our campsite at 1pm for lunch. Again, top marks to the chef - he provided enough food to feed an army. Sadly with the rain pouring outside there was no sunshine siesta on the menu, instead we lay briefly on mats in the newly emptied dining tent. It was enough to give our legs a break before we started in on the second pass of the day. Funnily enough, even though the terrain is not too dissimilar to the way up to the first pass, the journey up to the second pass was alot more bearable. We told silly jokes to one another and contemplated the various ways we could bring about an early end to the trek... one involved following a suicidal dog down the mountainside (he was ok, he turned up at the next village). Having reach the second summit we had a more gradual downhill route. We were tired, but Raul cajoled us into walking an extra little bit to watch sunset from a beautiful Inca site. We were glad he did, as it was a breathtaking sight.
About 50 minutes later we were
again thanking the porters for being so good at what they do. We got to the campsite in the dark and everything was again waiting for us. We had asked to by-pass
happy hour tonight as our beds were calling, but as I sat down to dinner I was struck with a wave of nausea and a dull headache. I'm just tired I told myself and ate my dinner. After dinner we retired to the sleeping bags quickly. I still wasn't feeling any better and Philippe had a worried look in his eye. As I tried to sleep I was hit with crippling stomach pain and I knew all was not well. I spent 3 hours tossing and turning and trying to sleep it off. All was to no avail. At about midnight I was ill and just wanted the mountain to swallow me up there and then.
I did manage to get some sleep after that, but with a 6am wake up, it wasn't enough to give me back any energy. I refused the wake up coca tea from the porter and had to run out of the breakfast tent when I spied the omelette they were proposing
that I eat! Raul whipped up some Andean medicinal tea and practically force fed it to me. I was in no mood for moving onwards, but there was no other choice! Day three for us was supposed to be our lazy day. We only had a half day of trekking and with the worst of the climb behind us, this day was about strolling across Andean flat. I was more like crawling or limping. Raul pepped me up with smelling salts and dehydration sachets and was permanently on hand with words of support. I just wanted to go home. Looking at the photographs that Philippe took that day (and he had plenty of time to take them!), I am disappointed that I didn't spend more time admiring the view, but I was day-dreaming of my tent that was on the other end. I knew if I could just get some sleep that it would all be better.
I don't know how I did it, but I trekked 10km that day on little more than 3 bananas and a bite of bread. When I saw the tent everything just shut down. It was all I could do to shuffle my
poor body into the sleeping back before I passed out. Philippe tells me that my body didn't move for 4 hours. While I was happy in the land of nod, he went to visit an optional Inca site. The photo's look amazing. It had many more agricultural terraces than the other ones we have seen, and Raul did a talk on the demise of the Inca's and how Machu Picchu was intentionally cut off by removing portions of the Inca trail. I heard it all over dinner, during which I was noticeably improved. We also got tested on our brother porters names, as we thanked them and the chef for their fantastic service over the previous 3 days.
Day Four began for us with a 3.30am wake up. In the dining tent we were presented with a fully iced orange cake for breakfast. The chef had spent 2 hours making it the previous night. All of us were feeling ropey, and had to decline it in favour of porridge. I mean who eats iced cake for breakfast?! (clearly the Peruvians do!). Very soon after we were on our way to the park checkpoint that opens at 5.30am. As the
first group there we had the luxury of seats, and promptly attempted to catch some more shut eye before the gate opened. I am sad to report that our happy silence was broken by an ignorant Dutch tourist singing "Waterloo" at the top of his voice, shining his flashlight into all of our faces. If looks could kill, he would be a deadman.
Philippe was first through the checkpoint and he led the stream of people at a steady pace as we negotiated more Andean flat for approximately 45minutes. Bar the odd person rudely pushing by (yep, you guess it - the Dutch guy!), the group moved steadily towards our target of
the Sungate. We knew there would be 60 steep steps up to the sungate, but the steps started much before then. Moral of the story is that, albeit at our own pace, we made it. And as we did, the sun burned through the clouds that were perched over the Machu Picchu site and we got our perfect photo. Standing there, trying to commit the image to memory, we both rang our parents. I finally had phone signal to wish my mother a Happy Birthday!
We
spent a further three hours getting a tour around the site from Raul. We had to exit and enter the site again for some reason. We didn't have the energy or the inclination to attempt the Winay Picchu trek. The view is the same as from the Sungate, just from a different angle. We visited the Condor Chapel, the Sun Temple, an old Inca bedroom and bathroom and the guys went up as far as the Sun Dial, while I honoured the sun by sunbathing on one of the terraces. After bidding fairwell to Raul, we strolled around the old buildings before taking our place on the bus down to
Aguas Calientes. It felt strange, but great, to be in motion but not moving our legs!
In Aguas Calientes we ate lunch and made our way to the Hot Springs. These are a must for anyone who has completed the Inca Trail. The sulphurous hot water soothes aching joint, and after 2.5hours we were well and truly prunes but felt miles better. We drank a celebratory drink with Faraz and Diana before catching our 7pm cushy train to Ollaytantambo. Once there we were picked up by a tour operator
bus driver who did his very best to drive like a maniac and nearly kill us on the bendy roads back to Cusco.
Arriving back in Cusco at 10pm we were too weary to say a proper goodbye to Faraz and Diana. We were ready for a hot shower and a fresh bed. We had survived, and were quietly chuffed with ourselves.
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Guido
non-member comment
WOW
This is awsome! Congratulations! Greetz, Guido