On the first day...

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Waking up early yet again this morning, I crept about the room getting myself packed and ready as quietly as I could so as not to wake Simon. We would be beginning our trek along the Inca trail within hours and I was excited to say the least. Lil, Keith, Matt and I were the first down to breakfast this morning, and as much as we made small talk, I could sense a certain amount of anxiety at the table as we were joined by Tori and Talia.

The palpable apprehension lingered in the air for the duration of the short minibus ride to 'Kilometre Eighty-two', where we met our team of porters for the first time. As each of our duffel bags were weighed, we were hassled by local women attempting to sell us all manner of things to take with us on the trek. I watched nervously as my bag was weighed, hoping that I wouldn't have to leave anything behind that I might potentially need. Smithy explained that the porters were limited to carrying around twenty-five kilos each, which is why they were so fastidious about weighing the bags.

Once the porters and ourselves were ready, we made our way down to our first check-point. After posing for a photo under the huge 'Inca Trail' sign, we made our way down to the control booth to get our passports stamped and take care of the registration formalities. The tension began to break as we made our way across the small bridge that spanned the Urubamba river and marked the entrance to the trail at two-thousand-seven-hundred-and-fifty metres above sea level.

Having already spent more than two weeks at altitude, I was quietly confident about my abilities and found it tough not to surge ahead of the group with my excitement. The trail itself was fairly flat and much wider than I had expected, as we moved away from Kilometre eighty-two. It wound it's way along the left hand bank of the Urubamba river, and I could just make out the train on the opposite bank. Smithy explained that this section of the trail wasn't original, and it in fact lead along the bank of the river where the train now ran. He also warned us that we would more than likely be overtaken by the porters as we made our way to our lunch point. Smithy said that we must keep to the left so as to allow them and their heavy load to pass. This happened with frequent regularity for the first couple of hours, as the cry of 'Porter' came from the back of the group.

After the trail took a sharp turn uphill, we arrived at the Inca ruins of Llactapata. From our vantage point at the top of the hill we could see the entire sight on far right bank of the river, which had been lovingly restored. Smithy told us that it had been used as a stopping point for people traveling from Cusco to Machu Picchu, and had been extensively rebuilt. I hadn't realised that our journey to the lost citadel of the Inca's would be filled with such fantastic ruins, and it felt like we were really going to be learning a lot before we arrived. As I looked around, taking in the spectacular view, it occurred to me that I could have been in the mountains of Scotland if I hadn't known better. The mountainside bore a spectacular resemblance to the Scottish moors, and it had a wonderful familiarity to it.

After another hours trekking we arrived at Tarayoq, our lunch spot for today, which was only a little higher than our starting point. We unloaded our bags onto the blue tarp that had been laid out, and began to freshen up in the blue bowls of warm water that had been laid out for us. Lunch consisted of a quinoa soup, a rice and vegetable medley and was followed by warm apple sponge. I had been told the food I'd be eating was pretty special by Nick before I left, and he was right. It was amazing that we had eaten so well and it boded well for the days to come. While everyone busied themselves with hot drinks, I took a quick nap. I hadn't slept very well for the last two nights because of the head cold I was fighting and it had left me worn out after our four hour trek.

Having stayed in the mess tent until a light shower had passed overhead, we set off again up the valley towards our campsite for the evening. The scenery remained much unchanged for most of the way, crisscrossing over the various tributaries to the river and passing through small villages as we went.

It wasn't long before we reached the village of Wayllabamba which would be our resting point for the evening. At around three-thousand metres above sea level, we were nowhere close to the highest point of the trail, but the bucket of beers that had been bought out to us by four small children were most welcome. Considering we were so high up, the beer was still reasonably priced and we all tucked into one to celebrate having successfully completed the first days climb.

We had plenty if time before supper, so I went to watch a game of football between the locals and the porters. I was amazed that these guys were able to run around chasing the ball at this altitude, because I had become marginally out of breath after the first steep hill! It was still great fun to watch, and didn't strictly follow the rules...but who needs rules when you're at this altitude!

After dinner, Smithy said we would be moving off early in the morning so as to allow enough time to scale Warmiwañusca, also affectionately known as 'Dead Woman's Pass'. Day two on the trail was commonly the hardest, and although we joked about having to go to bed so early, something told me that we would be glad of it the next day.

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