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Published: January 26th 2011
From the winter wonderland of New York, we have headed south to Peru to start our adventure of South America.
First stop, Miraflores, a seaside suburb of the capital Lima, Peru. Unfortunately, United Airlines seemed to think my bags were not required and left them in Miami. A great start to New Year's Day, but hopefully not a sign for the trip ahead.
Our hosts are still awake and intoxicated from the previous night's festivities. Broken bottles and leftover food are strewn across the common room - a far cry from our hotel in New York. They ask us to return to the hostel a little later, so we head out for a walk along the cliffside. Unfortunately, a thick blanket of fog subdues the clifftop view.
Jetlag catches up with us and we retire to sleep in the first park we stumble across. Miraflores has many parks with inviting grass. We couldn't help but try another garden inhabited by stray cats and dogs next to a colonial catholic church for our second snooze after lunch. As this is our first day in South America we decide to try some typical Peruvian cuisine...... KFC!!!! It hits us. Our
Spanish is not the best. The KFC outlet has the biggest pictures to order from. It is here we get our first taste of South American egg-based mayonaise, which we develop a taste for throughout all the south american counties. They sell them in kilo bags here in the supermarkets!
After our second snooze, the "grass police strike." According to a local police officer, it seems the grass is to be admired, not used. We move from park to park, trying to find one with no "grass police" but our luck runs out and we make our return slowly to the hostal via the coast walk. The fog has lifted and reveals a dramatic coastline from clifftop vantage points, which stretch for miles. Development along the coastline is modern yet sporadic, and we dub the coastline as Rio's little brother. The other view we notice is that South American's seem to be a passionate lot. Couples "make out" left, right and centre.
Early the next morning we embark on our flight for Cusco, an Andean town which was the Inca Empire capital and the gateway to Machu Pichu, our main reason for our visit to Peru. We fly
Miraflores
after a good sleep in the park!over the Andean mountains, which are extraordinary in their size and scope. Looking out the plane window, we see amazing villages which seem to be in the most inaccessible of places.
The town is located in a valley among the Andean mountains. It centres around one main square, dominated by centuries old Spanish churches on adjacent sides and compacted homes towards the mountains on the other. It is like being in a living museum. Some of the streets and buildings are centuries old, and the architecture is amazing. The Incas are famous for their intricate building work, carving and laying massive granite stones that fit so perfectly together that no mortar is needed. Looking on them in real life, you appreciate the time, effort and skill that went into laying each stone.
Beyond the square, streets maze outwards and upwards. The city is pocketed with small squares, and historical churches. It seems turning each new corner brings you into a charming new square, which would take an age to explore.
Walking the streets can sometimes be hard work given their steepness and the thinness of their air. At times, a five minute walk seems more like a
20 minute run. Besides the occasional gasping for breath, we were coping OK. Bernie as always is fighting fit, at least untill night time approaches.
She is struckdown with a migraine and extreme nausea, then refuses any medication, thinking she is suffering the lingering effects of the cold she picked up in New York. A bit of research on the internet from me, reveals she is most likely suffering a hidden spectre of altitude sickness (the scary thing is that this can sometimes develop into a potentially fatal condition). I persuade Bernie to take some panadol for her headache and the pain subsides a little. This is a sign that it is only altitude sickness and not the potential killer. Bernie soon falls asleep, and I sit beside her monitoring her breathing whilst watching bad american sitcoms on Peruvian TV. Ah, the romance of travel.
After a day of recuperation, we begin the big trek.... 4 days, 3 nights along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Starting off in a valley, we are surrounded by towering mountains and crystal clear ranging rivers, which carve through snow capped peaks ominous in the distance. It is of a scale I
have never seen before. The trainline in the distance looks like a model against the gigantic mountainous backdrop.
After about 2 hours, we begin our ascent. Along the way, cows and donkeys feed precariously along steep clifftops. There are still a few small communities carving out an existence amongst the wild. It is truly remarkable. We look back down the valley from where we began and see amazing secenery reminiscent from Jurassic Park. Such is the scale, and magnitude of the mountains that I could waffle on endlessly about it and not do it justice. It truly has to be experienced to be fully appreciated.
After a few more hours my romance with the wild wears off. The 20kg pack I am carrying, (foolishly we did not hire a porter to carry our personal belongings), becomes a burden and the track is no longer a flat walking wonderland but an evil, slitherin g snake winding higher and higher with seemingly no end in sight. It gets harder to breathe with every step - I start regretting every beer and every chocolate I have ever consumed in my life. Worse, Bernie is skipping ahead, snapping photos willy nilly, having
a great time! And to top it off, our travelling companions Miguel and Kristina, a Danish couple, also on their honeymoon, hired a porter and have only light day packs to carry. I envy them as they fare well too, decked out in the latest earopean trekking gear.
Worse of all, our porters, who do the trail 3 times a week and carry 30kg on their backs including all the tents, kitchen pans and gas bottles (you name it), overtook us ages ago. These people are remarkable. Ranging in age from 20 to 64, and small in stature, they run the trail to make our trip as comfortable as possible. They are Quechuan locals, who do this for a living. Our guide informs us, that in the past, a race existed for the porters to Machu Pichu. What takes us 4 long, hard days, takes these people 3 and a bit hours!
After 16km and 8 or so hours of walking, daylight is fading (a Godsend) and our tortoreous climb the first day comes to an end. We arrive at our campsite and see our tents already perched on a clifftop overlooking the valley through which we had
just climbed. ."Wow" is the first word out of my mouth when i realise this is where we are going to sleep. In the distance, perfectly shaped mountains tower skywards. The sunset is reflected off the snow and granite, filling the sky with pink, mauve and orange hues. It has made the day's work worthwhile.
I fall back to earth the next day when I see the path ahead. The climbing serpent continues higher and higher as we must overcome the infamous, "Dead Woman's Pass".
Before the trek, we were advised day 1 would be the easiest part of the trek, and day 2 would be the hardest as we ascent to our highest altitude of 4200m, a height where some people have required oxygen to continue. Dead woman's pass is not named, as I thought, because some woman died while attempting the climb. Rather, it is named for the breast shaped peak nearby, which is said to look like a woman lying on on her back. After day one, both Bernie and I are dreading day two as each step is a steep climb of 400m to an altitude of about 4200m. It is hard, but not as
Cusco markets
enjoying a freshly-made pineapple juice for $1 near as the impossible task we were dreading. Day 1 seemed harder. Nevertheless, the altitude, heavy pack (and lack of fitness!) catches up with me quickly. Each step of the climb is like doing a one legged squat with a 20kg barbell across my back. I have to stop every 25 steps to catch my breath! We finally make the top with a great sense of achievement, and both feel the most difficult part of the trek is over. Wrong! Fatigued and dripping with sweat, we must climb some more after lunch through fog, rain and poor sight. Each step is scary as you can't see it. We are walking amongst the clouds which feels surreal.
On day 3, our muscles start to cramp up but we must continue along precarious clifftops which drop hundreds of metres. Bernie has now learned to chew coco leaves before every ascent. Day 3 is a short day of trekking, (only 6 hours), ending at Winawayna. Here there are the remains of a multi terraced Inca stronghold. These remains are spectacularly perched in a hidden valley on a steep cliff and are truly remarkable themselves. Bernie expresses a fear that Machu Pichu may
be a let down after this spectacular Inca remain.
Day 4 starts with a 3am wakeup call for the final descent to Machu Pichu via the Sun Gate. We are tired after our third night sleeping on a cold, stone ground in a not so protective and less than comfortable tent. Bernie has to trek, yet agian, in her wet converse shoes something she has not enjoyed. We are not sure if we can make it. Our early rise is due to the scores of people/tourists who queue for entry into the last leg of the Inca trail, where the gate opens at 5.30am. We bid adios to our porters who have proivded us with porridge, pancakes, rice and plenty of vegetable soup over the last 3 days.
At sunrise, we are second in queue behind some Argentineans. A good omen for viewing Macchu Picchu. The gate opens and it appears to be a race to the sungate. Even I have a spring in my step and am leading our group to the sun gate. The steps up to the sun gate are my downfall as my weary legs catch up with me. Bernie and Kristina power ahead, and
reach the top just before me. They are happy to discover they are the first female tourists to arrive when another is bitterly disappointed at not being the first female at the sun gate that morning.
The view from the sun gate is our first glimpse of Macchu Picchu. Cloud is obscuring the view somewhat, but clears for fleeting moments where the magnificence and magnitude of Macchu Picchu is revealed. Words or photos cannot do this place justice. It simply has to be seen with ones own eyes to fully appreciate its magnificence. It is about 7.00am by the time we reach the remains, yet throngs of tourists are already scouring through this ancient wonder of the world. It is a satisfying feeling making it, though a bit disappointing not to have the remains to ourselves for at least a short period before the masses who arrived by train.
Our tour of the remains took just over two hours. The sky brightened and enabled some brilliant photo opportunities. Even Bernie, who thought she may have been disappointed after seeing many impressive Inca remains prior, was taken aback with their splendour.
The trek was one of the most
physically enduring things either of us had completed. The end was worth it though, and it will live long in both our memories as one of our most rewarding experiences.
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