The Road to Machu Picchu (Day 2)

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Early breakfast was rolls, coffee, coca tea and a choice of omelette, eggs, fruit salad or fresh banana pancakes with chocolate (my choice). We slapped on sunscreen, sprayed on repellent and made our way down to the river.
Our guide was a Peruvian guy in his early 40’s named Wilbur who spoke Quechua as a first language, Spanish as a second, English as a third and was working on a German. Wilbur was a question talker,
“Thank you for coming on this hike. Why thank you?” He would pause, “because the people who live in this area are glad that you come here, spend your money and help their economy.”
We made our way along the river and our first stop was the abandoned ghost town from the day before. Wilbur explained that it had been the town of Santa Maria until a huge flash flood had destroyed it in 1998, killing a number of people. They had rebuilt the town further up the hill, away from the river, where we had stayed the night before.
Santa Maria was, and still is, a farming town of a little less than 2000 people. As we headed out of the old Santa Maria, we saw the examples of the various crops grown in the area - pineapples, avocadoes, coffee and coca leaves. Wilbur explained that the coca leaf was the most profitable of the crops grown in the area but, due to its obvious connection with the drug trade, Peru’s president had tried to outlaw the growing of coca plants a few years earlier. Huge strikes saw the ban overturned and the coca plant continues to be the predominant crop.
These farmers were selling some of the most expensive products found in Australian supermarkets. When I left Australia a month earlier, avocadoes sold for $3 a piece, pineapples something similar, good instant coffee was $15 for 200 grams and (though not sold in supermarkets) a gram of cocaine was around $300. Though I don’t remember the exact price Wilbur put on the crops, the poverty these farmers lived in was perhaps most evident by the site of many of their houses having corrugated iron rooves held down with rocks rather than fastened by nails.
Wilbur pulled up at one point and showed us a crop growing on a tree, walking up and taking a hold of one of the fruits growing on a lower branch. Unfortunately, the branch it was growing on was right next to a branch with a wasps’ nest on it. Wilbur reefed down on the fruit to pull it from the tree and, in doing so, gave the wasps’ nest an almighty shake.
“Here they come,” I said, backing away.
It was like a cartoon. They shot out of the nest and straight for Wilbur’s head. He was bent over, swatting at his head, as the rest of us got as far away as we could. The Boss copped a sting to the forehead and Maya was stung twice on the face. Upon discussing it later in the evening, I decided it was as close to a classic slapstick comedy moment as I would ever get in real life.
Eventually we started walking up. The incline was decent enough and, coupled with the humidity and the backpacks we were all carrying, the breaths grew deeper and quicker. Wilbur was a marvel. He simply put one foot in front of the other (apparently it’s called walking) at what seemed to be a slow-medium pace. I only aimed to keep up with this slightly chubby, middle aged bloke and, though able to do so, I was one of three or so who could.
After the better part of an hour or so moving up, including a final most-steep burst, we came to a small shack with cool drinks, snacks, chairs, hammocks and some truly awesome wildlife. On a chest-height vertical log there was an animal, native to South America (I think it was a Capybara, but my Wikipedia-based research hasn't been exaustive). It was roughly the size of a wombat but had the rodent-like face and agility of a chipmunk. It was happy to eat whatever was given to it and it drank an odd purple mixture out of a powerade bottle, which gave it a chance to show off how adept it was on its hind legs using its paws. A German girl in the group named Anja, was particularly entranced by it and went in to give it a kiss. She was stopped by the people who owned the shack, warning her in Spanish that it was inclined to bite. She stood off to the side, looking away, and the creature slowly looked around toward her, opened its mouth and lunged at her, ready to bite. She was just out of reach and the owners stopped it from having a second crack.
The other creature they had was a monkey named Martine. Tied to a tree, he was as mischievous as one would expect. Jess and Nicola took a particular shine to him, Nicola because she had owned a pet monkey when she had lived in Bali and Jess because she just liked teasing him. Giving him food and taking it away, making faces at him, basically the little things one does to tease a monkey, Jess was nonetheless Martine’s favourite of our group. He crawled up on to her back and went down her shirt, going straight for her bra strap. I got a photo of him going through my pockets.
After a half hour we set off again, this time travelling a flat track up in the heights. The Inka trail is the most famous way of getting to Machu Picchu but only so many thousand people are allowed on it each year, so you need to book it up to six months in advance. We were on what was called the “Inka jungle” trek but we were promised a section of Inka trail and half an hour after leaving the monkey’s hut, we arrived at it. Less than a metre across, there was cliff face on your right and a huge drop off down to the river on your left. Wilbur explained that the Inkas had used these trails as a way of communicating across their empire. Runners, known as Chaskis, would run with a message for 20kms along the trail until they came to the next Chaski, who would carry the message on for another 20kms.
The section of trail we walked was only a few kms long but it had an amazing view of the river, the valley, and the way we had come. We weren’t on it long however, and soon we were making our way downhill to a small, stand alone shack where lunch was due to be served.
Soup followed by chicken, rice, chips and a brief nap later, we loaded up and set off again. From here, we walked down on to the rocks of the riverbed and followed the river. We crossed at a suspension bridge which had plenty of spring in it, making for an enjoyable, if heart-beat increasing, crossing. From there were walked for another half hour before coming to the cable-car that was to ferry us back to the other side of the river.
“When they told us we were getting a cable-car, I stupidly thought it was going to be an actual cable-car,” said the Boss. It was a cable across the river with a metal basket large enough to transport two being pulled across by a wiry old Peruvian. The Boss and I piled on, enjoyed the ride and paid the man at the other side 1 sole each for the ride.
On the home stretch, we walked for 15 minutes before coming to the hot pools of Santa Teresa. Here we were given a choice - walk the last hour to Santa Teresa, or enjoy the hot pools for an hour and get a bus to Santa Teresa for 5 soles each. We all decided to go for a swim.
Using strategically placed towels, we changed in to our swimming gear and jumped in to the pools. There was a group of a dozen or so locals selling towels, food and beer - it was fantastic, upon finishing one beer, someone would come over and give you another, putting it on your “tab”. However not long after getting in to the pools the heavens finally did what they had threatened to do all day and it started pouring. Having sensed it was going to happen I had put my gear under a rock to keep it dry but the Boss, living up to her name, had me jump out and find a dry place to put her gear. It was during this out-of-water activity that I was savagely bitten by the mozzies in the area, although the Boss copped her fair share of bites too - we all did.
At the end of the hour, we all gathered up our wet gear and climbed in to the minivan that took us the ten minute drive up the hill to Santa Teresa. There, we discovered that the storm had knocked out the town’s power, so we were given candles and shown to our rooms. Soon the power was restored and the hostel’s ample supply of washing lines was put to use.
Dinner was - can you guess? - soup followed by chicken, rice and chips. After dinner a bloke came in and told us about the chance to go zip-lining the next day instead of walking for the first three hours to the lunch spot. I left soon after the presentation and made my way to the main square, with Julie (a French girl who loved a beer and a laugh), the Boss, Willian and Rich.
The five of us decided to go for a beer and, after searching the town for the best spot, decided that the restaurant where we’d had dinner was probably the pick. Willian, the Boss and I split a 1.1 litre bottle of beer for the price of 10 soles.
Within half an hour the whole place had filled with our group, the other group (who the Boss and I had rode down the mountain with the day before and were now doing the same trek as us but usually walking about 15 minutes ahead) and a group of four guys who were doing their own 10 day trek to Machu Picchu.
At some point we asked Wilbur to join us for a beer.
“Thankyou,” he replied.
I poured him a beer, he smashed it in about two mouthfuls, said, “Thankyou,” again and wandered off.

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Photos

The view
Just before the Inka trail

The Bridge
To old Santa Maria

Farmer's House
Quality roofing