On the trail of the ancient Inca civilization

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" If you are travelling Chile David then you must cross into Peru and visit Machu Picchu" said my aunt Judith during our annual family Christmas get together.
"why?"
"because I never had the opportunity to go there and now I am too old to do so" she replied. "you must go on my behalf and report back"
So there it was. My aunts word is the law and that was why I found myself up at stupid o'clock to get the bus to the check point and the start of the 50km trek to Machu Picchu (MP) and the lost city of the Inca civilization.
Even though MP is one of the seven wonders of the modern world I had never heard of the place until a few years ago. A lead social worker, Richard L, who I used to have a great deal of contact with whilst working on the child protection team in Bristol, went travelling to Peru and Equador and visited MP. He mentioned the place on his return.
So on line I went to work out firstly where MP was exactly and then to work out how I was going to get there.
I ' googled' (I hope that is an offcial word) MP and it took me to the official Peruvian website. To get to MP involved walking along the ancient Inca trail and to book directly with local recommended companies. That to do the inca trail you must book far in advance as only a few hundred people a day are allowed on the trail to MP. There was other blah blah blah details but did not bother reading it and before you know it had paid the deposit.

I had attended the briefing the night before with my fellow travellers and for the first time realised just what I had let myself in for. A 50km hike at an starting altitude of 2800mtrs rising to an unbelievable 4315 mtrs above sea level at Dead Womans Pass. Our tour guide Fred explained the route "your lonely planet will tell you the first day is easy the second is hard and the third easy. Listen up my friends. This is going to be an adventure you will never forget. Nothing on this hike is easy, and some of you may not make it over the pass, but if you do then the memories will live forever."
I just stared at the map. A 15- 20 cigarttes a day man, who loves a pint, and has never trekked before, how would I ever achieve this feat. Torres del Paine had stretched me to my very core and that was at altitude under 1000 mtrs. A 50km hike, a 1:4, occasionally 1:2 climb to 4315 mtrs followed by a similar ratio to 3800 mtrs, made me wish I had read the blah blah blah a little more carefully. For if I had it would have said I could have caught a train and bus there. There are hundreds of your companies in Cusco offering trips to MP and all of them a lot easier that what I had signed up for. "have a little faith Dave" I said to myself as my bum cheeks began to clench together. If I had been wearing pants I am sure at this point they would have shat themselves.
Still, that's me a travelling I suppose. Turn up and figure it out when you get there. Note to self: if going to one of the modern wonders of the world, read about it first.
Torres del Paine did teach me a few things though, as did Marcus who helped me in that adventure.
1. Hire some trekking poles. No matter how stupid you look they are a necessity.
2. Only carry what you need - I have paid extra for a porter to carry the lot. Cannot risk my knee again.
3. Take snacks, and lots of them.

So on the bus are 18 fellow explorers 16 Americans, an Aussie and 2 Brits, including me. Also 2 guides, Fred and his assistant Herlin. Amongst the adventurers there is Olga, a pretty 26 yr old lawyer from London. Sid from Sydney, a chinese software engineer. Mike from Atlanta with his buddy Gary from Los Angeles and Chris and Lee from New Hampshire. These are the names I can remember so far. Others include a mum & dad, with their two children and family friend, all in midstream twenties combo from Salt Lake City, a couple of couples and three women friends of a mature age. The worrying thing is that most of the Americans seem like trekker types. Some are sporting T- shirts sporting logos such as 'Utah 15km run', 'Iron man USA' and 'Run hit wonder-can you handle it?' as if they are already trying to subconsciously show everyone how super fit they are. They are carrying the correct trekking attire and equipment, like back packs with built in water bottles with a tube attached to suck water into the mouth Me? Have my 'Sharpes Real Ale' T-shirt on, given to me by Jayne, the landlady of The Kings Head, Bristol, a super flimsy light bag, given to me by Lukis, with a recently purchased water bottle inside that is already leaking, my Bolivian Poncho and a coupe of boxes of Marlboro Red.
Off the bus at the checking point at a village called Ollantaytambo and Gary gives me some well needed reassurance, stood there as I was with my real ale T- shirt, shorts, well trodden 20 year old caterpillar boots, pink and black scarf, very battered trilby hat, a pair of hiking poles in one hand and cigarette in the other.
" You look the part. Loving the scarf"
Oh yes, I forgot to mention the scarf. My black and white one that I bought in San Pedro I had accidentally left behind in Arica. I found a shop selling similar in Cusco but they only had pink ones. Essential for keeping the sun off my neck in the day and warm at night it was pink or nothing.
" thanks Gary, I like to keep in touch with my feminine side" I replied.
I can see Gary being the joker of the pack here. Nice guy and always smiling.
The porters arrive. There are 21 of them! None standing above 5'4" tall. Like ants, all dressed in the corporate blue uniform of SAS, the company I am travelling with, they gather up everything for the trek. The bags they carry weigh 25kg each, some bigger than the person carrying them. The porters are known as 'Chetskis'. The all sprint off carrying their loads. Amazing people.
So following the formalities of team photograph and paperwork to enter the trail we are off.
It's fair to say that the first day was a hike of beautiful Andean undulating countryside but if I was expecting a trek through the wilderness I was sadly mistaken. Just like Chile is between extremes, so was the experience of trekking Patagonia and the Inca trail. Torres del Paine was a wildnerness. On the Inca trail I passed people talking on their mobile phone. Torres del Paine had nothing between campsites. Inca trail has little villages every 4 km of so selling water, food, chocolate, mobile phone top-ups.
We stop for lunch. Torres del Paine lunch was what I had carried, eaten sat on a rock with incredible views. The Inca trail chetskis had effected a large blue tent. Inside a long table with 19 seats around it. Cutlery and napkins. We dined on Mushroom soup. The second course arrives.
"this is fried condor" announces Herlin. "Very tasty" . It was clearly chicken but that did not stop some of my trekkers thinking they were about to eat a protected species.
"no?, really? " came some comments from the table. Sat with Mile and Gary we chuckled to ourselves.
"tastes like Condor though" I said.
I had a feeling that the Condor for dinner theme would run through the trip.
Olga commented that this was not camping but 'glamping' - glamour camping. She was right. I was beginning to wonder if I had made the right decision in doing this luxury 'do everything but wipe your arse trip'.
However this was all dispelled when we reached our first Inca site. Far in the valley below a small village and terraces where they would grow crops.
"my friends, what you are watching is a control point for the sacred balley" said Fred "Machu Picchu was so well hidden and anyones on the trail wood be seen"
Fred spoke good English but his pronunciation was hilarious.
For me it was incredible to see buildings over 1000 yrs old and how clever the Incas had been in creating terracing up the mountainside to grow their crops.
If this was a taste of what was to come then maybe I should have a little more faith after all.
I was later introduced to a Quinoa based drink that helps with altitude called 'Chi-chi'.
Quinoa: pronounced quin-noah by us Brits but pronounced Keenwha by our American cousins.
It is a staple of Peru and is similar to oats. Chi-chi is the fermented drink and all the porters drink gallons of the stuff.
"without chi-chi and coco leabs the Andean people would not be able to live at such high altitude" explained Fred. Chi-chi is a non alcoholic drink but the fermentation process is the same. I had a couple of mouthfuls and was quite palatable.

Later that night after dinner Fred briefed us on the following day. The big climb up Dead Woman Pass, so called because at the top the mountain resembles the face and breast of a woman. It would be a long hard 3 hr climb but to those that made it MP was assured.
So sharing a tent with Sid from Sydney. Sid is a cracking young chap. Born in china his father bought him over to Australia when he was 7 yrs old. He had such a complicated chinese name that a work colleague of his fathers started calling him Sid, after his favourite pop star, Sid Vicious from the Sex Pistols. The name stuck and Sid changed his name by deed pole when at an age he could do do.
So we settled in for the night as up early the next day got the big ascent. It was freezing cold night and wore many layers including my poncho which was proving a godsend. Tried to get some shuteye.
You recall the Chichi I drank earlier and the fermentation process.?
Well unfortunately neither Sid nor I got a good night sleep as the fermentation of the Chichi continued in my lower gut. I have never known anything like it and how one man can produce so much gas in one night is beyond my comprehension. I have never farted so much, ever. Every ten minutes or so there would be a loud botty parp sound from my sleeping bag as gas escaped from me. I could do nothing to control it. It was so embarrassing. A built up in the lower gut, a wiggle of the buttocks and parp! Or parp, paaaarp! Or paaaarp, parp parp ! . It almost got to the point that i would take requests, such was the tuneful nature of my botty emissions. Poor Sid. I tried to make them silent by clenching by buttocks together to keep the gas in but that was so painful and of course just meant a huge fart was the inevitable result with possible follow through disaster. Short and sweet, trumping, parping, whooshing and raspberry noises all night. Laying awake I could feel the fermentation process happening inside of me. Parp!.
Finally I got some sleep but poor Sid did not. Coupled with my continued gas emmissions I snored like a good 'un. Suffice to say for the big push up Dead Woman's Pass we awake blearily eyed and hardly full of beans.

Jonny Fartpants out.

Day 2.

Don't you just hate people who are full of life having slept on a just a groundsheet in a freezing tent.?
Breakfast was served. Quinoa porridge. " I love keenwha" says Robyn, a delightful young woman from Utah who should know better to be that sprightly in the morning.
To me it looked and tasted of wallpaper paste, even with a ton of sugar on the top. But it was vital for energy for the climb up the dead woman. Every mouthful of this grey gloop made me nauseous and of course I was adding the Quinoa porridge to an still fermenting Quinoa/Chi-chi mixture in my digestive system.

As so it was that for just over 3 hours I strained every muscle and sinue in my body and farted enough gas from my arse to power a small house for 24hrs as I trekked straight up from 3300 meters to 4315 meters. Step, step, fart, step !
It was so bad that I had to drop back from the others. The path was heaving with porters from various companies and other walkers. Not only did I have to contend with the steep hills and altitude breathing I had to strategically hold all gas in until the coast was clear and then let a massive one rip. Basically I rocket propelled myself up 1:3 gradients. It was the hardest climb. Really really hard. Torres del Paine was similar but at this incredible altitude I had to stop every two minutes to control my breathing, oh and to trouser trump. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done but I was determined to make it. I was cursing my aunt Judith every step of the way, questioning my own sanity at putting myself in this ridiculous situation and wishing I had read at least something about this place before embarking on such a foolhardy, or should that be foolfarty quest.
Just when I though I was near the top, I would turn the corner to see high above me lines of porters in their red or blue and fellow trekkers on the path with still further to go. By now the sun had come around the mountain and with hardly a cloud in the sky was beating down making the uphill struggle even harder. I was grateful to my pink scarf for keeping me a bit cooler and eternally grateful to my good sense to rent hiking poles. Reached the half way point at 3800 meters for a breather and to soak in the amazing scenery.
Eventually rounded a bend and there was the summit and the reason it is called Dead Woman's Pass. Not because a woman died there, but the mountain profile has the appearance of a topless,woman with breast implants lying on her back. As the mountain decends from its peak to the pass it bears the hall marks of a woman's face. There is also small hillock in the anatomically correct place which looks like a surgically enhanced tit, complete with an erect nipple. Parp!
Personally I could understand the boob part of the analogy, as it really did look like one, but the face? Not for me. Could not see it. Still, a giant tit with erect nipple, coupled with my incredible farting pants, my trumping activity spurred me on to the summit and finally,after 3.5 hrs of nothing but up, exhausted, sweating buckets, every bone and muscle in my body aching, hardly able to catch my breath I made it to the top of the pass at 4315 meters above sea level. Quite an achievment for a clapped out old tosser like me. Those that had been there for some time, the fit fuckers, clapped and cheered me. I then returned the favour by leaning over my hiking poles, controlling my breathing and letting the loudest one yet rip from my trousers. Welcome to summit of Dead Woman's Pass.
There was one more pass to climb and at around 4 pm I arrived at out campsite utterly shattered.

Supper was condor egg soup followed by condor testicles. Tasted like chicken
Disco fartpants out.

Day 3.
"I love Keenwhar" says Robyn gleefully as a bowl of grey gruel is placed in the table.
Today was going to be a easier day because what goes up must go down. The undulating Inca trail, high above the clouds in the valley of the Andes below, led us to a tunnel, carved out of the rock by hand thousands of years ago. Then to a series of ancient Inca stairs. Steps cut into to mountain. We decended the mountainside, the ruins becoming more frequent and interesting. The lush green foliage, Inca ruins and lost cities, ancient steps, I could easily have been on the set of an Indiana Jones movie.
Rain came on and I took shelter with some fellow Trekkers by some ruins. Unfortunately the rain bought out the nasty bugs that live in the forest and lunch, in the shape of me, was served.
I have no idea what stung me but it was a big bastard. Smoking a cigarette I put my hand to my mouth to see a bug attached to my thumb. It resembled a hornet. I tried to flick it off but too late. Little fucker stung me and left the sting in my thumb.
Sid managed to pull the sting out leaving a little blood red hole in my thumb that was stinging and quite painful. My first aid kit with the Chetskis there was only one thing for it.
"anyone need a piss?" I asked
"yeah" said Chris " why?"
"I need you to piss over my thumb" I replied " it will neutralise the poison under the skin"
Chris smiled and gratiously declined my request. I could understand why. Asking for a golden shower from someone I have only known two days* did seem a bit strange, especially as he is a fully trained nurse, back home in Boston.
More likely to give patients medicine and apply bandages to treat ailments, rather than urinate on them.
The reason for this bizarre request was that I once read that if stung by jellyfish the ammonia in urine will neutralise the sting. So if that is the advice for jellyfish then why not Andean bugs and critters. With all my anti-sting stuff in the first aid kit with the Chetskis and with no other alternative and a thumb getting progressively painful I whipped out my todger squeezed my bladder hard and pissed all over my hand.
And guess what? It only went and # ing worked! Instant pain relief. I shit you not. It was if nothing had happened. The little red hole was there sure but no pain at all. All hail piss and urine, natures very own natural pain relief!
Pissco out.

So if you and your fellow trekkers have to be up at 3.30am the following day to break camp and make MP at sunrise do you:
A) retire to bed straight after supper
and/or
B) maybe a cup of tea and chat after supper before retiring to bed full of excitement for the following day.?
Or do you:
C) Bribe a Chetski to run to the nearest village an hour away, smuggle in a bottle of whiskey to camp for four of your fellow like minded Trekkers
and
D) after supper get totally pissed, keep everyone awake laughing outside the tents and retire at midnight?

I suppose i could leave it there, and allow your own imaginations to complete the tale based on the above information. But just in case some of you think the answer is A and/or B, maybe, for the sake of completeness I should explain myself.

So why do people come on the Inca trail to Machu Picchu. My reasons are outlined above. Josh and Stella from Chicago for similar reasons. A relative now 74yrs inspired them to the challenge. They have been practicing for 6 months, tramping the streets of Chicago. Unfortunately both have picked up little knocks on the trail. Josh has a damaged knee and Stella a broken tie nail. Chris, the Boston nurse, has tried for years to get here, thwarted by his bosses and shift system. Lee, his buddy is along for the ride. Olga is trying to see all seven wonders of the modern world. After MP she will have two left. Petra in Jordon and the Mayan ruins in Mexico. All my trekkers have a story to tell and have probably had the date of their MP experience ringed on their calendar for months once the were lucky enough to be one of the chosen 200 a day to be allowed on the trail.
"I cannot believe I am one sleep away from seeing Machu Picchu" said one person, such was their excitement.
So that night was the condor supper "piece de resistance". We were served roasted neck of condor and more condor testicles, whch still tasted like chicken. Accompanying this was a cucumber that had been cut to look like a condor. Beak,crown, wings, the whole nine yards. Two little cucumber nests accompanied it.
It was, without doubt, one of the stupidest things I have ever seen but some of my fellow Americans though though opposite. Lots of wooing and whooping. They were becoming shouty and brash over a fucking cucumber condor.
And then the strangest thing. They turned into Japonese tourists, the ones that photgraph everything, for they and started to photograph the cucumber condor and nests. Positioning them as if on a pro-shoot. I could not believe what I was seeing. Grown men and women, excited to the point of pissing there pants and taking photographs of a condor shaped fucking cucumber!!
I stood out for a cigarette with Fred as could take no more and commented on the cucumber condor hysteria in the tent. Laughing with Fred and right on cue Herlin whipped out an Andean musical recorder.
"let's see if I can remember how this goes" he stated before stringing together a random series of notes. Sat outside with Fred I was laughing so hard tears were in my eyes. Clearly he had no idea what he was doing.
Through my laughter I managed to say to Fred " please tell me he cannot play that thing"
"nope"
Doubled up in laugher as Herlin finished his made up tune that sounded terrible, whoops, hollers and clapping from some in the tent who thought it was a genuine Andean song. I was laughing so hard my stomch now hurt. Parp!

After supper 13 excited Trekkers went to the tents to be up at 3.30am. Lee, Chris, Sid, Olga, Josh and myself, along with Fred and Erline sat round the table in the dining tent and demolished a bottle of whiskey obtained for us by a Chetski that afternoon. We were excited about the following day sure, just not ready for bed.
Having demolished one bottle we wished we had smuggled in two but wandering back to the tents neither Lee, Sid or myself were ready forgo retire. Speaking for myself I was still to wired about seeing MP the following day, and full of laughter hormones from the nights chuckles. .
I suppose in hindsight we should have stayed back at the dining tent but as we were pissed and not thinking straight we sat down on a bench opposite the sleeping and excited Trekkers.
Sid started to do impressions of Fred and his inability to pronounce his v's and that was it. The three of us crying with laughter, trying to be quiet but only a managing a poor drunk quiet as we recalled the cucumber condor, the condor suppers and the other gentle piss taking that had been going on in the past 3 days by the guides. I cannot remember laughing so much for so long for a very long time.
It was Sid who had all the glares the following morning.
So via this blog I would like to apologise to my trekking companeros for keeping you all awake the night before a day done of you have waited for for years. It was very very funny though.
Disco out.

* I generally wait at least a month of knowing someone before requesting a golden shower, but this was an emergency after all.

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Photos

some of our porters
the Chetskis

dead womans pass
complete with breast

3.5 hours later made it
does not look it here but I was exhausted

Chetski aged 62 yrs
with 25kgs. put me to shame

day 3. rain
with fellow British national Olga. I think orange suits me

group photo
dead womans pass

steps like this
all the way down

just after this I had to....
piss on my hand.
front . lee, Olga,Chris. middle. me and Sid, Back Gary. Taken by Mike,

made it.
set up camp for night with 6 kms to go

Huiñay Huayna
ruins at base camp 3

Comments

[Robyn]

quinoa
HA! i do love it

[Schwein]

Sabias Palabras
Wise words from your aunt!

[Karen and Paddy]

Great read, thanks for sharing! Inspired! ( to get the bus ) ha Happy travels Karen