Trekkin the Inca Trail
Trip Start
Feb 27, 2009
1
58
73
Trip End
Sep 13, 2009
Machupicchu,
Cusco,
Peru
Thursday, July 2, 2009
So here we are - I'm up and about after a night of interrupted sleep - interrupted mostly by nightmares of cliff edges. First task of the morning before being whisked off to the Inca trail is the changing of my flights to allow more time in Cusco. It's all done and sorted and I can walk the trail in peace knowing I'm sorted for the rest of the trip. I've added another intrepid trip from Rio to Buenos Aires to my itinerary.
Bandana Fashionista
I leave with Paul, Gillian and Cynthia for the trek - armed with a back pack including some lip stuff kindly donated by Lisa who turns out to be an extremely generous sort having given Gillian and Paul a torch and some rain macs as well. As well as the back pack I'm allowed to bring 4 kilos in a duffle bag. The duffle bags will be carried along the trail by porters along with all of our food, tents, gas cookers, their tents and provisions etc etc. At the entrance to Inca trail at point 82 (82 km along the trail), we find an area alive with the bustle of last minute panicked trekkers hoping they've bought everything and vendors there to capitalise on those that indeed haven´t. Of course I find myself without a funky green bandana for some reason - shouldn't we all have one of those? I purchase one for 5 soles. It looks hideous - see attached picture and is relegated to sweat band in favour of my trusty brown pirate bandana. I couldn´t look any more the part if you put a Indiana Jones hat on me with functional zip off trouser shorts and hiking boots - a veritable marketing campaign for North Face is what I am.
Noel our tour leader introduces us to Alias - another leader who will have a group of 6 Americans. The Americans are clearly not au fait with the etiquette of trekking and are mostly turned out in jeans and T shirts - rather them than me. They will be camping along side us on the way - more on them later. Lisa and Eric are taking the easier train option to Maccu Piccu and staying some extra time in Ollantaytambo and Cusco. Aisling is on her own on the alternative Lares trail - quite literally - just her and the guide as well as 3 porters and a cook. As close to a Mariah Carey style entourage as you could get. We'll meet up again in 4 days at the other end of the trail.
We've got our own entourage of about 15 porters/cooks and guides as well as ourselves.
We present our passports and the entrance to the trail and cross a bridge and we're off.
The Inca trail is only part of a wider network of roads and trails built by the Incans during the time of the Inca Empire right throughout S.
Style or wha?
America. These roads provided easy, reliable and quick routes for the Empire's civilian and military communications, personnel movement, and logistical support. The classic inca trail which we'll be walking ends up at Maccu Piccu the lost sacred site of the Incas only re-discovered in 1911 (missed by the Spanish in their times of conquest - thankfully as they had a habit of destroying such sites). It has been the focal point of many a back packer visit to South America ever since.Day 1
Day one is the "training", "get yourself used to it" day. We start along the Urubamba river at 2,400m altitude and climb a modest 400m that day to our first camp site. Along the way we stop for designated rests at little villages along the way - a series of shacks with vendors capitalising on the need for water, refreshments, prickly pear and the like. These villages become more sparse the further trail goes on. Invariably you end up chatting to fellow trekkers. One guy I chat to is working for the American embassy in Bogota and is there with his family. His daughter has hsa enough of the luggage carrying (they've no porters - going it alone and he's laden down with at least 3 stone worth of stuff - rather him than me. On the plus side the first toilet stop reveals the toilets to be in a building and not behind a bush - quite clean - although they are the dreaded drop toilets where you've to squat and hope you hit the target. Alarmingly, the building beside is marked "Discoteca" - surely some sort of Andean prank.
We carry on to lunch where we are set up in a tent with a table for me, Paul, Gillian, Cynthia and Noel. Before lunch the porters have arrived in advance and set up a tarpaulin for our backpacks so they don' get dusty and individual bowls of hot water and soap to wash our hands before Juan Didios - the first porter I meet - offers kitchen towelling to dry up. We're served three courses ith every meal - lunch and dinner - all cooked up by the chef. We also get breakfast in the mornings and a snack between lunch and dinner. By the time we finish lunch, for example, they've cleared away all the tents and accessories andhaul huge back packs along the trail - overtaking us and arriving at the next stop where everything is waiting for us. This feat is repeated every day, every meal time. They are true strong men - bulging calf muscles and incredible resistance. Amazing and boy are we thankful for them.
We pass by an archeological site atop a hill (Patallacta) on day one and carry on up a moderate incline to the first camp site. The site affords spectacular views of terraced hills and an the various ruins. There are snow capped peaks behind and in the distance. It's not so difficult on the first day though the altitude and the heat mean oxygen is in short supply and sweaty back syndrome is not. The trail is dusty and te trekking trousers and already minging and will have to suffice for the next 3 days.
Spittin' beer
At the end of Day One we arrive at the first camp site where there is a little shack offering beer and claiming to be a supermarket which accepts Visa and Mastercard - surely another Andean prank. The Andean beer, however, is no joke. We feel we deserve one after 6 hours of trekking. Andean beer is made from corn and in days gone by the Quechas would chew the corn and spit it out which helped with the fermentation process. This practise has stopped though you wouldn't know from the taste of the beer which has a egg yolk gloopy texture and tastes vile. I finish it out of respect for the local who made it.
The camp site is all set up by the trusty porters and we get our evening tea and meal and play cards under the moonlight. The setting is magnificent - high mountains scaling the surrounding area and as clear a night sky as you could wish for. One of the Americans - Sarah - introduces herself and lets us know the story of the 6 yanks. They are here for her brother Peter's 40th birthday. Peter is accompanied by his girlfriend and her sister. Also along are Sarah's brother and his Venezualan girlfriend. They are all OK - Sarah is sound but the Venezualan is nothing short of a grumpy shite who, through beautiful, has face like thunder.
Squattin'
Before retiring I brace myself and attempt a go at the old drop toilet which we all share. The porters have obviously managed it just fine - the thing is absolutely disgusting. A very unsuccessful attempt - I only manage to pee on myself in my ignorance of the squatting technique. Try again tomorrow.
Day 2
This is the hard day. We'll ascend to 4,200 - the highest point on the trail. The day will consist of entirely uphill walking to the first pass - Warmiwañusca (Dead Woman's Pass). We're up at 5.30 - I manage to sleep alright in the tent in spite of the cold and wafer thin mattress. There is no showers on the trail - so I'll look like a yeti in 3 days. I get dressed in the same clothes I'll wear for the next 2 days and wore the day before. The porter brings us hot coca tea and warm water to wash our faces and hands in. Everything else is cleaned up with a good old baby wipe.
x
We set off and the initial path is steep and winds around the mountain side in hair pin style. Thankfully there are no big ravines yet. It is really tough going until we get to our first rest stop were attempt number two at the drop toilets proves successful - my technique is perfect now - so if ever you need a course let me know :) Paul and I veritably hiss at an annoying yank from another group who is taking it easy as she has just applied sun block and doesn't want to sweat causing it to run. She then produces a copy of the economist for some light reading. Presumably every page of the Economist these days just has the word "Fucked"! There are many people who receive similar treatment along the track - like the other yank who explained criminal law as being "a guy who murders someone and goes to jail" or the grumpy friend (nicknamed Attila the Hun) in our accompanying group who appears not to be able to smile for fear of death - though with her arse I can see why. The endless entertainment gives us a laugh though and distracts us from the arduous trek.
Ascendin'
With sweaty back syndrome continuing, we stop at the half way point for a rest. We will not have lunch today until we get to our stopping point at about 3pm. After the rest we're at 3,600 meters and in front of us in the final ascent to the pass. The air is perilously thin and no amount of heavy breathing scoops up the required amount of oxygen to kep walking without regular breaks. The final ascent is steep and wrenches every amount of effort from my body. The trek has now got stone steps - I can take no more than one 5 steps at a time as the end is in sight. Others have made it already and are taking in the views from the top which includes me desperately trying to make it. My muscles are aching and head is dizzy and with only 5 steps to go I still have to stop for a break. Then the final push and I'm there. I forget all ailments and difficulties as I spy the mountains on the other side of the pas with a table cloth of cloud and the mountains behind - peering down at valley below at the foot of the mountain I've just scaled. The sense of achievement is too much and I head over to a rock to take it all in and have a moment. Easily the highlight of the trip so far.
Descendin'
What goes up must come down. The descent to camp is as steep as the ascent - we'll descend 600m to the camp site for the night. Each step down is treacherous and my ankles buckle twice. Although the oxygen situation is sorted, the knees take a pounding.
The usual ritual of lunch, tea, cards and dinner plays itself out and we turn in for night two.
Day 3
Day 3 starts with anther arduous steep climb to the second pass affording more great views. After this it is mostly downhill all the way to Maccu Piccu on day 4. We take in one more archeological site - Sayakmarqa - which is arrived at after a daunting 3 minute staircase with a precarious ravine on one side and rocks jutting out the other forcing you to walk at the very edge of the foot path. My heart is in my mouth and I'm nearly frozen stiff with fear at one point.
Throughout this part of the trek there is some sort of plant which gives off a putrid smell which can only be described as sweaty arse. None of the guides inform us of this - so we are all very suspicious that the 3 days of trekking and lack of washing is taking its toll. Dirty loks and embarrassed faces are in abundance until the guide puts us at ease.
This is the longest day. We walk for a total of 10 hours. After Sayakmarqa we join up with the Americans who camp with us (including Attila and Ms Venezuala - Attila becoming more tolerant) and the path turns from a mountainside dirt trek to a rocky trail through tropical vegetated mountainsides. It is an amazing transformation which happens ever so quickly. The vegetation on the side of the hills helps dissipate my vertigo as the drops at the side are hidden. Though I doubt a bamboo tree and a few ferns would save from my death if I tumbled over the edge.
Get up that hill
At a third pass we can see Maccu piccu mountain for the first time - not the site itself which is hidden around the other side.Paul and I trek down the final descent to the final camp site in record time on account of there being a bar there. We have the option to queue for warmish showers here but decide against in order to maximise drinking time. We opt instead for the baby wipe bath.
The bar is amply supplied for somewhere so far up in the mountains and has electricity thanks to a line with pilons which ruins the glorious views out to the tropical wilderness. Though if it means keeping the beers cold, we're happy for it to remain there. The Americans join us for beers and celebratory Pisco Sours before we head back to camp for our last night with the porters and guide where we meet and greet them and give them the customary envelope with tip. We're up at 4 the next morning to complete the final 2 hour trek to Maccu Piccu.
Day 4
The big day arrives. The one we've done all this hard work for. The leg crunching, oxygen sapping trek was all for this - the views of Maccu Piccu. During the night there was for the first time, and somewhat unexpectedly given it is the dry season, a spattering of rain. This morning it has left behind mist and cloud. As we set out in the dark on the final leg, our moods are smashed. All this way and we can hardly see 2 feet in front of us. We carry on regardless and just hope the pending sunrise will bring warmth and clear the mist and the clouds.
At 6.30 - one hour later we're still trekking through mist. Its only a half hour until we reach Intipunku - the first viewing point. There is some improvement and breaks in the cloud and mist as we round the corner and are faced with the "Gringo Killer" a almost 90 degree stepped incline.. I manage it alright - only by not looking back. Thankfully there is no cliff edge on either side. 5 minutes later at Intipunku we're greeted by about 50 trekkers sitting in disappointment as they stare out at an abyss of grey mist below. The majority carry on 10 minutes later - dejected.
We continue to wait.
Day 1- View
The guides are urging us to continue on to do the tour of Maccu Piccu some 30 minutes trek away. We resist wanting to get the views of the site from above and not trek around listening to garbage. I am particularly grumpy and resistant but have to give in and so we gather up our back packs and begin our trek down. Perfect Timing
Then something special happens and the sun starts to break up the cloud. The few remaining trekkers begin to mumble in hope and all of a sudden within the space of about 2 minutes, the clouds and mist completely disappear - revealing in the distance a gigantic mass of ruins and terraces the like of which I could never have imagined seeing - all perched atop Maccu Piccu (Old Mountain) under the towering Waynu Piccu (Young Mountain) behind. It is breathtaking and awe inspiring and I really just cannot beging to take in what I'm looking at. The sense of expectation after the 4 day hike and the sense of reward are conflicting and I just find it so hard to take in. We carry on down the trek - stopping at every corner for a different photo.
Truly unbelievable and already - this has become the new highlight of the trip. Surely nothing else can surpass this.
The rst of the day we take in the various ruins and look on in disbelief as crazy tourist climb the absolutely hair raising Waynu Piccu before taking the bus down to Aguas Calientes the nearest town at the foot of the mountain where we get our train tickets back to Ollantaytambo and board a bus back to Cusco which takes us over the highlands and affords even more spectacular views.
We arrive early evening and I look in the mirror and see something like a hairy tramp staring back. No more getting dressed in a horizontal position in a tent (into sweaty dusty clothes), no more baby wipe baths, no more squatting in a makeshift shack of a toilet hoping nobody will barge in through the door with no lock, no more draining hikes, no more freezing cold nights, no more 2mm thick mattress, no more pillowless sleeps, no more Attila the Hun, no more economist. And alas no more feeling of euphoria as I stare at one of the most amazing historical sites which represented an entire empire. What a journey - celebrated as best we could over a smashing dinner in a local gem of a restaurant that Lisa and Eric had stumbled across and a few beers and an Irish whisky in the world's highest Irish pub.
On my iPod
Time of Your Life - Green Day
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Comments
Dream Trip
Well I've only read the opening line of your blog re changing your flights and read that you are going on some trip from Rio to Buenos Aires and I'm so mad with jealousy. So want to do that. Was only thinking about it last night after watching the final of Britain's Next Top Model. They were based in Buenos Aires. My dream destination a combo of Rio and Buenos Aires. Can't wait to hear about it.
sweaty arse
well dahlings, what can i say? looks like heaven. sweaty arse stench notwithstanding (am not not entirely convinced it wasn't coming from you either), am mad jealous innit? i note from photos you had yer paws all over some nuuuuuuuu woman. who is she? WHO IS SHE???!!!