Welcome to the jungle!

Finally, finally, finally we decided to throw caution (mainly of the financial variety) to the wind and head to the Amazon. Another long-held dream of mine would come to fruition. Hurrah!

Bolivia is by far the cheapest place to visit the jungle, so it made sense that we would embark on our Amazon adventure from here. There are two ways to reach it from La Paz: one is to spend 24 hours on a bus of dubious quality and with a not-so-safe safety record, making your way down the side of the Andes along mainly unpaved roads on a journey which has been described to us as literally breath-taking; the other option is to take a 30 minute flight from La Paz airport in a ridiculously small plane. We opted for the latter, deeming this to be the safer, and certainly speedier choice. 

La Paz airport is the highest in the world and it takes planes so long to take off and land due to the high altitude that they need a crazily long runway and special landing gear to get on and off the ground. Thankfully (or not) our plane wasn't large enough to warrant such equipment, and we took off to the regular roar of engines alongside the buffeting winds and turbulence that you only get at 4500 metres. Being so high up, and with our destination so low down we spent the entire trip descending instead of ascending, which is a strange feeling to say the least. Still, it was quick and in a little over 25 minutes we were skimming the jungle canopy in search of a mud landing strip.

Eagerly anticipating that waft of hot air that so often greets you when you step off a plane in a hot country (the kind that makes you know you're on holiday; or have arrived back in Melbourne in the height of summer), we had de-layered our clothes in preparation to feel the full effects of a humid and sultry Amazon. The doors to the plane opened and we stepped outside to be greeted by thick grey cloud, driving rain and a temperature of 9 degrees. 9 degrees!?! Had we accidentally taken a wrong turn and ended up in Newfoundland? Had we unknowingly bought tickets to Patagonia? Did we unconsciously decide to skip the rest of South America and head straight to the green pastures of England and Ireland on a summer's day? This was not the break from the cold temperatures of the Andes we had been promised. And I'd taken off my tights! Bbbrrrrrr. Hastily re-layering our clothes we grumpily boarded a small bus that picked us up directly from the plane along with our luggage and headed to the small town of Rurrenabaque, situated on a tributary of the Amazon river.

Not a summer loincloth in sight.

We made our way to our hostel which turned out to be strange abode with even stranger owners and inquired about the current Arctic weather conditions the town was experiencing. Looking around at the hostel which was adorned with a large, if rather dirty-looking pool, and with rooms that had no glass in the windows, we could only assume that 'cold' was not the norm. 'Is the weather often like this?' we asked. 'Not at all! Why, just yesterday it was 32 degrees. It's usually hot all year round. This weather is completely uncharacteristic of the area and happens maybe once a year! Would you like a blanket to go with your cold shower? I'm sure the weather will warm up in the next few days....'

Oh well, at least we were in the jungle, and I guess it's not called a rainforest for nothing. Best to dig out our sleeping bags again and get ready for our tour in the Maldidi nature reserve. The next morning we donned our rucksacks and headed down to the river for our two-night excursion to the jungle proper, where we were promised the chance of seeing anacondas, caimans, monkeys, tarantulas (yes, tarantulas), wild pigs, the possible roar of a jaguar and untold species of birds and insects. Cold or not, excited I certainly was, and we opted to sit at the front of a rudimentary long-tail boat in order to get the full (if not freezing) experience. It was going to take three hours to travel upriver to our destination in the nature reserve and along the way we saw communities dotted along the riverbank going about their daily activities. Sitting in a boat with the jungle on either side of me, with modern civilization as far away as it could possibly be, put a whole new spin on the term, going bush.

Our boat arrives at the Maldidi nature reserve.

We arrived at our accommodation and were surprised to find rather fancy digs (for our decreasing standards, anyway) complete with flushing toilets and toilet paper (always a benchmarker), mosquito nets and hammocks dotted around in between trees. We were assigned a guide named Sando and paired up with two friends from England (one of whom spent the whole time in bed) and a woman called Doris from Canada who turned out to be the grumpiest person we have come across the entire trip. I mean, why go on holiday if you have no intention of enjoying yourself. Do us all a favour and stay at home with your cats who are probably your only friends, and talk to the walls like Shirley Valentine. I'm sure you'll have a much better time than inflicting your permanent premenopausal self on the rest of us. Sorry. Anyway, back to the jungle...

Hammockas

With Sando as our guide, several activities had been planned for our trip, which included guaranteed wildlife spotting! Learning how to make sugarcane juice, discovering medicinal plants and spending a night in the depths of the jungle with nothing but a mosquito net and a thin roll mat between us and the elements.

Our first excursion was a jungle trek for Sando to show us the 'ways of jungle life' and to hopefully spot some wildlife. Now, I don't know why, but I wasn't convinced our guide was telling us the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. We seemed to find jaguar paw prints remarkably quickly (that strangely enough looked about the same size as a medium-sized dog's), puma droppings, caiman prints and all manner of other animal evidence that was handily located within 50 metres of our lodgings... Along the way Sando would dramatically stop and impersonate different monkey calls, or pick up random plants and tell us how they could cure all manner of things. I'm not sure why I was being so cynical - maybe Doris was rubbing off on me - but the whole first day just seemed to feel set up; like we'd entered a jungle theme park and at any moment a guy in a jaguar suit was going to come running out to attack us and our guide would spectacularly wrestle him to the ground...

Jungle flora without the fauna

Of course this didn't happen, and over the next few days I came to realise this was just his manner rather than a set-up experience where we would ooh and ahh over our jungle discoveries. We finished our first day squeezing sugarcane juice through a rudimentary mangle, and then drinking it with fresh lime, spotting a few monkies and going on a nighttime wander to try and find tarantulas (thankfully we didn't). In fact, our closest contact with nature was in our hut, which we were unfortunately sharing with the grumpy Doris, who stupidly left out a packet of crackers, which the resident country mouse found all too tempting. Soon after I'd put out the lights I heard a rustling sound coming from the table next to my bed and switched on the lamp to find a mouse who looked like he'd just been caught with his paws in the cookie jar. Obviously the poor thing was petrified at my looming presence and opted for the only safe-looking route of escape, my rucksack. Great. A mouse was now hiding out somewhere in my bag, and although I'm not scared of mice, I didn't particularly want to delve my hand in to hoik out the poor creature. Thankfully, a few minutes later it found an escape route out of my bag and under the hut, where I presumed it stayed for the rest of the night. Doris' crackers however were demoted to the bin outside to dissuade any other hungry nighttime visitors. Stupid woman...

Day two had us out of bed early and finally feeling the warmth we were hoping for. We headed to a different part of the jungle where we hoped to see more wildlife. Along the way Sando showed us how to make rudimentary water bottle holders out of palm fronds, and how to extract dye out of coca leaves. About an hour into the trek we came across (or rather firstly smelt) a group of wild pigs (I'm not sure of the collective noun for stinky swines). I can not exaggerate how badly aromatic these beasts were, foraging around on the forest floor cracking palm nuts in their teeth. We were told there were about 80 piggies surrounding us at one point, all calling to each other and racing through the undergrowth just a few metres from us. I definitely didn't want to come into close contact with one, and I don't know how the locals happily consume them with such an emanating smell. Stink crackling anyone? Needs must I suppose.

Ais goes native

After lunch we donned our mini backpacks, sleeping bags and roll mats, and set forth on our hike into the depths of the jungle. Due to our campsite's remoteness we hoped to see and hear lots of wildlife. The journey took just over three hours (Doris fell over. I laughed) and we were rewarded with a clearing in the jungle covered with one tarp, a firepit for our chef to cook on and a long table for sitting and eating at. There were also two rather smelly hammocks (I think the pigs had been hanging out in them the night before). We set up our 'beds' for the night, enjoyed some surprisingly delicious food given the circumstances our chef had to cook in (and that's after the poor soul had to carry all the food to the campsite), and finished the night with a jungle trek under the cover of darkness with nothing but a torch and our guide in front of us for safety... Every now and again we were asked to switch off our lights to help encourage the animals to come out. I don't think I've ever experienced so much 'blackness' in all my life. You could not see your fingertips in front of you, never mind the tarantula that might be hastily making its way up your inside trouser leg. Jumpy as I am, there were several instances where I yelped in the darkness at my own non-existent shadow which ensured that any prospective wildlife in our vicinity were now half way across the jungle canopy making their way to the safety of Brazil... Hasten to say we didn't see anything apart from one medium-sized spider (even I wasn't scared of it), and we retreated to our campsite and bed, with the hope of at least hearing some jungle blues.

Our accommodation for the night

I call this 'water bottle holder with hut in background'. It's an abstract piece.

The next morning we all compared oratory stories and deciphered that none of us had heard anything more substantial than perhaps a few large rodents and maybe a couple of lost pigs coming to check out any leftovers from dinner. At least none of us woke up to find a snake in our sleeping bags.

After breakfast we left behind our campsite and walked two hours to a clay lick where hundreds of pairs of macaws were feeding and nesting. Perched on a two-metre wide cliff we tentatively looked over the edge at the scene below. I guess they're not called macaws for nothing and the raucous they made was absolutely deafening. Swooping and chatting and waltzing in the air, they made a glorious spectacle that was definitely the highlight of my jungle tour. Macaws mate for life and each parrot mirrored its partner's moves through the air with such elegance and grace it looked like they were performing in the Amazon edition of 'So, You Think You Can Dance'. Sadly, I didn't get any photos as I was too consumed by watching the macaws while ensuring I didn't fall off the cliff at the same time. 

View from the clay lick

Finally content at our wildlife spotting, we descended down the cliff and made our way to the river where we were met by fast-flowing water and a few logs. It turned out that our final challenge of the tour was to make an indigenous-style raft and float down the river back to our lodge. At this point we were all completely knackered and could do little more other than look on bemused as our guides joined each log together with twine and got us to hold particular bits of wood. With a stick at each end for oars we sailed our way back to our digs and lunch. By now the sun was scorching down and we got to experience the full effects of a humid and sultry Amazon. Our boat trip back to Rurrenabaque was bathed in glorious sunshine and a boat all to ourselves. It was a fine way to finish our jungle adventure.

Build me a raft!

We spent our last two days in Rurrenabaque soaking up the much-appreciated sunshine and warmth, sitting round (definitely not going in) the pool at our hostel and wandering through the town. Rurrey, as it is referred to by locals is an absolute world away from La Paz and the rest of Bolivia. I'm not sure if it's the warmth, but the people seemed more relaxed and happier, and the pace of life and attitude reminded me of a Thai island. Open-air bars played Bob Marley, beer was sold by the litre, cocktails flowed, and the fish came straight from the river to your plate - certainly some of the best I've eaten, and definitely the nicest food I ate in Bolivia. 

Resident toucan in Rurrey

Rurrey town centre

The Rurrenabaque we left felt very different to the town we arrived in and we were just grateful we got to experience this wonderful paradise oasis at its finest. After what seemed like an all-too-quick long weekend getaway we boarded the plane back to La Paz, ascended back up the Andes and continued our Bolivian journey down to the Salar De Uyuni, or the salt flats, Bolivia's most famous attraction. 

Aunty...

I have a Meredith code for three tickets if anyone wants/needs it. 

That is all. 

Gone fishing...

Trip of the light fantastic is taking a short holiday, I mean vacation, from its, er, long vacation to spend time depleting all funds in NYC. Blog updates will resume shortly, and I've heard on the grapevine there may be a special guest blog post soon. Watch this space!

La Paz

We don't have too much to report from Bolivia's capital, as we only stayed there for a night either side of our trip to the Amazon (yeah baby!).

It is probably more notable to talk about what we missed in La Paz, due to unfortunate bus times and a miscalculation on my part of when our flight actually leaves Santiago (we have two days less than I originally thought. Whoops...). Firstly, we had to turn down the opportunity to cycle the Death Road, an experience that has been recommended to us our entire trip (even before we left), and one that Aisling was particularly excited about. Taking three to four hours from top to bottom, the Death Road (named because it used to be the most dangerous road in the world, until they built a newer, slightly safer version. Google image it...) starts high in the Andes at an elevation of over 4000 metres and ends on the jungle floor. That's a whole lotta downhill, and the scenery is meant to be breathtaking, along with the rush you must get from cycling down a road that's only three metres wide and with 400 metre sheer cliffs to one side. We are very sad to have missed out.'Fools' I hear you cry, apart from the odd person who is probably saying, 'most sensible...'

The other thing we missed (by about 20 minutes) is the famous wrestling Cholitas held every Sunday in a suburb of La Paz. Cholitas are traditional Bolivian women, complete with long plaits, bowler hats and local attire. Who wrestle. Each other. WWF style. As you can imagine it's meant to be quite the spectacle, and we were gutted to not see this 'sport' in action.   

But, back to what we did see. We have discovered we're not really fans of the big cities in South America. Apart from Cartagena they all kind of merge into one sprawling hectic mass that never quite lives up to the expectations described in LP. But, I have to say we really liked La Paz for the short time we were there. Yes, it was big and gritty, and smelly and busy, but it had a certain charm to it that we didn't feel in say, Bogota. There was nothing in particular to see, other than a small cathedral in the town square and the famous Witches'Market where lama fetuses are sold by the dozen, which apparently ward off evil spirits, and maybe this was why we liked it - not the lama fetuses, you understand, that would be weird, but the fact that you could just wander without feeling obligated to do and see anything. 

There was a parade happening when we were there, but we dont know why they were parading about...

On the downside the hostels were terrible, the food was, well, Bolivian, and hot water was not guaranteed, but this made it even more quintessentially Bolivian and added to the overall experience. It also didn't matter too much as the next day we were getting on a ridiculously small plane and flying down to the jungle where it would be hot, and sunny. Hurrah! 

This trip I have been mostly listening to...

Ghostpoet - awesome London hip hop/trip hop artist. Kinda like a modern-day Tricky and Massive Attack, but with heavier instrumentals. Penny, Helen and Nicola - I think it's definitely your sort of music, and I often think of you all when I listen to him.

Laura Marling - her third album is like lyrical poetry, and I often drift off into the land of day-dreaming when I listen to her. She makes Mumford and Sons sound like a jamboree in the local park. Perfect for long bus journeys.

Nick Cave - as always.

I Am Kloot - I am just getting into the back catalogue of these unsung Scottish music heroes. Lauryn, I think you'd love them, if you're not already familiar with their material. Their lyrics are utterly delightful.

Four Tet - his latest album Pink is perfect for falling asleep to.

Lindstrom - anything by this Scandy space dj floats my boat at the moment.

Cat Power - as corny as it is I love listening to Ruin when watching different landscapes unfold before me.

UNKLE, Where The Night Falls - I will never get bored of this album. Perfect holiday tunes.

Podcasts - yes, I realise I'm about 8 years behind everyone else, but it is only since coming away that I've discovered the joy of listening to them. My personal favourites being most things published by the BBC (British to the core, that's me...), especially pouring over the Desert Island Discs archive. Ah, the joy of Radio 4. I am officially old.

Katalyast Presents - awesome soul mixes. Thanks Penny!

James Blake - his new album is superb, but probably has a limited shelf life, if I'm honest.

Plus, of course, all my favourite usual suspects - the songs I usually bore you with when I'm drunk!

Bienviendo a Bolivia!

We have departed the loving arms of Peru and have entered the cold embrace of Bolivia; a country where the daytime sun can scorch your skin, even at 10 degrees and the nighttime temperatures can plummet to below minus 20; where women walk around with bowler hats perched precariously on their heads, wearing giant patterned skirts and often carrying what looks like over 200 kilos on their backs; where the jungle truly meets the mountains; and where finding vegetarian food sometimes seems like my only purpose in life. 

We crossed the border shortly after leaving poohole, sorry, Puno. Immigration entailed us walking from one side of the road to the other, passing under a welcome to Bolivia sign and having our passports stamped in a shed. There was no scanning of bags, fingerprints taken or curly questions. Our bus picked us up on the other side and we carried on our merry way to Copacabana, the first stop on our tour through Bolivia.

I'm guessing its a church, or a cathedral, or a nunnery...

Copacabana is a small town on the southern shores of Lake Titicaca. Unlike Puno, we instantly felt welcome. Bolivians greeted us with smiling faces, the streets were filled with restaurants and bars that all seemed to specialise in trucha, or trout - apparently the lake is filled with the stuff. Served in a multitude of ways,it is the most prized fish in Bolivia. Copacabana also serves as the gateway to Isla Del Sol, the largest island on Lake Titicaca and supposed birthplace of the Incas.

As we had arrived fairly late into town there was only time for a quick look around before chowing down on some trout cooked in garlic butter and several Pecenas, the local Bolivian brew. At first light we had to be up and down by the harbour in order to catch a boat to the island of the sun.

On arrival to the jetty we were met by 100 fellow tourists all vying for a seat on a tiny  boat, just a little larger than an inflatable dingy. Interesting. Somehow we all managed to clamber aboard, with several poor souls having to brave the icy temperatures on the 'top deck'. By 8.30 am we were off, cruising, or rather spluttering along the crystal clear waters of the lake while the inside of our boat slowly filled up with diesel fume. Who knew carbon monoxide poisoning would be an added freebie... ? We sailed to the north of the island, as we were staying in the south and wanted to hike from top to bottom in the same day.

Even though Isla Del Sol sits on the freezing waters of Lake Titicaca, and at an elevation of nearly 4000 metres, its days are long and hot due to its high altitude and constant clear blue skies. It's not called island of the sun for nothing! This juxtaposes the absolutely freezing nights where the temperature can drop 40 degrees. Thankfully we were only staying one of them, especially as the island doesn't have access to hot water...

As we began to walk, the topography of the island revealed beautiful landscapes that seemed to take us through several continents in just a few kilometres. Coastal lagoons that wouldn't look out of place on a postcard from the Greek Islands hugged the shoreline, while Incan ruins could easily be mistaken for Greek or Roman structures from bygone eras, adding a distinctly Mediterranean feel to the place. Moving inland, hills and rocky outcrops resembled Scottish highlands, while the flora felt distinctly Australian with varieties of eucalypts towering over the landscape. All of this with a backdrop of snowy Andean mountains that could be seen on the horizon. In addition, there are no cars, which gave Isla Del Sol an even more romantically rustic and historical feel. It was like stepping back in time to a place I'm not sure when or where.

Don't be fooled. The water's freezing!

Island transport 

Ais looks for the local pub

Moonrise over Isla Del Luna

Obligatory water, sun and sky pic...

The hike turned out to be harder than we anticipated, which I don't think Miss Ais was too chuffed about, especially after just completing the Inca trail and believing that most of the strenuous exercise was behind us... It certainly was no Dead Woman's Pass, but it was definitely up there with 'Peruvian flat' and well over 10 kms in length; something neither of was anticipating.

After much huffing and puffing we eventually reached our destination by late afternoon and checked into a rather chilly hostel in the island's only town, Yumani. As the sun went down, so did the temperature and at one point I was wearing every single item of clothing I had brought with me. There was only one thing we could do, buy a litre and a half of Chilean red wine, sold in one handy super-large bottle and for the bargain price of $7.50 and choose one of the numerous pizza restaurants this little town had to offer - Bolivians LOVE their pizza, and I've never seen so many eateries offering exactly the same menu in such a small radius. Still, pizza for dinner means pizza for lunch the next day, so I was doubly happy. 

We retired for the evening with full tummies and red wine coursing through our veins to keep us warm. By 10 am the next day we were back on the boat to Copacabana and heading to our next destination, the Bolivian capital and highest city in the world, the great La Paz.

Camino Inca - the journey to Machu Pichu

And so it finally came to pass (how very Tolkien of me) for us to undertake the Inca trail to Machu Pichu; a personal childhood dream of mine, less so for Aisling, an endurance test extraordinaire and a lesson in physical exertion, history, archaeology and culture. Would we survive the harsh climes of the Andean mountains? Would we become dead women at Dead Woman's Pass? Would the sungate at sunrise be as glorious as I hoped it would be?

I can happily report that we are still alive (as you can probably tell from me writing this blog entry) and that the whole experience left us breathless and speechless all at the same time. Except if I was too speechless I wouldn't have anything to say here and as you've probably guessed by now I like to wax lyrical rather a lot about our experiences. So here goes...

Day 1. We began our trek early on the first day and left the confines of our warm and cosy hostel at 5.30 am. We said goodbye to showers, flushing toilets and clean clothes and said hello to wilderness, fresh air and our fellow hiking companions - a couple from Melbourne, another from South Africa and another from Canada. We were also accompanied by a teacher from Darwin. Australians, we get everywhere. In addition we had two guides - Isa and Hernan, one chef, one sous chef, one waiter and 13 porters. 

After driving for two hours and stopping off for breakfast - the first in what was to be many a fine meal cooked in very rudimentary conditions, we arrived fresh-eyed and bushy-tailed at the start of our trek, or base camp, if I'm to ham up the story. After adjusting our backpacks for the umpteenth time, and initially refusing, then gladly accepting the pressure to buy ties for which to attach our sleeping bags, from Peruvian women who clearly know a thing or two about hapless and unprepared tourists about to embark on the Inca trail, we set forth into the unknown, or rather the entry point for Camino Inca.

Hiking poles at the ready

A word on backpacks. When you book the Inca trail you can hire porters to carry your belongings, up to seven kilos. Being the extreme physically fit pair that we are I, for some bizarre reason, thought we wouldn't need porters and thus didn't order any. Except when we arrived at our briefing everybody else in our group, who looked way more fit than we did, had a porter each to carry their belongings. Whoops.... (I don't think Ais was too pleased at my lack of forward planning). We each had to carry the following:

1 sleeping bag

1 roll mat

Insect repellent

Sunscreen

1 hat

Thermals - top and bottoms

1 rain jacket

2 jumpers

2 pairs of sexy swish-swish trousers

2 tops

2 t-shirts

1 pair of shorts

Underwear

Camera

Snacks

Money

Toothbrush and toothpaste

Baby wipes for washing (or a knacker shower as Ais likes to call it)

2 litres of water

Toilet roll

All squished into a 7-kilo rucksack, about the size of a 6-month-old baby.

Thankfully, you can hire locals along the way to carry all of the above for you (except your water, camera etc) and on the second killer day this is exactly what we did. Ais even splashed out and hired a porter for the third day. Something in hindsight I probably should have done as well, if only my stubbornness and stupid belief that I'm fitter than I actually am hadn't got the better of me. If only I could learn to accept the easy route in life!

Day 1 is referred to as a gentle hike, designed to break you in gently for the harder, more arduous days ahead. At only 12 kms in length the road was described to us as flat, or 'Peruvian flat', as our guides liked to call it. After getting our passports stamped at the entry point we began our hike in earnest. 

Go team Inca. I have no idea why I'm striking a Village People-style pose...

Day 1 follows the brown Andes - mountains covered in scrub and dramatic rock formations rise out of the ground, forming shapes and shadows of folklores long forgotten; goats, donkeys and lamas navigate the steepest of slopes, while the river rushes through the valley below at breakneck speed, forming one of the thousands of tributaries that eventually make the mighty Amazon.

The brown Andes

The first of many Inca sites

Ais takes a well-deserved break

It turns out that 'Peruvian flat' is a far cry from 'Lucy and Aisling flat'. As the path started to twist and turn, it also started to climb. If this was day 'easy', we started to feel an enormous sense of trepidation at what days two and threebmight be like. Still, we pushed on, becoming increasingly grateful for the hiking poles that we'd hired (Yep, it was that sort of trek), and stopping increasingly frequently to take in the view and regain our breaths. By 12 pm I had already consumed half of my snacks for the entire trip and was still ravenous for lunch. Thankfully lunch, and indeed all of our meals, turned out to be just one of the many highlights of the trek. 

We rounded a corner to find two blue tents erected - one for cooking; the other for eating. We were ushered into the latter and presented with a 3-course lunch, good enough for any Peruvian restaurant. Coca tea and coffee was followed by vegetable soup, which in turn preceded two stews, one meat, one veggie, fried trout, rice, potatoes, beans and salad. we finished with chocolate pudding and fruit. We had heard that the food on the Inca trail was good, but this blew our minds. And bear in mind that this was one meal out of 10, all of which had to be carried up and down the mountains by porters, who then prepared and cooked for us, all before us weary travellers arrived at each destination point. This was no mean feat to say the least, and I still maintain they were some of the best meals we consumed in the whole of Peru.

We began the afternoon's trek with renewed energy, and walked at a leisurely pace to our first campsite for the night to find our tents erected, snacks and dinner waiting for us, all set in a beautiful location situated at the base of a steep valley with white-capped mountains to the north, a starry sky that would match that found in the Australian outback, and a toilet system that would make any seasoned festival-goer think twice before using the facilities. As the clouds descended on us, our guide told us to look up at the highest peak. As we looked on wistfully at the pretty view he casually informed us that that was our route for day 2. Over the top of the delightfully named 'Dead Woman's Pass' and down, down, down into the jungle-coated hills of the green Andes. 

Day 2. We were awoken early at 5.30 am by our porters who each bring you a warm cup of coca tea and a bowl of water to wash your face in. Handily, we had both forgotten towels and the idea of drip-drying in temperatures below 5 degrees didn't fill us with glee, so we settled for baby-wipes and gratefully accepted our warm beverages. Thankfully, our super-warm sleeping bags had kept us generally warm through the night, although our roll mats didn't leave much space between us and the ground. Still, the thinner the roll mat, the lighter the weight.... After a hearty breakfast of quinoa porridge, pancakes smeared in dulce de leche, scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, coffee and more coca tea, we were as ready as we possibly could be for our big second day - a day that would either see us conquer the Inca trail, or descend back to the starting point with our tails and our pride stuffed well and truly between our legs.

A word on coca tea. Yep, coca tea is made with the coca leaf, that famous plant that has spawned drug wars, addictions and governed many-a corrupt state in South America. Yet the leaf on its own is completely harmless and is consumed everywhere throughout Peru and Bolivia. It gives no more of a 'high' than a regular cup of tea, yet is used by millions to assist with breathing at high altitudes and for its medicinal properties. Drunk with boiling water or chewed in the side of the mouth, it opens up the lungs and lets in more oxygen,man absolute necessity for locals and unfit tourists alike, trying to cope with the ever-decreasing oxygen levels at altitude. Over one million tons of coca leaves are consumed monthly by Bolivians alone, such is the importance of this leaf to the people and cultures in this part of South America. Sadly, the West don't realise its significance to local people in its natural form, and the American government are currently trying to impose embargoes on aid to Peru and Bolivia to try and curtail its production and consumption, even though both countries actively oppose illegal cocaine production (of which over 90% is exported for Western use).

This stage of the Inca trail was another 12 kms, but this time 8 kms would be straight up and 4 kms would be straight down, with no flat, 'Peruvian' or not, in between. With hiking poles at the ready and our backpacks in the loving arms of our private porter, we began our great ascent. Our guides Isa and Hernan are clearly used to hikers with varying fitness abilities, some with no fitness at all, who try to navigate the Inca trail. Isa went at the front, while Hernan brought up the rear making sure whoever was last in our group didn't lag behind too much, and probably also to ensure no one collapsed from sheer exhaustion, or fell off the side of a cliff. To our surprise we all had similar levels of fitness, and the order from front to back changed regularly enough for no one to feel like they were the worst in the group, or were holding people up. The key, it seemed, to reaching Dead Woman's Pass, was to take frequent breaks (and I mean every 50 metres or so), to take in the view, get your breath back (an increasingly hard feat at 4000 metres and climbing), and allow your legs to recover from the 3000-plus steps you needed to climb to reach the top. It also enabled our guides to give words of encouragement, as there's nothing more disheartening than having the top of the mountain constantly in view and feeling like you're not getting any nearer. In addition, this feeling is exacerbated by watching all our porters literally run past you as they race to get ahead, so they can set up camp, put up your tent and cook your lunch or dinner, all by the time you arrive at the next checkpoint.

I swear it was much steeper than it looks here!

Our goal, Dead Woman's Pass, or as our guides liked to call it, the 'boob'

Dramatic landscapes

A word on porters. These guys are super humans. Porters carry everything needed for the Inca trail, from tents, food, water, pots and pans to medical equipment, cutlery, tables, chairs, gas stoves, coffee pots and thermoses. Until recently, the weight each porter carries was not monitored, and some would  have to lug up to 80 kilos over the mountain passes with nothing but a small tip as their reward, if they were lucky. In some instances porters have also been known to carry tourists - usually fat Americans who get stuck half way up Dead Woman's Pass. The record for the heaviest tourist carried to the top of the pass is 110 kilos. Thankfully, rules and regulations are now in place to cap the weight each porter can carry at 20 kilos. This is still incredibly heavy (bearing in mind we couldn't carry our 10-kilo backpacks for the whole day), and made even more admirable by the fact that the porters complete each leg of the trail in a fraction of the time we do, by literally running past you, as you struggle to climb the next step without falling over. More often than not, they wear nothing on their feet other than a pair of rubber sandals made from old tyres and consume nothing more than the odd glass of chicha (fermented corn juice). Apparently, none of them hydrate with water during the trek, and survive solely on this alcoholic juice that closely resembles a glass of thick warm sick (see previous posts on Colombia for a similar interpretation!). By the time you've crawled to the next check point, they are patiently waiting for you, with food at the ready and a bemused look on their faces. At no point did we ever take for granted these super heroes who made our trip so enjoyable and enabled us to eat like kings and sleep in comfort at over 4000 metres. Porters, I salute you!

After restocking our energy levels with lunch at 3500 metres, we were ready for the last push. With the summit becoming increasingly closer I pushed in ahead and was actually the first person to reach the top of the pass (I'm still not sure how I achieved this). As it started to snow, I looked down to see Ais coming in at fourth place. We made it! With freezing temperatures and lungs full of thin air, we looked back on our achievement and the beautiful vista, before turning around and contemplating the downward slopes into the lush green Andes. 

Victory!

Looking a little bedraggled, but very pleased with myself

Looking back at the bottom

And at our downhill route. Hurrah!

From whence we came

The valley below

We arrived two hours later at camp with sore legs and big grins on our faces. We were even compelled to make a short video blog (see below)*. Apologies that its unedited, I'm sure imovie is super-easy, but without access to a YouTube tutorial I just can't work it out (sorry Penny!). I'm also aware that the camera adds 7-kilos, but I swear I haven't put on that much weight (although I might have done by now). I'm putting it down to horizontal stripes being a bad fashion choice on my part! I also apologise that the view I'm trying to show isn't exactly a view, more a vomit-inducing wrench of the camera that shows little other than clouds. Hey, I've never claimed to be a film maker...

*turns out you can't add iMovies with the blogger app, so until I work out how to do it, you'll have to wait on tenterhooks.... I know, I know, you're as upset about it as I am!

Day 3. There is nothing worse (well maybe nuclear war) than waking up in the middle of the night needing the bathroom when camping. Especially, when its freezing cold, you have nothing but a small temperamental torch as your guide, and the banos are several hundred metres away, down the side of a steep cliff, complete with sheer drops and slippery rocks (not my forte). And all this three days after a rather upset stomach! After holding on until about 6 am and the first vestiges of light, I tentatively ventured down to see what delights campsite number two toilets would hold for me. On arrival, I poked my head around the corner to hear the sounds of dry-wretching coming from bano number two. Oh joy...

A word on Inca trail bathrooms. Actually, bathroom is too-kind-a word to use. At the start of the trail you can pay 1 soles for a luxurious toilet complete with seat, paper and flush-ability. By the end of day 1 the bathrooms are free (hurrah), but decline drastically in standards. Varying from holes in the ground to, well, more holes in the ground, it really is pot luck as to what you get. I never thought I'd be grateful to see a squat toilet with a flush, but the ability to stand, or squat, away from other people's shit became a golden ticket that would have people queuing from miles around to share in the experience. Now, I am not overly fussy, and as long as I'm armed with lashings of hand sanitiser I can usually cope with fairly basic amenities, but some of the bathrooms we saw actually made our eyes water and our lungs seize up. The worst part being the fear of your ever-increasing weary legs and weakening muscles giving way mid-stream causing you to land arse-first in a pool of poo. When we finally arrived at Machu Pichu I have never seen so many happy faces literally skipping out of the bathroom at the experience of having a seat to sit on, toilet paper and the ability to flush away 4 days worth of food. You really do learn not to take things for granted when the simple things in life are taken from you.

But, back to bano number two. After fearing with dread at what might lie within, after hearing the sultry sounds of the fellow before me, I can thankfully report that it actually wasn't that bad and he was just basically a big girl's blouse. Finally feeling much better at the state of my empty bladder, I made my way back up the hill for breakfast.

We were told day 3 would be the most scenic day. After a two-hour climb passing several Inca sites, we would start our descent down to Machu Pichu, through lush green cloud forests giving way to stunning vistas, wildlife and finally a view of the mountain we'd come to see.

After getting all cocky at being the first in our group over Dead Woman's Pass, I naively believed the final two-hour hike up the final pass would be a doddle, and so turned my nose up at the offer of a porter to carry my belongings for this stage of the trek. Big. Mistake. I don't know whether it was because I'd used up all my energy the day before, or if the additional 10 kilos pressing into my back prevented me from breathing properly, or if my body was just fed up with physical exercise, but try as I might I just could not get up that hill. At one point there were nearly tears. Poor Hernan had to carry my sleeping bag, Ais had to carry my water and I literally crawled up the last 100 metres. Both my body and my pride were severely hurt. I can honestly say those two hours were way worse than the previous day's 8 km climb. I was extremely grateful to get to the top and vowed never again to climb a pass with my backpack in tow.

The rest of the day consisted of 'Peruvian flat', 16 km in total, but with views so stunning the pain in my legs quickly gave way to feelings of euphoria. Every corner gave way to different mountain sceneries. We were so high up, the birds flew beneath us; we'd stumble across Inca ruins every 30 minutes and clamber over the walls for the best photo opportunity. The drops to the valleys beneath us alone were enough to take our breaths away, and I could have happily walked another 16 km, just to experience it all over again.

Finally at the top

An Aisling. A creature rarely seen in the Andes. Note her red plumage - a warning sign to others to keep away.

No captions required...

In fact, we did take a detour to see some marvelously preserved ruins, such was the adrenaline rush we had by the end of the day. The extra hour's trek rewarded us with grandiose views of Machu Pichu mountain, my only experience of vertigo of the whole trip, when faced with having to climb down vertical stairs that literally seemed to fall off the mountain, and a family of lamas that were hanging out on 600-year-old terraces, blissfully unaware of the history they were chewing on.

Inca terraces with Machu Pichu mountain in the background

Lama love...

The only downside to the day came when Isa informed us that there had been a landslide on the final path to the sungate at Machu Pichu. Apparently the road had been closed for the last two days, and he hadn't had the heart to tell us. All the groups ahead of us had had to walk down to the local town, Agues Calliente, and catch the bus up to Machu Pichu along with all the other hoards of tourists, thus missing the entrance to the sungate at sunrise (one of the main reasons for doing the Inca trail), and having to endure the archaeological site with 7000 other people. To say we disheartened would be to put it lightly. After walking solidly for three days, the thought of not being able to achieve our goal was heartbreaking. That night our group was incredibly quiet as we chowed down on our final supper and contemplated our final day without seeing the sun rise over Machu Pichu.

Day 4. We were woken up at 3.30 am and told the good news that the path had been cleared and we were able to make our final ascent. Hurrah! The group arose with renewed energy and chomped down on our last breakfast with excited contemplation and big sighs of relief. By 5 am we were waiting at the final checkpoint, with torches in our hands and anticipation in our tired bodies. 

The final hike to the sungate takes about two hours in the dark, so you have to leave early if you're to get there in time to see the sun rise. The sungate was built by the Incas, high above the actual site of Machu Pichu. At sunrise on December 21st the sun shines directly through the gate and on to the town below. It signified the importance of the sun to the Incas and helped celebrate rebirth and good tidings for the year ahead.

As the road twisted and turned as it hugged the mountainside, and became increasingly narrow in parts (there were several instances of yellow tape where a few tourists had met their demise), I became grateful for the cover of darkness as it meant I couldn't see the 450-metre drop directly to my right, that was sometimes just a little too close for comfort. 

At 6.45 am we rounded the last corner and were greeted by a ridiculously narrow staircase affectionately known as the 'gringo killer'. Climbing up on our hands and knees and praying to Pachamama that we wouldn't fall backwards into the abyss, we finally reached the top of the stairs, and what felt like the top of the world, and most definitely the apex of our trip. We had arrived at the sungate.

And. It. Was. Cloudy. But! We were all so happy at having reached the top, I don't think anyone cared less. The view was out of this world, and I'll carry the first glimpse I had of these mighty ruins to my grave. Yes, I shed a tear, and yes, my legs nearly gave way, but I would do it all again in the blink of an eye, just to experience the feeling of accomplishment and the beauty of seeing Machu Pichu stare back at me in all its iconic glory.

As we started to walk down the hill towards the site itself, taking as many photos as we possibly could, while taking in what our eyes were seeing and understanding what we had achieved, I think we all felt an air of serenity and calm. By arriving early we were able to take pictures without hundreds of tourists in the background. As we arrived at the entrance to the site, complete with hiking poles, dirty clothes, dishevelled hair and wobbly gaits, we felt an immense sense if entitlement to the site. Who were these people arriving by bus moaning at the 200 stairs they had to climb to see take in the view!?! And why were they staring at us? Maybe it was the smell! Either way, because of what we had endured we all felt we had far more reason to be there than everybody else. We came, we walked a bloody long way and we were rewarded with one of the most breathtaking vistas that this pair of eyes has ever seen.

I could write more about the site of Machu Pichu itself, but I think I have probably bored you all enough with our tales. I will therefore depart this blog with some of my favourite photos from our trip so far. I think they say it all and sum up our experience far better than any words I could write...

Our team at the sungate. Notice how I'm gripping that rock, due to the 300 metre drop that's just to me left. Don't know why I was worried, the rest of them would fall off first...

Sun temple

Terraces. The sun did come out in the end...

The crowds start to gather.

Miss Shling looking cool in singlet and gloves

This is the view the Incans at Machu Pichu woke up to every morning.

If you're one of the five people who have bothered reading to the end of this post, I thank you, and commend your patience at my endless ramblings.