trip of the light fantastic...: 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...