It all started at 5am - setting out from Km 82 was exciting - I now have stamps in my passport from the checkpoint that I think are illegal, but anyway.... We followed the Urubamba River (that becomes the Amazon, where I´ll be trekking and camping in a little over a week! Yay) for a few k´s and then it was a slight uphill climb to our lunch spot - where I got the shock of my life. Our porters -who I knew existed - had set up our dining tent and cooked us a three course meal for lunch! Talk about begin as you mean to go on - I expected to be eating off a rock after helping prepare the food, and putting up my own tent.....
After lunch, it got steeper and steeper, and we spread out and I ended up walking the last three or four k´s on my own. Remember, this is deep, deep in the Andes, so there were a couple of villages and signs early on, but then nothing. After walking for about 8 or 9 hours, and when it started getting darker and darker and I started to wonder if I was lost, had gone past the campsite.... dodging donkey shit for that first 11 k´s wasn´t a lot of fun either. Most of the villagers speak Quechan, not Spanish, so I would have been royally shyte if it came to asking for directions.....
The views were awesome ' the landscape changed a lot as we went through, from really sparse mountainous terrain to rainforest....
...and always snowcapped mountains and glaciers not too far away.....
The lads took on the ¨porters challenge¨after lunch and carried 25kg packs uphill for the afternoon. Insane....
Getting into camp on that first night was awesome - a standing ovation from 15 porters is a pretty good end to the day, followed by a cold beer (sold from a tub by the villagers!) and another three course meal! I was tired and in bed pretty early but let´s face it -I hadn´t really laboured in those 11 or so k´s. They knew I´d been ill (I was drinking gastrolyte for the entire day) and made herbal teas and stuff for me after dinner - maybe that´s what got me up the mountain?
The nice surprise was a hot bowl of water as soon as we got into camp to wash, and a hot bowl of water first thing in the morning, with a hot cup of muna (kind of like mint) tea presented to us in our sleeping bags (at 5am it felt like a bribe to get up.....).
Pretty easy you think? I think not. The next morning, it got steeper and steeper, as we made our way to Dead Woman´s pass at 4215m - the first and highest pass of the four day, 45km trek.
Up, up, up.....
and up, up, up, up, up......
and up, up, up, up, up......My legs had plenty of go left, but I could not get enough air. Unlike the previous day walking alone, I stuck in a small group with Jamie (lame with a sprained ankle from an over zealous game of football with the locals on Amanti Island) and Moy (knackered after participating in the ¨porters challenge¨the day before). F·cking steep - mother of god - step after step after step. I honestly thought I was going to die. The boys were saying ¨look! we´re nearly at the top¨- and I could only take 5 steps, then stop and rest my head on my stick, and take 2 massive breaths (that weren´t enough mind!) and then take 5 more steps- rinse and repeat for 3 or 4 or 5 hours.....
When we turned the ¨we´re nearly at the top¨corner, the look on Jamie´s face said it all - sure enough... there was nearly twice as much to cover as we´d just done. I put my head on my stick and said all the bad words I know in English, Spanish, German and French, even the really really bad ones, and when I looked up Moy had blocked his ears.....
and Jamie was nearly falling down the stairs laughing.... So again... 5 steps, 2 breaths, 5 steps, 2 breaths. Might I add that I was at the front of the pack, and some people were already 3 hours behind me so I´m not the unfit person you think I might be! It was tough, tough, tough, step after step after step.....
and Jamie was nearly falling down the stairs laughing.... So again... 5 steps, 2 breaths, 5 steps, 2 breaths. Might I add that I was at the front of the pack, and some people were already 3 hours behind me so I´m not the unfit person you think I might be! It was tough, tough, tough, step after step after step..... When we finally got to the top - I looked and felt like a dead woman. The pass looks like a supine woman allegedly - but I was so dizzy from lack of oxygen and so knackered that I can´t remember for the life of me what it even looked like.I know that I jumped up and down and the top from sheer joy, much to the amusement of the porters who are too smart to waste that much energy......
At 4215m, my god I was struggling. Happy to reach the top though....
On the other side of that massive peak - it was all downhill. Step after step after step - where I whipped the boy´s arses and pranced down the mountain like a deer -until after 5 minutes it started raining, pouring and it got slippery and I fell over....
By the time we got to camp for lunch I was so wet, and so cold that I was numb. Drenched from head to toe and absolutely exhausted. The route was so slippery and steep that it took us absolutely ages and we didn´t get to camp until about 12 or 1pm. Then, we couldn´t find our tent. We wandered around for 45 minutes in pouring, pouring rain at about 3,800m in the freezing cold - Jamie slipped and sprained his ankle again, and I felt bad but I had absolutely nothing left to give him. I made an executive decision to go back to the top of camp (a 15 minute walk UPHILL) and find our site number - and c0uld only bark 2 words at him - ¨stay here¨¨ before I marched off. (I´ve since been told that I´m abrupt under pressure). Moy followed, afraid there´d be a porter-homicide situation and I was shaking so hard from cold I think he thought that I´d fall off the hill. I stopped to open my bag and found that it was full of water - yes, $5000 worth of camera equipment swimming in about 1L of pure, Andean rainwater. I put my head on my stick and said all the bad words I know in English, Spanish, German and French, even the really, really bad ones, and didn´t care which Catholic porters heard. I put my head back and howled at PachuMama for being such a rancid mole and cursed the day I decided to go overseas. Then, impressively (according to Moy), pulled myself together, marched up the hill (with god knows what energy) and met one of our porters on the way...who showed us to our lunch camp. Mat grabbed Jamie,and I started screwing off filters and emptying water out of lenses in our lunch tent.........
Down down down down.....
By the time we got to camp for lunch I was so wet, and so cold that I was numb. Drenched from head to toe and absolutely exhausted. The route was so slippery and steep that it took us absolutely ages and we didn´t get to camp until about 12 or 1pm. Then, we couldn´t find our tent. We wandered around for 45 minutes in pouring, pouring rain at about 3,800m in the freezing cold - Jamie slipped and sprained his ankle again, and I felt bad but I had absolutely nothing left to give him. I made an executive decision to go back to the top of camp (a 15 minute walk UPHILL) and find our site number - and c0uld only bark 2 words at him - ¨stay here¨¨ before I marched off. (I´ve since been told that I´m abrupt under pressure). Moy followed, afraid there´d be a porter-homicide situation and I was shaking so hard from cold I think he thought that I´d fall off the hill. I stopped to open my bag and found that it was full of water - yes, $5000 worth of camera equipment swimming in about 1L of pure, Andean rainwater. I put my head on my stick and said all the bad words I know in English, Spanish, German and French, even the really, really bad ones, and didn´t care which Catholic porters heard. I put my head back and howled at PachuMama for being such a rancid mole and cursed the day I decided to go overseas. Then, impressively (according to Moy), pulled myself together, marched up the hill (with god knows what energy) and met one of our porters on the way...who showed us to our lunch camp. Mat grabbed Jamie,and I started screwing off filters and emptying water out of lenses in our lunch tent.........High and cold....
After lunch the big announcement was that we couldn´t go any further as one of our group was lagging more than 3 hours behind everyone else, and wouldn´t be able to make it to the next campsite for the night. The second was that our trekking guide´s mother had died, and he had to leave. It was so, so sad. We all had a tear and he was incredibly upset. The system they used to get that message to him in the middle of the whoops with no electricity, mobile phones or land lines was awesome.... word of mouth via villagers and porters....
So, once my tent was ready, I went into extreme hibernation mode and took off all my wet clothes, donned my thermals and a beanie and got into my sleeping bag and shook for the next two hours, eating the best Mars bar I´ve ever tasted in my life. Someone bought me a cup of tea and we all piled in to try and keep warm. I got up for dinner - which was the hardest¨getting out of bed¨ experience of my life..... harder was the next morning putting on wet pants, shoes and jacket, and lugging wet camera and bag up the hill to the second pass. I fell over in the mud before we´d even left the campsite....
At this point, Ruly, our 2IC guide, recently promoted to in-charge guide, mentioned that the trek was a pilgrimage all those thousand years ago.... and then it made a lot more sense. I was feeling fragile before I left for the trek anyway, and then on top of that the whole thing was meant to be hard..... and it was meant to be that way. That made the next two days a lot easier.....
Day three was a bit more exciting - we started to find archeological sites from the Incas along the path, so every couple of hours there was a great distraction from the wet, and the cold...
Thank God we didn´t have to do the second pass the day before in rain, and hail.... More bad words.... and the second pass wasn´t as high and was easier, but the layout of the valleys meant it was freezing cold... More rain, just when you thought you couldn´t get any wetter, and more hills just when I thought I couldn´t walk any further, and because we didn´t do the last four hours the day before, it was four extra hours on this day..... I decided to kick that bad-arse hill though and pushed through. After over 12 hours of walking up and down and up and down over the second and third passes, getting into camp was a relief - esp knowing that the next day would be the grand prize of Machu Picchu and only 4 hours of walking....
There were allegedly ¨hot¨ showers at this last camp, it was tepid at best but after three days with no shower, having walked 35km, it was awesome. Jamie bought us beers and I´m embarrassed to say that I actually drank mine in the shower.... And, finally we were low enough that it was ¨warm¨, and it was dry. Much warmer than the past few days as we were back at (only!) 3300 odd m...
And, I was told it was all downhill from there the next day.... It was up at 3 45am to walk down to Macchu Picchu. I was screeching out of my tent door ¨Donde esta el te??¨ but no tea ever came - not nice after two mornings of fresh hot tea delivered to my door by our ever diligent porters (I admit it did feel elitist and wrong, but I enjoyed it).... Pancakes at 3:45am is a bit wierd but they got me to Machu Picchu.
But THEY LIED: it was Peruvian flat, ie up and down and up and down.... it wasn´t just down. There wqan an Inca staircase (read: grooves in the rock) that was a sheer vertical - terrifying....
And then we literally pranced the rest of the way down the hill to the site. God knows where that energy came from.... Watching the sun come up over the mountain was great.....
The train ride back to Cusco was hilarious. We were all delirious after about 3 hours sleep and 4 days of extreme pain..... Mick had a bit of a rant on the way home (five hour train ride at 45km/hr) that went like this....
¨I just want my own bed and my own shower. I want to go somewhere where I can eat without worrying about shitting through the eye of a needle for the next three days. In fact, I want to be able to fart without worrying, constantly, that it will be a shart. I want to go somewhere where there is hot water, no, actually, just water, when you turn the tap on because in this place you never really can be sure. I want people to understand me without having to make hand signals and exaggerated gestures. I want to be able to flush toilet paper. When I get home I´m going to flush a whole roll just because I can..... I want to wake up not covered in insect bites and worrying that larvae will come out...... I want to take a shower and not worry about getting some fungal infection or having some manky shower curtain touch me. I want to do my own laundry and not have to give it to some random person who may or may not actually wash them and who swaps my clothes with others just for fun. I want to not have to worry about crossing the road because the drivers don´t have set lanes.¨
It summed up how I was feeling a bit too.... the whole carriage was laughing..... and unfortunately, all of it´s true and has happened to all of us....
The next day after the best shower and sleep of my life, we were all on such a high. We went out for breakfast (the best meal in days) and couldn´t stop eating and laughing. I was thoroughly sick of wearing everything I own (brown brown and more brown and manky unlaundered t-shirts thanks to tight Bolivian laundry services) so I went shopping and bought two pairs of jeans. My first ever skinny jeans. I thought I should make the most of the pain suffered courtesy of that parasite and the subsequent three doses of antibiotics.... T shirts, and jewellery.... I needed an extreme makeover....
Fared better than one lass though - she was diagnosed with pneumonia the day we got back - I wasn´t surprised....
Then, there was nothing left to do but don my new jeans, and hit the town with the rest of the post-Inca trail people..... There´s a restaurant called ¨Fallen Angel¨in Cusco, where I ate the best and most bizarre steak of my life, sitting on a bed over a glass topped bath filled with fish.... There is art (read: porn) all over the walls, but the cocktails were great. I will post the photos from the bar we then went to in Cusco, but I think they´ll hit Facebook first unfortunately... I am never ever drinking Peruvian Rum again, and I´m never ever going to dance on a bar ever again. Peruvian rum should be banned and Peru needs to put in place the concept of a standard drink...... Safety standards are nil here. I won´t even mention the taxi ride home....
You do the crime, you do the time, and after a great night and sleeping on the downstairs couch (having to move all my things off my bed to get in it was just too much effort), I did my time all the way on the plane from Cusco to Lima yesterday. Post Machu Picchu is a strange, strange space of mind and I´m pretty sure I won´t be the same again (even when the hangover dissipates).
At this point, Ruly, our 2IC guide, recently promoted to in-charge guide, mentioned that the trek was a pilgrimage all those thousand years ago.... and then it made a lot more sense. I was feeling fragile before I left for the trek anyway, and then on top of that the whole thing was meant to be hard..... and it was meant to be that way. That made the next two days a lot easier.....
Here I am looking at the top of the second pass and thinking ¨F·%k no, not again¨.... Thanks lads for the timely camera work....
Day three was a bit more exciting - we started to find archeological sites from the Incas along the path, so every couple of hours there was a great distraction from the wet, and the cold...
Thank God we didn´t have to do the second pass the day before in rain, and hail.... More bad words.... and the second pass wasn´t as high and was easier, but the layout of the valleys meant it was freezing cold... More rain, just when you thought you couldn´t get any wetter, and more hills just when I thought I couldn´t walk any further, and because we didn´t do the last four hours the day before, it was four extra hours on this day..... I decided to kick that bad-arse hill though and pushed through. After over 12 hours of walking up and down and up and down over the second and third passes, getting into camp was a relief - esp knowing that the next day would be the grand prize of Machu Picchu and only 4 hours of walking....
There were allegedly ¨hot¨ showers at this last camp, it was tepid at best but after three days with no shower, having walked 35km, it was awesome. Jamie bought us beers and I´m embarrassed to say that I actually drank mine in the shower.... And, finally we were low enough that it was ¨warm¨, and it was dry. Much warmer than the past few days as we were back at (only!) 3300 odd m...
This is what happens if you leave your camera unattended in the tent for a period of time. There are others, but they are so not appropriate for this PG blog (yes, I know the language is bad. If Channel 7 can get away with it, so can I).
The porters sang us a song, and we sang for them to thank them for their help....
And, I was told it was all downhill from there the next day.... It was up at 3 45am to walk down to Macchu Picchu. I was screeching out of my tent door ¨Donde esta el te??¨ but no tea ever came - not nice after two mornings of fresh hot tea delivered to my door by our ever diligent porters (I admit it did feel elitist and wrong, but I enjoyed it).... Pancakes at 3:45am is a bit wierd but they got me to Machu Picchu.
But THEY LIED: it was Peruvian flat, ie up and down and up and down.... it wasn´t just down. There wqan an Inca staircase (read: grooves in the rock) that was a sheer vertical - terrifying....
But it was all worth it - getting to the sungate and seeing the first view of Macchu Pichu was just awesome... we were speechless....
Here I am - 45km, four days, and only three hours sleep - yes, a bit knackered.....
And then we literally pranced the rest of the way down the hill to the site. God knows where that energy came from.... Watching the sun come up over the mountain was great.....
Machu Picchu up close and in detail..... These pics do not do it justice, but nonetheless here they are....
The train ride back to Cusco was hilarious. We were all delirious after about 3 hours sleep and 4 days of extreme pain..... Mick had a bit of a rant on the way home (five hour train ride at 45km/hr) that went like this....
¨I just want my own bed and my own shower. I want to go somewhere where I can eat without worrying about shitting through the eye of a needle for the next three days. In fact, I want to be able to fart without worrying, constantly, that it will be a shart. I want to go somewhere where there is hot water, no, actually, just water, when you turn the tap on because in this place you never really can be sure. I want people to understand me without having to make hand signals and exaggerated gestures. I want to be able to flush toilet paper. When I get home I´m going to flush a whole roll just because I can..... I want to wake up not covered in insect bites and worrying that larvae will come out...... I want to take a shower and not worry about getting some fungal infection or having some manky shower curtain touch me. I want to do my own laundry and not have to give it to some random person who may or may not actually wash them and who swaps my clothes with others just for fun. I want to not have to worry about crossing the road because the drivers don´t have set lanes.¨
It summed up how I was feeling a bit too.... the whole carriage was laughing..... and unfortunately, all of it´s true and has happened to all of us....
The next day after the best shower and sleep of my life, we were all on such a high. We went out for breakfast (the best meal in days) and couldn´t stop eating and laughing. I was thoroughly sick of wearing everything I own (brown brown and more brown and manky unlaundered t-shirts thanks to tight Bolivian laundry services) so I went shopping and bought two pairs of jeans. My first ever skinny jeans. I thought I should make the most of the pain suffered courtesy of that parasite and the subsequent three doses of antibiotics.... T shirts, and jewellery.... I needed an extreme makeover....
Fared better than one lass though - she was diagnosed with pneumonia the day we got back - I wasn´t surprised....
As Will would say, ¨Happy happy happy¨. Here I am in the main square in Cusco the day after with my walking crew - Jamie (lame), Mat and Sarah. Happy but sore.
Then, there was nothing left to do but don my new jeans, and hit the town with the rest of the post-Inca trail people..... There´s a restaurant called ¨Fallen Angel¨in Cusco, where I ate the best and most bizarre steak of my life, sitting on a bed over a glass topped bath filled with fish.... There is art (read: porn) all over the walls, but the cocktails were great. I will post the photos from the bar we then went to in Cusco, but I think they´ll hit Facebook first unfortunately... I am never ever drinking Peruvian Rum again, and I´m never ever going to dance on a bar ever again. Peruvian rum should be banned and Peru needs to put in place the concept of a standard drink...... Safety standards are nil here. I won´t even mention the taxi ride home....
Downtown Cusco....
You do the crime, you do the time, and after a great night and sleeping on the downstairs couch (having to move all my things off my bed to get in it was just too much effort), I did my time all the way on the plane from Cusco to Lima yesterday. Post Machu Picchu is a strange, strange space of mind and I´m pretty sure I won´t be the same again (even when the hangover dissipates).
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