The Inka Trail, a four day, 49km hike along the Urubamba River and over high mountain passes, is the most famous trek in South America and has long been a dream of mine to hike.
January is considered low season for the trail because of the high rainfall. But if getting a little wet and missing a couple of views allowed me to escape the masses of other trekkers (up to 500 people per day in peak season) then I figured it would be worth it.
As no one is allowed to hike independently I found a good agency that guaranteed small group sizes, decent food and booked my departure for January 27th.
On the evening before the hike commenced we had a briefing. This was a chance for our group to meet and get advise on what to pack, what to expect and how to handle any altitude sickness that may arise.
At 05:45 the next morning our group of eight assembled at the Plaza Regocijo to meet our guide and porters. Sleepily bundled into an ancient, but sturdy looking bus we set off on the three-hour drive to Km 82. Just as the bus departed and I closed my eyes, the rain began.
Two hours later we stopped for a light breakfast. The mate de coca (coca tea), which accompanied our eggs and bread, soon has our whole group a little less groggy and a lot more excited about the next four days. And what cheered us up even more than the cocaine-infused local tea were the blue skies appearing above us. The mist had lifted and we were able to glimpse the lush green mountains all around us. Perhaps if we had of realized how rare a mist-free morning would be over the next few days we would have taken more photos instead of leisurely enjoying a second (and third) cup of mate de coca.
Another hour on the bus took us to the starting point for the Trail, Km 82. There were quite a few tourist gringos gathered here with their respective tour agencies and I felt like just another tourist. But once we got on our way we soon found the isolation I was hoping for. And the once again present mist only served to add to the mysterious atmosphere of the Andean jungle.
Our group was great. There were three couples, from Ireland, New Zealand and Germany as well as one Australian and myself. And, as all of us were experienced hikers we soon made good time and found ourselves a good way from the other groups. Our Peruvian guide, Carlos, assured us that we were the fastest group he’d had in years, although he may have just been flattering us in hope of a good tip.
Day was is labeled the ‘easy’ day on our course maps. We covered a mere fourteen kilometers in six hours. Starting at 2380M and slowing rising to about 3000M by late afternoon. Despite the early rise the mornings hike wasn’t too strenuous. When we stopped for lunch we were all quite amazed to see that our porters had ran ahead of us with two large tents (one for dining and one for cooking), tables, chairs and other unessential, but much appreciated home comforts. As we hung our wet ponchos and hats inside the dining tent to drip dry we were greeted to a three course lunch and more mate de coca to keep our energy up and ward off any altitude sickness.
And after an hours break we carried on to our destination for the day, Wyllabamba, supposedly a great place for photos opportunities, but with the surrounding mist we could only see each others faces, smiling at the relief of our first day completed. The rain had temporarily ceased and we took the opportunity to sit around camp and get to know each other. Meanwhile the ever-industrious porters once again began to prepare us a three-course meal for dinner. A healthy fresh vegetable soup to start, followed by four or five dishes for main course, including options for the two vegetarians in the group and, of course, desert to follow. It certainly beat the baked beans, half-cooked sausages and stale bread of my previous camping trips.
In the evening we sat in our dining tent sharing stories and telling jokes. A great bunch of people who, between the lot of them have probably been to nearly all the countries in the world, especially the German couple, Katrin and Daniel, who were on a six-month, round the world honeymoon.
The whole group retired to their sleeping tents early in preparation for a 05:30 rise, but I felt I deserved a little reward so retrieved the bottle of whisky from my backpack. An hour or two later I felt I had really bonded with the porters and guide as we shared my ‘water of life’ and tried to communicate in (my terrible) Spanish. So with a slur I said ‘Buenas noches’ and staggered back to my tent with no comprehension of just how few hours I would be allowed to sleep.
At the ungodly hour of five our porters gently awaked us. The absurdities I was about to direct at the man knocking on our tent were soon muted when I seen the two steaming cups of mate de coca he had brought for me and my tent mate Aussie Josh. And next to the tents ha had also placed two plastic basins of warm water for us to wash our faces and armpits, etc.
As I groggily staggered to the dining tent for breakfast, our guide, who had drunken as much as me, energetically asked ‘Ready for the Challenge day Mark?’ I grunted something that even I didn’t understand and took out my Inka Trek map to study our itinerary over a strong cup of coffee. ‘Oh no!’, I thought. This day was going to be a nightmare. Only twelve kilometers over seven hours, but most of it was on a steep incline. We were to start in forest microclimate and then climb up and over the infamous Dead Woman’s Pass where we would reach a height of 4215M, 500M higher than Mt. Fuji. This section was notoriously difficult and the most likely point to suffer altitude sickness, so I began to question the logic of my great whiskey idea the previous evening.
But the coffee and even more mate de coca saved the day and it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Two of our group had fallen sick due to the altitude so our pace was very manageable and the mist even cleared a couple of times to give us the majestic views we were hoping for. Following another great dinner I promptly collapsed in my tent.
Day three was labeled ‘unforgettable’ because of the viewpoints along the way. We seen very little of these because of the mist, but it was still a beautiful six hours hiking, and even more beautiful as it was mostly downhill. Unfortunately the last section involved a steep decline of nearly one thousand metres. The only word I can use to describe this experience is ‘grueling’. My knees and thighs were screaming at me ever step of the way. But at our camp for the night, Winaywayna (something of a base camp), there was a little ‘bar’ and since it was our last night together a few of us had some beers to ease the pain. There was also a little ceremony whereby we thanked our porters for their inhuman strength and speed in carrying all our stuff and food and for preparing such great meals. And then it was off to bed for a super early rise at 04:00.
The next morning, miserable and shivering I got out of my sleeping bag in the early morning darkness. We had seven kilometers to cover in two hours to catch sunrise at The Gate of The Sun, the entrance to Machu Picchu. None of us looked too happy to be finally reaching our goal, but just as the sun arose the mist lifted and began to reveal our first sunny day of the trip.
On Sunday my housemates Peter and Sanne and myself caught a bus to the town of Qorau and then hiked through the mountains back to Cusco. Here are some snaps.
Sanne posing.
Peter posing.
Passing through a village.
Looking for Cusco.
Coming into another little village.
Seen a hummingbird when hiking the Inka Trail. It was my first time to see one and they really are splendid creatures. This one wasn't shy at all and let me get real close for a photo.
But once I passed the Inka site Tambomachay the road flattened out and my mood lifted as my heart rate slowed. The weather was amazing bright and clear with just a few clouds in the sky, and supposedly quite unusual for this time of the year (it’s now rainy season).
It wasn’t until I a village at the bottom of the valley that I realized just how far down I had came, not to mention the number of kilometers I had covered.
There was one point during this euphoric downhill race on the virtually empty road that I acknowledged just how far down I was going and how extremely difficult it was going to be to return by the same road. But it felt so great racing down into the valley surrounded by beautiful lush mountains without even having to turn a pedal that I said to myself ‘to hell with it. I’ll just keep going. And if it’s too hard on the way back I’ll just jump on one of the occasional buses that are passing by’. But inside I knew that I would be too stubborn to take a bus back, that I would see that as a sign of failure. And so down, down, down I went eventually arriving in a valley at the town of Pisac. A pretty town from a distance with a long and wide river running through the centre. But of course up close it was poor and basic like most other parts of Peru. In town I strolled through the market and then found a restaurant on a side street for a (very mediocre, but cheap) lunch. And then another bottle of Inka Cola for the energy I knew I would need for the thirty-three km journey back.
So I wearily dragged myself up and forced the thoughts of a leisurely bus ride home out of my head. I cranked the tunes on my MP3 player and started the ascent. Just as I left town groups of bus drivers were touting tickets back to Cusco at very tempting prices and other bikes were clearly visible strapped to the roofs of the small buses. But I just smiled and cycled on past.
The next four hours were the most physically demanding that I can ever remember doing IN MY WHOLE LIFE. Thirty-three kilometers, most of which was uphill and some of that very, very steep (see picture of roadsign). I climbed over 1100 metres and at times could hardly even keep up momentum in first gear. The beautiful views were forgotten as I panted for oxygen in the thin air and forced my thighs to continue with the grueling task of which they were so unaccustomed.
Went hiking this Saturday with a couple of friends. Here are a couple of snaps (camera is sporadically functioning again).
Posing with my hostel-mate Sanne at some Inka ruins.
Cusco is so mountainous and the people so passionate about football that they will play anywhere they can find a flat place. Even in the middle of nowhere as this was.
A fence and some mountains.
A cheesy pose and some mountains.
I just bought a mountain bike a few days ago. It took two days of shopping around and negotiations (in terrible Spanish) to get the bike I wanted for the price I wanted. But I finally found a cool front suspension aluminium frame mountain bike that I like. It needed about ten new parts before it was rideable, but even with all the extra stuff I was able to get it for 440 soles (about 75 pounds). So now I'll be taking some road trips and doing some mountain-biking to keep me entertained during the Lent drought.
I've had the runs for three days now. It's been so long that I had forgotten what a pain in the ass diarrhea can be. I don't know what caused it, but I won't lie and say I've been playing it safe. As always I've been trying to be tough and eat street food and anything that comes my way. However, I'm now taking antibiotics and as I only work in the evenings I can spend my afternoons between my bed and my bathroom. Ah, the pleasures of travelling.
Still too early to be littered with day-trippers and ‘tourists’, us ‘real travelers’ had the whole Mecca pretty much to ourselves. Our energy quickly returned as we took in the whole scene and tried to capture it with our cameras. Unfortunately, my hardy, but ancient camera, which had been acting temper mental for the last couple of months, decided it was a great day to stop working altogether. Our guide Carlos took us around some of the famous sites and explained about the different theories of how and why Machu Picchu was created (nothing is know for certain as there no records were ever found). We had a very informative couple of hours, but were soon feeling sleepy in the late morning sun.
Ignoring our burning legs and aching lungs we clambered to the top. It was absolutely amazing. Stunning views on all sides and a real sensation of being miles and miles from civilization (as we were). Kiwi James took a bunch of photos as I looked on jealously and then we sat on a ledge of rock taking in the sites and resting our weary bodies. Just as we started to descent, the clouds appeared overhead and drops of rain fell from the sky. As we put on our ponchos we took a moment to realize how lucky we were to see the sights when we did. For me, being on top of Waynapicchu, exhausted and camera-less, was the highlight of my four-day hike along the ancient Inka Trail.
January is considered low season for the trail because of the high rainfall. But if getting a little wet and missing a couple of views allowed me to escape the masses of other trekkers (up to 500 people per day in peak season) then I figured it would be worth it.
Two hours later we stopped for a light breakfast. The mate de coca (coca tea), which accompanied our eggs and bread, soon has our whole group a little less groggy and a lot more excited about the next four days. And what cheered us up even more than the cocaine-infused local tea were the blue skies appearing above us. The mist had lifted and we were able to glimpse the lush green mountains all around us. Perhaps if we had of realized how rare a mist-free morning would be over the next few days we would have taken more photos instead of leisurely enjoying a second (and third) cup of mate de coca.
Our group was great. There were three couples, from Ireland, New Zealand and Germany as well as one Australian and myself. And, as all of us were experienced hikers we soon made good time and found ourselves a good way from the other groups. Our Peruvian guide, Carlos, assured us that we were the fastest group he’d had in years, although he may have just been flattering us in hope of a good tip.
And after an hours break we carried on to our destination for the day, Wyllabamba, supposedly a great place for photos opportunities, but with the surrounding mist we could only see each others faces, smiling at the relief of our first day completed. The rain had temporarily ceased and we took the opportunity to sit around camp and get to know each other. Meanwhile the ever-industrious porters once again began to prepare us a three-course meal for dinner. A healthy fresh vegetable soup to start, followed by four or five dishes for main course, including options for the two vegetarians in the group and, of course, desert to follow. It certainly beat the baked beans, half-cooked sausages and stale bread of my previous camping trips. 
In the evening we sat in our dining tent sharing stories and telling jokes. A great bunch of people who, between the lot of them have probably been to nearly all the countries in the world, especially the German couple, Katrin and Daniel, who were on a six-month, round the world honeymoon. 
As I groggily staggered to the dining tent for breakfast, our guide, who had drunken as much as me, energetically asked ‘Ready for the Challenge day Mark?’ I grunted something that even I didn’t understand and took out my Inka Trek map to study our itinerary over a strong cup of coffee. ‘Oh no!’, I thought. This day was going to be a nightmare. Only twelve kilometers over seven hours, but most of it was on a steep incline. We were to start in forest microclimate and then climb up and over the infamous Dead Woman’s Pass where we would reach a height of 4215M, 500M higher than Mt. Fuji. This section was notoriously difficult and the most likely point to suffer altitude sickness, so I began to question the logic of my great whiskey idea the previous evening.
But the coffee and even more mate de coca saved the day and it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Two of our group had fallen sick due to the altitude so our pace was very manageable and the mist even cleared a couple of times to give us the majestic views we were hoping for. Following another great dinner I promptly collapsed in my tent. 
The next morning, miserable and shivering I got out of my sleeping bag in the early morning darkness. We had seven kilometers to cover in two hours to catch sunrise at The Gate of The Sun, the entrance to Machu Picchu. None of us looked too happy to be finally reaching our goal, but just as the sun arose the mist lifted and began to reveal our first sunny day of the trip.
There was a protest by government employees here in Cusco last week. It seemed that thousands of people filled the streets despite the bad weather. But apparently protests are quite normal here and usually peaceful.
