See you at the nipple
We set off early from Ollandtaytambo to KM88, a popular starting point for the Inca Trail. Form here the route is only about 33km, but takes in a few high passes, at pretty high altitude to start with. We wer taking it easy with only about 12km a day for the first two days.
Day one, variously known as "Training Day", "Beginners Day" and "Harder than they told me day" was pretty straightforward, the weather was good and the terrain pretty easy, with only a few moderately steep gradients to worry about. Each of us carried a daysack with a change of clothes and which ever toileteries we thought we could cope with for the four day hike, the rest of our stuff, five kilograms anyway, was carried by an army of local porters who ran past us as we struggled, laden with our bags, the tents, the kitchen equipement and other things. Pretty galling really.
Lunchtime was a bit of a surprise. The food was included in the cost of the trip, along with the porters, the campsites and entrance to Machu Picchu itself, but I don't think that any of us were expecting the spread we had at lunchtime, a long table in a dining tent, two courses followed by coffee or tea (or cocoa tea, which is apparently a good preventative for altitude sickness - nice too!). The presentation was something special too, later we would be given food sculpted into all kinds of exotic shapes, pinapples becoming turtles and nesting condors, hummingbirds presiding over plates of chicken, llamas sat guarding the rice courses. To say we were spoiled was putting it mildly.
After lunch, the sun was still out, and we were given the opertunity to enjoy a siesta before continuing to the campsite for the evening. The site was pretty basic when we arived, the toilets provoking much discussion (being the sort of place which made the long drops at Glastonbury seem like a nice place for a family picnic), but again, the food was great and the scenery - vast mountains, shrouded in shifting mist and fog, was wonderful.

The second day was, infamously, the hardest part. Taking us directly to a place named "Dead Woman's Pass" largely because - we were (incorrectly) told, the rock formation near the pass looked like a giant breast, nipple and all. Either way, this was the highest part of the trail, a queasy 4200 metres above sea level. The route to the foot of the path was pretty tough as it was, but we found our own pace and kept at it, eventually ariving at a plateau, providing an on and off view of the pass itself, depending on the clouds drifting over and through us.
After a brief rest stop, and a decision to put off lunch until we reached our campsite for the night, we set off up the long path uphill, and the cloud drizzle continually dampened us and blocked out any potentially spectacular views.
We took it slowly, a group of us, six or so, tramped upwards for five to ten minutes at a time, stopping regularly for water stops and quick checks to see if there was anything to actually see. And this way we eventually made it to the top in one piece. To be honest, it wasn't anything like as bad as we had heard, although I suspect it was a lot easier to do in the cold than in the scorching sunlight. They don't call December the rainy season for nothing.
Downhill was much easier. Whoever says that going downhill is harder than going uphill has issues (or a sprained ankle or knees, like two of our number had, kudos to them, they did the entire thing with no real problems). As we decended beneath the cloud layer, the valey opened itslef out to us in a suitably spectacular fashion.
At the foot of the path was our campsite for the night, nicer than the one before, but still pretty basic. More good food, and some very welcome mulled wine (a celebration for completing the tough part of the trek) were provided before an early and disapointingly restless sleep.

Day three was the longest day (15km) and also the wetest. This wasn't just cloud drizzle, this was rain propper and it was pretty depressing stuff, particularly as some of the paths we took should have had breathtaking views rather than sheets of grey white fog. An early path took us up though a waterfall, which was a ncie contrast to abseiling down them in Baños, but drenched everybodies feet early in the day. Not nice. Still, the sight of everyone treking in a line, each wearing their multicoloured 2 Sole ponchos was a pleasantly surreal sight.
The route took us past a number of Inca ruins, most pretty spectacular, but given the weather condiditons, not everyone was keen on waiting around for an explanation. A shame as they were definately worth it, I just wish we could have seen them in better weather.
Lunchtime was gloriously welcome, hot soup, hot food and hot tea. The afternoon trek to the campsite was largely downhill along the mountainsides, and as we decended, the mist started to clear slightly, gradually revealing the glorious cloud-forest covered mountainsides around us.
The night was spent in the most comercial of the campsites yet, this one with hot (tepid) showers and (glory!) a bar, with a stunning view over the valley. Before dinner, we took a quick walk to the nearby ruins of the "number two city" to Machu Picchu, whose name, typically, I forget. This was spectacularly preserved and very impressive. A succession of concave terraces dropping down the hills, with the typical Inca style city planning of the important houses and temples at the top and the workers houses below, linked by a chain of ten ceremonial fountains.
Well worth the diversion.
That evening, after another unreasonably spectacular meal, it was time to say farewell to our porters, who had been dogging our every step for the last three days. They were to head off back with our luggage the following morning, leaving us to get the train back from Machu Picchu itself.
We had been anticipating this moment for a few weeks, having been instructed to write a song (that is, adapt a song) to ball at them in a curious form of thanks. After toying with the idea of changing 'Big Yellow Taxi' into 'Big Yellow Truck' and a failed attempt to come up with a new version of 'Walk This Way', we settled on a far easier (and far more seasonal) adaptation of 'The Twelve Days Of Christmas' which began and ended with a Tucan Itinery in place of the traditional partridge. The rest of the lines were replaced with references to the eleven different nationalitis in the group (from 2 taffy totty through 7 English lions to one Japanese Banzaii - better not to ask really), the five gold rings line being replaced with 'six kangaroos' which sounded better on paper than it did on the night.
Still, the porters lapped it up with blank faced bemusement, having already sang a somewhat more tuneful song about 'Sexy woman' (probably the historical site of a similar name, certainly nothing to do with Roy Orbison). We were then introduced to each in turn, discovering that their ages ranged from seventeen to fifty-two, with burdens ranging from food to gas canisters and cooking stoves. Suitably chastised we shook their hands and wished them on their way, before (crudely) heading for the bar. Why? Well it was there, obviously.

Next stop, Machu Picchu itself.
- posted by Vince @ 10:42 AM