An unforgettable experience . Wonderful place, wonderful people .
Disadvantages:
Tough walking . Not for the faint of heart or vertigo sufferers .
Recommend to potential buyers:
yes
Full review
I woke up this morning with a feeling of smug satisfaction.
Fact of the matter is…I've been waking up with this same feeling for a few days now. Can't seem to shake it.
Every time I think I've finally managed to get some sense of proportion, and I can go about my normal business I'm tempted to take a look at the photographs I took in Peru and…there it is again!
Smug…
Satisfaction.
You see, I didn't just GO to Peru. I plotted and schemed, fundraised, event planned and spent myself stupid to go to Peru, raising money for a damned fine cause while I was about it.
O.K. Loads of people go to Peru. I know this.
Loads of people trek the Inca Trail. I know this too…goodness knows I met enough of them!
But how many people wake up on the morning of their 49th birthday to a view of dawn breaking over distant mountain peaks while a layer of cloud lies within what seemed like touching distance?
How many people get a chance like that?
To quote part of an old Scottish toast…Gie few…and they're a' deid! (Translation and full toast available free of charge. Just ask)
So…smug or what?
Let me elucidate…I feel I ought to.
I decided some time ago to undertake a trek on behalf of a local charity, and Peru was an obvious choice, as seeing the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu have been ambitions of mine for a long time.
The decision made, I had a few months available to me for training. A needful thing, as the Inca Trail isn't for softies or those of a nervous disposition. Or so I had been told in no uncertain terms.
Naturally, as soon as I formulated my training regime, my business went into overdrive and I was unable to do any of the walks, runs, hill climbs and general sweaty business I had planned on.
I therefore went to Peru having done about 1% of the training I had hoped for.
I mention this because I DON'T want you to get all fired up with the idea of following in my footsteps while thinking that you can just wander along and do it. Well…you can, obviously, but it HURTS! There. You've been warned.
So anyway. Cutting to the chase (finally) I'll skip our impressively bad and protracted journey to Cusco, and just start telling you about the trek and all that good stuff from the point of our arrival.
Cusco. The capital of the Inca nation, and a very fine place. High up (3,500 metres - about 11,500 feet. Higher than pretty much everything in Europe) is a good place to get used to altitude. It's also a good place to sink a few cold Cusqueno beers and pisco sours, to eat many good things cooked in a variety of healthy and tasty ways, and to dance to good latin music until 5.00am. Take my word for it…it's a good place, but we put off enjoying most of these things until our 2nd visit to the town.
We were advised to take altitude seriously, and I'd pass that advice on to you. It's bad enough getting a nasty headache and being a bit breathless, but it's pretty damned foolish to court disaster in the shape of pulmonary oedema and such, so good acclimatisation is a must.
Sadly, our journey was SO bad and SO bloody protracted that we didn't have a lot of time to get used to anything, but we carried on regardless (knowing that we would have a doctor on the trek with us, and four - count them - FOUR nurses who were all raising money for various causes…buying the NHS or similar I don't doubt) so we figured if anyone got a bit wibbly there would be someone around to help. Also, a few of us were on the chunky side of large, so we could always carry the dead and dying if needs be. So ran our thoughts as we set out by train for our base camp.
The train from Cusco takes an impressive zig-zag course up the mountains: a process of going forward and then reversing a bit and then forward again. It also passes through some pretty mixed scenery, with the amazing grandeur of the mountains sharing our attention with some of Peru's poorest homes; these being hard to miss (or dismiss) as their doors open onto the rail track (which doubles as a footpath - trains being quite rare and VERY slow - easy to avoid).
We were chucked out, along with our luggage, at kilometre 88. No station or any of that poncey nonsense; just jump off onto the tracks. I suppose we should be grateful they stopped the train first.
A short stroll along the road…sorry…the railway line…took us to the checkpoint at the entrance to Machu Picchu National Park, where our entrance passes were checked (there's a very strict limit on the number of people allowed on the Inca Trail at any one time, hence the checks) and our passports stamped.
From there, we had only another short stroll to our base camp, where small two-man tents had already been pitched, and where we were able to enjoy the luxury of hot showers and flush toilets for the last time before setting off into the heights of the surrounding mountains.
It was while we were at Base Camp that we discovered that while we might well be 'roughing it' a bit in terms of the sleeping accommodation over the following few days, we weren't going to be fighting over mouldy biscuits or eating our boots. The food throughout our trek; whether at Base Camp, which has a more or less permanent kitchen - everything cooked over a wood fire, but a permanent kitchen nonetheless - or at 4,000+ metres on the subsequent days, was nothing short of brilliant. Breakfast was different every day, with bread, oatmeal, pancakes, toast all making an appearance at one time or another, along with various jams and other spreadable goodies. High energy snacks and fresh fruit to take along for a morning snack, a substantial lunch doshed and dished up in a tent along the road, a spot of afternoon tea to keep one going until…at that night's camp…a 3-course dinner. Bloody miraculous, given that the stove, the pans, the propane to fuel the stoves, all the food and Uncle Tom Cobbley an' all had to be carried up the mountains (did I mention the mountains? They're quite high, you know…and steep!) by a team of porters in sandals and wooly hats. They wore some other stuff too, you understand; not JUST hats and sandals.
So anyway. Back to Base Camp.
The plan was to take a short hike into the mountains to an Inca site not too far away in order to try to redress our lack of high-altitude acclimatisation. This introduction to the landscape and the flora and fauna of the region was a gentle one, and lulled a few of us into a wholly false sense of security regarding the trail. However, it did give us a chance to get our legs working and to see a little of the handiwork of the Inca architects and builders. Our hugely knowledgeable guides gave us a talk about the history and the culture of the ancient people, and then let us explore the area, before steering us back along the trail to the camp…for some more food.
After a lovely dinner, and a jolly hour or two of music quizzes and general badinage we copped a few hours kip in our bijou tents, lulled to sleep by the white noise of the Urubamba River rushing by a few metres away.
Waking the next day was a glorious experience, with clouds chasing each other around the sides of the surrounding mountains and the light building gradually until, as though switched on by an unseen hand, the sun broke through in dramatic fashion to promise us a glorious day.
Loading up our day packs with everything we might need before nightfall (when we would be re-united with the rest of our kit) including a couple of litres of fresh water, wet-weather gear, cold-weather gear, sunscreen, insect repellent, snacks (in case of a sudden lack of catering facilities) and suchlike essentials, we were finally OFF! Up, up and away on the Inca Trail; the challenge we had all set ourselves, and one we knew bugger all about…but we learned, and we learned pretty damned fast, I can tell you!
The early part of the trail is a fairly easy sloping path which took us past the site we had visited the previous day and then onwards and upwards…lots of upwards, I can tell you. Lots.
Periodically, we were obliged to tuck into the hillside a bit as locals came in the other direction with bundles, donkeys, ponies and an unerring ability to wander obliviously along the very edge of the path above a sheer drop of a couple of hundred feet to a boulder strewn river below.
After a decent three hours or so we arrived at Hatunchaca; a tiny hamlet which provided us with a place to sit and enjoy a moment of rest, a snack from our plentiful supply and a visit from several local fleas, courtesy of a couple of dogs who know a good energy bar when they see one.
From there it was onwards and upwards again…upwards…bloody upwards.
We passed through another small village an hour or so later, where a 'hole in the wall' store offered cold drinks and bottled water. The hand-painted sign above the window proudly proclaimed 'Shoping Center - We accept Mastercard, Visa' in brushstrokes that looked like the work of a 9 year old with an account at B&Q's paint department.
Onwards and …yeah…upwards.
Around about then…just as we were approaching our lunch site…it started to rain. It does that a lot. And it does it VERY WELL.
It was while we were sitting eating lunch and listening to the rain batter the tent in which we sat that we realised we were one person short of a full compliment.
Now…the opportunities to get lost on a trek like this are pretty good; the team breaks up into small groups according to walking speed, calibre of jokes being told and such, so if someone was walking alone for a while it would be easy for that person to take a side trail by accident, or miss the turn-off for lunch, or fall to their doom on the rocks below.
All these scenarios played themselves out for us while a porter was dispatched to run (RUN?) up the trail to see if he could find her. He did…she had actually made it almost all the way to that night's camp site! The porter then ran back, gave us the news, collected her lunch in a doggy bag and ran back again so she could eat. The food was still warm when she got it. Those porters are a breed apart, I can tell you!
Just to underline the astonishing fitness of these porters: there's a race every year in which these guys take around 4 hours to run the same trail we were taking 4 days to walk. Granted they're all born at high altitude, so have HUGE lung capacity, and they're accustomed to walking/jogging/running while carrying 28-30 kilos of kit, but even so…4 hours!
From just before our lunch stop onwards, we were walking on stone paths: big, uneven stones, and big uneven steps too. The walking began to get tough, and many of us began to feel serious fatigue…not to mention pain. This was when we began to appreciate the real benefits of walking with others, as folk began supporting those who were going through a 'flat spot'. This mutual support was to carry on throughout the trek, and if nothing else ensured that many, if not all of the group will remain friends now that the mountains are behind us.
The rain gave way to a sunny but cool afternoon as we approached our camp for the night. The tents had been pitched in a flat basin of land through which ran a small river which was fed from the snowy peaks that surrounded us, reminding us that we were at an altitude greater than can be achieved anywhere in Europe without the aid of British Airways or similar.
Quite a few folk retired to their tents suffering from exhaustion and/or altitude sickness, and the doctor was kept busy doing the rounds while those of us who weren't affected sat down to another enormous meal, followed by an hour or two of chat and stories before hitting the sack.
Another spectacular dawn, and a welcome warming breakfast to set us up for our longest trekking day, then it was off on an ascent to Dead Woman's Pass: the highest point of the trail at about 4,200 metres, and one of two passes we were to tackle that day. We all got there in good time, and in decent shape, so after a short rest for photographs and mutual congratulations we started downhill…which sounds like fun, right? Nice easy downhill walking? Bollo…er….not at all. In fact, many of us found the downhill a whole lot tougher than the up. The path was again large irregular steps and rough irregular stones, so concentration was required every foot of the way.
Down….a LONG way down…at the bottom, we stopped for tea and a sandwich, then headed uphill towards the second pass of the day. Over that one, and we were into a changed landscape. We had left the bald peaks and scrubland behind, and now found ourselves in a cloud forest. Then it did what it does well again. It rained. Lots.
A moist and somewhat tired group straggled into a late lunch stop some 9 hours after setting out.
Back on the trail, and the route took us along narrow stone paths with sheer drops alongside us. Thankfully for those who don't do heights too well we couldn't really see much of the drops, due to walking through a thunderstorm…with the lightning BELOW us. Still…I suppose that's why it's called a cloud forest, eh?
A wet camp, at which about 7 of the 22 trekkers made it in to dinner. The rest chose sleep after a really tough 11 or 12 hours of hard walking. The doctor did his rounds again, as there were still some altitude sickness sufferers.
I know this is becoming longer than the trek, so I'll speed up a bit. You've got the idea by now anyway:
Tough walking.
High places.
Not good for vertigo sufferers.
Good food and plenty of it.
Astonishing scenery.
More astonishing scenery.
That morning was a bit special though, with mountaintops in the distance being highlit by the rising sun, and a layer of cloud settling above our heads like a blanket.
It was also my birthday, and all the porters had to give me a hug…which was…interesting. Thankfully, the 18 female trekkers in my group also gave me hugs, which sort of made up for the porters.
A day of sunshine, and scrambling up and down more of those bastard bloody steps, and we finally made it to the Sun Gate which overlooks Machu Picchu.
Our reward.
Another 40 or 50 minutes of walking took us to the site itself, where we found ourselves mixing with smartly dressed tourists who were CLEAN and DIDN'T SMELL. These had arrived by bus from the town below, and were bloody annoying. Still, we got our own back by walking close to them. We might, just possibly, have been a tad aromatic by this time.
We bussed down to the town, and were treated to luxuries like showers and cold beer before heading to a local restaurant for dinner.
The next day was spent at Machu Picchu, getting an idea of the scale of the Inca empire and the skills they had mastered before the Spanish came along and enslaved them.
I can never do justice to the awesome nature of Machu Picchu, nor can any photographs. All I can do is tell you to go there. It IS the man-made wonder of the world, and is a totally magical place.
But then, so is Peru.
I travelled with Charity Challenge, and a group of individuals who were raising money for a number of causes. The trouble we had with our outward journey was not the fault of Charity Challenge, who were brilliant throughout. I shouldn't tell you who it was that nearly trashed our trip…but their initials are KLM, and they are a Dutch airline. Is that enough clues?
The cost of trips like this varies according to how you approach the charity thing, but from about £1,500 including a donation to the charity. Don't forget to budget for kit though, as you need good quality warm and wet weather gear, as well as a lot of other bits and bobs. Charity Challenge provided us with a good and comprehensive list of what we would need.
In Peru, our guides, porters and such were supplied by Explorandes. They were brilliant too, even taking the trouble to ensure a local band with odd sized guitars and pan pipes met me in the street outside the restaurant to sing the Spanish version of Happy Birthday in order to make absolutely certain of maximum embarrassment. One of the guides then made up for it all by plying me with beer and taking me and a few others to a club for even MORE beers.
I'm sorry this is so long. If you got through it all you might realise why.
Also…it's the first this year, so I've got some milage to make up!
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