When I was planning my jaunt around the world there were only a handful of things that I simply had to experience; the wine of Mendoza, the coffee of Colombia, the Mayan ruins of Tikal, the surf of El Salvador and of course Machu Pichu in Peru. I had so far chanced upon a lot of amazing experiences through out my travels, but I enjoyed planning on the move and not knowing which sights I'd be unable to forget when I left a place. So it seemed very strange when after travelling for over 5 months, my Dad, my brother Nick and I were finally on the bus heading to the start of the trail to one of the world's new seven wonders.
Our road to Machu Pichu is a long and wet one, and takes us 4 days. We soon realise our porters are undiscovered pro-athletes, as not only do they run past us carrying two to three times the weight of our backpacks, but we learn that when they have nothing to carry, they run the 26 miles of the Inca trail in under 4 hours. Baring in mind the trail is over 10,000 feet, this is quite a feet and if I see any Peruvians debuting at the London Marathon next year, I wouldn't be betting against them!
Our own plight was barely underway when the inevitable rain started. We all knew we were in the midst of the wet season, the trail only just having re opened a few days before having had a month to rest, but after 5 minutes, my jacket was already starting to leak (two months later this jacket was stolen in New Zealand, so I thoroughly hope the culprit gets rained on, as the jacket will make sure they get a good soaking). thankfully we are all equipped with 30p plastic ponchos, which keep the rain off and the heat in, so after a day of trekking they make a good boil-in-the-bag backpacker.
When we make camp every afternoon, the superhuman porters have already arrived, set up camp and started cooking. The days of them carrying insane loads are now long gone, but none the less, they put our fitness to shame. Despite the trail being the world's most renowned, the facilities have failed to keep pace. It's a home from home for Frenchies as we're treated to the latest in hole-in-the-floor toilets. Perfect for dropping alcoholic hand wash down when you really needed it.
The second day is a beast, as it's uphill nearly all the way, to 4,200m and the crossing of the Dead Woman's Pass. The trail is all steps, so whilst conforming to most western countries health and safety standards, its a thigh burning walk up, and as the rain increases and the temperature drops at the summit, we're only to eager (post photo opp) to continue down the other side and onto the second nights camp. Now that we are suitably shattered each night, sleep comes very quickly. Even Nick is sleeping through Dad's snoring, which whilst surprising, is surpassed by Nick's cheeriness first thing in the morning (even more surprising).
The food on the trek is always something to look forward to. Nick, Dad and I agreed before hand to all go veggie to aid our stomachs, but regretted the decision for 4 days, as the most delicious meat was cooked up for every meal. Cooking for 16 people and 22 porters is no easy task, but after spotting the chef cooking on just two small gas burners, we were left in awe. With 4 hobs and clean kitchen I struggle to knock up anything near as tasty. Despite no meat, we were never left hungry, although I think one porter should be charged with carrying a keg of beer for future trips. Beer was rather hard to come by in the middle of the Peruvian highlands, however, they did manage to produce some Pisco Sours on one evening.
Up at the crack of dawn again and on the road for the third day, nick-named the Gringo Killer, as it was pretty much all down hill and was the main cause of complaints of sore knees from pathetic tourists. So off we stomped in the intermittent rain, through tunnels and through ancient Inca sites with secret paths tucked away in the tightest and narrowest of places. After lunch, the descent really kicked in, as the path was steep, tough and also the new route for what I think was the nearby river. The water poured down over the steps in torrents, but this did little to deter the porters whose break neck-pace turned out to be more a break-ankle pace, as one of our group tried to keep up with them only to be left hobbling 30 minutes later.
Towards the end of the third day, Nick and I were privy to something that simply nobody sees on the Inca Trail. Our guides had been walking the trail for over 8 years, and they told us they had never seen them and we should not expect to see any... Spectacled Bears. Walking around a corner, an hour or two before arriving at the campsite, we were confronted by a mother and cub crossing the path. Seeing Paddington (for that is the type of bear that he is) and his Mum cross in front of us, was truly amazing, and extremely special, given that no one ever sees them. They're not huge and are extremely shy, and I am still kicking myself for just freezing at the sight of them and neglecting to take a photo. Like all things on the trip so far, memories last a long time, shame I can't put them on Flickr mind.
The animal documentary continued down to camp, where we saw a raccoon and a bunch of courting toucans. Potential post-travel career #17; being David Attenborough's replacement is now top of the list. Finally arriving in camp, to a rapturous applause it was time for a couple of beers, to take off walking boots and watch them steam and reflect on the bulk of walking now done. It was also time to sort out a thank you speech for the porters, chefs and guides. Having already introduced myself to the porters in Spanish, I was nominated, but thankfully with a lot of assistance from some of the other travellers, we sorted out a lengthy speech which I read out in my best (not that good) Spanish, devoid of Spanglish, gesticulations or any of Dad's Italian.
The following morning we were up at 3.45am and off to Machu Pichu. The rain had returned with renewed vigour and we were all sheltering at the control point before we got under way. It was that time of morning where the first light is making everything slightly creepy, you can see other people, but not their expressions, the mist was causing the light to fade in and out and rounding one corner, out of the mist there stands defiant, a rather large llama, blocking our way. He gives us a feeling of foreboding, as if to say, "Who goes there and what brings you to my mountain?" or "The way is shut, it was made buy those who are woolly". Apologies the second one is a ripoff of a quote from Lord of the Rings as I'm currently in New Zealand...
Anyway, thankfully llamas cannot talk nor charge tolls or prevent us from continuing, which we do for a couple of hours before we arrive at the monkey steps. We'd heard about them before the trek, very steep metre-high steps that prove a tricky challenge to the weary. Having set off near the front of the line and in anticipation of seeing Machu Pichu, Nick and I effectively ran up them with ease, in fact our whole group was pushing such a fast pace we all cruised up.
When we make camp every afternoon, the superhuman porters have already arrived, set up camp and started cooking. The days of them carrying insane loads are now long gone, but none the less, they put our fitness to shame. Despite the trail being the world's most renowned, the facilities have failed to keep pace. It's a home from home for Frenchies as we're treated to the latest in hole-in-the-floor toilets. Perfect for dropping alcoholic hand wash down when you really needed it.
The second day is a beast, as it's uphill nearly all the way, to 4,200m and the crossing of the Dead Woman's Pass. The trail is all steps, so whilst conforming to most western countries health and safety standards, its a thigh burning walk up, and as the rain increases and the temperature drops at the summit, we're only to eager (post photo opp) to continue down the other side and onto the second nights camp. Now that we are suitably shattered each night, sleep comes very quickly. Even Nick is sleeping through Dad's snoring, which whilst surprising, is surpassed by Nick's cheeriness first thing in the morning (even more surprising).
The food on the trek is always something to look forward to. Nick, Dad and I agreed before hand to all go veggie to aid our stomachs, but regretted the decision for 4 days, as the most delicious meat was cooked up for every meal. Cooking for 16 people and 22 porters is no easy task, but after spotting the chef cooking on just two small gas burners, we were left in awe. With 4 hobs and clean kitchen I struggle to knock up anything near as tasty. Despite no meat, we were never left hungry, although I think one porter should be charged with carrying a keg of beer for future trips. Beer was rather hard to come by in the middle of the Peruvian highlands, however, they did manage to produce some Pisco Sours on one evening.
Up at the crack of dawn again and on the road for the third day, nick-named the Gringo Killer, as it was pretty much all down hill and was the main cause of complaints of sore knees from pathetic tourists. So off we stomped in the intermittent rain, through tunnels and through ancient Inca sites with secret paths tucked away in the tightest and narrowest of places. After lunch, the descent really kicked in, as the path was steep, tough and also the new route for what I think was the nearby river. The water poured down over the steps in torrents, but this did little to deter the porters whose break neck-pace turned out to be more a break-ankle pace, as one of our group tried to keep up with them only to be left hobbling 30 minutes later.
Towards the end of the third day, Nick and I were privy to something that simply nobody sees on the Inca Trail. Our guides had been walking the trail for over 8 years, and they told us they had never seen them and we should not expect to see any... Spectacled Bears. Walking around a corner, an hour or two before arriving at the campsite, we were confronted by a mother and cub crossing the path. Seeing Paddington (for that is the type of bear that he is) and his Mum cross in front of us, was truly amazing, and extremely special, given that no one ever sees them. They're not huge and are extremely shy, and I am still kicking myself for just freezing at the sight of them and neglecting to take a photo. Like all things on the trip so far, memories last a long time, shame I can't put them on Flickr mind.
The animal documentary continued down to camp, where we saw a raccoon and a bunch of courting toucans. Potential post-travel career #17; being David Attenborough's replacement is now top of the list. Finally arriving in camp, to a rapturous applause it was time for a couple of beers, to take off walking boots and watch them steam and reflect on the bulk of walking now done. It was also time to sort out a thank you speech for the porters, chefs and guides. Having already introduced myself to the porters in Spanish, I was nominated, but thankfully with a lot of assistance from some of the other travellers, we sorted out a lengthy speech which I read out in my best (not that good) Spanish, devoid of Spanglish, gesticulations or any of Dad's Italian.
The following morning we were up at 3.45am and off to Machu Pichu. The rain had returned with renewed vigour and we were all sheltering at the control point before we got under way. It was that time of morning where the first light is making everything slightly creepy, you can see other people, but not their expressions, the mist was causing the light to fade in and out and rounding one corner, out of the mist there stands defiant, a rather large llama, blocking our way. He gives us a feeling of foreboding, as if to say, "Who goes there and what brings you to my mountain?" or "The way is shut, it was made buy those who are woolly". Apologies the second one is a ripoff of a quote from Lord of the Rings as I'm currently in New Zealand...
Anyway, thankfully llamas cannot talk nor charge tolls or prevent us from continuing, which we do for a couple of hours before we arrive at the monkey steps. We'd heard about them before the trek, very steep metre-high steps that prove a tricky challenge to the weary. Having set off near the front of the line and in anticipation of seeing Machu Pichu, Nick and I effectively ran up them with ease, in fact our whole group was pushing such a fast pace we all cruised up.
We were minutes from the top, when our guide William turned around to Nick and me claiming he was too tired to continue. In the moment in which we paused to laugh, he'd got the drop on us and was sprinting the last hundred metres up hill to the Sun Gate. Keen to show the Gringos still had stamina after 3 and half days we hooned it up in close pursuit to get through the Sun Gate (entrance) both out of breath but also breathless at the view. We´ve all seen photos of Machu Pichu, but from the Sun Gate the combination of finishing 3 days of very damp trekking and the most beautiful sight I have ever seen go beyond any impact a simple photo can ever do.
Photos will do this more justice than I can, and thankfully my brother took some belters. My photos were corrupted but having taken 1300 photos in Machu Pichu alone Nick has selected a handful of the best ones through the following link.
Our guide William took us around the city, telling us an array of stories from the ancient Incas to a more recent tear-jerker of a tale from the 70s that left us all in no doubt how meaningful this trail can be, and how finishing it even for the second time can be overwhelming. You´ll have to wait until I get home to hear that particular story, but for now I can assure you that as tourist heavy this trail people incorrectly think it is, and despite so many gringos having already been before and despite losing my photos, I will never lose the memories of the moment I crossed the Sun Gate and saw Machu Pichu for the first time.
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