Peru was a country I had been dreaming of visiting since I was 14 years old. I even had a stunning picture of Machu Picchu as my screen saver all through my teenage years, dreaming of the day I might one day see it with my own eyes. It was a bucket list item I was unbelievably excited about ticking off.
Now of course, being in the modern world, there is an easy, though quite expensive, way to get right up to machu without ever having to put a pack on your back. But that's not what I wanted- I wanted to earn my view of this magical city. Fortunately, there are multiple hikes you can choose from (such as the wildly popular Inca trail which is booked out 8 months in advance) to give you the experience of hiking to the city. Sarah and I were both excited about doing a deep hike- something more than 3 days that left us reliant upon nothing but our wits and the supplies we could carry on our backs.
We discussed for some time about which to choose, as each offered different advantages and challenges. Sarah was excited about skipping machu in favor of a little known equivalent called Choquequirao. It is a set of ruins that had arguably one of the most difficult treks to get there, but because of the challenge the trek presented, it was not uncommon to see it completely abandoned. I was nervous about this one though- I am overly protective in general and was worried what I might do if an injury happened on the trek- I had noticed Sarah didn’t cope with the altitude sickness as well as I had, and was concerned about the physical strain this trek might have. Also, if I’m entirely honest, that 14 year old boy in me was screaming that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Machu Picchu after coming all this way, over-touristy though it might be. So in a rather uncharacteristic way (I’m normally about as decisive as Schrodinger's cat), I decided very clearly that I had to see Machu, and after a bit of research, decided that the Salkantay trek looked absolutely stunning- having a mixture of mountains, alpine lakes and dense jungle to it, with the added bonus of being fairly well resourced with campsites along the track. Possibly shocked by my decisive manner and ameture attempts at research, Sarah (perhaps a little grudgingly) agreed, and we bought our tickets in Cusco, ready to head off on an adventure.
We began the next day outrageously early (though to be fair, anything before about 9.30am is enough to make me groan) to find a colectivo that would begin the journey for us. These were wonderful little taxis that basically had a set route and would wait until they had enough passengers to justify the trip. The price was negotiable (less negotiable for those of us non-spanish, though Sarah’s Spanish and smile were normally enough to wrangle us a decent discount). The downside was that you never really knew when you would leave.
This time, were squished into a van, only having to wait a half hour or so for the herculean amount of people they decided was necessary to make the trip economical, and with my legs perched awkwardly against the front of the console and the rest of me squashed against the window, I tried to settle in for what would be a long and tedious journey.
You see, unfortunately for me I was born with a disability- it's called “can’t sleep in any situation that isn’t a quiet, dark room with a bed and ear plugs” syndrome, and it is a total bitch. On rare occasions, this can actually come in handy- I could look out for our gear or for the right stop when we had long bus journeys. But it was also a curse- 16 hour flights with not a wink, 19 hour bus rides with no dreams to take away the boredom, it really drove me insane sometimes. Night buses were a cruel kind of irony for me. But regardless, everyone drifted off, and I was free to watch the Peruvian landscape grow every slowly lighter, watching the pale rose hues of sunlight gradually reveal mountain scapes and deep valleys that took my breath away. I was rarely bored on a bus ride in Peru.
Arriving in a little village sometime later, it was time to find a ride up the rocky, unpaved road to the beginning of the Salkantay trek. I thought it might be difficult, but it turned out that every person with a vehicle had this as a part time occupation, and every single vehicle in the entire village was an early 90’s toyota corolla station wagon (I kid you not, it was unbelievable!).
We had a few necessities to organise first- we had bought water purifying pills so carrying all the water for a 3 day hike wasn’t necessary, and had most of our food, but we needed one of the only spanish words I had managed to learn- pan, or bread, to fill up the quota.
We wandered up and down, chatting to the local cats as they took advantage of the morning sun, and asked the cheerful locals where the pan was at. We wound through the little alleyways and eventually found a beautiful, tiny old woman who was so excited to see us. We asked for 6 little loaves, and she proceeded to start filling a garbage bag sized sack with bread. After clarifying that it was 6, not 60 we needed, she was a little less cheerful, but we tipped her well and she responded in kind by telling us where to find one of the corolla boys who wouldn’t rip us off.
In the main square of the little village, we saw our boy- he had approached us earlier with a deal for the drive up, which seemed a little pricey, but after ‘grandma pan’s’ recommendation, we knew he was a good option. He did want to split the trip with another fare to make it worth his while, and we were very happy to do so.
Our third passenger was a tall and cheerful Ozzy named Nick. He immediately launched into a story about his travels and how excited he was about the upcoming trek, though his plans to complete it all with no tent and in half the expected time seemed frankly terrifying to me.
We chatted happily as we bumped noisily over the rutted track, but all stopped unanimously as we rounded a corner and the Peruvian mountain range came into view.
Peru is huge on a scale that is unbelievable until you stand before it. Cities that exist above the height of New Zealand’s tallest mountain are quite the norm, and then you come the real monsters of this incredible place, of such immensity and beauty they literally took our breath away (being as we were well over 3000m at this point, this was no euphemism).
Arriving at the beginning of the trek, we walked for a few minutes with our Ozzy friend, until Sarah turned to me with an expression of utter anguish and guilt on her face and said “I can’t find my phone!”. Now unfortunately, though she has an intimidating intellect, she can also be remarkably forgetful, and we had sadly been through the ‘missing phone’ scenario on more than one occasion.
Saying goodbye to Nick, we turned to head back to look for it. To be honest, Nick had legs twice the length of mine (the curse of the hobbit) and I had no doubt he would out strip us soon anyway. I hoped we might meet up again though as he was a genuine and fascinating character.
I had hoped we might find the phone by the toilets or where our bags were unloaded at the beginning of the trek, but it soon became clear that if it was anywhere, it was going to be in the ‘corolla boys’ car. Sarah, utilizing her impressive negotiation skills (all in a 3rd language I might add) wrangled us a free ride down the mountain with a tour company who had dropped a group off that morning.
It may seem inconsequential, but on this ride down, I could tell Sarah felt guilty about her lapse in concentration, which was completely unjustified. I was neither upset nor put out about it- my mantra is that accidents happen. As a teacher, you learn this quickly, and as I had no human bodily fluids to wipe up, this particular accident was better than the majority I had seen in the classroom. Plus, on our drive down, we were lucky enough to see a group of 3 condors circling just near the side of the road which I found fascinating. As the heaviest and second largest flying bird in the world, I considered the extra trip absolutely worth it to see these majestic creatures on the wing and up close.
Having a boys sense of cars, I eyed every vehicle we passed carefully just in case carolla boy was heading back up the hill with another fare. Sure enough, about halfway down, I spotted his car and waved frantically to our drivers to get his attention. He obligingly stopped, and it turned out that he was driving an old lady (quite literally out of the goodness of his heart) up to her home, and had indeed found Sarah’s phone, acting in a decidedly un-taxi-ish manner and taking it home to keep it safe. He immediately agreed to drive us back, retrieve the phone, and for a discounted rate take us back to the beginning of the track. I was sorry I ever misjudged this amazing young guy, who could have leveraged the situation over us. Lord knows he didn’t make a lot of money, but he was honest to the core and seemed genuinely pleased to have been able to help us get it back.
Back on the trek, we decided to switch plans a little. The delay meant doing the first trek all in one day was unreasonable. I suggested instead that we should crash at the nearby base camp and use the extra time to do a little detour to a beautiful alpine lake, not more than an hours hike away, in order to acclimatize to the altitude we would face on the upcoming trek.
We dumped our bags at the tent site, and slowly began the climb up to 4,200m.
It was clear, very quickly, that while I had little to no altitude sickness (just a shortness of breath and resulting asthma), Sarah was struggling. She is fit, and far more stubborn than you would believe, but the climb up (even though I carried the supplies) left her gasping for breath, tired and with a pounding headache. We had tried Diamox, a common altitude sickness medication given to me by my aunt, but though it helped alleviate the symptoms she grew immensely tired from it, and we gave up the idea of using it. Even the Coca leaves the locals used had little benefit for her, leaving nothing but a nasty after taste in the mouth.
However, this meant there was nothing we could do for her sickness, which was scary, as the next day we would need to hit almost 5000m, not to mention cover 14km, and that would be with all of our gear and heavy packs included- needles to say I began to worry.
We made it to the lake (see my Peru video to hear my laboured breathing from the hike!) where Sarah promptly lay down for a nap, completely exhausted and feeling ill. I, on the other hand, decided to use the time as productively as possible to run around taking loads of selfies. The mountain range in front of us held back a bank of cloud that burst above the horizon into the sky like a pure white wave, leading to incredible views. Now and again, the sun would shine through, and illuminate the lake with iridescent hues of blue and green that I tried desperately to capture on film.
After the lake, we hiked much faster back down and pitched our tent. Dinner was our famous brand of practical and surprisingly unappetizing chinese noodles for dinner (light, full of carbs, and taste the same tomorrow as they will in 2063) plus a couple of oreos for dessert.
During the meal, I couldn’t help but worry though. I was nervous, and very carefully broached the subject of whether we felt this hike was doable for the two of us.
Sarah, unfortunately, is an incredible mix of stubborness and boundless talent, meaning that even though she knew she probably shouldn’t do something, she never let that stop her from bullying her way through it anyway. It's a trait that gave me no end of frustration (and immense respect), and I would have argued with her about it more except for the fact that I am exactly the same. Therefore I knew deep down trying to convince her to give up was a lost cause, but I had been bodily threatened by her family (basically along the lines of if I didn’t bring her back to Germany in one piece I could kiss my manhood goodbye) so I felt in the interests of self preservation I might as well give it a try.
But of course, this formidable woman refused to be deterred, and I spent the night thinking about how just how much extra weight I could handle in my already oversized pack to try to lighten her load and mediate some of the strain she would be under.
The next morning was stunning- bright sunshine, and no sign at all of any of the tour groups who we knew would be strung along the trek, who were happily walking along with horses carrying all of their luggage for them. We had no such help, so in the crisp morning air, stopping frequently to simply stare at the majesty of the mountains around us, we packed our gear and began the first section of this incredible hike.
I kept a close eye on Sarah as we started, looking for the signs of altitude sickness (which can be life threatening at its worst) but it seemed she had already begun adapting to the climate, and was much stronger, striding ahead with confidence.
As we wound through the valley towards the massive mountain before us, the distances were incredibly deceptive. The path did not look particularly long or steep, but once we started walking nothing ever seemed to get any closer, and we had had a late start to the day as it was. Despite all of this, we simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have a photoshoot with some locals- a family of Llama who walked alongside us, and with the stunning scenery as a backdrop, the moment seemed to capture the quintessential nature of what it is to trek in Peru. Their long, hauty faces and huge eyes made the family look like upper class aristocrats who had been rudely ejected out onto the street, but with classic british reserve, still knew how to keep a stiff upper lip about the situation.
As we hiked, the path got steeper. Soon we hit crossways; a choice between a long meandering pathway or a swift ascension. I am a well experienced hiker, and I had grown to prefer switchback pathways to the long slow and winding variety, and so I lead the way along with this choice. This meant rapid ascension, but at the cost of massive energy output. It was a difficult decision, as we were both laboring pretty heavily under our huge packs, but were also going to be struggling to complete the hike in the daylight hours considering our late departure. Choosing the switchbacks I led the way, pausing after every few corners to check on Sarah and also gain my breath back. Exercise at this altitude is a strange thing- you can feel the strength in your muscles, and you know that logically that the pack on your back and this climb should not be overly challenging, but each step takes far more effort than you expect it to. It is almost as though the air were made of treakle, and beginning an ascent meant immediately gasping for air and feeling a tremendous burn in your muscles as they struggled to get enough oxygen to remove the lactic acid build up.
But onward we ploughed, distracted thankfully by the immensity of the mountainous landscape. As we rose, moss became the predominant plant life, and nothing but the occasional wild flower and single bird could be seen moving.
The path ascended, straight and steep, with our feet sometimes slipping on the scree. But we are both as stubborn as that chocolate stain you get on your trousers at the movies, and after hours of toil, we finally crested the last rise and looked up onto a view that stole my breath away.
We were at the base of the enormous mountain after which this trek was named- Salkantay. This peak is the king of the Vilcabamba range, and its summit rose another 1800m above us. My altimeter let me know we had climbed to 4900m, and it felt like it.
A bitterly cold wind raced up the valley, helping to maintain the snow that dusted Salkantay’s steep sides, and we could peek into the downward (thank God!) stretch of the next section, which looked as though a giant worm had hollowed out a path through two ranges of mountains, white clouds rising on either side to frame the enormous tunnel.
We ate a quick lunch of avocado, tomato, salami and of course, pan, in the shelter of a little boulder that cut off most of the wind. I was so incredibly proud of Sarah, who, while still suffering under the altitude sickness, didn’t complain at all. I could tell it took a lot out of her though, as she was unusually quiet as we sat to eat. Mind you, it is genuinely difficult to form a full sentence without gasping for breath at this height where the air is so thin, so it was perhaps unsurprising we did not wax lyrical during our lunch.
Not wishing to rest too long in case we cramped up, Sarah and I finished lunch and reluctantly shouldered our burdens once more, beginning the much easier, but in my case far more painful trek down to the next campsite.
I always hated climbing downhill- I could walk uphill all day, even with a heavy pack- my sturdy little hobbit legs had grown well accustomed to it. Unfortunately, due to a very physically demanding youth (motorcycle injuries, martial arts injuries, rugby injuries- you get the idea) my knees and ankles were prone to become painful with the constant shock of going downhill with a pack on my back. To counter this I had developed a kind of downward shuffle run that reduced the impact on my joints. I never lock out my knees but keep them bent to absorb the impact of each step, and maintain a smooth motion. The downside of this is that you have to keep up a kind of constant slow jog- which can be immensely awkward with a huge pack swaying from side to side on your back, and also means I would be constantly drawing far ahead, which was not ideal when you don’t want your partner thinking you had abandoned them in the Peruvian mountains.
I would compromise then by doing my shuffle run for a few minutes, then wait as Sarah caught up. She never liked my downhill run, probably fearful I would break an ankle or something, but to preserve my knees over what was going to be another 10km of hiking, I had little choice.
We started the downward section well, occasionally bumping into one of the other tour based groups, who stared at us with open mouthed shock when they saw the packs we were carrying and (I say proudly) passing these slow pokes as we went. I could hear snippets of conversation as we passed by and a few of them would stop mid-sentence, halfway through describing how impossible this hike was and how fit they were for completing it.
I would just smile, nod, and run-shuffle past, probably doing a fair impression of that junkyard lady from the Labyrinth (remember her?), massive pack swinging happily from side to side as I jogged.
As we went, the miles piled on us, and we gradually slowed down, as aches and pains and oxygen deprivation began to take their toll.
We talked to distract ourselves, about anything and everything that came to mind, from discussing the oddities of my family dynamics (believe it or not, I’m one of the more normal ones in my family tree), to playing mind games like sing a song with the chosen category in it (so any songs that mentioned the colour yellow, or drinking etc). I always won these, and I proudly tried to ignore the fact that Sarah had to do it in her second language.
We kept on keeping on, encouraging one another, but as the day drew to a close my protective ‘school teacher on a field trip’ nature started taking over as I noticed the fading light. It would not be safe to continue this trip in the dark- the rugged path was slippery and full of loose rock and donkey dung, and was a cracked wrist or twisted knee just waiting to happen.
The path then began to slope steeply down, often forcing us to do an undignified bum-shuffle on the loose scree. This became more complicated as we would often have entire droves of donkeys (ha- a drove of donkeys! I love the punny nature of that) crowding up the path towards us. These were the pack animals that carried the luggage of the tour groups we had passed, and were always eager to get home for a sweet nibble of grass, so weren’t delicate about shoving us off the road in order to get home quickly. This was actually a rather dangerous situation as the paths were often very narrow and on one side was a steep drop, sometimes over 100m to a river down below. I would always check our position when I saw these groups heading our way to make sure we weren’t in too much danger of plummeting off the track-side. I would occasionally need to step in front of Sarah to discourage the more bolshy donkeys from shoving her smaller frame right out of the way (which they were more than happy to do- I think the vindictive little bastards looked for an opportunity to get their own back on the creatures that made them carry packs and walk uphill all day).
Finally, having survived umpteen Donkey stampedes, dusty, sore and limping, we turned a corner on the green jungle path to see a fence materialize out of the foliage. Oh dear Lord in heaven, a fence! A fence meant people, and people meant a place to pitch our tent and, more importantly, beer!
We followed the path and quickly came into a little hamlet, not dissimilar to a European mountain village in style, with little double story houses dotted about, bright riots of flowers in gardens out front, and the hurried forms of chickens, puppies and children rushing about, all as dirty and happy as each other.
We bartered a cheap rate to use the showers (very necessary at this point!) and one of the lean-to’s they had set up for el-cheapo's like ourselves who brought a tent. Sarah had lost a bet about something (this was such a rare occurrence that I’ve forgotten what it was about) so I even got to have a nice dark beer bought for me. It was a favourite brand we had discovered in Peru called Cusquena and tasted heavenly.
From our tent site we had a beautiful view down into a gorgeous green valley and spent a very pleasant evening cooking up our noodles and periodically chasing one particular puppy who thought it was a hilarious game to come and steal something we were using and run off around the camp with it, making me chase him on my very weary legs, a big smile plastered on my face.
After a restful night, which was still incredibly cold being at such an altitude, we packed up and undertook the next section of the trek, which was into the peruvian jungle. It took us some time to find the path, and we watched a little wistfully as all the tourists bundled themselves into vans (looking annoyingly fresh) and took the road parallel to our dirt pathway. After an hour or so though, I was so pleased we had taken this ‘road less traveled’, as it really was an adventurous trail. We walked on gradually sloping pathways which wound their way up and down next to the river, the sound of its powerful waters a constant companion.
As we walked I noticed there were, curiously, numerous lemon trees planted by the locals adorning the sides of the path. This is not as strange as it sounds though, as I have never seen the plethora of fruit available in Peru (which you can buy for next to nothing) in any other country. In fact there is a wonderful tradition in the towns that you can choose a fruit drink, which will be a mix of any fruit you can imagine, blended together with milk or water, and given in a huge glass for about $2. If you finish this gargantuan drink, they will refill it free of charge! We had an absolute ball choosing strawberries and watermelon and peaches and innumerable fruits we had never seen before when we were in the cities. Try it if you get the chance!
Also on our way we met gorgeous waterfalls cascading down to meet the river, which made for some tricky crossings with our big packs. By lunchtime we found a pretty little abandoned shack to sit in as it had just started raining. This was a big surprise as I had been told by everyone that Peru was just always wet- warm, perhaps, but wet. We were essentially walking through the rain forest so the fact this was our first shower was remarkable.
We sat under the shelter, cooking up coffee and our trusted avocado and tomato sandwiches, joined by a bolshy brood of chickens who, despite looking pretty scraggly, turned their noses up at our offerings of sausage and tomato.
When the rain dissipated a little, we heaved those packs (which by now were starting to hurt, digging into my hip and chafing in uncomfortable places) back on and continued.
The next section was rather dangerous, and the threats of bodily harm to my person from Sarah’s family rang through my mind as I tried to make sure she didn’t end up sliding off the slips that we had to get across. These were enormous earth slips that had taken swaths of the jungle with them into the river, leaving us no option but to carefully shuffle across the loose stones and earth that was all that was left of the pathway. It required nerves of steel and good balance to navigate, and both of us were sweating after making it across a slip that was at least 60m wide.
(one of the less threatening slips)
But, we were nothing if not stubborn, and traverse it we did, being rewarded by stunning views of the valley we had almost reached the bottom of.
Eventually, we wandered into a village which was reported to provide transport to St Theresa, the town we had begun our journey from. St Theresa was also famous for having hot pools, and we hoped we could enjoy a relaxing dip as a reward for the effort placed into the trek thus far, and help heal up tired muscles in preparation for the final day of trekking to Machu Picchu.
Sarah once again demonstrated her negotiation skills, bartering us down from a horrendous price for a van ride to the city in question, and after a butt-clenchingly hectic road trip over a one way dirt trail that barely qualified as a road, we made it back to the corolla central of Peru. I had loved the trip thus far but with sore legs and rubbed raw skin, I was more than ready to heal up in a rejuvenating hot spring before our final ascent. Bring on the 14 year old dream of machu Picchu!!
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