The tour group split up as we left Cusco. Those who booked early enough (myself included) had one of the limited permits for the classic Inca Trail. The others would still end at Machu Picchu, but via the alternative Quarry Trail.
The Inca trail begins with a passport check and requires a tour leader (not Leo in this case). A small army of porters (around 2 per person) is the standard, plus a chef for each group.
Once our paperwork was done, we crossed a bridge over a river valley. The bridge signified that a filter was now applied to separate the type of tourist that can forego a hot shower for 4 days.
The terrain begins as loose rock and dry, compacted earth. There's a lot of shit to see, such as horse and donkey poo, which isn't mentioned in the brochure. There sure is a lot of it, which warrants slight concern because boots are to be kept in tents later. These pack animals are to service several small villages that border the trail on day 1. At these places, practical food and drink are available instead of the usual trinkets.
The incline is only gradual, although the elevation begins at around 2500 metres. There was only one relatively steep section on this day.
On the other side of the valley, the roofless stone walls of ancient ruins were visible near many terraces used for agriculture.
In the almost graspable distance, snow-capped mountain peaks.
This first day of the trail was the anniversary of my dad's last. I wanted to spend some time walking alone, but that was difficult due to the congested trekker traffic and the cling-on nature of one particular tour member. As the day stretched on, the crowd thinned, but it was still quite populated. I had read in the Lonely Planet guide that the Inca trail "was being loved to death". I could see how.
Back in Perth at the travel doctor, I had declined the suggested pharmaceutical for altitude, and was instead testing three natural adaptagens - coca leaf tea (widely promoted to tourists here and tastes good, but unlikely to do anything without an alkaline catalyst), maca (a powdered root vegetable), and an extract of the cordyceps sinensis mushroom, which just happens to be a fungus that grows on a caterpillar (via Shroom Tech Sport).
Around 2pm we arrived at the site for lunch, where our team of porters had set up a large tent with tables and chairs for a highly appreciated two-course meal.
After a few more hours walking, we arrived at the established campsite. For this to happen, the porters cleaned up and packed up after lunch, donned their mini-fridge-sized backpacks, overtook us at a running pace and then set up base camp. They were cheery too with an applause for each arrival. I was truly impressed.
Day 2 of the trail was characterised by the steepest, longest climb. The landscape became a greener forrest, with more humidity and moss on rocks.
Then the terrain changed again while passing the tree line. Then I was above the clouds.
I enjoyed the uphill battle as my breathing had mostly acclimatised and it had been too long since I'd earned a sweat. I think my extra few days in the Bolivian highlands had helped. That, and hindu squats. The summit was at 4200 to a place known as Dead Woman's Pass.
From this mountain top came the steep downhill descent to the river. Full concentration was required as a few of my knee stabilising muscles and ligaments are still in rehab. My pace was a little slower allowing cling-on to catch up. Hints weren't working and I'd already decided not to be rude. I just wanted to create the illusion of no one in front or behind. To cast but one shadow. He was stepping-stone jumping his time between me and a girl he was trying to woo through verbal attrition, so there were at least moments where it was just the sounds of my breathing and the changing environment.
The people native to the Andes mountains have a short, stocky build with large, barrel chests. A study determined that this is not genetic, but environmental in order to accomodate larger organs (especially lungs) to make use of the thinner oxygen. A finding that caught my attention is that they have an extra litre of blood. I was going to write something here about bloated vampires or maybe spectacular sacrifices, and, I guess I just did.
Some settlement ruins we visited, but many were just background scenery. The rock clad skeletons of a distant past.
Back on the topic of poo (I'm just calling it as I see it) - it seems that squat toilet maintenance thins out the further we get along the trail. As far as I could tell, the extent of a cleaning routine was via number 1's. I passed Steve on the way to the toilet block as he was returning. "That's fucking sick man. That's fucking sick." Haha. At night, you do not want to drop your torch, but you barely want to use it either.
Before dinner, I noticed that the porter who was also the waiter was carefully folding another new serviette design for this meal. The porters took their individual roles seriously at camp. I used some Spanish to ask his name (Marcus) and introduce myself. Instant BFF.
The meal was once again delicious and now the group was exhausted, so we retired to our tents without much delay.
It started raining shortly after I went to bed. I easily fell asleep to the loved sound of cold raindrops hitting my warm, waterproof tent...
The Inca trail begins with a passport check and requires a tour leader (not Leo in this case). A small army of porters (around 2 per person) is the standard, plus a chef for each group.
Once our paperwork was done, we crossed a bridge over a river valley. The bridge signified that a filter was now applied to separate the type of tourist that can forego a hot shower for 4 days.
The terrain begins as loose rock and dry, compacted earth. There's a lot of shit to see, such as horse and donkey poo, which isn't mentioned in the brochure. There sure is a lot of it, which warrants slight concern because boots are to be kept in tents later. These pack animals are to service several small villages that border the trail on day 1. At these places, practical food and drink are available instead of the usual trinkets.
The incline is only gradual, although the elevation begins at around 2500 metres. There was only one relatively steep section on this day.
On the other side of the valley, the roofless stone walls of ancient ruins were visible near many terraces used for agriculture.
In the almost graspable distance, snow-capped mountain peaks.
This first day of the trail was the anniversary of my dad's last. I wanted to spend some time walking alone, but that was difficult due to the congested trekker traffic and the cling-on nature of one particular tour member. As the day stretched on, the crowd thinned, but it was still quite populated. I had read in the Lonely Planet guide that the Inca trail "was being loved to death". I could see how.
Back in Perth at the travel doctor, I had declined the suggested pharmaceutical for altitude, and was instead testing three natural adaptagens - coca leaf tea (widely promoted to tourists here and tastes good, but unlikely to do anything without an alkaline catalyst), maca (a powdered root vegetable), and an extract of the cordyceps sinensis mushroom, which just happens to be a fungus that grows on a caterpillar (via Shroom Tech Sport).
Around 2pm we arrived at the site for lunch, where our team of porters had set up a large tent with tables and chairs for a highly appreciated two-course meal.
After a few more hours walking, we arrived at the established campsite. For this to happen, the porters cleaned up and packed up after lunch, donned their mini-fridge-sized backpacks, overtook us at a running pace and then set up base camp. They were cheery too with an applause for each arrival. I was truly impressed.
Day 2 of the trail was characterised by the steepest, longest climb. The landscape became a greener forrest, with more humidity and moss on rocks.
Then the terrain changed again while passing the tree line. Then I was above the clouds.
I enjoyed the uphill battle as my breathing had mostly acclimatised and it had been too long since I'd earned a sweat. I think my extra few days in the Bolivian highlands had helped. That, and hindu squats. The summit was at 4200 to a place known as Dead Woman's Pass.
From this mountain top came the steep downhill descent to the river. Full concentration was required as a few of my knee stabilising muscles and ligaments are still in rehab. My pace was a little slower allowing cling-on to catch up. Hints weren't working and I'd already decided not to be rude. I just wanted to create the illusion of no one in front or behind. To cast but one shadow. He was stepping-stone jumping his time between me and a girl he was trying to woo through verbal attrition, so there were at least moments where it was just the sounds of my breathing and the changing environment.
The people native to the Andes mountains have a short, stocky build with large, barrel chests. A study determined that this is not genetic, but environmental in order to accomodate larger organs (especially lungs) to make use of the thinner oxygen. A finding that caught my attention is that they have an extra litre of blood. I was going to write something here about bloated vampires or maybe spectacular sacrifices, and, I guess I just did.
Some settlement ruins we visited, but many were just background scenery. The rock clad skeletons of a distant past.
Back on the topic of poo (I'm just calling it as I see it) - it seems that squat toilet maintenance thins out the further we get along the trail. As far as I could tell, the extent of a cleaning routine was via number 1's. I passed Steve on the way to the toilet block as he was returning. "That's fucking sick man. That's fucking sick." Haha. At night, you do not want to drop your torch, but you barely want to use it either.
Before dinner, I noticed that the porter who was also the waiter was carefully folding another new serviette design for this meal. The porters took their individual roles seriously at camp. I used some Spanish to ask his name (Marcus) and introduce myself. Instant BFF.
The meal was once again delicious and now the group was exhausted, so we retired to our tents without much delay.
It started raining shortly after I went to bed. I easily fell asleep to the loved sound of cold raindrops hitting my warm, waterproof tent...
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