27–29
May
We were duped with the
whole trekking to Machu Picchu thing. Mainly because we didn’t actually trek
there. Nope. We trekked in a big, fat circle over three days. It was a
fantastic experience, sure. It just wasn’t quite what we had in mind when the
travel agent said that the Lares Trail was an alternative to the Inca trail. It
wasn’t like tossing up between taking Plenty Road or the Eastern Freeway via
Heidelberg to get to the city from our place. No, it was more like trekking Plenty Road
to the city versus hiking along Diamond Creek Road for 20 km, then turning back towards Greensborough to get the train into the city instead. But more hilly. And with
fewer hoons.
The trek started at some
hot springs, where we got to know our new tour group (our normal tour group had split up for the
trails/staying in Cusco). The new, trekking group included a couple of Australian
girls from our normal tour group, some English brothers, a guy from London
and another from Bristol, a German guy and girl, a girl from California, two guides
(Edith and Jesus – at least God was with us on this road…), two cooks, and a
porter who reputedly ran the Inca trail in three and a half hours. (Is that
even humanly possible?)
Truthfully, the hot
springs were pretty gross – nothing on those in the Colca Canyon. We stayed in
the relatively clean, warm one (the hot one being too hot), and watched with
amusement as the English guys tried and failed to hit on the oblivious American and German girls.
After lunch, we started our trek from the springs. That first day we walked four hours, a lot of it uphill, stopping regularly for snacks and rests. The second day was a gruelling eight hours of trekking and breathtaking scenery, and the third a much more reasonable three hours with a good break in the middle.
The path ranged from wide
dirt roads on sparsely covered mountain ridges to narrow, almost non-existent
paths on hillsides, shrouded with bushes that you had to push past. The trek went
up and down the mountains, sometimes very steeply, sometimes very level, and
crossed over fields, rivers and streams.
I found walking at that
high altitude quite hard, especially on day two when we reached 4600 metres
above sea level (the highest point of the trek). I mostly kept a slow pace
towards the back of the group with the American and German girls and one of the
English guys (a really nice bloke, but the epitome of a whinging pom. The poor
guy was so ill prepared for the hike. He hadn’t even bought any snacks for the
three-day hike, bless the one pair of cotton socks he did bring!). About half way through day two, the
guides popped my and the American and German girls’ day packs onto a lovely,
chatty donkey/mule, who had been conscripted in case someone needed a ride.
This made our trek a bit easier, thank goodness. The English guy was as stubborn
as he was whingy, and insisted on carrying his day pack, despite looking and
sounding like he was on a death march as he trailed behind us.
In good news, Chris
stepped up and took the hike all in his stride (boom tish!). I think the drugs
he was taking for his chest infection helped. We both had a touch of a cold as
well at this stage, which didn’t help, and probably contributed to several
blood noses.
Along the way, we parted
with some of the ‘treats’ we’d brought along for the local families, including
bread and fruit. As we walked, Peruvian kids would rush over to us
(probably knowing they’d get presents), and although they were quite shy, they
were very polite and always said thank you. Sometimes they’d play football with
the boys or chat with the guides, and let us take their photo. They were
beautiful children, with gorgeous smiles. But clearly very, very poor, with
threadbare, worn clothing and quite dirty and snotty.
We passed locals walking
their horses, llamas and sheep along the path. They wore traditional clothes – and
sandals of all things. Their feet were black as coal, their skin weathered and
worn, wrinkled and dry. But they always smiled and nodded. We also passed some
entrepreneurial local women and children, selling snacks and drinks, and
knitted goodies (like bracelets, socks and scarves) along the way.
The landscape was
gorgeous and so peaceful. We were surrounded by, and followed, endless rugged
mountain ranges, topped with snow and ice, frozen rivers and the occasional
glacier. Lower down, the land turned more lush green, rippled in little hills, with
stone walls forming rough fields filled with llamas, sheep, cows, horses and
pigs. At the bottom of the valley, there was a river that
rushed over and around stones and boulders. It occasionally formed a little lake, around which a village was built. These villages (usually only a handful of buildings) and other farmhouses were all built from stone. It was all extremely picturesque.
The microclimates were
quite obvious along the way. The first day or so, the valley was wide, with few
trees, and so was much colder. The second day or so, we walked through a narrow
valley, which had much more vegetation and so was much warmer. As we walked down and out of it, the
bushes and trees became denser, and it felt almost tropical.
Sometimes sheep or
llamas would start following us as we walked, and the guides would shoo
them back. We also attracted a few local dogs, who followed us almost
protectively. I nicknamed the one who was with us the longest ‘the Watcher’.
The Watcher was a young dog, maybe not even a year old, and a beautiful creamy
orangey colour. She/He was very friendly, alert and watchful, following us most
of the time and stopping when we stopped for a break (when I’d feed her/him my
sandwiches and food scraps). If The Watcher went on ahead, she/he would stop
occasionally to check if we were still following. It reminded me of my
brother’s working dogs, rounding up sheep. I thought The Watcher was one of the
crew’s dogs, but they said no, she/he just lived in the mountains and protected
the sheep, llamas and alpacas from foxes. Maybe she/he thought we were a
strange new alpaca breed?
We were very lucky with
the weather. Even though the nights were very cold, as soon as the sun rose and
we started walking, it soon warmed up and we were stripping off to singlets and
shorts. The skies were clear blue, with white fluffy clouds. There was a touch
of rain on the last day, but it soon passed, and we enjoyed our farewell lunch
in the sunshine, wearing hats and sunscreen.
At one of our first rest
stops, the guides talked us through a ceremony, in which we were given Quechan
names (mine was Chaska, meaning star, and Chris’ was Waka Mayu, meaning sacred
river). We all paid our respects to the mountains with coca leaves and asked
for safe passage from Pacha mama (Mother Earth). It might have been touristy
hogwash, but it was also quite nice.
The guides gave us
lots of information about the Incas and Peruvian history along the way, but I
was usually too busy inspecting the local plants to pay much attention. I liked
looking out for wild muna (mint-thyme) and other herbs I’d started to recognise
and sniff and nibble on along the way.
Each evening when we
reached our campsite, we were lucky enough for everything to be set up waiting
for us. The porters and cooks had pitched our tents and had hot water, tea and
nibbles waiting for us. This was handy, because it was usually getting pretty
chilly by that stage (around three or four degrees celcius at sunset), and the
sun was setting. We’d wash, put on warmer clothes and pull out something to do
or drink before dinner. Dinners were delicious, usually a vegetable-based soup,
then a vegetable curry or stir fry with rice, and cups of tea and coffee to finish.
The first night, we
camped at 3700 metres above sea level. It was ridiculously cold overnight,
around minus 10 or 15 degrees celcius, Jesus said. No one slept well. We couldn’t get
comfortable or warm in the tent, despite wearing everything we had brought with
us. In the morning, everything was covered with a layer of ice. Thankfully the
second camp was more sheltered, despite being at 4100 metres above sea level,
so it only reached about minus five degrees celcius. We still awoke to ice and
a chill in the morning though.
At least the morning routine made
the early, freezing starts easier. Jesus woke us with cups of coca tea
and the porter left hot water for washing outside our tents. Chris and I would get up
straight away, wash and dress, unwrap our electrical items and put batteries
back in them (at night we wrapped them in whatever we weren't wearing, then tucked them into our sleeping bags to keep them
warm overnight, otherwise they’d go flat and break in the freezing
temperatures), pack our things and head out for breakfast. We were served delicious quinoa porridge, pancakes with caramel sauce (poured to spell out Peruvian animal names!), hot rolls with jam and honey, omelettes, tea and hot chocolate.
On the second day, we
started with a visit to a local home and met the residents. As a thank you, we
gave the family a bag of groceries our group had bought at the market, including things
like noodles, rice, sugar, tinned milk, tinned tuna. It didn’t really seem
enough.
The family live in very
basic, poor conditions. The home is one big room in different sections (how I
imagine people used to live in the very olden days, especially in rural areas).
In one corner, was a quite dirty, shabby, hard-looking bed in which four people
sleep. It was basically a platform of wood covered in llama and other
skins that they used as mattresses and blankets. The family’s guinea pigs lived
under the bed. The room was lit by one electric light globe, which didn’t
really provide any substantial or effective lighting – it was very dim and
gloomy inside.
The kitchen area on the
other side of the room consisted of two stoves – one the lady built and used,
and a ‘nicer’ one the government gave the family to use (but they didn’t use it
because the older one still worked fine). The government provided the new stoves
to try to reduce smoke-induced illness in the people, but it can’t make them
use them. The old stove clearly doesn’t remove the smoke from the house, and
the house fills with smoke – the roof and walls, and everything inside them,
are stained charcoal.
When we eventually
reached the highest point of our trek (a fearful 4600 metres above sea level),
we stopped on top of the mountain and had a little celebration. The weather was
perfect for it – a cool breeze, but warm sun and clear blue skies, with the odd
bit of white fluff drifting across the rugged mountain tops around us. There
was a huge lake on the other side of the ridge we’d climbed up, with llamas and
other animals wandering around it. Edith fed us each some rum (well, the breeze
was very cool) and thanked us for our efforts (I imagine she meant for the lack
of medical emergencies and her not having to whip out the oxygen tanks, which she
had only just admitted to carrying with her). We thanked Edith and the mountain
for our safe passage, then congratulated and hugged each other, rubbing petals
from local flowers that Edith had given us into each others’ hair, as she
directed. She told us to stop and acknowledge where we were and what we’d
achieved, so that we remembered it when we got back to work. We had a group
photo and yelled out ‘Freedom!', as you do, before making our way down the other side of
the mountain to the lake for rest, tea and a huge lunch.
On the third and final
morning, we started very early, when the sun was only just rising and it was
still icy cold. We were all rugged up in beanies, scarves, coats, gloves and
long pants. But after a brief spatter of rain, by the time we reached the end of our trek at lunch time, we had
stripped down to singlets and shorts, and put sun hats on.
Our final lunch break was
spent lolling around on a grassy lawn at a home slash trout farm. We napped and
chatted and played with the dogs and chickens, while the mozzies had a good
meal off us. While we’d meandered down the hill, the crew had arrived earlier,
and had laid out all the tents and equipment to dry in the sun and set up for
lunch. The cooks had prepared a feast for our last meal together, with rice and
vegetables, chicken, eggplant chips, yucca, coleslaw, and pumpkin stew with cheese. To
top it off was a banana cake with thick, creamy, blue and
white icing with 'Happy honeymoon!' written on it in caramel for Chris and I! The head chef had got up at 3am to
start baking it, bless him. It was delicious – so moist and pretty, especially
considering the conditions he’d cooked it in.
As I have a tendency to
do, I made friends with the local cats. One in particular, Gringo, a pretty,
white fluffy cat with gold-coloured eyes, took a liking to me. This may be
because I shared our food with her... she particularly liked the chicken (from
Edith’s plate), coleslaw, cheese and icing. During lunch, Gringo sat
on one of the spare chairs at the table, paws on the table, looking to see what
was on offer, waiting (im)patiently for food and a pat (just like Bella does at
home). Cheeky mitty! After I snuck her some treats under the table, she was soon on my lap, licking icing off my fingers
and nuzzling in for a kiss, all the while purring contentedly while I scratched
her ear.
When it was time to go,
we thanked the crew and guides, leaving them with our leftover coca leaves,
fruit, bread and some money/tips. We had a farewell ceremony, stating our
Quechuan names and origin (Waka Wasi – the local mountain), and our real names
and origins (Melbourne). We dropped the horsemen, cooks and porter at the bottom
of the hill to get a bus home and said goodbye to our guides at the train
station. Then we got a rather posh, glass-roofed train from Ollayantambo to
Machu Picchu, admiring the scenery along the way. We passed through the bottom
of a valley, alongside a river, through very tropical vegetation consisting of
tall trees, thick vines and glossy bushes, and with scary cliffs towering over us.
Machu Picchi town is humid and tropical (although not as much as in the Amazon). Dennis met us
at the station and took us to the hotel (quite nice), where after a brief issue
with the shower curtain (I broke it), we had hot(!) showers and rested, before
meeting some of our original tour group for tea (the rest were hiking the real Incan
trail and would meet us in the morning at the ruins). Over expensive (but
delicious) mojitos and burritos (for me), beer and pizza (for Chris), the group shared
its respective stories from the past few days. Chris and I were pretty exhausted, so headed back to the hotel for our first sleep in a warm, comfortable
bed in what felt like weeks.
As a side, in our
exhaustion, we thought Machu Picchu looked like quite a pretty town, and rather interesting. It’s a shame we didn’t have more time there to explore.
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