The search for love and sleep on the Inka Trail
From Our Adventures in Machu Picchu, Peru on Apr 30 '07
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Taking the advice from our Lonely Planet guide book (mistake), we decided to have a final supper on the eve of our four day trek through the Andes, which would eventually lead us to the sacred archeological site of Machu Picchu. We walked into the dining establishment and had trouble reading the Spanish menu, but felt confident that we knew what we had ordered. Apparently we still need some refresher Spanish courses, for I ordered the Mad Cow diseased cheeseburger and Anne ordered the E-Coli burrito, stuffed with Salmonella-laced beans. After consumption of such meals, we walked back to our room and began the long and arduous process of purging. Needless to say, we didn´t sleep all night, and by morning, I was trembling with my newfound exhaustion and dehydration. ·SKIP TO NEXT PARAGRAPH IF YOU´RE SENSITIVE· Pika on the other hand, had small bruising under her eyes from the multiple violent rounds of retching, and when she blew her nose the next morning, two beans from the previous night´s burrito had made their way through her sinuses and on to the Kleenex. This both left us feeling that we should without-a-doubt, cancel our Inca Trail trip; something we had looked forward to for a long time.
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Unfortunately the cancelation policy leaves you high-and-dry, stating that according to "government regulations", they are unable to give any refunds. Feeling that our bodies had no more digestive matter to give to the porcelain gods, we decided not to cancel our prepaid trek on the Inca Trail and suffer any consequences from our split-second decision. It was a large and calculated risk, as we both possessed the energy level and enthusiasm to that of a three-toed sloth, but soon all would be forgotten as the bus picked us up and ventured to the trailhead, where we completed the introductions with the rest of our expedition team.
Well, I haven´t had a drink in eight days
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Our group consisted of us, a dating British couple in their mid to upper twenties (more on them later), and four Brazilians in their early 40´s that looked more as if they were on their way to a golf outing than a four day trek through the Andes. The Brazilian men wore sporty Nike wind-breakers, while the women donned full jewelry, makeup, and from the smell of it, had applied their perfume with a fire hose. Additionally, they were a loud, even borderline obnoxious, group of South Americans that had not yet mastered the volume controls of their voicebox. They were nice however, and surprisingly held their own when hiking on the trails. And before I forget, our group included a tour guide, and 12, yes 12, porters who would carry the food, camping supplies, and the other essentials that we all needed to survive in the heart of the Andes landscape. Rented slaves would best describe the work they endure.
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The Inca Trail tour that we booked would span four days and three nights, taking us through a varied set of topography that was rugged, scenic, and at times, challenging. The best way to describe the region is to imagine the Grand Tetons of Wyoming mating with the rolling green hills of New Zealand, producing a wild child that is unlike anything we have ever seen. All together, the scenic and diversified trail that we would be trekking is approximately 30 miles long and has three separate summiting points with approximate altitudes of 14000, 13000, and 12000 respectively. On a busy day, 200 adventure seekers start their Inca Trail journey, accompanied by 300 porters and tour guides. It´s quite an operation.
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Day 1: With continued trembling and zero energy from our depleted bodies, Pika and I started off on an approximate 8 mile hike, that had a gradual incline of about 1000 feet. Not too difficult had we remained healthy the night before, but still tiring nonetheless from our unexpected weight loss. We passed through a more arid region that contained several species of cactus, and soon made our way to camp where a small row of two-man tents were perched, dividing two barbwired enclosures that contained varying livestock. Just down in the valley, there was a white-water induced river that I presumed would aid in us finally getting some well-needed rest. Ya right. Everything was going as planned until two retarded mules started bellowing their affections for each other at the opposite enclosures that we now divided. This went through the entire night. Hee Haw from one side, followed by a screeching love cry on the other, made peaceful resting a forgone conclusion. And so my sleepless night went...
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Day 2: Possibly the most aggressive portion of the Inca Trail rests with day 2. It´s here where you ascend over 4000 vertical feet, via stone steps versus the traditional switchback that are much easier, and arrive at the highest point of the trail; Dead Woman´s Pass (not because some woman died here, but because the silhouette of the adjacent peak looks somewhat like a dead woman--truth be told, it really doesn´t). Anne and I summited in unison with the Brits and waited for the Brazilians, knowing exactly where they were the entire time with the sounds of their elevated voices echoing off the granite walls and peaks, which incidentally, rose a strong 1000 feet above us. Soon our entire party was at the summit pass, where our guide had to administer oxygen to one of the panting Brazilians. With his health restored, and our guide´s altimeter registering 13,936 feet, we snapped some quick shots and headed for camp 2 that was 2000 feet below us. With a hike that started at 8 am and ended just shy of 5 pm, everyone wolfed down dinner and were to bed by 8 pm. The tents, whose size were more appropriately suited for small children or midgets, were set atop what felt to be a broken and uneven concrete pad. I closed my eyes, listening to an unidentifiable creature whose sound seemed to be a cross between a bullfrog and blue jay, trying to rest from the day´s activity without success. And so my sleepless night went...
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Day 3: Although the day called for two summit assaults, things were starting to go our way. Both Anne and I had turned the corner on our prior ailments, actually keeping some food in our system which aided us climbing the two peaks, which were at 13K and 12K. And like the previous two days, we did some additional exploration of some ruins located on the trail that were used by the Inca´s as rest stops during their pilgrimage towards Machu Picchu. By 4:30, everyone in our group had made camp and started celebrating, for the vast majority of the challenging terrain had been conquered. The Brazilians immediately put down several beers and bottles of wine, with the Brits following suit. I decided to stick to water, opting to rehydrate myself from the physical activities, and of course, Lonely Planet´s dining recommendation. And then my worst nightmare came to fruition...one of the Brazilians held their cell phones to the heavens and determined they had coverage. They all ran to their tents and quickly dialed home-apparently to their kids that were hearing impaired-and shouted their accomplishments of the past three days. It was now that I contemplated turning Van Gogh-squared, imagining if I could cut both my ears off because of this new and grueling torture in which I title: "The Inebriated Brazilian Cell Phone User". Just then, it began to turn dark and rain, forcing all the couples into their dwarf-stricken tents and rest for the 4 am wakeup call to see Machu Picchu sunrise.
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Day 3, now night, continued: Would this be the night where I actually slept?...What do you think? Well, as soon as the Brazilians hit the sack, their drunken state produced a head back, mouth open, uvula-girating snore that would keep a Koala awake. If that didn´t take, the Brits had a prolonged argument about who got to drink the last of their beers. I just laid there with my eyes open, that now felt like they were being introduced to hot molten lava, thinking how great it would be to have a room at the Loki Hostel. And then, the unimaginable happened. Somewhere between the Brazilian´s nasal quartet, arose a sound that was quite perplexing. Forgetting that the two person economy nylon tent does not come with sound proof walls, the Brit´s domestic argument turned into a heated bout of passion, lasting exactly 9 minutes and 8 seconds. Unbelievable. Far more disturbing was at the completion of their romantic interlude, when the man broke a thunderous wind. Was this a new conclusion to love making that I was unaware of, say like smoking a cigarette or cuddling? Maybe the male Brits know something that their US counterparts are unaware of. I´ll have to do some research on this and get back to you for I am still overwhelmed with shock at the entire night´s activities. Bizarre to the extreme. And so my sleepless night went...
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Day 4: Starting out with a wakeup call at 4 am, day four lead us along a short three mile trail so we could catch Machu Picchu at sunrise, at an ill-appropriately named place called Sun Gate. As this lookout area was completely engrossed by a morning fog, we continued down the trail to Machu Picchu, where the low level moisture finally broke apart and lifted, giving us a jaw-dropping view of the area. And there it was. For someone that is not too entertained by archeological ruins, Machu Picchu was extraordinary. The sanctuary is set at about 8000 feet and is engulfed by towering green peaks on every side. Our entire group toured the grounds and then split off by couples for further exploration. Deciding that we had too much energy on reserve from our four day trek through the Andes, the Brits and us decided to climb Wayna Picchu which is the pyramid-shaped mountain adjacent to the ruins and is seen on every postcard photo of the site. And if it looks like Wayna Picchu is too steep to climb, well, it probably is. There were times when we were on all fours, hugging the steps that zigzag up the side of sheer mountain face. (see photo of Machu Picchu from above)
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There you have it. Proving once again that Plan B´s rewards have far outweighed the costs. Trekking through the Andes, visiting ruins that are over 500 years old, and trying to sleep within 2 feet of someone having sex, albeit with two nylon walls inbetween, is something that we would have never experienced had we stuck to the corporate world.
Well, I haven´t had a drink in eight days and there are four Brazilians, two Brits, and one Pika, waiting for me at the local pub. Time to hang out with my new friends.
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bkh
p.s. The word "Inka" in the title was intentionally spelled this way. This is in recognition of Peruvian spelling.
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