The Trail
The Passes
The two passes we hit were the Pucakasa Pass at 4300 meters and the Kachiqita Pass at 4400 metres, but our campsites were a mere 3680 and 3600 metres. The nights were see-your-breath-cold, and despite the fact that I had a "minus-five-according-to-the-Peruvians" sleeping bag, and despite the fact that I was wearing thermal underwear, two sweaters, alpaca socks and my Canadian Tire silver survival suit, I still froze my ass off (an expression I fully understand now. Literally.) I did not sleep a wink, but daydreamed and cursed my awesome, sweat-inducing MEC sleeping bag, lost somewhere in the mountains of Swaziland.
The Food
Chemical Toilets
Altitude pills
Initially, I was popping these Sorochi pills every 8 hours to try to combat altitude sickness. As we climbed from coastal Lima towards the Andes, finally reaching Cusco at 3400 metres, I could really feel the headaches. Like a vise grip on the skull. The shortness of breath wasn't nearly as bad. Despite being trainer-less for over a year, I think all those times my trainer made me run up and down flights of stairs must have done something for me. I switched the Sorochi pills up for some glucose sucky lozenges that are supposed to be more natural, and then upon my Guide Tomy's advice, reverted back to just downing 3 litres of water a day, and the headaches completely disappeared. That said, on Day Three of the Hike, Sonia and I separated from the others, and got a wee bit lost in the rain. We headed toward one of the ruins, figuring our campsites were usually close to some archaeological site, when we saw our companions, one of them on a rescue horse, heading down the other path, far in the distance. We were sopping wet by that point (I had forgotten to pack my damn Rain poncho) and whether it was the lack of insulation in my sleeping bag, eating those salads at the 11-sol fried chicken place on Angamos Street, back in Lima, or hiking in the rain for three hours followed by trying to dry off like a one-legged dog inside the tent, when I got back that night, things were not looking good, health-wise. The five o'clock wake-up call with the Hot Mate Tea on the final morning of our hike left me feeling dizzy and spirally, and things just got worse from there. Hiking down to Ollantaytambo, everyone was fascinated by the skeletal remains tucked into rock-strewn cubby holes in the mountain and fetal-positioned skeletons, looking like they were stargazing from their stone shrines. I was busy looking for shrubbery to throw up in, and pretty much christened the entire last section of the Socma-Kachiqata with the ghosts of meals past.
The IV
That night in Aguas Calientes, I discovered the true meaning of bone-chilling cold. Despite the multitudinous layers of blankets, sweaters and thermals, (my Diablo Balaclava and gloves notwithstanding), I could not stop shaking, or keep even Gatorade down. My Tour Leader, Ollie ended up calling in the Doctor and Nurse when I started hallucinating about snakes, and they hooked me up to an IV right inside my hotel room. New experience. Can't say I enjoyed the sensation of having a needle skewered into my bony hand. Or the feeling of a thousand ants sandpapering across my skin as the meds plummeted into my bloodstream. Even weirder was that I paid the doctor in cash (100 dollars) under the table, literally, at a restaurant in Agua Calientes the next day. The main thing though, was that I was able to visit Machu Picchu. I was intending to wake up at 3 a.m. and queue up to hike Wynu Picchu to the top. But that didn't happen. I even missed the 6 a.m. trip with my Inca Guide, Tomy. Luckily, my Trip Leader, Ollie, knows all there is to know about Machu Picchu, and took me on a private tour at 8.
Though most people know the route to Macchu Picchi as being the incredibly popular and populated Inca Trail, the trail I was on was actually the Socma-Kachiqata Trail. But who's going to remember that? This is basically a new trail of which the guys at Intepid are doing a recon. They tell us it's been hiked before but our group of four hikers was the only group of hikers on the trail, so it's quite possible we were the recon. It is a cool trail, full of divergent scenery, terraces, small villages, and Incan ruins. The trails twist and zigzag along the mountainside. We encountered little kids all along the route, cute little imps with chapped cheeks and runny noses. Though we aren't supposed to give them gifts, we did end up giving them snacks of saltines and apples and I squirted sunblock for them to rub on their cheeks, because they seemed to get a kick out of that. They didn't really know what it was though, and one little guy rubbed it all over his face, eyes and mouth, lathering it up like soap! I met a pair of brothers on the hill and though the older brother chatted with me in Spanish, the little guy was mute. I said to the older sibling, "This one doesn't talk yet, then?" to which the little brother burst out in an animated natter of Quechua.
The Passes
The two passes we hit were the Pucakasa Pass at 4300 meters and the Kachiqita Pass at 4400 metres, but our campsites were a mere 3680 and 3600 metres. The nights were see-your-breath-cold, and despite the fact that I had a "minus-five-according-to-the-Peruvians" sleeping bag, and despite the fact that I was wearing thermal underwear, two sweaters, alpaca socks and my Canadian Tire silver survival suit, I still froze my ass off (an expression I fully understand now. Literally.) I did not sleep a wink, but daydreamed and cursed my awesome, sweat-inducing MEC sleeping bag, lost somewhere in the mountains of Swaziland.
The Food
When we think of camping in Canadian terms, we picture frankfurters with baked beans, and sealed silver tins with forgotten can openers on the kitchen counter back home. On this Intrepid Trek, we literally had 3 course meals. Our porters, replete with little Chef's Caps and aprons, would present us with hot mate de Coca or Chicha (this yummy, hot fermented corn drink) with bowls of popcorn and plates of crackers while we played the cardgame Shithead and warmed up. That would usually be followed by some appetizer like a steaming soup or tortilla chips with guacamole. The main course was ample, with rice or potatoes accompanied by a traditional Peruvian dish like lomo saltado (succulent, juicy meat) or Aji de Gallina (a spicy chicken dish in a decadently creamy sauce) or Rocoto Relleno (stuffed peppers). Followed by dessert...soaked peach halfs, accompanied by a hot toddy or some other elixir while listening to Third Eye Blind or Linkin Park on Raul's IPod and playing more rounds of Shithead. Come morningtime, the guides proffered cups of warm tea through the tent flaps to wake you up and brought basins of hot water for sponge bathing.
Chemical Toilets
The only real downside (yet, upside) to the camping was the chemical toilets. First of all, due to the inordinate number of "wild" horses and cows on our route, we were always camped out in the middle of meadow muffins. The chemical toilets, at first glance, seem on the up-and-up with their neat little Intrepid logo stamped on the tidy blue tent flaps. However, when you're getting up at 4 a.m. for your third bathroom run of the night, since it is freakin' cold and you've just drank 3/4 of the jug of chicha (in addition to the 3 Litres of water you have to consume daily to combat altitude sickness), it is all you can do to hover yourself above the chemical toilet making sure no pant legs or sleeves touch anything and hold your breath over a toilet containing the entire camps' intestinal contents. It is not a pretty site, and though we all eat the exact same food on this trip, seeing this gigantic mass of what looks like writhing worms of all shapes, colours, and consistencies, you have to wonder. You really do.
Altitude pills
Initially, I was popping these Sorochi pills every 8 hours to try to combat altitude sickness. As we climbed from coastal Lima towards the Andes, finally reaching Cusco at 3400 metres, I could really feel the headaches. Like a vise grip on the skull. The shortness of breath wasn't nearly as bad. Despite being trainer-less for over a year, I think all those times my trainer made me run up and down flights of stairs must have done something for me. I switched the Sorochi pills up for some glucose sucky lozenges that are supposed to be more natural, and then upon my Guide Tomy's advice, reverted back to just downing 3 litres of water a day, and the headaches completely disappeared. That said, on Day Three of the Hike, Sonia and I separated from the others, and got a wee bit lost in the rain. We headed toward one of the ruins, figuring our campsites were usually close to some archaeological site, when we saw our companions, one of them on a rescue horse, heading down the other path, far in the distance. We were sopping wet by that point (I had forgotten to pack my damn Rain poncho) and whether it was the lack of insulation in my sleeping bag, eating those salads at the 11-sol fried chicken place on Angamos Street, back in Lima, or hiking in the rain for three hours followed by trying to dry off like a one-legged dog inside the tent, when I got back that night, things were not looking good, health-wise. The five o'clock wake-up call with the Hot Mate Tea on the final morning of our hike left me feeling dizzy and spirally, and things just got worse from there. Hiking down to Ollantaytambo, everyone was fascinated by the skeletal remains tucked into rock-strewn cubby holes in the mountain and fetal-positioned skeletons, looking like they were stargazing from their stone shrines. I was busy looking for shrubbery to throw up in, and pretty much christened the entire last section of the Socma-Kachiqata with the ghosts of meals past.
Porterhorses
On the Inca Trail, the porters (actual people) carry all the trekkers' luggage, sleeping bags, and assorted paraphernalia, but on the Socma-Kachiqata Trail, we had packhorses. Three packhorses and one rescue horse. For much of the journey the rescue horse did a lot of 'nothing much' and got cut-eye from some of the other horses, but on the final days, one of our travelmates got sick and Lady Godiva'ed it up to the final campsite. Also, Sonia, one of my travelmates, got to ride a horse for the first time!
The IV
That night in Aguas Calientes, I discovered the true meaning of bone-chilling cold. Despite the multitudinous layers of blankets, sweaters and thermals, (my Diablo Balaclava and gloves notwithstanding), I could not stop shaking, or keep even Gatorade down. My Tour Leader, Ollie ended up calling in the Doctor and Nurse when I started hallucinating about snakes, and they hooked me up to an IV right inside my hotel room. New experience. Can't say I enjoyed the sensation of having a needle skewered into my bony hand. Or the feeling of a thousand ants sandpapering across my skin as the meds plummeted into my bloodstream. Even weirder was that I paid the doctor in cash (100 dollars) under the table, literally, at a restaurant in Agua Calientes the next day. The main thing though, was that I was able to visit Machu Picchu. I was intending to wake up at 3 a.m. and queue up to hike Wynu Picchu to the top. But that didn't happen. I even missed the 6 a.m. trip with my Inca Guide, Tomy. Luckily, my Trip Leader, Ollie, knows all there is to know about Machu Picchu, and took me on a private tour at 8.
Machu Picchu
I thought that after all the trouble of hauling my sick ass to Machu Picchu, I might have felt oversold, but it truly was spectacular. It's a lot lower than some of the passes we took, at 2430 metres above sea level, 80 northwest of Cusco. Archaeologists believe it was built as an estate for the Incan Emperor, Pachacuti in the 15th century. It truly is a "Lost City" rising up on this sheer montain, with spectacular condor views. It reminded me a bit of Tulum in Mexico, the soft grey of the stones contrasting with the deep blue of the sky, and verdant green patchworks everywhere. Like wandering through an interrupted croquet party at an abandoned estate, in Alice in Wonderland. Dehydrated and hallucinogenic as I was, it was the perfect setting!
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