The next morning we were woken up with a cup of hot chocolate (no doubt because it was freezing outside) and got ourselves ready for breakfast, which was PANCAKES. In the middle of the flipping ANDES. And they were some of the best pancakes I've ever eaten - light, fluffy, tasty. Plus hash browns, omelette, porridge, and I don't even remember what else. Oh, and the perennial tea. Mate de coca. By this point, we were all starting to catch on that there was actually something to this coca business. Solay had shown us the previous day how to chew coca leaves. You take three leaves, and arrange them in a spread out, kind of fleur-de-lis type pattern. You kiss the leaves, and say "Thank you very much" to the Apus (the mountain gods) for the coca and for everything. Then you scrape some black ashy stuff into the base of the fleur-de-lis, and you fold up the leaves (carefully) and place them in the hollow of your cheek. Chew the leaves gently for a bit until they’re kind of glued together, then you can top it up by sticking more coca leaves in your mouth. Chew on that for fifteen minutes or so, and spit it out. According to the Andean people, coca gives you energy, helps fight altitude sickness (for us low-landers), works as an anaesthetic, staves off hunger, and provides essential nutrients the body needs. The ashy stuff is to help release the alkaloids in the coca that will nourish you. I don’t know about that, but I soon discovered if I stopped chewing coca leaves my energy dropped considerably. And energy we were going to need that day.
First up a gruelling 500 metre climb (to add to the 700 we had done the previous day), the pain of which was alleviated significantly by frequent rest stops and the absolutely breathtaking scenery. Luckily the weather was still clear at that point, and we could see down the valleys all the way to the Urubamba river at the bottom. The Andean mountains are like no others I’ve ever seen – impossibly tall, hulky, craggy, they look both serene and grumpy at the same time, like gentle giants. The shade of green is dark due to the low shrubbery that grows there (thanks to the altitude all the flora is very close to the ground). Finally after hours (who knows how many? One hundred?) of gruelling climb, we made it to the Warmiwañuscca – or “Dead Woman’s Pass”, our first pass, and at 4200 metres above sea level, the highest point on the Trail. Why “Dead Woman’s Pass”? Because looking down into the valley you can see the shape of a woman, seemingly lying down. Why this makes her dead, and not sleeping, was not satisfactorily explained. However, I suspect it’s because “Snoozing Woman’s Pass” doesn’t really impart the same sense of the dramatic. After we’d all caught our breath at the top, Solay announced with a sparkle in her eye that she had a surprise for us. “I hope it’s a bottle of vodka!” I joked, but Solay simply smiled and pulled a bottle of rum out of her rucksack. Cheering and yelling ensued. We drank a toast to making it there in one piece (after spilling the first drops on the ground in thanks to the “Pachamama” (mother Earth)), but didn’t dally too long as we still had a lot of walking to do.
Given that Dead Woman’s Pass was the highest point on the trail, and if we are to believe Mr. Newton that what goes up must come down, it stands to reason that this was the beginning of our descent. Or, to put it more colloquially, “It’s all downhill from here”. I knew in my head that the downhills were going to be just as tough if not tougher than the uphills. Cerebrally, I knew it, but emotionally I just hadn’t accepted it until we began descending that interminable Inca staircase, one jarring step at a time. Thankfully we had all bought brightly coloured “Inca” walking sticks at the beginning of the trail (like the Incas would ever have used or even needed walking sticks to walk the trail) to preserve our knees, but it wasn’t long before I had three medium size blisters on my feet and a considerable ache in my quadriceps. What made it even more frustrating was the porters constantly streaming past, bouncing lightly down the steps like they were made of rubber, with 20 kilos on their backs. Of course, their lungs are adapted to the altitude, and being farmers, their physiques were incredibly well-developed (amazing calf muscles!) but it was still amazing to see them skip past with enormous gas tanks, food for 14 people (eight porters, the five of us, and Solay) for four days, tents, cooking equipment and God knows what else on their backs.
We were all very relieved to make it to lunch, and we sat our butts down at the earliest possible opportunity while the porters got our lunch ready. Oh, the luxury. Another ridiculously large meal well on the way to digestion, and a few more hours of walking before we were finished for the day. These last hours were along what the Andeans refer to as “Peruvian flats” – i.e. up, down, up, down, up, down, you get the idea. We made our way over countless small ridges and valleys until we made it to our campsite, Sayacmarca, right in the middle of the cloud forest. Clouds, when you’re looking at them from a grassy field or aeroplane window, appear warm and fluffy, like cotton wool. Alternatively, walking through one is a wet and cold experience, and the atmosphere is tangible. The soup-like density of the air notwithstanding, I was excited to be in a cloud forest, and although I was wearing every single piece of clothing I had brought with me for warmth, I was content to be in the Andes, making the “pilgrimage” to Machupicchu the way the Incas would have done it so many moons ago. Okay, so they wouldn’t have had lomo saltado and kinoi salad for dinner, but close enough is good enough.
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