Adventures in Peru – 6/10/14 – Beginning the Inca Trail – KM
82 to Wayllabamba – 13 Km
Alarm, alarm, 4:30 a.m., pick-up at 5:00 a.m. Final do-I-take-this-or-leave-this and we are
climbing into the van of our outfitter, Xtreme Tourbulencia. A couple of streets away we pick up four more
sleepy people. The sun rises as we drive
out of town and begin creeping up over the mountains.
At the little town of Ollantaytambo we stop for a simple
buffet breakfast, a little small talk with our new companions whose common
language is Spanish. We are still all
shy and hesitant, wondering just whether we want to do this thing or not. I am so nervous, it’s hard to eat. Be sure to use that bathroom, don’t know when
the next one is coming or what it will be like.
Another hour in the van, lurching to and fro on a narrow
unpaved road squeezing past the occasional vehicle and people leading cows, and
we arrive at the Beginning, known locally as Kilometer 82 (8,500 feet
elevation). Here we receive our sleeping
pads and strap them onto our backpacks.
Local women are selling trinkets, bandanas and Gatorade. Are we ready?
Will we ever really be ready?
Our guide is Washington, a 28-year-old Peruvian man (his mom
named him after a soccer player). He has
a soft, modulated voice and a brilliant smile and tells us that we are now a
family and will rely on each other. We
play a game of introducing ourselves around the circle. Maria and Sergi are a young couple from Barcelona,
Spain, and 18-year-old Cami and her mother, Francine, are from
Switzerland. Andy, Chris, Cathy and I
are on our best behavior so as not to fulfill the stereotype of obnoxious
Americans. Alas, we only know one
language, while our new European relatives are multi-lingual (Cami has us all
beat at 5 languages). Washington repeats
everything in English and Spanish.
Vamos! A phrase we
will hear many times over the next four days.
Walking beside the Urabamba River towards the first checkpoint to show
our permits and get our passports stamped.
The porters go through a separate checkpoint where their loaded packs
are weighed to ensure that they are not carrying more than their limit,
strictly enforced.
Our first family photo at the check- point: from left, Andy, Chris, Cathy, me, Cami, Francine, Maria
and Sergi
The rules of the trail:
I especially like “Don’t fire” and Don’t’s Smoking”
We cross the Urabamba River on a wide footbridge that seems
to burn behind me, no turning back. I
try to keep a lid on my emotions as they swing in a wide pendulum arc between despair
and determination. The sky is a vivid
blue and the air is warm but tolerable (remember, we are from North/South
Carolina, we know what humidity is and this ain’t it.) Washington tells us how many hours we’ll be
hiking between points and reluctantly, when pressed, tells kilometers and
meters of elevation gain, so I practice my conversion skills to determine miles
and feet. In retrospect, this day is
only moderately demanding, 13 kilometers (8 miles) and modest elevation gain of
about 2,000 feet (but more than half of that in the last 4 km). Otherwise my main job is to drink water, look
for a place to pee, breathe, put one foot in front of the other and try to look
around at the scenery.
A cemetery beside the trail, kinda like walking in the Great
Smoky Mountains.
There goes our trail
Looking down the valley at Mount Veronica: inspiration
The Inca Trail is strictly regulated, about 500 start
permits per day, including guides, porters, cooks and paying customers. Our group of 8 trekkers is supported by one
cook, one guide, and 7 porters that carry our sleeping tents, dining tent, food
and cooking gear, including an enormous metal tea kettle for boiling all our
water. Each group is distinguished by
its team color so it’s easy to find ours at camp at the end of the day, as well
as cheering the porters along as they pass us hauling their unbelievably large
loads. Our team color is yellow and
because we are half-English, half-Spanish speaking, we nickname ourselves the
Spanglish Team (yet another nickname surfaced later). There is also a red team, a purple team and a
Green Machine team. Some teams are twice
or even three times larger than ours; we much prefer our small “family.”
Our cook, 26 years old, has been supporting Inca trekkers
for 7 years
Our Spanglish Team porters, ranging in age from 18 to
59. Most of them are farmers, working a
couple of weeks each month as porters and then rotating back to take care of
their farms. So much respect for their
smiles, their work ethic and their tender loving care.
The first five hours still feels like civilization, passing
the local livestock grazing along the trail with the Urabamba flowing
energetically alongside. Washington
leads our group as we stay together, stopping often to describe the native flowers
and history of the area, distracting us from the gentle climb. He encourages us to find a small stone to
carry to the high point of the trek tomorrow, Dead Woman’s Pass, at 13,900
feet.
Stopping at local “stores” where we can purchase bottled
water, sports drinks and snacks. At some
stops the toilet is free but the toilet paper costs one sol. Good thing I brought my own!
A highlight of the day is really a double feature, the Inca
fort called Huillca Raccay and the Inca site called LLactapata or Patallacta
(8,700 feet). There is some confusion
around the name of the latter. On many
maps it is labeled as Llactapata, the first “stop” along the Inca Trail after
KM 82, but deeper research calls this place Patallacta and there is a sign at
the site that says the same. If you
Google Llactapata you will see conflicting information and photos of differing
sites, including the one pictured below. It was first noted by Hiram Bingham shortly
after his discovery of Machu Picchu but he didn’t spend any time exploring
it. Let me know when you finish your
dissertation and final conclusion. Anyway…
Patallacta is believed to be a stopping point for Incas
making their way to the ancient city of Machu Picchu, a crossroads of trails at
the head of the valley, possibly an agricultural station used to supply other
Inca sites in the region, perhaps including Machu Picchu. The settlement
includes over one hundred buildings, houses for the workers and soldiers,
including five baths. The site’s stepped
terraces molded around the hillside are breathtaking from our viewpoint at
Huillca Raccay, a fort built by the Incas which affords a commanding view up
and down the Urabamba Valley and also controlled the entrance to the Cusichaca
Valley.
If only I had a tape recorder to capture all of the
information Washington imparted over our four days together. Most of the time I was so tired that I
couldn’t absorb the facts and details, but I do remember his passion for his
country’s history.
Huillca Raccay
Huillca Raccay
Past Patallacta the Inca Trail turns away from the Urabamba
River, crosses the Cusichaca River, and begins climbing. Before we can get too fatigued we see Nestor,
one of our yellow team porters, grinning widely and waving a yellow bandana. He is flagging us down for our first meal on
the trek. The dining tent is set up and inviting
us to rest and eat.
I’d heard about the food on these Inca Trail adventures and
I can add to the testimony: it is elaborate,
fresh, delicious and plentiful. Napkins
and cutlery are laid out as place settings.
Our lunch begins with a slice of avocado topped with grated cheese and
finely chopped green pepper and onion. Following
is asparagus soup, boiled chicken legs, a slice of cooked sweet potato and
julienned vegetables in a lemony broth. We
pass small tin plates and cups around the table and serve each other from big
platters. I am a bit disconcerted when I
realize the water is warm, and Washington explains that warm water is absorbed
into the body much more quickly than cold water. Before we eat our soup, Washington explains
that it is customary to pour a small spoonful of soup on the ground to thank
the earth for its generosity in providing food.
(By the end of the trip, we were all doing this.) Despite the inviting sights and smells, I
find it hard to eat more than a couple of bites of each dish. All the meds I’m taking, plus the altitude,
are having a major effect on my appetite, a problem I struggle with all through
the trek.
A nap after lunch, right?
Sorry. Now the hard work
begins. The group spreads out as the
trail gets steeper and I slow down, pacing myself to a steady crawl. I like the separation, alone with my thoughts,
and I remember climbing Mount Whitney with reliable slow, short steps. I notice that Francine is a little slower than
me. Do I take comfort in this? At least I am not last? The hiking order of any group gets set pretty
quickly and then doesn’t change much. I
am okay with my next-to-last spot. Over
the remaining two hours of the day we gain about 1,500 feet in elevation.
Nestor is waiting again with his yellow bandana at the side
trail to our campsite and I cross the last bridge.
At Camp Wayllabamba (10,130 feet) our sleeping tents are set
up in a cozy row and other groups of tents are nearby. As we dump our backpacks, the porters bring
bowls of warm water and paper towels so we can freshen up before our meal.
Nearby is a bath house with flushing toilets… fortunately I
had been forewarned by a friend who had done the trek. One picture is worth a thousand words. This is how much of the world works,
friends. Today it wasn’t so bad, but
after the tough climbs and descents of subsequent days, my thighs were so sore
that squatting over the toilets is a super- human feat. Too much information? Better to know before you go...
More pleasant things:
supper! The evening meal is very
calming, a sigh of contentment knowing that after eating I can lie down in my
tent. The menu features vegetable soup,
fried local trout, cooked potato (did you know that Peru produces over 3,000
varieties of potato?), white rice in a tomato vegetable sauce, poached apple,
and a special tea to help us sleep. Cami
is vegetarian and there are some alternative foods to accommodate her.
During supper Washington answers questions and gives a
description of tomorrow’s hike. The
distance will be 15 kilometers and includes two high passes, the first one
called Warmiwanuska or Dead Woman’s Pass (13,900 feet) followed by a steep
descent, and the second one called Runkurakay (13,100 feet). Very intimidating, and my stomach begins
churning. The first few kilometers are in the cloud forest, then breaking out
above tree line into hot sun as we approach the first pass. Washington explains that each person will
walk at his or her own pace and he will walk behind us. There will be many hikers tomorrow making
their own pilgrimages up the mountain.
One surprising and welcome development: we can pay extra to have porters carry some
of our gear tomorrow. In a flash the
eight of us pool our resources to hire two porters to carry about 5 pounds for
each person. I could unload my sleeping
bag, sleeping mat, my book (what made me think I was going to read anything?)
and my bathing suit. Most important is
the psychological weight reduction.
Because we are close to the equator, sundown is near 6:00
p.m. and sunrise is near 6:00 a.m. and our wake-up call for the “big day” is
for 5:00 a.m. Yes, we will be getting up
in the dark - again. Cathy and I are
sharing a tent. We both struggle to get
our gear organized to be ready on time in the morning. I feel a little disoriented and have trouble
deciding where to put things. Will I
need this before morning? How cold will
it get tonight and what should I sleep in?
A cold and clear night. I think there are stars, but it is
hard to see them with my eyes closed.
“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt
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