RUINED IN THE RUINS*

Oh good, back at altitude again. After a few days of being able to breathe normally at sea level in Lima, the shuffling old couple were back again as we landed in Cusco, the impressive old Inca city surrounded by the Andes. Luckily we had a few days to acclimatise and explore the nearby Inca ruins, including one called Sexy Woman (actually Sacsayhuaman, but that is how it's pronounced, to everyone's amusement) which Duncan insisted on visiting - perhaps he was a little disappointed by the lack of any actual sexy women there. Then we stocked up on woolly hats and gloves, energy bars and as many Snickers as we could get our hands on in preparation for the trek.

We were picked up on the first day of the trek from our hostel at the crack of dawn, which would turn out to be a lie-in compared to the next few days. We had a two-hour minibus journey out to Ollantaytambo where we stocked up on coca leaves which we were reliably informed would make everything OK. Yeah right. On the journey we had a chance to get to know our fellow trekkers - who really turned out to be a fantastic bunch of people, luckily given what we were about to go through together.

The first day was relatively straightforward, and we were lulled into a false sense of security that our extensive preparations and rigorous fitness training in the months running up to the trek (i.e. long evenings in the pub, our recently acquired McHabit, and those blasted pisco sours) would stand us in good stead, particularly when one of the guides asked us if we'd been in the army. God help the British Army if that's the standard…

Perhaps we should start recruiting from the Quechuan porters that work the Inca trail. These guys are completely phenomenal - they are legally now only allowed to carry 25kg - in the past it was up to 40kg - but they steamed past us every morning within a few minutes of our departure, carrying all our tents, food, cooking equipment, and overnight bags. Apparently there is an Inca marathon every year where these guys, some just wearing sandals on their feet, run the entire 42km route which takes us 4 days of sheer exhaustion, in under 4 hours. We are all still completely incredulous about this, but our guide, Elizabeth, insists that it's true.

We camped that evening and did a bit of group bonding with dinner and card games before retiring at the unprecedented time of 7.45pm.

Day 2 was a nightmare. We had been warned, but nothing could have prepared us for the reality of what walking up 9km of steep mountain would actually feel like (think 5 hours on the Stairmaster). We started in warm sunshine with clear stunning views across the valley but by the time we had managed to haul our arses up to the Dead Woman's Pass (aka Dead Tourist's Pass for reasons which quickly became very clear) at 4,200m the weather had taken a turn for the worse with zero visibility. Emma had found the uphill stage a massive challenge (particularly as she was suffering from fluey symptoms), so when it came to the day's remaining 3km, all downhill, she practically ran down the mountain.

Dosed up on Day Nurse, which it turns out contains speed, Emma sped up the mountain to the second pass on Day 3. Beats coca leaves any day - which after some experimentation we both gave up on as a lost cause. Duncan preferred to take a more steady pace, taking Emma's place near the rear of the group.

Concerned about the lack of attention that he was getting in light of his wife's evident illness, Duncan decided that dramatic measures were called for and took matters into his own hands. After a particularly steep descent followed by an even steeper ascent, Duncan found Elizabeth's interesting talk on the Inca site to be an opportune time to feel the effects of the altitude. He groaned more or less constantly throughout the five minute talk, and as soon as it finished promptly slid off the wall he was sat on and passed out. Don't worry, Hanneke, he came round almost instantly, and after some smelling salts and a Snickers, he was back on the road again, none the worse for wear, but satisfied that he'd made his point that it's not all about Emma!

Emma countered by refusing to eat her lunch and falling asleep for 20 mins before we had to set off again for the afternoon session. The highlight of the afternoon was our first glimpse of the mountains surrounding Machu Picchu, which really are incredibly beautiful. The lowlight was the 2,647 steep steps we had to climb down, which really felt never-ending, like your worst nightmares, before we could get to the 'comfort' of our campsite and the ever-so-enticing promise of a disco. We gave that a miss, although we were sorely tempted - sorely being the operative word…

It would be fair to say that the low point of the whole trip so far was when Emma woke at midnight on the third night choking on vomit, desperately trying to open the door of the rented tent to avoid spraying it and all our clothes, as Duncan ducked for cover, whilst simultaneously realising that she had 'Poughkeepsied' (see Sex and the City) in her rented sleeping bag. The fun didn't stop there though - we then had to make the ten minute trek down the mountain to the toilets in the pitch black, on legs that had long since packed up. And then we had to get up at 4am for the final leg of the trek, just (!) 6km that morning.

We had stopped at several interesting Inca ruins over the course of the four days, and learnt a fair amount about these crazy Incas and their love of heights, but nothing was on the scale of Machu Picchu. Unfortunately when we got to the Sun Gate, from where the most iconic photos of the city are taken, the whole mountain range was shrouded in mist and we could barely see 10 metres in front of us. Over time, however, and as we pressed forward along the final half-hour of the trek, the mist lifted and we started to get an idea of the scale of the city and the incredible achievement of the Incas to build it there. Sadly Emma had used her last remaining reserves of energy to get to Machu Picchu and had none left for the 2 hour tour up and down the steps and terraces of the site in the sun which was now beating down on us. It was well worth all the hard work to see the city, built in such a spectacular setting. The sense of pride of making it there after a four day walk was all the more acute as we passed groups of panting American and French daytrippers moaning about the steps and the heat. Wimps.

We're now back in Cusco, where we've spent a couple of extra unscheduled days slowly starting to recover from the stomach bugs that we managed to pick up on the trail - with thanks to the wonderful Dr Graham for looking after us even though he was on holiday. At times in the past couple of days we have speculated that we've both got little baby Incas growing inside us and trying to communicate with one another, given the terrible noises coming out of our tummies, but we think they're slowly dying - probably not enough mountain air for them here. Next stop, Bolivia…

*Thanks to Teresa for the title - and the bog roll!