Never let it be said that a geek hasn't done the Inca Trail! Four days. 40 km of hiking. 1000 meters climbing. Some 100,000 steps of the feet. And altitudes up to 4215 meters above sea level. It's the hardest, and most rewarding, experience I've ever had. Well almost (more later). This isn't going to be a funny b****** post, as I am so moved by the experience and want to talk seriously about it. So, uh, if you don't like long serious posts tune out now :) Words can't do this trip justice, but I'll try. I'll describe the first few days to give you an idea of what it was all like, but will summarise the rest. The trip started before it began. The night before we met our guide, Miguel, and the other members of our party -- two young yanks and another aussie. We hit it off with the aussie, Craig, as he seemed to have the same crazy mindset as the rest of us (he became an instant Sockey fan and a natural at the Loco Empanada song). The yanks, we discovered, were initially held back but they eventually succumbed to our aussie friendliness (and candor, crassness, and craziness) and were soon part of the family and adding their own unique and equally perverted personalities to the mixing pot. It would turn out to be a fantastic combo. Speaking of family, this is the way Miguel addressed us from the first day of the hike. It was a nice way of saying we're all in this together, which looking back was probably a forewarning of just how tough this was going to be. If someone had said to me days before that I'd be climbing to 4000 meters and be so exausted that I'd be in immense pain, I probably wouldn't have done it. But that was Miguel's secret as a guide, for to his credit he never let you in on how hard things would be, just how good. So the first day was sunny and beautiful, and as we trecked a light path slowly into the mountains we were all in awe at the scenery -- beautiful, massive, mountains towering above us on all sides more than twice as high as any mountain in Australia. We passed Peruvians who seemed to still live in the past, living in mud homes, driving donkeys laden with vegies down the path. It was like taking a step (or many) back in time. Along the way Miguel would point out flowers and herbs, and describe what they were. At one stage he found a cactus and gently scraped a white power off the plant and into his hand. We watched amazed as he gently rubbed the white powder between his fingers, and a blood red ink appeared -- a natural dye. At another stage he picked a seemingly innoculous plant from the ground, crushed the leaves between his fingers, and offered it to us to smell -- it had a strong menthol smell, a natural Vicks to clear the nose. Something I would later need come the second day, not that I knew it then. At one stage we turned a corner on the path and saw the porters ahead of us carrying our gear up a steep incline into the mountainside. Miguel pointed to it and joked 'Training for tomorrow!'. We had all been told that the second day would be the hardest as we'd be trekking up to 4215 meters. We started this day at some 3200 meters. Passing llamas which seemed to be able to hover on the incline, we climbed this relatively short stretch, but it was absolutely exausting. The altitude makes it harder to breathe. But not a problem! We did it, and we all thought 'this isn't going to be so hard afterall!'. You guessed it, famous last words. It was at the top of this hill we saw our first major Inca ruin. It lay in the valley below and was one of the most specatcular things I have ever seen. Terraces and old buildings lined the bottom of the mountain side below, and it was then that we realised the cloud layer wasn't too far above us. We didn't know it then, but come morning we'd find ourselves waking up in clouds. Our first stop was lunch, and as Amanda has detailed the porters had gone ahead and setup tents for cooking and eating. It was here that we discovered we had a world class chef travelling with us. It was the beginning of a three meals a day that were, in all honesty, some of the best food I have ever eaten and could surpass most of the restaurants in Sydney. And who was the chef? A local Peruvian, who worked part time in a local restaurant and part time cooking for trail travellers. What he was able to do on a stool and two hot plates in a tent while it rained at 4000 meters is absolutely amazing. Never a complaint, just a friendly smile. Any comparable chef in Australia wouldn't do a job like that for a million dollars. Just amazing. The first campsite was the backyard of a farmer in the foothills. We relaxed with beer and got to know the yanks as the conversation inevitably turned to sex and poo (as all coversations evetually do). Surprisingly, politics didn't come up until the fourth day. It was during this evening we were convinced the yanks didn't know how to handle aussies and were probably put off ever going to Australia. What can we say, we had a lot of fun :) By dusk clouds had descended and it started to rain. Tired, we retired early and slept soundly until morning. We awoke to a vista of mountainous ranges submerged in clouds. We stood in them, all around, and as the sun rose higher and caused them to dissipate we saw one of the most beautiful views you could possibly imagine. And this would be nothing compared to what came later. Miguel, friendly as ever, joked about needing energy for the day as this was day two and we'd need it. So we set off and pretty soon we were climbing. 'Just two more corners and we'll see the top!'Miguel would say. Or '5 miinutes more and we'll be there'. Miguel, I can tell you, is a master liar. And I thank him for it. The hardest climb of my life took three hours uphill on rocky paths that glided on the edge of mountains where a fall would kill you. There are no ropes or wooden barriers, just rocks and ledges. Panting, I turned corner after corner that seemed to go on for ever. Eventually, the path ran through some forest, and kept twisting further upward. I learned a new hatred of steps. Each one takes the breath out of you, and as we climbed higher, it got harder and harder to breathe. I could take five steps, then double over in exaustion trying to catch my breath. Miguel would say things like 'only a few more steps, then it's downhill!'but for Peruvians the word 'few'approximates to roughly 150. It's about now I should mention that not only would be this be hard on its own, but that I still had the flu from my first few days in Cusco. My chest full of snot, it was a battle of mental power to finally climb to the top of the mountain and to the first break for lunch. To help, Miguel picked some of the Vicks plant for me and Kirsty, and we made it there only by quite literally sniffing the fumes from the leaves with every second step. It was the hardest physical thing I had ever done. And then, while at the top, I realised that we actually weren't. We weren't even halfway up the mountain, for a I saw a path going further up wards. My heart dropped. There was no way I could go any further. I was utterly exausted. But we did. Setting off after lunch, we walked higher and higher, into drizzling rain, slowly but surely climbing to the peak. We passed clouds below us, and even other mountains. We were hiking at half the altitudes that planes fly at. We saw high altitude flowers, insects, animals and even a hunting hawk at one stage. It took another three hours of slow, deliberate, steps of constant straining to breathe, of stopping for breaks, and pushing past the pain before Kirsty and I finally saw the top. Both being sick, we were the last in the group to reach it but were pleasantly surprised to see Craig and the yanks waiting for us near the top so we could clear it together. Family! Though close, it was so incredibly hard to climb that I resorted to chewing Coca leaves. This is the stuff cocaine cones from (and the original Coke), and has been consumed since the Incas. Coca tea was one of the first beverages we had at the hotel when we arrived in Cusco (and what we were greeted with each morning in our tents), and is said to help with breathing at high altitudes. When chewed and placed near youir gums, a different heightened effect is achieved, and though I didn't seem to notice any difference Kirsty said I was able to climb further without a break. It's worth mentioning the amazing porters here -- they too would chew Coca leaves by the bucketload as they climbed, but their job was so much harder than ours. They would pack up camp each day after we leave, roll everything up into makeshift backpacks weighing up to 35kg, and then promptly start running uphill to the next camp spot, overtaking us, so that everything could be setup when we arrive. How they managed to do this with such weight, at such altitudes, with always a friendly smile as they would pass you, is just amazing. Especially one ported called Ernesto. As we would later find out, Ernesto is a 58 year old man who was able to climb the mountain with a heavy backpack and *play the flute at the same time*. He was fantastic. You could hear his music echoing through the mountains as he walked. At some stages, he stopped above kirsty and I and played, knowing that as we focused on the music the climbing became easier. He would then run ahead and play, and wait for us again. This guy could floor any Iron Man I am sure. And so, after the hardest walk in my life, we made it to 4215 meters and literally saw the world below us. Pictures and words cannot do it justice, but take a look anyway :) The next few days were mostly downhill, but there were plenty of ups and downs. Everything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong. It wasn't enough that I already had the flu. On day three it rained all day, turning the Inca Trail itself into a muddy waterfall. My boots cracked, and my feet were flooded with water. My laces broke, and I had to re'thread them while on a ledge with forest trailing off into the mountainside beneath the clouds far below. The 'water proof'jackets Kirsty and I bought in Sydney turned out not to be. Our backpacks, and everything in them, were soaked through. By the time we made it to lunch on the third day I was completely soaked head to toe. My three laters underneath the jacket were as wet as if I had been swimming. And we were informed that due to the rain, our bags (we usually just carry day packs) had gone onto the evening campsite. So we were wet, cold, and with no hope of dry clothes. Miserable was an understatement (see pics for day three!). By now the yanks, Tia and Taylor, were good friends and we as a family, with our sense of humor, managed to keep ourselves sane. We only hoped that if it rained today it would be sunny tomorrow, the final day, when we reached Machu Piccu. The end of day three held the promise of a hot shower at a bar camped into the side of the mountain, the last stop before Machu Piccu. It also held the promise of toilets with seats rather than squatting. Never have I appreciated creature comforst so much! We got pissed with the porters at the bar and witnessed the most amazing moon rise in the history of the universe. Climbing slowly above the snow capped Andes, we saw the moon shed its light on the massive mountains and clouds around us. There is simply nothing like it. That night Ernesto enterained us with his music over dinner. We learned he was a true Inca (corrct term is Qethchan, but I'm sure the spelling is wrong) as his parents were both Qethchan. He spoke the lanuage, as well as Spanish and a little English, which he said he loved. The songs he played he wrote himself, and told the story of his life -- his wife leaving him, his son leaving him (or dying, we weren't sure), of lost love, and new opportunities. I can't describe in words, but we were all moved almost to tears. After dinner we all got tanked again, buying beer for the porters, drinking and dancing with them, next to that spècatular view. It was an awesome night. In the morning, the porters left us and we trekked to the Sun Gate and awaited the morning sun to dissipate the clouds miles below us and reveal Machu Piccu for the first time. Which it did, a little. Playing games with us the clouds seem to rise and fall, only giving us glimpses here and there. Rather than wait, we elected to move on and cross into Machu Piccu itself, and when we got there two hours later it was simply specatcular. Machu Piccu is too much to descibe here, I've already waffled on, but suffice to say it's huge and awesome beyond words. Miguel, passionate about his heritage, took us on a tour and tried to tell us the history, but we were all so b*****ed we just wanted to sit in the shade and rest. Miguel, part of the family as he was, was less a tour guide and more a friend by now. He confessed some of his groups were rather boring, and that we were definitely a new and good experience for him. With some of the antics and jokes we got up to at the table, often leaving him in stitches, I'm not surprised :) Eventually we left the Inca ruin behind and went to the local town, which was a 25 min bus ride down the mountainside dropping a few hundred meters. The most bizarre thing happened here. While the road zig-zagged down the mountainside, people could walk almost directly down, crossing the road every now and then. Which is where, whole we zoomed past, we saw a kid dressed up in traditional Inca gear waving at us and shouting something. We passed him, laughed a little, and forgot about it. Until the next turn, where he miraculously appeared again next to the road, waving and shouting. This happened four times as we zig-zagged down the mountain as he seemingly was able to out-run the bus and greet us at the next path everytime. It was funny as all heck and eventually the bus driver stopped and let him on, and he stood at the head shouting something in Qetchan, and then opened his purse for donations. No one could resist :) In the town we bathed in natural springs, which had the unnerring color and smell of urine. We liked to think it was the minerals, and not the hoards of locals bathing in them. We actually ran into Ernesto in the town, and with Miguel's help translating Ernesto offered to show us to the springs. We already had tickets when we got there, and it occured to us that Ernesto might as well join us. He never once asked for anything, he always willing to help, and was always smiling. It was the least we could do we felt. So we paid a ticker for him to join us, and he did :). With Tia's help translating (oh yes, we didn't find out until day three that Tia actually spoke Spanish...) Ernesto told us more stories. There were a series of pools you could sit in of differing temperatures, and it was in one of these that Taylor said he saw lewd sexual acts going on, which promptly caused us to change pools. But after everything we had been through, it didn't exactly phase us! When we left to catch the train we said goodbye to Miguel, and he told us it had been an awesome experience for him. Just as we had learned from him, he had learned from us. We also said goodbye to Ernesto, who gave us heartfeld hugs and it was sad for us to leave. As for the tran ride, seem Amanda's post. I've been waffling. We saw and did so much more than I can describe, but if I were to summarise the experience it would have to be one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Sinply, powerfully, unforgettable. I do have something else to tell you, but I'll make that a seperate post :) Ash