PERU, Machu Picchu, Friday 2nd November

Tummies full of banana pancakes, we set off to the official start of the Inca Trail where we met our 10 porters and one cook. All small, wiry, weather beaten looking Peruvian men with ages ranging from 19 to 40. They use portering as an addition to the merge living they make as farmers. With 25 kilos laden on their backs (they would carry more if the law did not forbid it) they run the Inca Trail bent double by their burdens. How sad and wrong it is that the descendents of the ones who built Machu Picchu should have to trace the foot steps of their ancestors in the service of the White Man. Something is wrong there and their presence was a constant and rather shaming reminder of the tragedy of colonialism.
Our guide, a former porter himself, was Wilfredo, a nice, kind faced man who had endeared himself to me by assuming, due to my Spanish accent that I was, in fact, of Spanish origin. He is an endless fountain of knowledge but also (and this seems to be rare for a guide) is interested in us, our countries and our backgrounds. He, I learned, is from a family of 10 and lives with his parents in Cusco. The porters were of families of similar sizes, this seems to be the norm.

The sun was shining as we set off and the going was easy so, swinging my walking stick, I struck on ahead relishing the chance to walk alone in the landscape.
Our path skirted a mountainside, above a valley populated by a few small farming communities. A river snaked through the valley alongside which chugged the train laden with tourists and bound for Machu Picchu. I didn´t envy them.
A hot, 3 course lunch was served to us in a tent. Melissa was beginning to struggle due to the exertion at altitudes to which she had not yet become accustomed and made her displeasure known loudly. Everyone else, however, was in good spirits, no blisters, no tantrums. So far, so good.
Camp was set up for us in a valley surrounded by fields (this part of the trail being populated still with farmers and their families), and over-shadowed by steep sloped, craggy mountainsides, the tops of which were concealed from us by a drifting blanket of thick white cloud that dribbled rain on us half heartedly.
Melissa announced that there was no way she would be using the toilet, being faced with a porcline-lined hole, and, I suppose, proposed to cross her legs for the next 3 days. Thankfully, I got the single tent and retired relieved to be at a safe distance from the wineing, to which I have a low tolerance.

Day 2 of the Inca Trail is famous for being the hardest thanks to the relentless 1,000m (approx) climb up steep, uneven stone Inca steps to the top of Dead Woman's Pass at 4200m above sea level. You then descend again into the next valley and the campsite.
At 7.00am, after a remarkably luxurious breakfast prepared by our genius cook Christabo, we began the climb. The first leg was relentlessly uphill but mercifully lacking in steps, for which we all came to develop a mortal fear, and I skipped up with relative ease. We soon fell into formation spread along the Trail amidst other groups. I was in front with Laurie and Dwain (aged 45 and 48) hot on my heals, Christine and Diana (both in their 30s) were usually around 10/15 minutes behind, Lina (also 30 something) around 15 minutes behind them and Melissa (26) bringing up the rear, often as much as 40 minutes behind us and egged on by Wilfredo who has a lot of experience at dealing with straggling, mutineers and deserters. Age, it would seem, bares no relation to your success on the Trail and Wilfredo said that his oldest hikers were in their 80s! They made it, but many don´t. Whole groups have been known to turn back declaring that on one mentioned that they´d have to climb to get to Machu Picchu... One woman became hysterical 20 minutes from Machu Picchu´s Sun Gate and refused to take another step, having already hiked for 3 days. People are sick, people collapse and people drop dead. There are no helipads on route and once up those steps on the 2nd day you would have to rely on porters to carry you out. If no steps are involved then horses or donkeys might be employed but basically you can forget a speedy exit. In short, don´t hike the Inca Trail if you have a weak heart and don´t injur yourself on route. Most people, both young and old, do make it. Huffing and puffing, with tears and tantrums but they get there. The porters, it would appear, are super-human.
Ever upwards, higher and higher, we climbed, walking first though jungle and then along a steep path cut into the side of the mountain, following the sharp line of the valley below, and leading up towards the Pass. Once at the Pass, Laurie, Dwain and I joined the ecstatic masses who were rejoicing in their success and cheering along those still climbing. We were lucky, the clouds were low but we still got a spectacular view of the valley, the Trail weaving in and out of sight, dotted with slow-moving, ant-like hikers and porters, the latter being deciferable by their huge packs, often the same size as them, landen with chairs, food, tents and other equipment.
There was then the hour-long desent via endless steps into the next valley and our campsite. I had just got into my tent when the patchy rain took on the form of somthing altogether more serious and bucketed down on Lina, Melissa and Wilfredo, still somewhere on the Trail. Laurie, Dwain, Christine, Diana and I sat huddled in the meal tent sipping hot soup and coca tea wondering sypathetically about the others and, less sympathetically, taking bets on how late they would be.

Day 3 began with feeling of discontent. Laurie and Dwain´s tent had leaked during the night soaking them, their bags and their sleeping bags meaning a restless night and a grumpy morning. When paired with the leaking inflatable sleeping mat it was clear that Tucan ought to spend more time and money... Grrr.
The rain of the night before became a distant memory, however, as we hiked along with ever clearer and clearer weather.
Clouds had an amazing habit at of descending with such speed that the Inca ruins on the mountain opposite could be clearly visible one minute and then vanish in a white-out within seconds. The white-outs were displaced just as quickly and we snapped away with speed at what we could while we could see it. After another steep climb, we passed the remains of Inca settlements and check posts before plunging into jungle that became increasingly more tropical. After lunch was the most beautiful part of the Trail. Relavitely flat, the path wound on up and down, cutting tunnels through the rocks, with a sheer drop on one side and a moutain on the other covered in prehistoric, waterlogged moss and ferns dripping water on us as we passed.
We reached the summit of our last big hill and looked down on the town Aguas Calientes. From another Inca check point we could see Machu Picchu mountain and just about make out the Sun Gate. More terraces could be seen from our vantage point too and with light hearts we started the 2 hour descent down steep, narrow, uneven Inca steps that require the utmost concentration to save you from falling and breaking your neck. Porters run down in order to maintiain balance, or something like that, and passed us cheerfully, happy in the knowledge that the end was in sight.
The final campsite before Machu Picchu is very smart, with a bar and showers (if you care to wait for 3 hours) and so we dumped our stuff and went straight up for a well earned cervesa over looking the valley, thunder clouds gathering and rumbling ominously above.
Ever since the Fetish party I have been accompanied by 2 new friends who belong to a large group who are travlling with GAP. I have bumped into them repeatedly on the Trail and found them again in the bar dressed up in silly wigs for Halloween. They are a young, fun bunch of people and I have semi adopted them as a respite for the more 'sensible' members of my group who don´t like loud music and generally are in bed by 11.00. A few drinks with them and plans made for festivities back in Cusco.
It was our last night with our porters and an extra special meal, if such a thing is possible, was provided accompanied by pisco sours. We bought them a round of beers, which was recieved with much applause, and attempted stilted conversations with them in Spanish, teasing the younger ones who blushed at being in the presence of so many young blonds. We presented their tip envelopes individually and sung them the Birdy Song, much to their amazment. They were silent for a few moments and then attempted to copy it. We twittered around in the drizzling darkness outside our tents flapping our elbows and hopping up and down with much laughter. They then sang us a song and grabbed us up for the Wino (traditional dance of Peru, basically a side step to and fro holding hands with your partner) we all embraced, were swung around a bit more and then departed en masse to the bar.
After all this we were still in bed by 9.30pm. Early early starts the next day...

We were awoken at 3.30am by eager porters keen to get our tents down and be off in time for the 1st train back to Cusco. Christabo still managed to produce scrambled eggs on toast. We felt our way in the darkness to the entrance to Machu Picchu and settled ourselves down, the 1st in line, to await its opening at 5.30.
By 5.35 I was striding through the jugle at top speed totally alone in the early morning and excited, determind not to let anyone over take me. I wanted to get to the Sun Gate 1st. I emmerged out of the jungle at the Sun Gate and got my first glimpse of Machu Picchu appearing in the distance in the morning mist. I was supposed to wait for the others but seeing that path winding along the mountian side nicely deserted, I couldn´t resist it and plunged on ahead past another holy sight where people still make little offerings of coca leaves etc, and on to our destination.
The main gates had been open for some time by the time I rounded a corner and came face to face with Machu Pichu. 2 Argentinian women regarded me with surprise as I huffed out of the jungle appearing, apparently from no where looking desidely dishevelled. I explained I´d hiked for 4 days and they cooed with surprise and congratulations, eyeing my grubby clothes and unkempt appearance from eyes neatly decorated with eye shadow and face framed with gold earrings. I thought I´d better wait for the rest of my group before I started whooping and doing carwheels so I went to pass the time with a llama who was picturesquly grazing on a terrace.
I climbed up to get a proper look at Machu Picchu below and it had vanished in a blanket of thick thick cloud through which you could make out nothing. Groups of tourists sat patiently facing the white-out which just began to clear as the rest of the Inca Trailers arrived cheering and hugging each other. Elated after our pilgramage and Machu Picchu making a dramatic entrance through the clouds as if appearing on a stage set once the dry ice settles, posed for photographs and congratulated each other.
People from Aquas Calientes were already streaming in and it wouldn´t be long before the whole site would be swamped by tourists. We entered from the main entrance, stopping briefly to use proper loos (very exciting) and embarked on a 2 hour tour directed by Wilfredo who showed us the main temple, the ingenious irrigation systems and main house complete with flushing loo. Much has been restored and some of the houses have even been re-roofed with straw to give you a sense of what it would have looked like.
The mountiain of Wynapicchu towers over Machu Picchu and, if climbed, offers the famous ariel view displaying the shape of the condor. Totally exhausted but not to be out done by a mountain I climbed more steep, stone Inca steps that take you straight up, sometimes having to haul myself up on the wire ropes provided. This wasn´t hiking, it was climbing. Plenty of people were doing it, however, including many grey haired folk. Amazing really. I squeezed between rocks and climbed ladders to the very top where I was photographed by one of my GAP friends, perched on a rock hanging over Machu Picchu. Feeling extremely pleased with myself I made my cautoius way back down again with 2 Columbian gentlemen discussing Gabriel Garcia Marquez, what else?
Once back on solid earth I was worn out and people were beginning to stream in off the train from Cusco. Time to go. I ate an ice cream, sipped a coke and then borded the bus to the very comercially minded town of Aguas Calientes, built, it would seem, purly to accomadate the hoards of tourists on route to and from Machu Picchu. We all met in a restaurant and celebrated with beer before making our weary way back to Cusco via bus and train.
Hot showers, a qick dinner and we all passed out exhausted but happy. We did it.

Tonight is my last night with the group before they head off to Arequipa and I head off in the direction of Ayacucho in the Highlands. I have arrangements with my GAP crew too so a jolly night is anticipated. Before that, however, I have to move myself into a hostel. Something I´m rather looking forward to. I've missed being a backpacker and am excited for my final backpacking adventure. Home in 3 weeks!