Day Four: It's a jungle out...

There.

After our bonus one hour of extra sleep, we woke feeling a tad human for a change. The pace seemed to be more relaxed too. Our guides didn't push us with that "Vamonos!" (Let's go!) Attitude which was so prevalent the previous days. In fact, our walk through the cloud forest would be just that - a mosey along to the next campsite. Rumor had it, our "being on the move" chores would be completed before lunch. We were scoring time off for good behavior! 

We heard positive descriptors about this stretch from our guides. It didn't take long before I realized they were spot on. Heaps of the original Inca Trail was what we trod upon. The route maneuvered through dense undergrowth and overgrowth. The choking foliage would have required a machete to plow through. I had a notion that if I stood still too long, the vegetation would steamroll right over me. It being the rainy season everything was slick, dewy and glossy. 

The Inca steps were scary though. A few descents were at a ladder setting angle (about 70%). What made it even more fearful though was the "rungs/stairs."  They were only 6"-8" wide. You descended by side stepping each one. A normal walk would have had you imitating the "Flying Wallendas" sans safety net. Imagine a head over bum free fall. A no Bueno moment for sure. It was quite apparent to me, there were no personal injury lawyers in the Inca Empire. Now that's an advanced civilization. 

En route we came across a terraced ruin overlooking the Urabamba River way down below. The scene was simply amazing for want of other adjectives. Nearby a male llama was hoping to "get lucky" with a female llama of his dreams. He gave chase, while she played hard to get. A South American "Animal Planet" moment for all us Peeping Toms to enjoy. 

After another group photo, we were all pleasantly seated at our campsite with lunch in front of us. The time? About 1:30 pm. Gasp! Free time! This was a concept I could handle.

Cheers from Florida, 

I hear an IPA calling my name.

Jeff 

Day Three: Out comes the whoopin'

stick.

There wasn't a read a newspaper amount of light when Damas (a guide) and two porters shook my tent. They chirped out a friendly "Buenos Dias!" before dropping off warm wash water and soap. I pleaded and received  a cup of hot water for one of my Starbucks instant coffee shots. 

Later on I tried coca leaves, but I nearly got sick when I accidentally swallowed a soggy wad. 

Sleep had avoided me like a too-busy bartender. It's not easy to nod at over 11,000 feet. Any attempts at taking a deep breath caused me to jolt awake. I might have scored three hours of dream time-maybe.  Thank god for Starbucks and adrenaline. 

After breakfast and packing we started our assault of 13,828' Dead Woman Pass. (The outline of the pass looks like a supine woman, complete with a nipple)  Alex reassured the females in our tribe that "it's just a name! Don't worry!  I shouldered my load and headed uphill to the group's first break area. 

When I got there, locals had already set up a 7-11 convenience store. They were selling  water, candy, sodas and beers. Alex informed us down below this would be our last call for alcohol until the town of Aguas Calientes. I chose to give my liver a break for a few days. Besides, I didn't want to carry the added weight. 

I pulled off to the side and looked around. Ahh! From that point I was able to make out a distant glacier. On the rare moments when the clouds parted, one could see how wild and jagged the high Andes mountains are. They seemed to leap Michael Jordan like from the valleys below. There were very few similarities to the Colorado peaks I was used to. 

One by one our group coalesced at the rest stop. Everyone seemed to be in pretty good spirits. Some looked up expectantly at the prominent saddle that marked the summit of the pass. When everyone was somewhat rested, Alex gave us the green light to proceed upward. 

I inhaled a Cliff Bar for those precious 250 extra calories, and started up. After a kilometer or two I caught up with a peloton of porters. When they saw me they kicked it into that extra gear they possessed. That was the last I saw off them until the top. The ascent never seemed to want to end. Luckily it finally did. 

I smiled grandly while panting like an overheated hound. I settled back on a soft rock and took in the surroundings. Wow!  

One by one my teammates appeared. High fives and hugs were distributed in equal doses. Sincere grins was the prominent look. We couldn't get too cocky though, we still had another pass to climb. But first a descent and a much needed lunch break. 

I knew the crew was beat when Damas announced three times that lunch was ready. Eventually he began to gently herd his flock into the dining room tent. It was a quiet meal with muted conversations. Everyone seemed to be in lost in their own thoughts. 

After a short digestion period we psyched ourselves for the second major climb. Pass number two is a few stacked basketball players short of 13,000.' Damas assured us the hike would be "easy". Well, maybe for his 26 year old body. 

We passed a few small ruins en route as we made our way into a fog bank. It all felt sort of surreal. At the top of the pass, there were no "ooh-ahh" views. Kind of disappointing for all the sweat labor that went into our hike. Oh well, it was all downhill to our campsite. Yay!

The only instructions we were given was to stop at a fork on the trail before proceeding on. At least our guide Niko didn't quote Yogi Berra by saying "when you come to a fork in the road, take it." 

 

At the junction there was a good sized ruin to the left. Of course, it was uphill about 100 steps. On the right and at a lower altitude was our camp. We could see the familiar blue tents signifying "home." 

When Niko arrived he asked me, "want to see the ruin? I'll tell you it's history when we gather there." My answer was as short as I am, "NO! I'm Done!" I turned right and skidaddled down to camp. A porter led me to a choice of tents. I pitched my pack inside one. Yes! After over a half of day of motion, I was finally in "west and wewazation" mode "at wast." 

My companions drifted into camp to rounds of applause and back slaps. After a monumental effort we had put the toughest segment of the Inca Trail behind us. As a reward, we would get to sleep in before the next day's stroll through the cloud forest. Alex told us to chill until 6 am. Heavens! 

At dinner the conversations were animated and back in full swing. I could feel a general sense of relief. We were 17 happy campers. 

Cheers!

Jeff

Numero una dia: Cuzco, Peru and the Sacred Valley...

I woke up feeling a bit mangy after too many Peruvian IPAs. I suppose drinking 8% alcohol brews is not the healthiest way to make entry in a city that sits at over 11,000 feet. The need to hydrate for altitude ain't easy in Peru. You can't drink the tap water without getting real problems. (Like "Lose weight, ask me how" issues.) 

The evening before, I got caught up in the moment when I found myself in a real honest to goodness bar and grill. The place was featuring the Bronco/Patriots game on its big screen TVs. They could have been showing synchronized swimming for all I cared. The bartender spoke New York. It felt like being back home. 

After a tasty breakfast with real coffee, I did some early morning sightseeing while Cuzco woke up too. I strolled around the Main Plaza with its Roman Catholic cathedrals, restaurants and hotels. There I saw street vendors who were starting to warm up. Their wares were as diverse as their personal appearances. Jewelry, knick-knacks, alpaca woolen hats, food items and sketches were being hawked. They looked at this Gringo as a possible first sale of the day. I disappointed the Peruvian entrepreneurs by saying "No Gracias!" many times. I'm not much of a shopper. 

At one time Cuzco was the "Navel" of the Inca Empire. Intricate stone work is still prevalent throughout the historical part of town. They employed a lot of muscle power in their building construction techniques. Hugh granite blocks were sanded, polished, scraped and cut to fit. It didn't take long for me to realize these stonemasons were not being paid at a Union rate. Civic projects did not spring up overnight. 

My favorite scene was watching a petite, pretty and well-coifed traffic cop. She was making a futile attempt to direct the mayhem of cars, buses, trucks and taxis from occupying the same place at the same time. She wore a white, shiny vinyl gun holster. Unlike the Carabineros of Chile there were no strings attached to her pistol. 

At about 8 am, a passenger van and our guide Alex showed up at the hotel. Me and a few fellow Inca Trail soon-to-be sojourners boarded. Introductions, handshakes and pleasantries were made. I sighed in relief when everyone appeared to be nice, normal, interesting and pretty smart. I was hoping they were thinking the same thing about me. Well, maybe I was reaching for the sky for them to think of me as "normal."

Our ultimate destination was the Sacred Valley of the Incas with a few stops along the way. If the tourist spot didn't grab me, I would wander about and snap photos. (See the Guinea Pigs? In Peru, it's what's for dinner.) 

Much of the day was spent in the van watching the Peruvian world go by. From my vantage point, villages appeared to meld into one another. Most had a hard scrabble look about them. Many of the housing units seemed to be in a construction or deconstruction mode. Dogs milled around piles of plastic garbage bags strewn along the roadsides. Long walls were painted up with presidential political ads. From my impromptu poll, I think Cuna will get the nod in the Cuzco district. Old women trudged by bearing enormous who-knows-what loads wrapped in red woolen blankets. They wore bowlers and other not seen in the USA type of hats. Lots of men just seemed to be hanging out. 

Si! But if you looked past the human side and gazed up at the natural side. Here's what you would see: lush green steep hillsides, distant 20,000' mountains containing glaciers and terraced farmland clinging to the angled slopes. I liked the Mother Nature side more. 

Yep, I was surely in a foreign country. 

We made stops at some ruins with Inca names I can't even begin to pronounce or spell. Then again, I can say the same thing about a multitude of places in North America. Alex would talk (sometimes drone on) about the site and its significance to the Big Picture view of what the Inca Empire was all about. I felt like I had enrolled in a freshman Machu Picchu 101 course. Alex didn't mention if there would be any surprise quizzes. 

It was an infringement of my Happy Hour by the time we returned to the hotel. Me and my fellow travelers would soon find out long days would be the norm instead of the exception. We didn't know it, but we had all paid to be in an ultra-marathon. The finish line would be Machu Picchu. 

Salud,

Jeff