Day 5- Escape from Paradise

A rocky escape route

The ordeal of the past few sleepless nights caught up with us, and we packed in brusque silence, punctuated by terse outbursts and indignant gesticulations. The plan for this, our last day in Paradise, was to visit some ruins and then walk to the main road where we could catch a bus the hell out of there. In doing so, we could avoid the long walk down the beach to where we arrived. This is where we should have asked someone about the distances and terrain we were planning on covering.

Pueblito

The walk to ‘Pueblito’ was through thick ‘dry rainforest’, and away from the seabreeze it became incredibly hot. The walk degenerated into more of a scrabbling climb over huge boulders and through creeks and up never-ending flights of ancient stairs and jumping over bone-breaking gaps in the ‘path’. It was a fun walk, but if I was to do it again I would take hiking boots and probably not take a bodyboard.

Ants hard at work

Pueblito was an interesting jungle-strewn collection of terraces and staircases, but the ordeal of getting there had left us without the enthusiasm to go and explore. Instead we sat on rock and ate the last of our supplies. What looked like a short stroll on our visitor’s maps, once again, fooled us, and it was revealed by a local that the trail to the main road would take around two hours. Wanting nothing more than walls and roof we began the hike, which included of the following:

• Knee-deep mud thanks to the recent rain.
• Ill-tempered horses (Angie will lose a finger one day if she continues indulging this penchant for patting anything with four legs).
• Middle-aged German men on some kind of wilderness sex tour.
• Endless uphills
• And the production of gallons of sweat, exactly what we had come here to avoid.

Perilous river crossing

When finally we arrived at the road, a bus pulled up and we were ushered into its sublimely air-conditioned interior. We were on our way back to a place where the walls were widely spaced and the roofs were solid and impermeable to rain. It was a feeling of relief, but I’d go back again at the first opportunity. As long as that opportunity came at a time outside of peak holiday season, that is. I’m pretty sure that we were in Paradise, as James had called it, (go back through the pictures and imagine them with all the people removed), but it seems that even Paradise has a maximum occupancy, and when that number is reached, Paradise can degenerate into something similar to countless other tourist hells.

Incan Scraps

Everyone loves llamas

Some of the photos that didn't make it into the original posts...

Inca lion

Temple of the Sun, Machu Picchu

More llamas.

Crowds waiting for the clouds to part.

Marc and Bre at the starting line, Day Four.

Ancient steps.

Stonework along the way.

Site after site on day three.

IncaTrail Flora

This moss grows metres deep along on the rocks beside the trail. To prove this, our guide, Puma, pushed a walking pole vertically into the moss until the stick completely disappeared.

This is a 'You Will Cry' orchid.

These little fluro orange flowers pop up allover the site.

Daytura

Inca Trail, day four. The Big Show

Bleary eyed hikers in line

A rainy 3:30am start did not make for an exuberant campsite. We were up at this time (giving new meaning to the term 'ungodly hour') to be the first in line when the track re-opened at 5:30. Thankfully, Pachamama stopped the rain during breakfast, and we ended up being first in chattering line for the final walk to Machu Picchu. The excited walk to the Sun Gate, and the first glimpse of the ancient city was the scene of some intense competition. The chance to be the first to see the site is apparently very important to some people, and, with her walking stick converted into baton, Angie actually struck one over-eager Norwegian who made a cheeky attempt at passing our single-file group.

Machu Picchu is in there somewhere

Breathlessly, we arrived at the Sun Gate to find Machu Picchu enveloped in a thick fog, impenetrable even to the rising sun, let alone our sleep-deprived eyes. There was a tense fifteen minute wait on the ever-filling viewing platforms as nature performed an excruciating stripshow, constantly revealing snippets of stoneflesh but never disrobing completely. Our group continued on to the site, but even there the fog was thick. We spent an hour or so watching the beautiful spectacle of the terraces and temples being constantly revealed and recovered under a subdued morning sun.

Curtains parting

By mid-morning the cloud had dispered and was being replaced by a fog of overweight tourists (lazy train riding cheaters....ummm...we were taught on the tour that we must loathe them). Anyway, Machu Picchu was in full sun and Puma took us on a walk through the massive site, explaining the significance of various temples, houses and stonework.

The llamas are actually government workers employedtokeepthe grass short and photogenic

This is the most beautiful of the Incan stonework. Such precision was reserved for the most holyof sites.

A group of left the tour to climb Wanyu-Picchu, a small collection of platforms and houses built in the most impossible location, clinging to the cliffs overlooking Machu Picchu. When you look at photos of Machu Picchu, Wanyu Picchu is hidden at the top of the pointy mountain in the background, I'd never even realised it was there until someone pointed it out for me. The hour plus climb up was the hardest of the trip, but seeing the elderly Catholic nuns descending in their sandals put a stop to any lame complaining. The view from the top of the mountain was amazing. Sitting on the peak was the first time I could really comprehend that we were actually on a mountain surrounded by a valley. We could see the entire network of the Incas in the valley; the paths, the watchtowers, the farming terraces and the city itself, prostrated on the mountainside in a huge X shape. Seeing everything from this angle made it clear that it wasn't just an amazing society that had been destroyed, it was an amazing empire.

A cave on the way to the top of Waynu Picchu.

We spent the rest of the day wandering around Machu Picchu, laying like lizards on the rocks of the quarry, exploring the city and it’s surrounds and generally soaking up the energy of the place. A short walk away was The Inca Bridge, another cliff-face construction of stone and wood. The bridge allowed access to the city from another angle, but these days it’s off limits to all. Marc and I caused a minor uproar by walking around shoeless until a janitor on a power trip insisted we re-cover our aching hooves.


We left in the late afternoon, and while we were waiting outside for the bus back to our hotel, experienced some rock-star treatment courtesy of a Peruvian school group. Each of the twenty or so schoolgirls who were also waiting insisted on having photos with each of us, and then the mothers and teachers got involved as well. Despite all the attention, we still felt about as unglamorous as anyone would after not showering for four days. Nobody mentioned anything about how we smelt, which was nice, and the schoolgroup promoted us to the head of the bus line, which was nicer.


We made it back to our hotel, and headed straight for the local hot springs. The opaque brown water smelt a little too earthy to be considered cleansing, and the high density of bobbing heads and shoulders made the pools resemble a stinky human soup. It felt good on our aching muscles though, and once the smell got to be too much, we braved the local restaurant touts. We found a nice Mexican restaurant that immediately lost electricity and overcharged us when the time came to pay. It was obvious the night was heading downhill, and we were all at the point of absolute exhaustion anyway. We returned to the hotel, and had our first, glorious sleep on a mattress since leaving Cusco.

Inca Trail, Day Three

Once again we were up with El Sol and a steaming cup of in-tent coffee. However, it was to be our last such luxury; either Marc or Bre spilled their beverage leaving a puddle of nescafe in the tent and a ban on further wake-up delights. After a breakfast of pancakes the fameelee set off.

Marc, Bre and Angie in a watchtower

Cloudlakes

Day 3 was the day of Inca sites and cloud enveloped strolls. We hiked through an ever-morphing landscape that ranged from dry grassy hills, orchid infested humid rainforests to mossy, misted highlands. The results of the Incan penchant for building marvelous structures on impossible slopes could be seen everywhere, and we walked on stone paths had had resisted the need for repair or restoration since the time of the great empire. Angie took an apparently spectacular tumble-cum-commando-roll down one carved stone stairway and impressed everyone with her resilience.

This is tea made from coca leaves, the same one used in the manufacture of cocaine. Drinking this tea (or chewing the leaves whole) can reduce the effects of fatigue, altitude and also stop you from feeling hungry (not really a problem on this trip). Plus, it's really tasty.

We reached camp late in the day, our tents hidden in a maze-like campground housing the 200 trekkers and 300 porters that walk this track everyday. 500 people a day on a track like this tends to make things a little crowded, which can sort of dull the sensation of being remove from civilisation (as can the incredible quality of the food and service). But towards the end of the day, the crowd thins out and it is possible to have sections of the track completely to yourself, and these are the moments when you can almost forget that you're in the 21st century and enjoy treading paths over 500 years old.

Crowds

More ruins on a near-vertical slope

Our last ruins before the main event.

Inca Trail, Day Two. The Hard Day

Wakey wakey

We awoke to a cloud-speckled dawn and a cup of coffee served to us while still snugly cocooned in our sleeping bags.This was camping at it's most luxurious. In fact all the worst bits of roughing it had been removed, and we were left ot experience something more closely resembling a mobile hotel. Our tents were packed away for us while we breakfasted on porridge, toast, fruit salad and yogurt. The worrying overnight rain had stopped and amongst the opulence of the food tent Puma explained the days itinerary.



Day 2 has the reputation for being the hardest walk, encompassing around 12km of steep hills and steps. After a sweaty, knee-bursting few hours of incline we reached the first pass, the highest point on the journey. At 4215 metres above the normal human habitat (sea level), the thin air made the climb physically fatiguing, but the open terrain, which meant you could actually see how far away the top was, made this section a psychological uphill as well (and watching the overloaded porters power skywards made us feel plain embarrassed).

Resting on the first pass

Ceremonial coca leaves and rocks

When the last of our group dragged themselves to the peak, Puma led a small ceremony to thank Pachamama (Mother Earth) for our good fortune on the trip so far. We descended through he clouds on the other side of the hill where camp and lunch were waiting for us. The afternoon was spent recovering, relaxing and napping after the morning's excesses.

After the first pass