Getting high in the Andes

After being collected from our hotel at the unholy hour of 5.30am, we made our way to pick up the porters en route to the KM82 checkpoint where we would start the trek. But not before stopping for breakfast in a local farmhouse. Apparently some of the tour companies treat the porters quite badly, so to prove it's credentials the one we had chosen made a point of taking us for breakfast with a local porter's family to eat their food and see how they live.

There we met the rest of our group for the duration of the Inca Trail, three Scottish lads, Seán, Haaki and Grant. We went in.

The farmhouse itself was rather basic with walls made from adobe, but it quickly became apparent they possess a technology vastly superior to any appliance you'll find in a kitchen back home: the Quechuan Self-Cleaning Floor™. What happens is any bio-waste, such as potato peelings, discarded scraps etc. basically just get chucked on the floor. Within seconds about 35 guinea-pigs appear from cracks in the wall, under the stove, anywhere there's a hiding place; they swarm around the waste material, quickly gobble it all up, and disappear. It all happens so fast you're not sure it really happened or did you momentarily daydream you were in a Tango commercial? But since the thing you chucked on the floor seems to have vaporized into thin air, you're left with the conclusion that it must have been real.

And on special occasions when there is cause for celebration in the family, one of the guinea pigs will be taken, given a cuddle, roasted, and eaten. This way everything comes full circle, nothing is wasted and everyone is happy (except perhaps one or two of the guinea pigs who are left wondering why they haven't seen Bubbles in a while).

As we set out for the actual trek from the KM82 checkpoint, we left the porters who must go through their own checkpoint. Before the whole thing became regulated by the Peruvian government a few years ago, the porters used to carry 40-50kg each (which given their small stature, must be most of their body weight). These days the law says they may only carry 25kg and their backpacks are weighed-in at the checkpoint. Unfortunately for them, there was a massive queue for the porters' checkpoint and hardly any at all for the tourists.

The first day of walking was just a 4-hour trek to ease us into it. We walked at 'tourist pace' as our guide José described it, stopping to see an old Inca city along the way - one of the many Inca sites we would see over the next four days. Soon our porters caught up and surpassed us, along with porters from other groups. They didn't so much walk the Inca trail as run it. Later some of the trails would narrow to perhaps 1 metre wide with a 1000-metre drop into oblivion, and while we'd be clinging on to the mountainside edging forward they would still race past you overtaking on a cliff edge, carrying their heavy backpacks.

One of the sad sights on the first day was to see people turning back, realising they were just not able for it. You need to spend at least 3 or 4 days acclimatizing to the altitude, but it seems not everyone takes this advice. Which is a shame really, they must have been planning it for long enough as you need to apply for your permit to do the Inca Trail about six months in advance, given the limit now placed on how many people may trek it. One poor American girl said hello to us as she headed back to the starting point, she looked devastated. Her partner just looked really, really pissed off.

Eventually we made it to our campsite where the porters had already set up the tents. They had put out little bowls of warm water and soap to wash our hands and had dinner ready. They really did look after us. And the food was fantastic. Over the next four days no two meals were the same but they were all delicious, which was amazing considering the small portable gas cooker they had with them.

We didn't stay up much longer after eating. The sun had come down and it was pitch black. We were knackered after the hike, shamefully so given our leisurely pace and that the porters had pretty much sprinted it.

Day 2 is said to be the hardest: it is the steepest climb - to over 4200m, from a starting point of about 2700m - that's 1.5km or nearly a mile vertically! And at that altitude, the air thins considerably, your lungs getting less than 50% of normal oxygen levels. To help with the altitude, José suggested we try some coca leaves.

Now it's true that cocaine is extracted from coca leaves (as was the original secret ingredient in Coca Cola) - though it takes about 25kg of foliage to make a gram of the hard stuff. It seems the Quechuan people (the people of the Inca empire - the 'Inca' was just the leader) have been using coca leaves to help cope with the altitude since ancient times. 'Makes you stronger' they say, and it works. It hits you like a major caffeine kick, and you certainly don't feel as tired trekking up that hill.

In fact, along our steep ascent, Colin boastfully declared that he didn't know why anyone thought day 2 was difficult, this was clearly much easier than day 1. A statement he later had to retract as we neared the summit, panting and gasping for breath, admitting that he must have been high on coca leaves to have said such a thing. At this stage poor Tom looked pale, having been ill two days previous to starting the hike and so finding it tougher. But he made it to the summit, and we all felt an immense sense of achievement. The hardest part was over.

Day 3 took us climbing to another peak, though not so high, this time a measly 3300m before beginning our long descent towards Machu Picchu mountain. This took us through what is called a 'cloud rainforest', which true to its name meant we were walking through thick clouds mostly, and so were unfortunately deprived of some of the breathtaking views of the Andes we had enjoyed so far. Probably just as well, as much of the pathways and dizzyingly steep steps we clambered down were narrow, and I reckon it's more calming to look into white cloud instead of the oblivion to which you might perish if you slipped off the edge.

That evening - our final night of sleeping it rough in the mountains - we reached our final campsite. But this was no ordinary campsite. It had a visitor centre. It had a bar. There were rumours of a hot shower (which turned out to be unfounded, but it did have a shower). Myself and Grant, one of the Scottish lads, got there first. We ordered some beers for the group to have them ready as they arrived. And when they did, we all toasted our success - we were nearly there, only 1.5 hours left to trek the next morning to Machu Picchu.

Of course, due to a combination of altitude and fatigue, by the time we'd had two drinks we were three sheets to the wind. Dinner was ready, after which it would be our last opportunity to see the porters. We thanked them in pidgin Quechuan using the few words that José had taught us along the way, gave them a tip, and gave them some bottles of beer.

We turned in early, rising at 4am the next morning to complete the last leg of the journey and to catch the sunrise through the Sun Gate, where we would get our first glimpse of Machu Picchu.

Machu Picchu

We rose in darkness, had a quick breakfast and made our way to the last checkpoint and began the final leg of our journey. In parts it was a bit crowded, as everyone at the camp seemed to set off at the same time, including the Italian looking family we kept bumping into since day 1. The father had ceased to accompany them some days before, and the mother was now carrying the extra backpack, with her son whom we had decided to name Oedipus.

Making good progress we arrived ahead of schedule at the sun gate after walking for just an hour. And there it was, in all its glory: Machu Picchu, the Lost City of the Incas as its 'discoverer' Hiram Bingham called it (though he was actually shown the way by some local Quechuans who were living there at the time).

It stood in the low morning sunrise, the shadow of Wayna Picchu mountain stretching out behind it yet somehow not casting darkness on the city itself. I'm not one for sentimentality when it comes to old rocks, but let's just say it was emotional. This is what we had walked four days for, and it was every bit worth it.

"So that's Machu Picchu?" Tom blurted out. Everyone within earshot looked at him in confusion. Oh Christ, what was he going to say. He had been grumbling about doing the trek after almost fainting on day 2.

"What were you expecting?" said one Australian woman.

"Did you not see the bloody pictures?" Colin demanded.

"It's just... bigger than I thought!"

And if cynical Tom thought it worth the trek, then that's saying something.

What's amazing is the sheer geography of it, and that they managed to build anything at all. It's pretty much on a cliff face, about 89 degrees if you ask me. And yet they managed to eke out terraces for farming and crop cultivation, using clever techniques that allowed them to control the temperature of each level within a wide range, growing crops that could never normally survive at this altitude. And they reckon the terraces excavated there are only the tip of the iceberg, many more terraces (and possibly more of the city) remains within the vegetation at Machu Picchu.

In fact, during the entire four days of trekking we came across terraces in practically every valley. What they managed to do was well ahead of its time: turning an inhospitable environment into fertile land; serving to prevent landslide of their vertical cities, and providing drainage so the whole lot didn't get washed away during the rainy season.

We spent the day walking around the city. It had parks, it had fountains, centres of learning with fixtures still intact for studying the cosmos, and temples to the snake (representing the pachamama, or mother earth), the puma (representing the current life), and the condor (for the heaven above). What proves the Spanish never found Machu Picchu, apparently, is the simple fact that the temples exist and were not destroyed. Seems in their enthusiasm to spread the 'good word' of Christianity, all spiritual symbols from this important and powerful culture were to be eradicated as 'false idols'.

We spent most of the day exploring this fascinating place, before boarding a bus down to the nearest village, Aguas Calientes, to be eaten alive by mosquitos and sandflies while we waited for our 4-hour train back to Cuzco.

The next morning we flew to Lima where we planned to spend our last few days before making our way home. As we disembarked from the plane, we bumped in to Oedipus and his mother (husband still MIA), I swear they were following us. They said 'Hola!', we smiled and said 'Hola' back. Not Italian then.

There we spent our last few days in a slightly swanky hotel to chill out and let our hair down. Niamh was slightly disappointed, I think she was expecting a sunny beach resort to catch some rays. The climate here is eternally grey and a lukewarm 15-18 degrees - just like home.

What struck me about Peru was the absolute contrast. As we crossed the border from Bolivia, the subsistence farming. The Quechuans in Cuzco approaching you to buy their hand-knitted clothing made from alpaca wool. To Lima, the big city. Latin American yet westernised, littered with Starbucks.

On our last day we came back from breakfast to find the hotel manager had left a birthday cake for me in the room. A nice touch. After far too many early-to-bed, early-to-rise nights in the wilderness, we went out that night, ate some greasy food and had a few drinks. We even went bowling, which I haven't done on a birthday since I was about 12.

And none of us could believe the end had come to our South America tour, though it seemed like it had been forever. A trip I will never forget.