Cuzco sits at a dizzy 3400m above sea level. Nestled deep in the Andies and higher than Machu Picchu, it makes for the ideal place to acclimatize to the altitude before endeavoring to trek anywhere. As it slides down into a valley, you can't walk anywhere without tackling a hill or two and as my hostel is positioned on top of one the biggest hills, my lungs were put to the test immediately.

In the first few days I frequently found myself stopping to catch my breath only to be overtaken by small, hunched-over women in their late 70s, carrying a bundles on their backs the size of a small cars. I would be left helplessly panting like a over-worked husky stranded in the Sahara Dessert.

After crawling up a hill in search of breakfast on my first morning, I chose a place that looked popular with the locals. Upon hearing the list of dishes they served and not recognizing any of them, I agreed to the first one mentioned. I noticed catching some surprised glances and could hear faint chuckles coming from the kitchen but thought nothing of it. Then placed in front of me was a large bowl of soap with half a sheep's head blankly staring back at me (flesh, eye and teeth included). Feeling like I was in a Indiana Jones movie, I gingerly picked round my fleece ridden friend and politely reflected the beaming smile of the young man who'd joyfully served me the dish. Feeling decidedly sheepish (oh dear), I left with dreams of scrabbled egg, hash browns and baked beans.

After feeling marginally fitter Nick, Rob (an Aussie from my hostel) and I booked a three day trek including a day biking down a mountain, lots of jungle walking and a relaxing session in some natural hot springs before reaching our goal of Machu Picchu.

08/12/08

The morning was overcast as the minibus set off with us and the rest of our group to the top of a mountain near the Inca village of Ollantaytambo. The higher we drove, the deeper into the clouds we were and rain started to lash against the windows. On the advice of our guides we were dressed more like a beach volleyball team then people about to be thrown down a wet, wind swept mountain. After a couple of gear changes, we realised the bikes were a health and safety nightmare but what was more apparent was the freezing, stinging wind and rain which soon turned my exposed skin as red as a slapped bottom. This also made visibility virtually impossible and with no lights, left us at the mercy of any oncoming traffic on the narrow mountain roads. In this uninhabited wilderness, territory is divided up between the wild dogs, who don't take kindly to visitors. On a number of occasions I found a hairy hound barking and yapping at my ever more frantically peddling heels.

After thawing out with a hot cup of coca tea (coca being the base ingredient of cocaine but in its leaf form is a regularly taken, legal stimulant that supposedly helps with altitude sickness), we explored the small town of Santa Maria. We soon found that the majority of the towns people had taken to the streets in celebration and some had assembled a bands to which the locals were dancing and drinking an orange throthy liquid to. The liquid was later discovered to be a plant thats alcohol is extracted by chewing it and spitting it out (the throth being saliver). Due to our ignorance we were unaware that it was the Independence from Spain day which didn't stop us (along with two Spanish from our group) joining in the celebrations. With the confidence that can only be gained by a few cups of saliver, a few of us tried to take on some local youngsters in a highly competitive kick-about. Night had fallen and a mere sliver of moon and street light provided a convenient excuse that a bunch of 11 year olds completely embarrassed us with their South American trickery. We begrudgingly shook their tiny hands and left whist vocalizing complaints of flaws in the perfectly flat, concrete pitch.


Having been told we were to wake up at a dream shattering 3:30am to catch a bus to the start of our trek, we waited out in the cold, dark morning...........waited and waited some more. Three hours later our hung over guide surfaced, with his saliver smelling strongly of saliver he made up some story about a lost bus driver and put us into a taxi. The taxi driver then proceeded to drive like a man possessed around mountain, cliff edge roads, barely wide enough for a bike with stabilizers. We were hurtling around for around 40 mins, by which time he had picked up 7 hitchhikers, 2 squeezed in the back seat and 5 in the boot! Once dropped at Santa Taressa we waited a further two hours until our new guide and group showed up. On arrival the guide broke the news that the planned and eagerly awaited hot springs were not on his schedule. This coupled with sleep deprivation made for an interesting Spanglish argument which in the end, as we had no idea where we were, we gave up and settled for the new trek to Aguas Calientes (the town at the foot of Machu Picchu).

Although not wanting to admit it at first, the trek was fantastic. We followed disused railway tracks that snaked into the Andies, running parallel to and criss crossing a huge turbulent river that further down became the Amazon. I had to crane my neck back full tilt to catch a glimpse of the ever present mountain peaks that loomed over us. The sun too had decided to make an appearance, soon the memories of the morning evaporated in the midday air.

It wasn't till we were well relaxed into our meal that night, that the guide broke further bad news that our money for the entrance to M P had not been transferred and would have to be paid again. This issue took the rest of the evening to resolve by which time Spanglish had dissolved into hysterics and just thinking of the pile up of blunders sent everyone into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

10/12/09

The morning (4:00am) brought no reprieve. We discovered we weren't getting breakfast and my lunch bag was half missing. Faced with the prospect of climbing up M P on a chocolate bar and carton of juice, I was helplessly gripped by the giggles once more. Deciding we'd pool our food resources, we began to tackle the steep Inca steps as a group brought closer together by the shared mishaps. The morning mist was dense but as we approached the top, the days fresh air moved in and blew the mist away like dust from and old, well-known photograph. We had found the lost city of the Incas. As we had set off so early we were treated to it before the waves of tourist buses began crashing through the turnstiles and through squinted eyes could look on it as it may have been 500 years ago.

The sense of achievement was high and six of us decided to treat ourselves to three courses and a few bottles at a recommended restaurant back in Aguas Calientes. A train then buss whisked us back to Cuzco for around 10 where with new-found energy we continued the celebrations late into the night, reliving moments from the past few days to the bored expressions of locals who'd heard it all before.