Machu Picchu 2023
August, 2021. In the UK, businesses were optimistically beginning to reopen after the easing of COVID restrictions, but the NHS remained under relentless pressure and burnout among healthcare workers was high.
I was part of a small group of frontline ambulance staff who decided to raise money for the South Western Ambulance Charity, to help support our struggling colleagues. The challenge: to trek the Inca trail in Peru, a four-day, 45km slog at high altitude, ending in the beautiful 15th-century citadel of Machu Picchu.
Our departure date in May 2023 soon rolled around, and after three flights, two buses and one lost suitcase, we landed in Cusco. The first day acclimatising to the altitude was uncomfortable at best and unforgiving at worst among the group, with several people having nausea, vertigo and nosebleeds. I do feel that these symptoms may have been exacerbated by the set of wonky panpipes that found their way into my possession for the princely sum of ten soles. What a bargain!!
Numerous other pieces of supposedly handcrafted, less musical tat were bought by the group as we enjoyed the touristy delights of the Centro Histórico in Cusco for a couple of days: we
huffed and puffed up the hill to the Mirador desde el Cristo Blanco, ate cake overlooking the main square and rang the bells at the Circuito Religioso Arzobispal. At this point I may have
bought myself a poncho and was seriously considering starting a new life as a Peruvian busker, and skipping the trek altogether. I did pass on sampling the local specialty of guinea pig,
although a few of the group did try it, with mixed reviews! I think I'll stick to the coca tea!
The evening before our trek we met with our main guide Rosel, a local chap with an unrivalled passion for the history of the Incas, who told us confidently that this would be his 790th trip to Machu Picchu. After our relaxed acclimatisation in Cusco, things began to feel a little bit more real. The prospect of four days with no showers, sleeping in a cold tent, trekking by headtorch in the dark, humidity up to 80% and temperatures ranging between ten degrees overnight and thirty during the day... I was beginning to think this wasn't one of my finest ideas.
Armed with enough plasters and painkillers between us to rival a pharmacy, and some very questionable improvisational skills on the panpipes, we set off from the hotel at 0430 in the minibus towards the trail head at Piskacucho. By the time we arrived the sun was high in the sky, and as we began our trek on the gradual incline towards the first campsite, we were treated to some wonderful views of the mountains. Rosel's description of the undulating path as the 'Peruvian flag' seemed quite fitting, and my legs were starting to feel it! We saw the first of many Inca terraces and I was awed by their sheer scale. Considering the construction techniques and knowledge that would have been required to build them, and the tools that would have been available at that time, they are an impressive feat of engineering.
We met some of our porters for the trek as we walked - a group of hardened local men (and one superwoman!) who were responsible for taking our tents, food and water, and spare kit along the trail. Although the amount they are permitted to carry is now regulated, their oversized packs still weigh up to 25kg and watching them casually jog past us while fully laden (in flip flops!) as we toiled and sweated our way across the Andean highlands was humbling. Who needs a gym membership when you have the Inca trail!
After surviving our first day with 14km completed, we were treated to a filling meal from the chef and crashed out at the campsite at Ayapata for an early night. We were rudely awoken on the morning of day 2 at silly o'clock with a cup of hot coca tea, to ready us for the endlessly steep climb known as Dead Woman's Pass. Several of the group even set out early to get a head start on the infamous trail, which peaks at 4200 metres above sea level, and is regarded as the hardest day of the trek.
The guidebooks cheerfully report it takes an average of 10 hours to complete this leg of the journey - an optimistic estimate for a bunch of tired NHS staff, who were already emotionally and physically battered from frontline ambulance work and carrying a range of pre-existing injuries!
It was hard going. Having not had issues with the altitude beforehand, I was unpleasantly surprised by the creeping breathlessness that came with the climb. The sun was as unforgiving as the terrain, beating down and draining our energy. After several relentless hours of hiking, we began to fragment and spread out along the dusty path, as the easy conversation from the previous day was replaced with ragged breathing and concentration on zigzagging up the uneven steps. It felt like the longest time before I finally re-joined a few of the others, who had kindly waited for me just below the highest point of the trail. We climbed the last few metres together, and for someone who normally doesn't stop taking, even I was lost for words as the view suddenly opened up in front of us. The clear skies that had provided no respite along the steep incline now gave us an unrivalled panorama of the beautiful Pacaymayu Valley ahead.
(I must admit, I had a little cry at this point. Must've got a bit of dust in my eye.)
We waited for the rest of the group to arrive before we began descending into the valley. I caught up with some of the others that I hadn't seen since earlier in the morning, and they described how they had made it to the top by distracting themselves with impromptu pop quizzes the whole time!
I just love the idea of bemused local porters and other tourists listening to a band of eccentric English people throwing random trivia around the mountainside.
Walking downhill felt effortless in comparison to our previous slog, and from this side of the trail it's possible to see how it gets its name. Contrary to my own personal belief that the trek was designed to kill me, Dead Woman's Pass (or 'Warmi Wañusqa' in the local Quechua language) is said to resemble a woman lying down, with the jagged peaks creating her silhouette. I feel this sort of creative licence from the Incas may be due to a combination of brain fog from the altitude and chewing too many coca leaves, so I'm sticking with my original theory!
The relief from the descent was relatively short-lived as we had another climb ahead of us past the waterfalls and ruins at Runkuracay, but we had the chance for a bit of sunbathing and rest before sitting down for some lunch. Turns out that in the Peruvian Andes, what goes up must come down, before it goes up and down several more times! I managed over 33,000 steps in total for the day and it's a wonder my legs didn't fall off.
Although my CamelBak sprung a leak at some point on the last stretch so at least my legs were nice and cool by the time we got to the campsite, if not a bit on the damp side.
It was a clear night, and we were promised some amazing views of the constellations thanks to the lack of light pollution. I made the mistake of enjoying them a bit too much while I was heading to the toilet tent in the middle of the night, and fell straight over a rock - should've known to take my walking poles with me! One cut finger and a bruised ego later, I was very much ready for bed.
After a cold night in the tents, we rose early again and I was beginning to crave a lie-in by this point. I could definitely get used to having all my meals made for me though; maybe life in the mountains isn't so bad, as long as you have a team of skilled chefs and porters looking after you! Before we set off for the day the team introduced themselves to us in turn, and I was surprised that the eldest porter was 61. I am never going to complain about being too old to do something again! Back breaking work for someone so close to retirement.
We picked up the trail and it took us into the jungle known as the Cloud Forest, with the mountains becoming less visible through the mist and trees as the humidity began to rise. It felt like a different world to the scorching heat of the previous day, and after a short climb we reached the pass overlooking the Urubamba River and Machu Picchu Mountain. With almost 40km walked by this point, it was hard to think that our journey was almost at an end.
The remainder of the path to our final campsite at Wiñay Wayna was mostly downhill, which I was very grateful for, although I hadn't really appreciated how jarring it is on the knees to spend a morning pounding down rocky steps. One of the group decided to try running down part of it - the paramedic in me had visions of things going horribly wrong, but thankfully no casualties! Before we knew it, we had arrived at the campsite in time for lunch and a well earned rest. I made friends with some local llamas (I'm lying, I was terrified when they randomly appeared out of nowhere, they were MASSIVE) and later in the afternoon we walked down to the Inca ruin next to the campsite where our guide Rosel spoke at length about the significance of the area. And with the sun setting overhead, I utilised some gentle peer pressure on the rest of the group and we did a spot of yoga overlooking the terraces to stretch out our aching muscles.
Magical.
On our return to the campsite it was time for some more wonderful food, and the chef surprised us all by baking a cake for two members of the group who were celebrating their birthdays while on the trek. As someone who can barely bake with a fully equipped and functional kitchen, how he managed to produce such a culinary masterpiece on the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere I will never understand. Apparently all it takes is a few ingredients, a clay pot and three hours sitting on a fire! Easy, right? My only contribution to the evening was playing 'Happy Birthday' on the panpipes, which had gotten a bit squashed in the duffel bag, sounded even worse than they had before. As if such a thing was possible! At this point I figured it prudent to quit while I was ahead (and before I got cake thrown at me), and we called it a night.
After what felt like no time at all, we were woken hideously early for the final leg of our trek. According to Rosel, the earlier you can get to the checkpoint, the better - the gates open at 0530 and when we arrived at 0345, there was already another group queuing ahead of us. How do people survive on so little sleep? Still, once we were allowed in, we would begin our hike to Intipunku, the Sun Gate, where we would get our first view of the ruins of Machu Picchu itself.
We were so close!
The gates opened, and we were off. With the path ahead lit only by the glow of our headtorches, we soon overtook the other group and it became a bit of an impromptu race to be the first to the Sun Gate. As dawn began to break we clamoured up the rock face affectionately named by the locals as the 'Gringo Killer', quick marched along the flat sections, and excited ran up the last few steps together.
We reached the top. For the first time in the trip, the weather had turned on us, and the whole area was completely obscured by fog. Disappointed, but undeterred, we sat and waited. We were still smug at beating the two American groups to the Sun Gate, but even that victory began to fade as we realised that ironically, we had travelled halfway across the world only to end up
with some very British weather between us and our final destination!
It was almost an hour later that the fog suddenly lifted, allowing us a glimpse of the city that we had spent the previous three days trekking towards. Within a few short minutes it had once again disappeared from view; so, satisfied, we continued on. We made one last stop at one of the huge sacred stones outside of the city, and we each left an offering to Pachamama ('Mother Earth') of three coca leaves doused in pisco, the local spirit.
Entering Machu Picchu itself was a surreal experience. After four days of only seeing our fellow hikers, the porters and guides, suddenly there were couples and families everywhere on day trips, fresh off the train, wearing sandals and sun dresses. I know for certain that I was not at my visual best at this point, having not showered for days aside from some intimate encounters with wet wipes, and I can only imagine that these other people would find us all a little fragrant!
Still, Rosel had packed a clean shirt for the occasion and was obviously in his element as he gave us a wonderful guided tour of the Inca city of his heritage. The clouds from earlier in the day had cleared to give us glorious sunshine and perfect visibility across the whole area, and we enjoyed exploring the ruins. All too soon it was time to catch the bus to the nearby town of Aguas Calientes for lunch, and to say goodbye to our guides before taking the train back to Cusco.
As with all good things, our trek had come to an end and I was ready for our return to civilization. Specifically, a nice warm bed and clean clothes! And we had all made it more or less in one piece - not bad for a random bunch of misfits, more at home blasting through the streets of Bristol on lights and sirens than sleeping up in the mountains. I couldn't have made it through without the support of our group, and I feel like the deep conversations and the banter between us could power me through anything. Maybe the experience will even keep me sane while scraping drunk patients off of the pavement on a Saturday night!
Guest blogger - Helen Field
