Marci Soifer

DAY 1

It was dark, and my breath was visible, when we met up with our group in front of the travel office in the main square of Cusco early on Sunday morning. Dodging the handful of Peruvian vendors who had shown up to see our bus off and sell us those last minute water bottle holders, ponchos, and hats that we never knew we always needed (it was like they knew we were going to be there or something...crazy), Amy and I handed off our large packs for the company to store, and hopped on the bus. The other hikers who we had met the night before sat, listless, and awaiting our departure. We sat for a few moments, as the guides and few porters assembled straggled to gather last minute things and arrangements.

At 6 am, we began our journey. The bus left the main square of Cusco, and ascended into the hills northwest of the city. Soon, buildings dissapeared and the land became increasingly rural, on sharp curves over mountainsides (please do not worry...no Chile accident happening here). I was a little dazed, and trying desperately to suck down some water before the trail began. After about an hour and half of driving, we had reached Urubamba, one of the towns in the area called the Sacred Valley of the Incas. At a random stop on the side of the road, overlooking the Amazon River flowing through Urubamba, we got out and enjoyed a little sandwich, fruit salad, and tea, which I was shocked to see come from the bundles in the back of the bus. However, little did I know that this would be the tip of the iceberg of my amazement with the food on this trip.

We continued on, stopping in Ollantaytambo, the furthest stop in the Sacred Valley from Cusco, and our final stop in ¨civilization¨, prior to getting on the trail. Amazingly, our bus was again greeted by dozens of Peruvian vendors with the last minute walking sticks, water, water bottle holders, ponchos, and hats. Just in case...and, if I heard, ¨SEÑORITA, you need walking stick?¨ one more time, I was going to start giving out atomic elbows to random Peruvians. Seriously. Anyway, I used the bathroom, since I was not sure when I would see a toilet again, and put on my knee braces, which would become my staple for the next few days, onward we went.

(This is the part that I explain my knee braces. In case you were unaware, I have a pretty bad pair of knees. The right one is a little worse than the left, and it is totally my fault. When I was a freshman in college, I decided to run on a treadmill everyday for an hour, and when my knees hurt, I ran faster. This is what we call STUPID, but at the time, it worked for me. That is to say, until I could not walk up the stairs of my dorm any longer. Needless to say, I now have some condition (and the name now escaspes me...sorry) in my knees that is only bad when partaking in exerting activities. When I do partake is such activities, I wear the braces, and am usually fine. These are not little ACE bandanges either...I am talking ¨run, Forrest, run¨ braces, in thick spandex from thigh to mid-calf.)

The trail begins at a site called Kilometer 82, which is at 2380 meters above sea level (guess why it is called Km 82? If you guessed because that is how far it is from Cusco, you are right! You win a car.). At this site, tons of other groups of trekkers unloaded from buses, and porters arrived. Now, I do not know how much you know about what being a porter for the Inca Trail means, but let me fill you in...these are some of the strongest, hard working people I have ever met in my life. For our group of 15 tourists and 2 guides, we had 19 porters. These are all men from Cusco and the nearby villages who walk the trail 3 or 4 times a month, and are paid to basically be the behind the scenes. This is not to say that we cannot see them, because we can. They are the men who carry everything you can possibly imagine through the trail. In tarps, mantas, and huge, securely constructed bundles, these men carry the food for four days, the garbage we create, the tents we sleep in, the large tent we eat in, the large tent they cook in, all the supplies for eating and cooking (pots, pans, cups, plates, utensils, ect.), a table, stools to sit on, and if you want, you can hire them to also carry your personal things (like your backpack, sleeping bag, and matress).

We met our porters, and since Amy and I decided to hire the extra porter to carry our personal stuff (best use of money ever), we passed off our belongings. Following Rueben, we passed through the front gate and took a picture of the ¨Inca Trail¨ sign...this was the beginning. We had to show our passports at the entry, along with the permits that our tour group had gotten weeks ago, because this trail is heavily regulated by the Peruvian government. They only let a maximum of 500 trekkers on the trail in a day, which means that the number of people on the trail on any given day is 2000...tops. This apparently was not always the case, and the trail was being destroyed here and there, annually. So, we showed our goods, and kicked off the adventure.

The beginning was easy, and extremely pleasant in the gorgeous 75 degree sun. Admiring the crashing Amazon at our side, the clear, cloud studded sky, and the lush, green covered, sharp Andes, we trampled along over a relatively flat path. Amy and I started to mange through the little bag of snacks our tour group handed out...obviously. Rueben stopped us every so often, to use his overly expressive hand motions and facial contortions to explain a little more history and get us excited that we were finally on the Inca trail. We passed a few rest stops, littered with other trekkers and some more of the trusty Peruvian Inca trail vendors, who somehow were also on the trail (still with the same goods...you know, hats, bottle holders, water, chocolate, the works). After the first large ascention uphill, and some more walking, Rueben sat us down in front of the first massive stone structure, which we learned was the first of many Inca buildings that we would encounter along the way.

In case you need a little brush up on your Inca history, this trail was the path built by the Incas to get from Cusco to Machu Picchu, their religious center (and other city). So, in a mere 60 plus years, the Incas created a path with stone bricks and rocks that we now call the Inca trail. Beginning 82 kilometers our starting point, starting from Cusco, it probably only took them 2 days to do the entire trail (I mean, if they had the right number of porters and walking sticks, and the Peruvian goverment was down with the number of Incas who were already on the trail...heehee). And, in accordance with the religious importance of this journey, the Incas also constructed structures, temples, and buildings along the way (also for shelter). Now, the Incas could have built this trail in the valley below, following uphill at the end, to Macchu Picchu, the well-hidden city in the mountains. But, NO. The Incas wanted this to be a bit of a sacrifice, and as such, it had to be a challenge. So, Rueben warned us, while the path seemed relatively easy on day 1, it would get harder.

Well, we chugged along for those first few hours, as I re-applied sunscreen deligently and sweat dripped down my back. We stopped for lunch at a random location along the way, where the porters had set up the food tents, lined with washing baisins, bars of soap, and little towels, table, and stools, and immediately handed out cups of chi-cha (Peruvian for sweetened purple corn juice). We sat at the table, and watched as bowls of soup, platters and platters of food---things like sliced avocado, rice, chicken stew (yes, I am still eating vegetarian), pasta, sweet potatos (no Atkins diet here)---and, a dessert of caramel bananas came flowing out of the cooking tent. It was amazing, and while unnecessary, I really enjoyed it. While we visited the nearby bathroom (anyone who tells you that you use nature´s bathroom on the Inca trail is a huge liar...there are camping-style bathrooms...sometimes organized holes, but bathrooms nonetheless...throughout the entire trail), our porters quickly cleaned up lunch, packed up the tools and tents, and ran off to the next site.

The hike from here got a little harder, uphill a bit more steadily, and we only made one stop in the afternoon. Ah, yes, this stop was one of my favorites on the trail...this was the stop before another vendor, but this vendor had a sign that read, ¨We accept credit cards. Visa, Mastercard.¨ Are you amazed? Me too.

When we got to our campsite, the sun was setting, and Amy and I were a little late, because we literally had stopped dozens of times on the way up to admire the scenery, talk to random people who actually live in huts in the hills along the Inca trail (and we wondered what their mailing address was...sixth hill of the Inca trail?), and take lots of pictures. When we got to the campsite on the edge of a mountainside, called Wayllabamba, we slipped into our already set up tent, laid out our sleeping gear, and put on warmer clothing (since our backpacks were there already as well...thanks, porters). Day 1 was coming to a close, and we were 9 miles in.

We joined the other trekkers in the food tent for afternoon tea, complemented by a platter of tasty popcorn (yes, this was actually all on our hike), and waited for dinner. We ate dinner, another lavish shmorgisboard (how do you spell that, anyway?), listened to Rueben brief us on day 2 (which sounded something like, hey, day 2 is hardest part and it will be hard), and then gathered outside the food tents for a formal introduction to the porters. The formal introduction to the porters was a large cirlce, half tourists, half porters, the chef (in a white coat, might I add), the waiter (who wore a little hat...so unnecessary) and guides. We went around and said our names and where we were from, and then the porters proceeded to walk around our side of the circle, shaking the hand of each of our 5 males, and kissing the cheek of every female. I did not like this part. When was the last time 19 Peruvian men kissed your cheeks in a span of 1 minute? Amy and I even agreed...some of them were going in for the kill.

Rueben wished us goodnight by telling us to ´sleep like an alpaca baby.´

DAY 2

While I would like to say that day 2 started normally, with a normal 6 am wake-up call, I have to tell the truth...it started at about 3:30 with thunder, lightening, and monsoon rain. Oh, nature. It rained all night, and while the tents remained dry, I could not sleep well. I laid there thinking, ´if this rain does not stop, I am going to be infuriated.´

Guess what? The rain stopped. It was still cloudy, and when Rueben came to our tent at 6 am with coca tea to awaken us, I was hopeful. Granted, I put my raincoat and poncho in my day pack, but I went to breakfast in the food tent happy, thinking the rain was passing (and ignoring my relative exhaustion).

From the campsite, the path began as straight uphill ascention. And, this was my first introduction to the Inca stairs. Man, Incas loved stairs. LOVED. And, my knees...not so in love with the stair, I have got to say. Up, up, up, we climbed, and since the sun was stuck behind a think wall of clouds from the rain, it was pretty cool. As the stairs kept coming, I abided. Because of my knees, this was the part when I was moving too slow for the group, however (haha, some of you will get a laugh out of that one...I know, I know, slowie), and they passed. So, it was me and Ernesto, the second guide, bringing up the rear.

About half-way up the large hill, we stopped at a rest stop with some more vendors (shocker) and a large group of trekkers, struggling to catch their breath. We had climbed to about 3900 meters above sea level. In the distance, we could just barely make out (through the cloudy haze) the top of a mountain, which was a large, bare mount in red rock, with a smaller rock in the center. This peak is fondly called Dead Woman´s Pass, since it is the most difficult part of the trip, and is also the spitting image of a female breast, nipple and all. Dead Woman´s Pass is at 4198 meters above sea level. I had a long way to go.

Ernesto and I headed off, chatting away about his kids, how he had never left Cusco, but had been walking the trail for about 8 years, my volunteer job and traveling, and how he used to live in Lima (La Victoria, for those of you who know Lima...yeah). And, just as my knees began to do this really fun twinging of pain every so often, the monsoon rain kicked in again. Lovely. Ernesto told me that we had another hour and half until we reached the top of the Pass. And, we would do it in the rain.

Ponchos and coats on, I pushed on. The wind was biting, the rain felt arctic, and everytime I glanced down at my fingers, I noticed them pruning a little more. My breath was getting shorter so high up, and my knees were screaming, ´what the fuck are we doing today?´ Still, I pushed on. But, the weather was geting worse, and the clouds thicker. I could see a colorful line of poncho ahead, but was struggling to make out the top of the Pass anymore...just had to keep going. Starting to kick myself for that whole, not re-water-proofing my boots again before I left thing (wasn´t water-proofing them before I left for my first trip to Israel at the age of 16 enough?), my socks began to spread a seeping cold water throughout the inside of boots. Closer, closer...we were getting closer, Ernesto assured me. My knees, my breath, my body temperature...everything was off kilter. I passed a few other trekers, who were struggling more than me, and I assured them, at the end, we would be proud to say that we hiked the Inca trail. I believed that, too.

But, not for long. I kept going, up and up and up. The clouds made it difficult to see where I had come from as well, and it felt as though no matter how high I climbed, I was standing still. My hard breathing and concentration on the pain in my knees made me feel a little dizzy, and just when I had to choke back tears, I tried to remember the positive attitude that I had exuded a few meters below. It was long gone. I think I left it down there. It took me two hours to get to the top, and the last few stairs were almost impossible. Rueben stood near the nipple at the top, shouting down to me...assuring me that I could do it. I knew I could, and I would, eventually.

I did, wet, cold, and in pain. And as soon as I got there, I ignored the saturated quick-dry pants that stuck to my legs and knee braces and sat down on a nearby rock. I popped some more Advil, and decided that 10:15 AM was a fabulous hour to endulge in some Peanut M&M´s that I happened to carry in my day pack.

I did not stay at the top long, because it was honestly freezing and I was eager to catch up with my group. Ernesto and I waited about 20 minutes, and since there was no view really, we began our descent down the other side. Shocker...stairs. Steep, down, down, down...even better stress on my knees. I climbed down as quickly as my legs would allow, taking a few short breaks to sip some water and acknowledge when the rain decided to let up a bit, offering a view worth capturing on my camera.

Just as the rain picked up again, I reached lunch, tents set up and everything, nearly 2 hours later. The group had been waiting for me. We sat together, sipping tea, and scarfing down another enormous meal, and resting. When all was said and done, Rueben told us that the worst was over, and along the next section, there were lots of Inca ruins. He told us that if the rain let up, we should stop there for explaination, and if not, we should push through. Well, we headed out, and the rain kept up. So did the stairs. And, so did the Marci and Ernesto duo. It poured, and all I could do was walk...up and down stairs. At a certain point, I ignored my comfort level and the signals that my body was sending me, and I just walked. Like a machine. I did not even really pay attention to my breath. I turned my brain off. I walked, and every so often, I would look up and think, ´wow, this view would probably be beautiful if the clouds were not obstructing it.´ The Inca ruins along the way, as I hurried past them, did seem rather impressive and beautiful, and I wished that my feet would allow me to stop and admire their greatness. Alas, onward.

I reached the campsite at 3600 meters above sea level at about 4 pm, 10 miles later. I immediately went to my tent, to unleash my feet from their booted prisons of wetness, peel off my braces, and find dry clothing to return my lips from their current shade of blue back to the classic neutral color.

Eventually, the group assembled in the food tent for tea. And as we had actually arrived earlier than expected (thanks to the rain) and breezed through the ruins, Rueben spent some time explaining what we had seen. He continued with Andean stories, and tales from treks gone by. We laughed, partly because they were interesting and sometimes funny tales, and partly because pretty much everything Rueben said was hysterical.

Just after dinner, as we began to talk about the next day and how the trail was supposedly going to be easier, our conversation turned to the rain. As one of the British girls with us so eloquently put it, and Rueben echoed with laughter, ´it is pissing it down, and it will keep pissing it down.´ I was more positively minded, but I have no idea why.

DAY 3

Yup. Pissing it down. It is a good thing that I am relatively compulsive, because I busted out two of the many Ziploc bags I happened to have packed, taped them to my socked feet, put on my wet poncho and coat, and we kept on. This was a shorter day, so we had less of a distance to go. Nearing in on Machu Picchu, Amy and I started to discuss our dissapointment with the ocassion that we got there, then end of the trail, and it was still raining and we could not see anything. I swallowed deeply, thinking this could not and would not be. I would not stand for it. Halfway joking, I told Amy that we should probably turn to desperate measures and I would have a conversation with my dad. We chuckled, and I told her that he was a really nice man, and maybe she should talk to him too. Whatever would work.

Well, we walked, and this day was pretty consistant in the Incan flat laying stones, with a bit of downhill stairs (oye, the stairs). My knees hurt, and my legs were sore, but all I could think about was my dad and the rain. It kept coming, and we kept on at a steady pace through a thick forrest with beautiful flowers and a colorful, spongy moss, Inca tunnels a few feet in length, and around the deep curves with Inca buildings standing in splendor. The views were a bit more present, and I did take a few photos.

We reached our campsite at noon, 5 miles later, and almost through the portion called, the ´rain´forrest, not meant to be a pun. At this site, the vendors were selling alcohol, and many of the others on our trek were so wet, cold, and depressed that bottles of rum, beers, and assorted other spirits were purchased. We sat for the afternoon, eating, sucking down tea for warmth, willing our clothing to dry a little, talking, and playing random trivia. Of course, the multi-course meals were still a feature of the program.

And then, all of a sudden, the rain stopped. Or at least, that is what I hear happened. After lunch, I retired to my tent for a nap, the stripping of my braces, and some journaling. But, many from my group were out and about, and wandered with Rueben to the site of some more ruins nearby. I saw their photos...there was even a little sun. The sky was not gray, it was it´s proper blue, and they rished back to our tent village to bask in the glory of the burning off rain.

We ate dinner under stars that night, and they were magnificent. They were the kind of stars that are so grand and so clear that your sense struggle to even interpret these stars as the same things that you have seen in the USA night sky before. We went to sleep excited and happy, with the positive feeling that after two and a half days of rain, we would see Machu Picchu clearly. I told Amy that my dad would require a written thank you note.

DAY 4

3:45 am. My consciousness returned and I thought I was dreaming...I lay in my sleeping bag listening to rain drops crash alongside the tent. NO!!!!!!!! Rueben came to our tent to wake us at 4 am, for we had to move early in order to get to Machu Picchu before the majority of regular tourists. I could not believe it. It was raining, again. And, this was the end. This was the day we would reach Machu Picchu.

Amy and I gathered our things quietly, stewing with anger and dissapointment. When we sat down at breakfast, the spirits were low. Everyone grumbled, and we all exchanged angry remarks about the rain continuing to ¨piss¨ down. One of the other trekkers...a Canadian British fellow...crashed down in a nearby seat, uttering the words, ¨I hope Mother Nature dies of a terminal illness.¨

And, by 5:30, we were off again, ponchos, plastic bagged feet and all. The beginning of the walk was a steady downhill, and we needed our flashlights to guide us through the dark morning. It came down harder and harder, saturating my clothing again.

By 6 am, the light started to break through the thick clouds, and the rain slowed a little. I forced myself to stop every few feet, jut to admire the way that the clouds hung at different heights over and around the green Andean peaks. Suddenly, I heard a loud noise, a ¨chooooooooochooooooo¨; this was the train bringing passengers from Cusco to Machu Picchu. We were close now. This was it.

I walked and walked, and this time, I was by myself somewhere in the middle. The rain had stopped, but the clouds continued to hang in view. Up stairs, down stairs, over the final pass where Rueben again cheered me on, and through flat paths. Two hours went by, and another 5 miles. The rain became a drizzle, lightly. I ignored my knees, and the small rainforrest of condensation that was forming in my plastic bagged shoes.

And then, after 29 miles of walking, at 7:15 am on March 22, I rounded a corner to see Machu Picchu. It was slightly clouded over, and the drizzle continued, but I could see it. Flashing as many pictures as I could, and kind of enjoying the mystical way that the clouds hung over the magnificent city, I stood in awe. The Incas had impressed me with the trail, but this was phenomenal. ¨You did it,¨Rueben gleefully pronounced. ¨This is Machu Picchu city.¨

We climbed down to the entry, the place where the tourists who did not walk there enter. Bus loads of people unloaded, looking dry and clean, and we chuckled at them. Amy and I headed to the bathroom, and reveled in the hot air coming out of the hand driers. We entered the official Machu Picchu office, and collected our Machu Picchu stamps (ignoring that maybe this was bizarre...no, Machu Picchu is not a country...but, oh well).

We toured the site for a few hours with Rueben, and at the same time, the rain began to burn off. Rueben told showed us the sun temple, told us of the 150 years worth of construction of this civilization (interupted by the Spanish), and showed us the ingenious nature of the building and efficiency of this majestic mountain village. Obviously, we climbed and descended a few hundred more steps, and marveled at the number of tourists who were piling into the site. Clearly, the Peruvian government allowed anyone who will pay to enter into this place. HUNDREDS of them, at 8:30 am.

After our tour and some final photos, Amy and I headed back to Aguas Calientes, the nearest city (30 minute bus ride) to Machu Picchu. Here, we met our dry personal belongings and relaxed in the tour group hostel. After lunch, the un-pruning of my feet, and a few card games, we headed to the train and bus back to Cusco. We said goodbye to our group, and returned to the world of the hostel...including a shower and a bed. I went to bed feeling extremely proud.

The next day, I said goodbye to Amy, and wandered through Cusco for a few hours on my own. Struggling to keep up on this blog (why do I have to write so many freakin´ details? It takes hours, and I cannot believe that anyone is still reading, but if you are, thanks) and e-mails, I spent the day doing some laundry (try all the fermenting, wet clothes I had) and getting ready to move again.

I flew through the Lima airport, en route to Quito, on Friday. I ran into two volunteers from my program at the line to pay airport tax, as they were en route to Arequipa for the weekend, and they gave me a short update on things in the house since I left. The Peruvian customs man took one look at my passport, and asked me what happened to necessitate so many stamps. I explained to him, which I am getting good at in Spanish by now, that my original passport had the wrong gender, and he laughed. Ah, this again. He asked me for 6 dollars, because I had stayed six days past my 90 day visa. I had been in Peru a total of 96 days.

I arrived in Ecuador. I am staying in the New Town portion of Quito, and I really like it. This country is very different...not only do they use the US Dollar, but lots of things seem to be in English. This is absolutely still the third world, but it is a culture very dependent on tourists, and seem to roll out the best for them. I am working to get past that, but may not in my short stay here.

On Monday, I head off to the Galapagos Islands for an 8-day boat trip. I am excited, but will warn you, that I may not have any computer access for the duration. Please don´t worry...I will respond to e-mails and comments as soon as I can, and of course, I will keep the blog updates coming.

Really, thanks for getting down to the bottom of this one. It was long, but, what an experience.