Ben and I
are driving across Wyoming, the night sky already glittering at 5:30 in what
would normally be labeled ‘afternoon’. Though it is not snowing, the daze of
grey skies and an unending, khaki landscape is a far cry from the blooming
Chilean springtime we called home for the past month. Being on the road seems
like a bit of a blessing though, able to stretch our legs at will and go at the
beat of our own drum…slightly. The journey home is not complete yet; 6 plane
rides in the past week brought us to Kansas City last night, where we packed up
Forest (our blue Subaru, for those of you who haven’t met) and headed west this
morning, in order to arrive in Montana tomorrow, have a quick sleep, and open
the mountain on Saturday. Crazy? Maybe. Willing to make use of every vacation
day? Absolutely.
The night
before beginning our hike on the Inca Trail, we had a ‘briefing’ session at our
hotel. Unclear as to what exactly we needed to be briefed about, we were met at
7:00pm by a small Peruvian man who, immediately upon meeting us, stated that he
was not our guide. He actually had no idea who our guide was. Whoever it was
would pick us up at 5:30 the next morning, he assured. In order to hike the
Inca Trail, you must have a guide, meaning you must book through a tour agency.
Completely against Ben and my natures, going with a group, especially on a
hike, sounded like the perfect way to commit annoyance-induced homicide.
Perhaps our
fear stemmed from working with tour groups throughout the greater part of the
year at our hotel jobs, or perhaps it stems from our independent traveling
nature. Either way, we were on a tour now and we’d have to deal. But we had one
question for our non-tour-guide, “Can we hike at our own speed each day?”
Completely mortified that we would have to walk at the speed of our slowest
link, this was a crucial element of the $600 hike. He assured us that we would
be able to carry our own pace, while waiting to meet the group at the
designated rest areas.
We awoke the
next morning, groggy but excited, and headed out to pick up the remaining 17 in
our group. The tour ended up being massive, with 19 hikers, 2 guides, and 20
porters. We hardly paid attention to those getting on the bus around the city
of Cuzco, or the porters who leapt onto the bus from a hillside about an hour
outside of Cuzco. As we ate breakfast and got on the trail, however, we slowly
realized that we had a really young group- everyone in their 20s and early 30s,
save for an Indian couple from San Francisco who were scarcely older than that.
Thrilled
that we would be with an active group, I started chatting with a gal from
Toronto. “So, have you ever done anything like this before?” I prodded. “Actually,
no. I’ve never done anything like this. I mean, I walk my dog around the park
sometimes,” she responded with a chuckle. That being said, we had an amazing
group. Ben and I took turns leading the pack with a Norwegian couple and an
Israeli couple, the Norwegian couple usually a half mile ahead of us because
they, evidently, weren’t as into the scenery as myself and my new camera.
Though our
guide, Raul, insisted we walk as a group, he could never keep up with any of us
and consequently gave up telling us what to do. We couldn’t get lost, as there
was only one trail, and there was no way in hell any of us was going to linger
near him, as he proved to be thoroughly annoying. By day we puffed up thousands
of Andean feet, the second day to the notorious ‘Dead Woman’s Pass’ at over
14,000 feet. The Incas were known for their excellent craftsmanship in the
working of stone, and the passage to Dead Woman’s Pass was just one
ridiculously long and steep stone staircase. Winding through dense rainforest, skirting
desert-like hills and hanging above Inca temples and terraces, the trail itself
was ever-changing and amazing. By night we collapsed in tents set up by our
porters, and ate massive amounts of food prepared by our camp chef.
The bonus
about being on a group tour is that everything is included. Three overstuffed
square meals were provided for us by our chef and porters every day, who constructed
a beautifully ornate spread involving multiple courses. They never all fit on
the table all at once. Often a completely unexpected course would appear after
we thought we had finished; at breakfast on our third day, a fully-frosted
sheet cake materialized after we had finished our bread, jam and pancakes.
Nibbling bits of moist banana cake at a table with a tablecloth, I thought, Hm, this must be why the Inca Trail was so
expensive. Ah well, better eat another piece of cake!
Copious
amounts of coca were also part of our all-inclusive trek to Maccu Piccu, which
we chewed, drank, and sucked on as though it were going out of style. In a way,
I believe it was a go-to for our guides when they encountered resistance or
slow hikers. Feeling the altitude? Just chew some coca, you’ll be fine. Can’t
relax? Have some coca tea. Not energetic today? Coca candy. Haven’t gone to the
bathroom in a few? Coca. Want to feel like an Inca? Coca.
As I said
before, our group turned out to be fantastic- a bunch of liberal-minded and
interesting young travelers from around the world with which we shared stories
and good humor. We loved them. Couldn’t have asked for a better group. Our
guide, on the other hand, was horrible. Our tour actually had two guides, Raul
and Jose Luis, but Jose Luis was the ‘Spanish’ guide, exclusively for 6
Argentinians who were sharing our campsites, porters, and food. However, it was
Jose Luis who actually had excellent English and knowledge of the Incas, not
Raul. Raul repeated the same ten-or-so facts about the Incas (‘facts’ used very
loosely here), every time asking us if we knew what he meant (which we didn’t),
and repeatedly addressed the group as ‘Senores’
(really, we weren’t). Thus, nearly all spoken interludes headed by Raul went
something like this: “Hola Senores, Senores attention please, Senores. Here we
have an Inca outpost, you know what I mean? An outpost. You know what I mean?
The outpost was used by the runners. The runners, you know what I mean? The
runners, Senores.” We usually did not know what he meant, but were fearful of
more conversation if we objected. So we didn’t. I am definitely buying some
books about the Incas from Amazon when I get home.
The final
day of hiking on the Inca Trail is very minimal, only about an hour and a half,
followed by a comprehensive tour of Macchu Picchu with your guide. When booking
the trail, Ben and I jumped on the opportunity to also purchase permits to
climb Huyana Picchu, the peak overlooking Macchu Picchu. This meant we had to
be fast in our last day of hiking, so as not to miss our entrance time of
7:30am. Ridiculously enough, all hikers are to wake at 3:30am on their final
morning, only to wait in line until 5:30 at the next permit outpost. We waited,
and then forged through the masses (of course, our group was one of the last in
line at the permit outpost), turning our bodies up a notch and, admittedly,racing
to The Sun Gate. We were able to witness a cloud-free sunrise on Macchu Picchu
before we made the final summit to Huyana Picchu, where we spent a glorious
hour crawling and climbing over the nearly vertical ruins of the Inca temple.
When we
returned to meet the group below (no one had Huyana Picchu permits but us) we
were exhausted, sweaty, and exhilarated. Our group, on the other hand, looked
as though they were ready to strangle Raul.
Stay tuned for the next quip on 'playing with others'...about Chile!
