Peru 2019: Inca Trail Day Two

January 26, 2019

Hard to convey what it feels like to wake up looking down on mountains and clouds.

January 7, 2019

It's 6 a.m. and we are in the clouds. Literally. Mist all around us, and above and below, allows us only to see the mountains' silhouettes. It's magical.
Yes, I'm sticky and dizzy (probably from the altitude, now, all of a sudden) and my breathing feels tight, but here we are just sitting in the middle of Andes mountains eating a delicious breakfast cooked, incredibly, on a camp stove, preparing to hike to 4,215 metres!

Today we will reach the highest point of the trek, Warmyhuañusca in Quechua, or Dead woman's pass,
at 4,215 metres.

•

5 p.m.

Today was basically Hell.
A more than 1,000 metre ascent in the baking sun, then another 600 metre descent in the cold rain on wet, slippery rocks.
We are soaked and the bathrooms are holes in the floor.
I'm going to try to sleep.

•

3:40 a.m.

Again I've been up forever. It's painful to sleep on a dinky bedroll in a sleeping bag with no pillow when I'm used to my cushy queen-sized bed.
And I'm so stressed about the bathroom situation. I guess if you've grown up your whole life squatting it's no big deal, but I can't even squat properly. I've never been able to "Asian squat" as Shane calls it (and he can, quite comfortably. Not to mention the whole peeing-standing-up advantage), with my heels on the floor, despite a lifetime of ballet, fitness, tango and yoga; my ankles just don't flex enough. So it's hard to relax, and I have been constipated since we started the trek. Not to mention how gross the bathrooms are. The one at this campsite is wet and filthy and just reeks of urine and excrement. You can't flush paper so there's a huge garbage full of soiled paper next to you – days or maybe weeks worth. There is a sink and tap outside, so at least you can rinse your hands – in cold water.

I think the chasquis might just be super-human. How else could they do it?

Here, I feel the disadvantages of my privileged, comfortable life. And I see to what extent different people are made of different stuff. The chasquis and the cook do the trail twice as fast as us, carrying three times the weight, and on arrival they pitch our tents and cook and serve us a full meal – always delicious – on a camp stove. Yesterday we got quinoa soup followed by rice, a mix of vegetables, cheese and puréed pumpkin, tomato and cucumber salad (all peeled so safe for us tourists) plus fried chicken for the men and deep-fried, rice-stuffed breaded tomatoes for Mia and me. Every meal is preceded and proceeded by either mate de coca or mate de muña (mint). On arrival yesterday – one of the most gruelling days of my whole life – we were immediately served hot apple juice. And three hours after lunch came dinner: soup, spaghetti and chocolate pudding.

After hours of hiking uphill, I looked
up at how much farther I had to go.
One of those ants way up at the top
was probably my speedy son, Shane,
waiting for the rest of us.

The hike itself was, as I said, gruelling, to say the least. From 6 a.m. to 3 p.m. we walked, with only three official stops along the way, where we could buy water and use the hole-in-the-ground toilets. Of course we took catch-our-breath stops whenever we needed to, which was often.
The first part, the climb, truly seemed impossible most of the time. It was painful, exhausting, often discouraging, but also showed us just how deep we can dig and how far beyond our limits we can push ourselves when we have to.
The incredible sense of relief on reaching the top ("El Paso de la mujer muerta" or Dead woman's pass – named for the shape of the nearby mountaintop and not for the way we feel when we reach it) was short-lived, however, because we still had a two-hour hike to camp ahead of us, on the cold, blustery, rainy side of the mountain. And this was where the original Inca trail portion began, built hundreds of years ago and all made of stone, which gets awfully slick when wet. Two hours of treacherous descent were too much for my battered feet, my half-century-old knees, my backpack-laden neck. I was too sore, drained and emotional to even be relieved when we got to camp.
And then the thunderstorm started.
So I hugged Wolf, cried a little and lay down in the tent until mealtime.
Then, later, when we emerged from the kitchen tent after dinner, the clouds had cleared, the rain had stopped and the sky was asparkle with brilliant, shining stars – the kind you forget even exist when you live in the city. And all was magical again.
I must admit, I am dreading today. They say it's an easier day, but it's longer: 16 km of up and down on the rocky Inca trail, ending with a descent of 4,000 steps that is dubbed the "gringo killer."
Through all of this I have to mention how impressed I am with my kids. Shane is incredible: He usually arrives at camp with the chasquis and waits for up to an hour for us at every rest stop. Wolf – whose health has not been good and who is coming to terms with just how out of shape he is – brings up the rear with Mia, who is such a trooper. If I have dug deep, she has had to dig way deeper. And she's only 13 and has never before done anything that requires this kind of endurance. I am proud.