Inca Trail: Day Three
06/21/10
For the purpose of this story, please avoid picturing me wearing your mother´s wedding dress. Thank you.
“My entire body is sore,” Boxie-boo said at 5:45 a.m., shivering as we took off our thermal underwear and sweaters, knowing mid-hike exercise would result in over heating. We scampered to the bathroom, where I was careful not to slip on the floor covered in slippery mud, urine and poop. Toilet seats did not exist on the Inca Trail. With no back toilet cover, I rolled up my socks to avoid disgusting stains, with my right arm back against the wall and my left hand holding up my pants, shivering while pooping. This was a new experience.
I had spent all night sleeping sideways in the tent with my face soggy in one corner, my feet covered in cold condensation in the other, as a result of being a giant in Peru. At least there were no roosters and no Boogie Man, though I am confident my shadow resembled Brad Pitt.
The result of being faster than the porters a day earlier, meant we did not recognize the meeting point as the lunch spot. This resulted in us missing our last opportunity to buy bottled water for Day Three. Instead, boiled water had upset my stomach to the point where I worried I could poop my pants, mid-stretch, reaching between two of the Inca Trail´s giant steps. I thought of this, squatting while small pieces of poop floated in one centimetre high brown water, then decided to take two Immodium tablets.
I was glad we remembered to pack toilet paper.
Step one on the hike was not stinking, so we powdered down our drawers with baby powder and I fought my instinct to stuff flowers down my pants. The first section of the hike involved climbing from 3600 metres above sea level to 3950, short compared to what we went through on Day Two. Walking near Ming and looking at snow-peaked mountains, he joked that we should stay behind the lead guide so we get lunch. My calves were rock hard, breathing still loose and the stairs were their usual, Inca Trail steep. We saw an ancient Inca site in the distance, which motivated us onwards. We were walking around the Veronica Glacier, and I hate to admit it, but I might have accidentally looked up its skirt. My apologies.
Valeriano caught up, with a face of distress and worry.
He told us he was helping another guide with a big problem. A sick hiker´s oxygen level was very low at 67. Mine was tested yesterday at 97. This sick hiker´s resting heart rate was at 130, which meant, porters - the superhumans they are - were preparing to carry him up the 350 metres, at which point he was to be picked up by helicopter.
At 3760 metres, we reached the Runkuracay (above), a circular rock Inca site covered in yellow and green moss. It was discovered in 1915, Valeriano explained, four years after the first foreigner was shown Machu Picchu. He said it was developed around 1200 A.D. From above, it appeared to be two stone letter Cs facing eachother, with a letter O in the middle. It overlooked the Pacamayo Valley, with a view all the way back to the Dead Woman´s Pass. It is believed to be a lookout point, or message station, where information runners stopped, passing their messages from Cusco to other runners, who carried them onwards to Machu Picchu.
In 1532 when the Spaniards came, the society had lasted approximatedly 300 years, at which point it had expanded to Ecuador, Colombia, Bolivia, Northern Argentina and even Chile. The Incas had the capability of mass communication, using trails from the capital of Cusco, through various runner stations that could send messages anywhere in the Inca Empire within a week.
“The trails were 41,000 of kilometres,” Valeriano explained. The messages passed from Cusco to Machu Picchu through runner stops, for example, took only seven hours - a distance of approximately 115 kilometres through the mountains. Holy flamming cow shit! The modern day record of the Inca Trail, which starts over 40 kilometres closer to Machu Picchu than Cusco, was set by a porter at three hours and 45 minutes, beating all professional athletes in the competition, Valeriano added. That statement, unless he was pulling our legs, was insane, I thought, finding the trail challenging to complete in four days.
We arrived at the first peak, 3950 metres, followed by a random dog. We arived at the top at 9 a.m., the others at 9:30 a.m. We were content not to get too far ahead, until Valeriano agreed to walk with Boxie-boo and I, whom he nicknamed the “Speedies.”
Within a few metres, he challenged me to race, at which he sprinted, not jogged, down the steep staircase, giggling with his usual inpubescent, contagious laugh. He reminded me a young boy on a sugar high, running away from his Dad with a stolen Playboy Magazine. I conceded defeat, but vowed to challenge him again on a flat or mildly uphill section, or possibly to a Trivial Pursuit game on Canadian history.
The three of us walked through a panoramic view of the Acombama Valley, near the snow clad Pumasillo peak. The ancient stairs were surrounded by tall grasses, where specks of colour from orchids and lichens lighted the mountainsides in pedals. The air was fresh, our lungs more adjusted to the altitude, which allowed us a pace between a speedwalk and jogging.
Reaching a lookout down towards the Inca site of Sayaqmarca (above), Valeriano told us to hold up for the others. For the first time in a couple hours, our following dog did not rest with us and continued on. He did look back, once briefly, before following hikers in the distance. It was the first time in my life I felt cheated on by a dog. I now know why my dog Roxie - rest in peace - would sniff me, then walk away, when she smelt the scent of Boxie-boo´s dog. Oh how could you?!
Sayaqmarca reminded me of a smaller version of some castles located in the United Kingdom. It seemed melted in the mountainside, complete with towers and walls smooth against the flow of the earth, without a swimming pool. While resting, my feet felt of pines and needles, an itchiness of pain that came and went through the Inca Trail.
Sayaqmarca was built in the upper mountains for three reasons, Valeriano explained, for protection, to defend the Inca Empire and out of respect for the rivers. Sayaqmarca had three fountains - one for religious purposes and two for domestic use. It was centered around a holy rock, which included an alter that religious travelers on route to Machu Picchu would leave offerings to the mountains, from precious stones to coca leaves.
“You can take out your memory card from your camera and leave it behind,” Valeriano joked.
“I will donate Victor´s underpants,” I added, then glanced at his crotch region by mistake. Thankfully, Victor laughed at my joke, without placing his hands over his trouser snake and blushing.
Boxie-boo and I found the alter covered in coca leaves, no underpants and small crumpled pieces of paper that I imagined were notes, not litter. Archaeologists were measuring the site´s walls, near an area where we found the dried up passageway of running water.
After Sayaqmarca, we entered the Amazon Jungle. The pathway was dark, covered in overhanging trees, where massive ferns grew alongside dangling vines. Moss grew inbetween the rock steps, while from the umbrella tree tops, flowers fell in the moisture-rich air, the area around us covered in thick branches. The area was surprisingly silent. Chilly. The pathway was still bubbling in rocks as if the skin of boiling valcano. It was an easy section of mild uphills and downhills, even occasional flattened areas that made our bodies feel weightless after Day Two´s 1200 metres up and 600 metres down.
The Amazon, at times, felt as though we were walking in a dried creekbed. I was still leading the pack, post-lunch, and starting to run out of steam. Rocks slippery. The smell of cut grass and Tiger Balm on my sore knees. My bag straps began squealing like loose bed springs, the sound of pigs post-tail pull. The moisture continously thickened. I could have been breathing underwater.
Concrete legs. Body heavy.
The view was spectacular, motivating me to continue to see more gorgeous landscapes. The pathway eventually reached massive slabs of fallen rock, pinned against the mountainside and trail creating darkened caves. Rock steps and ancestors challenging. The Inca trail was a constant battle between mind over body. Luckily for me, I had watched enough cartoons to allow my mind to drift elsewhere. We perservered, with time to relax for 25 minutes at the Phoyodata Pass - the last pass of the trail, near the citadel of Phuyupatamarca, “Village above the clouds” (below).
The area beyond the ruins of Phuyupatamarca, the second most beautiful site after Machu Picchu, were covered in low-level clouds, an area of agricultural terraces and fountains, some still working, circulating fresh water where villagers gathered in front with buckets. The ruin over-looked flat-topped peaks, looking naturally curved, as if the mountain itself created a gathering point for the Incas by raising stones from its skin.
The problem with Phuyupatamarca was what followed - a 1,000 metre decent to our last campsite at Winayhuayna. We began heading downwards, as a porter passed us, jogging by while carrying an unconscious woman on his shoulders.
Yamila from Australia, rolled her ankled badly on the way down. To help her along, the guides saw her limping and went on without her. I could not believe they did this. Her brother Victor took over her backpack, while I walked within one foot in front, in case she slipped she could grab onto to me for support. It was a slow pace, our entire group coming together to help her along, except for the two Argentinian girls who went on ahead. Halfway down, everything hurt - my back throbbing, calves permanently flexed, thighs turned into steel and knees tingly, gently numb and vibrating. Then I felt nothing, my entire body without feeling. My legs had become self-possessed.
By the time we reached Winayhuayna, all Boxie-boo could talk about was having a shower, the first one available on the Inca Trail. After dinner, we ceremoniously collected our tips for our amazing porters, then went to bed early, knowing on Day Four we would be up at 3:30 a.m.
You may now picture me in your mother´s wedding dress.
That´s all for now.
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