Monday, May 15, 2006

(So the Salkantay Trek entries are going to be some of my longer ones, but I chose to put in plenty of details that I hope will let you know as much as possible "what it's like" if you're planning to do the trek, or if you're not.)

Waking up at 3:15 a.m. was not fun, especially given that we were up till midnight packing and repacking. And then I couldn't even fall asleep for over an hour. I'm not generally someone who has trouble falling asleep - quite the opposite- but last night I was infuriatingly tense and awake. So two hours of restless, mediocre sleep did not leave me raring to go on a twelve kilometer trek at a higher altitude than I'd ever experienced.

The good news is I managed to avoid the "up too early = vomiting" syndrome, though it was touch-and-go for a while. We were dressed and ready at 4:15 when Milthon and another guy came to collect us and walk us to the group's minibus. (Apparently the tour groups collect trekkers because there have been instances of early-morning muggings.) We met Jessica in the street; she'd been worried that they couldn't find her hotel and had gone looking for someone from United Mice.

We were the last ones to pack onto the cold, dark minibus. Everyone seemed to be in a stupor, but that could have been just me. I was wearing my new pink alpaca hat and my gloves but I was still shivering. I dozed off almost immediately after settling in. At times my eyes fluttered open to take vague note of things, but I couldn't keep them open for long. Not even when the sky started to lighten and I glimpsed the icy peak of Salkantay glowing like a pearl against the pre-dawn sky.

It was daylight when we arrived in the small town of Mollepata for breakfast, but no warmer than it had been at 4:00 a.m. in Cusco. By then most of the others were chatting and getting to know each other, but I didn't open my eyes until I had to get off the bus. The restaurant was a down-home little comedor in the back room of a small store. Guinea pigs occasionally ran along the passageway between the restaurant area and the dark kitchen. That woke me up some.

Eventually we were served hot water and a selection of tea bags and coca leaves, followed by bread rolls, butter and jam, and then plates of plain scrambled egg and more bread rolls. I didn't eat much. Michael grumbled, because he's afraid I won't eat any of the food on the whole trip. But I'm just not a scrambled egg fan, unless there's lots of cheese or something else to cut the egg taste. Some local men were eating huge plates of rice and some kind of steamy stew that looked delicious. I wished I could have had some of that instead.

Breakfast was four soles per person, which is a bit high, but obviously still cheap. I gave the woman two five-sol coins and she said she'd get me some change. This did not happen, even after I saw someone pay her with two one-sol coins. So finally I asked for my change. She curled her lip at me, fished a two-sol coin from her jingling pocket and dropped it into my hand. I never knew one could drop a coin sarcastically, but she managed. "Buenos dias," she said to me in a manner that clearly meant, "Malos dias, Señorita Stingy."

I took the money. Hey, it's my change. You're already charging us more than the local price, but that's your choice. If you want five soles for one egg and a roll, charge five soles. Or six, or ten. it's your restaurant, you set the price. (If you want tips, open the type of restaurant where you don't have to provide your own toilet paper.) But you chose to charge four, which means I'm owed change, and I'm taking it. But I was sad that the day was off to such an uncomfortable start.

Back on the bus I fell immediately back to sleep. I woke to find we were driving along a road that appeared to have been scooped from the side of the mountain with a cakefork. It was so narrow and rutted that I was certain we would run out of space and go over the side and into the seemingly-bottomless ravine. There were some ravine-dropping jokes made, but no one seemed to be as terrified as I was.

At one point the road became so narrow that we all had to get out and walk ahead of the bus. I much preferred that, and wanted to keep walking, but we had to get back in. At the very least, I wished I could fall back asleep and miss out on the terror, but it was too late, I was awake. All I could do was clench my hands and try to lean to the left. At 10:00 a.m. we finally arrived at Soraypampa, the trailhead. Or as United Mice prefers to call it, the Head Trail. Soraypampa is at 3700 meters/12,139 feet, a 1000 meter/3280 foot gain from Mollepata.

Salkantay loomed above the plain, gray-white and jagged. There were horses and mules waiting patiently, and men running around with mysterious bundles. Stuff was everywhere. Fuel cannisters, tents, backpacks, tarps. Piling up what we were loading onto the horses, it became clear that no one else had been as concerned about the seven kilo per person weight limit as Michael and I had. I was kicking myself for leaving behind my silk sleeping bag liner out of fear of having too much gear.

Michael asked about the guys running around tying up camping equipment. "Yes, those are the muleteers," Milthon said. But he did not introduce us to them. That made me feel a little bad, that they were going to be these anonymous people doing all the work yet not being "with" us in the same way we were with each other. Milthon did make us all introduce ourselves to each other however. Name, country of origin, and profession.

There were twelve of us. Michael and me from New York, Jessica from Pennsylvania, Yusef, Mark, and Julia, friends from Manchester, England, Jonathan and Kaleb, father and son from Philly, Marshall and Gerry, father and son from Georgia, Matt and Other Michael, friends from Melbourne, Australia. Two father and son teams. No other couples. One doctor (Yusef).

We got our snack bags for the day, lemon wafers and a banana. And then we were off and walking across the flat field and across a stream, leaving behind the men and horses and bundles. Easy. Gradually we started ascending a hill, keeping Salkantay to our right and climbing up closer to its white peak. The walk meandered around the side of a rocky brown mountain and became not exactly difficult but no longer easy peasy. Most of the group raced ahead anyway, leaving Michael and me somewhere in the middle and the two dads way behind.

I got so hungry that I ate the banana in my snack bag and found it to be surprisingly good. It had a pleasant tropical tangy taste that may have just been hunger. After an hour or so of walking, we were glad to reach a point where Milton had stopped the group to rest. When we were all assembled, he gave a lecture on Salkantay. I was just concentrating on sitting, so I didn't retain much of it beyond the fact that "salkantay" means savage.

The next stretch was harder still, and Michael and I were left behind again. Uphills in that altitude are not fun. No, not at all. We passed occasional groups of thick-furred cows lounging on the hillside, calmly chewing and barely glancing our way. It was too bad we couldn't join them. Michael and I were trudging along, barely able to lift our feet when we saw it - the tent! We had made it to the "lunch spot." There was a long table set up under the tent, and twelve folding camp stools. Everyone was chatting and carrying on, but I just sat limply and drank my hot tea, waiting for the food.

The food turned out to be good. A bowl of soup, followed by chicken patties, rice, salad, and a vegetable dish. One had to finish one's soup before one could move on to the next course, because the food was to be eaten out of the soup plates. After eating we rested, and I noticed for the first time the small mountain lake near the dining tent, and more cows grazing in the field. It was windy.

As Milthon had promised, it was becoming colder and after eating I went to the "toilet tent" and put on my thermal top under the rest of my layers. I will explain what a toilet tent is for those who don't know, because the countless Inca Trail blogs I read left me scratching my head. It's not complicated: a tall, narrow tent like a porto-potty, with a zipper closure and a hole dug in the ground inside it. Extremely basic, but more privacy than going behind a bush... especially when there is no bush to go behind.

All too soon we had to get going again, for the hardest part of the day. It was constant uphill, a series of devastating switchbacks. We passed Jonathan, who was not enjoying the altitude. He gave us some coca leaves to try. I don't know what happened to the ones we bought last night, but we can't find them.

The leaves were kind of gross, and he had no catalyst, but I chewed them anyway, hoping for some Inca miracle burst of energy. I stuck the damp, unpleasant wad between my cheek and gum for as long as I could stand it. Nothing happened. They were just gross.

The switchbacks, as I mentioned, were devastating. My legs felt so heavy that I couldn't walk more than a few steps without having to rest. Michael said he sometimes had to catch his breath while catching his breath. All that time in Cuzco just hadn't prepared us for sucking in air and not being about to extract any oxygen from it. The afternoon was so bad that I became acquainted with Joseph, the rear guide, and the horse. Marshall was riding the horse and asked if I would like a turn, but I held fast. No horse for me.

I struggled on, putting one rubbery leg in front of the other and stopping to rest every three feet. My progress was painfully slow. The switchback path was knee deep in the hill and at times I steadied myself on the ledges it formed. When I tried to sit down on some moss, Joseph said, "Change," and made Marshall get off the horse so I could get on.

I had never been on a horse before, that I can remember. This one was very wide and not entirely comfortable to sit on, but it was a relief to be sitting. I patted the horse's neck and called him caballito, which made Joseph laugh. He didn't seem to have a name, and Marshall named him Lighting - one of those ironic nicknames. The swaying gait was unsettling. I constantly felt like we were going to tumble down the mountain, but I guess that's just how horses walk.

"El caballo esta cansado tambien," I said to Joseph. The horse did seem just as tired as I was. When we stopped to wait for Michael and Marshall I could feel him panting. I felt too sorry for him to keep sitting on him, so as soon as I was feeling recovered I got down and vowed not to let myself appear tired enough for Joseph to make me ride again. I soon got just as tired as I had been, but managed to keep my staggering to a minimum.

Joseph was very encouraging and at last we made it to the top of the pass. At 4,550 meters/ 14927 feet, it was the highest point we would reach on the entire four-day trek. We were on a small plateau directly opposite Salkantay and staring it right it its ancient, cragged face.

All around us were stones piled into pyramids by previous trekkers. Most of the others in our group had already been there for some time, and some, feeling the altitude particularly strongly, had already started down the trail to lower levels. (The nice thing about altitude sickness is that it (allegedly) abates as soon as you descend in height.)

There at the top of the pass, Milthon got out a bottle of rum for a little ceremony. He told us about the Andean people's tradition of pouring out a bit of their chicha or beer on the ground for the Earth Mother before drinking. We were to have a round of rum and do the same. While pouring the rum onto the ground, he instructed, we were to say, "Pachamama, Santa Tierra" and then we could drink.

We did this one at a time. I didn't think rum was the best beverage for me to be drinking under the circumstances, and I hadn't had the amount of rest that the faster people had. But it was only a small amount of rum and I didn't want to miss out. I found it surprisingly invigorating.

Following that, we each took three unbroken coca leaves from Milthon's bag and broke off the stems. Facing Salkantay we made a silent wish and blew the leaves away, saying "Apu Salkantay." I wished for the same thing I've been wishing for on stars and birthday candles and shed eyelashes for the past few years now. I don't believe in the wishing itself, but I do believe in keeping one's goals in the forefront of one's mind, so I made my wish with sincerity and great concentration.

After that we started down the other side of the pass. Without a doubt, downhill was easier than uphill, but it was by no means a walk in the park. At least, not the nice kind of park with grass and benches that you can walk in without feeling as though you're going to either slide into a ravine or suffocate. The deep, narrow path was like a chute littered with loose rocks that slipped and slid under me with every step. I was glad I had rented a trekking pole as there were quite a few times when it kept me from landing on my trasero.

For some reason I had thought the top of the pass was some kind of almost-there mark. It was not. We walked on and on and on. At last we reached a plain littered with cow dung. I didn't see the cows close up, but they must have been enormous, or else wretchedly ill.

On the trail over the mountain, we'd had to walk single file, but on the plain I was able to talk to Joseph as we walked, and he led the horse. I was last in line, and it was his job to keep pace with me and make sure I wasn't left behind. It was probably hard for him to walk so slowly, but he was extremely patient and we had a nice conversation. In Spanish, no less, although he speaks a decent amount of English.

I asked him which was the better job, the front guide or the back guide. He said the front guide job is better, but you need more experience to move on to that and he'd only been doing this for a year. I'd love to see him move up to the job he'd rather have, but I think it would be a loss to the hikers. His calm, patient, friendly personality is perfect for keeping us slowpokes from feeling bad.

As we walked, the field became muddier and muckier and I had to lift the cuffs of my pants as I walked (I was far too tired to consider bending down rolling them up.) The walking should have been easy since it was now flat ground, yet it wasn't. After climbing the pass, my legs were rebelling and refused to do more than plod along. It was getting colder and colder, and my hands were numb in my cheap gloves.

As so often happens when people hear I am from New York, the conversation turned to September 11. Joseph said that eight Peruvians had died in the towers that day. It's really amazing in a horrible way how far-reaching that day was. But we also talked about more pleasant things, and finally, finally we saw the campsite before us, the yellow tents beaming through the last stages of dusk. Day One of walking completed. They say the first day is the worst. I hope so. I hope so.

All the two-man tents were taken by the time Michael and I tried to claim one, so we went to Milthon. After a time he came back and said that the person in our tent had already unpacked and could we sleep in a one-man tent for tonight. (I'll have to give that one a shot one day. "Oh, is this your house? But I've already unpacked.")We could have a bigger tent tomorrow, Milthon promised. So we unrolled our sleeping bags in the one-man tent. The floorspace was cramped but sufficient, but because the roof came to a peak, the tent walls were closer to our heads than is pleasant and we couldn't both sit up at once.

But it was a place to lie down, and we did this while waiting for dinner. It was freezing in the tent, even after I put on my long underwear under my pants. I refused to get into the sleeping bag with my dirty pants, but I draped it over myself and lay there shivering and waiting for the newly-donned thermal underwear to kick in. We didn't want to get up, but even if we hadn't been starving, we knew we needed to eat dinner.

The dining tent, lit by a single candle, was cold too. But given the twelve bodies inside, it was slightly warmer than the outside. Whenever anyone unzipped the tent flap to come in or out, we could feel the frigid, windy difference. But dinner turned out to be excellent. Soup again, followed by chicken and potatoes in wine sauce, mashed potatoes, and vegetables. I'm amazed that the cooks were able to produce such a good meal on a camp stove in a freezing cold tent. If I'd been alone I would have eaten a granola bar and cried myself to sleep. There was even dessert, which I almost missed because I was ready to go to bed as soon as I'd eaten my last bite.

When Michael and I left the dining tent, the moon had risen over the mountain we'd just climbed over and brightened the sky so much that we no longer needed the flashlights to find our way to the tent. The sky was fabulous. Amazing. More stars than I'd ever seen in my life. I looked at it for about thirty seconds and then went to bed.

I took off my muddy pants, but kept everything else on. This was all the layers I'd brought on the trip: thermal top and bottoms, Smartwool mountaineering socks, merino t-shirt, expedition weight Capilene shirt, fleece jacket, and alpaca hat. My rented sleeping bag lacked one of those little plastic slidy-things that keeps the headhole closed and I was afraid to tie a knot (visions of being unable to escape marauding bears), so I pulled the hood tight and tied a little bow under my chin. The tent was small, and I was right up against Michael in his bag. Still, I could not stop the violent shivering.

 

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The road to Soraypampa.

Walking ahead of the bus on the road from Mollepata to the Head Trail.

Horses waiting patiently, Soraypampa.

We all spew out of the bus and say goodbye to wheels for the next four days.

River crossing.

Soraypampa, the very beginning of the trek.

We begin to walk.

Already getting left behind and it's not even lunchtime.

Milthon (in green) lectures at the first rest stop.

The "lunch spot."

After lunch nap. I needed one too, but I'm kinda persnickety about lying on the grass.

Me, resting at the lunch spot.

Salkantay.

Mithon demonstrates making a rum offering to Pachamama.

Afternoon view.

Mountains.

Almost to the campsite.