...in Krakow

Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Krakow

After an initial concern that we might be a little late, we arrived at Gatwick and were soon aboard the flight to Krakow.

On landing, we came off the plane into an unexpected heat. Our plan had been to catch a bus from the airport to the city centre. However, this proved to be slightly more complicated than anticipated. Furthermore, the road our hotel was in was quite long and we had no idea at what point along said road the hotel was. So we decided that on this occasion we would get a taxi, and joined the queue in the warm sun.

We drove through lush rural landscape and then into the outskirts of the city where there were tall Eastern block buildings and high rise flats. But unlike those in England, these were neat and tidy with no strings of washing lining the balconies. The wide roads had tramlines running down the middle – along which hurtled trams at alarming regularity. All the drivers needed to keep a certain awareness about them to ensure they moved off the parts of road which were also tram routes before the tram came along.

As we approached the old town a beautiful city started to unfold, very much like Italy in appearance. The streets were lined with discoloured plaster coated buildings where the plaster had chipped to reveal red bricks beneath. Scars of red brick were also visible on buildings that were apparently stone fronted. Most of the buildings had blackened exteriors and vast numbers of old cars scurried through the streets. We moved into narrower streets where the tall buildings were crammed in together. It was incredibly hot. Poland seemed a country of surprises. We hadn’t expected the heat and we hadn’t expected the city to look the way it did. But whilst it wasn’t what we expected, neither of us was able to say what it was that we had expected.

Everyone seemed to be very friendly and their grasp of English was generally very good – which was helpful given that Polish is a completely impossible language. However, we had learnt how to ask for two beers, and after having checked in to the hotel and dumped luggage we walked to the main square, settled beneath a sun shading umbrella and confidently requested ‘poproshei dva piwo’. What’s more, we were understood. It all came asunder when the waiter asked if we wanted 'duzy' and he then had to ask in English – did we want large ones, to which the answer was undoubtedly 'tak'. Husband wanted to ask for another in Polish but we were unsure how to pronounce 'jeszcze jeden'.

While people watching I noticed that generally the Polish women were very pretty and very very thin. What’s more, they wore very short skirts.

The former capital of Poland, Krakow is still the country’s cultural and intellectual centre. The layout of the town in broadly unchanged from 1257 when the main market square, cloth hall and city walls were established. The Italian feel of the city is largely due to the marriage of the King to an Italian princess in 1518, following which there was a large influx of Italian architects.

Poland has spent most of its history at the mercy of its neighbouring countries. Russia, Prussia and Austro-Hungary partitioned the county twice in the 18^th century and for a while Poland ceased to exist. After the defeat of Napoleon the map of Europe was re-drawn but Poland didn’t finally win its independence until 1918. This was then quickly removed again in 1939 after the invasion by the Nazis. The Red Army ‘liberated’ the city in 1945, initiating a repressive regime and Communist government. Following the collapse of Eastern bloc communism in 1989 the subsequent privatisation and democracy has been particularly beneficial in Krakow which is now a thriving city.

The main square was filled with pigeons that seemed remarkably tame. They didn’t fly away when you walked through them and a young boy held bread in each hand whereupon the pigeons sat on his arms to eat it.

The square was filled with a never ending stream of people and an abundance of cafes. Restaurants, shops, flower stalls and street performers formed a colourful and engaging atmosphere. The square itself is huge, and along one side, between the cafes and the square is a long line of tall trees.

While we were having our beer, from the tower of St Mary’s Church next to us came the sound of a trumpet. The heynal is played every hour, a tradition originated in the time when a watchman seeing the Tartars prepare to scale the city walls at dawn blew his trumpet to raise the alarm. The Tartars fired at him and after a few notes he was hit in the throat. It took some moments before a replacement took over, and for this reason there is a pause in the middle of the tune. We saw the trumpet poking out of an upper window, and the plaintive tune which would become familiar during our stay.

We went into the brick built church from where the trumpet playing occurred, the interior of which was completely painted in sombre colours. It helped ensure that the inside was curiously dark and it took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust. Visitors needed to pay a few zloti to get in. However, there was another door with no charge which was clearly signed for prayer only. Sadly this was also used by visitors, unwilling the pay the pittance required.

 

We also went into the tiny church of St Adalbert which only had room for a few pews and in which a nun busily dusted the altar. This is the oldest building in the square and the foundations of the original 10^th century building can still be seen.

Churches done, we went into the Cloth Hall. Originally a covered market with stalls, shops and warehouses, the 13^th century building was almost destroyed by fire. In the 16^th century Renaissance facades were added and the ground floor retains its commercial role. The long paved corridor through the Hall, with low lanterns is lined with stalls selling art and crafts, amber and silver jewellery, leather goods and souvenirs. The arcades added on either side of the building in the 19^th century house a multitude of cafes and restaurants. While we were there much of the paving around the Cloth Hall was being dug up in what looked like some sort of excavation activity.

We ambled through some of the streets around the square, seeing many signs advertising live jazz, and remembered that Krakow is famed for its cellar jazz clubs. Alleyways running through the buildings along the main streets lead down to restaurants and cafes, hidden away at the end, some given away by the fantastic aromas streaming out of them. In our wanderings we had noticed an abundance of underwear shops – by and large the window displays had brown undies, but there were some very nice items available.

Spoilt for choice for somewhere to have dinner we settled on a dimly lit old building. The interior was plushly decorated in dark wood with red velvet seats, and the tables were separated from each other by glass topped wooden screens. A saxophone stood on the bar in honour of the jazz culture and red phone box was in the corner. All the waitresses were impossibly thin and wore dangerously short skirts – which Husband didn’t seem to mind at all.

 
I ordered a Zupa Polski (traditional Polish sour soup) which was absolutely delicious. I had no idea of any of the ingredients until a few days later – when I found that it is made by adding warm water to rye flour, put a cheese cloth over the top then leave for 5 days to ferment. Husband had an equally scrumptious mushroom soup.

Due to our early start we opted for an early night and walked back through the still buzzing square, gently lit from surrounding lamp posts. There was a queue of horse and carriages, waiting to take tourists around the city. Street musicians played on every corner, and the sound of jazz filtered gently out of the restaurants and clubs.

Even during the night we heard the trumpeter playing at which point Husband rather suspected that it was a recording.

The following morning we tucked into breakfast which was a curious mix of boiled eggs covered in mayonnaise, cheese, ham, pate, something akin to Greek salad, egg mayonnaise with vegetables, bread, scrambled egg and sausages – or a combination thereof.

Our plan for the day was to visit the salt mines at Wieliczka. We knew that you could get there by bus and, armed with our map, we walked towards the bus station. A thin strip of park land had been cultivated around the city along the line of the old city walls and we walked through this. On every bench slept homeless people. Initially doing well, we came to an underpass. On the other side we wanted to turn left up the street. This exit had been blocked off, so we decided to re-trace our steps and walk up the other side of the street. The whole junction was being dug up – as was the road that we were now walking up. Husband doubted that the bus station was still at the end of it. In complete absence of anything resembling European Health & Safety Regulations people walked across the building site which had once been a road, covered in dusty mud, uneven and with occasional drops into man holes which had no protective covering. It was both exciting and unbelievable. There was a distinct absence of signposting to inform people how to circumnavigate the very extreme road works. Even local people were wandering around confused, pushing prams through the destroyed road. We decided instead to head for the train station in the hope that things would become clearer.

When we did eventually find our way to the station, nothing was clear. We asked at the information desk where the bus station was and were told that there were no buses. We then asked what time trains left for Auschwitz and were given a completely different time to that provided by the hotel. Coming to the conclusion that using public transport was quite possibly going to be beyond our abilities due to the hugely conflicting information we decided to take a taxi to the salt mines and approach the question of Auschwitz another time.

Our taxi driver drove out of the city through small rustic towns, passed poster of party leaders – serious, suited men with just enough grey to make them look distinguished. On the journey the driver told us that he could take us to the salt mines and also to Auschwitz for 400 zlotis. We decided to take him up on the offer and thus save ourselves the inevitable difficulties in taking the train.

At the salt mine our driver’s star qualities came through when he went straight to the front of the queue to buy our tickets. He found out when the next English tour was and made sure we were in the right place.

The salt mine is among the oldest working salt mines in the world. The labyrinth of chambers and tunnels extend to nearly 100 miles. In our 2 hour tour we would see approximately 1% of the whole mine – but apparently the best part which was conveniently all close together. Or at least that's what they told us.

 

We started off by descending down 380 steps down into the mine. Soon the walls, floor and ceiling were all made of black rock salt. There were lakes which no longer posed a danger as they were as saturated with salt as they could be, so salty in fact that apparently you couldn’t submerge yourself in them. By all accounts, if you jumped in, you wouldn’t get your hair wet. Many other areas of the mine had convoluted drainage systems to prevent the water destroying the mine.

 

We also saw some chapels with elaborate rock salt carvings and chandeliers made entirely from salt crystals in huge man made caves. One of the largest chapels had a smooth salt floor that had been carved to look like tiles. Around the walls were carved reliefs telling the story of Jesus. Again, enormous rock salt chandeliers hung from the ceiling. You could in fact get married here as the chapel held a licence. The chapel had been built by 2 men – one taking over after the death of the first – and had taken 67 years to complete. It was amazing, not only in its size, decoration and splendour but also in the sheer concept of it being entirely man made.

 

 

One of the final chambers we saw was linked to another by a low tunnel. As both chambers were filled with water you could only cross between them by boat. However, the boat trips ended some time ago after a party of soldiers, who were drunk, tipped their boat over. They didn’t drown – you can’t drown because you can’t sink. But the upturned boat was on top of them, and as they couldn’t submerge themselves so as to escape, died, utterly unable to push themselves below the water line to escape from their suffocating tomb.

 

Continuing on through salt encrusted tunnels, 135m below the surface, we finally joined the queue for the lift back up. Crammed into the tiny lift, which could carry about 4 people at a push – the door rather inconveniently opening inwards – we started the ascent. There were no lights in the lift and no lights along the shaft. Now and then as we passed other floors surrounding light would come into the tiny container. But by and large we were hauled back to the surface in complete darkness in what must be the worker’s lift.

 

Stepping blinking into the sunlight we located our driver and set off for the long drive to Oswiecim, forever now known as Auschwitz. We drove passed narrow farmed strips in the surrounding fields, each family owning a small patch, and many old fashioned tractors. The houses were all pretty and well tended. Certainly this area didn’t look poor. We passed a coal mine which reminded me of the many Polish miners who have been laid off work and now make a living risking their live by stealing coal from moving freight trains.

On arrival, our driver again established exactly what we needed to do and fortunately we were just in time for the English tour. It was a sombre place and had once been army barrack for the Polish forces. The red bricked buildings and tree lined mud avenues between actually looked faintly attractive in the bright afternoon sun. But the surrounding double layer of barbed wire and regular watch towers served as a constant reminder of the horrors that had taken place here.

The buildings had been converted into museums and the walls were lined with various photos. This included pictures taken after liberation which showed rooms lined with bunks, and filled with expressionless people who didn’t seem eager to move. It was as though every hope had been taken from them and they believed nothing they were told, as though the soldiers’ telling them they were free was some sort of cruel joke.

While I had always known that the Germans took everything from the prisoners in the camps I was not prepared for the contents of the next building. Floor to ceiling displays – one filled with suitcases and baskets which still had the owners names painted on them. Another was piled high with 70,000 pairs of shoes while another contained the shoes taken from children. There were piles of spectacles, pots and pans and even a considerable display of children’s clothes – tiny outfits that were still dirty from their last fall, torn and scuffed in all the places that you expect children’s clothing to be damaged. Clothes belonging to children who were probably never even given the opportunity to try and survive the camps. On one display case someone had left rosary beads. In another room was the sight that knocked my breath out of me – 2 tonnes of hair. 5 tonnes had been found when the camp was liberated. Human hair was used by Germany’s textile industry. To see long plaits that had been cut off and never unplaited was shocking beyond belief, thin plaits that had belonged to children, still with bows attached.

Auschwitz was a slave labour camp reserved for political prisoners and members of the resistance, while neighbouring Birkenau was an extermination camp. An estimated 1.5 million prisoners from 28 nations lost their lives here. At its peak the gas chambers killed 20,000 a day – many of whom were Jews.

 

Originally all prisoners were photographed. This was for purposes of identification in the event of escape. As the war progressed, and the number of prisoners grew, fewer pictures were taken. The Jews ceased to be photographed at all. One of the buildings at Auschwitz has hundreds of these pictures lining the walls, detailing name, date of birth, date of admission to the camp and – not long after – the date of death. Pictures of men and women with shaven heads and wearing the thin stripped clothing that was their only protection all year round. But every single person stared directly at you with a look of utter defiance, and a determination that in the end was not enough to save their lives. In another room were pictures of children. Again, every boy and girl stared straight into the camera with a fixed look. But all the girls’ eyes glistened brightly with tears.

We saw the death wall where executions were carried out. To ensure that the other prisoners inside the buildings on either side didn’t realise what was happening (as if the sound of gunfire was not enough of a clue), the windows had been boarded up on one block and partially bricked up on the other.

Block 11 has been maintained in the way it was found. The ground floor contained a room where mock trials were conducted and in the basement were a series of tiny cells, barely big enough to stand in, too small to lie down. Prisoners sentenced to death by starvation were locked up here. This was also the sight of the very first gas death. However, it took too long for the area to ventilate afterwards and therefore more efficient venues were arranged.

One cell had a small air vent which had been covered outside by a metal box. It was not uncommon for some of the many prisoners crammed into this cell to suffocate to death. The standing cells were the most horrific of all. About the size of a phone box, and completely bricked up except for a small opening at the base, 5 prisoners would be put inside. There was no possibility of sitting down, and many suffocated to death. If they needed the toilet there was no alternative but to go where you stood. Prisoners were subjected to 10 nights, as well as hard work during the day – assuming they survived long enough.

Gallows were lined up at the front of the area where roll calls were conducted, and any offending prisoner was publicly hanged.

We went to the gas chamber – the first one used for mass killings. It was a small, unassuming, one storey building, with a tall chimney rising from it – in the war this must have smoked all day. On the walls you could still see the shower fittings that had been installed to make the victims believe they were being washed.

And on the ceiling were the holes through which the canisters of poisonous gas were dropped. Anyone standing directly beneath these holes would have died instantly while the last survivor would take up to 20 minutes. There were still scratch marks on the wall from those desperately trying to survive. In an adjoining room was the crematorium. 4 ovens into which 3 bodies at a time were piled – after they had been stripped of any jewellery and fillings. Inmates of the camp were given the job of burning the bodies. The walls and ceiling of the crematorium were blackened with soot.

 

Thoroughly subdued, we went a mile or so down the road to Birkenau. This was built on land stolen from the Poles. The buildings were destroyed and the bricks used to build the camp. It covered a massive area, and was filled with low level brick and wood huts. The barbed wire and watch towers stretched for miles into the distance. The wooden buildings had originally been used for stables but were soon used to house prisoners. Providing no protection from the cold, and limited protection from rain, they were filled with wooden bunks on which the lucky inmates might have had straw.

 

The bathroom hut consisted of a washing area that no longer existed and a long trough with on which was a board with holes cut into it which served as the lavatory. The holes were only inches apart. There was no opportunity for dignity and the troughs were cleaned out by the prisoners themselves.

The empty railway line stretched out into the camp, towards where the gas chambers had once stood. One chamber was destroyed by the prisoners and the other by the Germans as they left.

 

After our harrowing afternoon we set off for the long drive back to Krakow and went in search of dinner, settling for an outside restaurant in the square as it was too hot to be inside. This time I opted for beetroot soup. It was a cold soup and again, thoroughly delicious. For pudding I had a Polish apple pie while Husband opted for Polish cheesecake – which was not good.

We found a cellar jazz club to finish off the evening, and went down the narrow steps in the vault ceiling, red brick cellar with narrow pathways and small smoke filled rooms. The jazz band was brilliant – and included a young pianist whose fingers moved across the keys with lightening speed so that they looked like a blur.

It was hard to imagine this vibrant, café culture city under communist oppression. And with that thought, we returned to the hotel, past the fantastic sounds coming from the piano jazz bar and the mournful music of the accordion players sitting on the streets.

On Sunday we got up late and after breakfast, consisting largely of egg, we ambled gently towards Wawel. It was another hot and sunny day, passed a church with a frontice piece of apostle statues

Wawel is a small fortress town, built on a hill and walled. It comprises a castle – which was used as a royal residence – a tower for malefactors called Thieves Tower and a cathedral. The cathedral was crammed with bustling tourists who removed any sense of religious awe and calm. It was quite different to St Mary’s church, being much lighter and airier. Or perhaps it just the absence of whispering mystery that had the greater effect. A large cupola stood over the alter, fantastically decorated.

 

Outside the main entrance hung three bones, suspended by large black chains. I knew already that one of them was a whale's jaw bone. Listening in to the English speaking tour guide next to me, I overheard him say that the bones were from a mammoth, rhinoceros and whale, the whale bone being a rib! Apparently they were washed up on the shore of the Vistula in the 15^th century and had been carbon dated to the prehistoric era. This I rather doubted – the whale bone quite simply didn’t look old enough. Furthermore, all reference to these bones in the many books we looked through varied in terms of what the bones were. Some failed to mention the presence of the whale bone at all, and many referred to it as a rib. It occurred to me that if you were going to the effort of dating the bones, surely you would also confirm what the bones were, and from what animal for the record.  The varying information about them implied that no definitive answer had been provided - or perhaps sought.

 

According to local legend and popular myth the bones belonged to the giants who used to populate the area. Or they belonged to the dragon slain in the days of King Krak. According to both, if the bones fell from their chains the end of the world would be very nigh indeed.

 From Wawel we went down a long spiral staircase into the Dragon’s Lair. As we descended it became colder and wetter until finally we emerged into the dimly lit line of fantastic natural caves. The walls were pitted in a lava like way and the caves were almost pre-historic in appearance with rough, uneven rock. A few steps led us from the first cave into the second and from there we emerged into the bright morning sun on the banks of the Vistula. We had stumbled across the Lair quite by chance due to minimal signposting. Poland has not yet familiarised itself with tourism and does not as yet make the most of the attractions it knows it has. I had simply been curious about why people were going into a small turret on the castle walls – and had then seen the pay machine for tickets into the Lair.

 

Outside, standing on a rock, was a large metal dragon who periodically breathed flames – thanks to the gas burner in his mouth.

 

We ambled back towards town with the intention of finding U Literati – a place recommended by our guide book for a quiet coffee. And sure enough, we did find it. There was an indoor café, but we went into the quiet courtyard at the back, surrounded by trees and ivy coated walls. On a table next to us were two English ladies who were a cross between Miss Marple and an old fashioned school ma’am. Deciding to have a small snack while we were there, we ordered some eggs in mayonnaise and ham and cheese along with a side order of bread We shared the food between us when it appeared – and it was delicious. For dessert I forced down some literacki cake and Husband opted for Viennese cheesecake. This was much like Polish cheesecake, whereas the literacki cake was a curious layer cake consisting of soft meringue, sponge and coffee flavoured mousse. I wasn’t completely sure if I liked it, but that didn’t matter as Husband did like it very much indeed.

We decided to use the facilities which was quite an involved business. They were downstairs, and you needed to get a key from the waitress. However, as the key had already been given out, she merely sent me downstairs. The woman in front of me tried to explain to me that I needed to lock it up and return the key upstairs. She told me this in Polish and then again in German. She could speak no English and I couldn’t speak either Polish or German. However, she adopted a method used by many English and spoke to me in Polish loudly and slowly. Rather embarrassingly, I did actually understand from her gestures of door looking and pointing upstairs what it was that I needed to do.

When I returned and Husband asked me what the process was I told him that it was quite involved and may involve an old lady.

We started walking back to the hotel. It had started to rain which was rather refreshing as the weather was still hot. On our way back we looked at the shop names. All places selling intoxicating liquor had signs stating Alkohole. There was a sports shoe shop rather imaginatively – if unpleasantly – called Athlete’s Foot. Next to this was a family run shop, proudly emblazoned with the owner’s name, Jozef Plonka. In the area there seemed to be a lot of police activity, and bodyguards were stationed outside McDonalds, as well as an ambulance outside the kebab shop which Husband thought was excellent forward planning. We passed more street bands, children playing violin, students formed a group of guitar and flute. Slow blues filtered out from the many venues which had neon signs outside advertising their live bands. As the evening progressed, the tempo upped and there were distant strains of jazz, punctuated every hour by the lone trumpeter from the tower. And in the back ground to this was the constant rumble of trams and clip clop of the horse and carts.

Our hotel was opposite a dance academy and the accompanying piano music played all day long. We wandered again through the cloth hall, looking at the amber stalls in search of gifts. There was a fascinating range of colours (and prices) from yellowy white through to a rich dark orange, which was the older amber.

Amber is the country’s national stone with colours ranging from yellow and white, to red and green. It is of course the fossilised resin of trees from thousands of years ago and is more interesting for the speck and flaws in it.

 

We walked past the horses that had been given nose bags. As one ate his way down, he kept throwing his head back to try and get the food which was at the bottom, until eventually he rested the bag on the bar of the trap he pulled, and continued eating more successfully.

After a restful afternoon in the hotel we set out for dinner. As it had cooled down, we opted for an indoor restaurant which was terribly grandly set out, with waitresses in long dresses – and yet you sat yourself rather than being shown to a  table. Naturally there was more soup on the menu which was again outstandingly good. I once again had the Polish sour soup and was surprised by the boiled egg lurking at the bottom, having forgotten the presence of this in the previous one. They certainly like their eggs in Poland. The menu had said 'soup in bread'. I initially thought it was a quaint translation error. But a thick bread urn, complete with bread lid, was brought over. Inside of this was the delicious soup. I assume the bread was thrown away afterwards, which seemed strange in a country whose recent past included times of severe starvation. Or perhaps that was the point - a demonstration of how much they had moved on since those times.

Our waitress had limited English and, like everyone else, appreciated our efforts at Polish. The restaurant was an old artist’s haunt and the walls were covered with old and very interesting artwork. Where pictures weren’t hung, paintings had been applied directly to the wall. One showed a street scene and rising above the picture was a balloon, held by a child. It wasn’t an especially good picture, but I liked the idea of the balloon leaving the scene.

We popped into the piano bar on the way back, and were served various alcoholic concoctions by the barman who had recently returned from Ireland. His English was brilliant, and occasional words had an Irish twang to them.

The following morning we got up and packed.

It was raining. Hard. And persistently. For the final time we popped into the main square, spending yet more money on souvenirs - including a rather nice amber rosary for Bro the Elder which included a small picture of Pope John Paul II. It was still raining when we returned to the hotel. Definitely the right day to go home - which shortly afterwards is exactly what we did.

NOTES

The above is a true story. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books. The author maintains rights over all other content.

  

... in Peru (trekking the Inca trail on honeymoon)

The Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Peru

 

 

 

When the alarm went off at 3.30am I did momentarily wish we had booked a holiday with more agreeable flight times. Middle Bro appeared a short while later and drove us to Heathrow for the first leg of the flight, to Madrid.

As we came in to land the cabin crew helpfully told us which gate to go to for onward connections. Having time to spare we decided to change some money into Euros and have a drink first. However, we did notice that the gate listed on the computer screens was different to the one we had been told. Deciding to query this with a lady at the information desk she informed us that the gate was in fact as we had been previously told on the flight. Just to confirm, I said ‘so the information screen is wrong’. ‘Yes’ she replied. No suggestion that she would arrange for it to be corrected. The plot thickened further when a few minutes later the information screen was updated with a third gate – which transpired to be the correct one.

We boarded the plane for the 11 hour flight to Lima during which we realised that sitting next to us were two other members of the group we would be part of – Wallace and  a woman (who shall henceforth be called Grommet for reasons which will gradually become apparent). To help while away the flight Husband read parts of our guide book which helpfully advised to wear socks in bed so as to avoid getting rabies from vampire bats nibbling your feet. After a couple of meals and fitful sleep we eventually arrived at Lima, and had to rewind our clocks by 6 hours.

Chrystel, our French tour leader, met us and, along with the other gathered members of the group, we headed off to the hotel. Chrystel was worried about whether or not we wanted a double bed so we allayed her fears by letting her know that we had married two day earlier and a double bed was therefore perfectly adequate.

It was late and we were tired, disorientated and hot in the muggy Lima climate. We went to a garage down the road from the hotel to get water and a sandwich. Having no local currency (soles) we paid in dollars. The girl behind the cash desk asked for 3 dollars (we knew it should have only have been 2) and promptly pocketed one.

We turned on the air conditioning in the room, which proved to be of limited use, and went to bed. We woke at 2am, and slept fitfully from then on, our bodies clearly confused about what time it was.

We had agreed to meet other members for the group for breakfast at around 8.30. However, having been up for a few hours, we eventually decided to go down at 8.00. Wallace was already there having had a similar sleep (or lack thereof) experience. We duly tucked in to a sumptuous breakfast, helping ourselves to fruit, yoghurt, cereals, cheese, meat, scrambled eggs (amusing called mixed eggs), French toast, bacon, bread, cakes and jams. And then popping back for a bit more. After breakfast, we met the rest of the group and had our first briefing. There were two New Zealanders – Shaun and Preston – who looked alarmingly fit and seemed to climb mountains every weekend. There were 4 Americans – Mrs Growbag, Fluffles, Mrs Mulch and Lady Tottington, and two other Brits that we hadn’t previously met – Wendolene and Piella. Chrystel advised that to help combat altitude problems we should drink at least 2.5 litres of water a day and eat lots of sugar – preferably in the form of chocolate – to speed up our metabolic rates so that our bodies could make more blood cells more quickly. And of course, drink coca tea. We were told that we couldn’t take coca out of the country as it is considered a Class A drug, being the base product for cocaine. Chrystel outlined all the joys of altitude illness and informed us that we may also find an increase in flatulence – informing us that, like a bag of crisps, we would also expand.

We were also warned about security – apparently Peru could be a dangerous and thieving place. Valuables should be put in hotel safety boxes and luggage should always be locked when we weren’t with it.

We had already been put on strict instructions about water – don’t touch the stuff out of the taps, not even to clean your teeth with. Chrystel was basically concerned about any of us becoming ill before the trek. And on the subject of the trek – there seemed to be an assumption that we had all been in training for it. Most of the group looked at each other in a concerned manner. Good – most people had done no training whatsoever.

That morning we were due to fly to Juliaca via Cusco, going from almost sea level to 3800m. That should give our respiratory systems something to think about. We boarded the plane – which did have a row 13, and Husband and I were in it. We taxied past military aircraft as well as domestic planes, parked incredibly close together amongst which were some in a very poor state of repair – which appeared to be being used for spares.

The flight went across the top of the Andes. It was a stunning view of the mountains, rugged, inhospitable and in many places snow capped. Peru is a county of desert (along the coast), mountains (running through the middle) and forest (the rest of the country). The mountains were not far below us, and it was strange to be on a flight where the ground was so close. Cusco airport was in a valley in the mountains and the faint hearted should not look out of the window during the descent as we gradually dropped down into the mountains, until on either side of the plane the ground rose above us. The pilot negotiated his way in, staying high to clear the mountains before dropping down to the runway.

Staying on the plane, we took off a short while later and flew over the high altiplano to Juliaca. Out of the window it looked, in places, like the surface of the moon. A prehistoric looking landscape, which also looked very close. Ahead of us was a fairly serious looking mountain range that we descended into where presumably there was somewhere conveniently flat to land. The journey would have taken approximately 2 days by road. We were there in less than 2 hours of flying.

We landed in a well populated, farmed plateau. At the tiny airport we were greeted by men in traditional costume playing Peruvian instruments. The air was dryer, thinner and already Lady Tottington was suffering. We boarded the bus and drove through Juliaca. It was an industrial town, but many of the roads were mud and the buildings were simple and unfinished. Huddles of people gathered around carts of goods on street corners. Pigs grazed on any ground that contained grass, being casually whipped by the female herder. Babies stared out vacantly and silently from huge slings on their mother’s backs. There were masses of rickshaws, transporting goods and families, street vendors selling fruit from barrows beneath a chaos of low cables which lined the streets, like a spider web. As we drove further into the town the roads became tar mac, and there were even pavements along the bustling narrow streets.

It was hotter than I had expected. As we left the town we saw more of the huge plateau, scattered with grazing cows, llamas and camelites as well as collections of mud huts. We drove on to the funeral towers, or chullpas, of Sillustani which dated from around the 14 century. At many places on the road there were huge heaps of rocks and earth in the road requiring the bus driver to carefully weave his way around them, via the encroaching fields if necessary.

The lithic constructions in the form of stone turrets were used as the funeral places of the Ccollas. The constructions, some more than 12 metres high were made with carved stones that were brought to the site. The towers were only used to bury their bosses or supreme priests. According to history these chullpas belonged to the decadent Tiahuanaco culture which was the biggest in this altiplanic area. We climbed an ever so small hill to get up to them, now fully realising that lack of air. All of us puffing and out of breath. We stayed up there for sunset – at which point no heat remained and it became very cold, very quickly. Sunset in Peru is around 6.30pm and being on the equator, this never changes much from month to month. No long lingering evenings of sunlight here.

 

There were some local girls selling goods, pretty, giggling and incredibly friendly. We set off for Puno, stopping on the way to visit a local house – one of the collections of mud buildings, enclosed by a surrounding wall. The property included a pen to put the animals in at night (in this case, llamas), a guinea pig farm, an open kitchen with a clay oven in which cow dung was burned for provide the necessary heat for cooking. There were also a couple of small buildings, dark and warm. There were no lights except a candle, the moon and the stars – which did of course include an excellent view of the southern cross. There was also a range of food – home made cheese, nuts, grains pulses and some de-hydrated potatoes that were dipped into liquid clay before being eaten. They were delicious, even with the clay dip.

On the roof of one of the buildings was a cross alongside which were two bulls. This was a common and curious mix of traditional (pagan) beliefs and the Catholicism imposed on the county by the Spanish.

Inside the buildings dried udders, small animals and corn hung from the ceiling. Woven rugs piled up in one corner, while rugs in the process of being woven were on looms outside. It was peaceful, silent. No running water, no electricity.

 

We continued on to Puno. Chrystel told us about the Peruvian delicacy – guinea pig. She explained that it could be cooked in 2 ways – roasted (and she held her hands under her chin to demonstrate the serving position) or fried (again, she demonstrated the serving position by holding her arms out to the side and explaining that the guinea pig would be fried with a rock on its back to squash it and give the appearance of road kill).

We arrived at the hotel in Puno and were greeted by coca de mate (coca tea). Lady Tottington was deteriorating, and opted to stay in bed rather than come out to dinner. We unpacked – and released our plastic bottles that had swelled with the altitude. We then wandered into town to eat. While waiting for the meal Grommet mentioned that she felt unwell, and to show she meant it, almost immediately threw up – not even having had time to leave the table. Dinner however, proceeded uninterrupted. I had a starter of quinoa soup which was delicious. Husband had an avocado salad – the avocado literally melted in your mouth and was without a doubt the most delicious one we had tasted. Both of us decided to have alpaca for main course – a meat which was fat and cholesterol free. Chrystel informed us that it was very nice – if we didn’t have any objection to eating fluffy animals. Alpaca fur is also used to make clothes, being extremely soft. Chrystel told us that she had an alpaca pair of socks to wear at night on the Inca trail. Wallace asked whether it had minded her taking its socks.

Some of the group wanted to return to the hotel and Chrystel needed to pop out to get some money but Wendolene and I were hankering after pudding. We ordered, we served and promptly ate. Chrystel came back and after a few minutes asked whether we had ordered. We explained that the process had been fully completed and she seemed stunned, exclaiming ‘but I was only gone 5 minutes’. The people with appetites were starting to become known. Chrystel had warned that high altitude can reduce your appetite and I commented to Wendolene that it would be nice when our appetites returned to normal levels again!

We went back to the hotel. It was a cold evening and getting colder as winter (June) approached.

We woke early – again. So early that really it was still late. We eventually got up at 5.00am, and after running the taps for several minutes managed to locate water warm enough to shower in, and had the extreme excitement of watching the water go down the plughole the wrong way. We went down for breakfast, seeing in the gloomy light Mrs Mulch doing her morning yoga. Preston and Shaun were already there. Wallace and Wendolene soon followed. It seems that everyone else had small rooms – ours was huge, with a sitting room area.

The New Zealanders asked whether he had had hot water – we explained that, eventually, we did have. They didn’t. In fact, when they turned on the hot tap, nothing came out at all. Not even cold water. The breakfast was not as sumptuous as at Lima, but we feasted adequately on cheese, ham, bread, quinoa topped with yoghurt and fruit accompanied by coca tea. Shaun had thought the yoghurt was milk and got a bit of a surprise when he tucked into his cereal. He had also made a tiny error with the coffee which was very thick and strong – the intention being that you take a little and then dilute it with hot water. He took a gulp of neat coffee and almost spat it out exclaiming that it undrinkably strong and thick. He did not enjoy breakfast that day.

Outside it was bright, but fresh and a line of rickshaws were waiting to take us to the harbour at the shore of Lake Titicaca. Once aboard, the drivers appeared to be racing each other to get there. Lady Tottington was still unwell, and consequently would be staying in bed for the day.

At the harbour we had a few minutes at the shacks selling all manner of food and drink and most of us purchase a bag of coca leaves. Eduardo – our guide for the day – had promised to show us how to chew them.

We boarded the boat and set off into the lake. Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world at 3810m, and it is absolutely immense, 8100km squared. Titicaca apparently means yellow cat, and the lake is in fact in the shape of a cat – as was shown from the early satellite pictures of the area. However, it is unknown how the Inca’s could possibly have obtained an idea of the shape of such a vast lake. After a short while we reached the Uros islands. These are floating reed islands which are still inhabited.

The islands are made from totora, a reed like papyrus that grows in the shallows and is used in most aspects of their life, including the construction of their boats and homes. It is believed that they were first lived on when the local people tried to escape from the conquering Spanish. At one time the inhabitants were self sufficient – and suffered multiple nutritional disorders as a result. After all, there is no grass and no option for grazing animals or growth of vegetables. The diet was therefore limited to chicken and eggs. The drinking water was the lake, which was also the recipient of their human waste. Now, although still living on the islands, the residents go to Puno to buy food and other requirements.

There are 22 islands in total, each of which has 12 families living on it. We drew up next to one and climbed out. Eduardo warned us about potentially disappearing through a hole in the reeds. It was a curious sensation to walk on the islands. They were spongy and bouncy, and you did feel that you were walking on something which was floating. The local people were selling their wares to visiting tourists – beautiful handmade weavings, reed decorations, carvings and pottery. And it was so incredibly cheap that you almost didn’t want to barter too hard. We bought a number of souvenirs and then took a reed boat to a second island. It was a double Decker boat and I did wonder how stable it was.

 

One of the local rowed us gently across to the second island and it was one of the most peaceful moments I have ever known. Blue sky overhead and no sound other than the occasional creak of the boat.

The second island was decorated with hanging reeds. In the middle was an area of clay on which the clay oven was stood – a fire on a reed island would be an extremely serious matter. The people wore brightly coloured clothing, lots of reds. Long black plaits hung down the backs of the women. Both women and men were short and stocky, the women looking more so because of the bulky style of their clothing. All however, were very friendly and welcoming. Having wandered around this second island and bought further souvenirs we returned to our power boat for the remaining 2 hour sail to the island of Taquile. Despite taking so long to get to, this island is considerably less than half way across the lake which only emphasised to us the size of this area of water.

 

To pass the journey, Eduardo demonstrated coca leaf chewing. He told us to take 10 leaves, remove the stalks (not completely necessary but they can taste bitter) put them in your mouth and chew them until the taste goes. A number of us did so. I started to chew and within seconds hoped that the taste would go very very soon. They tasted vile. Looking like sea sick passengers, one by one we spat out the leaves over the edge of the boat and all commented on how they had had an anaesthetic effect and left our mouths number. Coca apparently has many beneficial effects such as pain relief, suppression of thirst and hunger, aiding digestion as well as being an excellent source of protein, electrolytes and calories.

 

Our driver must have been promised an extra tip if he could get us there before all the other tourists as he overtook every other boat that was on its way to the island. Finally arriving there, Eduardo told us that there was about an hour’s walk to lunch which did involve an uphill climb. We were instructed to take it slowly, go at our own pace and really just get used to exercising at altitude.

 

It was warm. The pale, dusty path initially rose steeply away from the harbour. As the hillside fell away below us it became lined with terraces on which lay clusters of sheep, llamas and pigs, resting in the sun. The island has preserved much its Inca and pre-Inca heritage and the islanders still speak the language of the Inca – Runi Simi or Quechua.

The path was lined with beautiful plants, many of which were used for their healing properties which fascinated Mrs Mulch. These included seeds taken by women for their contraceptive properties as well as dogs pine which, when dried, women would rub into their hair as it acted like a shampoo. Lupin seeds were gargled for sore throats – but mustn’t be swallowed as they are poisonous.

As the path wound around the island we had a stunning view across the vast and tranquil lake with the snow capped mountains of Bolivia in the distance. It was a perfect, stunning day and hard to believe that there are times when the waters of the lake are rough and violent.

We continued along the path to the central square of the island. Piella seemed to be struggling, her rucksack hanging limply off her shoulder and wearing jumpers despite the heat. She sat in the shade when we reached the main square, around which men were sitting, quietly weaving, probably waiting for the visiting tourists to want their pictures. In Peru taking photos is a business. You need to ask to take someone’s picture and not be surprised if they want some soles for the pleasure. Wendolene and I – drinking masses of water as instructed – were clearly not at all dehydrated and desperately in need of a toilet, as was Husband. Finding Eduardo we asked whether we would be able to use one at the restaurant we were due to have lunch at. We were duly shown through the restaurant, through the kitchen (in which a number of people busied themselves around a variety of pans from which arose a fantastic smell of spices), down some steps out of the back where there were three cubicles. A roll of loo paper hung on the wall outside. The cubicle doors met neither the top nor bottom of the doorway. And inside was a porcelain surround over a hole in the ground. However, it served the required purpose and we were heartily grateful for a squeeze of Wendolene’s antibacterial hand cream. Later other members of the group needed to make use of the facilities. We said that facilities existed, but did not want to go as far as describing what has become immortalised as ‘the outhouse experience’.

For lunch we had an indescribably delicious quinoa soup. It had been preceded by bread with  salsa – the spiciest salsa I have ever tasted. I’m not sure if it was that the onions were particularly fierce or whether some chilli had been sneakily added, but it was certainly rather piquant. For main course we had fried trout (fresh from the lake) with rice and chips made from locally grown potatoes. It was sensationally good. After lunch Eduardo talked to us about the island. Although part of Peru it was a self contained republic – not acknowledging the laws of the rest of the country. He told us about the local marriage belts.

Couples who wanted to marry firstly lived together for 2 years (which based on modern day society seemed eminently sensible). Marriages then generally took place in May resulting in 15 days of fiestas – during which the bride and groom had their heads tied together. On marriage a wife would present her husband with a wedding belt which would be embroidered with her ambitions. Eduardo had one to show us as an example, but on looking at it decided that the woman concerned wasn’t very ambitious. Embroidered on it were children and good crops, but no house. There were also annual belts which had embroidery for each month of the year depicting what happened in that month, such as harvests, high water and feasting.

Lunch was followed by a cup of thyme tea – as far as I could tell it was hot water with fresh thyme added and it tasted pepperminty. We had been given thyme to sniff as we had climbed up to the main square as apparently it helps assist breathing at altitude.

We followed the path that wound its way out of the town and plunged steeply down the 540 steps to the harbour from which we were being collected. At the bottom all the boats were tied together at the few available moorings. It took us a minute or two to establish which one ours was using our highly tuned powers of deduction (or what we could remember about the boat).

On the two and a half hour journey back many of the group lay down on the seats in the boat, sleeping. As we came back within sight of Puno we passed a small fishing boat rowed by a man, his child sitting near him, dragging her hand in the water while his wife threw fishing nets out of the back. When we got back Lady Tottington met us at the harbour, clearly feeling much improve. She and many of the others went for a wander in the market. Husband and I opted to go back to the hotel room. It was, after all, our honeymoon.

We all went out that night for our final dinner in Puno. Wallace, Husband and Wendolene all went for the fried Andean cheese – which apparently squeaked when you chewed it. We had alpaca again which was completely different to that of the previous night – served thick and pink like beef steak.

We went to bed early. Wake up the next day was 5am, as Chrystel had gleefully informed us. After another night of waking up at ridiculous hours we went downstairs, before breakfast had begun, and soon saw the familiar faces. Lady Tottington was unwell again, having become poorly during the night. We took the bus to the station where Eduardo got off to sort out our tickets. There was obviously some other confusion as Chrystel muttered ‘men will be men’. ‘That’s alright’, retorted Wallace, ‘no offence taken’. We were to take the train to Cusco (3415m). Reputed to be one of the great railway journeys of the world, the 10 hour trip of 352km would take us through the spectacular scenery over the high altiplano.

It was a cold morning and after a wait in the station we finally boarded the train. There were two classes of travel – tourist class or, for a mere additional $93, Inca class. In Inca class you had more comfortable seats, a lounge area and balcony on the back of the train. None of us decided this was worth $93 and all stayed in tourist class.  

The train set off, running down the middle of the mud streets, cars and people either side of us. It regularly hooted as a warning to all vehicles and pedestrians to keep clear of the line. The long dusty streets were filled with rickshaws and people lined up close against the train, waiting for it to pass so that they could get across the road. Children peered shyly out of doorways dressed in bright clothes and wool hats. The older women walked by, barely noticing the train, with heavy slings on their back laden with children or goods and small straw hats balanced on their heads, their long dark plaits hanging down behind them. Them en shuffled along the street or cycled rickshaws. All the children waved at us as we passed, running recklessly towards the train. As we headed back to Juliaca police boarded the train and told us to put down the blinds.

We tried to, but ours was broken and would only go down half way. We explained this to the policemen – more by demonstration than words as our Spanish was not quite that advanced. He warned us to stand back. The problem was a strike in Juliaca and there was a risk that angry protestors would throw things at the train. For this reason the train had left an hour earlier that day than usual. For which we were much appreciative. We proceeded slowly through Juliaca. Crowds of people filled the streets, and lined the railway. They looked disconsolate and uneasy. We passed out into the great plateau of the altiplano where flocks of llama and alpaca grazed on the windswept land between adobe villages.

The train would not have met western world standards of health and safety with an open gap between the carriages. Whilst we were not meant to cross between the carriages (that was for staff only) it was the area where we needed to queue for the toilet. But it also provided a breath of fresh air from the crowded heat inside the carriage. The window in the toilet was open offering a superb view of the mountains. It was one of the more scenic lavatory moments I have ever had.

 

We could feel the line gradually increase in height and we passed fewer towns, but did still see occasional farms scattered at the foot of them mountains, which were now becoming higher and snow capped. It was incredible to think that people lived here, like this, so many miles from any sort of village. They were presumably largely self sufficient given that they were miles from anywhere.

Lunch was served on the train. The table was beautifully laid up with silver cutlery and fabric napkins. We were given a drink of pisco sour as an aperitif. The drink consists of pisco (a Peruvian drink of white grape rum), lemon juice, sugar and egg white all beaten together, then topped with a few drops of angostura bitters. It wasn’t bad. Wendolene and Lady Tottington weren’t too keen on theirs, but Wallace did his duty honourably and managed to force theirs down.

 

Wallace and Husband had both opted for a starter of tomato soup and we were rather interested to see how they coped with eating this on a moving – and not altogether smooth – train journey. We were both having beef for main course which was served seconds before we reached the high pass at La Raya. Dilemma. Either get out for our few minutes leg stretch and let dinner go cold, or eat jolly fast and then get out. We picked the latter. Vast numbers of local were selling their wares. However, Husband and I wandered in the opposite direction to have a look at the stinking diesel train and stunning views of the mountains. Despite being 4321m it was surprisingly warm. Summoned back to the train for the onward journey – and pudding, we descended into the valleys. The hills became greener and were farmed as far up the slopes as the steepness would allow. The track was now running alongside the river Vilcanota or Urubamba from which men and children were digging silt, or fishing whilst women and younger children were herding animals. As we approached towns there was an abomination of litter. Bottles and plastic everywhere, along the streets, in the river. Everywhere. And the people were farming in it, sitting in it, grazing their animals in it. All the houses were either in a state of construction or decay. As it is so expensive for people to borrow money, they build houses in stages, as and when they can afford bits. We also passed many piles of mud bricks and rows of bricks being laid out to dry.

To help pass the time – the journey was now starting to become tedious – a Peruvian entered the carriage with a guitar and pan pipes accompanied by two girls in traditional dress. He played while they sang and danced. Then, just to add a bit of fun, they started pulling men from their seats to dance with. Shaun got hauled up – a hat placed on his head and a string of pom poms round his neck. No sooner had his turn ended than Husband was approached. Bravely, he also donned the hat and pom poms of dance and shimmied his way up and down the carriage. There was, of course, more to come. Despite trying to hide in the corner by the window, Wallace was also summoned. He did try to stall proceedings by insisting he took his glasses off, and getting them caught in the string of the hat.

But nevertheless, he was brought to his feet and whisked up and down the narrow corridor of the carriage. He later attempted to explain away his performance by saying that had he not been wearing walking boots and not been compromised by dancing in a confined space on a moving train, which did throw him about a bit, then he would have danced much better.

There did appear to be a fair amount of hysteria from the seats around Wallace, where Mrs Growbag, Lady Tottington and Wendolene were sitting. Some sort of question and answer session was underway – a grown up version of truth or dare. This did of course include Lady Tottington’s observation that while she had bought the rather sweet mini sized bananas for the journey, Wallace had bought huge ones. Was this some Freudian subconscious act, one wondered. It was also established that given the choice of jewellery, chocolate or flowers Wendolene would in fact much prefer cheese. She rather liked her cheese, and any man who bought her some would automatically win her heart. Wallace made note.

Mrs Mulch came over to speak to us at one point. Lady Tottington had become unwell again during the night and we asked Mrs Mulch how she was doing – she seemed touched by the thought and told us that Lady Tottington was now taking some heavy duty drugs to help her.

We edged ever nearer to Cusco, and into the land of the Incas. Cusco was originally called Qosqo in Quechuan and means ‘navel of the world’. It was the Inca capital city. The Inca’s took over vast areas of land by telling the local people that they would help with their irrigation, farming and defence as well as building roads and thereby forming a quick communication system. All they had to do in return was speak their language and worship their gods. Anyone who refused was killed. There are two myths that explain the formation of the Inca Empire.

The first refers to 4 brothers, each one of which represents a tribe to whom are attributed mythological powers. They fought between themselves and after many conflicts Ayar Manco’s tribe win and he, as Manco Capac, becomes the first Inca (which then was the name given to the king, whereas now the term is applied to the whole civilisation) and governor of the Inca empire.

The second is based on the legend of the great god Sun that sent their son Manco Capac to earth to found a great empire which would impart wisdom and culture. In turn the moon sent her daughter Mama Ocllo to be a partner to Manco Capac. Both left the waters of Lake Titicaca from the islands (in Bolivian water) that are now known as the Island of the Sun and Island of the Moon. Together they began a great odyssey in search of the place where they should found their great domain. Finally they arrived at a fertile valley and confirmed this should be the place, naming it Qosqo.  It was the capital of Tahuantinsuyo – the 4 quarters of the earth. Towards the north was Chinchawsuyo, west was Contisuyo, South was Collasuyo and East was Antisuyo.

The Inca created such an organised and complex State that taking advantage of the combined labour force produced enough food for their population and they created an impressive public programme of work in the new world. The Incas lived very close to nature. They worshipped mother earth, water and sacred crops including quinoa and coca. Inca descendents still make offerings to Pachamama (mother earth). The three levels of the Andean world were symbolised by 3 animals – the serpent (wisdom and underworld), the puma (power and the earth’s surface) and the condor (the messenger of the skies).

When the Spaniards arrived they were initially welcomed by the Incas who had believed that one day tall men with beards would come. However, Francisco Pizarro, an illiterate Spanish peasant turned soldier, led a company of only 63 horseman and 100 infantry into the great Inca empire seeking gold and other treasure. By a combination of shock tactics, treasury and lucky timing this tiny force overcame the greatest empire of the day.

The Spaniards attacked and destroyed the Inca constructions especially those of religious use – using the stones to build their own churches on the same sites. They imposed on the people their style of dress, the Spanish language and their Catholic religion. This initially caused problems as the Inca people worshiped the sun, moon and mountains – things they could see. And the Spaniards could not show them the God and Christ they were imposing. They also renamed the city Cusco.

Three years after the victorious entrance of the conquering Pizarro Manco Inca threw his first great attack. With a force of 150,000 men they burnt everything in Qosqo (the houses had straw roofs). After settling in the city for more than 6 months Manco Inca lost the battle and retired to Vilcabamba to reorganise his army. Meanwhile Pizarro found a place on the coast beside river Rimac and where he founded a new capital, Lima. The centres of wealth moved to the newly discovered silver mines in Bolivia as there was nothing left to plunder in Cusco.

Finally arriving in Cusco, we commandeered one of the waiting buses (which quite possibly wasn’t for us, but Chrystel was going to take it anyway and we all rather admired her style) and headed off to the hotel. After a few minutes to settle in (and open our plastic bottle which had now deflated) we re-convened for dinner.

The restaurant had a vast menu which, much to Mareia’s amusement had saltado for a starter. Saltado is Spanish for single man, and you could have one served with garlic and onions. There was also guinea pig on the menu, and Chrystel held her hands under her chin to demonstrate how the guinea served here would look. Roasted. She had warned us that there wasn’t much meat on them, and a lot of small bones making it a rather unsatisfactory meal. Therefore Husband and I both ordered a main course and the guinea pig as well. It wasn’t until afterwards that we realised we had ordered their most expensive delicacy, usually eaten on special occasions only, as a side order. A guinea pig is not for Christmas, it’s for a side order.

When it arrived it was standing on a skillet, mouth open, looking as though it was mid stride. The waiter told us his name was Juan and he had had 15 girlfriends. It was then put on the table. He felt very leathery and Husband and I tried cutting into it, unsure of exactly how one tackles a whole guinea pig. After making a messy hole in his side the waiter re-appeared and explained that he is brought out whole so we know it was a whole guinea pig, and is then taken back to the kitchen to be cut up. A few minutes later it was brought back. It was lying on its back, head severed (but still there) as were its lower legs, with a large post mortem style cut down its abdomen which splayed it open. I picked up a hind leg and nibbled. There were lots of tiny bones. The meat was very very dry and tasted like strong game. Also, it smelled like a guinea pig. I was pleased that we had ordered it, pleased that I had tried it, but I didn’t like it and wouldn’t be rushing down the pet shop anytime soon to get another one. Husband didn’t dislike it and managed to eat half of it. We let other members of the group who were interested have what was left of it.

Husband’s main course was a most delicious steak and rice concoction. He had made the mistake of being in the toilet when it was served so Lady Tottington and I both had a couple of forkfuls and I then re-arranged the food to give it the appearance of having been untouched – much to Chrystel’s amusement. Husband had also done rather well on starters with alpaca carpaccio. Realising by now that the American girls were low on appetite, Wallace had sat himself appropriately surrounded so that he could assist in any eating requirements. There were no average appetites here – you either ate or you didn’t.

As the meal came to a close, a troupe of brothers wearing bright local costume entertained us with Peruvian music and singing. A young boy, who was doing the singing, had a most surprising voice. I expected it to be higher, and it wasn’t, but it wasn’t deep either.

They were very good and came round afterwards to sell CD’s. They wanted to try and sell 5 that evening. Our group bought 4, Wendolene snapping one up and adamant that she would listen to it at home.

Wallace, Wendolene, Husband and I decided not to go straight back to the hotel but instead popped into a local bar to have another beer before bed. We had been steering clear of the beer – alcohol and altitude note being highly advisable combinations. But now we were feeling brave and with only a couple of day to go until starting the Inca trail, we felt that a drink or two would not be out of order. Also, all of us were waking up darned early and not really getting back to sleep so we figured that a late night with a bit of alcohol inside might help rectify the situation somewhat.

That night I woke up at an ungodly hour, and soon afterwards retired to the bathroom with reasonably severe diarrhoea. The timing was superb. In less than 48 hours we would be on the Inca trail. I downed some Imodium instants and went back to bed. A while later I woke again. The Imodium had not been quite as instant as the packet had promised. Determined not to run potentially vital stocks low, I didn’t take any more.

When we eventually got up and went down for breakfast I had scrambled eggs. Sometimes the old methods are the best ones. The usual appetites were present – all of us worryingly hungry despite the huge dinner of the previous evening.

That day we were due to visit Pisac market with our new guide Coco. Pisac is a picturesque Andean village and the road there from Cusco passes over the hills giving stunning views of the canalised river Vilcanota and the sacred valley of the Incas. He had started the day with a minor hatastrophe – Husband’s trusty cap had done missing, quite possibly left behind somehow in Puno. So at one of the stops on the way, where there were of course local people selling handicrafts, Husband bought another hat. Wallace had already bought a woollen Peruvian hat and warmly welcomed Husband to the club.

 

Pisac village consisted of tiny cobbled streets, with central gulleys which the bus driver negotiated with remarkable skill – even though it did mean driving on the pavements on both sides of the road. The market was colourful and interesting, filled with fresh, larger than life vegetables, pots of bright powders of dye, meat and fish lying on tables in the sun, visited by flies.

There were also many stalls of textiles, weavings and pottery. Pisac is also home to the ruins of an Inca fortress, which unfortunately we didn’t visit. We went instead to the bakery which consisted of a massive clay oven in a small courtyard out of which the female baker drew a pallet of freshly baked small bread rolls, filled with cheese. At 1 sole each they were cheap, hot and delicious.

The opposite corner of the courtyard housed a guinea pig farm, and we now had a much more vivid idea how these creatures would end up. After ample time of shopping and spending all the money we had brought with us, we got back on the bus to go to Sacsayhuaman (colloquially called sexy woman).

For centuries this was though to be a fortress. Indeed, the invading Spaniards thought as much based on the sheer size of it. However, the layout and architecture suggest that it was in fact a great sanctuary and temple to the sun. This hypothesis was supported by the discovery in 1982 of the graves of priests who would have been unlikely to be buried in a fortress. The precise functions of the site however will probably continue to be a matter of dispute as very few clues remain due its steady destruction.

In the ancient language Sacsayhuaman means festooned-head and the monument forms the head of the Puma shaped city of Cusco in the valley below. Its construction is believed to be in the period of Inca Pachacuteq who used more than 20,000 people in its construction which took around 50 years. Constructed of enormous blocks of limestone from nearby quarries, the biggest stone measures 8.5m high and weighs 361 tons.

After being roughly shaped they were transported on wooden rollers and inclined plates to the site where they completely shaped and finished using bronze hammers and hard stones, then polished with granite sand and water.

Endowed with 3 impressive, successive and ascending bulwarks in zig zag form crowned with three big towers - Muyucccmarca, Sayacmarca and Paucarmarca. In the surrounding areas are terraces, cemeteries, shrines, ritual fonts, subterranean passages and astronomical observatories

The site survived the first years of the conquest. Pizarros’ troops had entered Cusco unopposed in 1536 and lived safely at Sacsayhuaman until the rebellion of Manco Inca in 1536. In the bitter struggle which enPiellad Manco’s failure to hold Sacsayhuaman cost him the war and the empire. The destruction of the hilltop site began after the defeat of this rebellion The Spaniards destroyed the towers and buildings from 1537 and by 1559 they had been completely dismantled and the limestone blocks used to build the Catholic cathedral in the main plaza of Cusco. Until 1930 Sacsayhuaman was used as a quarry for the new buildings of Cusco. More of the site would have been destroyed, however the huge boulders and extensive foundations proved indestructible.

All that now remains in 20% of the original structure, yet this small amount is able to arouse the sensations of astonishment and perplexity that are the immediate response to this enormous structure, and it does this without ceasing to be part of the natural surroundings from which it emerges.

From Sacsayhuaman we went to the Qoricancha temple, which represented the genitals of the puma. Again, the building was constructed over an old Inca temple. However, Cusco suffers from massive earthquakes every 300 years – there has been one in 1350, 1650 and 1950. The devastating earthquake of 1950 destroyed part of the cloister of Santo Domingo convent, exposing the unharmed Inca Qoricancha in the ruins of the colonial buildings that had been superimposed on them. The Inca walls survived as they were built to withstand earthquakes, with deep foundations, walls inclining at an angle of 13◦ and constructed with large stones at the base and smaller stones nearer the top. This also suits the type of earthquake experienced her – one which wobbles from side to side rather than up and down. The Golden Palace and Temple of the Sun were filled with such fabulous treasured of gold and silver it took the Spanish three months to melt it all down in an appalling display of greed and vandalism. On the walls were more than 700 gold sheets weighting about kg each. The conquistadors sent these back intact to prove to the King of Spain how rich their discovery was.

 

The first Inca, Manco Capac, is said to have built the temple. However it was the ninth Inca Pachacutec who transformed it. When the Spaniards arrived the complex was given to the Dominicans who ripped down much of it to build their church.

The Quoricancha was built as a display of the finest architecture. The oldest parts are constructed of green diorite, red andesite was used in the gardens and dark grey andesite for the compound walls and temple rooms. These rooms had niches and trapezoidal doorways and were dedicated to the sun, moon stars, lightening and rainbow. The enclosures were collected in a single complex around a large central courtyard with a fountain in the centre. The colours and riches the temple contained are now lost to us.

 

 Of the Temple of the Sun on the curved wall of the western end still exists, complete with a large crack from the 1950 earthquake. The Temple of the Sun was completely covered in gold plates and there would have been a large solar disc in the shape of a round face with rays and flames. One story, with no historic basis to it, is that conquistador Mancio Sierra de Leguizamo was given this in the division of spoils but he lost it one night playing dice.

Whether a conquistador lost it, or the Incas spirited it away, the solar disc has never been found. In the Temple of Lightening on the other side of the courtyard is a stone. Standing on this gives an appreciation of how good the Incas were as stonemasons – there are three parallel walls each with a window in and the windows are in perfect alignment despite having endured 2 major earthquakes. 

The Temple consists of huge boulders with multiple corners. We walked back towards the main square, Plaza de Armas, to the famous 12 cornered stone in the Inca wall of Hatunrumiyoc. Measuring 5 feet across the stone has the typical bevelled joints which create the patterns of light and shadow on the Inca walls.

Finally left to our own devices, we felt that the time had come for lunch and went to a nearby pizzeria and discussed our objectives for the trip. Grommet, Husband and I had achieved ours in terms of fridge magnets and thimbles. Wendolene’s was to get a photo of herself at sun gate, wearing a poncho, blowing pan pipes  and sitting on a llama. I pointed out that poncho and pipes could easily be got, and with all the alpaca clothes the group had bought, these could laid over Wallace who would pose as llama. Wallace replied that actually taws rather fortunate that he had packed his llama suit.

Following lunch we decided to look round the cathedral. The early 17 century baroque cathedral forms part of a three church complex and is built on the base of the palace of the Inca Wiracocha. An interesting legend surrounds the western tower of the cathedral which claims that a captured Inca prince is bricked up in the tower. His only means of escape is for the tower to fall at which point he will reclaim his people and land. Believers’ hopes were raised when the tower was severely damaged in the 1950 earthquake, but it failed to fall before restoration started, incarcerating the prince until this very day. The cathedral was built with stones from Sacsayhuaman and took nearly 100 years of Quechuan blood, sweat and tears to build. The ground plan is in the shape of a latin cross with the transept leading into the two side churches.

Inside it was immense and filled with vast quantities of gold and silver gilded alters and monuments as well a numerous paintings. According to our guide, local artists copied European style paintings – in Europe of course, the Renaissance was well under way. Although the images depicted the new Catholic religion, old Inca beliefs were incorporated into them – for example, Mary was painted in the shape of a mountain, and the snake (considered as evil in Christianity but a sign of knowledge in Inca faith) also featured in some of the artwork. The artists also had no knowledge of many animals and camels were depicted as similar to llamas

There is a painting of the last supper in which Christ and the apostles dine on Andean guinea pig (cuy) washed down with a glass of chichi (fermented corn beer).

In one of the chapels is a large crucifix and in this depiction of Christ he is known as The Lord of the Earthquakes. Apparently prayers to him stopped the 1950 earthquake and the crucifix is regularly taken out of the cathedral for religious festivals. This is the most richly adorned Christ in the cathedral with his gold crown and his hands and feet pierced by solid gold, jewel encrusted nails.

Going down into the catacomb we were shown a coffer containing half the ashes of the Cuzqueno chronicler Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, born of a Spanish father and Inca princess mother. The other half of his ashes are in Spain. He helped provide funds for the rebuilding of Cusco and the cathedral after the 1650 earthquake.

 

Whilst walking around we could hear torrential rain outside. By the time we emerged it had stopped, but the ground was strewn with puddles and the city looked fresher and more vibrant, and we were soon surrounded by street sellers. When Pizarro and his men penetrated to the heart of the Inca empire in 1533 they were astonished by this city. Endowed with palaces, esoteric temples, overflowing storehouses and an urban centre crossed by streets that were orientated to the rising or setting of the sun. Today the city’s beauty cannot be overstated. It is a fascinating mix of Inca and colonial Spanish architecture.

Almost every street has the remains of Inca walls, arches and doorways. Many streets are lined with perfect Inca stonework now serving as the foundations for more modern dwellings that rise up from the old walls.

We returned to the hotel to pack and be weighed in for the Inca trail. This proved to be quite an involved process. While Husband and I were not overweight, we couldn’t fit the stuff we were leaving behind in the suitcase and needed to use some available space in Wallace’s bag. Piella and Wendolene were overweight and pulling things out left, right and centre. Eventually we were all ready and asked Chrystel for some ideas for dinner venues. Fluffles and Mrs Mulch opted to go to one of Cusco’s vegetarian restaurants while the rest of us headed to the San Blas area to Pacha-Papa. On route Wallace was ‘chatted up’ by a young female street seller. Unable to be nasty to her and tell her to go away, he kept chatting and she kept following. Chrystel had warned us that in Puno we wouldn’t be noticed, but Cusco – being much more touristy – was a different matter and we would be continually pestered by street sellers or people trying to get us to eat in their restaurants. And she was right. Although generally a polite ‘no grazias’ got rid of them.

We turned out of Plaza de Armas up a steep, narrow cobbled street with narrow pavements on which you wanted to be given that the drivers here was not overly concerned about pedestrians in their way. In all the traffic light junctions we had been to, none ever had a little green man option. Al you got was a few seconds where would run across the road at slightly less risk. In the dark we could see the lights of the city rising up the surrounding hillsides.

Pacha-Papa is a patio restaurant in a wonderful old colonial house and we sat in our own private colonial dining room with a freshly made fire in the corner. We had a sumptuous dinner. Firstly there were baskets of bread with green and red dips. I imagined the green would be a pesto type thing and dipped the bread into it. It may have been pesto, but under the heavy amount of chilli it was hard to tell. Mrs Growbag giggled as my eyes watered. The red dip was also, predictably, spicy. Husband decided to try chichi – the fermented corn beer. We all had a sip of it. It tasted sweet.

Wallace’s appetite started to fail at this meal. He was unable to finish his soup. He passed it round for people to try and was slightly disappointed that it came back to him with plenty left. There was also a general sharing of main courses when these arrived. Husband had some sort of dead animal cooked in a clay pot with vegetables and gravy. Wendolene had an enormous broth looking meal which after several minutes of eating did not appear to have lessened in size one iota. The meal was accompanied by a man playing Andean harp. He later came round to sell CD’s. Wallace was looking at the CD and Wendolene asked if he could pass it to her. At the moment the background music stopped and Wallace said ‘I’m afraid I can’t. The music’s just stopped’. At this point Piella groaned in a sort of delighted despair about the group of people she would spend the trip with and toasted our success on the Inca trail, hoping she wouldn’t need to hire a porter to carry her. Chrystel had told us that they would be carrying ropes (and oxygen, which made it all sound rather serious) so we did have the option of dragging her along. We pointed out thought that if she dies we couldn’t bury her as you aren’t allowed to leave behind human waste. We could however cook her. Did she want to be roasted (accompanied by the body moves of hands under chin) or fried (arms stretched out).

Unable to finish our main courses Lady Tottington asked if the left overs could be put in a bag so that she could give them to the homeless. We got the feeling that this was something she would do in her hometown of San Francisco. She told us that there were always people out there who would be in need, and if not, there were always the dogs. I managed to stop myself from blurting out anything controversial but was slightly appalled that she would consider feeding dogs in a place that has a massive problem with strays, and an associated problem of rabies. Cusco had dozens of dogs that we had seen group together in packs in the evenings – and which tended to bark near hotels all night long.

Armed with one plastic bag containing the luke warm remains of 3 different meals we set off back to the hotel. Passing a beggar on the way Lady Tottington plonked the bag of food in his hand. He just looked at it. Didn’t open it, didn’t look grateful.

The following day we again woke early and the group set off for a fantastic drive through the mountains to Urubamba and then on to Ollantaytambo. Before leaving the hotel Chrystel checked that we all had our passports. As we set off, Grommet suddenly announced that she had left hers behind – you couldn’t get on the Inca Trail without it.

On arrival at Ollantaytambo, naturally Wendolene and I needed the loo, as did several others. Chrystel took us through a shop, out into the courtyard at the back where baby clothes were drying on the washing line, through the store room and to the toilet. All having been relieved, we went to visit a local house. There were buildings surrounding a central courtyard. Each building contained a kitchen and bed. The cooking was all done inside so the interior walls were covered in soot. On the mud floor were dozens of guinea pigs, some very young and others heavily pregnant.

On the walls were dried animals and niches that mummies would have been kept in – relics of the old belief system. The town gives travellers who wander its narrow streets, unchanged for 500 years, a clearer idea of life under Inca rule.

 

We had a chance to buy beautifully embroidered coca leaf bags as well as bamboo walking sticks for anyone who didn’t have a stick before going on to the Inca site which rose up the hill above the town. The ruins are a religious complex. The gods the Incas worshipped represented the forces of nature and were seen therefore to control the agricultural life of the community. Entering the sight we were confronted by 16 massive stepped terraces which led up to the temple site and were almost certainly used for the cultivation of corn. Having climbed the vast numbers of steps up the steep sides of the mountain on which the site was built we arrived at the Temple of Sun.

The Temple of the Sun consists of massive blocks of rose coloured rhyolite on which is the vague outline of part of the Andean cross or chakana. Coco told us that this was one of a number of indications that the site was not yet finished. However, other theories claim that such sites were defaced by the Spanish as part of a programme to destroy the indigenous religion. The temple is orientated such that winter solstice sun beams fall on a specific point of the temple before lighting any other part of the site. The site is constructed in the shape of a llama, and the solstice beams fall on what would be the llama’s eye. The huge boulders of quarried rock were brought from a mountain the other side of the river. They were transported across the river during the dry season, when the water level was low, by blocking one half of the river and forcing the water down a channel to one side. Blocks were then moved across the newly dry side. Then, the river diversion was moved across so that the blocks could be transported over the remaining half. Consequently, progress on the site was slow. The blocks had lumps left on them around which ropes could be tied to help move them, and once in place these lumps were then hewn off. However, in some cases pairs of lumps were deliberately left, and Coco informed us that these represented breasts, an honouring to mother earth.

On the mountain opposite – Pacaritanpu – were buildings which Coco told us were the store houses. Shaun pointed out that this was a darned inconvenient place to the put the larder. The mountainside also depicted a face – partly man made – of a mythical being Tunupa. One of the store houses acts as his crown and he carries on his back a huge burden which incorporates the other store house. The summer solstice lights up his temple while everything else is left in the shadows.

We followed the winding path along the terracing round the cliffs, along the back of the llama. This cliff edge path had no barriers and fell away to a steep drop below us before descending down a long flight of stone, even steps to the Bath of the Princess where channelled water fell into a pool below. Coca explained that water is male, fertilising mother earth – the pachamama.

It was then on to lunch and the start of the trek, driving along a bumpy narrow road. We passed houses where woman sat in porches preparing vegetables and where corn dried on roof tops. Most vegetables here are preserved by dehydration.

We arrived at the lunch tent which was fully kitted out with tables and little chairs. During lunch the wind picked up and the central pole of the tent left its mooring. Wallace rectified the situation – to rapturous applause and volunteered to take on the duty for the duration of the trek. He stressed that he probably wouldn’t be able to take on any other responsibilities as this one was quite important and might require his attention at any time.

Conveniently there was a toilet in a nearby mud hut – the inside of which rather surprisingly was fully tiled and had a flushing toilet with running water in a basin. We needed to pay 1 sole for the use. Having no change, Husband offered to buy a round in.

We started the trek at Km 82, from the tiny village of Chilca at 2800m, with a group photo, and then check in and get our passports stamped. Only 500 people per day are allowed on the Inca trail and given the requirements for porters and guides, 300 of those will be support staff and only 200 will be tourists. The Inca Trail was first explored by Hiram Bingham in 1911 and opened for walkers in 1970. It was time to give the Paddington Bear we had bought at Heathrow an airing, and I contrived a way to attach him to the front of my rucksack.

We crossed a rather wobbly suspension bridge over the Urubamba rapids and followed the relatively easy path while heavily laden porters ran passed us. We had fantastic view of the snow capped mountain Veronica  (5750m) - one of the Inca apus (gods) – as the clouds clear. We gathered in a clearing and, led by Chrystel, made an offering to the apus. This involved taking three good coca leaves, holding them up towards Veronica and making a prayer (generally good omens for the trip ahead). Then we blew on the leaves to send the wish to the mountain. Turning 180 degrees, we repeated the prayer and then held up the leaves and let go, allowing the wind – mother nature – to take them. Coco also told us to pick up a stone which would be made as an offering when we reached Machu Picchu.

 

We were in the land of Quechuan beliefs. As such, Chrystel told us that if we chewed coca leaves they shouldn’t be spat out as this was insulting to pachamama. Instead we should spit it into our hands and then place the pile on the ground, returning it to mother nature. Whilst not a religious person, this was a faith system that I could follow as it was based on respect for the more powerful nature in which you lived.

After a moderate descent we passed through eucalyptus trees as well as seeing masses of prickly pears. As Coco showed us, these were covered with tiny cochineal beetles. He crushed a couple to show us the bright red cochineal natural dye. He was setting an excellent pace – slow and steady. It was a good sign.

 

The path climbed steeply to our first break point. We sat outside some mud houses and ate our snacks. While we sat there a huge sow came over to see us – and rather conveniently ate the banana skins that would otherwise needed to have been taken with us. Her piglet also bounded over as did a gathering of geese and chickens, while two children looked on over a gate behind us. The young girl, dishevelled and in grubby clothes, continually said hello to us while her older brother glared angrily. Her stomach was distended in a way that implied malnutrition rather than a big lunch. We were to pass many such families.

As we sat there enjoying our break Mrs Growbag looked over at Wallace. He was leaning back, sporting his white woollen Peruvian hat, very dark glasses and holding his new bamboo stick out in front of him. ‘He looks like a blind man’ she whispered to me. We started giggling. Becoming aware of the disturbance we did eventually tell Wallace about his amusing new look.

With an instruction of vamos (lets go), we continued onwards passing a bush of tamarind tomatoes (which we would be eating at some point on the trek). We also passed lupins and were told that we would be fed lupin seeds. These were poisonous in their wild form, but the Inca’s had tamed a variety of lupins which were safe to eat.

We came to a ravine at the bottom of which was the river. Naturally we needed to go down the steep path to the river, cross it and then climb the equally steep path on the other side of the ravine. This was more what I had expected of Peruvian flat.

 

Wendolene and I were obeying the instructions to drink masses to such an extent that the two of us constantly needed the loo. We were therefore relieved when after a short while more of Peruvian flat (which is actually quite flat) we looked down a steep hill to the campsite below us, nestling up against the Inca site of Llaqtapata. We had actually gone down, the campsite being at 2700m.

We went down the steep path, passing a small farmhouse where a man worked wood, pigs and chickens roamed freely (and noisily) and small children came out to watch us pass, smiling and waving.

The porters had put on their red ponchos and hats to greet us, and we ran in between their two clapping lines. I felt slightly embarrassed. We had only been ambling along for a couple of hours walking a mere 6km, and not really done anything difficult whilst they had run ahead carrying loads of 25k.

To Wendolene and my relief we were given a demonstration of the toilet and allowed to make use of it. Given the far greater number of girls to boys the original idea of one toilet tent for us and one for them was quickly abandoned – and the boys were even given permission to use to green tent for number ones. The green tent was of course the great outdoors.

After discussions between Husband, Wendolene and I we agreed that we had done our respective Explore treks in the right order as this one was sheer luxury. Firstly, there was the joy of the mini portaloos – a great improvement from holes in the ground. This was however necessitated by the fact that human waste cannot be left on the Inca Trail due to the vast numbers of people on the trail every day. Chrystel told us that initially a hole in the ground was used, with a bag in it. The bag had a hole at the bottom so liquid could drain away, but that it was a rather unpleasant collection business. Then a bucket was used, but as liquid didn’t drain away this was rather splashy. The portaloos were fantastic. Not only that, but the porters attached rolls of loo paper inside the tents, and outside were upturned bottles of water and antibacterial soap so we could wash our hands. Reeling from excitement about that, we were then brought round bowls of hot water to wash off the days sweat and exertion.

There was a choice of tents – two 1 man ones for Wallace and Chrystel and the rest were 2 man tents. Being diamond shaped inside they were incredibly roomy and had plenty of space for our bags and daysacks alongside the sleeping bags – and excellent thermarests provided by Explore.

Washed and changed, we went to the dining tent for coca de mate and cookies. Chrystel had told us that were was only 1 cookie per person. There were also baskets of crackers and jars of jam. Many of the group seemed to think the ‘one per person’ rule also applied to these.

The crackers tasted like Rich Tea biscuits. Wallace agreed and decided to see if they would also dunk like Rich Tea biscuits. They didn’t, collapsing in seconds into the bottom of his mug.

Wallace felt the need to tell us that he had had a little accident in his tent. He had accidentally sat on the mouth piece of his camel bag, only noticing when he started to feel a bit damp. He re-assured us that he had fully completed any experimentation required to confirm that the mouth piece does work if you sit on it. We were of course most relieved and intended to inform the manufacturers on our return – who would presumably be equally delighted with the news.

We retired to the tents until dinner. The sun had already set and we were armed with torches when we returned. Naturally a comparison of head torches need to be carried out. Wallace felt aggrieved that Shaun’s was by far the most superior – small and with the benefit of three different types of light. Wallace’s resembled something stolen off a miner’s helmet. Mrs Growbag asked Wallace, perhaps foolishly, if he knew what you could do in the dark. ‘Yes’, he replied quickly, ‘give me a pen and I’ll make you a list’. Realising her error, she tried to correct herself with ‘no, I mean with a torch’. Wallace informed her that this was a longer list. What she was getting at – rather innocently – was that old trick of putting a torch in your mouth to light up your sinuses. Wallace had never tried it – but was now determined to do so. What’s more, he had brought a mirror with him on the trek. I asked him why – ‘for my contact lenses’ he replied. I wondered why his contact lenses needed to be able to look at themselves.

As we sat there it was noted that the tent no longer had a central pole and therefore Wallace’s valiantly volunteered duties were now redundant. However, when Coco advised us to keep our boots inside the tents to avoid creepy crawlies getting into them Wallace was volunteered for boot checking duties instead.

He did start to wonder what he had done to deserve all this and bemoaned that plan A and B had so far failed. He was now on plan C, which involved him just sitting there and trying to be ignored. It had clearly gone wrong somewhere.

There were a couple of dietary preferences among the group – vegetarians or those who didn’t eat red meat. And then there was Mrs Mulch. By the end of the trip I never fully established what exactly she would or wouldn’t eat. However, that evening she explained to the chef that she didn’t eat any meat, fish, eggs, milk or cheese and watched the dark skinned chef turn pale as he mentioned that he could do rice with tomatoes.

We were sitting at the far end of the tent. As meals were passed to the end first we made a mental note that sitting here meant getting served dinner first. We had quinoa soup – which was delicious – into which we added a spicy tomato and onion salsa. This added a certain something and was a new idea to all of us. Lady Tottington started talking about how she might try and make this at home, already being keen users of quinoa.

This turned to a general discussion about cooking and kitchen equipment in which it was discovered that by and large, Wallace possessed no kitchen implements. Things like blenders, whisks, sieves and potato mashers. We gently informed him that this might hamper any attempts he may want to make in reproducing these meals. The conversation then turned round to me, and my lack of cooking. I washed up whereas Husband tended to do most of the cooking. However, this did not deter me from re-arranging all the kitchen implements that I don’t use on regular occasions – just to keep him on his toes. We also went into that occasion when I started a fire in the microwave by accidentally putting something in there that contained metal.

As dinner progressed in earnest Shaun noticed that there were an awful lot of left handed people in the group. Almost half. What was more, all the men on the trip were left handed. Although it was agreed that left handers use a different part of their brain, it was also decided that this didn’t necessarily mean there was more of it. Wallace decided to try and eat dinner using his right hand.

We passed our empty plates back to the front of the tent in what turned into an Olympic plate clearing contest, which made Piella feel guilty for being a slow eater.

When dessert was passed round, Piella – who was at that time still suffering from a small appetite – swapped with me as mine looked smaller. I didn’t complain but valiantly leapt to her assistance.

As we sipped our post prandial coca tea I did wonder whether the stimulant properties of the drink might be what was disturbing our sleep. Wallace, Wendolene, Husband and I were all waking up very early and never really getting back to sleep. We decided to test the theory out at some point.

Chrystel joked that she wanted some company in her tent as she was alone. Wallace, being the only other person in a tent alone, valiantly offered which seemed to embarrass Chrystel into a very rapid change of conversation. Wallace asked whether we thought the tents were big enough – and after being initially surprised by this comment it soon transpired that he hadn’t realised his was a single man tent whereas our were 2 man. He had been worrying about how comfortably two people could have fitted and was quickly reassured.

The following morning, unsurprisingly, we woke early. Visiting the toilet tent in the early morning gloom I saw Mrs Mulch doing her yoga. Many of us were up and dressed before the porters came round to the tent with a morning cup of tea and bowl of warm water.

Having packed, we had an al fresco breakfast of fruit salad, quinoa cereal, yoghurt, bread and jam. Washed down of course, with coca tea. This was followed by a presentation of the porters to us and us to them – which we decided was equally embarrassing for everyone concerned. Surprisingly only 3 of them are married and 15 live with their partner without being married. The other 7 live with their parents as they are very young. Apparently they only get married when their children need to attend school in the city. That´s because the principal, who is obviously a priest, wouldn´t allow them in unless they lead a proper catholic life! All of them come from a small village called Misminae which in the Qechua language means ¨milky way¨. The Urubamba river (or celestial river as the Incas called it) running along the Sacred Valley was thought to mirror the Milky Way – hence making the valley such a sacred place.

As the girls in the group introduced themselves as single, all the single porters enthusiastically reminded us who they were. Piella was fairly adamant that they hadn’t shown much interest in her, and blamed it on her 50 years of age. During the presentation I realised that I was the youngest in the group.

Grommet was 60; the two New Zealanders were in their 50’s, as was Mrs Mulch. The rest of the Americans were in their 40’s while Wallace and Wendolene were a slightly older than me, in their 30’s.

Coco explained what today’s walk would involve – a few hours of Peruvian flat and then a few hours of straight up. Splendid. It’s 8am when we set off, first visiting the Inca site of Llaqtapata or Patallacta before heading along the valley. The site was first excavated by Bingham’s team in 1915 and its terraces were used for growing maize and other crops which were used to supply Machu Picchu. It also had religious and ceremonial functions, centred on the circular shrine of Pulpituyoc which was built on a huge rock.

 

We kept looking at the steep mountains to our right, knowing that at some point we would be ascending them. It´s not long before the porters overtake us, having washed the breakfast dishes and dismantled the camp. Every now and then somebody shouts ´porter on the right´.

The path meandered along the river Kusichaca and was surrounded by lush vegetation. Coco stopped to show us interesting plants as we passed. This included air plans – so called because they grow on cliff sides and on trees without seeming to have roots – which are a favoured food of the spectacle bears which roam these parts. We also saw the first of many rare orchids, and were told that orchid meant testicle and were so called because of the shape of the roots. Wendolene giggled – it seemed that everything in Peru was to do with genitals.

The walk was beautiful, and the path was gently climbing. Suddenly, there in the middle of the path, was a dead cow. It had defecated and oozed blood. It’s horn was snapped and also bleeding and its neck was clearly broken – its head pointing back across its body. Its big eyes open, gazing out at us in a dead stare. It seemed somehow inappropriate to take a picture. Coco told us that it would have been grazing on the steep hills above the path and must have lost its footing. He would tell the family at the next farm we got to as it was quite possibly their animal.

Many of the farms sold drinks or seating areas. Finally we came to one with a circular bamboo seating arrangement, under a thatched roof and started to eat the snacks we had been given that morning. This consisted of a piece of fruit, some sweets and an energy bar which was a rather nasty cereal and sultana arrangement with occasional an unexpected bits of aniseed. Naturally, I needed the loo as we were amongst a series of inhabited buildings I asked Coco where the best place to go was. He pointed at a gate leading into a field. There was a loo block in the field, but personally I opted to go behind a bush instead. This choice was also taken by everyone else who decided to utilise the moment. By the path up to the field two baby pigs played with each in deep beds of straw. It was nice to see pigs in such surroundings, rather than the mud or concrete they have to contend with in Britain. The previous day, young pigs had scurried along the path next to us, delighting in the undergrowth.

This was the quiet village of Huayllabamba, of Inca origins and the last settlement on the route.

Soon after this break, the inevitable climb began. It wasn’t too steep. The path, now becoming less mud and more stone paved, gradually wound upwards between thick bushes and shrubbery, with the hills rising steeply above us. There were regular stops. Piella was starting to fall behind, but never very far. We came to another checkpoint. There were scales so that the porters’ loads could be weighed to check they weren’t carrying too much. Just for fun, we weighed in our bags. Mrs Growbag and Lady Tottington were each carrying the in the region of 3.5kg – but then they did only have shoulder bags rather than rucksacks. I was carrying 6kg. Once you added in the litre and half of water that I had already drunk, that made a start off weight of 7.5kg. Most of us were carrying around 6 or 7 kg.

Piella didn’t stop. She wanted to keep going each time we had a break so that she could get ahead and then – once we had caught up and overtaken – hopefully not fall behind too far. What she was carrying must have been hindering her to some extent. Her rucksack was quite small, with no outside pockets, and only big enough to house her camera and lenses – which were heavy. She then had a shoulder bag in which was carried jumpers, waterproofs and water. In other words, everything that would normally be in the rucksack. She never complained, but it must have been cumbersome and awkward.

We came to a flat area where the tent had been set up for lunch. Looking down into the valley it was hard to believe how far we had already climbed.

During lunch Shaun asked whether we could pass the salt. ‘No’ I replied, before passing it down to him. Wallace then confessed that it was his fault, and asked Shaun to blame him. I told Wallace that I hoped he was never accused of a crime he hadn’t committed given he could be made to confess to things so easily. Lady Tottington then decided that he would also make a terrible lawyer – along the lines of ‘yes, my client did it’. At this point Shaun leapt to Wallace’s defence (he had by now realised that Plan C wasn’t really working out either) and said that all these women around him were being a bad influence.

We sat outside with our coca tea. There was another lunch tent set up for a couple and their porters. We would bunny hop with this couple for much of the trail. Mrs Mulch went to the toilet tent to change from shorts into trousers. We all watched her walk down the field to the other group’s tent. No one said a word, as if we thought she was going there for some other reason. She went into the tent. The other group’s porters looked at us in despair. There wasn’t really anything that could be done now.

She emerged a few minutes later, saw us giggling and also saw our toilet tents – which she had walked straight passed. However, the incident was easily laughed off.

Before setting off for the afternoon climb, I made a quick visit to the toilet tent, bounding back up the hill, which Piella found slightly unnecessary and Chrystel found slightly impressive. I explained that as the new found baby of the group I felt an obligation to be particularly energetic and bouncy.

After lunch the path took a steeper turn upwards, described in the guide book as ‘a punishing 1.5 hour ascent through cloudforest’. It was surprising un-punishing, but it was stunning. The stone pathway – by now consisting largely of steps, curled its way up the mountain. There was still water running alongside us, sometimes level with us and sometimes suddenly dropping away below. The trees provided a welcome coolness from the heat of the day but still let shards of light through, highlighting the green of the forest. There was only us, and an awful lot of peacefulness. I tried to imagine how it must have felt to dig through the undergrowth and find this ancient, uneven pathway, the steps that vary in height (although this stretch of the trail has actually been reconstructed and is not original).

A light mist of rain started to fall. We rose up out of the cloud forest and follow the steep narrow climb to camp. We were significantly high, at 3800m, when we arrived at Llulluchapampa – our camp site from which we had fantastic views, both down to the valley from which we had climbed that day, as well as of the 1^st pass which lay ahead of us. We had walked around 10km that day – and all of it uphill. Personally I hadn’t found it too difficult so far and wondered whether I was either fitter or the electrolyte and energy powder that we were adding to our water was making all the difference. Whatever the reason, I was feeling full of beans. Perhaps it was the coca tea. As we washed and settled in Fluffles was delighted to see a flock of green parakeets in the bushes by our tents.

 

At this height, it became cold quite quickly once the sun had set. It was time to don my alpaca top. Shaun and Preston – previously dressed in shorts – had put on thermal long johns underneath. These were bright green and, combined with their less than subtle garish striped shirts, they looked like a couple of knobbly kneed pixies.

With our tea as well as the single cookie we also had plates and plates of cheesy wantons (as well as plain ones for Mrs Mulch as she didn’t eat cheese). As the day had been slightly more exerting on our muscles Chrystel insisted that we do a group stretch. Having cooled down over our cups of tea, firstly she made us run round to warm up. She then led us through some standard leg and shoulder stretches – much to the amusement of the onlooking porters.

Preston was clearly not taking it seriously, bouncy around in spiky shapes rather than stretching. Across the valley was a field of llamas and alpacas. I wondered whether we would be able to have one of the alpacas for dinner – apparently not.

There were little rickety bridges over the small streams on the camp – along the same lines as all the bridges we had come to on the trail which basically consisted of two long tree trunks going across the river with several small branches nailed across these. It meant that you usually had a good view of the water beneath your feet and didn’t always feel that the bridge was 100% safe.
 

Over dinner we started talking about cheese – quite possibly started by Wendolene and Grommet told us that she really liked Wensleydale (it’s all becoming clear now, isn’t it!). For pudding we had tamarind tomatoes – like those that had been pointed out to us on the first day. These were sweet tomatoes with an awful lot of hard pips (which I chose to swallow rather than bother about spitting them out). The not overly pleasant fruit was improved no further by being served with a sauce with a texture that resembled snot. Most remained uneaten. After dinner we were treated with brandy tea which would both help us sleep as well as warm us up.

We went to bed early that night to the sight of a beautiful moon rise – our nights were getting earlier and earlier. But so were our mornings – wake up the next day was to be 5am. It was a cold night. My one balmy night in the Caribbean sleeping bag, fleece liner, several tops, several socks and eiderdown of my waterproof only just kept me from being cold. Given the inadequacy of my sleeping bag, that wasn’t bad. I had given Husband the woolly hat as he had seemed cold the previous evening and I was concerned about him. Besides, my alpaca top had a hood. I ended up doing up the top of the mummy sleeping bag so that only my nose was poking out. The next day I found out that Wendolene had done the same thing. Some people had been cold that night, including Piella who had a huge thick sleeping bag.

 

Again, we woke early. Having had no morning tea by 5.10 we decided we should get up anyway. Wallace later told us that he had woken up and looked at his watch only to find it was 11.30pm.

Over breakfast of warm porridge, delicious albeit a fraction runny, it seemed that most people had thought the porters had forgotten to wake them up. In fact, the porters had misunderstood the instructions and came round at 5.30am. I asked Grommet how here sleeping bag had performed. It was a new 4 seasons one. A friend had leant one to her and she decided to test it. So, on a freezing February night she went down to the shed to spend the night. She was freezing and barely slept. So she gave back the sleeping bag and bought her own one. And it had served its purpose most adequately.

 

We started walking, immediately uphill. And steeply uphill at that. Any vague feelings of freshness we had had were quickly forgotten.

It was an exhausting 2.5 hour haul up to the first pass, Warmiwanusqa (Dead Woman) – so called because of the shape of the mountain which apparently looks like a supine woman, rather than because the climb half killed some of our women. Piella was still struggling, and pushing herself very hard in an attempt to keep up with the group. Grommet was also not feeling great, suffering from diarrhoea. The climb is 450m up over a distance of 2 km. At least it was tackled in the cool of the morning.

We were now well above the clouds. Husband and I had held back a little to use the spread of the group for a convenient loo break. As we approached the summit Coco jokingly asked us to run the final bit – which we duly did. And which was perhaps a mistake as it took more than a few minutes to recover from breaking into a sprint at 4215m. This was the first pass and the highest climb of the trip. While waiting for Piella we ate our snacks and had a small shot of the brandy that Coco was passing round. When Piella reached the top she wanted to eat, but for some reason seemed to have been told that the snack break was due shortly. The decision not to eat then soon caused her immense problems.        

The porters gradually started to overtake, as last having the decency to be out of breath – and not running anymore.

We took a series of photos of ourselves at the spike detailing our height as well as a few group shots. It was a race against time as the cloud was rapidly rising up to meet up and would soon completely envelope us.

As the cloud covered us it became very cold, and started to rain. At this point some people started to complain but I was rather pleased, at last having a reason to use the waterproofs we had been carrying around until now.  We started the descent down the other side of the pass. The wide stone path dropped sharply down the mountain side, occasionally breaking into the steps. The rain had made the stones slippery and a number of us did have momentary slips and slides as we made our way down. I wasn’t the only one liking the rain. As we walked there was a deafening sound of frogs. We never saw any but there must have been hundreds.

The downward path started to become more stair way than path, from the China Wall school of step building, each step being a different height and depth. The wide path we had granted at the top of the mountain gradually became narrow and winding, with banks of plants and tropical vegetation crowding in on either side of us. One of the plants, we were told, took 35 years to grow and bloom. Having bloomed it would then promptly die. We had seen a few with flowers on, and many more that were black and dying.

The rain started to get heavier, and cloud still swirled around us. The group donned waterproof trousers. Not being a fan of these, Husband and I had none and therefore put on none. And then it happened – Lady Tottington got out her umbrella. Husband and I looked on open mouthed as she continued to walk down the hill, with her brolly, looking rather like and old American quaker with her wide brimmed hat and blonde ponytail.

The downpour had eased by the time we got to our break point at Paqaymayo where we were to have second breakfast – having descended 600m over 2 km. As it was a chicken stir fry I preferred to think of it as first lunch. Proper lunch wouldn’t be until about 2pm and as we had breakfasted at 6am a mid morning top up was very much required. We had by now been on the move for over 3 hours. There was a toilet block nearby – rather inconveniently up a slight hill, which was worrying tiring to walk up.

Grommet was still suffering slightly but Piella was in a very bad way. Despite the much needed food, she had been pushing herself immensely to get up the hill to the pass, and was running very low on energy supplies. Her pace had dropped, even with the downhill walk we had just endured.

With the sharp drop in temperature as well as the damp, it was becoming important to maintain pace to as to keep up body temperature. We were all finding that we were becoming cool quite quickly each time we stopped for a short catch up break.

The cloud was still threatening when we started again. The path, which had started to flatten out, now rose sharply up to the second pass. Although we knew we were going up, and a fair way up, the cloud blocked any view we might have had of the route ahead. 

The rain returned with a vengeance. It was torrential and unrelenting, beating down on us as we climbed the winding stone steps to the second pass.

We came to the Inca site of Runkuraquay (3750m) – which unfortunately had no roof despite having been heavily restored in the 1990’s. Coco explained the site to us – it was an old Inca checkpoint and resting place.

Wendolene was laughing because as we stood there the rain fell harder and harder. Mrs Mulch also had no waterproof trousers and the three of us were starting to get wet legs. Because of the weather we didn’t wait for Piella, who was bringing up the rear with Chrystel and Marcel, but continued upwards. Fortunately there was little wind, but it was cold, and we were by now, virtually soaked. I had decided to take my gloves off and the rain was coming up the sleeves of my waterproof. I felt damp inside and wondered whether it was sweat or whether the jacket was starting to be beaten by the violence of the rain. Husband was struggling as we neared the top of the second pass. Admittedly this was the second mountain we had climbed that day. I was concerned about him slowing down and getting cold. I felt that his humour was slipping when held back from walking too closely behind Lady Tottington in response to his growl ‘I’m not going to walk behind bloody Mary Poppins’. She, of course, was still struggling valiantly on with shoulder bag, bamboo cane and umbrella.

We finally reached the top of the second pass of Runkuraqay at 3950m after a steep climb up an Inca stair case. There was little point pausing to admire the view – and apparently you can get spectacular views of Pumasillo (6246m) and the Vilcabamba range. We paused for a little to wait for the others, and quickly got cold. Continuing down into the next valley we quite soon came to the first small Inca tunnel and Husband did wonder why we hadn’t waited here instead, out of the rain.

The frogs, delighted with the weather, were ribbiting away with renewed vigour which we heard more clearly as the rain, once again, eased and we started to slowly dry out. We came down the hill to where there would normally be a view of the Inca site of Conchamarca below us, and Sayacmarca (inaccessible town) on a dramatic rocky spur above us. Given the weather and the fact that some people were wet, cold and fed up, Coco gave us the option of going to Sayacmarca and then on to lunch, or going straight to lunch. A few of us opted to climb narrow, daunting steps to Sayacmarca. But almost as soon as we had made that decision, the rain recommenced and the cloud, which had started to become wispy, once again thickened around us meaning that there would no chance of a view from the top. The plan was quickly abandoned in favour of getting to lunch and an attempt to get dry. In hindsight this was perhaps the wrong decision. The ruins are extensive.

As we had waited for the group to make this decision, a couple of humming birds hovered around the plants next to us, sucking the nectar from the flower.

The path to lunch continued along blissful Peruvian flat, through enchanted fringes of cloud forest – and we were all now starting to appreciate why it’s called cloud forest – thick with vines, exotic flowers and luxuriant trees. The stones on the path are mainly original at this point. The rain once again ceased, and the clouds even started to lift as we lost height. Or perhaps the clouds stayed where they were and we just came out of the bottom of them. The path wound around the hillside, between a steep bank on one side and steep drop on the other. In many places the trees crowded in overhead. The thick undergrowth smelt fresh from the recent downpour. We went through a superb, long Inca tunnel that consisted of the space between a huge boulder and the mountain side. In the tunnel steep steps had been carved into the rock as the exit point was considerably lower down. It was quite ingenious. We continued on, passed yet more orchids (which Mrs Growbag hungrily photographed), thick growth of bamboo and hill sides carpeted with red moss. The lunch tent was a welcome sight, and as there was the faintest suspicion of sun, many of us put out waterproofs and other things to dry. Husband’s gloves were sodden. And on opening our rucksacks we found that the pac macs had been of little use against the ferocity of nature. Most things inside were wet – including our passports. Having now stopped we had to contend with the risk of getting cold – our legs were still quite damp. Mrs Mulch changed out of her wet trousers into a spare pair she had been carrying with her. However, her rucksack having also leaked, these trousers were a bit damp – unfortunately having got noticeably wet in the groin area. Grommet had never been impressed with pac macs before – and this occasion was no different.

Although Coco said it only rained about once a week in these mountains, lunch was a more involved meal than usual, involving two courses rather than just one. It started with bowls of warm quinoa soup which were ravenously received. I even forced down seconds – in the interests of warming up of course.

After a decent break – during which we had managed to get waterproofs and ourselves a little dryer we walked the final few kilometres to camp. The path continued much as before, fairly level and skirting around the hill sides. With the cloud lifting we now started to be awarded the spectacular views of the forest strewn mountains around us. 

We arrived at camp late afternoon and everyone laid out all their possessions on the top of the tents to try and dry them with what was left of the sun and afternoon humidity. Wendolene’s rucksack actually had a puddle in the bottom of it.

This campsite called Phuyapatmarka - which means town above the clouds – was stunning. And at 3579m so it should be. Inconveniently on a hill, we climbed to the top to see the snow capped mountains of Veronica and Salkantay around us (fully aware that the view may not be available in the morning if it was cloudy). We also had a view of Machu Picchu mountain ahead. The mountains encircling us had sharp, jagged summits – like rows of sharp, uneven teeth, and they fell away into deep, dark, thickly forested and inhospitable valleys below.

Wallace appeared to have caught the sun, although where from I couldn’t imagine. But when he took his glasses off he had panda eyes. Or, as I pointed out, a remarkable likeness to the spectacle bear, which we could now pretend we had seen.

 

As the sun went down we hung up our wet things inside the tent, giving it the appearance of a Chinese laundry, before going to the dinner tent for tea – and popcorn. Lots of it.

That evening, during dinner I felt exhausted. By 8pm I was ready for bed – not surprising after 15km over steep hills. It was another cool night. In the morning we discovered that things don’t dry overnight inside tents. In fact, they get a little damper than they had previously been. This made packing the rucksack – which was of course still wet – quite interesting.

Grommet was still poorly in the morning and unable to eat the delicious pancake with banana and banoffee. On the second day we had seen one of the porters run passed us with his huge load, and carrying a box of eggs gingerly in front of him. Mrs Mulch was given fried bananas instead. Preston was also suffering from intestinal troubles, and Shaun had damaged one of his toes quite badly

 

Before departing camp we had a final ceremony with the porters – this being the last camp. They were again all dressed up in their finery. After a, frankly, rather poor rendition of hokey cokey (which they thoroughly enjoyed) the porters then sang to us. As the song began they ran over to the girls and picked some to dance with. Wendolene was quickly selected, as was Mireia.

 

Initially I thought I had got away with it when a young lad sprinted over to me (possibly pushed) and led me off to the dance. Husband filmed the whole business. It was quite fun and certainly built up a bit of much needed body heat. The porters were enchanted by Husband’s film – which he showed to them afterwards. The boys train dance had now been avenged.

Coco called on Mrs Mulch to make a speech, which he would translate. Initially she started by thanking them for their help and support, but gradually her talk became much more spiritual, talking about getting in touch with nature and finding ourselves. After a particularly long monologue Coco translated this in about two words. Mireia was laughing, able to understand both English and Spanish she knew what he was and wasn’t translating. I found that the speech started to become embarrassing. Weeing behind a bush wasn’t exactly what I considered getting in touch with nature.

Today was the final day of walking, and was virtually downhill all the way. Coco pointed to a hillside a long way into the distance and told us that was Intipunku (Sun Gate). We went down  passed the extensive ruins of Phuyupatamarca with sinuous curves and serpentine terraces from where the Inca staircase plunges more than 1000m to Winay-Wayna. A mere 2500 steps down. We were warned that while the stone path had a cliff rising up on one side, there was also a cliff drop on the other. This wasn’t immediately obvious as the valley was filled with tall growing trees and bamboos. Combined with the thick vegetation growing from the side of the cliff drop, the ‘space’ was well filled with greenery and hid its fatal drop.

 

As we descended the forest became denser, and birds more plentiful and it smelled of jungle. Coco had told us that in November the porters do a race (weight free) along the trail. The fastest time is 3 hours 42 minutes. We were currently on day 4 of walking. We stopped for a break – where I re-applied some anti histamine to my arm where a bite from two days earlier had now made my arm and elbow swell uncomfortably. While we waited for everyone to catch up (not Piella, who was delighted to be walking with the group again) we found out that Fluffles had slipped off the path. She had got carried away looking at birds through her binoculars and lost her footing. With one arm and one leg precariously dangling, Shaun and Mireia leapt to her rescue.

As we lost height the air became warmer and warmer. We came to the site of Intipapa (sunny place). It was a huge terraced site, virtually intact. We weaved around the terraces, following the precarious stone steps down through 48 terraces of the site. By now Wendolene and I, of course, needed the loo. Marcel was leading, and he tended to walk a lot faster than Coco. He did tell us that he thought he went the pace of a turtle. If his was turtle pace, I told him, then Coca went the speed of a turtle with 2 broken legs and carrying heavy shopping. Lady Tottington missed this very distinct reference to Blackadder – she had previously reeled off lists of British comedy shows and asked if we had seen them. When we asked about films she may have seen her response, rather confusingly, was that she didn’t watch much TV.

Wendolene and I asked Marcel how long until we reached a toilet and were assured that it was only a few minutes. He stopped to show us the Winay Wayna (which means forever young) orchid. It was pretty but we had more important things on our mind. We reached the campsite at Winay Wayna where we made use of the facilities, and left our rucksacks at the hostel where our porters were preparing lunch while we walked on to see the Inca ruins.

 

They were massive, terraces stretching down the hill incredibly steeply, overlooking the Urubamba gorge. Coco told us that there was a difference of 5◦ between the top and bottom terrace and part of their function was to acclimatise valley plants and trees to growth at altitude. We were given time to wander the narrow terraces and see the long flight of ritual baths. There are ruins of buildings which would have been guinea pig farms. No irrigation was needed here because of the rain forest climate (and we knew all about that!).

There are two Inca trails - one through the mountains (which we had taken) and another that follows the river. Both trails meet here, and only path continues on to Machu Picchu.

We had a huge buffet lunch – where there was the unfortunate temptation to be very greedy. The American girls – who had joined the trip with unhealthily small appetites – were now in the queues for seconds. Excellent.

It was about an hour and a half’s walk to Intipunku (sun gate) and it was hot. We were therefore glad of the shade provided along the trail, still deeply enclosed in the forest of large trees and giant ferns.

As Marcel stormed ahead, he disturbed nests of butterflies that flew up like a cloud of colour around us. Vast numbers of all different kinds of butterflies with a huge variety of sizes and colours.

As we walked one of the overhanging trees grabbed my walking pole and yanked it out of the pocket of my rucksack before dropping it on the trail behind me. Nature was in charge round here.

Our final hardship was the short flight of ‘oh my god steps’ or gringo killers as Coco called them. We turned a corner to see a flight of about 20 steps, almost vertical. We scrambled up them using hands and feet, and then on to the long, steady steps up to Intipunku where we waited for the whole group to gather. I decided that Piella should come up to the front of the line and go through the gate first. She had, after all, seriously doubted at any time that she would ever get here. Chrystel told us to hold hands and look down. In this formation we were led through the gate, and lined up. On the count of three we were allowed to look up. Initially I couldn’t see Machu Picchu, expecting it to be closer and also not looking over enough to my right. But then I saw it, clinging to the hillside.

Sun Gate was crowded with Machu Picchu day trippers who had walked to the gate from the city.  It was a beautiful, perfect day. The view across the mountains was stunning. It would certainly be galling to arrive here, and have views like we experienced yesterday. A heavy round of photo taking ensured – nearly blighted by our camera battery having run out. Fortunately Grommet had some batteries in her torch which she leant us. At altitude, batteries don’t live very long.

 

We walked down the 1km long stone path to Machu Picchu. On the way, struggling day trippers huffed and puffed their way passed up to Intipunku. Admittedly it was hot, and they were going in a slightly upwards direction but whenever they asked us if it was far, was it difficult, naturally our answer was no on both counts. We came up behind the Germans who had seen us enter Sun Gate en masse and one of them stood back out of the way and said, with a little bow and good deal of admiration ‘ ah, da Inka Trekers’.

Having dropped off our stone offering collected at the start, we went straight to the bus and down to Aguas Calientes as we would be spending the following day at Machu Picchu. There was the option of going to the thermal bath, which Husband and I had considered doing. However, as the American girls were going I had visions of it turning into some sort of spiritual experience and frankly a few cold beers were calling in a louder voice to ease our muscles of the 11km walk that day. We agreed a meet time with Wallace, Wendolene, Preston and Shaun and went up to our room for a much needed shower.

 

The shower wasn’t brilliant – Husband needed to tie his handkerchief round the hose to encourage more water to come out of the shower head, but it was hot and big enough for two. We once again lay all our wet things around the room, still trying to get our wet stuff dry. Marcel was sitting disconsolately in the foyer of the hotel – he had rushed down when we got to Sun Gate to catch his train back to Cusco – and missed it. The next one didn’t go for an hour.

Digging through our luggage, trying to find anything that might be clean, we got ready and thorough enjoyed the feeling of being fresh and unsweaty.

Shaun and Preston, it transpired, had made the fatal mistake of unpacking and tidying up first and showering second – by which time everyone else had used up all the hot water. However, they were by now getting used to having cold showers.

We met up with everyone else to set off for dinner.  Aguas Calientes is little more than a shanty town that has been created purely to cater for people visiting Machu Picchu. It was quiet and we wondered whether this was because it was low season. However, Chrystel told us she had never seen it much busier and we wondered how any businesses here managed to make enough income. It was particularly quiet due to some strike action. A dispute of transport workers had resulted in a train strike which had stopped all trains to Aguas Calientes – and therefore starved Machu Picchu of tourists.

The restaurant we went to for dinner had a free salad buffet with every main course. Wendolene made the tiny mistake of dousing her salad with some chilli dip – and by now she should have known that here spicy dips were very piquant. A rather good group came in to play local music to us. Naturally Wendolene bought a CD – her collection was now becoming quite respectable.

Husband and I opted to share a large pizza. Piella, Mrs Mulch and Mrs Growbag were also going to share a large one. I was a little stunned as the pizza ordered was heavily laden with cheese. And Mrs Mulch didn’t eat cheese. Except now of course, when it was convenient to do so. At that point I lost a little respect for her dietary preferences and the fact that the porters had had to make different wantons and soup for her because of the offending presence of cheese.

Having our usual good appetites Husband and I had completely finished our pizza before the three girls had even got through half of theirs. It was Piella who noticed, looking up aghast as we sat there with empty plates while everyone else was still eating.

During dinner the discussion turned to our three nights of camping and the fact that in the 21^st century sleeping bags were still quite unsatisfactory. I wondered why they hadn’t invented one that was body shaped. That way you could turn over without getting twisted up, you could stretch out. It would be perfect. The body bag, I called it. Mrs Mulch thought that it might perhaps need another name to be a big seller and Wallace pointed out that he thought the body bag had already been done. Nevertheless, it was still a good idea.

There was of course left over pizza which was collected up. This time not for the homeless, but to give to the concierge at the hotel. As we left the restaurant a stray dog picked up the scent from the pizza box Chrystel was carrying and followed us, nose in the air, all the way back to the hotel. She started to feel guilty about not giving him any, particularly when we had to shut the hotel door on him to stop him coming in, and he sat there outside, looking pitifully in. It was to no avail – he got no pizza.

The following morning we needed to be up early to get one of the first buses up to Machu Picchu where Coco would give us a tour and then we could wander freely until 1pm ish.

There was the tiny possibility that the bus drivers would go on strike and we might have to walk the 9 km from Machu Picchu to Aguas Calientes, and we rather hoped that wouldn’t happen. We packed up our things – still nothing had dried – and set off for the city.

When it was discovered Machu Picchu was buried in jungle.  However, the local people knew it was there. In fact, farmers were using the terraces of the city for their own crops and one of the farmers sons showed Hiram Bingham around the site. The city was remarkably well preserved having escaped Spanish attack. While the general consensus is that no one knows why Machu Picchu was suddenly abandoned, with no sign of attack Coco told us that the inhabitants knew the Spanish had overthrown Cusco and were on their way.

Whilst Machu Picchu could be easily defended, it wasn’t self sufficient and it would only be a matter of time until they were starved out. So they fled along the valley to Vilcabamba. In the event, all the Spanish wanted was the Inca treasure – which had been taken to Vilcabambe so they went straight there. Initially attacking via the Sacred Valley they found the route too difficult and instead skirted around the mountains to Vilcabamba leaving all the Inca sites between intact – which is why they are still so well preserved today.

 

When we got up, it was cloudy and we drove up to site which was enshrouded in mist. The city was divided into distinct areas. There were the agricultural terraces, without irrigation as there was adequate rainfall. Water was channelled along gulleys into the ritual rows of fountains, as well as providing a water supply for the inhabitants of 300l per minute. The Temple of the Sun – which did once have 4 huge trees growing in it – is the only part of the site that has not been rebuilt in any way. It is a circular temple, built around a large rock. The windows are placed such that the sun beams of the summer and winter solstice come right through them into specific points in the temple, the winter solstice beams coming across from Sun Gate. Underneath the temple was a large cavern which was a particularly spiritual part of the temple. Mainly formed by the huge natural rocks the genius of Inca stonemasons was demonstrated in the perfect stonework filling in the gaps between the boulders to complete the wall of the temple.

 

We went through a narrow gap between two large boulders next to the Temple of the Condor (so called due to the two huge stones shaped the wings of a large bird, while a stone on the ground  had been carved to represent the head) to some steps so that we could see into the top, circular part of the Temple of the Sun.

Another place we went to have two round rocks, the middles of which had been carved out so that there was a rim around the edge. Originally thought to have been where grain was ground, they were in fact used to study the skies – water in the ‘bowls’ reflected the sky. The Inca’s studied the sky and nature continually, using what they learnt in the way they constructed their cities, and when they planted crops.

 

We climbed, slowly, up to the Temple of the Three Windows. There were two temples. Along the front of one of them had notches carved out of the stone and along the front there was a large upright stone to act as a central pillar to support the stone that would have been there. A similar temple next to it had the same notches but no central pillar. Until Coco asked us to turn around and we saw a large stone lying on the ground, with lots of little rocks underneath it. It was still in transit – eternally on its way to the temple, which was still the process of being built. There was a huge crack along the back wall due to the massive earthquakes it had sustained, yet still it stood.

Outside the front of the temple was a rock in the shape of the Southern Cross, inverted so that south and north were in the opposite direction.

We continued up the steps to the granite quarry. Coco showed us a stone that was in the process of being split, by having wood pushed into it and then made wet. The wood would expand and result in the cracking of the stone. The only problem was that this particular boulder had been ‘treated’ in 1978 as an experiment of how the stones might have been split. Coco showed us another stone, again in process of begin split which he considered to be the more likely method taken.

This involved continually beating away at a rock to make a neck, and as the neck thinned the rock would break in two. It will of course, never be known exactly how they did it.

We continued on up to a spiritual area of the site called Intihuatana (which means where the sun is tied up) where there is a huge sacred rock was shaped like the mountain Yanantin behind it. We couldn’t see the likeness – the mountains were still covered by wispy cloud. Intihuatana was not a sun dial but related to solar new year.

Coco told us that was here once for a solstice celebration and did feel something powerful – but has never felt it since. Being a spiritual area, this was where the religious leaders addressed the people in the plaza below. Coco clapped his hands to demonstrate the fantastic acoustics – his clap echoed loudly around the plaza.

 

We went down to the main plaza which had been, and still was, used as a llama farm. Doorways ahead looked as though they opened onto a sheer drop, so steep were the steps beyond, going down the hillside.

Our tour over, Wallace, Wendolene, Husband and I decided to make use of the facilities and grab a snack. It was, after all, a few hours since we had had breakfast.

Although it was warming up, the cloud was still not willing to lift and we were undecided about whether to climb Huayna Picchu. Then, after a while Wendolene said that if she went home having not done it, she would regret it. With that Wallace told us that we were going to climb it. So off we went. Huayna Picchu means young peak, as opposed to Machu Picchu (old peak) and has a height of 2700m. We had to sign in at the bottom and were told that it would take about 2 hours to get up to the top and back. Initially the boulder strewn path meandered through the trees around  Unu Picchu (baby peak). We then took an alarming downward turn, and could see the verdant Huayna Picchu rising up ahead of us. The path was narrow and zig zagged up the side of the mountain. In some places there were stone steps and in many others, just steep piles of rocks with metal rope running along the cliffside with which to pull ourselves up. The climb is not for anyone who has problems with height. The path in places barely clings to the mountain.

We were all sweating profusely and the clean, fresh feeling we had had that morning was now long forgotten. Our clothes were dripping, and we all agreed that we hadn’t sweat this much at any point on the whole trail. The problem was compounded by the increasing heat. Still, we had enough energy to fool around. After another stop to admire the view (aka have a rest because we’re done in) Wallace took over leading. We told him not to go too fast and with a 3,2,1 he sprinted off for a few paces (along one of the only flat bits of the path). As we neared the top Wallace went round a corner and said ‘ah ha. I think we’ve found the vertical bit’. And he wasn’t joking. Tiny stone steps reached up above us. There were terraces on one side of the steps, and at the lower end a wall on the other, but most of the stairway had nothing to hold on to. We had to pull ourselves up to the bottom step with a rope. Wendolene struggled to pull herself up, and was yanked up by one of the Peruvian’s farming the terraces. The steps were only about 4 inches deep and 12 inches long. So at no point did your feet feel safe. Going up wasn’t too bad as we could at least lean forward onto the steps, and climb up on all fours. The upward path led off the side of these vertical steps about a third of the way up. We were nearly there, and stopped for a group photo with a magnificent view of Machu Picchu in the background. We had a clear view of Sun Gate and the long path down to the city.

There was only a small climb left to do, part of which involved clambering though another tunnel between two boulders. The Inca’s had helpfully carved some steps at the exit end to help you get out, but they were on a slant and you ended up more or less shimmying along the lower boulder. I also discovered that you couldn’t get through with a rucksack on your back – and subsequently discovered that it was jolly hard to go backwards back into the tunnel. I relayed this information to the others.

After a few more flights of steps and a bit of bouldering we finally reached the top – which was extremely crowded and swarming with very nasty big flying insects. After a few minutes, having taken in the view and a few pictures, we decided to go back down.

Wallace and Wendolene went back the correct way while Husband and I went back the way we had come. Wallace and Wendolene’s route carried on around the top of the mountain, down a huge slab of stone leaning down the hill – which Wallace walked down but Wendolene lots her nerve and crawled down on her hands, feet and bum while Wallace helpfully took photos. They then went passed the building ruins – believed to be observatories or look out points as from here you could see every road approaching Machu Picchu, and then to the top of the vertical steps. Husband and I were already there, much further down at the point we had originally left the steps. We had been watching other people descend. Some turned towards the steps to crawl down using their hands and feet. Another person slipped and fell down a few steps. After a while we saw Wallace and Wendolene at the top – who helpfully provided a photo pose and then commenced the descent. Husband and I started to go down as well. It was extremely difficult. I was putting my feet sideways on the steps as it was the only way of getting any purchase and was very glad that I only had a short distance to go.

 

We hurtled our way back down the hillside. The sun was now shining right on the pathway, which had been wonderfully shady and cool when we climbed up. Now it was burning hot and the people climbing up passed us were hot and dripping. We were slightly surprised to see that a number of them were doing the climb without water – and another girl was doing it in flip flops. Wallace told us that on the top he had been asked if he had a corkscrew (for a man who had brought a bottle of wine up to the top without the vital implement). However, Wallace had misheard and thought he had been asked for a cox four and wondered why anyone wanted a rowing team at the top of a mountain.

 

As we got to the bottom there suddenly seemed to be a lot of uphill climbing that we didn’t remember having come down. We got to the checkpoint and signed out – having taken 1 hour 58 minutes, and found a shady place to sit down for a minute. Wendolene and I were scarlet. We were all smelly. Wallace wanted to go back to the rock where we had made our offerings the previous day while Wendolene, Husband and I felt the time had come for a beer. We agreed that we would get on a bus at 1.00 whether Wallace had returned or not. At around quarter to I thought I saw someone looking like Wallace running along the path to the rock (the path went above the café at the entrance to the city). But I thought it couldn’t possibly be him – after all, he would be well on his way back by now. It was nearly 1pm, and a bus was filling up. Not wanting to miss it (the buses only leave when full so you have no idea when the next one will go) we decided that we would have to catch it, with or without Wallace. At that point he appeared, along with Mrs Growbag.

It seems that I had seen Wallace. He had got caught up chatting to Mrs Growbag and then sprinted off to the rock. Mrs Growbag was surprised to see him back, convinced that he wouldn’t have time to get there. We all boarded the bus and headed back to Aquas Calientes. On arriving at the hotel Preston and Shaun told us that there was a train strike and there were no trains back to Cusco (striking workers were sitting on the line) – or perhaps one leaving at 3pm. Leaving details of where we were going for lunch (in case we needed to be fetched quickly) we set off up the hill in search of lunch. By sheer chance we managed to find the slowest and disorganised establishment in town.

Having asked for all the food to come at the same time, two starters turned up. We waited a few minutes then asked for the rest. Another two appeared. And then a while later, the last one. Main course was served in a similar vein. By now time was pressing on and we needed to eat, pay and get back to the hotel. Even paying proved involved, when Wallace asked for the bill and was brought a bill for just what he had eaten. Eventually we were served and managed to pay just in the nick of time, and returned to the hotel.

Chrystel told us that there was a train strike but there should be one leaving that day and we needed to be at the station to stand a chance of being on it. We walked to the station and made ourselves comfortable. As announcements were made Chrystel came over to translate – it seemed we would be on a train leaving at about 5.30pm. Groups were gradually being called up – but they were starting with the people who had been booked on earlier trains. I decided to go to the loo, unsure about the facilities that would be on the train – when we eventually got onto it. While in the cubicle Chrystel came in and called out to me, telling me we had to leave right now. The timing was not ideal. Finishing off as quickly as I could, I ran out where Husband was carrying all our bags out towards the train. We were all boarded and shortly afterwards, we set off. Chrystel was stunned that we had had the good fortune to get on the train, and the posh one at that (we had been booked on the cheap one, and this train would normally cost twice the price). Later it transpired that someone had seen Cocc’s Condor Travel jacket. Apparently Condor is one of the biggest tour companies in Peru and, strike or no strike, it is not in anyone’s interest to upset them. We didn’t really mind what the reason was – we were just pleased and impressed to be on the move.

As the train rumbled along the valley we had views up the mountains of Winay Wayna, Intipata and, eventually, Km 82. When we arrived at Ollantaytambo we disembarked and went to a local pottery (which made Inca style pottery) before taking the bus back to Cusco. We were at the pottery for some time while Chrystel ordered herself some items and Mrs Growbag and Lady Tottington bought masses (which was then meticulously wrapped and boxed). However, a friendly monkey living in a cage in the courtyard – which was shared with a rabbit – helped to pass the time. The monkey ate fruits off nearby plants, that Husband and Piella picked to feed it with. Other than getting excited about the possibility of eating, it just lay there holding onto Piella or Husband’s finger. Piella felt sorry for it – it clearly needed company.

After another couple of hours travelling we arrived back at the hotel in Cusco and went to bed. In the morning I opened our trekking back which was now giving off a slightly mouldy smell because of the damp clothes and decided that we would have to give the hotel some washing to do. Deciding that there was no point doing just a bit, I gave them all of it – 6.7k worth. That day we would be white water rafting with some people from another Explore group. We were collected from the hotel and driven off to the Huambutio river, near Pisac. Peru is rapidly becoming one of the world’s premier destinations for white water rafting and several of its rivers are rated in the world’s top ten.

We arrived at the river edge where the three guides pumped up the rafts – and we donned wet suits, life jackets and helmets. Unfortunately, pictures were taken. The wet suits were knee and elbow length – which bothered Wendolene who disliked her knees.

Husband and I were in a boat with Miriea and Amy (the Explore leader with the other group who had joined us for the day). Grommet was feeling a little better and had decided to come along too. Also in attendance were Wallace, Wendolene and Piella. We set off first and practised the instructions of forward, back, stop, left forward right back and right forward left back. Having mastered this we rowed furiously forward, down the already reasonably fast flowing river, towards the rapids. Admittedly they were only Grade 3 rapids, but there was still a certain adrenaline rush, seeing them ahead, and still rowing. We rushed into the froth of white, stopped rowing and let the raft duck and dive through the rapids.

As we ploughed into the dips, waves of cold water cascaded into the boat – which was quite refreshing as it was an incredibly hot day. There was no risk of falling out as we had one foot lodged underneath an extremely tight elastic strip running across the bottom of the boat. The other two rafts caught up with us and that’s when the fun really began. It seemed that normal course of action was to use our oars to throw as much water over the people in the other raft as soon as they cam close enough. Quite soon we were completely soaked. And not long after that my arms were aching. Having exercised our legs for the previous four days, it was now time to let our upper body catch up.

And it was a perfect day, warm, sunny and bright. On the occasions when we let the tide take us down the river it was nice to look around at the surrounding mountains, appreciate the stillness and beauty around us, seeing the landscape from a viewpoint that isn’t available to everyone – and also become conscious that we were probably getting sunburnt.

Our skipper, Fernando – an immensely strong chap – managed to steer the boat sideways into occasional dips, one off rapids, such that Miriea and I (who were on the same side) got completely soaked. Much to the amusement of Husband and Amy. At other times he would steer us into some rapids, turn the boat around and get us to row upstream, in a rapid. To our immense credit, we held our position.

In the other rafts they were taking turns in being the cox, and giving rowing instructions. Piella was leading one of the other rafts, and they came up alongside us – backwards. She was laughing. A few minutes later we looked round and she had fallen out. We found out later that she had instructed a forward row. Everyone obeyed. Even though they could see a small cliff straight ahead. Hitting it at full tilt, Piella boinged straight off the back of the boat. Initially a little taken by surprise, she was soon laughing about it.

Our raft had a slightly similar experience when we hurtled into a large rock on the bankside. As that was the side I was sitting in I found myself thrown over towards Husband’s side of the boat – but didn’t  go far as leaving the boat as my left foot was still firmly wedged underneath the elastic strap.

Further on down the river we beached our rafts and (after the removal of kagools and helmets) had the option of jumping off a bridge about 4m above the river. Everyone in our raft was up for the idea, and due to our enthusiasm, Wallace also decided to join in. None of the rest of our Explore group wanted to have a go. The bridge was a very decrepit suspension bridge – in fact, you wanted to jump off it. Alain – the rafting leader – told us to hold into the top of our life jackets when we jumped as they would be forced up round our necks as we went into the water. He also told us  that once we surfaced we should swim upstream in order to get to the rafts downstream, such was the strength of the tide. However, if everything went wrong, there was someone there to throw a rope out into the river for us to catch.

Husband was one of the first to jump. Jumping involved standing on the suspension cable (at it lowest point in the middle of the bridge) and holding Alain’s hand for support, then jumping off. For a moment I wondered whether he would go and also worried slightly that he might only be doing this because I wanted to. But then he went, and swam strongly to the rafts. I decided to go next, knowing that the longer I stood up the more nervous I would get. I got onto the cable and jumped before I could formalise any thoughts about where I was and what I was going to do. I jumped. It took a second or two to reach the water and I was under for longer than I had expected to be – especially considering that I was wearing a life jacket. When I surfaced I swam ferociously towards the bank, drinking far more of the polluted river than was probably sensible. Normally a breast stroke kind of girl I felt that this was front crawl zone. I actually managed to get to the bank upstream of the first raft and was mildly impressed with myself.

We carried on rafting down the river, Fernando getting us to spin the boat through one set of rapids, which was fantastic fun. We told him it was our honeymoon and he offered to capsize the boat in honour. We came up by Alain’s boat and he reached over to hug Miriea. I could see what his plan was and helped things along slightly by pushing his raft away. Alain kept hold of Miriea until she was no longer in our boat, then dropped her in the river.

Further on we could jump out of the boat and have a little swim – which many of us did. Not that we needed to swim at all, being completely buoyed up by the life jacket. In hindsight, perhaps Husband should have mentioned that he wasn’t a light chap before jumping out. Fernando took a second or two to pull him back into the raft.

After a good three hours or so on the river we pulled into the shore. The girls were sent up the bank first – through rubbish which included bits of used pink toilet paper. However, the idea was that we had a few minutes at the bus, undisturbed, to get changed. A short while later the boys arrived – carrying the rafts – and had the use of the bus to change. We were served with cinnamon flavoured hot chocolate and then a sumptuous and delicious salad. Piella ate hers faster than me and Husband – things had certainly changed over the past few days. What’s more, she had third helpings!! Husband and I limited ourselves to a respectable two servings – generous servings I grant you, but still just the two.

Fully replete and invigorated we returned to Cusco. It had been a fantastic day and Husband decided he loved white water rafting. It wasn’t until we got back that I realised the full extent of my sun burn – distinct red marks down my thighs and burn on my feet where my sandals hadn’t had straps. By the time we were due to leave for dinner it was hurting.

That evening we went to the Blue Room. Unsurprisingly it was painted blue, and modernly decorated. The restaurant consisted of small rooms and a mezzanine floor above our table, the ceiling of which was mirrored. Having been warned that service could be slow, we had pre-ordered.  Despite this the starters still arrived in an erratic fashion. Husband’s showed up after his main course had. The starters were delicious and were sadly let down by the main courses which were slightly dull. Mrs Mulch was late arriving for dinner. She had gone in search of a poncho for her husband to meditate in during the day and had finally decided to buy the first one she had seen. This proved quite involved as, much to her delight, the man in the shop insisted on doing a blessing ceremony and she eventually came into the restaurant regaling details of her spiritual awakening. Much to the disdain of the New Zealand lads – who were feasting on beer and burgers.

After eating some of an incredibly rich chocolate dessert (which Mrs Growbag and Lady Tottington finished – their ridiculous appetites having now been completely destroyed) I wanted to go back to the hotel as my sunburn was causing me immense discomfort. I had half hoped it would be slightly less sore the following day – no such luck. By then the burn on my legs had become rather fetching stripes and Husband was calling me tiger.

The following day – our last in Cusco – we had a free day. As it was the first time we didn’t have to be up at a ridiculous time of day, we stayed in bed until about 10am. When we finally appeared downstairs Chrystel happened to be in the lobby and gave us a knowing glance. It was, after all, our honeymoon. She was concerned about whether we had plans for the day, enough to do. But we assured her that we were fine. Out intention was to have a relaxed wander around the city and do some final souvenir shopping.

It wasn’t long before we felt the lack of breakfast, and stopped off at a small café in Plaza San Francisco for a drink and a bun. We ambled gently through the plaza’s, purchasing vast quantities of souvenirs for ridiculously low prices. Often prices were so low that you felt a little guilty bartering. One of the missions of the day was to find a pocket Inca for Ed. This proved to be extremely difficult.

Having bought stamps, and now needing to write postcards we sat on an upstairs balcony overlooking Plaza de Armas. We ordered some beers and a light snack and decided to sit there, enjoying the view for a reasonable length of time. After a while we saw Piella and Grommet settle themselves on a bench in the plaza. They quickly attracted the attention of young postcard sellers, who chatted to them for an eternity – one of them even sitting himself down beside Grommet. They had seen us, and Husband then indulged in paparazzi style photography, zooming in on their unsuspecting discussions.

We went off to an internet café for a quick MSN chat with Stepchild the Elder – as we couldn’t get mobile phone reception Husband had been making use of the many internet cafes which were incredibly cheap and made staying in touch a lot easier.

Initially opting not to visit the Inca museum, we now thought that we ought to. It was in fact quite interesting and had photos of Machu Picchu while still quite overgrown and destroyed. It demonstrated how much of the city had been reconstructed – presumably from the rubble of stones shown in the photos.

We had bumped into Wallace and Wendolene during the afternoon and arranged to meet up before dinner for a drink. Having accomplished all we wanted to that day, we returned to the hotel to pack and get ready for the evening. Our washing had all been done, and miraculously nothing had been shrunk or dyed a different colour.

We went to a small bar just a few doors down from the hotel for our pre-dinner beverage – which I was pleased about as my feet were still causing me a reasonable amount of discomfort. Before dinner we were going to see a show of traditional dances. As Husband so brilliantly described it, it was rather like a school play. The dancing was good but the production as a whole was rather disjointed and the music system could have been better. Each dance was introduced, and explained, in both Spanish and English and some of the translations were a little peculiar, for example pachamama (mother earth) was translated as mother land – which actually means something quite different indeed.

All the dances, although involving a huge variety of costumes, were by and large the same. Wallace had been watching keenly in order to improve his skills. For the final dance, they came and took people from the audience up onto the stage. Fortunately no one in our group was picked.

 

The show finished none too soon, and we set forth for dinner. The restaurant was incredible, decorated in a similar vein to a medieval banqueting hall, and the staff were all dressed as Inca’s. We went into a vast courtyard and up the steps on one side to get to the restaurant. The kitchen was open plan, and in the same room as our table. The napkin holders were supported by brass llamas, and the cutlery holder was similarly decorative, as was the silver wine bottle holder. There was incredible attention to detail, and it was worth it. The whole effect was stunning. We ordered a bottle of wine – unsure what to go for we asked the waiter what he would recommend. He re-appeared with a Chilean red, which we duly accepted. At the other end of the table, wine ordering was a little more complicated. They selected one from the wine list – the waiter went away, and then came back with the news it wasn’t in stock. So they picked another one. He went away again, for an interminably long time, before returning with the bottle. There was a faint suspicion that he had just popped out and bought it. We had huge goblets to drink the wine from. It was excellent fun.

While waiting for dinner we went into a museum in the room next door, which had been decorated like an Inca house. It was low ceilinged, and the floor was covered with straw and woven mats. Flat stones and cushions lined the room, serving as tables and seats, and a huge fireplace on one side had cooking implements. Mrs Mulch didn’t like it – which surprised me as apparently she has almost no furniture in her house, sitting on mats rather than chairs. I wasn’t sure whether she was just an avid minimalist or if it was part of her yoga and meditational lifestyle.

We returned to our table to eat. The food was delicious, impeccably cooked and beautifully presented. Afterwards, Wallace did a small speech for Chrystel, thanking her for her help, such as always keeping us informed about where the loo was and whether it was suitable for 1’s or 2’s.  He finished by saying that we had collected together all the notes she wouldn’t change, and he passed her an envelope of the tip money we had contributed. I liked to think that it didn’t contain any unchangeable notes – such as torn dollars, or dollars with the potentially fraudulent serial numbers (Grommet had had $200 worth of such notes and Wallace $100). It was our last night all together as a group – the following day most of us were returning to Lima, while Wendolene and Fluffles were heading off to the jungle for 3 days.

 

We went back to the hotel and to bed – wake up the following day was 5am as the flight had been brought forward an hour.  The following morning we set off early to the airport, checked in and went upstairs to the departure lounge which was where the fun really started to happen.

Grommet was stopped as she had a penknife in her rucksack. She was given the option of leaving the knife or putting the rucksack into hold luggage. She opted for the latter and, taking out her passport, tickets and money went downstairs with Chrystel to check it in. It was only after she came back upstairs that the panic really started to set in. Having been asked if there was anything valuable left in the bag, she had replied no, and now realised that her camera, films, digital camera and mobile were all inside. And the rucksack was not locked in any way. Most of us were concerned about the possibility of her things being stolen, but at the time she was more worried about the x-ray machines damaging her films and phone, and it seemed a little cruel to alert her to the other risks. Almost in tears, Chrystel offered to go back downstairs with her to see if the bag could be retrieved. It couldn’t, but Grommet was relieved to find out that there were no x-ray machines. The rest of us didn’t find that such a comfort.

In the event our early departure was unnecessary as the plane left 2 hours late. Eventually we arrived at Lima – it was overcast and humid. Because it lies between the sea and mountain, it is apparently like that all year round. It never rains, but the damp atmosphere keeps plants verdant.  It was sticky and unpleasant.

We were due to go on the city tour later that afternoon, having time first to pop down to San Antonios’s just down the road for a beer and bite to eat. Chrystel had warned us that Lima was not pretty compared with other places we had seen in Peru but that the city tour was still of interest.

The guide for the tour was a particularly over effusive lady with the poorest English of any guide we had had so far. She bolted her way through the information and seemed surprised that we wanted to linger at some of the places.

We started by visiting an old Inca site. Unlike those we had already seen the site was little more than a huge mud brick pyramid. From the part that had been excavated, over 100 decapitated women had been found. The human sacrifices we had previously been told about had all been placed in the foetal position.

These women were lying down flat, pointing eastwards. They were buried with their heads, but the sacrificial processes here seemed considerably more unpleasant.

From this site we went to the main square in Lima – Plaza de Armas, a huge area with central fountains, surrounded by colonial buildings, all of which had large, decorative balconies. There were few countries in the old world that could rival Lima’s wealth and luxury until the terrible earthquake of 1746 when the city’s elegance was reduced to dust, and 4000 people were killed. Lima never regained her former glory. During the 19 century the population dropped after the Wars of Independence and the city suffered considerable material damage during the Chilean occupation. However, by the start of the 20 century the population had risen with the movement of people to coastal areas, providing cheap unskilled labour for the many factories. Now over 8 million people live in Lima which is surrounded by shanty towns of settlements in search of work and higher education.

On one side of the square was the cathedral. It looked modern but was in fact quite built in 1755, after the original church was destroyed in the earthquake. The interior was immediately impressive with its massive columns and high nave and mosaic covered walls. Part of the reason for its appearance was that the building was made from bamboo rather than stone – part of its earthquake protection. It didn’t contain the rich paintings and gold encrusted woodwork that we had seen in the cathedral at Cusco, nor did have the darkness of that cathedral.

On another side of the square was a government palace – Palacio de Gobierno, behind high metal gates and behind that was a home for the poor – almost as a constant reminder to the government of the job they needed to be doing. It stands on the site of the original palace built by Pizarro when he founded the city.

We walked around the corner to the Santa Domingo monastery. This was no longer used, but a new monastery had been built adjoining the old one. It was everything a monastery should be – a huge, dimly lit library lined with ancient texts and a large, peaceful courtyard perfectly suited to spiritual contemplation, encircled by a cloister with panelled ceiling and Sevillian tile work. The monks’ choir stalls were above the church, keeping them in view but separate from the congregation. We were led into the adjacent church and down to the catacombs. Despite being underground it was extremely warm.

 

There were a number of tourist groups already down there and the lack of air was tangible – as was a certain smell that probably wasn’t death, but certainly wasn’t pleasant. Apparently at peak season visiting these catacombs is a trying experience. 25000 people had been buried here, families lying on top of each other, each body topped with lime to rot the flesh. Excavators had mixed all these bodies up. In a desire for order and to know how many people were there, each family grave site was now filled with one bone type – so there were deep pits of femurs, tibias, skulls and so on. In one deep, circular pit a series of skulls and limb bones had been arranged in a huge pattern. It seemed somehow disrespectful in a nation that had great respect for their dead and who in all their faiths have believed in the afterlife. The catacombs were a maze and we popped our heads into various nooks and crannies – some rooms had metal grills on the top which led up into the main church. Our guide pointed out to us where the new burial site was – but this was just for the monks.

 

Coming back up into the now refreshing humidity, we drove along the coast road with views of the sun starting to set over the South Pacific. We stopped at the Parque del Amor – so called because in the middle there was a huge statue of a couple kissing. Apparently visitors pose in front of the statue, copying the pose. Husband and I resisted this temptation. Also, in February, couples have contests to see who can hold a kiss the longest. We were reliably informed that the winner this year was our driver (and his girlfriend) – with 7 hours. No wonder he wasn’t talking much.

The park was designed along the lines of Guell Park in Barcelona, and did have ceramic swirling seats and bright colours. It was however, on a considerably smaller scale and quite a lot more clumsy.

 

Having watched the sun set we returned to our hotel in Miraflores and got ready for dinner. Chrystel had arranged taxis to take us to Barranco – this was once a seaside resort for the rich. Now it is a sleepy suburb during the day but comes alive at night with dozens of good bars and restaurants squeezed into its streets. Knowing how Peruvians drive, I was slightly disconcerted to end up in the middle of the back seat (there are no seat belts) and asked Husband and Wallace, who were on either side of me, to do the decent thing if it looked as though I was going to take a trip through the windscreen at any point.

We wandered around the narrow, busy streets of Barranco – bombarded with fantastic smells leaking out of the many restaurants as well as waiters trying to get us to eat in their restaurants. At the end of one street was a large, unlit terrace which over looked the Pacific – now in darkness. All along the wall were canoodling couples – Husband and I joined in, partly to explain to the American girls what canoodling meant as they appeared to be unclear. We wandered around a street market, and managed to get a cheap bottle of Maca capsules – we had been reliably informed that this was a female viagra – and the Chrystel took it all the time.

Dinner was delicious and washed down with copious amounts of alcohol. Even Chrystel seemed to be slightly under the influence, which made the taxi ride back slightly less frightening.

The following day was our last. We gathered for breakfast – a self service business and I don’t recall seeing Piella stop serving herself. We also had a sneaky peek at the next group of victims who were anxiously looking through their Explore itineraries. Having visited the supermarket in the morning with Piella and Grommet for some last minute presents, we wanted to visit the beach. Bumping into Wallace and Mrs Mulch back at the hotel they told us they had been down to the sea. Chrystel had told us all not to – and in no uncertain terms. What’s more, her written instructions also told us not to go down to the beach as we would almost certainly be robbed. Until speaking to Wallace and Mrs Mulch we had resigned ourselves to obeying. But now we were rebellious. So, led by Wallace, we set off. There were steep steps down the cliff to get to the beach and Piella looked at them with an element of trepidation.  Slowly we went down, and down and down. The beach was initially sandy but millions of tons of pebbles had been put on the shore line – presumably to combat erosion. Small crabs obviously got left behind in the mass of pebbles after the tide went out and were then cooked to death as we found dozens of dried dead ones. The huge swell of the ocean rolled up the pebbles and sucked back producing a cacophony of noise as it pulled against the pebble barrier, and rolled the stones down into the sea. For miles on either side of us, uninterrupted ocean roared against the stones. We had considered dipping a toe in the Pacific – but the decision was made for us when the ocean decided to get us wet anyway. I tried to run backwards but failed miserably and just fell over.

Having visited the sea, unmolested by robbers, we attended to the small matter of getting back up the cliff side. Once again hot and sweaty we tried to find somewhere for lunch. Wallace needed to visit the supermarket so he made off. Unable to find somewhere suitable for food we ended up ambling back to San Antonio’s for salads and sandwiches. On arrival, we saw there none other than Wallace sipping a beer and tucking into a sandwich. Well and truly rumbled, he joined us for lunch before, again, setting off in the direction of the supermarket.

After lunch we gathered at the hotel. Only the English members of the group were going to the airport. The New Zealand lads had left in the early hours of the morning and the American girls were going back later that evening.

Our taxi driver – having shown up with a vehicle which wasn’t quite big enough (he had misunderstood how many people he needed to carry) then insisted that he needed to adjust his tyre pressure as all of us and our luggage was too much weight.

He took us to the airport via a most circuitous route and through some thoroughly dodgy areas. I found out afterwards that I wasn’t alone in being ever so slightly concerned and almost half expecting to be mugged. Chrystel directed us to the long check in queue and waited patiently for us to be processed. It was a long wait. Firstly staff moved along the queue to put orange tags onto our hand luggage. ‘I’ve been tangoed’ announced Wallace, after he had been duly tagged. Much to the amusement of some English people behind us in the queue.

Then, most bizarrely, our main luggage was put through an x-ray machine and then added to a pile by the check in desks. In other words, we were being separated from our luggage – one of the cardinal sins of all airports. The idea was that you re-collected your luggage once at the check in desk. In the meantime, very large dogs sniffed the baggage eagerly.

I could see the flaw in this plan. If the dog became interested in your bag, would you really go over and collect it? Fortunately, the reek of coca leaves left behind from our supplies (which we were not taking back with us) did not alert the hounds.

Once through, Chrystel met up with us again to take us to the airside gate and wish us goodbye. While waiting she had bought a key ring with a small sheep on it, that she had named Wallace. She seemed sad to see us go and I wondered, hopefully, if we had been one of her more enjoyable groups.

Our plane had been delayed by an hour, and was late leaving at its newly scheduled time. As a consequence we missed the connection in Madrid, but had already been booked onto an alternative flight. Fortunately there wasn’t the same messing about with gates – which was particularly good given that we had only just enough time to get there before boarding commenced.

We finally arrived at Heathrow – where Middle Bro had been waiting for ages, arriving in time for the missed Madrid flight and only subsequently finding out that we had not been on it. He was there so long, in fact, that he forgot where he had parked the car and we spent some time in the multi storey car park trying to locate it. Nothing like a bit of walking after a long plane flight and relaxing holiday!

Before departing company, we agreed to meet up again at some point in the future, and I am delighted to report that this promise was kept with a most successful gathering in Clapham. There was also romance in the air – Wallace and Wendolene had become an item. At last.

Numerous e-mails scurried around the globe, keeping us all informed of everyone’s post Peru activities. Mrs Mulch seemed overwhelmed by the whole experience and determined to bring the message of Pachmama into all her relations and daily activities. I wasn’t entirely sure that I understood what this message was, but did understand her sense of awe and achievement. We had all achieved something unique and incredible that will be with us for the rest of our lives.