The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Seven - End Of The Road

This is what I had going for me coming in to Day Four:

- I hadn't shaved in four days. I hadn't even looked at myself in the mirror for four days, so I couldn't bask in my rugged bearded awesomeness.

- I hadn't showered in four days. This was the least of my concerns because...

- I hadn't done a number two in four days. I couldn't go. I tried once on Day Three. False alarm. I couldn't use the public toilets. I have squatting issues. The longer I'd go without doing my business, the more it weighed on my mind.

On Day Four, you start early. Really early. We're talking 4:30 in the morning. You have to line up at a checkpoint at the campsite until it opens at 5 am. You then hike three miles to the Sun Gate, where you gaze upon Machu Picchu for the first time, with the ruins bathed in the rays of the morning sun.

The night before, Juve asked us when we should wake up. We could have woken up at 4:30, but we'd be stuck in the back of the line at the checkpoint. So we said 3:40. Our group was third in line. There were no complaints.

The hike starts out flat. I blaze through it like one of the porters. It helped that I didn't have to carry my sleeping bag anymore, thus demoting my backpack from "nemesis" to "respected acquaintance". I sprint the first mile and a half. I was possessed. Mind you, this is at the buttcrack of dawn, so the path isn't well lit. I had a flashlight. That I remembered to bring.

I'm burning down the trail, feeling good about myself, when the trail climbs uphill. I slow down. Yet again. I slow down some more. The adrenaline is going away. Meanwhile, frenzied trekkers with better lung capacities pass me.

I'm alone on the trail. Yet again. Going uphill more and more, heart beating faster and faster, breathing getting shorter and shorter with anticipation. Looking up and seeing Juve yelling, "Let's go, Eman!" The group applauding in encouragement, this band of brothers and sisters that I've shared the past four days with. Each step toward the Sun Gate feeling like I'm walking on air. Slowly, surely, reaching the summit.

And this view waiting for me:



As you can see, no sun. The skies are overcast today. The end of our labor is before us. We've just completed our journey, taking the trail that Incas took hundreds of years ago. 27 miles over four days. Four days of back-breaking, knee-killing, quad-burning hell. Four days through heat, rain and snow. Four days of sidestepping the droppings of random farm animals. Four days of muscle ache, thin air and slight nausea. We earn this vista. We deserve it.

There are no tears from me today. Just joy, relief and lots and lots of sweat.


* Photo by: Christine Lau*

I'm not pleased with this picture either. This is just to give you an idea how strenuous the hike is. You will sweat. You will hurt. You will make sounds you've never made before. You might get queasy. You'll step in poo. The Inca Trail: Good times!!



Describing the ruins of Machu Picchu does not do them justice. Even as the skies are dull, we are amazed. How majestic is this place! With Wayna Picchu Mountain in the background, stone buildings lay in immaculate condition. As we walk through the ruins, Juve explains how the Incas fared centuries ago. He leads us through temples, royal palaces, observatories. He gives us so much information that I'm ashamed to admit I recall none of his stories.

To be immersed in the ruins of Machu Picchu, in the places where the Incas ate, slept and worshipped; It blows your mind. While we were on the hike, the Lost City of Machu Picchu was named one of the new Seven Wonders of the World. I wouldn't disagree with that at all.

We wander the ruins for a little longer, snapping our cameras, taking in the pristine buildings. We hear a rumble in the distance. It's not thunder. It's the horde of tourists coming off the train to visit the ruins for the day. Here's a tip: Get to the ruins early. At daybreak. You'll be very grateful.

Our trek is over. Our bodies ache. We crave sleep. We board the bus to Aguas Calientes for lunch, where we down bottle after bottle of Cusquenian Beer. It is like nectar from the Incan Gods.



We board a train back to Cusco. To our hotel. To a warm shower, a clean shave, and that other thing.

And what a beautiful thing it is!

----

So ends The Road To Machu Picchu; Without a doubt once of the greatest experiences of my life. I say that now. I certainly wouldn't have said that as I was doing the hike. But looking back, I'm definitely glad I did it. I truly believe that everybody that is of sound mind and body should walk the Sacred Inca Trail. And really, if I can do it, most anyone can.

Here are my pics from Day Four. There were plenty of adventures in our remaining days. We did have two days back in Lima. But those adventures will have their own posts further down the line.

Thanks for reading, friends. And I hope you stick around for more travels. More adventures. More stories.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Six - Only Peace

I awoke on Day Three in high spirits.

I had just climbed Dead Woman's Pass the day before. The hardest part was over. In my mind, everything else would be icing on the cake. Or so I thought.

Turns out there are two more passes to climb on the third day. The first pass, which is really the Second Pass, is a steep hike (nowhere near as steep as DWP), and the Third Pass is an up and down trek through the absolutely stunning Cloud Forest. And after the Third Pass awaits a downhill stretch that is so brutal, so punishing, that it is affectionately known as "The Gringo Killer".

Oh by the way, Day Three is the longest day of the Inca Trail.

At this point, I should bring up the weather. Now, Day One was quite warm. Day Two was cloudy and eventually rainy (there was even hail). Day Three started out incredibly chilly. What do you expect when you're 13,000 feet up? And yes, rain did fall, and everyone busted out the backpack covers and ponchos...except me. All I had was my super thin rain slicker over my perspiration-soaked fleece and t-shirt. And as I trudged up the Second Pass, rain beating down on my face, my glasses fogged up so much that I could barely see, my hands nearly frozen, I thought to myself, "Well. It couldn't get any worse, could it?"And then it started to snow.

This is why Inca Trail is one of the most badass hikes around. What other trail gives you a mix of sun, wind, rain, hail, snow, along with horses, burros, sheep, llamas, stray dogs, and unsanitary public toilets? If you know of another trail like this, please let me know.

Because the elements were so chaotic and I was in "icing-on-the-cake" mode, I took my sweet time on Day Three. And because I was so laid-back this day, I found myself hiking alone. It can be quite daunting hiking the Inca Trail on your own. I admit, I would have like to have been in the company of my friends, or the guides, or the porters, or the stray dogs. Alas, I was on my own.


*Photo by: Allan Yu*

As I walked down from the Second Pass, away from the snow and right through the Cloud Forest, I would pause and take in the ambient sounds of the Andes. More often than not, I would hear silence. Absolute silence. It was unnerving. Not even the birds were chirping.

I continued to hike. More solitude. More thoughts to myself. More tranquilidad. And then suddenly, unknowingly, my thoughts turned to Dad.

My father loved the outdoors. He would take me and my family to various campgrounds around Southern California. Unfortunately, very little of that zest for nature and such rubbed off on me. He tried to teach me how to pitch a tent. I balked. He tried to get me to cast a fishing reel into the river. I chose to play my GameBoy.

Walking the Trail on Day Three, with nobody around, I found myself talking to Dad. I told him that I missed him. I told him that I wish he was there when I got to the top of Dead Woman's Pass. I told him that I wish he was here hiking the Inca Trail with me.

I said all these things aloud. I was met with silence. I wept more tears.

The Sacred Inca Trail means many things to many people. For some it's a chance to learn more about this civilization of centuries ago. For others it's a chance to see the majestic Andes and their vegetation and wildlife. But these moments of solitude on Day Three were what defined the hike for me. Dad passed away three years ago, and in those three years I found myself struggling to cope. I would think about him, but only as a passing thought, and then I would move on with my daily life. Here on the trail, there are no distractions. There are no project deadlines, no meetings. There is no TV, no DVDs, no emails to check, no blogs to read. Solamente La Tranquilidad. Only peace. Through the peace, I was able to reconnect with Dad. I was able to cope. I was able to heal.

That's why I hiked The Inca Trail.

More photos from Day Three can be found here.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Five - Anything Is Possible

I started Day Two free of my nemesis.

One of the porters graciously took my backpack off my hands and carried it to the next campsite. Best twenty bucks I had spent in years. All I had to take with me were my camera, water bottles, and a plastic trash bag full of random things I would need for the hike. This was the same trash bag I wore on my feet the night before to keep my socks dry from my soaked sleeping bag. I was too tired to care.



Before setting off, our guides Juve and Whilder gathered the porters (all twenty of them) for a quick introduction. These porters are nothing short of phenomenal. All from Cusco and its surrounding towns, all incredibly warm and friendly, and all freakishly athletic. One of them completed the ENTIRE Inca Trail in less than four hours. No kidding. We were in the midst of greatness.

Juve advised us throughout the night before and the morning of, go at your own pace. If you need to go slow, go slow. If you need to take a break, take a break. I planned on doing both. Wholeheartedly.

Here's why you'd probably want to take your time; You start Day Two at an altitude of 3,100 meters (10,137 ft). You then proceed to scale a whopping 1,100 meters (over 3,300 ft.) to the top of first pass, affectionately known as Dead Woman's Pass.



And there she is! Start on the right. See how it kind of makes a face? Just work your way to the left. And yes, it gets quite cold up there.

ANYWAY, with nothing but me and my trash bag, I set out on the trail. And I went slowly. Slowly. Oh so slowly. Just me, my friend Tammy and our assistant guide Whilder, taking our time. And despite moving as slow as molasses, despite carrying absolutely nothing on my back, despite one of the porters even taking my trash bag away from me and leaving me empty handed, I was still huffing and puffing, trudging up that damn pass.

I developed a sort of rhythm on my hike; I would take twenty to thirty paces and rest for ten to fifteen seconds, taking gigantic deep breaths and frequent swigs of water. I even looked up from the trail to take in the scenery. I had nearly forgotten I was in the middle of the Andes!



Lush vegetation and serene little creeks running down the mountain. Llamas buried high on the slopes looking for grass to munch on. The sense of tranquilidad dominating the scene. I would've taken it all in more, but the guides warned us that staying too long in one place will leave us shivering in the cold. And I started to lose some feeling in my hands. So I pressed on.

Twenty steps, rest. Twenty steps, rest. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Porters passing me with their exortations ("Vamos, amigo! Vamos!"). Fifteen steps, rest. Ten steps, rest. The Dead Woman started to get bigger and bigger. Yet so far away. Five steps, rest. Rest some more. Rest some more. I couldn't feel my hands. My head started to hurt. My stomach started doing backflips...

...and then I looked up.

The whole group was there at the top of the pass, shouting words of encouragement. I stared at them for a good thirty seconds, not knowing if I should thank them or tell them to shut up. "One last push!" They yelled. So I put my head down. I attacked each step like my last, slamming my walking stick down with each step. And somehow, some way, through some Divine Miracle, I made it to the top of Dead Woman's Pass.

And then I did what most manly men do when they reach the top of the First Pass of the Inca Trail; I pumped my fist, gave the people in my group a high-five, retreated to a quiet place at the top away from everyone, and wept. For a good minute or two. Straight up bawled. So much so, everyone else in the group started to tear up. So I hear.

I'll tell you why I wept. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I could do what I had just done. And I knew that it would be tough going the whole way. There was even a part of me that thought there was no way I was going to get to the top. Either my body would shut down or I would just quit. But I stretched myself, always pressing forward, never quitting. I didn't care how long it would take me, how many muscles I would pull, how many bones I would break. I was getting to the top. And there I was, at the top. A city kid who never walks anywhere just made it up Freaking Dead Woman's Pass. It was a dream realized. A goal achieved. An improbable, damn near impossible goal. And I did it. Nobody could take that away from me. And nobody will.

I was weeping tears of felicidades. Because if I can make it to the top of Dead Woman's Pass, then damn near anything is possible.



Anything.

To see my modest picture collection of Day Two of the Inca Trail, go here.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Four - The Easiest Day

Say hello to my nemesis.

This is the Ridgeline Backpack made by REI. It was recommended to me by my friend Brian. Brian used to be a Boy Scout. I trust Brian.

I hate this backpack.

Scratch that. I hate it when it's full. I hate it when it weighs over 20 lbs. I hate it more when I have to strap the damn thing on my back and hike 27 miles over four days. And that's exactly what I was expected to do.

Why would I even consider putting myself through all this physical activity? Do I like hiking? Put it this way. Here in L.A., my office is located less than a mile from my apartment, and I STILL choose to drive. And I'm supposed to hike 27 miles with the equivalent of a chubby two-year-old on my back over the next four days.

So again, why did I decide to fork over some of my hard earned pay to hike the Inca Trail?

I have absolutely no idea.

Here's how the first day of the hike starts: You wake up around 5 am (which, when you compare your wakeup times for the next three days, is actually kind of late). Then you take a bus through the outskirts of Cusco, down into the Sacred Valley to the town of Ollantaytambo, where you stop for breakfast, after you're bombarded by locals trying to sell you walking sticks (ESSENTIAL for the hike, by the way). After a super-quick meal, you're whisked back into the bus to the start of the trail, and the start of a exhilarating trek through the Andes.

Here's how my first day started:

I damn near lost my passport right before boarding the bus, causing me to have the mother of all panic attacks (I eventually found it). When we picked up our bags to start the hike, my pack was soaked on account of my leaky CamelPack (which I might as well call Public Enemy #2). Not only that, the backpacks that were touching mine were soaked as well. Their owners were not too happy with me. Oh, by the way, the thermal underwear I packed was soaked as well.

And on that note....I began the Inca Trail.



As you can see, I'm undeterred.


*Nothin' stoppin' me now!*

The hike started out fine. And then it got...steep. Very steep. Oh, and the day was quite hot. And I was carrying gear soaked to the core, making the Ridgeline Backpack from REI that much heavier. By lunchtime, I felt nauseous and dehydrated. By the end of the day as I pulled into the sleepy farm town of Wallyabamba, I was drenched in perspiration, totally exhausted, and my thermal underwear is still wet.

And this is the best part: Day One is supposed to be easiest day of the hike.

Was I taking in the wonderful scenery? Not really. Was I bonding with my group and tour guides. Heck no, I was bringing up the rear the whole time. Was I enjoying myself? Absolutely not.

This is how I slept on the first night:



I'm using an unopened roll of toilet paper for a pillow (Which I never used. More on that later). I have a trash bag protecting my feet from my damp sleeping bag. Because I don't have any (dry) thermals, I'm wearing my windbreaker on top of my fleece. My fleece is soaked in sweat, as is the t-shirt I'm wearing underneath. Why not change shirts, you may ask? Soaked. That's right. All my clothes were soaked either from Public Enemy #2 or from good ol' fashioned sweat. Good times!

Before going to "bed", I wrote a little blurb in my journal to describe my experience.

This is what I wrote:

"Day One Sucked."

And the next day, I was supposed to climb around 4000 feet up something called Dead Woman's Pass. All during that first night, as I constantly adjusted my roll of toilet paper for maximum comfort, I thought that they might just have to rename it to Dead Eman's Pass when all was said and done.

Here's my paltry collection from Day One. I do apologize for the lack of scenery pictures. But not really.