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.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Three - Over The Valley

I have a few minutes before jumping off the cliff.

In the beginning it was decided amongst the four of us that I was to go first. I didn't want to. Nobody wanted to. However, Richard, the man who we have reluctantly handed our lives over to, mandated that the lightest person has to go first.

I get to go last.

So with a few minutes to go, I sit on a grassy field littered with deer pellets, trying to calm myself down. I'd already seen my friends Amy and Christine take to the skies, and Brian was touching down somewhere, so what was the big deal? It's safe, right?

Oddly enough, I'm not scared at all. The Sacred Valley has a way of calming you down.

To get to this vista is no quick and easy task. You take a taxi or bus (God help you if you drive ANYWHERE in Peru on your own) away from Cusco, through the sleepy towns of Poroy and Chinchero, and instead of taking the road further down into the valley, you pull off...in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, to this day I have no idea where we were the day we all paraglided. But that's not important.

What is important is the sight you see when you come across the Sacred Valley for the first time.



It takes your breath away.

And so for two hours or so, I sit on the grass/deer poop, waiting for the others to complete their flights. I brought a book and an iPod, but I end up sitting and being completely still. It's wonderful. Except for the few distractions. Such as:



- The horde of wild (baby) pigs that descended upon us, looking for God knows what. Look, they may seem harmless here, but let me tell you, there was a MASSIVE staredown between me and the pigs. The pigs won. I screamed, gathered all my things and ran for the bushes. Fortunately the pigs went away, never to return. Guess I showed them.


- The group of tourists that descended upon us, out of curiosity as to what we were doing, and to see the Sacred Valley themselves. They arrived just as Christine was about to take off. This is them nearly trampling me to death as they return to their tour bus.

- The truly horrendous baying of random farm animals, probably burros. Either they were in pain or in heat. Whatever the case, it was awful.

- The frequent circling of falcons over our heads. That's never a good sign. Although, when do I ever get to see falcons?!

And despite all these distractions, I maintained a sense of tranquilidad. The Sacred Valley demands it.

More time passes, and Richard pops up. Richard, a fellow Bruin, has been paragliding for 8 years. And when he's not paragliding, he's river rafting in Brazil. The guy just oozes cool.

Richard's assistants attach him to my back (it's not as weird as it sounds), and we wait. We wait for the wind to be just right. "Ready...GO!", Richard shouts. I run as fast as I can toward the edge of the cliff. Except I only take two steps. I'm nowhere near the edge. Doesn't matter. I'm up and away.

And just like that I'm flying.

The first five minutes are spent in absolute terror. Not because I'm so high up, but because I can't get my damn camera out of the pocket of my windbreaker. Eventually, I got it out and snapped away. I even shot a video. I'd post it, but it's probably the most boring video you'll ever see. So pictures will have to suffice.


*The view from above*

I can't begin to describe the feeling of flying high over the Sacred Valley. In fact, I won't even try. You'll just have to take my word for it. It was spectacular. A rush of adrenaline.

As we begin the slow, slow, slow descent back to earth, I get a little queasy. Actually, I get very queasy. Richard informs me, "Let me know if you're gonna hurl. There's a special position you have to be in, and it's not easy to get to." This does nothing to make me feel better.

We touch down with ease. I can't get my helmet off fast enough. I give Richard a high-five, mumble something along the lines of, "I gotta be by myself...", walk to a lonely space, and proceed to NOT vomit. Richard advised us not to eat anything before paragliding, and I'm seeing the value of that advise. Three dry heaves later, I head back. Richard exclaims, "Are you GOOD TO GO?!" Something tells me he's no stranger to his clients yakking over Peruvian farmland. I yell back, "I AM GOOD TO GO!!"

We drive back toward the launch point, where my three friends are having a picnic, and the next group of paragliders, a trio of British ladies, await. They ask how I liked it. Without missing a beat, I reply, "It was AWESOME!" Well, it was. If you take away the nausea.


*Amy, Me (post-dry heaves), Richard, Christine, Brian*

Taking the taxi back to Cusco, the four of us are exhausted and baked from the Andean sun. But we're content, knowing we got a view of the Sacred Valley that few get to see.

But all our thoughts were on the next day. When the fun begins...

Catch all the paragliding madness, as well as farm animals in combat, on my flickr site.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part Two - Take A Deep Breath

We landed in Cusco at approximately 7 AM. I started feeling light-headed at 7:02.

Cusco is over 11,000 feet above sea level. That's pretty damn high. At this altitude, the air is quite thin. It's so thin, that altitude sickness is common for Gringos on their first day in the Incan capitol. I was alarmed.

Peru Treks requires us to spend at least two days in Cusco to prepare ourselves for the Inca Trail. Our first day was all about exploring. And Cusco is a wonderful place to explore. The streets are narrow and windy. When you think no vehicle could possible fit, along zips a taxi. Quite a feat.



Most roads in Cusco lead to the Plaza de Armas, the main square. You can tell you're in the Plaza by the gigantic Cathedral and neighboring Iglesia de la Compania de Jesus. Numerous markets and restaurants surround the plaza and neighboring streets, complete with locals trying to push their wares on you This was very intimidating for me, as I usually like to be left alone. I had to say "Gracias, no" many times. I had to, lest I run out of soles on the first day.

What I was looking for the whole day to purchase was a chullo.

Chullos are those super cool Peruvian knitted hats, made from alpaca. In my hastiness, I had forgotten to pack a knit hat for the hike, and I heard it can get around 30 degrees at night. I needed a chullo, and I needed one badly.

Strolling from market to market, I laid my eyes on this pink, poofy looking chullo that was so outrageous I knew I had to have it. But the lady selling it wanted 30 soles (10 dollars). It occurred to me that I'd be stuck with a pink knitted hat...forever.

So I chose this one instead:



The pink one would probably have been more stylish. Some say it would suit me better. But this one was 15 soles. And it has blue. I think I got the better hat, gracias.

With chullo in tow, I felt pretty good about myself. We walked down street after street, taking in the Andean sunshine, fending off persistent street vendors, inhaling that oh-so-thin Cusco air...

And then it hit.

Altitude sickness strikes within a few hours of arrival in Cusco. I had a dull headache for the whole day, but paid no attention to it. By 4 pm, my stomach had refused to cooperate. It's a weird feeling when you want to vomit but you can't. It sucks.

For two hours I lay in my hotel room, doing nothing but breathing. Deep breathing. Not the most exciting thing to do on your first day in Cusco, but for me it was necessary.

And it was a blessing. The typical first day in a new city is the time to pack everything in; To do so much in so little time. You can't do that in Cusco. Unless everyone decides to pack it all in and move 11,000 feet down to the sea, you have to take a deep breath, then another one, and then one more. Or else you'll flame out with a queasy stomach and throbbing headache. And that's no way to start a vacation.

I went to bed pretty early. But I was OK with that. I had a packed day tomorrow that included flying over the Sacred Valley.

To see more pics on our first day in Cusco, go to my flickr page here.

The Road To Machu Picchu: Part One - Looking For Signs

As we pull out of Lima International Airport, Victor, the shuttle driver taking us to our hotel in the heart of the city, turns to me and asks, "Habla Espanol?"

I answer the way I always do when asked this question: "Un poquito." Very little. I'm being humble here, in hopes that Victor would talk to me at the very least in broken English. No luck. All Spanish, and all very very fast. It's been like that all day, from the ticket counter in LAX to the flight attendants on the plane, to Victor the shuttle driver. And finally I get to use my five years of learning Spanish to good use.

I'm able to maintain a sensible conversation with Victor. I tell him my friends and I are on way to Cusco the next day. He tells me he's been to Cusco, but not to Machu Picchu. I ask small questions here and there about this and that. He gives me recommendations for restaurants to try in Miraflores, a fancy-schmancy part of the city located by the sea. All the while, my friends and I are mesmerized by the huge billboards, run-down buildings and speedy taxis and trucks creeping insanely close by our shuttle. Shocking, to say the least.

Victor drops us off at the Sheraton in Central Lima. I say, "Gracias", he says "De nada" and just like that, I make a new friend in Lima, Peru.


*The view from my hotel room*

The first day of a big vacation is all about looking for signs. Embracing the good, and scooting the heck away from the bad. Getting all your luggage from baggage claim? Good sign. Having a reliable shuttle driver who offers suggestions on where to eat on your first night? Good sign.



Checking in your hotel, flipping on the TV, and having "La Oficina" be the first thing you see? GREAT SIGN.

But I couldn't stay too attached to Lima. I'd be back here in a week's time anyway. But I was about to get on another plane the next morning to Cusco, the capital of the Incas, where more than a few adventures were awaiting me.

I had a good feeling about this trip.

For more pics of central Lima, LarcoMar Shopping Center in Miraflores, and more, go to my flickr page here.

Back From Peru

And now comes the fun part of organizing photos, and telling the stories.

But first, I need to sleep.

The Road To Machu Picchu - Prologue: What Am I Doing?

My bags are packed. I have everything I need. And I've just spent the past two hours trying to figure out how to adjust my backpack. Earlier this afternoon at a parking structure near 3rd St. in Santa Monica, I decided to forgo the elevator ride to my car and took the four flights of stairs. I was winded.

And now I'm terrified.

I was not made out for adventure travel. And I can say that because I've never done it. Until now. In a few hours I'm boarding a plane to Peru. My first time in South America, and hopefully not the last. And while Europe Trip was all about culture and city life, this is straight up Indiana Jones. You'd think I'd be excited. But truthfully, I'm freaked out.

It's mostly fear of the unknown. I confess, I'm an ignorant American. I keep thinking we're going to see the Mayan ruins. I couldn't tell you the population of Lima. I couldn't tell you any other cities in Peru other than Lima and Cusco. Shoot, I didn't even know what alpacas were until a few months ago. But I have my trusty Lonely Planet guidebook. It's a tad thick. I'm also traveling with incredibly knowledgeable friends. All I know is that we're hiking the Inca Trail, I'm going paragliding in the Sacred Valley, and I'll be on a quest for cuy. In case you've forgotten, that be the guinea pig.

But it's good to the get the traveling jitters one more time. There's nothing like the final few hours before getting on a plane to who knows where. I'm going into unknown territory, full of potential dangers. But isn't that the fun of it? Yeah, I could hurt myself, or get bitten by a guinea pig, but think of the experiences...



...and when this is awaiting you, how can you NOT get excited?

Who knows, maybe this is the start of a whole chain of adventure travels. The Himalayas aren't so bad, are they?

OK, enough with the thoughts.

Let's do this.

Don't Let Them Hurt Me

My friend Ames emailed me this piece of advice for our stay in Lima:

"kidnapping is a common thing so if you are taken, just give them your money and bag. they probably won't do anything else to you."

Wha??

OK, now I'm a bit scared. If you're reading this and you don't hear from me for a few weeks, now you know where I am. And if my captors try to call you, do whatever they ask of you. Don't let them hurt me, please.

Thanks.