Cuzco and The Sacred Valley

The week long wait for my trek disappeared in a flash. My time was mixed between exploring Cuzco, exploring Cuzco's nearby ruins of Saksaywaman and Qenqo, being ill, and a day trip to Moray and some salt mines. But before long, it was Monday.

My trip was excellent, possibly the highlight of my entire journey so far. Not too full of stories unfortunately (for me, at least), but my pictures alone will hopefully highlight how amazing these four days were.

Day One

I didn't mind getting up for a 5am start. I was ready. Before long my group and I were at the start of our trek, but we didn't put one foot in front of the other until our chefs had cooked us up a breakfast, including freshly made pancakes, cooked in the middle of nowhere. It was clear from the start that our chefs and porters, plus our two guides Willian and Junior, were going above and beyond the call of duty for our group of eleven trekkers.


And then the hike began; uphill. It would continue uphill for one and a half days. I was more surprised than anybody though how easy I found it. As people around me began to get breathless, I found the trek a breeze. Over two months of high altitudes and long city walks in South America had paid off.

As the day went on, and we ascended higher and higher, the scenery got increasingly beautiful. By the time we got to our camp in the evening most of us had been walking in darkness for a while. Again, in the middle of nowhere, our crew managed to erect a little neighbourhood of tents for us, and a quality of food far superior to some of the restaurants I′ve eaten in in Peru.

The night was cold however, and along with the problems of high altitude, everyone in our group slept very poorly. All except one person; me. I slept like a baby. Memories of my three day tour through Salar De Uyuni two months earlier came back to me. How I had suffered. How I had struggled to get through the night. How the tables had now turned.


Day Two

After a great breakfast, the trek restarted. It was now tougher than before; at least a couple of hours of tough uphill. Even before the struggle began we were looking down at the clouds. Our group proceeded slowly as we gradually made our way towards the 4780 metre peak. A couple of us needed to be carried by up our emergency donkey for part of the way. Meanwhile, I continued to be surprised by my energy. I found myself going back down at some sections, just to photograph views I had missed.

Once we reached the summit, the hard part was over. The trek was downhill from now on. The views continued to excel though; the scenery was spectacular around every turn. After another great lunch, we ventured down a steep hill and eventually into a village. Part of our group were eager to conquer the trek as soon as possible and steamed ahead. Meanwhile, I preferred to hang around the back with the slower walkers and saviour the views. I was in no rush.

The village at the base of the valley, however, was bizarre. Around every turn was a local person, seemingly frozen to the spot and staring into space. It was like something from a horror film. At one point I reached a tiny little bridge. Standing motionless like a statue was a little girl by the side of the bridge. I joked that maybe she was the bridge keeper. I wondered if I had to pay her a toll to cross the bridge, and so I put it to the test. I cheekily began to stroll over. The little girl silently followed me over the bridge directly behind me. Upon reaching the other side there was nothing to do but turn around and go back, and so the little girl traced my steps behind my back once more. And that was that. But she never charged a penny. I left the girl to guard her bridge forever more.

Before the day′s walk had begun, our group had decided to incorporate the short walk from day three into day two. Obviously this prolonged our day, and I believe some of the trekkers who I was joining near the back were beginning to regret this decision. They were finding it tough. It was already dark when we began to tread the paved road to our next campsite. I was walking with Robin and Pamyna when we suddenly got overtaken by the emergency donkey and his owner. Another member of our group was being carried to the campsite. However, this was the assurance we needed that we were going the right way. I speeded up to keep the donkey in sight, periodically flashing my flashlight backwards to reassure the others of the way.

Suddenly a car approached from behind me and stopped by my side. Robin and Pamyna had managed to hitch a lift! I reluctantly got in. I didn't want to cheat on the trek, but it was now dark, and those in the group who had gone full steam must have arrived an hour ago at least!

My ride only lasted seconds though. When we caught up with the donkey I jumped out. I was determined to finish on foot. The remainder of my journey was spent speaking broken Spanish to a donkey owner, a donkey, a dog, and one exhausted trekker. I was sure I would be arriving at the campsite as one of the very last, but I had had a great journey.

Upon arrival at the campsite though, I was confused. Robin and Pamyna were the only ones there! It wasn't until an hour later that the leading pack of trekkers stumbled in, exhausted! They had managed to get lost and had spent much of their time wading through the woods! But that night, everyone slept much easier.


Day Three

Since we had incorporated day three's walking into day two, we had a free morning. I decided to backtrack a little along the route which the lost people had taken. I had been absent for the big group story of the journey, but I was willing to at least see where the action had taken place. My lone journey involved cowering under a thinly branched tree in a hailstorm, discovering a football pitch at the edge of a small village, and peering to my right to the sight of three angry dogs hurtling towards me; but I survived my lone morning adventure unscathed.

The group had a final lunch before a farewell ceremony for most of our crew. The chefs and porters had worked incredibly hard, and their part in the journey was greatly appreciated by all. The rest of the day was spent in our van steering around high mountain roads, and in the tourist train to Aguas Calientes. There we spent a very comfortable night in a hotel. Day Four promised to be big.


Day Four

It was a very early start, but it was necessary to beat the crowds. Before long I had endured a short sleepy bus journey and a long queue. We had a walk after this which I expected to be long. I was shocked after just five or ten minutes when it was over. Down below the walkway, from the exact viewpoint of every single picture you have ever seen, was Machu Picchu. It was suddenly there.

Machu Picchu is a complete Inca city which had lay buried and unfound in the jungle for centuries. It wasn't discovered again until 1911. Much of the staircases, terraces and temples from the site are still largely intact, all set in fantastic Andes scenery. The quantity to see is nearly as plentiful as the tourists, but not quite.

Our guide, Willian, proved to be a fantastic Machu Picchu guide too. His knowledge was excellent. He guided us around half the site, and left us to explore the second half by ourselves. Machu Picchu is one of the second wonders of the world, but more significantly, it was the grand finale of a fantastic trek.

From Copacabana to Cuzco

I remember being sat at home last February. A Facebook status flashed on-screen; Denny Brink, the American I travelled with for many weeks in India, was going travelling in South America. Something triggered inside me.

Several months later I found myself in Copacabana, halfway through my journey. Copacabana is a little tourist town on the edge of Lake Titicaca. It's rather uninspiring other than a pleasant viewpoint from a nearby hill, but the following day I took an early boat to Isla del Sol on the lake. Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world at 3812 metres, and Isla del Sol is a beautiful and relaxed island on the Bolivian side. I spent the day enjoying the extremely pleasant stroll from north to south, finished off by some trout and chips.

I returned to Copacabana that night and booked a bus across the border. The Bolivian section of my journey was now over. Bolivia had treated me well; from the excitement of Death Road and the Potosi mines, down to the little things like the old style English bowler hats which the women wear, and the people dressed up as zebras in major cities helping children and adults cross the street. But it was now time for a new country.

It didn't take long the following morning to find myself with a new stamp in my tired passport. Just a couple of hours later, I checked into a hostel in Puno on the Peruvian side of Titicaca. I instantly set out to find some food, and the steak I ordered at La Estancia restaurant was infinitely better than anything I had tasted in Bolivia; a good sign for things to come I hope. In a mirror to Copacabana, there isn't anything special to do in Puno other than a trip to the lake, so I took a stroll.

After a small walk around Puno's minor sights, I sat down in front of a statue in a plaza. There was a protest nearby; men with flags on sticks chanting in Spanish, but this was nothing new in South America; I had seen many vocal protests marching through the streets in Bolivia. As I sat down, a smartly dressed local man began talking to some tourists directly to my right. "They are campaigning for the university dean they wish to elect" he said. "Be careful, it could get dangerous". For that split-moment I didn't believe him; I had never seen an issue at a South American protest; But right on queue, at that exact moment, noise flooded the air. To the sound of roars and clacks I looked to my left to see flag poles swinging at bodies. From around the corner the opposing campaign had approached, and a clash of wood ensued. It lasted for maybe thirty seconds before fizzling out.

With time on my hands, the other tourists and I stayed rooted to the statue steps. The only following attacks were vocal chants. Eventually shielded police arrived to form a wall between the sides, but no violence erupted for a second time. Locals casually drifted past the clans and the police wall to continue their day, totally unfazed by the chants, speeches and flagpoles. It felt completely safe again, though how the supposedly most educated section of Peru's youth could act like animals on the basis of an election, I do not know.

The following day I awoke early yet again to begin my two day trip to the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. Along with Jonathan from my hostel, I was taken on a boat with a large group of tourists to The Uros; a large group of man-made floating islands. Both the tourists from the plaza the previous day and my guide book had warned me about how the islands had been tainted by tourism, but it wasn't until I got there that I realised the extent of this. On the surface The Uros are fascinating; tiny floating islands made of reeds on the lake, but the islands are dominated by tourist restaurants and stalls, thus scouring the face of what would be an otherwise intriguing and original cultural habitat. This in itself is an interesting topic, one which me and Jonathan discussed at length, but I agree with my guidebook when it says "This form of tourism on the Uros islands is now well established, and whether it has done irreplaceable harm or will ultimately prove beneficial, it takes place in superb surroundings."

Eventually we moved on and were boated to Amantani island. There, me and Jonathan would stay the night with a local family. Our family were really nice; Lucresia, Richard and young Isabella. Other family members, such as the grandfather, occasionally popped over and said hi. As Quechan speakers, they spoke no English and very little Spanish, and combined with the little Spanish me and Jonathan spoke, communication wasn't always easy. However, they were incredibly friendly, and Lucresia made us some great food. I also enjoyed sharing musical skills with Isabella on her tiny loosely strung children's guitar.

In the afternoon, the entire group from our boat went on a short trek to the top of a nearby hill to see the island from on high. Afterwards, we returned to our homestays for some more homecooked food, before moving to the local school for some traditional dance. The music was provided by a small band, including our host Richard on a guitar-like instrument. Dancing was never going to be my cup of tea, but after a couple of indoor sessions of Amantani ring-a-ring-a-roses, plus one more outdoor jig around a fire, I was happy it didn't go on longer than it needed to.

The following morning me and Jonathan ate our final Amantani meal (well, in truth, I think pancakes is more a tourist meal than a local meal), we paid our hosts their money (plus a bag of pasta), said our thanks and goodbyes, and returned to the boat. All in all, it had been a very pleasant experience, and much more authentic than the previous day's floating islands visit. The boat then took us to visit and walk around Taquile island, and finally, we returned to Puno.

My following day was a much called for lazy day, and following that, a seven hour bus journey to Cuzco. After checking into my hostel I hastily walked over to a coffee shop in the main square for an important meeting. Five years after my incredible journey to India, I re-met Denny. Denny was travelling southwards through South America, and I was heading north. There was always going to be a meeting point. We spent that evening and the following day walking around Cuzco, eating food, playing our old card games, watching a free dance show (including a bit of Peruvian ring-a-ring-a-roses), and largely reminiscing about all the fun times we had had in India. For us both, it is still the pinnacle of independent travel.

If South America is to topple India's crown, it's chance may be coming. On Monday I embark on a four day trek, topped off with a day at one of The New Seven Wonders Of The World; Machu Picchu. I've decided to do my trek with Llama Path, the most popular company on Trip Advisor. To squeeze on to this tour I now have a one week wait until my trek begins, and so in Cuzco I will explore, wait, and take a break from my travels. Time to slow down ...