Machu Picchu Camino Inca Trail Cuzco Peru 1996
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After dinner, my only wish was for a good night's sleep, preferably without the strange dreams I had recently endured following a prescribed dose of Lariam. But a good night's sleep was in itself a dream, because I returned to our two-man tent and discovered that I was to share it with both Tim and José. After brushing my teeth and visiting the baño, I squeezed in through the tent's canvas flaps. Tim, a broad-chested and amiable, young farmer was lying on his side in his sleeping bag. However, when he turned over to make himself comfortable, my face, and more unpleasantly my lips were wedged against a tent strut. It was poor preparation for the morning's key trek up to 4,200 metres, especially as Salous had described tomorrow's efforts as 'make or break'. |
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I woke up early after a restless night of buffeting and rhythmic snoring by Tim and José. My face had been crushed by the metal strut and the small of my back ached from where Tim's knees had pounded it during the night. It was hot and muggy inside the tent and when a revolting smell emanating from within its confines struck me, I did not require a second invitation to get up. Daylight filtered in through the canvas flaps and a swarm of busy insects queued impatiently for the fly sheet to open. Like any good boy scout, I left the flaps dangling in the wind, allowing the tent the airing it deserved. I was surprised that the boys could sleep through it.
At breakfast, Salous advised us that horses were available for hire and a small group chose the equine option. Rosy, Neil, Tim and Tony paid their dollars and selected sturdy mounts. Tony's bay horse had Arabian blood, a strong arched neck and sturdy flanks. White foam glistened from under its well worn leather reins. I had complete respect for Tim and Tony's animals, they would earn their feed before the day's end. As the trekkers pulled out, José asked me to look after his rucksack and camera while he paid another unscheduled visit to the baño. Breakfast had disagreed with the Basque's stomach, but it was not long before we made ground and reunited with the others.
The sun was high and strong and we turned out of the great snarl of eucalyptus onto a ridge where the path fell away sharply. The shade from the eucalyptus no longer protected us, so we cut inside and followed a fast running stream down into a gully. Some way off, we stopped to relax, and sprinkled fresh water over our heads. The clouds were low and thin now, and vanishing into a powder blue sky. José outstretched his arm and invited me to look ahead along the wall of the valley - I had never seen anything so exalted or daunting. The valley wall extended five kilometres and from our lofty promontory, there was nothing but a shadeless, gradual ascent. We saw other groups in the distance making slow time as they battled against the parched heat of the path and the thinning air. There would be no chap-cheeked children selling cold drinks today.
The group left me behind when the string on my boot finally gave way, and for ten minutes I floundered desperately to weave the splitting strands into something useful. With a thin sense of achievement at my cobbler's work, I quickly hoisted myself off the path, but in doing so induced a nose bleed of hideous intensity. I rinsed the remainder of my water around the bottom of the canister and listened closely to the hollow swirls.
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