If you’re like me, when you hear or see the words the Inca Trail, you think about hiking.
Strenuous hiking through the Andes for four days ending gloriously at Machu
Picchu, to be specific. And if you’re a realist, you also probably think about
some revolting toilet situations, potential altitude sickness and inclement
weather, weird food, stinky socks, snoring from nearby tents, and adorable llamas.
And you’d be right about all of those things, mostly. Except for the four days
of hiking.
Let me say this early on: I am not, and would not ever think of, discouraging anyone from doing
the Inca Trail. It’s a unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience and if you
want to do it, more power to you. I just hope you don’t have any joint issues. Now
that that’s cleared up, lemme tell you about my once-in-a-lifetime experience. I don’t think the Inca Trail
wanted me on it, to be honest. Looking back, I see that there were signs from
the get-go.
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| Ninos Hotel |
It was a chilly Wednesday morning at the Ninos Hotel in
Cusco, Peru. Michele and I woke up before sunrise to be ready for our shuttle,
and we were sitting in the cozy courtyard of the hotel with our gear and
excitement outweighing our sleepiness. The stars were shining magnificently
above us. The chairs were comfortable and the café was going to open soon. (We
should have stayed there, where beds and clean toilets and hot showers and good
coffee were plentiful. No, not really ... but maybe.)
There’s a knock on the door and I jump up, so eager and
naïve, to greet two of our porters with a grin. They barely acknowledge me and
my stupid face before they grab our bags and start sprinting up the street
toward our waiting bus. Wait … sprinting? Already? The sun hasn’t even come up,
and we’re not technically hiking yet. Um, okay. Michele and I sort of speed
walk behind them in a pretend attempt to keep up but with no real worry that
they get to the bus waaaay before us. And as soon as I get on the bus and swing
my daypack up to the cargo area, my water bottle comes careening out of the
side pocket and nearly takes out one of our fellow trekkers. Shamefaced, I pick
it up and apologize in Spanish. Everyone is looking at me and I imagine they’ve
already judged me as “that jackass” in the group. It’s cool. I’ll live up to
the title.
We settle into the hour and an half bus ride to
Ollaytaytambo (estimated spelling), where we’ll have breakfast. We get off our
mini bus and pile into the restaurant they have designated for us. Michele and
I get upstairs to the dining room and notice that most people in our group have
spread out, sort of near each other but sort of waiting for people to bridge
the gap, so I just plop myself in between two couples and hope Mish sits across
from me to share in the awkward conversation. It works out, and I’m thrilled to
be facilitating chit-chat among the Aussie couple and the Detroit couple, while
they try to discern if Mish and I are friends or lovers (a continual theme).
Breakfast is good, although it takes the duration of the
meal to get milk for my coffee. Then I try to poop, knowing this is my last
real bathroom for the next four days, but it’s one of those proper toilets
without a lady seat, so I’m hovering, and someone is knocking, and it’s too
much damn pressure. And it’s all so far downhill from here. (I warned you my
shame and pride are gone, so this won’t be the last mention of toilets. You
can’t really do the trail justice without talking about them.)
I leave the bathroom carrying the same amount of colonic
baggage that I entered with, and go downstairs to the convenience store. They
sell baggies of loose coca leaves and packaged coca toffee, so obviously I buy
one of each. When in Peru, right? From there it’s a short bus ride to the
starting point of the Inca Trail, my mythical journey through the Andes. Fourteen
trekkers are scrambling around a parking lot, shoving things into duffle bags
for porters to carry, trying to figure out how walking sticks work, paying one
sol to pee, and taking pictures. It’s a beautiful of mess of adrenaline and
nerves and expectations.
From there, we walk down to a railroad crossing just in time
for a train bound for Machu Picchu to go by (they must time it so the people on
the train see us and feel reassured in their life choices), take some pictures
by the trailhead sign, cross a checkpoint where we get nifty little Inca Trail
stamps in our passports, and then actually hike for about twenty minutes. Woo
hoo! Hiking on the Inca Trail!
(Part 2 coming soon! As soon as I can write it!)
