Oh, blogging, right? Okay, when I left you, my shoe had
disintegrated into worthless bits and pieces and I had four days of hiking in
the Andes ahead of me. But the trek group had stopped at a scenic overlook with
its own little convenience store (a shack selling water and Gatorade), so I
figured I was fine. I’d just buy some duct tape and be on my merry little way.
Nope, no duct tape at the store. And my intrepid guide Raul assured me that
duct tape wouldn’t do the job anyway (holy hell, I know he was right now that
I’ve lived through the absurdity that is Day 3).
So Raul and I stood around the store dumbfounded for a
minute, and then I said, “Well, we’re only 20 minutes in. I have cash. Should I
go back to the village, buy the best ‘hiking boots’ I can find, and catch up
with y’all later?” Raul shook his head and said, “No, you’d never catch up with
us.” He looked back at the little store and went over to the woman behind the
counter without another word. I waddled back to Michele to laugh about how
stupid I was for not making sure my trusty hiking boots were up to the task
before leaving. I planned everything else so carefully! The boots had never
failed me.
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Hiking slippers |
Raul came back carrying small, white, used tennis shoes.
“These are her son’s. [The seven-year-old I saw running around?] Try them on.”
I just laughed and told him I couldn’t take a kid’s shoes. But he stared me
down until I tried them on to prove that, no, I do not share a shoe size with a
little boy, saving me from the argument that I wouldn’t literally take shoes off
a child’s feet to enjoy my vacation. He seemed annoyed, but returned the shoes
to their rightful owner. It was about this time that my savior and fellow
trekker, Peter, came over and offered me his “camp shoes,” comfy, slipper-style
loafers that he had planned on bringing out only after a long day on the trail,
to putter around the campsite in and let his feet relax. And he was kindly offering them to me, to stink up with a day of hiking before he even got to enjoy them (not that my feet stink, of course). They were huge on me,
even after I put on a second pair of thick, wool hiking socks, but I could make
them work. Raul seemed okay with the idea as well, and told me I could hike in
them for Day 1, but I would need to give my shoe size and 100 soles to a porter
so he could run back to the village, buy me boots, and meet us at camp that
night. (The porters are amazing.)
Success! It was probably a 20-minute delay in total, but I
handed over my cash and shoe size to a man I would later tip very well, and
then the trekkers finally gathered in our circle to introduce ourselves. I was
in Peter’s slippers. Everyone laughed politely when I introduced myself as Laura,
the girl whose shoe broke. (Remember when I said I would live up to the title
of “that jackass” in the group?) Raul introduced himself as our trek “dad,” and
our assistant guide, Darwin, said he would be our trek “mom.” And then we
carried on hiking, as you do on the Inca Trail.
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Incan ruins |
Day 1 was a lovely, easy hike. There were a few steep areas
that had us all breathing heavily, but for the most part it was a nice, manageable-in-slippers
hike through relatively lowland terrain. We passed Incan ruins and pre-Incan
ruins; we were passed by horses and burros and real burritos; then we stopped
for lunch near a creek, and wow was it a shock to me. I thought we’d be eating
PB&Js on the grass with our water bottles, but we arrived at our designated
spot to find a tent with a long table inside, covered in tablecloths. The
porters served us a three-course meal that the cook had just prepared, on real
plates with real silverware.
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Everyone was happy that I was taking their picture. |
A note about the food, though. When I booked the Inca Trail,
it gave me the option of specifying that I was a vegetarian (and said it wasn’t
a problem), so I did. And two other people in my group did as well, apparently.
We sat down in the lunch tent and Raul came in to ask if there were any
vegetarians. Justyna, Rob, and I raised our hands. Raul said, “Real vegetarian,
or you can eat fish and chicken? Because it is hard for our cook to make
vegetarian meals.” That worked on Justyna and Rob, and they begrudgingly said
they could eat fish and chicken if they had to, but I refused. Oh, my dear
Raul. We had some good standoffs. He tried staring me down again, but I won
this one and got vegetarian meals through the whole trip (and the food I was
able to eat was almost entirely delicious). I mention it in case another
vegetarian is considering the trip. They say it’s fine when you book, but be
ready to stand firm when the food actually comes out.
After lunch we had some time to kill, and Raul told us there
were western toilets we could use for 1 sole or squat toilets that were free.
Michele was feeling brave and decided to go for the squat toilet. Her reasoning
was, everyone should try a squat toilet once, so why not now? Can’t argue with
that.
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Lunch spot |
When she came back she said it wasn’t too bad. She said
there was toilet paper and it was decently clean. She’s a damn, dirty liar, but
I trusted her and followed her adventurous lead. Off I went, all happy in her
lies of cleanliness and ample toilet paper, only to discover splatter patterns
that belonged in a TV crime show and a distinct lack of anything to wipe with. And
yet now I look back fondly on that as one of the nicer toilets on the trail.
After lunch we hiked for a few more hours, taking breaks
every now and then for photos and breathers. We got to camp around sunset and
our tents were already set up for us, duffel bags laid out on a tarp. The
porters were running around, cooking, setting things up for us, boiling water
for us to wash our hands in big bowls, and laying out tea service. Yep, we had
tea service every night before dinner. And shortly after tea, my boot delivery
arrived.
The whole trek was a bizarre juxtaposition of first-class
service and beautiful scenery mixed with physical discomfort and nauseating
facilities. (I think I became a slightly dehydrated because I was actively
trying to drink as little water as possible to avoid the toilets. Don't do this.) Every
morning Mama Darwin and a porter came to each tent and woke us up with our
choice of coffee, tea, or hot chocolate. We repacked our bags but left
everything else for the porters to break down while we ate breakfast and
listened to the plan for the day from Dad Raul. Then we would take off, leaving
a massive campsite for the porters to deal with; about an hour later those same
porters would zip past us with giant packs weighing them down. They had to get
to the lunch site in time to set everything up and start cooking before we
arrived.
I definitely experienced first-world guilt from the
situation. Michele and I made sure to book with a company that treats its
porters well, but we saw guys in other groups go by wearing threadbare sandals
and old, wool, suit pants. Even with our respectable company, the porters were
working so hard, carrying so much weight, cooking and cleaning for us, waiting
to eat until we had all finished, and I never saw them set up tents for
themselves. I don’t know where they slept. And they were so kind and funny and
helpful the whole time.
I knew to expect it going into the trip, but it was still
pretty shocking. I reminded myself that porter jobs are sought after in the
area, and that our group was being paid a living wage and not forced to
carry over the legal weight limit, but it was still difficult to process. If
you’re considering hiking the trail, the best advice I can offer in this regard
is to do your research in advance so you know your porters have the best
possible working conditions, and then bring more tipping cash than your tour
company recommends so you can try to assuage your guilt in true first-world
style (more money).
I still need to tell y’all about getting sick, the misery of
Day 3, and the glory of Machu Picchu, not to mention the Galapagos! So please
stay with me as I slowly get around to writing it up. Thanks for reading!