The Old Peak and the Lost City

4 days. 3 nights. 12 gringos (3 Canadians, 4 Americans, 4 British, 1 Aussie). 1 guide named Jefeth who pointed to every plant and claimed that the Incas used it for medicinal purposes. A ton of grazing llamas, sheep, and alpaca. 5 glaciers or so. 41 km walked. 4,500 meters (around 12,000 feet) above sea level. 1 Pre-Incan burial site with exposed bones and skull. A handful of uncomfortable moments of cultural exploitation. Hot springs. 2 trains rides. 2 bus trips. About 300 photos. One night of partying (only 5 drinks?!) and the worst hangover of my life. And one hell of a lost city.

I'm in Cusco once again, writing from a crumby computer of a internet place, having survived Machu Picchu and the ensuing day after. I'm not quite sure how best to sum up my trek, other than to say that it was incredible and I probably won't do it justice given that I only have 40 minutes or so left on this computer.

I was in a guided trek that went along something called the Lares Trail. It's an alternate route for all the people who are too late to book a spot on the sacred Inca Trail. So instead of walking along the steep and narrow stone steps of the ancient Incas, we traveled by way of dirt roads and mountain passes used by generations of Andean shepards. Though it might not have been the classic route to Machu Picchu, it was pretty spectacular. The Andes are undoubtedly some of the best, most formidable mountains I have ever seen. Covered in high altitude yellow grass and llamas eating that grass, with the occasional massive glacier topping their steep peaks. We walked through rural villages populated by Qechua (traditional Andean language) speaking people, living in more or less the same way that they have been living for centuries; dressed in bright textiles, raising llamas and sheep for meat and wool, dwelling in small stone houses built by hand, and selling handicrafts to tourists en route to Machu Picchu.... Well, that part is a little different from tradition, but more on that later.

My worst fear was not embodied, in that my group consisted of more than middle aged out of shape Americans. (Although there was one: Bob, a Jew from Oregon, with a pension for chain smoking, disgusting legions on his feet, and a loud mouth, also my tent mate). Most of the group consisted of fairly athletic people in their twenties. I think the Canadians were my favorite. Chris, a mechanical engineer from Montreal, laughed at my jokes and was generally in a good mood. Also, I thoroughly enjoyed this girl named Binkie (her real name), an architecture student from Belfast. She was a bit kooky.


The first three days took us through several small villages nestled in the Andes and to remote stretches of barren mountain landscape (we were above tree line most of the time). The first day it rained all afternoon and into the night, as we came into our campsite after dark. It was freezing and miserable... I blaim this bad luck on the fact that in the morning we saw a bunch of pre-Incan tombs with exposed bones, and a skull sitting out on a ledge. Instead of showing reverence we whipped out the cameras... But when the sun rose and we stepped out of our frozen tents, we discovered we were in a valley of pristine snow capped peaks. The second day took us to our highest elevation. After a steep climb out of the valley, we crossed Ipsaychocha pass at 12, 000 feet above sea level. Gave an offering to the Inca Gods (Coca leaves blowing in the wind) and descended again, walked past Ipsaychocha lake and then to our second campsite. Third day spent hiking to the town of Ollantaytambo, where we took the train to Aguas Calientes, took a dip in the hotsprings, and went to bed thinking of the next day at Machu Picchu...

To be continued.