shanmonster | Pilgrimage to Machu Picchu: Part Eight - Highlands, Jungles, and Terraces

We were woken by porters placing bowls of steaming water and mugs of hot coca tea outside our tent. "Gracias," I said, then peeked outside. Heavy cloud nestled not too far overhead. We'd be heading into that cloud soon enough.

I set off for the bathrooms. It was chillier this morning than it had been yesterday. The air had bite to it, so I wore my scarf. I'm glad that I did. As I approached the bathrooms, I saw Lovely running out, retching and dry-heaving.

"Are you ok?" I asked, worried. She didn't look ok.

"The bathroom," she choked out between retches. "It's bad. Really bad."

Indeed it was. The smell roiling out of the building was a heavy, brown fug. I pulled my scarf up to cover my face. It acted as a decent filter and made my bathroom excursion as good as I could hope for, given the circumstances.

I washed up with frigid tapwater and went to the dining tent. This morning, we were having crepes with caramel syrup. It tasted good, but I was a bit worried that it would be insufficient fuel for today's hike. Yesterday, we'd hiked what seems like the world's longest 10 km. Today, we'd be doing 14 km. Although Kyle and I knew the hardest part of the hike was behind us, we couldn't help but be worried about how we'd fare for a longer hike. Considering how sore my knee had been after the descent from Dead Woman's Pass, I was afraid I might do myself some damage on the steps today.

Amazingly enough, aside from having sore calf muscles, I felt fine today. Kyle was feeling sore, but his exhaustion was gone. Today would be better. We took a look at the trail heading up the mountain and away from our "haunted" camp:

Aside from the ever-present glorious views, our first site of interest today would be the ruins at Runkuracay, overlooking the Pacamayo Valley. Although the path there was just as steep as any of yesterday's challenging climb, the altitude wasn't as extreme.

This ruin was the site of a murder a few decades ago, and David said it was haunted, too. A man and his newlywed wife went to the ruin to honeymoon. She was a rich heiress, and he had married her for her wealth. He killed her and then tried to make it look like they'd been attacked by someone else. The poor woman's corpse was found, though, and forensic investigation revealed that he'd had a part in her killing. So he didn't get to collect that juicy inheritance, after all.

Before the Inca Trail caught the world's eye as a tourist destination, it was apparently a great place to murder someone and then hide the body. With all the regular foot traffic, the crime rate plummeted.

I guess the moral of this story is that if you hike the Inca Trail, you're saving lives and fighting crime.

Perversely, despite having already gone to the bathroom when we left our camp, I desperately had to go again before we'd even reached Runkuracay. Coca tea is a diuretic. Unfortunately, for me, the area was quite sparse. There weren't many accessible trees or bushes where I could pop a squat.

The view, as ever, was sublime.

The ruins are Runkuracay are minimal in comparison to all the others we saw. It is a simple, circular building high on the mountain. It is surmised that this was a messenger post, but no one knows for sure.

I felt a twinge of guilt as I circled around behind the ruins to go pee. I felt like I was desecrating a holy site. And then that guilt was replaced by disgust. Other people had done as I was now doing, but they had left wads of toilet paper everywhere, marring the view.

Right about then, a thick, silver cloud descended upon us.

We continued hiking upward, eventually topping out in the highlands above the clouds. We passed by a pair of silvery deer grazing by a pond, and all around us, we could hear birdsong and the peeping of a myriad frogs.

Our next destination was a mountain pass very important to David. I don't think many of the groups stop at this particular pass, but David always does. He is a devout believer in the traditional Andean religion which is now inextricably mixed with Catholicism. He has led many expeditions through the Andes, and even though some of the people he led were in poor health (one was an octogenarian with cancer who wanted to do this one last thing), not once had he ever had to turn back. Not once had someone injured themselves such that they could not finish the pilgrimage. Considering the perilous nature of the mountains and trail, this is honestly surprising. Most other tour guides have had to deal with broken bones and wrenched joints from time to time. But not David.

He ascribed the success rate of his voyages with offering respect and sacrifice to the mountain. This mountain pass is a traditional sacrificial site for the Quechuan people.

Sacrifice is still common among the natives of the Inca Trail. Sometimes it involves animals. Traditionally, black dogs were seen as an ideal sacrifice. Dogs are protectors, and keep ghosts away. I'm not certain why the black ones are seen as especially propitious, though.

Clumps of fur, still attached to skin, are littered here and there along the paths close to mountain settlements. When I asked what the fur was, I learned that it is Guinea pig fur, offered to the mountain to ensure continued fertility for the Guinea pigs.

The sacrifice we'd be offering to the mountain would be more vegan-friendly, but every bit as meaningful. The coco leaf is sacred, and is offered to many of the Quechuan gods in propitiation.

We were each given three coca leaves. The number three is important because of the three snow-capped mountains of Machu Picchu area (the Trinity was never brought up, but I can't help but note the parallel). The leaves were to be placed with their tips radiating toward the rising sun. We were all to silently offer our sincere gratitude to the mountains for allowing our safe passage, and to also make a sincere wish.

Sincerity was the key word, here. If we treated this as some sort of joke, the mountain may be angered.

(Spoiler alert: Everyone must have done a good job sacrificing, because everyone finished the pilgrimage intact.)

Offerings made, we crossed over the pass and headed along the highlands toward the Sayacmarca (Dominant Town) ruins. The sun was up, now, and hummingbirds the size of robins flitted through the trees and sipped nectar. The vegetation was beginning to change from grass and field flowers to ferns and trees. We were entering jungle again.

The best part about day three of the Inca Trail is the variety in scenery. Although the hike is longer on this day than the other three, there are so many things to see, and the terrain is so varied, and I felt more exhilarated than exhausted throughout the day.

I saw an incredible diversity of flora, and will give my botanical photography its own entry, as I did with the Mannequins of Cusco. Upon noticing my fascination with the plants, Jesus spent much of the day pointing out different orchids, and explaining the uses and characteristics of a wide variety of herbs, ferns, and trees.

Sayacmarca, if I remember correctly, was once a home for nobility. Shattered aqueducts extend from the mountaintops down into the ruins. The aqueducts were destroyed by the Incas during the Spanish invasion. From the courtyard, I could see mossy steps ascending another mountain. These are part of the Inca Trail, too. The Inca Trail is actually a vast network of trails used by the Incas. The trail we were hiking is the part that is maintained. I can't help but wonder what is along those disused trails.

Maybe that's where all the displaced murderers went.

The stairway leading to Sayacmarca was also mossy. And narrow. At points, I think it may have been about 3' wide, which isn't much when there are people going up at the same time as other people coming back down--especially when there are sheer drop-offs and no railings. Of all the places on the classic 4-day Inca Trail hike, this is the part most likely to give acrophobics the heebie-jeebies.

From Sayacmarca, we could see the valley far below with even more ruins and dense jungle. We were heading into that jungle, next.

I was beginning to think the trail never ended, and today, I was ok with that.

My pace was slow on this day, but not because I was tired. It was because there were so many amazing things to look at. The enormous mountains are like the setting of an epic fantasy novel; the orchids are a botanist's wet dream; the lush green jungles look like something about to get blown up in a Rambo movie.

Mercifully, the trail was no longer all stairway. It changed from rough rocks to sandy trails to irregular steps to wooden bridges. Not all the hills were steep. Today felt like a huge rest compared to yesterday.

Our packs didn't even seem as heavy, even though they were.

In some parts of the trail, we walked through dangling vines and loose rocks.

[These vines are too small to swing from]

In some parts, we went through tunnels. I can't imagine how hard it must have been to make the trail go through those. As I said before, those Incas were hard workers.

I picked my way through the tunnels with extra caution, because they were pretty much pitch black inside. All my geeky roleplaying paid off. In checking for traps, I discovered a stupidly high step. Even with my careful attention, it still hurt my knee. Ouchies!

We had lunch on some mountaintop terraces. I was amazed to see some of the porters kicking a soccer ball around. I don't know where they get all the energy. They must chew a lot of coca! A few of the other porters, perhaps only demigods, napped on terraces further down the slope.

Throughout our journey, whenever porters approached, hikers shouted "Porter!" (a cry which cascades its way to the front of the line) and stepped aside to let them pass. The porters jogged past, their enormous packs dwarfing them.

David told us that porters occasionally race (while not carrying packs) the 4-day route on the Inca Trail. The current record is three hours and twenty-six minutes. I don't know how that is possible. I tell you, they are gods.

We also found out that the body being carried out on our first day wasn't of a dead person. A very elderly man had fallen sick, and was being carried out to hospital. There was a ripple of guilty relief amongst the hikers. While we were glad someone hadn't taken a nosedive off the mountain, we were saddened at the thought of this old man at death's door.

When we finished eating a huge lunch, it was time to head toward our final campsite. Along the way, Jesus explained the significance of the chakana, or Inca cross.

We headed down the mountain to our last archaeological site of the day: Wiñay Wayna. This was another agricultural site, with vast terraces, grazing llamas, and a terrific view of the valley and the Urubamba River.

Our hiking was almost over for the day, and we were finally starting to get tired. My photography had slowed down because I wanted to be sure I had enough battery power left to take shots at Machu Picchu. I thought I had enough, but it would be a close call.

I took one more shot of the verdure of Wiñay Wayna's terraces, and then I put my phone away.

Tonight was our last time seeing our porters and chefs. Though we didn't speak the same language, I would miss them. With our fellow pilgrims, we gathered together a good sum of money and presented it to the hard-working crew in gratitude. They had more than earned it.

Tonight was our last night camping in the mountains. This made me sad. In these few days, I'd come to love this incredible wilderness very much. I didn't want to leave.

And I didn't want to get up at 3:30 the next morning, either.

(To be continued....)