On the Trail of the Inca / Part One

(27 July)

Cuzco - Inca Trail, Peru

Traveling in the Andes, there are two things you can be assured of, both of which I experienced in their fullness on the Inca Trail: 1.) Witnessing landscapes, colors, skies, mountains, people like no other, and 2.) Having your stomach invaded by parasites.

4:45am Friday morning. My alarm clock goes off in my hotel room in Cuzco. The trek company is to pick me up at 5:20 to set out for the 4-day trek on the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. I´ve had a fever, chills, aches, sweating, dizziness, headaches all night. What am I going to do? I´m really sick! It may be altitude sickness, I think, but I´ve been fine two days in Cuzco - why would it be affecting me now? I drop my bags at the door, and tell the guide I´ve been sick all night. He says he thinks it may be the altitude. "Let´s see how you do the first couple of hours, if need be, there will be the opportunity to turn back, and you could join us at Machu Picchu by train on Monday."

We board a bus and pick up the other members of our trek group - fifteen in total, and head to Ollantaytambo - the last town before the starting point of the Inca Trail - where we will get breakfast and pick up any last minute necessities for the trail. The bus rumbles and bumps constantly up and down. The window won´t close, and the air outside is cold. My stomach is starting to turn on me. I´ve been planning this part of the trip since last December. The tour comapnay´s website brags that no one has ever had to turn back on the trail. I try to get used to the idea that I will be the first; that, after giving it the obligatory shot, I will turn back on the trail and return to Cuzco to overcome whatever is ailing me.

The bus drops us at the head of the trail. There are dirty shacks, animals, mountain women carrying baskets full of drinks and snacks to sell, as trekkers prepare their things to set off on the trail. Soon, we are off - after showing our passports and permits at the control office, we cross a small suspension bridge over the Urubamba River, and set off on the trail. My head is still spinning, as is my stomach as I put one foot in front of the other, the morning sun now shining down upon us.

The first day´s hike is not terribly long or difficult - about six hours, mostly even ground, with a few ups and downs, but my head is throbbing, my stomach, churning, and I have little energy. I don´t even take my camera out all day - which is a sure sign that I´m not well! When we get to camp, the tents have already been set up by our porters, or chaskes, as they are called in Quechua. It´s a term that means "swift-footed ones." The chaske tradition goes back to Inca times. It is a proud and revered profession - something akin to the athlete in Ancient Greece. I´m told the Incas would actually hold games wherein chaskes would compete to carry heavy loads over steep mountain passes. It´s also one of the most sought after positions in Peru to be a chaske on the Inca Trail, as these men are part of a long tradition, and make a decent living by Peruvian standards. There are regulations now about how much they can be required to carry (20 kilos). As you walk along the trail, you hear, "Chaske!," and you step aside to let him pass, with a mountain of bags and equipment on his back. I see the chaskes go by, and my fixation on my own burden and lack of energy begins to fade.

I get some sleep at camp, and after dinner, our guides, David and Gladys, take me and one other sick trekker to the Medic office down in the small village below our campsite. The village is celebrating its 64th anniversary, so there is the sound of a loud generator outside, and blaring music, as the handful of residents gather in the central courtyard. Inside, the two medics ask us questions about our symptoms in their tiny institutional green office lit by a single candle. The woman fishes in the back for a stash of pills. She examines them under a flashlight. I am to take one of each twice daily for three days.

We return to our tents and settle in for the night, under an ocean of stars. The sound of the generator and the Andean music from the village below, and the occasional explosion of fireworks swirl into a surreal dreamscape.