My South American Sojourn

You know that dream, where you want to run, but as hard as you try your legs just won’t work? That’s exactly how it feels, as I coax myself into climbing the dusty staircase of earth and stone stretching above me. After three hours of climbing at 4200m, I’ve almost conquered ¨Dead Woman’s Pass,” the most challenging part of Peru’s Inca Trail.

¨Porters¨ another trekker calls behind me - a signal to step aside for a troop of approaching Peruvian men. Each bears a load that looks as big as him. One carries a stack of 12 picnic chairs on his tiny frame. Another is weighed down by a bulging pack and carries a small stereo. Wearing velcro sandals they bounce past in unison to the crackling music. Their brows are covered in sweat and their tanned calves are thick from the many times they’ve done this before. I struggle on behind them, wearing a small pack and day-old hiking boots.

High fives and trail mix are a welcome greeting at the top as fatigue finally starts loosening its grip. Brian, our guide, is last to the top. Playing the part of a mountain herder, he makes sure none of his weary flock gets left behind. “It’s so hard” he mocks with a grin, before running up the remaining steps. Guiding at least once a week, he’s well accustomed to the high altitude that leaves tourists dizzy and gasping for air.

The depth of the river valleys and the height of the sharp mountain peaks aren't something my camera can capture. Hints of blue are just visible behind stony cliff faces; their proud peaks are cloaked in mist and history.

Centuries ago Incan kings used to traverse these hills. Now their descendants ferry adventure hungry tourists across the trail. Leading through cloud forest and high mountain passes, the trek concludes after 43 km and four days, at the fabled Incan city of Machu Picchu.

“Vamos,” Brian calls. It’s time to go. Thankfully the afternoon is spent going down hill.


That evening, bellies full from a three-course meal, our group sits around the dining tent, huddled on 12 picnic chairs. We drink coca tea and Brian talks into the night about his biggest passion – his culture.

“My people are smart and if an opportunity exists, they’ll find it,” he says. He is right. Women with rainbow-striped knapsacks line parts of the trail, offering water and snacks at a premium. Every imaginable need is catered to before the trek, from alpaca socks to plastic ponchos and even coca leaves – a traditional remedy for altitude sickness that will leave you with a numb tongue.

Finally it’s bedtime. Stepping from the cosy dining tent into the biting cold we find our porters sleeping on the hard ground. It hasn’t occurred to our group they’ve been patiently waiting for a place to sleep. We guiltily head to our own tents, to prepare for what we’ll consider to be another hard day on trail.