Salkantay Trek part 1: Cuzco, Peru

There are a handful of famous sights that “everyone” has heard of in South America, but three have long been on my list. The Galápagos Islands, which are obviously not part of the continent but in the Pacific, a province of Ecuador; the Amazon, an enormous basin that stretches far beyond the eponymous river into several South American countries; and Machu Picchu, “the lost city of the Incas.” “Lost,” in that this mountaintop city was never discovered by the conquering Spaniards, and only rediscovered by the outside world in 1911, when a norteamericano was shown the ruins by one of the locals. (Who, of course, had always known Machu Picchu was there. But more on that later.)

Machu Picchu can only be reached on foot, or by bus from the pueblo (Aguas Calientes). But first, we had to get to the nearest city with an airport: Cuzco, elevation 3,399 meters.

My impression of Peruvians, starting in Lima, has been a friendly one. Limeños seemed to like waiting in lines almost as much as British people do, and even offered T. a seat when she was wearying of the bus. The altitude in Cuzco was dramatically different, but not the friendly welcome. In fact the first thing we were offered when we got off the plane was a coca leaf each.

Coca leaves are unfortunately known as the raw material for cocaine, after many chemicals are added, and most countries in the world treat coca leaves no differently from the processed drug. In the Andes Mountains, however, people have used coca for thousands of years to mitigate the effects of altitude. The leaves contain only a tiny proportion of the stimulant that forms the basis for cocaine, and are legal—and indeed recommended—in Peru and Bolivia. I have to say that chewing the leaf did not do anything for me. It tasted like lawn clippings. Brewed into a tea, though, it may have helped me on subsequent days at altitude, and certainly didn’t hurt or turn anything numb. (Sugar, also recommended for altitude, helped with the lawn-clipping taste.)

"Careful with your head"--a much more likely danger in Peru than coca

Altitude is perhaps not the biggest issue with Cuzco in February, though. It’s the wet season around here, the worst time of year to visit Machu Picchu, certainly if one is contemplating a journey on foot, as I hoped to do. In fact, the classic Inca Trail (part of a vast system of roads the Incas constructed, stretching almost 25,000 miles through South America) is closed every February for maintenance. So it was not going to be possible to walk to Machu Picchu via the stone steps and Inca ruins.

Fortunately, I’d picked up a travel magazine on the Canadian train and read that an alternative trek, the Salkantay, was one of the great hikes of the world. Some companies don’t organize this trek during February either, as it’s the wet season. But I found a small company called Llama Path that was founded by a former porter and had a reputation for good treatment. Llama Path assured me that I could start the Salkantay Trek in two days’ time (the minimum for acclimatizing in Cuzco). I walked out into the rain and hoped the mate de coca would do away with my headache soon.

Our first meal in Cuzco had been a moderate success. Neither alcohol nor coffee are recommended for acclimatizing to altitude, but carbohydrates are. It’s been a long time since I ate as much sugar as I did that week. We started at a folklórico restaurant, where traditional music and dancing (not by us) accompanied the Peruvian dishes. My drink of choice was chicha morada, a very sweet nonalcoholic drink made from purple corn. It didn’t taste as weird as it sounds, but it was served in an absolutely enormous glass. 

“The dancers are wearing fencing masks with faces painted on them,” T. said. “Giving me the willies!” What gave me the willies was the guinea pig I could see being served to other tables (roasted whole; they don’t serve it up in a lasagna, like alpaca). We stuck to the “hen soup."

The next day, we walked a couple blocks from our Airbnb to Qorikancha, once the richest temple in the Inca empire. The Spanish colonizers built the Convento de Santo Domingo on top of its stone foundation, and the convent still stands today as an example of the two cultures smushed into each other. One of the most remarkable things about Inca architecture is that it was built to withstand earthquakes, and has done so for centuries. Certainly most colonial buildings in the Andes, never mind modern ones, have not done as well. (We're pretty sure we felt a few seconds of earthquake on our first day in Cuzco, though it was only a tremor.)

Another remarkable thing about the Incas is how they did all this stonework without mortar or, as far as we know, iron tools. No one really knows how they did it so there are lots of fanciful theories (involving aliens, etc.) But you can walk down many a street or alley in Cuzco today and see it for yourself.

Trade union demonstration. Nice to see democracy in Latin America

At lunchtime, we were beckoned by a very friendly woman into her restaurant. No English was spoken whatsoever, but there were only two dishes on the menu, and I figured out that one was “cow.” As I have mentioned, a little Spanish  is a dangerous thing. T. was so put off by the meat that she put me off too! Fortunately, there was plenty of rice, plus potatoes, salad, and picante. Peruvians are very proud to have given the world potatoes—they have some eight hundred varieties, and like the British, they figure two kinds of starch on the plate is better than one. (In the case of our “hen of farm” soup, the potato just floated around whole, along with some kind of corn ball. Peruvians love their corn, too.)

View of Cuzco from Qorikancha

And they love guinea pigs, but not in the way they love dogs, which are everywhere in Peru. I like to think I’m a fairly adventurous traveler, but I’ve never been a big “gotta try the weird meat” person, Woozy notwithstanding. No matter what it is, the only description you ever get really is “tastes like chicken.” Some guy in Lima told me it tasted like chicken. Well, chicken is on the menu. We just order that! 

Meanwhile, my head still hurt. I remembered ibuprofen was supposed to help on Kilimanjaro, so we went in search of that. All drugs are locked behind a counter in Peru, so I had to ask for it. Here’s something useful: If you add -o to an English word, that’s often enough to make it Spanish. “Ah, ibuprofeno,” the druggist said, and cheerfully sold me ten pills for some tiny amount.

But the best money I spent in Cuzco, and possibly ever, was 3 soles—about a dollar—for a green plastic poncho. My raincoat can’t cover my 40L backpack, and that’s what I was planning to pack for the trek—not full, but so I could wear the comfortable waist straps. Everything inside would be wrapped in plastic bags anyway, but in the likely event of a downpour, this trash-bag equivalent could keep the backpack from getting completely soaked.

The wet season seems to involve clear-ish mornings and rainy afternoons, and so it proved on our second acclimatization day. We walked through Inca alleyways with stones dating back to the 13th century, and ended up at the main square, Plaza de Armas.

I hadn’t realized when we attempted to eat vaca the day before that T. was still not feeling well. As it turned out, she was coming down with another ailment, her resistance probably weakened by the first one; all I knew was that her appetite was going. We decided it would be safe to try something at Paddy’s, which claims to be the highest Irish pub on earth.  

I decided that, as we wouldn’t be staying at the same Airbnb by the time I got back from my trek, Paddy’s is where I wanted to meet T. Many a time in subsequent days I would think of Paddy’s and its promise of Cusqueña beer. For the time being, I forewent Cusqueña and had some nice trout. And corn soup, and rice and potatoes.

An altitude headache is not nice. Back at base camp on Kili (not, funnily enough, at 5,200 m) my head hurt badly enough that I couldn’t keep food down. That was how I felt our second night in Cuzco. Despite all the carbs, I was not acclimatizing fast enough, and we were to hike the next morning. The only good thing was that the trek itself would start somewhat lower than Cuzco, at Challacancha. 

To get there, we had to meet in central Cuzco at 4:30 A.M. Even though our meeting place was seven blocks away, I called a taxi. The only part of the dispatcher’s Spanish I didn’t understand was “What is your name?”, so there goes my elementary Spanish class! The driver didn’t overcharge me, attempted conversation in Spanish, and waited with me in the taxi until the rest of my group got to the square. I was happy to tip this guy.

Here you can see our pack animals being loaded at Challacancha. Given the name Llama Path, I was somewhat disappointed to find that our pack animals were horses, introduced by the colonizing Spanish. On this trek we had two horsemen, two chefs, a guide, and two other hikers. Fresh out of university, this young English couple had signed up even more last-minute than I had, as this was when they happened to be in Peru. They had not fully taken in that this was not the season to be trekking in the Andes.

A bridge of things to come

Before starting the trek, we’d stopped for breakfast at Mollepata (2,900 m). I’d been off coffee for a few days in hopes that that would help with the altitude, but despite ibuprofeno, my head was still hurting. I decided to let myself have one cup of coffee and, unusually for me, put sugar in it. The effect was far more dramatic than anything mate de coca could do. I felt like I’d been shot full of adrenalin. The headache was gone, and I decided not to forego coffee anymore—at least one cup.

Day 1, not a bad view 

My excellent feeling lasted until the beginning of the climb. I was huffing and puffing uphill, quickly falling behind Josie and Alasdair, who were after all half my age. It was to be this way for much of the following four days, although things leveled out after a while.

Sure-footed cow

After a few hours we reached our highest (and coldest) campsite of the trek, Soraypampa (3,850 m). This is where Llama Path’s promise of the “best food” started to come true. The lunch these chefs threw together in a camp kitchen was unbelievable. I had to take a picture because they produced, among several other dishes, ceviche. Fresh fish on the side of a mountain—and it was far better than the ceviche I’d had in Lima. We also had pasta and roast potatoes (no idea how they roasted anything), soup, and vegetables. T. reckons this is the only reason I signed up with Llama Path. Every meal was like this.

We were then shown to our tents for a siesta. I was glad to see the tent was pitched under a kind of thatched shelter. Not that I didn’t trust the rain fly.

Our work was not done for the afternoon. We had an acclimatization hike (more uphill!) to prepare for Day 2, the highest, and therefore presumably hardest, day of the trek. Fortunately, it was clear enough to see the Salkantay glacier, which we’d be approaching on our Day 2 climb to the Salkantay Pass.

We weren’t just doing this hike to “walk high, sleep low,” as mountaineers say. Our goal was a glacial lake that can only be reached by two hours’ walking steadily uphill. When I say steadily, of course, I mean slowly.

People coming back down from the lake said it was worth it, though. And it was.

It came into view so suddenly I almost didn’t take in that there was a little stand there, with a woman selling Cokes. Heaven knows how she gets to work every day. This is one way in which the Salkantay Trek is quite different from Kilimanjaro: People live here and there all along the trail, and it seems every one of them is selling Kit Kats, or a 1-sol trip to the toilet. Pole pole, however, was exactly the same.

I wouldn’t say the uphills got easier, but I managed to find my rhythm and just did it. Being behind has its advantages; on the way up, the guide pointed out a condor to me, which is not as common a sight in Peru as it once was. And on the way back down, I saw this beautiful reward for the sporadic rain (and hail!)

For supper, the chefs produced fried yucca (yum!), “Arabic” rice, trout, chicken—and bananas flambé for dessert. Unbelievable. If I didn’t make it to 4,600 m the next day, it wasn’t going to be because I lacked fuel.

But I was determined to make it. I’d been 600 m higher than that on Kili. I’d camped higher than the altitude of the Salkantay Pass.