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Archive for August, 2009

Crossing the border from Ecuador into Peru is not the most pleasant of experiences.  There were plenty ‘words of wisdom’ concerning how to, where to, how not to and where not to cross the border into Peru, from Ecuador.

We crossed by taking the bus from Loja to Piura.  The journey was no different than any other we had taken, but for some reason it seemed longer, hotter and more uncomfortable than any we had been on so far.

The bus was particularly knackered, the brakes emitting a horrible burning smell every time we went down a hill and there was a disconcerting knocking noise when we went over about 35mph.  The noise was so bad, even the driver got out to investigate where it was coming from.  Apparently one of the wheels looked a bit loose, but the driver didn’t seem overly concerned.

The touts who got on the bus were even more annoying than usual.  At one point there were 21 vendors on the bus, a bit of an overkill, but hilarious to watch all the same.  We could have easily eaten a four-course meal if we had bought something from everyone. 

The bus stops regularly at military checkpoints, where the bus stops around until either our, or the bus drivers, documentation were verified.  It didn’t quite make sense that the military were mostly interested in European and American documentation, rather than the Peruvian, as it is the Peruvians who are their main threat.  In the past Ecuador has lost quite a bit of its territory to Peru and they were at war together as recently as 1999.  Tensions are still fairly high, and the army actively protects its borders, especially as there are oil and gas fields along the boundary.

Perhaps it was our nervous expectation of what Peru had in store for us that made the journey drag on.  Whatever it was it didn’t make the bus go any faster and it took us over five hours to reach the border town of Macara.

There were a couple of other tourists on the bus, and this was also their first border crossing in South America.  No one really knew what to expect, but it wasn’t very difficult to work out.  The Macara – La Tina border crossing consisted of a few buildings, which house the Ecuadorian and Peruvian immigration and customs officials.  A wide river separates the two countries and the bus driver dumped us at the end of the bridge, promising he would wait for us at the other side.

The last problem we had with the crossing was the mosquitoes.  Dusk was not the best time of day to be standing next to a river, filling in immigration forms, when all our insect repellent and long sleeved tops were on a bus parked up the road.  The mosquitoes were particularly enjoying the fresh blood, and we were slowly being eaten to bits.  Luckily the formalities were quite straightforward, taking no more than ten minutes to cross over the bridge.  Desperate to get back to the safety of the bus, we almost forgot to remember the fact that we had just left Ecuador and arrived in a new country, Peru.  

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The time had come to start walking the famous Inca Trail.  You can now only walk the Inca trail as part of a pre-booked group with a guide.  Only 500 people are allowed to start the three-day trail each day, including guides and porters.  We thought that the trail would be packed with walkers, jostling for position along the path, but it was only when we stopped for a break or lunch did we realise that there were other groups on the trail.

The porters were all wide-eyed and fired up when we collected them, their cheeks bulging with coca leaves.  There were 11 porters and 2 guides with us in our group, almost one porter each.  They really appeared to enjoy their jobs, and were having a great laugh together.  They do get a relatively good wage, compared to them working in the fields, but its still bloody hard work.

A couple of years ago, porters used to carry about 50-60kg each.  Regulations now in force have improved their conditions considerably.  At each checkpoint their packs are weighed, to make sure they are not carrying too much.  Their maximum weight now is 30kg, which is still a hell of a lot but they all seemed to be coping okay.  It was amazing to watch them run past, with sacks, food, pots, pans, sugar bowls, napkins, stools, tables, tablecloths, tents and cooking gas on their backs, which was all covered in a large piece of plastic that trailed behind them like a cloak.  Having been along the path so many times, they were very sure footed.  Watching them run down granite steps, two steps at a time, was quite nerve racking.  They didn’t bother with wearing boots, opting for sandals or no shoes.  Quite often they are given boots by people who have finished the trail and have no further use for them, but they prefer not to wear them.  We guessed that they probably wear them down the pub on a Friday night instead.

We had opted to pay a small amount extra to have our stuff carried by a porter.  This sounds like a bit of a cop-out but we thought we may as well take advantage of it and had sound reason to do so.  Most of the people were carrying their own stuff out of pride – it was the Inca trail after all.  By the second day most of them were struggling and got a porter to carry their stuff for the rest of the walk.  After all we were at about 3000m asl and no matter how fit you are, altitude does have an effect.  There were a couple of people who managed their packs all the way, mostly without any complaints, but the others who insisted on carrying their rucksacks all the way were totally exhausted and had not enjoyed the walk at all.  They had spent all their time and energy concentrating on walking and had not had time to stop and appreciate their amazing surroundings.  All their stuff had got soaking wet, but the porters made sure ours were kept covered and everything was bone dry when we opened the sack each evening.  It was definitely worth it.

The porters took great pride in everything that they did.  Running ahead of us, they would be ready for when we stopped, with a large tent set up with either popcorn and hot drinks for elevenses and afternoon tea, or hot bowls of soup for lunch.  We don’t think we actually saw anyone use them, but they also laid out bowls of water with soaps and towels for us to wash with.  When we arrived at the campsites, the tents were ready, and our dry belongings lying in the tent.  We could quickly change into dry clothes and sit admiring the views.  The whole trip is designed so that the tourists only needed to walk and look at the scenery.

In the mornings our guide would wake us up at 6.00am with a cup of coca tea being passed into the tent.  We were fed constantly throughout the day and were even given snacks just to make sure we did not starve.  By the end of the fourth day we were stuffed and we could not even manage to eat a fabulous banquet the porters had prepared for us.  The thank you presentation on the final evening was fantastic and the porters all looked really pleased with themselves.  At the end, the porters very shyly received their well-deserved recognition and tips.  It is this extra bit of cash that makes all their hard work and leather soled feet worth their while.

As the Inca Trail is mostly within cloud forest, we should not have been too surprised to find it raining most of the way.  Lobo buying a poncho had been the only indication of what weather was going to be in store for us.  The rain we experienced on the first day continued on and off (but mainly on) for two days.  Waterproof trousers had been great when we had been stuck halfway up Cotopaxi, but it was a lot warmer on the Inca Trail and although the trousers kept the rain off they trapped just as much moisture.  Peeling off the waterproof trousers after the first day we decided that we were better off without the waterproofs as our trousers were so wet underneath.  Shorts were a much better option and at least it meant we had dry trousers to change into each night.  Some may have questioned our sanity as we stood on top of the Abra de Runkuracay pass (3800m asl) with heavy lumps of snow falling around us and our legs covered in goose pimples.

There are a number of other ruins along the way; ancient checkpoints, guards houses and small agricultural centres.  Everybody in the group were so wet they couldn’t be bothered to visit any of these ruins.  We were already soaked and it didn’t make any difference to make a detour for an hour or so to look at them.  A few of us made it up the stairs to Sayamarca.  It was so foggy we had not even realised that it even existed, and the view from it was not much better.  We both said we could have been standing at any ruined site in Cornwall on a foggy day.  By the time we made our way back down onto the main trail, the clouds cleared and the beautiful cloud forest materialised before us.  The peaks that we had just walked down from were covered in a dusting of snow.

With clear skies came another menace – sand flies.  They got into our hair, making our scalps irritatingly itchy.  If we stopped for any reason, like to admire the view, take a photo, or have a drink of water, within minutes we were scratching every bit of exposed flesh.

The Inca Trail from Ollantaytambo is only 27 miles (43Km) long, which spread over three and a half days means it is not too strenuous and we had plenty of time to relax, take in the views, read, play cards and explore.

The trail is mostly stone paved and had been constructed as a royal highway to reach Machu Picchu.  It is just one of the numerous paths built by the Incas that cross remote parts of the Andes.  They had done a great job in constructing the route all those years ago and even though it has undergone restoration it was in excellent condition.  There seemed to be little erosion, the restrictions on the number of walkers seemed to be working.  One of the sections of the path was amazing, snaking around the edge of the mountainsides, through tunnels and over bridges.  We took our time, enjoying the views of the snow-capped mountains of the Vilcabamba range and Salcantay.  Standing on the watershed separating two mountain ranges, we felt the cold air of the Vilcabamba range on one side of the path, whilst on the other side of the path we experienced the warm air rising up from the valley below the Urubamba mountain range.  It was a particularly strange phenomenon.

Not everyone who does the Inca trail are athletic, keen hikers.  As long as you are relatively fit and can walk, then you would probably manage it.  The most important thing is probably to take a few days to acclimatise to the altitude before starting.  The trail crosses over three high-altitude mountain passes; the highest is “Dead Woman’s Pass” at 13,440ft (4,200m).  We had been warned that it was a tough climb, and we saw a number of people collapsed on the way up being administered oxygen.  It was a long slog, but we all managed it to the top.  The second pass was just as tough, shorter but steeper and we had to walk it first thing in the morning when our bodies were still struggling to warm up.  It was interesting to see that the people who made it to the top of the hills first were the people who had not just flown into Cusco, but had been at a high altitude for a few weeks or more.  Even though we were not running alongside the porters, our walk the previous week in Huaraz had definitely helped us to acclimatize to the altitude.

If going up the hills wasn’t going to wear us out then the going down them would.  We passed down hundreds of granite steps, some of which were carved out of the rock face.  This was just as tough as going up hill and no one seemed to escape getting sore knees by the time we reached camp.

Debbie and Lucy, two Brits, who had been travelling around the world for a year, introduced us to their marking system for the toilets.  Each toilet experience was marked out of 10, ten being the best.  Marks were knocked off for dirtiness, lack of toilet roll, seat, door or even toilet.  Their worst ever toilet was in Thailand – ours was yet to come.  They rated the toilets on the trail quite low, but we thought they were being a bit harsh; at least there were some toilets to use.

Part of the new regulations mean you have to camp at assigned campsites, which usually have rudimentary facilities.  This all seems a bit of a cheat and some of the sites even have showers, but it means that people are not going to the toilet wherever they feel like it, or washing in the streams.  One of the toilets did have a number of points knocked off for the worst ever design; rather than having just a hole in the floor (which would have sufficed) a box had been thoughtfully built around the hole.  Unfortunately it was too high and the hole set so far back that you had no option but to sit down.  Squatting is the preferable option, and everyone before us had obviously felt the same.  They had climbed onto the box and squatted either side of the hole, leaving their muddy footprints all over the loo seat.

Article taken from Inca Hoots by Caius Simmons & Vicky Brewis.

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Our next stop at the other end of the Sacred Valley was Pisac, another quaint village famous for its market.  It is probably among the best and most colourful in Peru and it is also one of the busiest.  Unlike other markets we had been to, it did not really cater for the locals, existing solely for tourists, especially day-trippers from Cusco.  A handful of vendors sat on the pavement selling peppers and tomatoes, but the large stalls selling local handicrafts and textiles heavily outnumbered them.  The market seemed more compact than the Otavalo market (Ecuador), but there were a lot more tourists.

Trying not to catch the eye of any of the stall vendors, we moseyed around the labyrinth of Andean colours; reds, oranges and browns.  We were almost halfway through our trip, which meant we could start considering buying things to take home.  Showing any interest at all in any of the goods was fatal, the stallholder pouncing on you before you could move onto the next stall.  The only item we ended up buying were a few brightly coloured locally made ceramic beads.

If we saw something we liked we invariably tried to knock of a bit of “gringo tax”, although to be honest we didn’t really want to barter the price too low.  Quibbling over a few pennies didn’t seem quite right.  We had learnt to tell if we were being ripped off, and knew what the going rates were for most goods.  We walked away from those vendors that were trying it on, who would usually shout after us, offering the goods at a fairer price.

Wandering around the market were local woman and young children dressed in traditional costume, with lambs or puppies tucked under their arms, or young llamas on leads.  Every tourist they passed they would ask them if they wanted to take a photo of them with their fluffy cute animal.  As soon as the photo had been taken, they would then ask for money.  The tourists didn’t have much option but to hand over some coins – they had been fleeced (literally).  Maybe this was how all the books and brochures managed to get some interesting photos of people.  There was no way we were prepared to pay for the privilege of taking a photo, and anyway the women were making enough money without our cash lining their pockets.  Overlooking the square we watched these entrepreneurs in action and couldn’t help but laugh at a particularly loud, arrogant American woman being collared.  After making a small girl holding a puppy pose for her camera she turned to walk away, only to be chased after by the little girl with her hand outstretched asking for a dollar.  A Peruvian Sol was obviously not enough for her.  Not only that, but the three other women who had been sitting on the pavement in the background also insisted on being paid for their appearance.  The cost of one photo was more than she would have paid for the actual camera film.

High above the village centre, and away from the hustle and bustle of the market, is a large citadel.  Marking the southerly entrance to the Sacred Valley, this fortress would have been strategically important, monitoring the road that travelled between the mountains and the jungle.

The walk up to the ruins took us up through loads of terraces, and was quite exhausting, but the great panoramic views over the village and surrounding mountains made it worthwhile.  Reaching the first part of the fortress we sat and appreciated the birds eye view high above the valley.  From such a height we could see how fertile this valley was, a patchwork of fields spread out across the floodplain and terraces stretching up the steep flanks of the hills.  Spotting a tractor in one field, we realised it was the first we had noticed in South America as most fields are ploughed by hand or using oxen.

This was just the start of the citadel complex and we kept discovering more and more with every corner we went round and every hilltop we went over.  The Pisac fortress, terraces and settlements were a great place for exploring, following narrow paths around the edge of the steep cliff, up ladders and through small tunnels carved into the mountain.  Around each corner was another fortress, temple or small ruined hamlet.  In the centre of one ruin was a beautiful and precisely constructed religious centre, with smooth granite walls surrounded by sacred rocky outcrops, whose peculiar shapes and angles are thought to have aided in tracking important stars.  A strange function, considering it is called Temple of the Sun.

Engrossed in exploring the ruins, we hadn’t realised that the site had actually closed and the sun was starting to set behind the mountains.  We didn’t manage to see all of the buildings and could have easily spent a couple more hours wandering around the houses and temples, but our time, and light, had run out.  It was dark, and we were shattered, by the time we got back to town.  The market was packed up, all the stalls and tourists had gone, the main square eerily quiet.

We left Pisac over a kilogram lighter.  It certainly had nothing to do with lack of food, because we had found a great restaurant to eat it.  Nor did we have the return of the shits.  Just before we left home, the new Harry Potter book had been realised.  Seeing as J.K. Rowling had kept us waiting so long for book number five we just had to take a copy with us.  It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but when we had both finished reading it, we suddenly realised how heavy and bulky the book really was.  In Pisac there was a reasonably good book exchange where we finally got rid of Harry Potter, therefore taking 1kg off the weight of our packs.  It was a shame to see it go, but Ulrike, the local restaurant owner who had acquired it had been waiting for it to be released as long as we had and certainly appreciated us relinquishing it.

Back in Cusco we re-packed our rucksacks for our trip to Machu Picchu.  Our hotel had moved us to the front room, and we were kept awake all night with endless numbers of pissed people shouting out on the street and ringing the hotel doorbell all night.  When the drunks quietened off, all that remained was cockerels, dogs and beeping taxis every other minute. 

In the morning we were driven around Cusco collecting other members of our Inca group and it seemed to take forever to even get out of town.  An hour after we had been picked up, it didn’t surprise us when we found ourselves parked back up outside the front door of the hostel again.  We wouldn’t have minded so much if we hadn’t missed out on our breakfast because the tour agency insisted on collecting us so early.

After stops for food, petrol, gas, tyre checks etc, we finally arrived in Ollantaytambo, for the second time.  Unlike the beautiful sunshine we had enjoyed only a few days previously we were subjected to freezing cold temperatures and lashing rain..

Article taken from Inca Hoots by Caius Simmons & Vicky Brewis.

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From Urubamba we caught a collectivo to Ollantaytambo, a few miles up the road.  Famed for its extensive Inca terraces and ruined temple-fortress, Ollantaytambo marks the lowest end of the SacredValley.  Whilst in use, its function is thought to have been an administrative centre, but following the Spanish “invasion” it was also used as an Inca stronghold after the fall of Cusco in 1536.

The village itself could be referred to as ‘quaint’.  A high proportion of the buildings are built on huge granite Inca foundations, with the distinctive, closely-knit, stonework that we became accustomed to seeing.  The layout of the village still retains characteristics inherited from the Incas, including the notion that if you look at it from the air it supposedly resembles a piece of maize.  Although Ollantaytambo is quite small it is really geared up for the tourists and is full of extortionately priced cafés, restaurants and shops.  It is the nearest village to the start of the Inca trail and it is also a popular place to catch the train from to go to Machu Picchu.  The number of hostels far exceeded those in Urubamba, as did their costs.

A couple of minutes walk from the central plaza we were wowed by an incredible set of grand terraces.  The tall stone terraces probably acted as protection from possible invasions, but their primary function was most likely to have been agricultural.  Like huge steps, they led to a temple/fortress construction on the top.  One of the amazing things about these ruins were the massive red granite megaliths that were located way up the hillside, about 80 metres from the level of the village.  It looked like the Incas had grand ideas for Ollantaytambo and were in the process of building a temple before the Spanish scuppered their plans.  The smoothly cut stone faces imply that the temple would have had a significant religious status – the rule of thumb being, the better the stonework, the more important the building was.  The huge slabs, weighing at least 100 tonnes each, originated from a quarry about three miles from the village.  It would have taken some manpower to move them, but the Incans weren’t stupid and supposedly diverted the river to help them get the slabs across the valley.  How they got them up the hillside to the top of the site was probably not so easy.

On reaching the top of the terraces we sat and enjoyed commanding views of the whole village and up the Sacred Valley.  It was easy to distinguish the smaller terraces along the valley and hillsides, many of which are in very good condition and still in use.  We didn’t get a chance to visit the salt terraces, which are still used today, or the nearby experimental agricultural terraces that form an amphitheatre, but the terraces were enough to show us that this valley was important agriculturally.  The Incans developed complex irrigation schemes, setting up drainage systems and canals to help expand their crop resources.  The highland areas today produce little more than potatoes, wheat and maize, but the Incans added to this list tomatoes, cotton, peanuts and coca among the many crops they grew.

Perched high on the hillside opposite the fortress are even more ruins.  Bearing in mind that prisons during the Incan rule were of no use because their punishment usually consisted of death, the theory that they were used as granaries rather than prisons is more feasible.  In fact the Incas had a particularly violent punishment system.  If someone stole, murdered, or had sex with a Sapa (high priest) wife or a Sun Virgin, they were either thrown off a cliff, hands cut off, eyes cut out, or hung up to starve to death.  “Ama Sua, Ama Quella, Ama Lulla”, “Don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t be lazy” was the philosophy of the Inca Empire, where laziness was a capital offence punishable by death.  Funnily enough, this excluded priests and royalty.  This philosophy is still apparent and despite being very poor, begging on the streets was not a common a sight as we had expected.  It seemed to be restricted to very old, wailing women, all of whom were totally ungrateful of any gifts of food or money.

Unemployment was non-existent during the Inca rule, everyone taking part in building roads, fortresses, temples, drainage and agricultural systems.  Rather than paying taxes, each Inca citizen was required to spend 7 weeks in the service of their Lord.

We clambered up the mountainside to try and reach the other ruins, but the main route was mostly impassable as most of it had slumped down the hillside many years ago.

Huge amounts of grain would have been collected from the along the valley and stored in these buildings.  Kept well away from the river would prevent it from getting wet and being so far up the mountainside meant there was little chance of it being stolen either.  From this point we could see back across the village and to the ruins, which looked even more imposing.  Our guidebook suggested that the terracing formed the image of a mother llama, with one of its young.  If we squinted hard enough we could make out some agricultural terraces with a fortress/temple on the top and came to the conclusion that the author may have been under the influence at the time.  This theory was more than possible and our reasoning was not unfounded.

Article taken from Inca Hoots by Caius Simmons & Vicky Brewis.

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