The Missing Adventures Part 2: An Andean Adventure

This is the reason for this section of the holiday.

This is where we rise, both literally and metaphorically, to the challenge before us.

This is the Inca Trail.

Camino Inka. 45 kilometres of sheer cliffs, impossible rises and their associated geographic falls. Four days, rising to 4200 metres above sea level - nearly twice the height of Mount Kosciusko - and culminating in a dawn overlooking Machu Picchu.

This is the walk that can be adequately summarised in two words or less.

Hard.

Very hard.

And yet those two words - or less, depending on how dramatic you want me to be - completely fail to convey just the atmosphere of the walk, the history, the culture and the geography of the Andes.

In existence from the time of the height of the Incan Empire, until approximately 200 years before Spanish conquest when Machu Picchu was abandoned, the Inca Trail was the the main route into the fabled mountain-top town - rumoured to be either a religious site, royal holiday resort or military stronghold.

Cusco, our starting point, is in itself a beautiful city. It is a miracle of history - Incan capital destroyed by the Spanish yet holding such a personal history as the pride of the Incas remains to this day.

As a sidebar, I feel that I need to express something. In no way will I ever claim that British, French or Italian colonies were perfect, humane or even decent - both the Australian and Canadian examples shine out here for all the wrong reasons - yet there is something overzealous about the Spanish occupation in South America. Conquest by military, by commerce and by religion in such totalitarians ways. It is little wonder that the Simon Bolivars of the world exist.

The trek itself starts from the 82 kilometres mark - from Cusco - and immediately the thin air is noticeable. No amount of acclimatisation can prepare you for the body's relentless need for oxygen in an environment where a simple set of hotel steps can leave you gasping post-marathon. Surely 45 kilometres of some of this planet's steepest walkable hills is madness.

Day one is, noticeably, the easiest. There are hills to conquer, certainly, but they are nothing that would not be experienced in Berowra, or Jindabyne. The day ends at a camp, complete with silver service and food that would rival many of the restaurants in Lima. This part is certainly not hard.

Day two is, noticeably, the hardest. An immediate climb from 2,950m to 4,215m, over a distance of under nine kilometres left more than half our group struggling. Two members felt the altitude the hardest, nauseous and nearly passing out on multiple occasions. There is good reason for the oxygen bottles carried by the guides and the mandatory medical training.

From the top of the first pass, descend 700m in less than a kilometre and if you have a bad knee, expect pain on a level unexperienced before. Uneven, large drop stone steps all the way, slippery from the overnight rain, and slowed mental processes from the lack of oxygen combine for a hellish walk. 

From the valley floor, rise again 450m in under three kilometres for simply the greatest views you will be afforded on the continent. Sweeping hills, majestic waterfalls and the knowledge that you are looking upon an ancient, powerful and magnificent landscape, untamed by mankind despite our arrogance. Even the hardiest here are reduced to the microscopic.