Lares: Headaches, Downpours And No Sign Of Them Incas

The city of Cusco in Peru, sits approximately 3300 metres above sea level. I had been previously warned by my travel doctor in Wellington that appropriate measures would have to be taken in order to counter the curse of altitude sickness. Our tour operator, Carlos, also advised us vehemently that we should stay in Cusco for at least 3-5 days in order to acclimatise to the thin air before embarking on our much anticipated Lares Inca Trek. We thought better of this elaborate patter and gave ourselves a modest afternoon at a higher gradient, we had little choice in the matter after the delay from the last flight from Lima, which was not ideal. We managed to cope ok, only our chests did tighten whenever walking uphill, but this did not cause alarm.

Our hostel, Sumac Wasi, was hidden in a busy cobbled street ('Gringo Alley' as the natives baptised it) and although the second floor was under the light dust of construction, we were treated to an alluring courtyard, upon which a lone shimmering green hummingbird flirted with the blossom of a Chinese Rose tree.

Immediately I was impressed with the historic capital of the Inca Empire (and another UNESCO World Heritage Site) thanks to its sepia setting, cathedral in the main square and colourful markets down the narrow alleyways. Surprisingly the hawkers were not adept at making the blood rush with their empty promises in woven baskets, and instead favoured a more passive sales technique, which suited us just fine. On checking in at Wayki Tours who were operating our four day adventure, we found out that we were the only two to be in the group (we had half expected an excitable group of Scandinavians but were left disappointed) along with our guide, chef, assistant to the chef, horseman and three mules.

I'll stick to the Coca Te, thanks

We got picked up by our guide, Freddy, at dawn after a night of half hearted packing for the camping trip. After a three hour bus ride through a bustling market town we arrived in the town of Lares where the start of the four day trek would begin. Amid a confusing tranquility we soaked by the locals at the medicinal hot pools with their steaming copper coloured waters reminiscent of the splendor of a Roman Bath. The three hour walk that followed was an awakening to the dramas of reaching higher planes. Both Matty's and my lungs appeared to heave unpredictably with each forward step and the temples of our foreheads throbbed uncontrollably with the first gentle ascent. On reaching our first campsite, in the village of Wacawasi the both of us headed straight to our ready made tents for a deserved rest.

I managed to consume some dinner and polite conversation with Freddy on the benefits of Indigenous management of a Peruvian tour operator, before reaching for the confines of my sleeping bag at 8pm. Matty was faring somewhat worse. After taking an emergency visit to enrich some vegetation with his own brand of fertile nutritious exponents whilst the mountain slopes sighed, he collapsed in the tent with not even a mouthful of dinner. At this point I knew something was wrong. We had both been struck by the silent plague of altitude sickness on our first full day of the trip to the Sacred Valley.

Matty feels ill. An ideal time to document his demise

In the morning, we felt a little better after taking some medication (Matty having to down a thick brown syrup that Freddy guaranteed would rid him of the devils within the colon), our tent on close inspection emitted the dour scent of disease from the convulsions from our weakened bodies. Passing angels would have feared to tread within the canvas of our sleep at that moment.

Lares Hot Springs

We gathered our three forlorn mules who had the thankless task of carrying our luggage, tents and equipment and began the next day's walk to our next destination of Espaycocha as the storm clouds began to lurk.

Where's Matty?

Freddy, our mid-twenties Peruvian tour guide, was full of positivity and a rich layer of gentle humour enough for us to trust him to the contours of the second day. He reminded me somewhat of Charlie Brown, with his eyes slightly close together and boyish quips. It appeared that the highlight of his day would be to tease Vicento, our horse man. On hearing the energetic courtship of two donkeys beyond some farmland Freddy nudged Vicento and ordered him to join in on the equine passion.

A nice feature of the hike was that every passing farmer or villager, dressed in rainbow ponchos and fake plastic flowers on their bowler hats, would greet us warmly with a formal 'Buenos Dias Chicos'. It was apparent that there was a community feel to the Peruvians high up in the mountains. This local charm was not enough to see us through our walk up to the summit of a 4600 metre mountain, which is higher than the plane I jumped off for my skydive in Taupo and half the height of Mount Everest. The make up of shingle and stone was deteriorating for the calf and thigh muscles and as the rain began to pour down I felt utterly miserable. Matty had the heavy eyes of a zombie and few words were shared for most of the morning.

Truck load of folk in Ollantaytambo

After lunch, we opted to ramble for a further three hours in order to reach a more dry base and as it was all downhill we agreed that this would be better than to camp by Lake Epsaycocha, 4500 metres up with a high risk of being caught in a storm that night.

Our silence broke with that of the emergence of the sun late in the afternoon, revealing lush valleys, lagoons and streams with cold foamy waters. On reaching our base for the night, after a full nine hours hiking, we collapsed on the hard ground with a well deserved beverage in our hand. I may only have fond memories of this episode as the drink we had was Coca Te, where the leaves contain cocaine and is illegal in the US and UK. I think a Class A warm cup of tea is the only way I can start my day from now on and was enough to lead us through the next few days towards the Lost City of the Incas.

Coca Te. Coca Loca Te.