A Journey on the Salkantay Trek to Machu Picchu by Theo Markopouliotis:
“The first two days will be the hardest,” Virgilio said. Virgilio, our guide, had been leading this trek for more than a decade, helping newlyweds, families, and friends fulfill their lifelong dreams of hiking to Machu Picchu, often mistakenly referred to as the ‘Lost City of the Incas’. A true descendant of the Inca civilisation, Virgilio was one of the few men I encountered in Peru that was more fluent in Quechua (the official language of the Incas) than Spanish.
Before we embarked on our trek, we thanked Pachamama (Mother Earth) for blessing our group and guiding us through our five-day journey, which would take us through snow-capped mountain tops, dense rainforest terrain, glacial lakes, and violent river streams.
Virgilio was right. Day 1 found us struggling to catch our breath during the 800m ascent from Soraypampa to Laguna Humantay, a gorgeous glacial lake with pristine turquoise-blue water fed by the nearby snow-capped Humantay peak – the stuff of dreams. And rightfully, too. The ascent to the lake sitting at 4200m above sea level is an enjoyable challenge even for the fittest of cookies. Our reward? The extraordinary scenery and the beginnings of great bond formations within our group.
“Yesterday was good training for today, the hardest day of the hike,” Virgilio told us as we sleepily chewed on dry bread and sipped coca tea the following morning. 26km of hiking lay ahead of us, starting with a 700m steep ascent from our camp to the Salkantay pass, which begins at 4650m above sea level. Although we had barely managed to sleep for more than three consecutive hours the previous night due to the altitude, we managed to get to the top faster than anticipated, a sign that our bodies were finally acclimatising.
The scenery was again (literally) breathtaking with snow-capped cliffs around us, glacier lakes, and fast-changing clouds emerging from the peaks. It was the farthest I have ever felt from any form of man-made structure. A rare instance where words couldn’t do justice to my emotions. The cold wind blowing against my cheeks, the sweet feeling of breathlessness, the smell of the wet earth and the misty horizon. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced before. The beauty of the scenery, coupled with our excitement for reaching the top, proved enough motivation to overcome the remaining six hours of downhill trekking, which were accompanied by heavy rain, a demoralising combination.
We reached our camp at 1900m, a beautiful farm-like site lost in the dense rainforest. After the courageous ones in our group took an ice-cold bath, we were treated to some beers and delicious food under the stars, while we shared intimate shitting stories amongst ourselves. Unsurprisingly, given my sensitive stomach, I won best story.
The following day we hiked through the rainforest under humid and hot conditions. Upon reaching the camp site for our third night, group morale was high and as the evening unfolded so did our appetite for cheap alcohol and reggaetón. One thing led to another and, to say the least, most of us danced the night away and went to bed heavily intoxicated, having formed short-term memories soon to be forgotten.
My alarm rang what felt like seconds later and I woke up feeling like a bus had hit me. My friend Juan was sleeping next to me, close to my trekking gear and clothes which were soaked in the aftermath of my stomach’s complaints. It took me a while to realise what had happened. Upon reuniting with the group at the start of the trail, I was teased and treated to occasional banter, and forced myself to laugh and not cry.
We then embarked on a four-hour uphill climb to Llactapata, before making our way to Hidroeléctrica, six hours later where we would have lunch. My head was pounding, my heart was racing, and my body was giving up on me, one step at a time. To top everything off, both my legs were extremely swollen due to the uncountable bug bites that had gotten the best of me during my passed out phase the night before. I was completely drained of my energy, unable to hold down any food and six long hours of walking still lay ahead of me.
I cannot recall the exact details of how or when we reached Hidroeléctrica. If you don’t take anything else from my story, take this: Hangovers at altitude suck. In fact, they suck to the point where you are doubting whether you should be air-lifted to Machu Picchu, or back to Cusco, or even home for that matter. I have run two half-marathons and managed to climb to 5200m while in Peru. I have also had my fair share of hangovers back at sea-level. Still I have never, ever suffered as much as I suffered that day.
Our group reached Machu Picchu sometime around 6am after a tiring set of steps, which ultimately won the title for most intense 40-minute ascent of the whole trek. As I sat down in the grass to contemplate the man-hours involved in building this wonder that sat in front of me, I became humbled. Both by what we, humans, are able to achieve and also by the beauty of nature. This whole trip had been about witnessing nature’s greatness and purity. And now ahead of me lay two structures blending in flawless harmony, the perfect marriage and homage of nature and man.
As I sat down with the group for the last time, a feeling of melancholy came over me, the sort that you get on a lazy Sunday afternoon. We weren’t friends but we weren’t strangers either. After all, we’d known ourselves at an unusual time in our lives, perhaps having gotten to know a side of ourselves which no one else has ever known. But we’d also expedited the process quite a bit; we’d gotten to know each other in times of pressure, happiness, pride, discomfort, tiredness, excitement, and hunger (yes, you don’t fully know someone unless you’ve seen how they handle hunger). I felt compelled to carry on making memories with these people. But as we said goodbye to each other under a bright night sky in la Plaza de Armas, the thought that we’d undertaken something remarkable together comforted me and hasn’t left me since.
THE FACTS
I met Theo on a different hike in Peru (check out my story “The Search for Geraldine” to learn more about our journey through the Colca Canyon). He wasn’t drunk or hungover when I met him (I don’t think) but we did bond over our love for tennis and our shared sense of awe of nature and the world’s many wonders.
