Journey to Machu Picchu - Day Three

Sunday, September 25
The day is not starting out well. During the night Peter was violently ill and this morning, despite taking Cipro, he is still pretty rocky. It is quite cold when we are woken so I tuck my clothes into my sleeping bag to warm them up. It always seems like a rush to get ready in the morning. How is it possible to lose stuff in such a small space? But every day its the same. Where is my woolly hat? What did I do with my glasses? And what happened to the precious toilet roll? We stuff everything into our duffels and day packs, fill our water bottles and eat a hurried breakfast. The porters are already rolling up our mats and sleeping bags and by the time we set off on the trail, most of the tents are already down. It's going to be a long day of hiking - about 8 hours. Very soon I discover that if Day 2 was tough, Day 3 is even more challenging. We have to conquer another pass. Dick and I team up again. We are both surprised that we are struggling uphill again. Surely ir should be easier now that we are more acclimatized to the altitude? But apparently not. Minda is like a cheerful guardian. She darts ahead, examines plants, waits for us and points out views and interesting flora. Today we discover a new breathing technique. Dick points out that the porters put emphasis on a strong inhalation and exhale very gently. This is almost opposite to my undignified panting. So we experiment with this and find an immediate difference. Its most notable in my leg muscles. Slowly and steadily we make our way upwards to the lunch stop.

Peter is still not feeling great but is hanging in with the help of candies and dehydration pills that Alice shared with him. We walk together for the long afternoon's descent. There is a steady drizzle and we go carefully on the slippery rocks. I know it is treacherous and I focus on each step but still I slip, loose my footing, slide and tumble. My loud squawk gives Peter some warning. He is about 10 steps ahead and he just has time to brace himself and stop me from flying over the edge. It takes me a moment to get my breath but checking my body, everything seems to be in one piece. No broken bones. Scraped knees and a bruised bum, seem to be the only injuries. Enrique comes rushing down the steps and is quickly by my side. One of my hikng poles is badly bent, so Peter carries that and Enrique takes me firmly by the hand and, arms locked together, we continue down the trail. I reflect on how lucky I am; how I narrrowly missed serious injury; how karmic that Peter was there to save me.

After another hour or so, the trail changes from stones to sand, and winds gently towards campsite. We opt for the "short cut" which doesn't have steps. Enrique trusts me to continue without his help. The rain has dribbled to a halt, but our ponchos still flap damply around us. This is a busy area, as everyone who plans to reach Machu Picchu tomorrow, will be camping here. One of our porters is there to direct us to where our orange tents are pitched in a neat line along a narrow terrace. The familiar blue bowls of water are ready for us to freshen up. Its happy hour and today we finish the bottle of rum. After dinner our amazing crew of porters, cooks etc. gather, crowding into the dining room tent with us, so that we can thank them. They are a superb team providing all the comforts our campsites with seemless efficiency. Before going to bed, we have a short debate about what time to get up in the morning. Henry wants us to be one of the first groups at the check point by 4:30 am, even though it won't open for another hour. The group agrees on 3 am wake up, for 4.15 departure.