As you should already be aware, Ness became ill a couple of days before we began the Inca Trail. Her sickness seemed to settle down a bit, but the night before we began the Inca Trail she began to feel very unwell again. Her situation was probably not helped by the meal we had just consumed. Both Ness and I had eaten some very ordinary creamy pasta, and I had mine accompanied by the rankest pizza I have had the displeasure of tasting so far on this trip. However, I felt fine, for that moment at least.
I awoke during the night to the sound of Ness vommitting, the first thing I thought was, poor girl. However, this was immediately followed by, hmm I´m not feeling too well. I pushed the latter thought to the back of my mind and tried to sleep. For the rest of the night I was disturbed by stomach cramps, and at 7 in the morning, just before we had to get up to leave, I felt the onset of the all too familiar need to reach a vomit reciprocal.
Doubled over the toilet I cursed between heaves. Why the f··· now? Of all the f···ing times in the world to get violently ill, why the f··· did I have to be ill now?
After emptying my stomach, I stumbled groggily and grumpily back into our room. Ness and Sarah both looked sympathetic. After a short discussion with them we worked out that Ness and I had the same symptoms. Vommitting and other unpleasantness that one REALLY does not want to deal with whilst hiking, especially in the abscence of a clean or indeed ANY bathroom facility. We decided it was either due to the food we had eaten last night, or that it was Ness´original illness coming back with a vengeance and reeling in a new victim. We decided with much deliberation that the latter was more likely. Firstly, no one else in the group had gotten sick from the food, and we had all eaten at the same place and similarly. Secondly, Ness seemed to be doing better than I was, her previous night´s vomit would be her final for the illness, whilst I was just getting started.
Quite frankly though, how and why it happened didn´t make one iota of difference. The outcome was the problem, we were facing a shit situation, of which the most sensible solution was also the most horrifying and heart wrenching, boycotting the Inca Trail. It was not a solution either of us were willing to accept. So our guide got us the most powerful antibiotics money can buy, and sent us on our way.
The bus trip to the trail entrance was Hell for me. By the time we got there I was in big trouble, weak, light headed, and extremely nauseous, I stumbled off the bus. For the first time, I really didn´t think I would be able to embark on the Inca Trail. I could hardly walk a step let alone trek 40 kms. Apparently I looked like the living dead, I was a definite grey colour, I spoke in groans, and stumbled around as if my limbs were decaying.
At this stage the guide´s assitant was celebrating, it looked to him as if he were about to get four days worth of pay to take me back to town and kick back in Cusco. The guide approached me to ask how I was, I was about to reply not good, before I turned on my heel ran five steps, and projectile vommitted all over the entrance gate to the Inca Trail. Suddenly I felt fine. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was only temporary relief, but despite all that my body was telling me, I figured I had come to far to turn this experience down. So I told him that I was doing it. I don´t think anybody truly believed that I would make it, not even me.
Somehow I found myself holding two hiking sticks, in my haze I don´t know where they came from, but for the following day they served as an extra pair of legs to keep me from falling to the ground. The first day was supposed to be the easiest hiking, which was a blessing for me, however, this day still turned out to be the hardest for me by far. As we set out I immediately fell behind. It was the assitant guides job to make sure I made it, so he always hovered just ahead of me, occasionaly asking if I wanted to head back, but always checking to ensure I hadn´t fallen down and died somewhere.
I don´t remember the scenery that day, although I am assurred that it was spectacular. I focussed on taking just one more step. Each step I managed was one more than I thought I could. The ascents were murder, and the descents were almost as bad, each step down unsettling my stomach. I vommitted a couple of times on the track. I arrived at the lunch site to a round of applause, but I simply collapsed and slept through most of the break. When I was awoken, far earlier than I would have liked to have been, I was informed we weren´t even half way. My heart sunk. We had the same distance again (4km) plus an extra 2km at the end of the day that was to be a steep ascent. I had hardly made it to lunch, I didn´t see how I was going to make it to the campsite. However, I couldn´t face the idea of giving up after putting myself through this much pain. Stubbornly and perhaps stupidly I set off again. Again it was agony, and if it weren´t for the kindness and persistance of the assitant guide Edmundo, who carried my day pack for the last 2km of the day, I surely would not have made it.
I arrived at the campsite forty minutes behind everybody else, later I was told that I made it in the average time hikers generally did, our group was to be the fastest our guide had taken in two years. This was evident in the amount of groups we were overtaking, and our guides constant over estimation of the time it would take us to get to the next stop. But at that first campsite I just got into my tent and slept.
The following day I felt much better. I found out that Ness was going alright as well, she seemed to be about one day´s progress ahead of me in terms of recovery. This day was supposed to be the hardest, with very steep and lenghty ascents. Comparitivley I found it a breeze compared to the previous day, and managed to keep up in the middle of our group for the days hike. The scenery was spectacular, and the weather was perfect for hiking. That night our guide told us his life story. It was quite sobering. He had grown up in poverty, and had to work hard from an early age. After finishing high school his family couldn´t afford to send him to University. He and his friends decided then and there that their lives were not going to improve, so they made a pact to drink themselves to death. A few yearsa later his sister had made a bit of money and found a good job, and was able to afford to send him to university. His mother had to find him on the streets and sober him up. But he did so, completed uni, and became a tour guide, a good one at that. Now he is sending his little brothers and sisters to uni. His friends did not have the same happy ending. Their story is unfortunately a common one in Peru.
The third day I began to get an appetite, and was very lively. It was only a short walk and views were spectacular, I perhaps overate at dinner that night, and consequently fell ill again. I vommitted in the middle of the night, and felt very ordinary on the early morning we were to set out to Machu Pitchu. It was to be a crazy morning.
There was only two hours of hiking to get to Machu Pitchu, and every group on the Inca Trail got up early to get there first. The hike turned into a sprint. Every pace I took I was sure would make me chunder. Although I did turn and dry reach once along the way, I was lucky to generally be spared of that eventuality. I was the third in our group to make it to the Sungate, and there were only about five others who made it before us. The view was amazing, but clouds were descending fast. By the time Sarah arrived she caught a glimpse of Machu Pitchu before it was engulfed by clouds.
The morning of our tour of the ruins was dampened by heavy rain. I was neither feeling to comfortable or well, but the grandiosity of the ruins could hardly be denied. After our tour the rain cleared and we hung around the ruins for a bit, but soon decided to head back to town.
On the short bus ride back to Aguas Calientes we were lucky enough to witness a most amazingly athletic feat. As our bus depated from Machu Pitchu a boy dressed in the traditional garb waved goodbye to us with vigour, then he ran away. I scratched my head over this for a short part of the bus´descent down a very windy hill, before I saw the same boy again jump out in front of the bus waving and hollering all the time, stop running whilst still continuing with the dramatics and step out the way of our bus to let us pass him before he ran off again. We saw this kid after every turn the bus took, and it was a very tall hill. Towards the end he was looking exhausted. Of course after the last turn the bus stopped, let him on and he collected a tip from every body. But Goddamn he deserved it, it was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. The blurry picture beneath is a capture I got of him waving.
The Inca Trail over, a few of us headed to the hot springs to soak. It did me the world of good, I was aching all over. Upon putting on my boardies I realised I had lost a lot of weight. Trekking 4 days for 40kms with the shits and the occassional vommitting fit without consuming much food is apparently better than the no carbs diet. So try to spot the condition on me now MUM! For a final thought, the Inca Trail did almost kill me, but I am glad I was able to manage it, for one it makes a good story, and also you never know if you´ll ever get a chance to do such a thing again.
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