I slipped on the rock and fell.
My trekking pole snapped in half.
I lifted my bottle to drink, only a few drops came out.
I looked around – I’m all alone.
Is it possible to feel depressed in such natural beauty?
The Santa Cruz trek is described as one of the most beautiful in the world, but here I am, feeling… meh.
I like to travel not just to see and experience new things.
But to understand and relive the experiences of ancient cultures.
From the mysterious Nasca Lines to the enigmatic Tiwanaku ruins, I find myself getting more and more amazed with how seemingly impossible things could be achieved.
This curiosity with the unknown brought me to the ruins of Chavin de Huantar.
Snow pelted against my poncho.
Thunder rumbled in the skies.
A curtain of white blanketed the landscape.
I cursed at the weather, lowered my head and continued walking towards my destination: the Pastoruri Glacier.
“The weather up there at 5000m is like my ex-wife,” said Roger, my guide. “Crazy and unpredictable.”
It’s true. It was hot and sunny just an hour ago but at the glacier, my hands were freezing.
There is something about waterbodies:
The reflection, the tranquillity, the way they are naturally placed among surrounding mountains and valleys that make them so alluring.
Throw in some animals grazing on the grass and the whole scene is postcard perfect.
Waterfalls, lakes, rivers… They always make me stop and stare.
The Laguna 69 in the Cordillera Blanca mountain range of Peru is one of them.
“And on your right, is the famous Paracas Family,” the co-pilot announced over the speakers as we flew over the image of the ‘cutely-drawn’ family of 5.
Or was it 6? It wasn’t clear.
There’s the man – the head of the family – with a huge mane, like the rays of the sun and holding on a stick; a woman with her long hair till the waist, and two children who look more like rabbits to me.
Separated from the group is a small person, presumably the baby of the family.
The pilot circled around the family to the left, giving the passengers on the other side an equal chance to see the Family.
Now this is not something one gets to see every day, not even on the famous Nazca Lines flight. This is the lesser known Palpa Lines.
“I’m not going to Machu Picchu. I refuse to be around thousands of other tourists,” said Antonio, my tent mate during the Choquequirao trek.
Rumour has it that there is a set of ruins near Cusco that is almost as magnificent as Machu Picchu, but far less crowded.
Popular guidebooks noted that there are fewer than 30 visitors to Choquequirao per day, compared to the over 3000 at Machu Picchu.
Why?
The only way to get there is to do a two days’ trek across and down a valley, and up the other side, and two days to get out. There is no road access to the site.
There are plans to build a cable-car connecting the hard-to-reach ruins to the masses in a few years’ time. Then, Choquequirao would receive thousands of visitors each day.
Plus, the Choquequirao trek is touted as one of the hardest trek in the Cusco region. Call it a challenge, call it pride, call it whatever you want. Knowing all these, I had to do it.
Machu Picchu has always been my dream destination to visit:
There’s something about the accurately-fitted ruins with much historical significance, the engineering genius in accordance to the sun and moon and it being hidden in the clouds that makes it so mystical.
I once had a photoshopped picture of myself holding my selfie stick in front of the famed postcard photo of Machu Picchu. That’s how much I wanted to visit it.
One would’ve thought I’d rush to visit the New Wonder of the World the moment I arrived in Cusco, but it was only almost 3 weeks later that I took the plunge and went on a 5-day Salkantay pilgrimage to Machu Picchu.
I wanted the experience to be as perfect as possible and I guess subconsciously, I was worried that it wouldn’t live up to the hype and image that I built up in my mind.
I shouldn’t have worried at all.
I stopped and gasped hard for air.
My heart was beating faster than after a 100m sprint.
I felt like vomiting.
“The only way to feel better is to keep walking,” and so, I did.
I kept going, with my eyes on the prize: Vinicunca – the Rainbow Mountain.
It stood in front of us in all its glory, but it’s a good 2 hours away.
So near, yet so far.
“Are we in the Sacred Valley yet?”
An American lady in my tour group asked, even though we were already in the third and final town of our tour.
What she – and many tourists – misunderstood was that the Sacred Valley is just a valley. In truth, the Sacred valley is a range of valleys and towns and rivers.
Day 2: It was 4:40 a.m.
We started our hike in the canyon darkness. The full moon barely lit the way.
A dotted line of white lights shone from the trekkers’ heads.
My headlamp was weak; the white spot looked like 480p quality compared to everyone’s 1080p bright light.
But it was enough for avoiding the heaps of mules’ shit on the ground.
Just 3 more hours and 1100m in elevation to complete the gruelling Colca Canyon trek.
