When I last left you, the boys and I were staggering out of our hostel drunk as lords and being escorted to a bus that would start us on our way to Maccu Picchu. We greeted our fellow passengers with a chorus of obscenities as we tried to accurately describe how terrible we were feeling. I was positive they were not impressed. I promptly passed out, determined not to empty the contents of my stomach on to the well-worn bus upholstery. Moss decided to redecorate the external paintwork of the coach with a mixture of browns, reds, and yellow tints which vaguely resembled the food and drink he had consumed the previous night. What an artisan!
Anyway, our first stop was the town of Ollantaytambo, high up in the sacred valley. Inca ruins overlook what is now a touristy looking town. As we arrived, an Easter procession was underway complete with full brass band. We were also greeted by many local people selling walking sticks, coca leaves, and pack straps. I promptly lay down and passed out in what seemed to be a gutter. I think my drunken state discouraged the locals from selling me any goods, and none approached me. Even the local canines seemed loath to walk within five meters of my crumpled form. Steve went walkabout as per usual, and kept us all fifteen minutes late (Steve, really, you have a terrible sense of time!), which inspired anger in one of the trail guide. We were not making a great first impression.
We left our bus behind at the small village of Chilca (where more locals tried to sell us crap for the trail), and I finally began to feel less sick. Steve and Moss were still struggling, but I felt imbibed with new life. We were introduced to our guides Roberto and Manuel, strapped some sleeping mats to our packs, checked in with the trail regulation authority, before we hit the trail in earnest. Day one proved to be not too hard at all, with only one large incline. Thank god we did all that trekking in Chile and Bolivia and carried an adequate supply of coca leaves. We stopped at the Llactapata ruins for a breather, before having a great late lunch of pasta, soup and tea. I was (and still am) at the constitution of the porters who carry nearly thirty kilos of random supplies (i.e. propane bottles, tents, food for 4 days, and other random stuff) and still manage to run the trail in sandles. They constantly overtake the trekkers who carry twenty kilograms less weight! I felt some pity for them as I know it is not a particularly good occupation, and that some do get treated terribly.
We got to know our fellow trekkers, Trung, Siking, Elizabeth were all from the UK, Anna was from Singapore, while Kit and Dave were from the States. We all got along like a house on fire. After a good days walk we reached our first camp site at Llulluchupampa, and settled down to a fine meal, and an early, if not snug, nights rest, managing to fit three big guys into a two man tent. Day one = EOF.
