Machu Picchu: Chapter 5, In Which We Reach the Promised Land

At 3 a.m. we were all awakened and NOT given tea, which was unpleasant in the extreme.  We were told the early hour was partly in order to make sure we reached the famous Sun Gate before dawn, and partly for the chaskeys. Aguas Calientes is a town made specifically for tourists a 25 minute bus ride down from Machu Picchu.  It's like base camp.  It has a train station that leads back into civilization, which is how people who don't want to hike get to Machu Picchu. It would seen that there is an expensive tourist train that runs periodically throughout the day, and a cheap local train which only leaves at 5:30 a.m. This means that in order for the chaskeys to arrive back at their place of employ in time they either need to be on that train, or, if they miss it, walk all the way back.  

We were rushed through our breakfast and our tents were dismantled around us, which was unfortunate for J2 who was continuing the descent through Dante's 9 circles of Hell.  We pulled on our headlamps and trekked off into the darkness. 

This day I was near the front of the pack.  Unusual, surprising even.  The way was “flat,” so it was easier to keep up the breakneck pace. 

The final obstacle was called The Monkey Steps, and was a short but steep and narrow series of stone ledges wide enough only for toes and fingers and necessitated crawling up with care.  Once at the top, you could look out below at the ruins of the Incan city of Machu Picchu still covered in shadow.  All 20 of us sat quietly with a few dozen other hikers and watched sunlight sweep inch by inch through the mountain tops and over the stones. 

Once the sun had completely illuminated the ancient city, we started descending.  It was farther than anticipated, and by the time we arrived I felt like maybe I would just never walk again. We shuffled around the ruins in the warm sun as our guide gave us a tour of the highlights.  Then it was time to split.  Everyone doing the Huayna Picchu hike except for my people went to do that.  Our tickets somehow were for the following morning.  At this point it seemed pretty improbable that I would ever move again, but I decided that somehow by the next morning magically I would be capable of hiking the steep and notoriously treacherous cliffs of Huayna Picchu.  The Chinese group vanished, and the others wandered off in different directions.  The plan was for everyone to meet at 1:00 at the SAS run hotel in Aguas Calientes for lunch and goodbyes.  We took many photos and pointed vigorously at a number of llamas before getting on a bus to take us down to into town. 

Once at the hotel, we stopped in our rooms to take our first shower in 4 or in some cases 5 days.  I happily stepped into the nice clean private shower IN OUR ROOM and immediately shrieked because there was no hot water.  I danced in the ice water for two minutes as I tried to wash my hair, but once I got out I discovered that I had only washed the shampoo out of the left side of my head.  I was faced with the choice of returning to the ice water or going another 3-4 days with dried shampoo in my hair. 

I returned to the US with that shampoo in my hair. 

We regrouped in the common space downstairs and enjoyed a lunch buffet, most of which I refused to eat because it contained uncooked vegetables and meat that looked suspiciously like llama.  After lunch, the Chinese group left, but the rest of us were staying the night in the hotel.  The others all left in the morning, and we were set to head back to Huayna Picchu.  The family of women went off to do things like shower and change, Two of our guides left to return to Cusco.  J2 had been kind enough to offer Guide1 a bottle of his favorite liquor which happened to be Jack Daniels whiskey, and starting at 2:00 p.m. 7 of us sat around the table and passed a shot glass around in a circle over and over.  You may be thinking, Danielle HATES whiskey.  Danielle HATES shots. Danielle is not the type of person who starts drinking liquor at 2:00 in the afternoon! But you have to remember the situation.  I had suffered some serious doubts about my ability to complete this trek alive.  I had taken that insurance policy out on myself with real concern. I had just completed the hardest physical challenge of my life and I WAS INVINCIBLE.

The whiskey was followed by wine to celebrate the Canadians’ engagement, which had occurred at dawn as the sun rose over Machu Picchu.  No one could refuse that. 

The wine was followed by pisco sours, because pisco is the THING to have in Peru.

By the time we finished the pisco sours, Guide1 had told us he knew THE place to get passion fruit sours, the best drink in the world.  We all agreed that this was the best course of action, so we grabbed a few others and left J2 to recover in a bed, and zigzagged our way through town to a bar that made us sit outside.  We ordered a round of passion fruit sours and sat around talking for what seemed like a very long time. Also drinking.  Admittedly things are a little blurred. At one point J1 and I went to the bathroom, and I got locked in.  This was unfortunate, as they were little individual bathrooms with strong, sturdy wood doors. 

“J1…” I called timidly, suspecting she had already long gone.

“Yes?” she answered from right outside the door.

“I’m locked in the bathroom.”

“Ah,” was all she said.

I waited for a bit.

“Should I do something about it?” she finally asked, as though the idea was outlandish.

“No,” I said. “But if anyone wonders what happened to me, you can explain that I got locked in this bathroom and can’t get out.”

“Okay,” she said. And left.

It is worth noting that J1 does not remember this happening at all.  It is even more worth noting she does not remember what happened later, which I will detail shortly.

Left alone in the bathroom, I tried clawing my way out with my nails, which was as ineffective as you are all thinking. I finally managed to scrape the lock free, though in doing so tore a gash across my finger, which I noticed later covered in blood.  I returned to the merriment at our table outside, where the two men with us were doing something called “leg wrestling” on the sidewalk.  This was a fascinating display of manliness that involved lying on their backs and hooking their legs in a strange imitation of arm wrestling. 

Finally, I turned to M. “Ohmygod we have to go to bed I’m dying what time is it like is it 2 a.m. we have to get up at 6 a.m. and hike this godforsaken extra mountain it’s like 2 in the morning we have to go what time is it.”    She showed me her watch. “Ohmygod it’s 7:55 it’s not even 8:00 why is this happening I have to go to bed right now you don’t even understand how is it not even 8:00 at night.

“We started drinking heavily at 2 in the afternoon,” she pointed out rationally.

“I’m going to bed right now,” I declared, and everyone else agreed it was time to go back.  We had a raucous walk back to the hotel where stopped outside to say goodbye when all of a sudden our Canadian shouted at me, “YOU’RE A FENCER?”

I have no idea how this came up.  It might have been a delayed reaction from the previous day. “Yeah,” I said. “I mean, I was. A long time ago. I WAS IN THE JUNIOR OLYMPICS.”

“Fence me now!”

“We don’t have swords.” He put up an arm with an open hand and got in fighting stance.  “This is a terrible idea,” I said, mirroring his position. “One of us is going to get very badly hurt.  I am going to get very badly hurt.”

“No,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.  “Okay then.” 

Remember the effects of altitude on your blood? Combined with alcohol?

I got him gracefully right on his sword arm as I had been trained.

“AGAIN!” He said.

“Don’t punch me in the stomach.”

“I will not punch you in the stomach.”

He got me real hard in the stomach and I doubled over. “AGAIN!” I shouted. “THIS TIME FOR MY HONOR.”

I have no idea who was paying attention and who wasn’t.  It would seem no one, because later no one else understood exactly how I came to be lying on the ground. 

We feinted back and forth for maybe three seconds, at which point I decided the best course of action was to full out charge in what could have been a beautiful fleche if I had a) been actually holding a sword, b) not been starting from such close range to begin with, and c) not been incredibly extraordinarily intoxicated. 

Instead of receiving stunning punch in the chest, our Canadian sidestepped, caught my arm in his and our inside legs tangled. My momentum kept me going, the leg tangle  spun me, and I pitched directly backwards down the sidewalk, which was on a sharp incline.  Because I was drunk, I did not put my arms back to stop my fall which means I did not break my arms or wrists. Because of the incline, my head came down last.  In fact, my head didn’t come down at all.  The entire force of the fall to the cement came down squarely on my butt.  Not my tailbone.  Just my butt.  I lay my head down gently on the pavement as everyone fluttered around yelling but I was too stunned to understand English anymore.  I didn’t even try to get up, just lay there on my back until exactly one thing registered.

“I DID NOT HIT MY HEAD!!” I yelled at everyone in the vicinity.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” they yelled back.

“I DID NOT HIT MY HEAD!” I repeated excitedly.  “I DID NOT HIT MY HEAD AT ALL.  I DID NOT EVEN HIT MY HEAD.”

Sensing I was not planning to ever take further action other than to continue shouting this over and over, My opponent reached down and scooped me up new bride style and set me on my feet.  He was extremely contrite. I reassured him, “I DIDN’T HIT MY HEAD.”

Probably it sounded a lot like I had hit my head.  But it was true, my head had not even grazed the pavement until I laid it down, stunned, in a miracle of miracles.  My butt, on the other hand, felt like it had been removed and then sewed back on without anesthesia.

I reassured everyone that I was completely and totally fine, laughed it off, said goodbye to everyone, barely climbed the stairs to the room I was sharing with J2, and began to sob uncontrollably.

“Oh my god what is wrong?” asked J2.

“I DIDN’T EVEN HIT MY HEAD,” I explained to her.

Head spinning, butt pulsating, I went to bed.

At 6 a.m. I woke up feeling fantastic.  My head was steady, I felt no after effects of the alcohol at all.  My muscles all continued hurting from the hike, but the only thing left from the night before was the gash on my hand from the bathroom luck and my butt.

My butt had swelled.  I was unaware that butts could swell.  Mine had swelled so much that it affected my walking.  I could barely shuffle.  Hiking to the top of Huayna Picchu seemed less and less attainable.  I looked over at J2.  

J2, having managed half of our 35 miles through mountainous wilderness, STILL AT THE FRONT OF THE GROUP and STILL CARRYING A PACK, had decided that this, finally, was the moment to give up on life.  I like to think that had J2 been in any shape to continue onward,  I would have taken my swollen butt and crawled up the final mountain.  I was wide awake and feeling good at the 6 a.m. departure time, which was itself a true Christmas Miracle.  My legs were weak but my knees were stable, and I was pretty sure nothing on Earth was too much to conquer.  But as it was, I gave J2a once over and determined that it was neither kind nor prudent to leave her alone for 8 hours, because no one should have to die alone.

J1 and M headed back towards the mountains, and I got up and stared for a good while at the shower.  Deciding maybe I’d just never take a shower again, I sat around eating beef jerky until around 8 a.m. at which point I headed to a pharmacy to bring some important items back for J2.  I headed for the pharmacy, where people spoke less English than you might think in a town made for western tourists, retrieved the items and delivered them to the sick room.  I ate some more beef jerky, and took another walk through town. 

I passed the day this way, wandering in and out, making sure J2 didn't die without anyone noticing, wandering through the sunlit streets of town, passing in and out of the hostel common room. At some time in the afternoon J1 and M returned exhausted and we all had lunch and headed for the train station.  I was a little apprehensive, remembering the train I took through Bolivia from the Salar region back to Oruro, but this train was beautiful.  The were wide windows, the ceiling was glass which made for very nice views, everything was incredibly clean, the seats were comfortable, and we had attendants walking through at intervals with drinks and snacks and very expensive merchandise.  It was more luxurious than any train I've ever been on. 

It was several hours on the train back to Cusco, where we were picked up by an SAS van and taken back to our hostel.  This time we asked for a room on the back of the property, farther from the noise of the bar/club which we still did not have the energy to go to.  J1, M, and I barely had the strength to drag ourselves out in to the streets looking for dinner.  J2 stayed in bed.  A woman found us on the street and herded us into her restaurant which was not amazing but not terrible. 

It should be noted that by this point both M and J1 were now also suffering from certain common South American gastro issues thus making me THE ONLY PERSON ON THIS TRIP NOT TO GET SICK AT ALL.

CONSTANT. VIGILANCE.

We went back to the hostel where M took a shower and informed us of how cold the water was so I continued to not take a shower.  Then we went to bed, and I slept all through the night.

Machu Picchu: Chapter 4, In Which We Continue Ascending and then Descend

On the second morning we were awakened by chaskeys outside our tent with hot tea. We quickly packed our belongings back in our bags, and left everything in there for them to pick up and take up to our next camp site. Not a bad way to travel. 

Breakfast was quiet in the tent as we ate quinoa porridge with cinnamon.  It had milk in it, which I eyed thoughtfully, and then decided that since it was heated it might not carry disease.  Good thing, because it was the most amazing breakfast food I have ever been handed. 

Breakfast was over by dawn and we were off again on the trail, this time a straight uninterrupted ascent through Dead Woman's Pass.  The name Dead Woman's Pass gave certain among us a Terrible Feeling of Dread as we hiked, but I was constantly reassured that the pass got its name from the shape of the mountains forming it.  Again and again the head, waist, and breasts were pointed out to me, but I remain convinced that this was all bullshit made up on the spot to keep the more nervous of the tourists from suing for emotional damages. 

A few km into the day, a little boy ran past us with a backpack.  

"Where are you going?" asked the guide.

"School!" the boy called over his shoulder.

"Where is school?"

"Ollantaytambo!" the boy shouted back, before continuing down the mountain at a run. 

Please remember that this is the town we started in, the day before, 13 hours of hiking earlier.  

This is how chaskeys are made.

Much of the pathway was made of stone steps we climbed one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one.......forty million times.  I quickly fell behind my own friends and turned to another fellow hiker who became my 2^nd Day Best Friend.  

After a good 8 hours of struggle and friend making, people started to reach the top.  My friends reached it long before I did, along with a few of the Chinese group.  My New Friend I were behind the of half of Chinese, and behind us were the rest of her family and then finally the two Canadians in the back.  The first guide was somewhere not too far ahead, The second guide was up at the top.  The third guide was midway between us and the summit, when a Chinese girl passed out and her eyes rolled back in her head.  Running up the mountain at 14,000 ft above sea level after throwing away half your water supply is widely looked down on, because what happens is you pass out and your eyes roll back in your head and things don't look so good for you. 

I was too far behind to see this actually happen. All we heard was the closest guide’s shouts up to the one midway: "OXIGENO!!! OXIGENO!!!"  The next guide then tried passing the shouts along up the mountain to third and farthest, who was the one carrying the oxygen tank, but unlike in 101 Dalmatians, this chain of communication did not work as quickly or effectively as the girl needed to continue not having brain damage. Guide2 had to race up the rest of the mountain at a run, a distance and pace which were not negligible.  We could see the top from our position, but that was because the mountain was steep, not because the summit was especially close.  I was effectively moving forward at approximate one step per 20 minutes, and there was probably a good 1.5 km left.  As Guide2 ran he shouted, "OXIGENO!!"  Soon the call was taken up and down the mountain as hikers started picking up on it, and eventually it reached Guide3 who started running down the mountain to meet Guide2 on his way up.  They passed off the tank and Guide2 took off right back down the slope. 

It was a pretty dramatic time. 

I would also like to take this moment out of the dramatic action to point out that I WAS NOT THE RECIPIENT OF THE OXYGEN. I reached the top of Dead Woman's Pass on the strength of my own legs and lungs. 

Back to the story. New Friend and I continued onwards, passing the unconscious girl in Guide1’s arms, with the oxygen mask over her face.  After brutal efforts, I summitted and lay down in the dirt and prayed for an easy death while everyone took photos and rejoiced as we waited for the others, who numbered about 6. 

DO YOU SEE HOW FAR FROM LAST I WAS?

Once everyone had reached the top, we were told we had to climb a nearby hill, at which point my soul died without fanfare or recognition. 

At the top of this hill, we piled up some stones, took out some coca leaves and blew on them, and made wishes.  I wished never to feel that way again, but the gods did not see fit to grant my wish because very soon we were on our way back down the mountain, which proved to be far, far worse. 

As you are mostly aware, I suffered some severe knee trauma last March which seems to have caused me permanent damage.  Many of you received the narrative involving the bloody massacre that was my trek down the Arenal volcano in Costa Rica.  This was not quite as intense, but it was much longer, and at only halfway my knees went from wobbly to completely dysfunctional and I could no longer put any weight on them at all.  They didn't hurt, exactly.  They just no longer supported me.  If I put a foot down, I just fell right over.  Luckily I had my hiking poles, which I used essentially as crutches, using them to hold all of my weight step by step. This was extremely slow going, and I soon found myself in the same predicament I did on that volcano in Costa Rica--total darkness.

Luckily, I had a fantastic and stylish headlamp right in my easily accessible bag unlike some other n00bs on the trail.  Also luckily, I was not alone.  M was with me the entire way, and J1 and J2 for large parts.

I won't go into full detail of the horror that was my body and mind by the time I reached the bottom of the mountain because my mother is reading this, but if you are not my mother, you should just try to imagine the Total Despair I faced as I dragged my dead legs along on my fake crutches, towards the dinner tent. If you are my mother, try imagining rainbows and friendly hippos instead. 

Dinner was a quiet and somber affair, as even people who were not me were utterly exhausted and/or suffering broken ankles.

After dinner most people stuck around for drinks and ghost stories, but I was having none of it. As dark had swept through the pass, a bitter cold descended.  We were high, high up now, even with the descent. I could not stop shaking, and it wasn't just from the weak knees. On my way to the “toilets,” I carefully crossed a wooden bridge over rushing water when my knees gave out, possibly from the shivering, and I pitched sideways towards the edge.  I yelped in terror, sure that this was it, but luckily whoever had constructed the bridge had accounted for tourists and also built little wood rails which prevented me from tumbling into the water below.  I made it to the most disgusting bathroom we had yet come across on the trip (still did not make my top 5 Worst Bathrooms list).  Also the first bathroom which had only holes rather than toilets.  Not ideal in the cold and the dark, but could have been worse.

Back in the tent I covered myself once again in Hot Hands but unfortunately even that could not stop the violent shivering. The last time I had suffered such cold was the Night of Impending Death in Bolivia so long ago.  I pulled out an emergency blanket Kate once gave me, but even that did nothing and also crinkled at high volume any time I breathed.  I lay awake once again all night until 5 a.m. when the chaskeys brought our morning tea and pulled us from our tents.  

I was standing around praying once again for an easy death that did not seem to be coming when I spotted A PILE OF OREOS.  I heard angels singing in my head.  A soft halo glow emanated from the pile.  I tried to move towards them but I was frozen.  Guide2 was handing them out to hikers, a 4 pack to each of us.  When he reached me I said, "I will save this until evening.  For as long as there is the possibility of Oreos in my future, I will not succumb to death."  He looked at me hard for a few seconds, trying to determine whether this was a joke or a decree.  He seemed disturbed by what he saw in my eyes so he went back to the pile, picked up four more packs, and hid them in my pockets. 

"PLEASE do not die on this trip," he said. I can't even imagine the paperwork and legal repercussions he might suffer in the event of my death. Probably a lot, because after thinking for another few seconds, he packed his own pockets with Oreos to save for later in case I seemed ready to give in. 

I was busy with my own suffering, but it must also be said that J2 woke up this morning in a state. Not EVERYONE had properly examined all of their food for Death Molecules the way I had! Despite the horrible illness that has cut down lesser women, J2 STILL MADE THE 16 KM TREK CARRYING A PACK. 

This day is blurry to me.  The fatigue, the cold, the lack of sleep, the knee swelling...it's hard to remember everything correctly.  But I'm sure I had a lot of fun. 

Seriously though, this whole time that I have been describing the depths of my pain and despair, everything around us was busy being the most beautiful sight mankind can behold.  Snow capped peaks, green and brown mountains, trees and flowers and vines, clouds hanging just over our heads.  The air was thin but clean and the surrounding forestry was untouched by trash or human markings. Every view was stunning. 

The main takeaway from Day 3 was 16 km of ascending and descending, J1, who had been at the head of the group most of the way, stayed behind with me at the end of the evening as I came in second to last in the dark to the final campsite, which was kind of difficult to find. 

J2 lay down to die in our tent, and instead of being a good friend and staying with her to deliver the last rites, I ran off nearly immediately with a group of die-hards at a near run into the brush, swollen knees ignored, lung pain dismissed as I struggled not to be left behind alone in the dark in the woods.  When I ran out into the clearing, the sun was nearly set. The last rays of light shone on an Incan stone structure at the top of a small mountain, directly in front of me.  Below, stretching far, far below, were terraces cut into the slope, one after the other reaching down like steps into another world.  The place was called Winay Wayna and if you look up photos you'll see what I mean, but it won't look as beautiful to you because there was something about being there just at the start of night after the day and looking straight down into the valley that was pretty magical.  

J2 continued to lay near death in the tent as the rest of us ate dinner.. Eventually we all survived dinner and headed to our tents where we lay for maybe 2 hours because we were all to be awakened at 3 a.m. to make the final 7 km push onwards towards Machu Picchu. 

Questions to ponder:

Do my knees recover or do I need to be carried into Machu Picchu?

Does J2 die?

What exactly IS Machu Picchu?

Answers to these questions and more will come in Chapter 5. 

Machu Picchu: Chapter 3, In Which We Ascend

At 5:00 a.m. we woke up, and at 5:20 we were at the SAS owned hotel meeting the group, the guides, and leaving behind the duffel bags we had been given to put our belongings in to send ahead with the chaskeys.  The bags could weigh a maximum of 9 kilos, including our rented sleeping bags and mats.  This left us with more or less 6 kilos of belongings.  Having only brought a total of about 6 kilos with me for the whole trip, this did not pose a problem for me. I put some sunscreen, 2 granola bars, a water bottle, my wallet, and my passport in my little day pack (kindly lent by Julia), and sent the rest on. This way on the hike I was carrying maybe 5 pounds, total. My strategy of packing nothing was working well.  It was the only hope I had of survival. Everyone else was carrying between 15 and 40 pounds.  I hoped that this would bring them down to my level.  

It did not.

We drove about 45 minutes to a breakfast spot where I carefully checked all items for potential death carrying properties.  Most of the offerings passed muster. We purchased coca leaves, large plastic rain bags, and water bottles, and continued on our way towards Ollantaytambo.  

During the bus ride I was filled with Morning Hate for everyone and everything and wouldn't speak, so J2 started a conversation with one of the guides sitting near us.   They spoke of many things until eventually I was ready to speak like a human again, at which point I told him I didn't expect to live to see the end of our trip.  He took this very seriously and started to become concerned that I would become a legal hazard.  

"NO!" he said. "No no. No.  You will not die. No. Don't do that. You are going to be fine. Do not die on this trip."

We arrived at the start of the trek around 8 a.m., showed our passports to some officials, took some photos, and headed on our way. 

The first day was not the one most talked about by those warning me of the horrors awaiting, but it was steep enough and challenging enough for me for sure. After only two hours I was pretty much maxed out physically, and we still had 10 of our 14 kilometers to go. The chaskeys, on the other hand, ran past us at intervals, having started long behind us and needing to finish long before us while each carrying 25 kilos of luggage and equipment.  They raced up the mountain with this weight to set up a tent and set places for us for lunch each day, and to cook gourmet 5 course meals before our arrival.  Many of us were incredulous. 

"How can do they do this physically?" we tried to ask through labored breathing. 

"They start as children," our guide told us. "They live in the mountains but go to school in the towns below.  They have to run there and back every day."

This seemed ridiculous, but I didn't have the breath to argue. 

As everyone can guess, I was not in the front of this group. I was not quite in the middle. BUT I WAS NOT LAST. I was not. I was NEVER LAST

Not last. 

I was. Not. Last. Ever.

Okay???

Lunch time was mid afternoon in a beautiful grove with some not-the-worst-toilets-ever in a tent with beautifully set places and little stools and a multi-course lunch.  I rejected many foods for their possible death properties even though theoretically a licensed tour group that takes Americans all year round should be pretty safe.  CONSTANT VIGILANCE, my friends.  Never trust a cucumber past the Texas border!! Mayonnaise? NOPE. Tomato? NO THANK YOU. I was a diarrhea free zone! 

While expertly deflecting Disease and Death, I got to know some of our other travelers a little better.  Were a few Americans, two Canadians, and a group of 7 Chinese. We never really learned much about them because mostly they kept to themselves and spoke Chinese.  

After lunch we continued upwards. As people forged ahead I had plenty of time to walk a solitary journey and contemplate all of the terrible pain I was in. As we moved forward, every 2 hours or so our guide would stop us all to point out ancient ruins and other Incan related beauty.  

Eventually we made it to our first campsite.  I was NOT the last person to arrive.  J2, it must be said, was the FIRST to arrive, by a long shot. She may have a career as a chaskey. It was demoralizing to some of the rest of us who might not have been last but were perhaps 13th by a fair amount. 

Tents were all set up for us, including a dining tent where we were given snack and tea.  Snack was popcorn and cookies, and the tea was amazing, especially as it was pretty cold outside. This particular campsite was advertised as having a shower.  Having not washed my hair at the hostel due to the cold, and with another 6 days ahead of me, I decided to brave the shower which cost $1.50 per use and was SWORN to have hot water.  

I was the first to brave the shower.  I handed over my money, grabbed my beautiful new camping towel, and stepped into the dirt encrusted little stall and took a moment to contemplate the mosquitoes congregating in various corners and around the drain. I started to shut the door but as I did realized there was no light.  I walked back out and asked the shower owner where the light was.  "No light," he told me. At first I started to grab my headlamp, but then I realized the shower was probably not the greatest place for a headlamp's well-being.  So I got back in the shower in the total darkness, felt around for the water chain, and was immediately doused in the freezing cold waters of the Andes.  "Hot" apparently to Peruvians just means "not physically frozen into ice quite yet." Combined with the 45 degree temperature of the outdoors, this quickly climbed the charts to make onto the Top Five Worst Showers I Have Taken Around the World. 

Quickly, the previous top 5 were:

1. The first shower I took in Bolivia upon coming down from the Death Journey through the mountains. I begged a stranger to use her shower which turned out to be a nozzle hanging over the toilet.  I was given a broom to hang onto to in order to continuously sweep water into a drain in the center of the floor as I showered, with the windows open, in temperatures of 30-35 degrees, in water that was just barely not frozen while simultaneously trying not to faint, vomit, or poop uncontrollably. 

2. Upon returning from Iceland to France where I stopped in Chateaulin to visit Alexa's home in the boarding house of her school, only to discover the heat and of course hot water broken in 40 degree weather whereupon I was forced to boil water in an electric kettle repeatedly to fill a bucket, stand in the middle of the bathroom, and dump all of the hot water over my head in one swift movement.

3. The shower in the hostel in Greece which was in a co-ed bathroom in which the shower stalls had doors that were not made for people of any human proportions I have yet seen on this earth which only barely covered your bits on the lower and upper ends provided no one decided to walk especially close to your shower or make any effort to peer in from the next stall.  Additionally hot water cost a Euro, which had to be deposited in a little box outside the bathroom which somehow connected to a certain shower.  So if you pick shower 3, you go outside, deposit a Euro in box 3 at which point hot water starts pouring out of shower 3 so you RUN TO IT because you only have 5 minutes of water, throwing your towel off as you sprint and hoping no one notices. Please don't forget that this was during February one day after a freak snow blizzard in a hostel that mostly DID NOT HAVE A ROOF.  The bedrooms and the showers had sort-of roofs, but they weren't fully attached to the walls so while it kept snow out of the beds, it did nothing for the temperatures.  And 5 minutes was not enough for my shampooing so I spent two days in Athens with the un-rinsed shampoo in my hair causing half my head of hair to randomly stick up in solid masses because all I had that morning was a single Euro coin. 

4. The shower in my host family's apartment in Toulouse.  This was just a repeated offense over the course of 6 months.  This was not actually a shower, this was a bathtub with a shower nozzle that didn't work most of the time so I had to constantly scrunch on my back under the bathtub faucet trying to wash my hair all winter where, again, in 35-40 degrees, the family ALWAYS left the windows open, and there was rarely any hot water. 

5. In London at a hostel a man tried to get into the shower with me. This had less to do with the shower itself and more to do with the emotional trauma sustained and the fact that I lay awake with a knife in my hand that night, but still. It goes on the list. Don't worry though! No Danielles were physically harmed in any way in the making of this Worst Shower Episode. 

This was my list before Peru.  But due to the dirt, the mosquitoes, the total lack of light and not being able to see anything at all, combined with the cold of the air and the cold of the water as well as the fatigue (remember I hadn't slept yet? I remember), the shower of this night definitely bumped #2 from its place.  And it fought hard for #1.

Only one other person tried the shower after that, and he didn’t have anything good to say about it either.

Once I had gotten clothing on and taped eight Hot Hands packets to various parts of my body, I was able to enjoy the sight of the night sky, which was STUNNING.  Maybe one of the top 10 most beautiful things I have seen alive in this world. With absolutely 0 light pollution for billions of miles, every single star visible from Earth lit up the sky so that there was almost more light than dark. There was no way to pick out constellations because every scrap of sky was covered in bright points. It was hard to believe.

Dinner was equally marvelous as lunch with its 5 courses and dessert and tea and good conversations, and soon it was time for bed at 8 p.m. because we were going to be roused at 5 a.m. to eat breakfast and continue climbing the mountain.

To come in Chapter 4:  Dead Woman's Pass, utter despair, an oxygen tank, VICTORY

Machu Picchu: Chapter 2, The Horny Llama

Leaving the Lima airport was bittersweet.  It was nice to be headed towards our goal, but sad to leave what had now become our home. The flight itself was uneventful, we landed in Cusco and the other two got their bags (I still had only my pink backpack) and we said goodbye to our airport friends.  We caught a very expensive taxi driven by a friendly driver and finally arrived at our hostel at 4:00 p.m., most of our day of acclimatization lost.  M was not immediately present when we checked in, but had left a note.  We didn't have to wait for her long, and we had a 4 person room which is super nice for a hostel.  It didn't have a door that locked, which wasn't 'ideal, but still not half bad.  The whole place was very open and therefore not heated which was unfortunate, as Cusco was quite cold.  With the seasons opposite, we were heading into winter.  Obviously I did not appreciate this.  

Once we had collected M, the four of us went down the street to SAS Travel to check in and get our final information.  SAS stands for something and something. South America...Stuff? Something Adventure Something? Savy Adventure Squids? I just don't know. But we went there and checked in and showed them our passports and then they asked for our immigration cards.  Three of us pulled out little white pieces of official paper.  

One of us said, "What the hell is that?"

Three of us said, "The piece of paper they told us to keep when we went through customs that they said was very important."

One of us said, "Aw shit."

So I had to run back to the hostel and sift through all the crumpled papers in my backpack and pockets praying that it hadn't been part of the handfuls of paper I had thrown away. Luckily, I found it squished among some trash. 

I started to run back to SAS but after half a second stopped and tried not to die as my lungs constricted, my head rushed, and I gasped for breath. Then I continued leisurely onwards where I presented my immigration card and everything was okay. The man at the SAS desk went over our reservation with us and we discovered that they had charged and booked me and Jessica for the Huayna Picchu hike on the last day. J2 and I had originally opted out of the Huayna Picchu hike because at the time we were both out of shape and the idea of a "very strenuous, somewhat dangerous" hike at the end of 35 uphill mountain miles and 4 days of camping sounded terrible. Sitting there though, finding out we'd been signed up anyway, we decided we might as well.  After all, J2 was now in the best shape of any of our lives, and I was an idiot. 

SAS also told us they were doing a promotion and could offer us a free tour of the Sacred Valley in the morning.  The catch here is that the Sacred Valley is several thousand feet lower than Cusco, and not the best place to acclimatize.  Seeing as how we'd lost the whole first day, the second day was all we had to build our lungs and hearts and blood and whatever else. Additionally, we had to get up at 6 in the morning for the bus. Having not slept in 48 hours and about to embark on the most physically challenging undertaking of my life, this wasn't super appealing, but it was a once in a lifetime opportunity after all. 

We had dinner at a fun restaurant nearby, and returned to the hostel to shower and sleep.  Unfortunately the showers were outside in what as I said was the start of winter, so this was extremely difficult.  It was a very short shower in which I did not wash my hair.  As I mentioned, we had chosen this hostel because of its party nature, intending to party like crazy and live it up with such a conveniently located place to dance dance revolution only 1 minute away from our beds. However, reality was that by 9 p.m., we were all in bed ready for sleep.  We could always party the night we got BACK from the hike. 

Three of us fell asleep immediately. But I have always had a hard time with sleep, and I was awake for a little while, until the music from the Horny Llama started.  

The Horny Llama was RIGHT next to our room.  Right next to all the rooms.  And the bar appeared to turn into a club around 10 p.m. A club filled with booming loud music.  So loud that the bass was making the bunk bed frames vibrate.  It was as if I had gone out to a club, found the spot in front of the speakers, and laid down.  My heart was vibrating. My head was ringing. The music was kind of awesome.  But as the hours ticked by I started feeling sicker and sicker. Breathing was becoming hard.  Lying down in the altitude somehow makes it more difficult. I hadn't slept since the day before I left on the trip.

Somehow the others slept. I'm not entirely sure how.  They say there were tired, but honestly I don't care how tired you are, that is some hard business to sleep through. I lay awake all night vibrating with the music and wondering if my shallow breathing and rushing head was a foreteller of death.  Thank goodness for the repatriation of remains insurance I had bought!

At 5 in the morning people's alarms began to ring and I was unsure if I was relieved the night was over or horrified that now 72 hours had gone by without a single minute of sleep.  My hands shook as I climbed out of the top bunk and landed in a sad heap on the floor.  I drank some water from my bottle, cried a little, took a pill J2 handed me, and followed the others outside and down the road to SAS and climbed into a van full of strangers that drove us into the Sacred Valley, which was very beautiful.

We saw many Incan ruins, and learned that the Incans were not in fact Incans.  Inca is the Quetchua word for king, and so technically the Incans were not the entire people, but only the rulers.  The normal people were Quetchua.  I think. This was my understanding through the haze of sleep deprivation and altitude inspired delirium. We walked around a few sites, learned about terrace farming techniques, and had lunch at a nice place with a buffet.  I carefully avoided the steamed (not BOILED) vegetables, the cheese, the milk, and the salad.  No one else chose to be as cautious. It is true that by the end of lunch I was beginning to feel like one of those paranoid cartoon caricatures with crazy eyes.  "CHEESE.  IT COULD KILL US ALL." and "OH MY GOD. THAT GREEN BEAN DOES NOT LOOK WET ENOUGH WE COULD ALL DIE." But I stuck by my principles faithfully and completely.  

During lunch we got to know the other people in our group, many of whom were mildly interesting. One woman from Indiana described her small town as "50 miles past where Jesus lost his sandals" a phrase I will use for the rest of my life. Another had just gotten married--they were Indian, and it sounded like it was an arranged marriage. We had one man traveling alone who worked for FedEx transporting "dangerous materials" which was the most interesting of all. What is dangerous enough to be considered "dangerous" by FedEx but still legal to put in the mail?? A mystery I will spend my life solving. Possibly with repeated attempts to mail dangerous materials through FedEx. Trial and error! The scientific method! 

In the evening we stopped in a town called Chincherro, famous for alpaca dyeing.  The wool, not the whole llama. We were given a speech by a young girl named Anna about the different dye techniques and tools.  She held up a small bone.

"This," she told us, "is the bone of a tourist who did not buy anything from us....haha. I just kidding. This is bone of llama we use for combing." 

Everyone laughed.  But everyone also bought a beautifully dyed alpaca souvenir.  

That evening we had to be back at SAS at 7:00 for our pre-hike briefing.  We all squeezed into a little attic room in the office. We were 17 in total minus our 3 guides.  The guide gave us a basic idea of what to expect from each day and strongly encouraged all of us to hire a "chaskey" if we had not already, to carry our belongings up the mountain for us. 

I was at this point pretty sure I was going to be dead as well by mid-afternoon the next day because I still had not slept at all.  We got back to the hostel where I had intended to take a shower, but due to the cold and intense shivering and desire to live to ever be warm again, I decided against it.  Instead I stared down an Italian boy at the hostel computer so I could use the internet to send final goodbyes to my loved ones.  While sitting there in the empty common room, a movement by the couch caught my eye.  At first I had no idea what it was because my eyes were telling my brain some unbelievable things, but as the movement hopped closer and closer, I realized it was indeed a white rabbit.  What was a rabbit doing in a hostel common room in Peru? Had it escaped the kitchen? Were rabbits even native to Peru? Why was it indoors? Was it dangerous? It was closing in at an alarming rate.  I still hadn't fully comprehended that it was a real rabbit. We stared each other down as it hopped closer and closer until at about a foot away, it broke eye contact and veered left, through the door way and down the hall out of sight and out of my life as unexpectedly as it had come.  Shaken, confused, and mildly delirious from exhaustion, I gave up on the internet and went to bed where I did finally fall asleep at 2:00 a.m., as the club music was at about half volume.  

This was exciting, until we remember that I had to wake up at 5 a.m. in order to begin the 35 mile greatest physical challenge of my life. 

To come in Chapter 3:  The Ascent