Well it’s been a long time since the last post. Im now in Ålesund, a beautiful port-town on the west coast
of Norway. I´d planned on
continuing the blog even though I´d left South America. Once I left I lost motivation
to do it, but as the trip resumes in little over a month I thought Id bang them
out now.
This post is allllll about Machu Pichu…well, the first 2 days…Ill wack the
other ones on soon.
Day 1
Pick up was at 7:30am, so I was up in time to smash a load of free
breakfast at the hostel and sort out bags etc for the journey. Although it’s a
four day ting, you only want to bring a few things in a little backpack as you
have to carry it on the trekking part. Once done, I forced a poo and joined the
rest of the group outside for the pickup…
The groups:
5 laaaaaaaaads who wouldnt look out of place in a youth team football
academy, fresh out of uni and looking for a good time. They had just spent over
a fiver on Pringles and other snacks and I couldn’t help thinking this might
not be my crowd.
4 British, comprising of; a guy called Guy who was a guy from Northampton;
John, a guy but not called Guy, from Scotland (friends with the other guy,
Guy); James, a Brummy, and his missus Elly, from Surrey.
Sam - another English solo
traveller who was carrying the biggest backpack Id ever seen, with another bag
just to be sure.
I made up the tenth on our bus. The other bus had 10 Spanish speaking people,
so a divide had already been made.
So after a short wait we were on our way, cramped into a tiny bus designed
specifically for Peruvians, up the mountain. Now, I cant remember all the names of the places and
mountains etc so apologies for that…this was a pretty big mountain made of rock
and that….so it took a good couple of hours to reach to summit for our first
activity. It shouldve taken less time, but the bus got a flat tyre on the
way…”Will just take 10 minutes” they said.
45 minutes later, after asking passers-by for the correct tools, we set
off again. Although it’s a bit of a pain in the arse, it gave us a good
opportunity to get to know each other a little more…the usual backpacker chat
had already ran its course and was followed swiftly by football banter. I was
beginning to like the British group – they´d been travelling together for a
little while so had already formed their own catchphrases and roles etc.
On the way up, I noticed Sam making strange faces while listening to his
Ipod…a sort of strained expression, almost a wince…later, it turned out that
he was learning bird sounds.
We reached the top of “The Mountain”, ready to start our first
activity….mountain biking. A three hour, downhill journey on mountainside
roads, winding from 4000m+ down to about 1000m altitude.
We got kitted up in shin/knee pads, SWAT style jacket, helmet and gloves…I
noticed Sam pull out a Robocop suit from his huge bag. I helped him put it on
and took the opportunity to ask what the feck it was. It turns out he
constantly dislocates his shoulder after a skiing accident and the suit was a
makeshift ligament. We gathered, all ready to go, and the guide asked us to
come up with a team name. It was followed by a stony silence. I was thinking
about suggesting ´Stephen Hawking´s Football Boots´ but I let it go. I cant
remember what we decided on, but it was one of the stock names the guides had
in case of a conserved British group.
It was freeeeeeeeezing and raining, seeing as we were practically in a
cloud…so after 3 minutes of biking I was drenched through and had a numb face
and hands. ´This is brilliant´ I thought as I avoided oncoming traffic, ´I
should brake, buuuut my fingers wont move…cracking start ´.
Within minutes I was close to experiencing another persons death up
close…in fact, if the guy hadn't swerved away from the oncoming car at the very
last millisecond, I would've been covered with his insides…at least it would've
been warm. I shouted “fucking prick”…I couldn’t help it. Years of driving in
Cambridge has given me a slight hatred of cyclists, and even though I was on a
bike myself, the words just came out. I don’t think he heard me.
After half an hour we reached a stopping point where we all got off our
bikes to look out to the beautiful scenery below, and moan about the weather
above. You can take Brits out of Britain…
So on we went, the weather improving every minute. Once my limbs had
thawed I had an absolute blast…soaring down the mountain and racing the others,
all the while taking in the breathtaking scenery…jungle trees, waterfalls, and
majestic birds above. Ive never really been into mountain biking but this really
was amazing.
We reconvened at the bottom and boarded the bus to take us up to our
hostel in a little village and had some lunch…well, by that time it was an
early dinner…As we were running late due to the flat tyre, the rafting had to
be moved to the following morning…so we had a little free time. One of the guides was big into football
and suggested we go down to the little pitch for a kick about. I was buzzin,
obviously, as I hadn't kicked a ball in while….in fact everyone was up for it.
All 20 of us arrived at the little pavement pitch, split into 4 teams and had a
tournament. My team consisted of one of the academy lads, Guy, John, James a
Spanish girl and myself. I put myself in a centre midfield role…mainly as it
didn’t require too much running. The combination of heat, humidity and lack of
exercise gave me a sweat on within the first minute. I thought it would be a
friendly tap about, and had already told myself to curb my competitive
nature…noone wants to be the guy who breaks a girls nose with their elbow. Apparently, I was one of the few who
had this little conversation with themselves…tackles were flying in. One
Argentinian woman was weeelllll up for it and had already floored a guy in the
first game…game on.
After a few rounds (and a couple of wins) the teams started to change…the
girls slowly dropped out, no doubt thinking ´OK, lets let the boys have their
fun now´…we went on a little run so were still on the pitch when a team of
locals turned up…fully kitted up…one of them even had shin pads. I believe
´Full kit wankers´ is the term. When a game finished, they moved onto the
pitch, asserting their dominance of their home turf (concrete). They seemed keen to get rid of us, but
none of us wanted to finish. I challenged their main guy to a game…his reply
was brillint…he just flicked his finger towards the side of the pitch with a
scowl on his face….after a bit of cajoling and some quiet chicken noises they
agreed to one game…first to two goals.
The match started and within the first few seconds it was clear they meant
business…slick passing, tricks and nutmegs. We had to up our game. Guy tried a shot from way out which
sailed waaaay over the bar and over a roof. We had to do the whole “Can we have
our ball back please” job…luckily the ball was returned and we resumed the
match.
Slowly we grew into the game, and after some great work down the left hand
side, John (donning his Scotland shirt) broke free down the wing…he looked up
and saw me approaching the area and picked out a perfect cross on to my trusty
left peg…I finished with aplomb, through the keepers legs..ooooooosshhhhhh. We
scored another soon after (I didn’t score so I wont bother going into detail)
and that was it…game over. They were NOT happy…but we were sporting and all
applauded and left the pitch for them to take over…great afternoon.
Returned to the hostel to shower and get dinner…a three course meal and
decent conversation. The guides tried to inject some fun into the proceedings
by playing a game. The look on their faces suggested it was the highlight of
their trip…I have no idea what the game was about…something to do with picking
a card…whatever it was, we lost….The other table, with all the Spanish
speakers, won…but, in order for them to claim their grand prize (one bottle of
beer between the ten of them) they had to select one person to do a
challenge. The guide had something
on a tray, covered by a cloth, and said that the girl had to drink from
whatever was underneath it. I whispered to Elly “I bet it’s a massive penis”.
After building suspense…the guide took the cloth off to reveal…….a massive
penis! baaaanteeeer. She took ages to do it, all bashful and embarrassed etc so
another girl just jumped up, grabbed the big old member, whacked her lips around
it and took a swig…this was met with a big round of applause and a few raised eyebrows from the
laaaaaaaaads…she obviously got their attention.
Got back to the hostel and played Sapo with an Argentinian guy…Sapo is a
straaaange game. Theres a table, a bit like one of those old fashioned
billiards table, but square shaped. It´s backed against the wall and has an
open-mouthed metal frog in the centre surrounded by holes. The aim of the game
is to throw metal discs into the frogs mouth (which is near impossible). You get
nine throws, and you get points for any disc that falls down a hole. It didn’t
take long before we got frustrated and gave up…neither of us got it in the
frogs mouth. (Sapo means frog)
Decided to call it a night and joined Elly, James, Guy, John, Argentinian,
and Sam in our dorm room. Once the light had gone out and we´d said our
goodnights, I rolled over on to my front….this loaded up a giant fart in the
chamber. It was silent in the room, and I was aware that this one wasn’t going
to go unnoticed buuuut it just had to happen. I unleashed one of my finest
farts and after a moment of tense silence someone started giggling…this allowed
more people to join in laughing and asking who it was etc. I stayed silent for
a few seconds just to see who got accused before owning up to it…”There´s a
girl in the room Jamie!” John exclaimed before ripping his own fart…All the
boys were giggling like little school girls…I think Elly was trying not to
laugh…either that, or she was holding one in.
Day 2
Awoke at 6am to the sound of rain. By the time we got to the restaurant
for breakfast it had cleared up and the jungle heat was closing in. After a
decent little breakfast of omelet, pancakes and coffee we split into groups
for rafting. The British group weren't partaking so I was put with the laaaads.
The rafting was pretty good; a few challenging rapids but they didn’t reach
past level 3. I was hoping for it to be a bit more extreme but you cant really
complain when you´re sailing down a river between Peruvian mountains.
After, we joined the rest of the group for the trekking part of the
journey…covered in sun-cream and mozzy repellent, we started the ascent through
the jungle. It was quite a steep incline, and with the humidity and midday heat
we were all sweating buckets by the time we reached our first pit stop. This
was Monkey House 1, a small family house with refreshments for sail, a toilet
and a PET MONKEY. I absolutely love monkeys and apes so I was a little upset to
see it tied to a pole…The rope had enough slack for him to jump around and
swing about, so I got to play with him for a while. He was a right cheeky
fecker; play-biting and hair grabbing. If he had been let off the rope, he
would've been a nightmare. The guide called “Vamos” so I reluctantly left the
monkey and joined the group for another incline towards monkey house 2. This place was similar to the last, just better looking. A wooden building
that houses a small family…the house opens up to a beautiful view of the jungle
below and also has a pet monkey. This one was on a very short leash and had a
white moustache. Here we rested
and were shown a load of local produce such as coca leaves, coffee, chocolate
and fruits. All of it was made by hand up there by the family and was deliiiiicious.
Sam discovered that he´d been bitten on the arm…we´d all been bitten quite
a few times by mozzies and sand flies, but Sam´s one had swollen up so it
looked like he had a golf ball tucked under the skin of his elbow-pit. Even
though he´d packed enough to last him and a small family for a few years, he
didn’t have anything for the bite so had to make-do with squeezing some lime
juice on it…
Suitably refreshed and full of knowledge (I´ve forgotten most of it now)
we headed towards the beginning of an original Inka trail that had been discovered
in the last few years. We were told a lot about it, but the jist was that 500
years ago, people would walk all the way along this trail carrying goods
(potatoes, coca leaves etc) all the way to Machu Picchu from Cusco, taking
various routes. This part of the trek was my favourite…the treacherous path
lay halfway up the mountain, with a 500m almost-vertical drop to the left. The
view was sensaaational. A river flowed between the mountains, meandering away
into the distance. The only sounds were the gentle breeze carrying the calls of
exotic green birds and insects, with the distant hum of the river below.
We made our descent towards the river, looking forward to a lunch stop
halfway down. We finally arrived
at the restaurant which doubled up as a chicken farm. There were loads of
cockerels as well, so after lunch when we all found hammocks for a cheeky
siesta, the incessant noise prevented us from snoozing. Annoying little shits.
We started walking again, with the energy in the group a little low…I thought
Id try lighten the mood with a joke…and here it is in allllll its glory:
A black piece of tarmac goes in to a pub and says “Oi! You lot! If anyone
in here wants a fight, Ill batter them”…no one responds so he take a seat at the
bar and orders a pint…A few minutes later, a red piece of tarmac walks in and
says “Does anyone in here wana fight? Cos Ill smash anyone” … Again, no one responds, including the black piece of tarmac…after a short moment, the barman goes up to
the black tarmac and whispers “I thought you said you were hard, why didn’t you
fight that red piece of tarmac?”…
“I aint fighting him…hes a Cyclepath”
BOOOOOM.
This gem of a joke brought out a few tickled laughs and led to everyone
telling their own crap jokes. With the mood ever-improving, the rest of the
trek was quite pleasant: Once we´d reached the bottom of the mountain, we
walked alongside the river until reaching a big rickety bridge, swaying
somewhat over the water below. A few slats were missing but we all made it
across without incident…even Sam. An hour or so later, A hand-pulled cable car
took us back across the river and we arrived at some hot springs to finish our
day´s walk. While waiting to board
the little cable-car, we sat on rocks and removed our bags. Apart from Sam: he
sat on a rock with his massive backpack still on, and when he got up he just
toppled sideways like a felled tree…that guy.
The springs were half natural, half man-made with three pools ranging in
temperature. We got ourselves into the hottest one for a good soak…perfect way
to unwind after a grueling trek in the jungle.
While we were floating away, chatting about our favourite flavour crisps
and how we have our steak, the guides came over for a quick chat:
“Well, we are pretty much done for the day – there are options on how to
get to our hostel for the night…as its dark, we can all take the bus which gets
us there in about 20 minutes with no walking…oooor you can walk…if you want.”
Everything about his tone implied that no one ever chooses to walk, but as its
on our itinerary they kind of have to give us the option…he even followed up
with: “If you choose to walk, then one of us will have to come with you and
walk in the dark to the hostel…it should take about 2 hours…sooooo if anyone
wants to walk we would have to leave now while the others chill here in the
nice hot pools…”
We all replied “bus”
Except Sam…Sam wanted to run back. Which meant one of the guides had to
run with him…in the dark…for about an hour…mostly uphill…aaaah Sam.
The rest of us got the bus back later and arrived at the hostel at just
about the same time as Sam and his guide who I bet was loving his job. Another
3 course meal and an early night, ready for day 3…
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