Inca Trail

Entry, Creative Corner
David Kim, UC Davis

I was stumbling down the Inca Trail when I first saw the ass.  It was brown with tufts of unkempt hair that seemed to randomly sprout all over its body.  In my delirium, I thought Armando had sent it up to get me because I was taking too long to descend.  It walked towards me, stopping 20 feet away, and turned around, beckoning me to get on.  I stood there confused because I thought we were renting a horse.  Perhaps the place he had mentioned had no more for the day.  It seemed plausible since it was already late in the afternoon, only a few hours before dark.  But if it was sent up, how did it know to find me?  Did Armando tell it to look for a chinito?  As I tried to rationalize the situation, I realized I was starting to lose it and walked on.  Within a few minutes, I spotted Armando resting on the stone steps of a lone house.  Seeing me, he grinned and said, “Do you want a horse or do you want a donkey, so you can ride into town like Jesus Christ?”  He cackled uncontrollably, and I managed a weak smile as I praised the Peruvian gods that soon I’d be on a horse despite the fact that I had no idea how to ride one.

            Three days before, my sister and I landed in Cusco to hike to Machu Picchu for a much needed vacation.  I had worked all throughout summer and made the mistake of not taking a break for myself, and I was burnt out before fall quarter had even started.  We ended up choosing Peru based on the stories we had heard from my uncle, who had done several hiking treks there.  It seemed an ideal time to hike to Machu Picchu as the rainy season meant fewer tourists, and we were able to get a permit to hike the Inca Trail, booking it only 1.5 months in advance. 

            We stayed in Cusco two days to properly acclimate before the hike.  The city is 11,200 feet above sea, and shortly after landing, I started to feel the effects of soroche ie altitude sickness.  Luckily, the Peruvians have a magical plant called erythroxylum coca, which is available in a variety of forms from the dried leaf to tea to even hard candies.  Within a day, I felt much better.  Contrary to what some people may believe, ingesting coca is not like doing cocaine as the humble plant contains less than 1% of the alkaloid.  Its effects were smooth and soothing yet had a very clean buzz without the jittery effects of caffeine.  While on the trail, I was continually amazed by the porters, who seemed to be fueled solely by coca, zipping up the hills in their sandals or beat up tennis shoes.  Initially, I was unsure how to chew them, and a fellow hiker advised me to roll a bunch of leaves into a plug and chew it.  When Issac, one of our guides, heard this, he scoffed, saying that was the fancy way invented by the Spanish.  Issac was Quecha, part of the indigenous people of the Andes, and he had been an avid coca chewer since he was six.  Taking a big wad, he told me to put on the side of my mouth, chomping on it from time to time to let the material leech out.  When the mouth got numb and the leaves started to break apart, that was when to spit it out although I did have the option of swallowing it as the leaf provided fiber and other nutrients.

            The first day of the hike was challenging, but the views were amazing.  The rain came sporadically and the slow trudge uphill never seemed to end, but neither dampened my spirits, uplifted by the scenery and plenty of coca.  When we finally arrived to our campsite at night, I was exhausted.  It was then that things went to shit.  Literally.  I suddenly started to feel nauseous after dinner and decided to sleep early, only to wake up shortly after to puke out of both ends continually throughout the whole night.  In between the diarrhea/vomiting bouts and thoughts of self-deprecation, I wrestled with my choices: should I continue on or go back down the trail tomorrow?  When morning finally came, I decided to try and tough it out, taking some cipro and metoclopromide and drinking plenty of fluids.  As I struggled up the never-ending flight of stairs, I felt like I was going to pass out and upon arriving to the lunch site, I took out my sleeping bag and slept for an hour.  When I woke, I started feeling the altitude and knew I had no choice but to go back down.  The plan was to hike a few miles then rent a horse and ride it back to Kilometro 82, the starting point of the trail.  Armando, our other guide, went back down with me, strapping my backpack to his chest and running down the trail.  I’d find him waiting for me every half hour before he sprinted off again.  You would think I’d have nothing left in the septic tank after a night on the john, but I had to stop more than once to squat, pathetically whimpering and praying that I wouldn’t get any on myself.  As I hiked down, I continually chanted, “In three hours, I will be on a horse.”  And then on the horse, “In three hours, I will be on a bus.”  And on the bus, “In one hour, I will be able to properly poop on a toilet seat.”  I can’t tell you how happy I was once I got to the hostel.  Needless to say, I slept like a log that night. 

The next day, I woke up fully recovered and bought a train ticket up to Machu Picchu, and I was able to meet my sister and the rest of the group.  While Armando and I got there early that morning and waited near the Sun Gate for our team, I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace and emotion, seeing the huge mountains and ruins before me. I’ve tried describe what I felt that day to friends, but the words just seem hollow and don’t give justice to the magnificence of one of the new wonders of the world.  As I was lost in my thoughts, my group suddenly appeared, and I was greeted amicably with “You little f****.  You got us all sick” and “Thanks dude.  I’ve been peeing out of my butt for the past 24 hours.”  Apparently, a few others got the same bug I had, but by the time they felt the symptoms, it was too late to turn back as they had already passed the highest peak.  I smiled sheepishly as I patiently listened to their curses with my newly acquired skills from doctoring that earned me a “needs improvement/proficient.”   By coincidence, we ended up at Machu Picchu on 12/21, which marked doomsday on the Mayan calendar(wrong location I know, but my group did see several crazies on the top of Wayna Picchu, counting down to the apocalypse).  So I didn’t get to finish the trail, but as I joked around with my new friends while we explored the old ruins, I couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t a bad place to be at end of the world.