I don't think any of us really knew what to expect when we arrived at Heathrow. For me, it was just after midnight, stumbling off the subway, hunting for a toilet and wondering how the hell I would find people in the hell that was Terminal 2. With luck on my side (although I think Dave would definitely disagree) I found our friend from Nottingham slouched on the floor a couple of rows behind where I had set up camp. How fun a night we had, slumped across seats, floors, Katrina...only kidding... until we discovered it was 4am and everyone else was downstairs and we were at the back of the queue. No matter...its not as if Iberia knew what they were doing and we werent through check in for another two hours. A taste of things to come with everyone's favourite airline! The appearance of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in check in brightened things up though. Not to mention the vast quantities of weapons they were carrying on board.
8am came and went and so did our flight to Madrid during which the only thing of note was I had a window seat and I bought Toffifee (I don't get out much) and onto the longer leg of the trip. On the upside, there were nuns on the run, err on the plane, but on the downside, we were flying Iberia again. About the only positive thing I can say about Iberia is that they have a 'tail-cam' - a camera mounted on the tail of the plane which had the entire plane transfixed during take off. Once we had all figured out it was actually our plane that is. The journey was then what could only be described as hell on an aeroplane! Poor food, stewardesses who like sucking lemons, and 11hours on board. What more could we ask for?
There's something strangely satisfying about being booked into your first hotel in a foreign country and being landed with Room 101. Fortunately, despite the hell that would follow our good friend Mr Round on the following nights, this was one occasion where he survived sleeping in the same room as me. I too emerged in the morning, with the added benefit of my room being the nearest to the breakfast room. This boded badly for everyone else though as it also meant I got first dibs on the buffet. Of course, perhaps if I had been in a bit less of a hurry to eat I might not have consumed a ball of butter thinking it was cheese or something.
Arrival in Cusco on the morning of Day Two brought with it the first experience of altitude on the trek. Having arrived at sea level in Lima, the flight had taken us to somewhere in the region of 3300 metres up and you could feel it as soon as you stepped off the plane. The next thing that hits you is a Peruvian woman who, as well as selling you the extremely helpful Machu Picchu branded sun hats, also persuades you to part with funds for the extremely useless Coca Leaves but hey, when in Rome...or wherever. I'm fairly sure, however, that the 1sole I spent on that bag of leaves (ok three soles, I got carried away) was responsible for the tummy upset I got later in the day. The docs may disagree but I have compelling evidence, as does anyone who followed me into the loo that night.
The journey from Cusco (after a visit to The Cross Keys pub for, yes you guessed, Coca Tea) to the start point of the trek was eventful in itself. Fortunately when something went wrong with the back tyre, we were near enough to a local 'Tyre Man' to get the problem rectified and send us on our happy way. Although not before the locals had descended on us with an array of knitted dolls, toys and a fully blown sweet shop. I bought a llama, though not a real one as I had been offered earlier in the day by a woman in Cusco.
The evening brought more delights, the arrival at Camp One after a short uphill trek, the bright yellow tents erected on the stepped mountainside by the time we even disembarked the now fixed bus. Perched on the mountain overlooking a sacred valley, we begin to get our first real idea about what life will be like for the next week. The campsite is in the most spectacular of places, with the snow covered peaks towering above us, the snow and mist mixing in the air with the smoke from the farmers burning their land.
Clan MacLlama was formed over the course of the evening, with the Scots in the group setting camp on the same ridge. Lord, Lady, Sir and Big Mac (aka Yoda) MacLlama are born and the rest of the group groans in despair.
Touring Ollantytambo was next up, although I survived ten minutes of the tour before retiring to the bus to get some much needed sleep, woke up two hours later feeling no better and being bollocksed by the doctors for falling asleep instead of drinking water. It seems I am somewhat dehydrated.
The first uphill climb of the trek begins and, having been told its only ninety minutes, I decide to be the stubborn one who refuses to get on a horse because I’m unwell. My logic is that…well I have no logic but I decide to go for it anyway and show those doctors I’m fit and well. The climb gives us our first real ideas of what the journey will be like, a gentle uphill climb which led to the camp by one of the local schools, with the yellow tents massed on the footy pitch.
Before we leave is a touching presentation of gifts to the local children who line up to perform songs and receive a small bundle of stickers and pencils. The boy who is brave enough to stand up first is rewarded with an Arsenal jersey with ‘Henry’ on the back. Poor kid had no idea Spurs are the only team in London! The ‘New York, New York’ dance which would become something of a constant on the trek is first performed as we warm up, sometimes I pity Dave and Ryan ;). As we leave to hike on, I am somewhat curious to see a jersey with ‘Henry’ on the back disappearing through the school gates, complete with small child and several friends. Surely school starts at 9am, clearly things are different in Peru. Wish that school worked like that in the UK.
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