The hard reality of altitude

An insane work schedule has unfortunately stood between me and my blogging, but here's the tale of our first day.

It is 7am, and we're standing by a river nibbling on snacks as the team prepares the horses and our luggage. We are at 3,200m, tired, excited and slightly apprehensive. When our water bottles full, we set off, immediately climbing up from the river. Right from the get-go, the views are spectacular - the river rushing below us, the beginnings of a road, snaking along the opposite mountainside, bright blue sky above us and the peaks serene in the early morning sun.

I learn my first lesson about altitude in the first half hour. It is this: no matter how fit you think you are at sea level, it is not the case above 3,000m. I am not an active 29 year old. I am a fat, heavy smoker who sits on the couch all day eating burgers. My heart is pounding, my lungs are stretched to capacity and my body is hammering on the door into my mind yelling, What are you doing?! After an hour of uphill trekking, I sit down heavily on a rock at the rest spot convinced I'm going to vomit. Elkin takes one look at me an insists my pack goes on the horse, meaning I carry only my Camelbak. Luckily I've had experience with nausea during exercise before, and can recognise the need to eat, so I pick at sugary dried fruit that I know I can metabolise quickly.

From then on I take it a bit more steadily, stopping regularly, drinking plenty and snacking when I need to. We are all feeling the altitude - except, Elkin, who is practically a tank and can keep going regardless. Rambo scampers alongside us, dropping to the floor and falling asleep as soon as we take a break. I secretly wish I could do this his way.

The highest point of today's trek comes just before lunch. We stop by a set of vacant tombs, the contents plundered by grave robbers long ago. The thing about the Andes is that they never stop taking your breath away. No sooner have you moved on from one amazing viewpoint, you find yourself at another. After a rest and some food I feel good enough to scamper up the hump to our left, where an Inca fortress once was. I have a good mooch about, take a few questionable selfies, and allow myself some time to simply stand and let the peace and the remoteness flood over me before heading back down.

Lunch is a delicious spinach soup followed by chicken stroganoff, which we eat in the mess tent overlooking another stunning vista. We have to admire what Agustin can whip up on a camping stove; the food is better than I've eaten in some restaurants! After lunch, it's mostly downhill to our camp for the night. As we walk over rich red soil, the clouds roll across and large raindrops begin to splash down. We're in our waterproofs just in time - the downpour soon become torrential and lasts the final hour of today's trek. On the path a red stream forms, the water in more of a hurry than we are to get to the bottom. There comes a point when you are so wet you stop caring about the rain and despite being soaked through I find myself enjoying the final stretch to camp. My feet, at least, are dry and my body is warm from the exercise. I feel more alive than I have done in a long time.

At camp, our tents are already set up, and we scramble inside to strip off our wet clothes and change to dry. Esteban and Agustin bring round tea and cake, and hot water to wash in, and I for one am soon feeling comfortable again. Thankfully there is time for a nap before dinner.

The sun sets as we eat, and by the time we head off to bed (at around 7pm - I have not been ready for a night's sleep so early since I was a child) there are stars overhead. Southern stars. We all take a moment to look up and feel the closeness of the sky under which we stand, miles from anywhere.