I wake up after a deep, exhausted sleep. It is light, the first time I have slept till daylight in several days. It's warm here in the valley, and I can hear a stream running behind my tent. I inspect my scraped legs, gently wiping away the dirt with a wet wipe and then slapping antibacterial gel onto the cuts. It stings like hell but at least they're clean.Elkin stops by the tent with this morning's tea. I haven't seen him since we watched the condors together the previous day. He places a hand on mine and tells me how sorry he is for yesterday, how I was brave and how he regrets his decision. I guess I learned something in therapy, because I forgive him. It's something I've been practising, because there's been a lot I've needed to forgive myself for these past few months. For sure, he was a bloody idiot, but we're both human, he and I, and sometimes we mess up. Anyways, I'm too tired and too relieved to be pissed off.
I sip my tea and the sound of voices floats over to my tent. They're alive! I wonder if they need some time, but I can't help myself, I have to go see Dave and Amanda. They're holding cups of coffee, still inside their sleeping bags, talking about yesterday. We compare notes on what happened - they took a different route and never made it to camp until 9.45pm, long after I was asleep. Amanda is bearing scars too - cuts on her legs and deep muscle ache in her thighs. Dave's legs are so dirty it looks like he's wearing tights. Both are angry, and I can't really blame them - I think how hard it must have been for them, worrying whether they'd get down in one piece and both with kids at home.
Breakfast is served and I realise I'm famished. Amanda and I eat bacon and eggs, Dave goes for a shower. There's a lot of tension. But there is also bacon. And I like bacon. I eat more than I have eaten in one sitting since we started the trek, and Amanda and I have a good stretch out on the grass.
We're not up to walking to Piscacucho and the camp at the beginning of the Inca Trail, so we agree to get a cab there. The journey is a little hairy - bumpy roads in an ancient car with no seat belts and a couple of near misses on the small village roads. But I for one am kind of glad not to be walking. I'm also very careful not to see this as a failure. After all, today was to be a walk of only a couple of hours, and we certainly put in the extra time yesterday. I'm keen for the others not to see it as a failure either. Turns out I need lots of the lessons I learned in therapy today.So we're installed on a proper campsite, in a hut with proper beds and - to my ultimate joy - a shower. It's freezing. I wash with no more contact with the water than I can bear, and then I shove my head under and wash my hair. I dry and dress as fast as possible, but I'm not about to complain. I just had a shower!
The campsite is in a beautiful setting, surrounded by mountains and with the Urubamba rushing along its edge. We are brought beer and soft drinks, and we spend the day taking it easy, eating, talking, napping. Amanda and I pop down for a sauna to heat our aching bodies, and I begin to feel a little more human.We talk a lot about getting down the mountain. How it kind of throws you closer to share something horrible, how we feel about everything. Dave tells me I should feel proud of myself given the past year, and I do - I'm proud that I got through it and I'm still smiling. But I think they should be proud too, to face something that dangerous and scary, to keep their courage and to get down in one piece. And to still want to finish the trek, despite the impossibly aching limbs, the disillusionment of the previous day and the overwhelming tiredness. It takes strength and guts to show that kind of determination. Yes, I'm proud of us all.
