10 things you'll learn in the Andes

It's fair to say that my trek in the Andes was the most physically demanding thing I've ever done. You also learn a lot in only one day. Here are the lessons I took away from day one.

1. You can be Usain Bolt at sea level, but you will still be a lazy, unfit heifer above 3,000m.

2. You will tread in, and probably sit in, horse poo more than you care to acknowledge. You won't care.

3. When peeing in the wilderness, employ the Taylor Swift method: shake it off, shake it off.

4. Sunscreen is necessary.

5. You will walk for a day and still have less of an appetite than you do after a duvet day back home.

6. You will see animal skeletons and wish the corpse was still decomposing, because it would've meant more chance of seeing a condor.

7. You will be shown up by small children, who run around like the effects of altitude are optional.

8. You smell. But so does everyone else, so sod it.

9. Every time you stop to look around, it feels like you've opened your eyes for the first time.

10. It's possible to climb a mountain on little more than willpower.

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.

A glimpse of the Andes

It is 6.30pm, it is dark and I am alone. I think, under the circumstances, I can be forgiven some tears.
My Camelbak is empty and has been since around 3pm. Joel has my pack, so I have no food. What I do have, the only thing I have, is a hand torch, which I am shining into the valley in the hopes that someone is on their way.

But let us, in the knowledge that I am home and (relatively) unscathed, leave me there for the time being, because this is the middle and we must start at the beginning.

*

Maybe it's the angle of the sun as it touches the mountaintops, and maybe it's the writer in me making a romance out of an ordinary afternoon, but as the plane circles above Cusco, I find myself believing in the lost treasure of the Inca: the very peaks seem to shine with gold as the pilot makes his descent. This is the first real glimpse I have of Peru and it's a tonic for the final, hectic days at work before I left. The issues of the past 24 hours begin to evaporate, and I can feel the breath of adventure.

We are met with a very welcome cup of coca tea, an infusion brewed with leaves that are the source for cocaine base. Happily they're high-free in their natural state (although not enough for the drinker to pass a drugs test, Wiki tells me!) and a good antidote to altitude. Either way, it tastes like green tea, and gives the beginning of the trip a satisfying home-from-home feel.

We head to our hotel, where we take a quick shower and head out for 'lunch', which by 5pm is so much more like dinner that we agree to skip the actual dinner in favour of bed.

Acclimatisation

Our first full day is spent exploring Cusco, lingering indecisively at market stalls while enthusiastic women try to entice us with their wares. We chat to a painter in the main square and each end up buying a small piece that will roll up for easy transportation. Mine is, naturally, a rather silly a water colour of llamas who look very pleased with life in general. We're then hustled into Paddy's by Dave, who's whole plan for the day centres around a pint here. It's weird sitting in an Irish bar in Peru, with football on the TV and a couple of Germans next to us who soon fall into conversation about football related things that go right over my head.

Then we walk up to St Cristobel, which feels like pretty hard work given that we've been deposited by LAN at an alien 3,500m and the traffic is emitting some heady fuel fumes. En route we can see a wedding taking place in one of the churches, and Dave is rather taken with a lamb which is being carried around by some women and kids in traditional dress. The Peruvians dress so colourfully that it's tempting to start buying up a load of ponchos and hats and jumpers in all hues; we have to remind ourselves more than once that back home we wouldn't wear half the stuff we're thinking of buying.

"Sexy Woman"

At St Cristobel we get a taxi to Saqsaywaman, an Incan citadel that sits above Cusco. Getting into a taxi is an adventure in itself. Anyone who has been to Rome or Marrakech, or preferably both, will have some experience of fear when either sitting in a ab or crossing a road. Cusco more or less combines the two. We learn quickly that when walking, the best option is to just cross your fingers and go for it. In cabs, which incidentally seem to lack seat belts - at least any sort of seat belt that would offer adequate protection in a collision - we learn to not look. Ever. 

So to Saqsaywaman, often referred to by the English speakers as "Sexy Woman". It is here that we realise just how big Cusco is. It extends right along the valley and up the sides of the mountain, sprawling out in a way that seems impossible given its location deep in the Andes. 

Saqsaywaman is like nothing I have seen before. The citadel is made of huge - and I mean huge - square blocks of stone, each carved so perfectly that it fits with the next without cement and with gaps so small you couldn't fit a penny in.

There are llamas, which I find greatly pleasing, and there are incredible views of Cusco, and the Cristo Blanco on the next rise, which towers, arms outstretched benevolently, above the city. There are also preparations for a coming of age festival that dates back to Inca times. A stage is being set up in the green space between the two main parts of the settlement, and explains the boys in traditional dress running around the streets that we saw on our way up.

We return mid afternoon, tired and excited for our trek, which begins at 6am.

An introduction

First things first.

Allow me to introduce my excellent trekking buddies and the crew that prepared our food, set up our tents, cleaned up after us and, yes, disposed of our, ahem, biological waste.

Meet Dave and Amanda, my totally brilliant Peru friends, who stuck by my side through both the physical and emotional ups and downs. Amanda is brave, smart and a proper trooper even at only 50% fitness; Dave has the kind of appetite we approve of chez Carlton and an infectious kindness that makes me want to try and be nicer. 

This is the aforementioned crew. I called the horse Passepartout until I found out his real name, which is Agusto. Next is Florence, the head mule driver; then Elkin, part man-part tank, who you will hear about in due course; behind him is sweet, shy Agustin who whips up a mean soup (and pretty bloody good food in general); then Joel, who patiently waited each time I trailed behind the others, stopping to catch my breath every 10 steps; and Esteban, who helped set up and cook. I'm told he had medical skills but thankfully we didn't need to call upon them. Alas, I don't know the name of the chap squatting at the front.

Finally there was Rambo, a one-year old dog who scampered about the mountains while we trekked and promptly collapsed to snooze every time we stopped for a break. It was lovely to see his little head pop up over a ridge to check we were still following when the trail got tough.

And now that you know everyone, I can begin the tale...

The first 24 hours

I know, I know. I said I wouldn't blog, but here I am. The past 30 odd hours have been something of an adventure in themselves.

After a reasonably positive start, our plane to Lima was diverted to Manaus in Brazil following a medical emergency on board. Following a 2-2.5 hour wait, we got going again to arrive at the airport 10 minutes after our connecting flight to Cusco departed. Cue panicked texts from my parents who were able to do precisely nothing to help. They were ordered to chill at around the point we realised Dave's luggage never actually boarded the plane at Madrid. Good.

So tired, dehydrated and minus 1x luggage, we waited an hour to get on another flight, which deposited us at Cusco at around 4pm local time.

Since then things have been rather smoother. Our friendly taxi driver, having popped our bags in the boot, proceeded to hand us cocoa tea and biscuits. Needless to say, my impression of Peru and its people immediately improved. We checked in and were hustled back out for lunch. I say lunch, by this time it was 5pm and more like dinner.

At the time of writing I am waiting to be briefed by the tour guide. Then I will be hitting the proverbial sack.

More in due course...

Well this is it, then

In two days I fly to Cusco. Well, Madrid, then Lima, then Cusco to be precise.

I am excited!!!

This will be my last post before I fly, unless something absurdly funny or weird happens in the meantime. Not ruling it out...

Several people have asked me if I plan to update while I'm away. The short answer is no. Aside from the Andes being completely signal free (bliss!), I am far too lazy to try and write blogs on my phone. I will, however, update when I'm back and have lots of fabulous pictures to share. At least I hope I will - currently the forecast for Cusco is predicting thunder storms.

At the time of writing, I have raised £1850. I am over the moon about this. Huge thanks to everyone who donated, or ate cake, or drank wine, or did all of the above for the cause.

Courtesy of @DoWhatITellYou

The codpiece mask is taking a break for the time being (although I'm happy to whip it out on request at parties) and I am looking forward to meeting my fellow trekkers at Heathrow and getting started. The ice cream thing didn't quite work out in the end - I was seduced by a tub of B&J's cookie dough (not literally, that would be horrendous) and caved on Saturday morning. It was delicious.

I will say hi to Paddington for you all and am under instructions from my big brother to bring him back a llama. He even said he'd pay for its flight if I could pass it off as a human. Dave, Amanda: I think we can do this.

Happy September everyone - I shall update on my return :)

Final training and taking risks

I conquered a hill 

Last weekend I talked my dear and very obliging friend Nikki into coming on a ramble with me to get some last minute training in before the trek. She duly took me around Alice Holt Wood, some of the lanes around her village and over to the Devil's Jumps for some hardcore uphill walking. I set myself the challenge of climbing Stony Jump, the highest of the three, with my mask on - set to emulate breathing at 15,000 ft.

I'm not going to lie, it was hard work: my lungs felt like bursting and my heart was thudding harder than an elephant on a pogo stick. But, with a heart rate of over 170bpm and a decent helping of determination, I reached the top. This is what that moment looked like:

Taking risks

Part of the reason for me doing this trek (aside from it being on the bucket list) is that my New Year's resolution for 2015 was to take more risks. Some long discussions with my therapist made it obvious to me that becoming depressive had not only wiped my self confidence, it had also stifled my ability to step outside my comfort zone. 

So 2015 has been about saying 'yes' instead of making excuses and shying away. There are much smaller things that I am proud of having done this year, things like attending a hen do where I didn't know anyone, and taking a motorbike trial. I still get nervous - really nervous - about stuff that other people take in their stride, but the point is I'm doing it anyway, because more often than not the experience is worth the apprehension.

From 8 months to 8 days

When I signed up for this trek in January, I had no idea that the response from family, friends and others would be so amazing. With the help of many, many people I have almost doubled my initial fundraising target, and received loads of positive feedback about my blog. 

There are now only 8 days(!!) till I leave for Peru. There is a holdall in my spare room into which I am trying to fit everything I will need, with limited success. There are insurance documents and trip notes littering the floor. There is a Paddington keyring which will hang from my backpack for good luck. I am, inevitably, apprehensive about the physical demands and the altitude, but if nothing else, I am proud of this: proud of speaking up, of raising awareness and of doing something to help. Once again, thank you for your support.