Peru - The Salkantay Trek - Day One
The time frame for my trip around Peru was fairly tight, so on my first day in Cusco I needed to find a suitable agency to undertake a trek towards Machu Picchu. It soon turned out this wouldn't be so easy. Everything had been complicated by the recent rains, which had de facto closed the two main routes, both the Inca Trail and the Salkantay Trek. I had originally been thinking of setting off on the Salkantay Trek on my own, but since the classic route marked on the maps was impassable, even this option was out of the question.
I went around several agencies, and after ruling out some dubious offers of alternative routes, it became clear that the only way to see anything in the surrounding mountains would be the "alternative Salkantay Trek". True, it would mean going with a group of several people and with a level of luxury that makes me a little uncomfortable (part of the luggage is carried on horses, and a cook and his assistant come along to prepare all the meals), but thanks to the fact that the usual route is impassable, it also brings three significant positive changes.
Firstly, we would cross a higher saddle at around 5,000 metres above sea level. Secondly, on the last day the route would exceptionally follow the original Inca Trail (which you otherwise don't get to at all on a Salkantay trek, and the standalone Inca Trail is about twice as expensive again). And thirdly, we would spend two nights sleeping in tents (which would definitely be better than in some tourist huts built here for visitors). At the agency I forked out 450 USD and began looking forward to tomorrow's meeting with the mountain guide and the subsequent start of the whole trek in two days' time.
Ten of us gathered at the meeting, and we also met Fredy, who would be our guide the whole time. After he had explained the plan for the entire journey and cleared up a few things about gear and food, we could head off to our little hotels and wait for the early morning when we would set out.
I woke up before four o'clock and, still in the nighttime Cusco ruled by stray dogs shredding rubbish bags to pieces, walked to the spot where the agency's van picked me up. Together with the other participants we drove off to the little village of Mollepata, where a good but overpriced breakfast at 20 soles a head awaited us. At this point I was starting to worry a little that this whole expedition would be too touristy for me. I had originally thought we would set off on foot from this very place, since the Salkantay Trek markings begin right in Mollepata, but we drove on in the van for about another 45 minutes.
My hiking boots thus finally touched the ground at a place called Sayllapata, at 3,550 metres above sea level. In the end nine of us set out, because one participant had already come down with altitude sickness in Cusco and decided she would join us only in Aguas Calientes below Machu Picchu.
Clouds spread all around us, so in the opening steps of the journey I could see very little. We climbed 200 vertical metres and joined a path that ran alongside an Inca irrigation channel. After about an hour of walking the clouds finally decided to retreat and revealed the surrounding mountains to us. And what a spectacle it was! The beautifully brown slopes of the lower hills, dotted with small shrubs, were furrowed here and there by a bluish waterfall or river, a tiny path wound ahead of us, and in the distance the peaks of the six-thousand-metre mountains, which the Incas regarded as gods, were already glinting white.
Slowly we climbed all the way to 3,700 metres, and after about 3 hours of walking we reached a place called Soraypampa, where lunch and the first night's stay were planned. For many tourists it may be appealing to sleep in a place like this in a peculiar glass igloo and dine in a brick-built dining room, but I longed for a tent and contact with nature. I really don't quite understand the local organisers' urge to provide tourists with such luxury rather than respecting the surrounding nature and landscape. And so I was looking forward to the tent that awaited me for the following 2 nights.
After lunch, a climb to a mountain lake at 4,200 metres was planned, to see how well, or poorly, each of us was coping with the lack of oxygen. The walk up to Humantay Lake takes about 60 to 90 minutes, depending on fitness. Two girls from the group were already struggling back at the camp, and I should note that Fredy immediately took very professional care of them. He got them to try to climb at least a few more vertical metres, gave them medication for altitude sickness and assured them that if they didn't feel up to the climb to the pass the next morning, he would arrange horses so they could cover most of the elevation gain without any effort.
The rest of us climbed the rocky slope up to the lake. In every direction there was a magnificent view. The colour of the lake, which was perfectly blue-green (thanks to the copper ores contained in the surrounding mountains), contrasted beautifully with the snow-capped peaks and reflected them like a giant mirror. The glacial caps of the mountains, in return, sent plenty of water down into the crystal-clear depths of this genuinely cold lake. I climbed a little higher above the lake to take better photos and to look at the other side of the slope as well, and then I just sat and drank in the beauty.
On the way back the altitude slowly began to take its toll on me, and once again a headache and mild nausea made themselves felt. Down in the camp a royal dinner already awaited us, along with a rest before tomorrow, which would be the most demanding day of the whole journey, and which I'll write about in the next article.