The Inca trail to Ingapirca - day 1

"El joven" was far from "joven". I arrived at the corner shop, our meeting point, to find a slight old man packing up the food and tents, and a horse. The man who had organised everything was there and seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was sending me off into the wilderness with a man who was the total opposite of the strong, strapping guide I had imagined. A big knife went into the food bag. A moment of panic and I let it go. I've spent a week before in the Amazon rainforest in Brazil with two men and a machete and survived. I'm sure this will be fine I tell myself. So, still, a bit stunned at the idea of spending three days at high altitude with a man who looked like he may not make it without his horse, I set off, following the sound of the horse's hooves.

The first few hours were bliss. We picked up the guide's dog and then we (I) hiked through beautiful Andean countryside, past a few houses and farmyards where people still wear traditional dress and you feel like you have gone back in time. The sun was out, the birds were singing, and the frogs were whistling. My guide kept asking me if I was alright and whether I wanted the horse to carry my rucksack. I stopped myself from asking if he was alright. But I felt reassured. We were hiking through the "páramo", which is a zone found in the highlands of Costa Rica down to Northern Peru, above 3200 metres above sea level and below the permanent snow line. Certain plants adapt well to this environment and they provide for some interesting vegetation. I saw similar plants here to those on the way up Iliniza Norte. As we got higher it started to spit a bit, and we stopped after a while for a break next to some small Inca ruins, maybe the foundations of an old village. Alarm bells started to ring a bit when I asked my guide what altitude we were at and he told me 2000 m. Since I knew that Achupallas was around 3000 m and, short of having memory loss (maybe I had gone back in time), I was pretty convinced that we had been climbing steadily all day, there was no way we could be at 2000 m! But there was no going back now. It was becoming increasingly windy as we climbed higher and it dawned on me that we had been walking almost non-stop for about 7 hours now. Was I that slow? Had I been taking too many photos? We reached a pass where the scenery was amazing, with lakes all around, but the clouds were coming in and I knew that we still had to go down to find a place to camp. I have rarely walked so fast, trying to take photos at the same time, with the wind battering the camera out of my hand, and the rain blotting the lens. Eventually we got down into the valley and the guide said we would stop to camp here.

Putting the tents up before nightfall was a challenge. I had to laugh when I saw mine was pink, but I laughed less when I saw how flimsy it was, and already damp inside. It had started to rain again and the guide started to cook in his tent. It's been drilled into me since I was small that you should never cook in a closed tent, for obvious reasons, and my survival instincts went into overdrive. I positioned myself next to the tent flap for a quick getaway and prayed. I'm not sure God was listening at that point. The guide made tea and suddenly announced that we would be in Ingapirca by 1 o'clock the following day. What?! This trek was supposed to take 3 days. It turned out we had passed the first camp spot hours ago, but the guide obviously had other ideas and wanted to get it over and done with in two days! No wonder it had been a long day. I was fuming inside. A big deal had been made about how the trek lasted three days so I had to pay for three days worth of food, the guide's time etc. and now it was only going to be a day and a half at most. But I said nothing. After all, I was in the middle of nowhere in a very flimsy pink tent, with no phone network. I desperately wished I had carried on with those horse riding lessons when I was at school so that I could have leaped onto the back of the horse and galloped off into the horizon. Alone. Then, for the second time in 24 hours, came the questions about my monthly salary and the prices of flights. And with that, the flames on the gas burner suddenly whooshed upwards and liquid was dripping onto the tent floor. The guide had mistakenly placed a plastic container with a pre-prepared chicken meal on the gas burner, and of course, it had melted and stuck to the ring. By this time I was no longer hungry and he was mortified. We ate the rice which he had already heated and I went to bed. To the sound of the dog barking at the wolves that roamed this area... I put on all the layers of clothing I had and dug deep into my sleeping bag, preparing myself for a very long night.

typical plants of the paramo