If day two was the toughest, day three threatened to be the longest. The day began at 6am with a cup of coca tea and a bowl of hot water for washing delivered to my tent by the ever-industrious porters. After demanding to see my face to prove I wouldn't sneak off to sleep again, they left to prepare the breakfast. And what a breakfast! I'd seen other porters carrying loads as heavy as tables and as delicate as eggs but on this morning they surpassed themselves. A full sized cake was served with 'Feliz Viaje' written in icing. How they manage to transport such quantities with such care is beyond me. Roberto, our guide, tried to establish whose birthday was closest (which happened to belong to Liina, three months away) and we all sang 'Feliz Cumpleaños' before tucking into this unexpected change from pancakes.
As always, we packed our belongings quickly and set off on the trail. Immediately we were faced with a 400m ascent to another pass at 4,000msl where we were to find a circular ruin once used as a control point for the Incas. Their command of the mountains depended upon being able to monitor who enetered and moved through the valleys and these structures were of vital importance. At the height of the Inca empire a message could be sent from Machu Picchu to Cusco in a day, a distance of some 70 miles. This was achieved by having posts such as Runkuracay (translated as 'the egg-shaped building there') dotted across the landscape at a distance of about 3-7 miles apart. At each of these key locations professional runners would be stationed. Messages were sent in the form of knotted strings called quipi and were passed from one runner to the next. Just one of the ingenious methods which allowed such a large empire to develop. After making our despachos on the ridge we continued down into the valley safe in the knowledge Pachamama would assist us along the way.
The descent was easier on the legs and it wasn't long before we came upon Sayacmarca, my favourite ruins of the trail given their impossible location on a ridge extending out into the valley below. On all sides this construction, whose name means 'inaccessible town', is surrounded by cliffs dropping off into the forest over a hundred metres below. Access to the citadel was by a narrow path which could be easily defended. An ingenious irrigation system and terraced agriculture meant this was one of the best defended of the Inca's fortifications. Given the right frame of mind we could have spent hours exploring but fatigue and hunger drove us on to the next lunch spot in a hanging valley further along the trail.
From this point onwards the trail became the one I had imagined for many years. A sinuous stone path wound its way high up the side of the valley. An enormous drop down to the forest below welcomed any walker who was unlucky enough to trip. On the way we passed through natural tunnels in the rocks and encountered a wide variety of flora and fauna from hummingbirds to countless bromeliads. Slowly and surely the path ascended to the final pass at 3,700msl. Waiting for us was Phuyupatamarca, yet another collection of well-preserved ruins whose name means 'town above the clouds', testament to the mist which commonly formed in the Sacred Valley below. Here before us was a majestic mountain range including Salkantay and Veronica whose peaks reach over 6,200m and 5,700m respectively. As I sat with my fellow travellers we were silent, for once. My eyes found it difficult to take in the spectacle before me. Below lay the Sacred Valley and Urubamba river snaking its way towards the mighty Amazon. This relentless power had carved out a valley so deep it seemed a world away. There has only been one other time I've felt as if I were sitting on top of the world (Jebel Toubkal, Morocco) and it's the most treasured feeling which I will remember for the rest of my days. Inshallah!
From here we continued down towards our final campsite in the valley far below. On the way we passed Intipata, a sophisticated agricultural research station used by the Incas to improve their mountain agriculture. More terraces than a Welsh mining town! Onwards to Wiñyawayna, our sleeping place for the night. Only six months ago the campsite would have boasted a bar but arguments between the owner and government had resulted in its closure. A travesty! Sober and tired, we enjoyed our last evening meal together before thanking the porters with a little cash and heaps of praise.
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