Above all things, reverence yourself...

The following day wachuma had left us a little fuzzy mentally and a little lazy physically.  In fact, it took us until four in the afternoon to action our plan of a walk in the hills.  The idea, which began as a five hour trek along the full length of the island, had been demoted to a visit to the ruins north of Challapampa. There were yet more well-preserved ruins along the way including a stone circle with what appeared to be a sacrificial table, labyrinthine ruins and la Roca Sagrada (the Sacred Rock).  An easy walk on paper was made more difficult by the altitude and intense sunshine.  On our return we headed back to the usual restaurant for more food from a limited menu.  Where's the pizza when you need it?

 

 

Saturday was another chance to work with wachuma, this time we'd decided to approach the ceremony with more reverence.  As before, we created an altar combining offerings of sweets to Pachamama with crystals, incense and images.  Centring ourselves with some meditation first brought us into the right state of mind.  The San Pedro was dispensed into cups as I focussed some positive intention into the water we were to use for mixing.  One by one we drank the liquid which resembled dried spinach in water, it went down fairly well with only a little difficulty.  A little Agua de Florida was used to help cleanse the aura and protect us on our journey.  Once the initial actions had been completed we settled down to wait quietly for the effects to manifest.

The journey, as always, increased in intensity very slowly.  It was only late in the afternoon I realised how strong it was.  It's incredibly difficult to describe in words what is really a felt experience.  One thing which is common to all my wachuma experiences is the altered perception of time.  As we sat on the roof terrace throughout the day I had an increasing sense that other places beyond the shores of Lake Tiiticaca didn't exist.  That only what was in my immediate perception was of significance.  Past and future were irrelevant and all  my attention was in the present moment.  Birds performing acrobatics to catch insects, children flying makeshift kites in the wind, pigs furrowing in the sand for scraps and the occasional hysterical bellow of a nearby donkey.  All motion came together as one giant piece of theatre staged in a landscape that was so staggeringly beautiful it was hard for the eyes to take in.

As the day wore on we became increasingly absorbed in music, particularly that of Snatam Kaur, whom I was lucky enough to see in London before heading out to Peru, a real blessing for the trip.  We discussed thoughts that arose, laughed together, meditated and observed curious passers-by until the sun began to set.  We held the space far more effectively than the previous day and all three of us confirmed we'd got a lot from the ceremony.  However, it's always strange for me in the middle of the day, I much prefer the dark of night.  I felt the calling of ayahuasca once again.

On heading to the beach for a snack we encountered a calf which had become stuck under the ramshackle wooden jetty.  Whilst Chantal tried to calm the distressed beast, Lieve went to seek assistance.  A local treadesman reluctantly agreed to help, however, he was afraid of trouble as he was not the owner.  Despite his fear he trod through the mud and untied the rope thereby freeing the calf.  We bought him a stash of goodies from the shop as a present leaving everyone very satisfied.  There was something about the episode which was enhanced by wachuma.  The distress of the animal was felt far more strongly, empathy for the suffering of others being more intensely felt.

Satisfied and tired we settled down for a meal when I spotted John, an American I'd met in the Museum of  Sacred, Magical and Medicial Plants.  There we'd been talking about San Pedro and here I was, journeying.  Synchronicities like this, as well as phenomena such as deja vu, seem to increase in frequency when working with plant medicines.  We spent the evening together making plans for future journeys whilst the inky black night took over from the blues, greens and oranges of the sunset.  What a day!

The rest of our time on the exquisite Isla del Sol was spent sunbathing, reading, swimming and relaxing before catching the boat back to Copacabana on the Monday.  The island was a rare gem within the Andean Odyssey.  One of those places that, only three years ago, had very little in terms of development for tourism.  Now, it has facilities enough to be comfortable without being over-developed.  Local traditions, of day-long town meetings and weddings at which only one song was played for eight hours straight, are still alive and kicking.  The people are gentle and kind, the pace of life so slow it's difficult to get into initially.  Perhaps that's why so many tourists barely put down their bags, too busy to see the paradise before their eyes.

Costa del Isla del Sol...

After six weeks in Peru it was time to leave.  Not because the many attractions had been exhausted but rather one of the girls I was travelling with had unwittingly become an illegal immigrant and the other two of us had visas which would expire in a matter of days.  The journey from Puno to Copacabana took about nine hours; marred by the fact the bed seats we expected on the coach more like those on the National Express to Hull.  Add to this a sadistic driver who was trying to roast me alive with the heating system and the journey was a touch uncomfortable.

On arrival in Copacabana our fortune changed.  This sleepy little town on the Bolivian shores of Lake Titicaca shares its name with the famous Rio beach but couldn't be more distant in character.  A quick mental calculation of the value of Pounds Sterling in Bolivianos revealed this would be much cheaper than Peru.  Also in the town's favour was the lack of traffic, beautiful scenery and chilled-out people.  Only the food left a little to be desired as we discovered when we ordered nachos and the waitress ran out to buy a bag of Doritos.

The next morning we caught the early boat to the Isla del Sol.  This most appropriately named island is the place where Viracocha is thought to have created mankind for the second time after a great flood.  As a result it is deeply sacred for the Aymará indians who inhabit it.  We headed stright to the north to the small town of Challapampa.  Really little more than a small village, this place had the feel of the wild west with it's sandy streets and roaming animals.

Not ones to waste any time, we booked into the welcoming Hostal Cultural and began to set up for a Wachuma session.  Having all completed some ceremonies in Cusco, we felt ready to conduct our own.  A little altar was constructed comprising the various artefacts we had collected on our journeys.  We then mixed the San Pedro powder with water and necked the vile concoction.  Before long we were under the influence and decided to stagger down to the harbour for apples.  Our mood was one of playfulness and we spent a good hour laughing our heads off at concepts and situations too trivial to mention here.  A little irreverence and arrogance had prevaded our ceremony, perhaps?

Realising we were neglecting the need for quiet reflection, Lieve decided to climb a nearby hill whilst Chantal and I headed for the beach.  Lieve's quest into the hills was courageous; she felt like a puma as she climbed the steep, bare rocks.  Her adventurous spirit took her far and wide and before long she was out of sight.  After a few hours and a very strange encounter with a shepherd, she returned, pleased to be back before dark.  Meanwhile, I summoned up some energy to swim in the sacred Lake Titicaca with Chantal.  The water was a baffling mix of warm and cold currents in the shallow, clean water.  As we bathed, the extraordinary beauty of this stunning place sank deep into our psyches.  Literally lost for words, I gazed at the distant snow covered mountains and glistening water before crawling out to deal with the resulting Raynaud's phenomenon.  As we warmed ourselves in the afternoon sun we watched with amusement as pigs and cows explored the sames waters we had been standing in minutes before.  That evening we recovered our usual state of consciousness in a cosy restaurant over a bottle of wine.  As a thunderstorm rolled in to replace the day's heat we vowed to hold another ceremony with a little more focus.  Whilst the day had been a lot of fun, the moments we allowed ourselves to work quietly with wachuma were lacking.  Whilst they can be fun, the plant medicines are here to help us and are not just for entertainment purposes.

Oi cuy...

Well, it had to happen at some point.  I couldn't travel through Peru and not sample the local speciality... guinea pig.  This small rodent, known as cuy, is ubiquitous in these parts.  The many local houses I've been in invariably have a section used for rearing cuy.  These are usually near the wood burning stoves and ovens which provide the heat needed to keep these little blighters comfortable, thereby allowing them to grow big, strong and furry.

To be honest, I copped out a little bit.  A restaurant in Cusco known as Korma Sutra lists tandoori cuy on their menu.  This appeared to be a more palatable way to approach this culinary challenge.  Most of the cuy I've seen had been roasted in ovens with resulting crispy-looking skin.  This also means a crispy looking face which is very hard for the eyes to avoid whilst eating.  On the plus side, they go straight from cuyeria to the kitchen providing fresh meat from an animal that, to all appearances, has led a very happy life with its friends and family.  However, that knowledge did not help my stomach prepare for this less-than-tempting morsel.

The dish I selected was a half-cuy cooked in tandoori spices... minus the head.  Whilst this avoidance tactic may disappoint some, I'd like to provide some reassurance in the fact the clawed feet were still very present.  The skin appeared dark and greasy but the smell was pretty good, it has to be said.  The waiter instructed me that I could eat using a knife and fork but the best method is always with the fingers.  Always good with me, especially when the clawed legs provided such helpful handles.

As I attempted to sink my teeth into the skin I realised this would be more complicated than I'd hoped.  Instead of the crunching and melting you get with the crisped skin of pork, this was decidedly tough.  As I tried to slice through the skin with my incisors I pulled the leg with all my might but it wouldn't give.  Instead, the rubbery epidermis snapped back out of my mouth intact.  Pulling the skin from the carcass with some difficulty revealed the meat below.  My companions, who had sampled this succulent treat before, assured me that, compared to their cuy, mine was packed with juicy meat.  A slightly raised eyebrow betrayed my disbelief as I examined the oversized hamster before me.

With some dextrous use of fingers, teeth and lips I managed to extract tiny bitesize pieces of the meat from the bones...  and I was pleasantly surprised.  The spices had infused the meat thoroughly but the underlying flavour of cuy was clearly present.  It reminded me of rabbit crossed with chicken.  Really very tasty but just so little of it.  A bit like getting a battered goldfish from the local chippy.  On the whole I was pleased to have faced this food-fear although I don't think I'll be indulging in cuy on a regular basis.  Saying that, if it was served to me in a UK restaurant  off the bone without my knowing its origin I think I'd eat it with gusto.  Kentucky Fried Cuy anyone?

Caballos and chacruna...

Returning from the Inca Trail, after only five hours sleep, it was time for another little adventure.  We left for an overnight trip into the hills by horse for an ayahuasca session.  Setting off from the Temple of the Moon we climbed into the hills.  My trusty steed, Bubalou, was a gentle beast but I wasn't sure how eager he was to be carrying my not-insignificant weight.  However, he obediently trudged on negotiating rocky trails, cascading rivers and the dogs, donkeys, pigs, sheep and cars that crossed our path.  There was only one tricky moment in which a combination of my lack of direction and his lack of judgement led us up a shallow gulley that was too narrow for him to place his feet.  A farcical scene followed in which he fell, very slowly, in stages.  A little like dismounting a camel very badly, I eventually fell over his head and landed on the grass.  Luckily neither caballo nor caballero were hurt.  You had to be there.

We trekked on for over six hours at a snail's pace.  When we did gather a little speed, usually as a result of a whip on Bubalou's backside by Javier, our guide, we charged ahead in bursts.  Given that my total time in the saddle is less than ten hours, I bounced about with the ever present threat of another unseemly dismount.  Through a combination of a lot of luck and very little skill this didn't come to pass and we arrived at our destination unharmed.  The ceremony was to take place in the house of a family living on the shore of Lake Puray, a very tranquil spot.

The family, along with the tour operator, had been quite canny in setting up facilities for tourists to attend ceremonies.  The basic house had acquired a purpose built building with beds and bathrooms.  Once again, an example of Peruvians living in quarters of a much lower standard than their guests.  Tourism is an extremely important industry here.  After not eating an eveing meal (something ayahuasca preparation requires for reasons that will become clear) we drove to the local town of Chinchero, I'm not sure why but you don't need to know everything.  As it was already dark it was then time to head back and begin the ceremony at about 7.30pm.

For those who don't know, ayahuasca is a sacred medicinal plant which has been used in the shamanic traditions of Amazonia for thousands of years.  Although it is legal in many countries, such as Peru, it's legal status is vague in others, such as some states of the USA, and clearly illegal in others.  In the UK it is currently illegal but there are cases currently going through the courts that will hopefully rectify this error of judgement.  Whilst some authorities see ayahuasca as a drug it is a view held mainly as a result of ignorance.  These plant medicines - when used in a proper setting with a shaman, in ceremony with respect for the power of the plant - can be deeply beneficial in healing the many psychosomatic ailments humans are afflicted with.

Ayahuasca itself is a vine that grows in the jungle and whose scientific name is Banisteriopsis caapi.  Its name means 'spirit vine' or 'vine of the souls' and is a powerful teacher and healer.  The plant itself doesn't cause the psychotropic effects of the brew, for this it must be combined with other plants that contain Dimethyl Triptamine (DMT), such as chacruna.  DMT is a naturally occuring compound that is produced in the pineal gland located in the centre of the brain.  It is thought that this gland floods the brain with DMT upon death.  This is why so many people seem to have a 'death experience' when taking ayahuasca.  When a ceremony is conducted by expert shamans there is no actual physical danger in taking ayahuasca, although it is a very powerful and, for some, scary experience.  If DMT were to be ingested enzymes in the digestive system would quickly break down the compund and there would be no transmission into the bloodstream.  This is where the ayahuasca vine plays its part.  It contains monoamine oxidase inhibitors which preclude the functioning of these enzymes allowing the uptake of the DMT molecules into the bloodstream.  A special diet must be followed in order to avoid adverse reactions.  Science lesson over.

A little meditation got me into the right frame of mind for the ceremony.  After some time our trip organiser, Gabriel, joined us and the ceremony began.  The shaman, a Shipibo Indian woman named Enid from Pucallpa on the fringes of the Amazon rainforest, prepared the ayahuasca by blowing into the large plastic bottle this black brew was contained in.  This wasn't just any old blowing, she sang using her outbreath in a way I'd never heard before and couldn't repeat if I tried.  After a considerable length of time she poured two cups for us and an eggcup for herself.  The concoction tasted foul.  Dark in colour, gritty in texture and a flavour like very bitter carob mixed with earth.  Truly repulsive.  After drinking 'every last drop' (as Gabriel stressed) I returned to my bed and sat waiting for the effects to manifest.  However, my stomach was having other ideas as pain shot across my abdomen and gurgling became churning.  I knew I had to keep the drink down for fifteen minutes at the very least but two minutes in and I was struggling.  Rejecting the libation I had poured down my throat, my stomach heaved it all into my mouth with two giant spasms.  Here's the tricky bit... I couldn't let it out of my mouth or the ceremony would never even start.  My only other choice was to reswallow this foul liquid, now mixed with the acidic contents of my stomach (although thankfully no food).

The visions came on very quickly.  Swirling lights of purple and green.  Fluid dynamic patterns that were hard to follow.  My mind drifted into alternate perceptions of reality.  All enhanced by the pitch black space we were in.  The visions became more and more intense when, out of the dark, Enid began singing her Icaros - songs transitted to her by ayahuasca that call in the spirits.  This caused the visions to stop immediately and, as I lay in the darkness, I became increasingly convinced that that was the end of the night.

I lay listening to the extraordinary singing ability of Enid shifting from piercing high notes to incredibly fragile warbling.  The former causing any nausea to move closer to vomiting, the latter delighting the senses with their delicacy.  After some time the shaman checked on us and I reported that the experience was very mellow... more fool me.  A second cup of the foul brew was poured and once again I drank 'every last drop'.  The next morning upon speaking to Enid she could tell I was blocking the medicine and the solution was to, well, drink more, of course.  I could relate to this as throughout the day my mood had been shifting.  As the dark clouds gatherered on the horizon and thunder rumbled across the landscape an issue has been gaining ground in my mind.  As it is of a personal nature I'm not going to relate it fully here.  What I can say is ayahuasca worked her magic exploring the issue in ways I couldn't have predicted and providing answers which were both surprising and helpful.

The experience continued to grow more intense and I became lost in the visions.  The crescendo of the evening was intriguing.  A being of some kind appeared and showed me a doorway, a portal to another place/dimension/state of mind.  I was offered the opportunity to enter but, upon consideration, decided not to and the portal disappeared.  Chatting with Enid the following morning she told me that when offered such chances you should take them as they are gateways to knowledge.  Closing the door on this ceremony I drifted slowly back into my 'normal' consciousness and eventually slept a little.

In the morning we went fishing although noone thought to bring any fishing gear but it was a pleasant once round the lake.  Afterwards we saddled up and continued to ride, 500 metres down the street before we reaslied one of the horses had injured its leg.  Abandoning the steeds we set off in our guide's car whilst some local boys waited for the horse van to arrive.  We carried on to visit Moray, an impressive agricultural research station of the Incas.  This depression of concentric circles created a range of microclimates in which experiments could be conducted to find the right crop for the various climatic conditions throughout the empire.  Following that we headed to Maras, another amazing Inca creation at the point a hot, salty spring leaves the mountain.  The Incas channeled this water into hundreds of tanks in which evaporation slowly created salt for the huge population.  More impressive, this site is still in use today and is the salt is damn tasty.

 

El Camino Inka - Day 4

The day I had been waiting years for, literally.  My first glimpse of Machu Picchu would be the reward for some tough trekking in the unforgiving Andes.  We were all excited and only too happy to wake up at three ready for the final assault.  However, the first stage of this final push was a little disappointing to say the least.  After breakfast we began the hike of some 300m to the final checkpoint before Machu Picchu.  Sadly, the gates don't open until 5.30 and we were faced with a wait of two hours before we could begin the final push.  We discussed the unfairness of such a move by the authorities.  It seems sensible that those who walk the trail should have the reward of being first in Machu Picchu on any given day.  We would have been willing to walk through the night without sleep for such a privilege but no such luck.  The first buses begin dragging the tourists up from nearby Aguas Calientes at 5.30am.  This meant that even if we ran at full pelt we would still arrive after them.

Despite our constant grumbling about this grave injustice we waited in high spirits, singing to keep our group's spirit aloft (and the other groups depressed?).  Once the gates opened we were like dogs at the greyhound track.  We raced along powered by the high-octance lyrics of Jim Morrison and Billy Joel.  Even the infamous steps known as the 'Gringo Killers' didn't deter us from our singular focus.  The journey, which should have taken two hours was completed in half the time and we arrived at the world heritage site to find... mist!  ...And tourists. 

The irony was amusing as were Dave's comments to the bussed-in sightseers such as, "Hey, did you enjoy the bus ride up?" and "Wow!  Your boots are so clean, man!"  Our sarcasm was lost on the crowd of international travellers who didn't seem to understand where we had appeared from and why we had such large bags.  Another strange requirement was the fact we had to exit the site only to queue up again to reenter.  We sulked for a while in the cafe with our grumpiness increased by the extortionate prices.  How funny to have a dream come true and be flawed at the same time.  (In reality we were all over the moon to have made it and delighted to be there).

After a coffee the sun began to burn up the mist and we toured the site with our guide, Roberto, who liberally applied facts to our eager ears - although we thought a few were created for his own amusement.  The extraordinary number of fascinating features of this newly voted 'Wonder of the World' (in 2007) are too many to go into here.  The place lives up to its reputation, even with the hordes of tourists.  I could have spent a great deal more time in this magical mountain city and intend to visit again at some point.  I can't recommend the experience enough.  Go!

After our morning tour I left the group to climb Huayna Picchu, the classic peak featured in almost every picture of the archeological site.  I had a deadline to meet the gang at a restaurant in Aguas Calientes and therefore needed one last rapid ascent to the top, no time to relax.  Huayna Picchu is astounding, the steps are almost vertical in places and the cables helpfully installed by the authorities are of great assistance.  There are points it seems there is nothing between you and a fall of a kilometre of so to certain death.  I'm usually fairly okay with heights but this certainly challenged the nerves.  As I sat atop this magnificent peak, mouth open in pure astonishment, I was deeply moved.  Moved by the ancient beauty before me, by the inexplicable ingenuity of an ancient people, by the majesty of Pachmama at her very best.  But, surprising to me, something more important caused a tear to well up... just a little one.  That was the people I'd shared the journey with.  The humour and generosity of my companions on the trail.  The hospitality of our guides.  But most of all, the selfless service of our porters whose humility, strength and cheerfulness are unlike anything I've ever seen before.  Muchísimas gracias!

El Camino Inka - Day 3

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.