We walked through the pre-dawn streets of Cusco, found the two red buses (one for hikers and one for porters) awaiting us, dropped our duffels in the pile, and boarded! We saw unfamiliar faces and realized that there were two Llama Path groups leaving this morning. (I was nervous that we were on the wrong bus somehow until Roger showed.)

The buses pulled out just after 4:30am and navigated switchbacks up into the beautiful hillside lights of Cusco. On the bus, we finally heard "El Condor Pasa"! We'd been waiting to hear the ubiquitous tune the whole trip.

Roger offered us a tour of where the porters lived. Many used to be homeless until hired by Llama Path, who proudly offers the position and housing to anyone who can claim indigenous descent.

More than half of the bus, including me, exited at the "Escuela de Llama Path" and got a brief tour of the main bunkbed-filled room, TV and old couches at the far end, and a garden and two WCs in the back yard. The tight quarters looked like a prison to me, but would be a step above living on the street. At least two men were in a bed, trying to sleep, and it occurred to me that foreigners traipse through their space every morning at 5am.

The two buses descended into the Sacred Valley, occasionally picking up hikers or porters along the way. We stopped in a small town for breakfast and I finally saw the name of the other bus: The Trans-porter. Ha!

Breakfast (scrambled eggs, bread, fruit, and coca tea of course) was adequate, if chilly since the restaurant was in a giant tent, not a building. More important was the facilities since we had no idea of the quality of what lay ahead.

After navigating one-lane dirt roads through rural Peru for the next couple hours (500 people a day use these roads?), we pulled in beside a white bus right on schedule. We were at Kilometer 82, the Inca Trail start. It was already warm and sunny which portended a hot day.

Our porters, dressed in red, prepared our duffels as well as all the gear (tents, kitchen stuff, bedrolls, etc). They were going to be weighed before entering the trail, we were told, though I didn't see them weigh our individual bags. Maybe there was a clandestine scale or maybe they could just tell that we were not near the limit.

Women selling hats (including the same hat I was wearing!), hatbands, and snacks walked around us like buzzing flies as we stood under the gazebo, sunscreening ourselves and preparing to hike. Roger gathered our group together in the shade.

The first word out of Roger's mouth, and the first word every time he talked to us, was "Guys." He managed to insert "guys" every five to ten words. It was an oddly effective way to get our attention.

He showed us where we would be entering the trail, re-iterated the importance of staying hydrated, and mentioned that, no matter how different our individual paces, we would all be eating lunch and dinner together, even if people had to wait.

As you can tell, the train tracks run right by the entrance. I don't know if the train (which ends at the little tourist town of Aguas Calientes near Machu Picchu) stops here, but it doesn't run often. I didn't see a single train go by.

We walked down to the river. Just before the bridge was the passport hut. "Guys, line up in this order," said Roger and he called out our names (our family was first; I think we were first to reserve) and handed us our tickets. My passport and ticket disappeared under one window then, after a minute or so, my passport came back out (whew) the other window. I had my ticket for the Inca Trail in hand fewer than five minutes.

Right after the bridge, of course, was a steep uphill. Already? Our hiking mates passed us but, as directed, stopped at the top to wait for the whole group.

"Guys," Roger said, calling all of us together. He had two important things to tell us. The first was to introduce the other guide whom, up to this point, had been quietly hovering in the background. His name sounded like Elvis, which wouldn't have surprised me since I have yet to meet any local without an English sounding name. The second was about the porters.

"The porters, guys, will be running on the trail carrying big packs," he explained and added that, if we saw porters behind us or passing us, we should call "porter!" so hikers ahead would know to pull off to the left side and give them room to go by.

And with that, we were off!

The trail hugged the Urubamba River and our family brought up the rear with Kate and David. "Elvis, right?" David confirmed and after a moment, the guide nodded. We chatted with him a lot since, while Roger was up ahead with the leaders, Elvis was the one who stayed in the back with us. His English was decent, though didn't have the effortless easy-going fluency of Roger's. The trail evened out. As we walked, Mom and Kate talked nurse shop since they had both worked nights in L&D and Jack and Dave talked frisbee since they were both wearing Ultimate T-shirts.

(Side note: if I had a nickel for the number of conversations that started because of a T-shirt...)

Later, we were passed by G Adventures porters wearing purple. Then some guys in blue. I guess the major companies like to color-code their porters. Indeed, our porters called themselves The Red Army.

However, aside from porters and hikers, we also spotted kids, locals with donkeys, and others who used the trail we paid big bucks to get on as a plain ol' road. I wonder how silly we look to them...

The locals sometimes waved or said "hola" but most went about their business quietly. One enterprising local set up a 1-sol toilet (I passed on it, deciding to wait until the lunch stop) and others sold snacks along the trail.

We reached a spot with some shade where Roger and the rest of the group were waiting, overlooking a ruin across the river. He talked about the communities we were passing and how we would see few past day 1. I dug into my snack stash. I was hoping/assuming we'd have time to socialize with the others (which is the impression I got from sites I'd read about rest stops), but we started walking again as soon as his talk was over.

The Inca Trail is fairly straightforward. The few paths that forked off the main trail appeared to go to houses or someone's land.

So we were pretty surprised when Elvis pulled us back and said we were going the wrong way.

I worried that someone, like my mom or the Canadian couple, was up ahead continuing on the wrong (or, just longer, they said) path, but we turned around and went back to a place with an ambiguous right-angle turn among several buildings. I walked quickly along the new trail and was glad when caught up to the rest of the group - including Mom - up ahead. We never saw a turn that sneaky again.

The trail steepened. Around noon, we joined the rest of our group on a grassy plateau overlooking two sets of ruins. The wind blew madly, threatening to steal my hat several times until I intertwined my braids with the strap. Roger spent so long talking about the ruins that we had all sat down by the end. We saw other hiking groups here, though in general, the trail had not felt crowded.

The trail continued to go up (there is not much down on Day 1) and we could not believe this was "the easy day." However, as the elevation rose, so did the gorgeous Andes scenery. Snow-capped peaks appeared in the distance.

When we reached our lunch stop, the others had been waiting 15 or 20 minutes, but said they enjoyed the time to rest. We wish we got to rest as well, but it was past lunchtime (after 2) and everyone was ready to eat.

The best thing ever: Llama Path provided each of us a red shallow bucket of water and antibacterial soap to wash with! How fantastic is this? They also provided numbered towels for drying. We just had to remember our number. Mine was 652.

We sat on rickety plastic stools at a rickety table, eight people at each side, and the two guides at the end. But, for being on a trail in the middle of nowhere, this was luxury! The table even had a tablecloth.

We each got a small metal plate. Then the porters came by with larger plates of food. First chicken ceviche. It was tasty, though small for a full lunch. We stacked up our dirty plates in a row, like elementary school, and were served bowls of chicken noodle soup. Yum, yum. Now I was full!

Just in time for the main course.

We got large plates this time. It was impossible, but somehow, porters kept appearing in the doorway of the tent with giant dishes of food. I don't know how they carried - and cooked - such a variety. Eight heaping platters were set unsteadily on the table, two each of an avocado-carrot-pea salad, an herbal potato-rice dish, fried trout, and something else I don't recall. They were careful to accommodate the vegetarians.

Beyond full, I didn't know how I'd move again. They gave us 30 minutes to rest in the shade, refill our water bottles, and digest (and play frisbee, if you are David and Elvis.) The time went quickly and during the break, I sought out the toilet.

This was my first official Inca Trail toilet. I hoped, because I had to pay 1 sol, that it wouldn't be too gross. But, no. However, I did make the collections woman break a 10 because I hadn't realized I had to carry so many single coins. Reasons the toilet sucked: overflowing trash can (at least there was a trash can?), no TP provided (expected), unusable sink, a western-style toilet but with no seat, the door didn't close all the way or lock easily, and there was no light inside so I suppose the large crack in the door was a boon.

I used a lot of hand-sanitizer following that transaction.

The porters packed up and jogged past us not long after we continued hiking. Those guys are efficient! The temperature rose to the high 70s and we met a few mosquitoes in the shady spots. I slathered on some DEET to go with my sunscreen and decided that, the next day, I would wear a long-sleeved shirt.

We were huffing and puffing our way up one particularly long set of stone stairs when we saw a local with two packhorses coming down.

"Taxi?" he asked with a smile. We cracked up.

At 5:30pm, near dusk, we reached the campsite to the sound of applause. All the tents (blue, not red) were set up a short walk from the trail. We chose the last two available ones.

The tents rocked: sturdy, spacious, and fitted with a handy extra flap in front. Our red bedrolls were laid out and our duffels were brought to us. We also got the same red buckets *with warm water* for washing up. Luxury backpacking!

Though finding towel 652 again was a pipe dream.

We had just started unpacking and settling in when Roger called everyone to gather together. Utterly exhausted, I didn't want to leave the tent, even for dinner. I wanted to brush my hair, clean up, unroll my sleeping bag, and get my stuff organized before dark (and before I collapsed). But he was insistent. However, he wasn't calling us over for a meal, instead we were going to be introduced to the porters. I liked the meet-and-greet idea in theory. In practice, I needed more relax time first.

We stood in a circle, most of us wearing headlamps in the near dark. Starting with the chef and the head porter, the men in red introduced themselves saying their name, age, and where they were from in Spanish. Roger insisted that us hikers do the same... also in Spanish. So we did, in various degrees of fluency from No Idea to Near Fluent. My rudimentary Spanish worked well for this and so I enjoyed myself, I admit.

Then all the hikers said "Mucho gusto" (I said "Encantada" because I'm a rebel) and shook hands with each individual porter. I had to wince at the amount of germs being spread. Roger then declared it happy hour (only for the hikers, though) and served finger food in the tent. Despite lathering my own hands with hand sanitizer, people were dipping full hands into bowls of popcorn, so I couldn't imagine eating any of it. Gross. Roger's declarations of sanitized safety during the orientation have apparently been forgotten. I hope not a single person in the hand-shaking orgy was sick...

Needing time to unwind, I escaped to my tent until dinner. I also checked out the facilities. A separate men's and women's side had two stalls each, both with squat toilets. Lights were on the building but not within the stalls. Not too gross, though. No trash cans, but at least a sink with running water and a drain. We appeared to be sharing the facilities with other campers.

I did miss, however, the demonstration on how to properly chew a coca leaf. (I think you roll it up and stick it back by your molars?)

Dinner was a repeat of the absurdly huge lunch, but with different food and dessert (how do they do this!?)

After the soup appetizer, and rice and wheat balls, and chicken with salsa, and a bunch more food I cannot remember, we were served banana flambe! ON A FLAMING PLATE. Seriously.

Our sunny, clear weather led to the most amazing night sky I'd ever seen, I had to turn off my headlamp and stare at it. The Milky Way bright and clear, Mars red, Orion... sideways. (Gazing from the southern hemisphere gave the sky an alien look.) So, so beautiful. Whole trip was worth it for seeing stars at 10,000 feet up and far, far from civilization.

I was so exhausted, I talked to myself while unpacking since my brain had all but stopped working. I kept losing my watch and the lantern flickered off and on until I located spare AAA batteries. I tried to write in my journal, but, drained, I could barely move the pen across the page.

I was worried about Day 2.

I woke to the sound of the porters preparing breakfast long before the scratch on our tent at 5am and the arrival of two cups of hot coca tea signified that it was time to get up.

Coca tea: an ideal way to wake up and imbibe enough energy to re-pack our duffels and begin the day.

Breakfast was fruit, pancakes, and a liquidy but delicious porridge. Filling, but that's it? No meat or eggs? For our hardest day? They also provided a snack but their snacks consist of mystery fruit and cheap, packaged cookies or crackers. This time, the fruit looked like an oversized greenish orange and not something I'd want to eat, even if one was allowed to throw peels on the trail. I'm glad I brought my own jerky and nuts.

We knew we'd be the slow group, so we layered up and started off on the trail before 6am, about half an hour ahead of everyone else (once Roger confirmed we couldn't take a wrong turn.)

The stairs started almost immediately.

The rest of the group, a few at a time, passed us. We were soon in the jungle. Moss hung on twisted trees, shading our path along a small river.

About an hour of hiking later...

The strangest thing was that, even so early in the morning, we saw locals on the trail, some going up, some going down.

Once, we passed three women hiking down the steps, lugging bulging blankets fashioned as backpacks over their shoulders while a small dog or two ran underfoot. I could only wonder where the locals came from, how early they had started, and how heavy the load was. I don't recall seeing any houses on the trail.

A couple hours later, I'd taken off my thick sweatshirt, my outermost layer, but had started shivering in the cool morning shade and was thinking about putting it back on, when Elvis pulled us aside, concerned about my mom's slow-but-steady pace. We had to explain that she had excellent endurance, was deliberately pacing herself, and was extremely determined. Like we all were. He suggested turning around but such an idea was depressing and unthinkable. He didn't bring it up again.

We kept pace consistently even as we knew we had at least two more hours of stairs until Dead Woman's Pass.

Yep, it's actually called that.

At precisely 9:00am, we passed an important milestone: the trail moved from shade to sun.

I dropped two layers instantly in the sunshine, tying the shirts around my waist, not using them again until evening.

Once in the sun, three things began.

First, I started noticing all the flowers on the drier foliage that had replaced the jungle. (I knew I was allergic to something up here since I had a stuffed up nose the one night I didn't take my allergy meds.) Second, we became serious about hydration. My mom requested "water" or "'lytes" during rest breaks, meaning the electrolyte-tablet beverage we mixed. Considering that none of us had so much of a cramp or pulled muscle the entire way up, I'd say they worked! Thirdly, my brother was down to his base layer now. Which had a Denver Broncos logo on it.

A passing hiker from another group said, "Congratulations!" upon seeing the logo. We got to talking with him and found out that he went to same college as my dad and that his brother lived in our hometown! Small world moment.

It was not the last comment my brother got on his shirt.

Besides the water bottles and camera hanging off various loops on my backpack, I also knotted a small trash bag to a low-hanging loop. My recent Burning Man experience made me want to embody the spirit of Leave No Trace and pick up garbage I saw on the trail. Granted, I saw surprisingly little trash on the trail. And I didn't pick up anything like that looked too germy, just candy wrappers and such. My family thought I was strange.

Every so often, we passed wide stone benches built into the side of the trail. They seemed like nice enough resting spots, if a bit high. We soon realized that they were not for the hikers necessarily, they were for the porters. They were at a perfect height to rest a giant pack on. And, on this part of the trail, the porters weren't running any more. They looked almost as exhausted as we did.

We learned a lot about Elvis on this trek. While we shared some trail mix with him, we found out that he started out as a porter and persevered up the ranks to head porter, sous chef, then chef, and now assistant guide. He always speaks English to us, even if we try some Spanish, clearly practicing to be main guide someday. Not long after we reached the sunlight, he pointed out the pass. That was our first look at the Dead Woman (so named because the land appears to be a lady in repose, not because of any tragic tale or anything.)

We also shortly ran into the "last beverages before the pass" drink stand. There are no words for how crazy this was to see so far away from civilization.

At the drink stand, we saw Roger! He must have let the remainder of the group continue on their own, leaderless, or perhaps they were at the top of the pass. The guide for the other Llama Path group was also there. I saw him packing a bottle of rum in his backpack.

He smiled to me and said, "Electrolytes."

Here was the hardest part of the Inca Trail.

As we approached the pass (tantalizingly appearing to be Right There), the stairs became near constant and steep, many sections way steeper than normal stairs. Our pace slowed. Once, I walked back down the trail to take a photo, then walked back up about ten stairs at near-normal speed. I spent the next minute panting and recovering.

We were hitting 13,000 feet now. Had we not acclimated, this would have been impossible for me. This is the highest elevation I'd ever climbed (my last attempt being a failed 14er back home). Mom blasted her iPod, keeping focused, and didn't make the mistake (that the rest of us did) of constantly looking "how close" the top was. It wasn't close.

Once, a stiff breeze convinced us we were almost at the top.

Every turn, we thought we might see the people gathered at the pass (we could often hear them), but encountered more stairs instead.

As we walked, and rested, and walked again, Roger and Elvis kept in close contact on their walkie-talkies. Although we couldn't catch much of their Spanish in the thin air, Roger seemed to be asking for regular updates as to our ETA.

I think the last mile may have taken an hour.

At the windswept saddle pass, we were applauded enthusiastically by Roger and three other porters who had stayed to wait for us. We sat on a rocky shelf at 13,700 feet and admired the view while they offered us cheese sandwiches wrapped in napkins for an early lunch and served us coca tea. It was about 11am.

While wolfing down the sandwich, I looked back down at the trail and watched others struggle with the climb. A handful of hikers and porters from other tour groups lingered at the top, taking photos or resting. Roger took (the obligatory) pictures of us next to the official elevation signpost.

Making it up this pass was a symbolic victory. We were at the highest elevation we would reach on the entire trail, the entire trip. There was definitely no turning back now! But this was just the first mountain pass of the day. And it had taken a lot out of us.

Soon, Mom began the steady journey down and I followed shortly after. We were both hoping for facilities. (There had been little on the walk up.) Roger promised there was a toilet a 10-minute hike down.

We went down without stopping (except to take photos of the stunning views). I descended one step at a time to save my knees, especially my right one which has had issues before, and focused on stepping lightly and switching legs in a zig zag pattern or crab walk.

It was just the four of us. Roger was behind us somewhere and Elvis had gone on ahead. The trail was clear enough that we didn't technically need a guide.

I called 'porter' a few times, though the porters were spread out now, singles and small groups.

After a while, I could see the line of trail leading up the mountain pass on the other side of the valley.

But 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 30 minutes later, we saw no sign of facilities.

I kept trying to guesstimate our pace based on the faraway trail, but we always seemed to be in the same spot vertically. Squinting, I could see a ruin about halfway up the mountain, but descending until we were even with the structure took forever, even more to get past it. Some trick of the eyes, I guess.

Or perhaps the trail feels that much longer when you have to pee.

Around a bend, we looked down to the valley and spotted a smattering of buildings and colorful tents. Our lunch stop. Not long after, we heard an echoing roar and looked up to see water streaming down the rocky mountainside creating several waterfalls.

We knew, when we finally crossed the bridge over the creek at the bottom of the falls, that we were getting close to the camp. But wow, the need was urgent and the sound of flowing water was not helping. Luckily, one of the first items we spotted were signs for the WC. Whew.

Roger, who had caught up to us near the bottom, was surprised we missed the facilities further up the mountain. Once we were done, he waved to us from the lavatory to guide us through the several camp setups, campers, and porters to reach our designated lunch spot.

Our huge lunch consisted of a quinoa salad appetizer (quinoa is a local grain), chicken potato soup, and main courses of soba noodles, a veggie plate, more chicken, and a beef and ham wrap. Plenty of protein here! And the ever-present coca tea.

I was almost too exhausted to eat, but when the conversation turned to how many calories we were burning on this trip, eating as much as possible seemed best.

During lunch, Roger imparted some news. "Guys," he said. "We are lucky. We get to see Machu Picchu twice, guys." He explained the reason was that our camp the following night (the 3rd camp) was full. So instead of a short hiking day with an afternoon rest tomorrow and a pre-sunrise start to hike the rest of the way to Machu Picchu, we would hike all the way to Machu Picchu tomorrow, then down to the camp site, then back up to Machu Picchu the following day for sunrise.

The four-day trek had turned into a three-day trek over more distance.

When we had finished eating and stacked our metal plates, Roger said that we only had 15 minutes to digest before we had to clear out of the space.

This was brutal news. We were spent. We needed more rest time.

After we refilled our water bottles, we sat on the grass and watched the porters break down the lunch tent and stack the plastic stools. The idea of reaching the top of another pass today seemed impossible.

We were the last to leave the camp, Elvis patiently waiting. I was worried about Mom, who was walking stiffly. I had the thought that it might take us all night to reach camp 2. However, something miraculous happened.

Perhaps it was the coca leaves we were chewing. (I tried one of the leaves that had been in my tea, but it disintegrated in my mouth quickly.) Or perhaps the coca candy. (I had snagged another package from the Australian.) Or that second cup of coca tea. But even though the trail started out steep, horribly steep, and didn't stop... we cruised up it!

Elvis was usually with us, though sometimes disappeared up ahead, or fell behind. The walkie-talkie chatter had been silly since lunch. Although I couldn't understand the fast, crackly, slangy Spanish, the imitation of a woman's moan and the repeating words, "I love you, te amo" amused us.

We saw no other hikers and no other porters after ours had gone up. Besides Elvis (and Roger's voice over the walkie-talkie), we were alone on the trail. I had the distinct impression that most outfits camp in the valley between the mountain passes. Few tackle both on Day 2 like we were.

The trail here felt different. The rocky path felt older, less kept up; the stairs were irregular and choppy. As the sound of the waterfall on the opposite mountain echoed across the valley and the sun lowered in the sky, I felt like we'd gone back in time.

We reached a modest circular structure, the one I'd been squinting at from the path down Dead Woman's Pass. And I understood now why the trail had seemed to go down so slowly, besides a full bladder. This side was steeper!

Elvis told us we were halfway up.

We didn't dally long; we hydrated and kept climbing.

The pass came in and out of view. Like Dead Woman's Pass, it was hard to tell how much further we had to walk. Knowing we were halfway up didn't tell us how challenging the remainder of the terrain was nor how long our second wind would last.

The air chilled. I debated putting on a layer while Mom expressed concern about how fast it was getting dark.

Then she took off her sunglasses.

Eerily quiet, the trail was more in shadow than out and I removed my sun hat. Although the path had mostly navigable stairs, a few gnarly sections gave us pause. At one, we needed to wait for Elvis to point us in the right direction.

Low wisps of clouds rolled along the peaks, making for spectacular views when we turned around. The clouds kept low and moved fast, never threatening to rain. The sky remained clear, but the temperature was dropping quickly.

I donned my sweatshirt. The switchbacks and stairs continued.

Less than 10 minutes from the top, we reached a lake. Apparently, the spot was popular with local wild deer, but we saw none. (In fact, we saw little in the way of wildlife during our trek, though were assured there was aplenty to be on the lookout for.)

At this point, I don't remember feeling exhausted, but I'm sure I was overtired after nearly 10 hours of hiking, moving one foot after another on the power of adrenaline, determination, and coca fumes. (And that we had no other choice.)

And I was grateful that 1. I had no blisters or leg cramps and 2. that we had no rain.

Adele helped Mom make the final push.

At almost exactly 5pm, like relief after a long day's work, we reached the pass!

The moment was wonderful, not only because the top was, unlike Dead Woman's Pass, pleasant and sheltered from the wind and had stones along the flat ground like tile flooring, but also because we knew the trail was essentially all downhill from here.

We toasted our success with chocolate truffles. ("To drugs!") Even Elvis had a truffle.

After a pole adjustment, we started down. The other side of the pass was even further back in time, the rocky stairs ancient, oddly shaped and occasionally use-your-hands steep, with one switchback that curved through a tunnel. Once in a while, we stepped on a loose stone, unlike the unchanging, solid trail earlier.

At the times when our guide disappeared somewhere ahead or behind us, our family were the sole hikers on this lonely trail far, far away from civilization.

We could only hear our own breathing and steps. And occasional walkie-talkie chatter. Still and quiet.

The fog-like clouds floated in the deep valley below us in whimsical wisps, sometimes hiding the sun. Twilight came upon us, then an extended and beautiful sunset. I wanted to gaze endlessly at the horizon instead of the trail, but momentum pulled me forward on the uneven stones and I kept my eyes downward as well, knowing any kind of trip or sprain would be decidedly unhelpful at this point.

The sun lit up the nearby mountains in the Andes version of "alpenglow". Then only the snow-capped peaks in the distance shone in the sunlight. A blush on the horizon, then all the peaks were profiles of shadow, like in a painting. Then the sunlight was gone entirely and the stars came out. There was no moon.

You've never seen stars like this. I wanted to stare at the sky (and paused often to do so) but then finally took out my headlamp and flashlight, like the rest of us were, and kept walking. Elvis told us we were still at least an hour from camp.

The mountains on either side of us vanished into the black. We passed a sign leading to ruins, but could not see where it led. The trail was less steep now, but still challenging. Being a gentleman, Elvis walked with my Mom, keeping himself between her and the edge of the trail. Did the trail have a drop on that side? Hard to tell in the dark... but I kept to the side closer to the mountain too, just in case.

Roger kindly sent two porters back with bright, bright flashlights to guide us the rest of the way to the camp. (They also offered to carry our day packs.) Mom had a dizzy spell shortly after the porters arrived. Our best guess was that it was a coca downer, but it could have been simply exhaustion from the nearly 12 hours of hiking we'd done today already. From then on, we took it slow, pointed our flashlights ahead in the pitch black so we knew what terrain was coming (not as many stairs at this point), and tried to keep positive. The final stretch was tough - we were using the last of our energy and then some - but it was good to know we had a lot of help now in case something went wrong.

The porters told us we had fifteen minutes to go. Then told us the same thing when we asked ten minutes later. But finally, we reached tents. Not our tents, unfortunately, but tents.

Elvis pointed me in the right direction through the many camps. The 10 stone stairs up to ours, on the far end of the site, felt like an insult, but we managed. Mom climbed them without complaint (with the sound of smattering applause at the top) then went straight to bed.

This time, the group hadn't waited for us to dine, but the porters had saved plates. Rice, soup, chicken I think, and a cinnamon roll for dessert. Jovial and calm, Roger chatted with us, making a lot of puns in English and accurately faking a bad gringo American accent, signs of true fluency. He told us our wake up time was 5am. He also gave us official permission to pee in the open area beyond our line of tents since the toilet building (identical to all toilet buildings in our camps) was a pretty good walk away. But my dad, brother, and I walked over anyway to brush our teeth and stare at the stars before turning in.

A new tent had popped up right near ours and looked different from the others. The occupants were noisy and I had this vision of some random campers setting up in our area since who would stop them. Then I realized they were our own staff and the racket quieted down before long.

Despite mental and physical exhaustion and a perfect temperature outside, I had yet to have a good night sleep during the trip. The ground was hard, even under the provided mat, but more so, I had intense, exhausting dreams about the Inca Trail all through the night, dreams filled with many bags and colors and complex tasks, impossible to complete. It was a relief when I woke up and realized that all I had to do was get dressed and pack the duffel for the day (even though our tent was a vortex and I kept losing things inside it. Mom was smart - she had packed a ziplock for each day.) I was also paranoid about missing the wake-up tent scratch, but I was always awoken by the sounds of the porters preparing breakfast before then.

The Australian kept complaining about snoring, but I'm pretty sure he was the culprit.

Also, ladies, spread the word: pee funnels are awesome, especially for needing to go in the middle of the night.

At 5am on the dot, two porters arrived bearing hot coca tea and a little bowl with sugar, so they were our favorite people ever. But our zippers were getting stuck so either we were hard on these zippers last night or we are in a different tent than we were in yesterday.

I re-braided my hair (the porter outside patiently waiting to strike my tent) before sitting down to a fantastic breakfast: toast with butter and jam, potato balls, grilled bananas, a spinach and tomato omelet, and hot chocolate. And coca tea.

I wore all three layers and my fleece hat this morning, but still shivered as I took my water bottles to the porters to get filled. It was by far the coldest morning so far, but the skies were clear. We all paused our packing to watch the beautiful sunrise.

Today was going to be a lot of down, according to the map, so we were surprised when, after a nice stroll over a bridge, the stairs up began. The "little bit of up" seemed like a lot. Miraculously, my legs were not sore yet.

A little over an hour into our hike, after we stopped to pee (at this point, just finding any nice spot among trees and bushes since official potties are few and far between)...

The air warmed slightly, but was still chilly in the shade. We passed time by chatting with Kate and Dave who were walking with us again, comparing travel tales.

Not long into the morning, we realized the left edge of the trail dropped off a bit, then more, then further, with no warning. No railing. No lip. Just the edge of the stone walkway. This was worrisome because some parts narrowed to the point where only a single person could fit across, let alone let a porter with a huge pack on his back at a slight jog. Luckily, porters didn't happen to pass by on the tightest, scariest sections.

At one point, Roger told us to stay on the cliff side so that the porter could pass safely. The rest of us agreed that this made little sense. The experienced porter was familiar with the terrain. "They could be jogging and their lurching pack could knock us over," someone pointed out. We decided to stay as far from the cliff edge as possible.

We don't need no steenking railings

The stairs were new and exciting, too

Today, no single line separated shade from sun. We'd walk into a sunny part, warm up, then go back into the shade. I took off my hat early on, but kept the layers for a little while longer. Dad passed around the chocolate and cranberry trail mix at one sun-drenched part.

Second to Last Pass of the Day

Twice on the trail today, I put my camera in panorama mode. Once at a random spot along the trail and another time at the top of our final mountain pass, the photo at the top of the page.

The Snow-Capped Andes under a Perfect Sky

Once we hit that peak, well into the sun, we started down. On the map, we'd reached the end of the uphill. Except for one blip near Machu Picchu, we were only headed down from now on. And down. Down, down, down.

Looking Back Up

Skipping Ahead

One of the first thing we hit was a ruin. You had to climb a lot of stairs to see it, though. Dad and Jack went up to check it out while my mom and I (and Elvis) walked around and kept on truckin'.

The ruins are called (I believe) Phuyupatamarca, a few minutes hike beyond Phuyupatamarca pass, just under 12,000'.

Phuyupatamarca Ruins with Our Group on Top; Waving as We Go By; Looking Back at the Ruin

What we didn't know at the time, as we skirted the ruins and continued down endless stairs, was that we were now in the lead of the entire group! The remainder of the 16 were at the ruin listening to Roger's explanation. (I noticed them later when I zoomed in on the photo.)

D-d-d-down

Mom made fast progress ahead of me since I walked down the long stone stairways slowly to save my knee. Elvis bounced between us; we talked about learning languages (his English was much better than I originally suspected) and family life. I had the awkward moment of assuming he was single when he said wasn't married. He painstakingly explained that he lived with a woman who he was not married to. (Especially embarrassing because I've been there, done that, but had presumed that Peruvian culture was that traditional.)

The growth on the trail thickened the further we descended. The temperature rose, the humidity rose, and the occasional patches of flies buzzed in the shade.

It wasn't always stairs.

Throughout the morning, I saw hikers from other outfits, but often had the whole trail to myself. I remembered to keep hydrated with the electrolyte tablets and dug into my snacks often. I wondered where the rest of our group was.

But there were stairs, of course

Spiraling stairs, too

At one stone shell of a building, Elvis asked us to stop and wait. When the rest of our group - including Dad and Jack - arrived, my Mom joked, "Oh, you're here. Time to go!"

Elvis walked in the lead this time and Roger stayed back with our family. He chatted as he walked and pointed out remnants of an older trail that had to be rebuilt.

Then we arrived at a crossroads.

Which way?

To the right was a shortcut down to the lunch stop. Thirty minutes. The left trail led to another ruin via a more meandering trail that took closer to an hour. We split up, my mom and I taking the quick way, having the notion that we might get more rest time if we arrived at lunch before the others.

Shortly after the fork, we were able to see down the valley where the impressive River Urubamba flowed, with its hydroelectric plant on one section. Although we didn't know it at the time, we were looking at same river we started at two days ago further downstream and the same river we would nearly reach that night.

The trail was utterly empty except for the two of us, not even a porter, as we made our way down the switchbacks.

The Amazing View and Spotting the River Urubamba in the Valley Below

I was starting to feel mild blisters for the first time and was glad I invested in good hiking socks and shoes.

We heard footsteps and saw a man wearing red hiking up the trail. Turns out he had been sent to meet us and take us to the camp. At first, I thought this extra guide seemed unnecessary, but we never would have found our lunch spot among the many other tent camps in the area without him.

Devastated, we found the rest of the group already there! They had apparently sped through the ruins and walked fast down the trail.

Cooling Off at Lunch

The lunch stop was originally our camping spot. Because of whatever re-scheduling happened behind the scenes, we not only couldn't stay the night, but also had a limited time allowed at the place. We took a seat at the stools under the red lunch tent, which was set up in a tight patch of land between two buildings. We were told we'd have enough time after eating to check out the nearby ruins before departing on the final few-hour stretch to Machu Picchu, but would have to hurry.

The three-course lunch was served right away. Dad and Jack were quick to re-appropriate the tuna fish and egg salad to mine and Mom's plates once they realized what it was. But there was plenty of other food: the usual quinoa, potato dishes, and whatnot to satisfy everyone.

Between two courses, my mom realized she was overheated, found her red bucket (that they had provided all of us for washing up) and walked to the side of tent.

"Lunchtime entertainment," Mom announced to the others as Dad and I helped her lean over a flower box and pour the water (carefully) over her head. An Inca shower, perhaps? Nice and cool. Then she took a break on the shaded concrete shelf (with a cup of post-lunch coca tea) while the rest of us hiked ten minutes to the ruins.

Wiñay Wayna

Wiñay Wayna

This means "Forever Young" in Quechua (thanks Wikipedia.) The terraces stole the show here. As we all sat on one, dangling our legs over the surprisingly high edge, Roger gave his spiel, explaining how invisible these ruins were to the original founders, who had to cut through dense jungle to find the Inca-construction stonework beneath.

The "Imperial" Style of Inca Wall Construction (i.e. the tight stuff.) And a little tiny stone.

Terraces and a Descending Fountain

The walls the Inca are famous for (the mortar-less, can't-stick-a-piece-of-paper-between-them stones) were only used for important buildings and places. On the right pic above, you can see where the perfectly-fit stone ends and regular mostly-well-fit stone begins.

I always thought all Inca walls were perfect, but the effort to make such impeccably-fitting rock bricks was difficult, even for genius wall builders, so they saved the "imperial style" for buildings of significance (royal or religious.)

Windows and Doorways
(All from the upper level. A waterfall is visible through the window on the left.)

Notice that the windows are not perfectly square. Another feature of Incan architecture is that the walls and windows lean in at an angle, providing even more stability.

I spent all my time in the upper set of ruins. An elaborate water-movement system followed the terraces down to a lower structure which looked like connected houses with steep rooves, but the idea of walking down that many stairs, then back up them did not seem appealing to me.

So I just used my zoom lens.

Wiñay Wayna Lower Houses

I left the ruins before the others since I had to make a pit stop at the camp site. By the time I finished, everyone was already packed and ready to go. Roger moves us quickly!

A Pause for Toilets

Random Inca Trail Toilet

So, the toilets. Except for the first and last restroom stops, all the toilets on the Inca trail are squat toilets, level with the ground. The ones at the camp sites are in concrete buildings and have running water. Usually two or three wooden stalls are inside with a sink and light on the outside. (No lights in the stalls.) I saw a shower hookup in one of the stalls at the final site, but heard it was cold. No warm water.

It was also generally accepted to go along the side of the trail.

I was confused. Most of the toilets flushed, but I couldn't tell whether they flushed into a hole in the ground or into some kind of sewage or septic system. And so it was not clear to me what to do with toilet paper. *There was no toilet paper provided and no trash can.* This meant one of two things: that it was okay to flush toilet paper OR that you had to carry out your toilet paper. I had believed the former until I saw toilet paper clogging up two different toilets. But the latter - nasty.

To someone's credit, the two toilets I saw clogged were fixed and cleaned later. But you would think there would be signage for such a thing...

When I ranted to Roger, he laughed sympathetically, but did not clarify.

Advice? I guess, learn to squat and/or bring a pee funnel (for the ladies). Try to use minimal toilet paper. And bring extra plastic bags, just in case.

Random Llama

Also, to use the toilet, you may have to dodge a llama.

Local Camp Wildlife

Checkpoint!

Shortly into our hike, we reached the checkpoint. We didn't have to show our passports, but we walked through a doorway beside a building, a clear delineation between the trail behind and the trail ahead. I remember hearing that this checkpoint had limited hours and we would have had to wait for it the following morning had we stuck with our original schedule.

We were now on the final approach to Machu Picchu, just around and over that hill up ahead, a few more hours hike away.

Even though the trail was not difficult, we were glad for the subtle coca tea boost.

No More Steps?

The path had leveled out, except for one hilarious ten steps down immediately followed by ten steps up. As if so much flat ground was offensive to the Incas. My brother said, "It shouldn't be called the Inca Trail, it should be called The Inca Steps."

Roger walked with us. (Elvis had gone on ahead with the rest of the group.) He told us about the "cloud forest" climate, how the moisture from the Pacific rises into the high Andes mountains as fog, but gets trapped. The subsequent humidity and rainfall allows for a greater variety of flora than you'd otherwise see at such a high elevation.

Indeed, the thickening vegetation along the trail felt jungly again. And I could tell we had more and more oxygen to breathe.

More oxygen than we've had since landing in Cusco five days before.

Three hikers from the other Llama Path group caught up with us. They were going to stay in a hotel at Aguas Calientes that night to be with their mother (who had fallen sick and had to turn around early on) and asked if they could join our group tour. Roger pulled out his walkie talkie and arranged the details. The idea of a hotel did not sound bad at this point! They continued on toward Machu Picchu.

We had a chance to chat more with our main guide as we walked. Roger told us that his university major and degree were in tourism. I asked what that comprised of and he said a bit of everything: language, history, botany, and business. Indeed, he seemed a fountain of knowledge. He knew words in English I didn't know.

It explained why he could recite the name and an elaborate description of this random flower I saw growing on a tree.

I don't remember what it was called, only that it liked to grow on other things.

Danger Zone

NOW you tell us

We started climbing upward again, a gentle slope with occasional rocky ups and downs. The air was warm and humid.

We came upon the sign (and the railing) on the right and I almost laughed. We had already walked on narrow paths with stark drop-offs (with no railing.) That the sign was belated was an understatement. The short railing was a joke.

Indeed, the path did not get any narrower. However, like seemingly random signs that say Drive Carefully on the side of roads, we guessed they were posted because people had died on the trail.

Roger confirmed it. He told a story of a woman deep in conversation with a friend next to her and stepped right off the edge. That was all it took. Because of preservation rules, the caretakers of the trail don't want to add railings. Though Roger scoffed that it is only people from the U.S. that think so many signs and safety barriers are necessary.

I generally stayed away from the edge, not too nervous. All I could wonder was how people hiked Day 3 in the pouring rain...

As we walked, I asked Roger something I was curious about. "Have you ever seen any female porters?"

He said no, no porters. But there were a small handful of female guides, like himself.

Almost thirty minutes after we passed the sign, Roger said, "Guys, we're coming upon the steepest section. The incline is 70% so you might want to climb up like a monkey."

The stairs were part of the final pass to the Sun Gate that would overlook Machu Picchu. Then it was really all downhill after that.

Really. Steep. Stairs.

After gazing at the stairs and psyching ourselves up for the climb, we proceeded carefully. As suggested, we went slowly, using our hands.

Looking Down, Looking Up

About halfway up, Roger casually passed us, fully upright, a hand in his pocket. He could have been holding a glass of wine or fancy pipe with his cavalier attitude.

"But this is the civilized way," he added.

"I see how it is," I said, a hand on each stair, vaguely embarrassed.

After we reached the top, I stared down what we just climbed, breathing hard. My brother passed in front of me, skirting the edge of the stairs on his way to a ledge overlooking the view. He didn't make me nervous enough to grab his arm. No no no.

View from the Top

Fifteen minutes of relatively easy trail later, we reached the final (regular steepness) stairs to "Intipunku", the Sun Gate. At the final trio of stairs, my brother and I said, "Three more steps!"

My Only Photo of the Sun Gate

The Sun Gate

I was expecting something spectacular with a name like "The Sun Gate". But in truth?

Boring.

The location and view make it worthy of note, but the ruin itself is lame.

Upon Googling Intipunku, the photos show a ruin with a doorway at the top of the hill. I didn't see anything like that. (Perhaps it involved more climbing?) The part I did see was just a jumble of broken wall.

But...

On the far side of the ruin...

We had our first glimpse of Machu Picchu!

Part of me was expecting to see the same Machu Picchu I'd seen in a thousand photos. But it was nothing like that. It was much larger and more spread out. And the lighting was terrible. I suddenly understood why people come at dawn.

My First Glimpse of Machu Picchu!
(In the awful afternoon light...)

More Adrenaline

The trail from the Sun Gate to Machu Picchu was beautiful. And terrifying. And we had to hike it as fast as possible.

Steep Trail from Intipunku to Machu Picchu

No Signs, No Railings

Roger told us that Machu Picchu was a little over a mile away and would probably take an hour. It was 4:30pm and the final bus down was at 5:30pm. If we didn't catch that bus then we'd have to do what the rest of our group was already in the process of doing: hike all the way down to Aguas Calientes, where our camp site was.

More than one thousand feet down. Of steep stairs.

Exhausted, we wanted to catch that bus. We really wanted to catch that bus.

Ruin on Trail from Intipunku to Machu Picchu

Yep, Ruin, Cool, Keep Walking

Halfway down, we passed a ruin and what Roger said was an altar. It looked kind of interesting. but we didn't even slow down.

We did pause momentarily to watch a battle between a lizard and tarantula on the side of the trail.

It was wild! But I was glad it was on the side of the trail.

Short pauses to snap the growing view of Machu Picchu

WE MUST MAKE THE BUS

It was our mission.

Roger was on his walkie talkie a lot. The timestamp on my photos was, unbeknownst to me, 10 minutes fast, so I thought to run ahead and try to hold the bus, but I wouldn't have known where it was.

Elvis had apparently asked the other group to hang out at the base of Machu Picchu so that the bus would wait. But they did not stick around long before continuing their descent.

Roger was now in contact with the bus people. He stood on a stone wall, with his arms crossed, and informed us of how much time we had. "They say you have ten minutes. Or they cannot take you."

He showed us where to turn off the trail then he gave me directions, which were essentially, "Go right at every fork, otherwise, you'll walk into Machu Picchu," then he went down to meet the bus driver. I scoped out the trail ahead so we didn't make a wrong turn. Mom put out a gargantuan effort, not stopping to rest at all despite that we were at over 9 miles, and over 9 hours, of hiking since morning.

I kept catching glimpses of the bus, wishing "stay" and envisioning us on the bus, as we navigated the switchbacks.

At the final flat part, I ran ahead and saw the bus driver, ticket taker, and Roger. Roger asked, concerned, how far the rest of the group was. I said a minute or so. I was correct. We were gathered before the bus left. It was 5:32pm.

Elvis Does Magic

The Road Down

One problem. We did not have tickets and their ticket machine was closed down for the day.

But Roger did some fast negotiating and the lady let us on. We sank into seats in the empty bus. Relief, utter relief, even though we had to temporarily give them our passports.

As it turned out, Elvis was carrying tickets for the bus ride down with our name on it for tomorrow's itinerary. We could use them for this ride if only we could get our hands on them. The bus started down the road. The view was stunning.

I still don't know how they coordinated this, but the bus slowed to a stop halfway down the mountain, Elvis appeared through some trees, entered the bus, and handed the lady our tickets. Then he disappeared back into the trees onto what looked like a rocky stairwell.

Looking closer, I realized that I could catch glimpses of the stairs at every turn. Those are the stairs that we would have gone down.

They looked rough.

The Best Idea

Toward the bottom, Mom decided that she didn't want to do the sunrise walk up the mountain. Instead, she said, she would get a hotel at Aguas Calientes and take the bus up to Machu Picchu later and meet us there. Before we had a chance to discuss further, we had already stopped at our campsite, still a ways from town.

We didn't have time to sort out plans and Roger was a little bewildered by the decision, so we ended up all getting out of the bus.

For the first time, WE had arrived at camp before everyone else. It was still light out, even!

We had decided amongst ourselves that we didn't want to separate our family unit, but we also didn't want to miss sunrise at Machu Picchu. Roger offered a solution to the conundrum: he could walk the thirty minutes into town and buy us bus tickets for tomorrow. He had to go to town anyway because the poor man left his wallet on the bus which may have been our fault for distracting him. Then the next morning before sunrise, he could send Elvis back to town to wait in line for a bus, save us seats, and have the driver stop at the campsite (which is on the way from Aguas Calientes to Machu Picchu) to pick us up

The more we thought about it, the more we liked the idea.

Even though we had to entrust him with our passports (and Elvis too, the next morning) for it to work and pay an extra $24/person round trip, we went for it.

The campsite was nicer than any we'd stayed at and we had time for once to relax and get our bearings. The tents were set up on huge spread-out clearing of grass. They finally put our two tents next to each other. A well-lit building with running water as well as cleaner and more plentiful "Western-style" toilets, also lit, was at one end of the camp. No headlamp necessary. Several covered picnic tables were along the side.

After dark, we looked back up toward the mountain and saw a light in the middle. Roger said it was the headlamps of the rest of the hikers, making their way down the trail. We were so glad not to be hiking. Everyone on our trek has now experienced the trail in the dark.

And the stars were nearly as beautiful, even from within a deep valley surrounded by mountains at a lower elevation. I watched Orion rise over the shadowed peaks.

Dinner!

When the rest of hikers arrived with three cute stray dogs in tow, they said the stairs had been the most difficult yet! Not only steep, some were also "floating" stairs, a series of rocks sticking out of a rock face, which involved careful stepping. Glad we made the bus!!!

Our final meal together was quite an event.

We had fettuccini, pizza, a goulash beef and gravy dish, and the wackiest food art I've seen: a turtle made out of a half pineapple face down on the plate (eyes and all) with chicken and veggie kebabs sticking out of it.

Pineapple turtle with kebab spikes!?

Crazy, but delicious.

When we mentioned that we were taking the sunrise bus the next morning, Roger offered the same deal to the rest of the hikers. Three of them took him up on it! They didn't want to climb back up that thing.

Dessert arrived: little bowls of sugar cane gelatin and a chocolate cake "baked on site!" The chocolate cake was dry and bland, but the effort was undeniable.

I still have no idea how they pulled these meals off.

Another Toilet Pause

I said this campsite has Western-style toilets but with one key difference. These toilets have no seats. Just like at our first lunch stop on Day 1, it was just a bowl.

I don't get it.

An improvement?

I guess one has to squat less low? Mom was glad of that, I know. Although I was thrilled by the trash cans for toilet paper, I still wondered why no seats.

On a better note, this bathroom had one thing that no others had: a mirror! For the first time since we started hiking, I looked at myself! Ack! I don't look as travel-worn as I would have expected, but I've looked better.

Doing Math After Three Nonstop Days of Hiking

After dessert, we all got a Llama Path T-shirt. My favorite thing about the shirt is the handy map on the back with elevations, distances, and camps.

Back of T-shirt

Then the group of us received three envelopes: one for the Chef, one for the Head Porter & Sous Chef, and one for the rest of the 20 or so porters. Brushing aside one person objecting that they hadn't brought cash (despite being told to at the orientation and on the brochure), Roger left us to figure out what we wanted to tip.

Although it would have been tacky, I kind of wish they would have told us the standard amount *per person, per envelope*. We were told some expected percentages, but in varying ways, sometimes per our whole group, sometimes per tourist, sometimes per porter, sometimes per chef. Between Dave and my dad, and knowing roughly that I planned give 10-15%, we worked out what to put in each envelope. The complicated part was breaking large bills and converting US dollars so that everyone got fair change. I think we spent upwards of 45 minutes at it.

I knew it was no accident that we had just gotten a special dinner, two desserts, free T-shirts, and had shaken hands with all the porters earlier. They wanted us to tip well.

(Our family covered for the couple broke folks on the tour and made sure to add more since three of the porters were only for us. But we did have to remember to tip the guides later since Roger and Elvis did not mention themselves in the percentages. Expectations dictated that they would get more than the highest-tipped staff. The trick would be remembering / finding an opportunity for it later.)

And then, surprise, we also had to personally hand the envelopes over, as a group, and give a small speech of appreciation. We nominated the one member of our trek who spoke near-fluent Spanish, living in Buenos Aires and luckily, she was happy to oblige. The entire group - hikers and porters - stood in a circle and I thought the speech was nice, at least the parts I understood, saying how we appreciated and respected the porters.

We're ALL Addicted to Coca Tea

Before we turned in, Roger told us the schedule for the next morning. The major challenge was that the porters had to leave before dawn to make the walk into town to catch their (ridiculously) early porter train back. We had to be out of our tents before 4am. So, we could either get up even earlier and have a cooked breakfast or we could sleep until 3:30am and get a packed one instead.

Everyone quickly settled for the packed breakfast, which Roger clearly hoped for, but did not budge on morning tea. Several hikers, not even us, insisted over Roger's repeated objections that we NEEDED OUR MORNING CUP OF COCA dammit.

Roger relented.

We did it!

We had a family moment after that, in an intimate huddle, minds blown. We hiked the Inca Trail and what an amazing experience it was.

Wow.

No more stairs.

Or so we thought...

Next >

Day 1: "The Easy Day"

After waking up at 3am...

Porter House

Last Chance for Toilets?

Trailhead!

Passport Check

Getting to know Elvis

That time we took a wrong turn...

Ruins, Ruins, Everywhere

Extreme Lunch

Ugh

It's all uphill from here

Quote of the Day

Camp Site

Pardon me while I have a germ freak moment

Extreme Dinner, Even More Extreme Dessert!

OMG, the stars

Day 2: One mountain would have been plenty

Coca Wake-up Call

Searching for Protein

Early Start

Here Comes The Sun

Our First Glimpse!

Can you feel the altitude yet?

Atop the Dead Woman

Stairs Down are Easier... Except on your Knees.

Lunch. And Coca. (Because, at this point, it's all about the coca.)

And... Back Up Again

Having the Inca Trail to Ourselves

Random Ruin

The Incas Loved a Challenge

The Top!

The Beginning of a Long Descent

Nighttime Hiking on the Inca Trail

Sleep?

Day 3: No one told us we'd be walking along cliffs

Did They Carry Eggs All the Way Up Here Without Breaking Them?

Just Don't Look Down

Second to Last Pass of the Day

Skipping Ahead

D-d-d-down

Which way?

Cooling Off at Lunch

Wiñay Wayna

A Pause for Toilets

Random Llama

Checkpoint!

No More Steps?

Danger Zone

Really. Steep. Stairs.

The Sun Gate

More Adrenaline

WE MUST MAKE THE BUS

Elvis Does Magic

The Best Idea

Dinner!

Another Toilet Pause

Doing Math After Three Nonstop Days of Hiking

We're ALL Addicted to Coca Tea

We did it!