THE SALKANTAY TRAIL

I cut through the cold wind with flailing arms and return to the yellow tent. Im wearing every article of clothing I ripped from my pack and yet I still feel as if I am wrapped in ice. When I peak inside the tent, its worse than I suspected; the smell nearly knocks me to the dusty dirt floor. I fight through the odor and witness vomit splashed across my oversized sleeping bag and sleeping mat. I guess that plastic bag didnt hold after all...

We ariived last night in Aguas Calientes, the tourists shithole village beneath Machu Pichu after three days of intense trekking... bum bum bum BA! The Salkantay trail. Glorious. My cousin Jonathan and I were joined by two young boring couples, who probably thought we were showtune aliens. Our group leader, Puma, was the f*in man. Half Incan/half spanish suave with knowedgable insight and lots of sarcastic laughs. The cooks, Valentin and Javier, blew my food expactations off the mountain, and were super nice, even if they continuously wanted to chat with me about sex and girls. We also had two horse drivers that carried our bags. But, if you think this trek would be simple with such lovely assistance, you are SO wrong. Lets start at the top, shall we?

Day 1. We hear the doorbell ring in our quiet guest house at 5 AM. Two men take our bags and we aboard a mini-van. We pick up four strangers in another hostel and are off for unknown territory. Jonathan and I are too tired to make conversation with the newbies. My sleepy cuz immediately passes out in the car but I endure the agonizing up and downhill turns for 2 and a half hours, sending my already damaged stomach to sloshy pieces. We meet our crew after breakfast, 2 chefs and 2 horse drivers. I imagine that without carrying bags and eating prepared meals will be a sintch, but before you know it, Im behind the group, head spun and crazy. I look and feel like llama shit. Jonathan wants to stay behind with me but my inner voice screams NO! GO! THIS IS MY PROBLEM AND IM GONNA GET OVER IT PERSONALLY! Soon thereafter, we arrive at a check point and I pray to the Incan gods for strength. Things turn around when I meet a nice german girl who zips up my "magic pants" (the pants part) and I receive new love energy. I feel better and overcome slightly.

Im moving quickly now, completely oblivious to the extreme amount of nature surrounding us. Its quite spectacular, but as I later realize, this world takes some adjusting to. Anyways, I soon fall back behind the group and trudge on. The sickness returns and I feel as if Im dragging myself forward with a soggy rope. Yet, I sing and rhyme to the mountains, the Incan gods, and everything else. Its in these moments where my rhymes are the best, but never get written down. I finish the hike and fall hard to the floor. "Dave, get up! Get uuup!" It takes some time, but I slither into my dusty tent, shiver hard, and change clothes. I pass out without recognizing and as I wake up in the clotstrophobic tent, my stomach spins 540 on me and yells, "coming through!!!" I grab a bag and let loose in the dark. I then stumble out the door and brush by a group of sheraders, mumbling to Jonathan, "Im sick man."

It was a good thing I threw up for multiple reasons: I HAD TO; I received a better sleeping bag, and felt much refreshed. We cleaned the mess and watched the myriad of stars above, made our own constellations, and proceeded to have a terrible sleep.

Day 2: The night took forever. I turned and turned in sleeping bag, and felt horrible in the morn. Morning coca tea and slight breakfast. Thankfully, the boring couples had boughten an extra horse which I rode for the day. I could not breathe properly and felt death creeping over me. Eeeeek. Ya know what, I look kinda fabulous on a horse. I pushed up the mountains like a Lord of the Rings Rider of Rohan character and napped hard at every rest point. While the others (not Jon) complained about the trecherous hike, I just wanted to crumble into a piece of matter and fly to Hawaii. I finished the day on foot, conversed with our hilarious crew, and practiced French with a cute Bulgarian girl in another group. The Salkantay trail is much less populated than the Inca trail, but we did cross other on the way. I arrived at out new campsite feeling more fresh and ready for a delicous meal.

Day 3: Slept like a golden god! The hike was not that tough. It was a gorgeous jungle voyage. We ate wild strawberries, passion fruit, and blackberries (no stomach side effects) and rested in a lovely farm where a HUGE turkey reigned over the wild dogs. I felt at my best, stayed well hydrated, and did my doody with mother earth. We lunched in a village called La Playa and said goodbye to our crew. I finessed a comical drawing for the cooks and caballeros. In the middle it reads, "muchas gracias pajeros!" (thank you so much, jerk offs!) I also gave my dirty infested sleeping bag to Valentin the chef. I know he comes from a poor village and even though the bag was sickened, he appreciated it (and the drawing).

Waiting for the train to Aguas Calientes, Jonathan and I haki sacked and improv percussion Stomp style on the train, trash, benches, and rocks. We tried "ava" and sweet hot drink and made friends with a vender lady and daughter. The train broke down, blacked out, and became infested with moths, but we still had a good time. Warmish shower and dinner. Sleep tight. Machu Pichu, tomorrow.

Day 4: We get a wake up call that I never heard and Jonathan shakes me to life. Gotta move. We stretch deep and grab bread to go. Its 4 in the morning and we are heading down a pass to a bridge check point. When we pass, we encounter steep steps leading to heaven AKA MAchu Pichu. One foot in front of the other, we clib and climb, dislayering each chance we get. Up and up we go. The light begins illuminating the sky and we can make out the surrounding mountains. "Come on, we gotta beat the sunrise!" We PUSH AND PUSH and finally reach the TOP! Expecting the marvel of the universe, we are bitch-slapped by buses pouring out loads and loads of people, and a line of infinite tourists. Ughhh.

Anyways, the tour around Machu Pichu was splendid. We met some hip younger people (a refeshing contrasting to our uninteresting married group trekkers) and marvel at the scenery. After some Tai Chi and good conversation, Jonathan and I head up Waina Pichu (the mountain in all the Machu Pichu postcards). Its straight up with ropes and stone steps. Coca leaves and constant breaths. We step up and up again and again. Top drop uber hot. Fotographs and morphing mountains. Fresh dopamine rushing naturally through me. Who DAT! High flying birds! Condors!

It was a trek for the ages and Im glad I survived. In my opinion, the trek was better than Machu Pichu. Nature explosion. Fresh feeling phenomena. On and on. We go.