Lucy and I have a slightly unconventional approach to altitude acclimatization. From prior experience, I tend to feel altitude reasonably strongly much above, oh, 4,000m and we were keen not to let the sheer height of the Inca trail cause us any problems. As such, we took our acclimatization pretty seriously. There are the usual tricks to this: spend a good amount of time at altitude before any trek (a few days hiking around Arequipa sorted this out), don’t overexert yourself at first (three days crammed in an overloaded jeep in Bolivia – big tick), trek high sleep low etc.. To this, we added our own personal flavour: spend at least one night drinking red wine in bed while watching bad television (Puno), eat lots of ice cream (San Pedro de Atacama) and – critically – make sure to have at least one blow out meal at the best restaurant in town. Which brings us to Cuzco.

Cuzco is many things. It is the historical capital of the Inca Empire, so it is the place where the Spanish conquistadors felt most obliged to ponder the grand apex of Inca civilization, culture and engineering and CRUSH IT. Think large, flashy cathedrals full of gaudy Spanish imagery (Jesus was Spanish-looking? With a silly pointy beard? I thought so too) built literally on top of the original, still-visible foundations of the Inca Temple of the Sun. It is the main base for treks to Macchu Picchu, so it is ram packed full of tour shops, equipment shops and sleeping bag rental places. Finally, it is a major spot on the gringo trail, so it is full of pizzerias, pasta shops and latte bars (including a stealth Starbucks next to the Cathedral). And if you actually do the Inca trail, this pile of sleazy little luxury looks a LOT more attractive on the way back than on the way in.

So we continued our acclimatization. We stayed in a nice little ex-children’s home hotel (“institutional chic” – nicer than it sounds). We spent a couple of days gentle hiking in the sacred valley, passing through amazing ancient Inca sites and little villages full of markets, tiny back streets and – in Pisac – a charming local festival which consisted entirely of overweight drunk men in fancy dress riding round and round the main square on increasingly tired looking horses to the sound of two competing brass bands (nicer than it sounds).

We also hit “Limo” which is a truly world class yet reasonably priced restaurant overlooking the main square. Our waiter Francisco – the cheesiest, most charming cheeseball since the dawn of cheesy charming cheese – had seemingly laid on a religious icon procession for our personal viewing in the square below our balcony window and crammed us full of ceviche, rare meat, raw eggs and all the other food-poisoning-courting things one isn’t meant to eat when on the road. It was fabulous.

One impromptu Pisco tasting later (six brands, the answer is “Viejo Tonel Italia” if you can get it) we rolled back to our hotel. Incidentally, you have to hand it to Lucy, who, in ten minutes, in Peru, can smoothly change outfits (and mental gears) between hiking boots / fleeces and short sparkly skirts / Christian Louboutin sandals AND is capable of handling steep, shiny cobbles at night in spike heels. What a girl.

Ahhhh, Macchu Picchu. The very name resonates of the mystery of an ancient, long disappeared warrior tribe and general South American strangeness. It’s one of the main attractions on the entire South American continent and definitely one of the top must dos on our trip. I’d been there before as a young’un, following the ancient Inca Trail for 3 days before finally, in the misty pre dawn, staggering up through the Sun Gate and witnessing the clouds breaking – apparently just for me – to see Macchu Picchu unveil itself briefly in the glowing dawn light. It’s a memory I treasure and one that I wanted in some way to share with James – so off we pootled from Cusco to follow the exact same trail as I’d navigated so many years before.

Of course, this time things were different. Last time I went, a guide was a suggestion rather than the now strictly regimented requirement, you could walk at will and camp wherever you liked. The trail was a little bit anarchic, wild and beautiful, but be-studded with the tiny pink jewels of other people’s toilet paper. The route is now strictly controlled, with a choice of 2 campsites available each night, typically with one placed about 2 hours before the next to allow some choice in walking distance. There are also only 500 people allowed to hike the trail each day – which eases crowding but in no way supplies the solitary experience you might think.

We had a lovely and small group to hike with – just four of us in total (an unexpected blessing of having booked really rather later than we should have done!) and fortunately all pretty well matched in terms of hiking speed. Our companions were Carlyne, a French civil engineer (James was in heaven talking tech-y bridge tunnel talk), Miriam, a German teacher and Brecht expert currently resident in Brazil, and our guide Roger, descended from the Incas (as he reminded us several times a day). Add to this seven porters and a cook (yep, I know, we were sounding pretty hardcore up to then weren’t we!!) and our little ensemble was ready to face the worst that the trail could throw at us!

The trail is actually rather wonderfully set up in terms of its route: `

• Day 1 starts with an ENORMOUS breakfast in Ollantaybambo. Calories obviously don’t count given the amount of walking you’ll be doing over the next few days but still I think James walked / waddled out of there a stone heavier. Then a few checkpoints (actually we were turned back at the checkpoint for some still rather unknown reason – the only thing we do know is that it was NOT Roger’s fault. Got sorted out eventually but not before we were all pretty fearful and rummaging in our pockets for bribes). The you set off after a nice little photo of the Inca trail sign, for a day of nice easy ambling along flat-ish surfaces, passing by the occasional village where you can buy such essentials as soft drinks and (I kid you not) ice cream….because obviously those seven porters aren’t carrying enough gear for you
• Day 2 is brutal – an early rise, fortifying maize porridge breakfast, then a vertical climb of about 800 metres over Dead Woman’s Pass (named for the shape of the mountain rather than the difficulty of the pass – or that’s what they say) followed by a descent, a further ascent of 500 metres to a second pass whose name no one can ever remember before finally descending, bone weary, to your campsite. Where you fall upon your dinner like a starving man. Or at least you do unless, like James, the day has so absolutely and whole heartedly broken you that you retire hurt to bed at about 6.45, having consumed only a few dozen little fried cheesy wontons (you get fed a lot on the trail – these were supposed to be a light pre dinner snack). I was rather delighted by this turn of events – in the whole of the seven years together, despite many attempts to break my James, I’ve always ultimately failed. Who knew it could be so easy?….Turns out all you need is a theoretical 11 hours hiking (we did it in 8 – smug smile) at altitude (max of about 4,200 metres). Now where can I find that kind of experience near London……
• Then just as you start feeling a bit fed up with this whole Inca Trail lark, comes day 3 – more climbing (and LOTS of Inca stairs – see photos) but relatively gentle and interspersed every couple of hours with amazing, isolated Inca sites looming out of the mist. These were some of our favourite Inca sites that we saw – the last one in particular, where we sat practically on our own in the middle of an ancient terraced site to watch the sunset, will stand out in our memory. Rocking up to your campsite there is a bit of facing off about whether or not anyone is going to go for a cold (glacially fed) shower before all eventually agreeing that smelling ain’t that bad. Pre dinner the cook provides you with a cake (of course) to congratulate the group on managing to stumble gasping up the trail that the porters (and cook) run up carrying 25 kilos of equipment for your comfort, on average 3 to 4 times a month. Hmmmm. Still, great cake (how do they do that on a propane stove???)

Day 4 is the Big Day, where you get up early and hike for an hour or so up to the Sun Gate (from where you get your first view of Macchu Picchu), then another hour takes you to Macchu Picchu itself. The way it used to work is that you got up an hour before dawn, legged it (I vividly remember running, gasping with pain) up to the Sun Gate then watched dawn from there (and recovered!!) before ambling down to Macchu Picchu to get there an hour or two before the day trippers arrived. Now it’s all gone a bit bonkers. You get up at 3.30 to stand in a queue for an hour and a half, then you’re allowed to set off. Everyone pegs it along at great haste to the Sun Gate, but the time at which you are allowed to set off is too late to see the dawn anyway and also too late to allow you to arrive in Macchu Picchu before the day trippers. Which unfortunately left a little of a sour note about Macchu Picchu; majestic as it is, arriving at the site after 3 days in the comparative wilderness, it felt almost obscenely crowded. Still, our guide gave us a great tour – modern theory suggests Macchu Picchu may have been a university / retreat for the wise men of the Incas which was deserted when the Spanish came and the residents were forced to re-join their community in Ollantaybambo. This feels right to me – Macchu Picchu as Hogwarts if you will. Which is pretty fitting given the magic that the place still possesses….even with the crowds.