Up, up and away.
One of the amazing vistas. We walked up from the very bottom of the valley.
Still going...almost there.
Finally up the top of the first pass.
I awoke with apprehension about what lay ahead. I had only heard bad things about this day - five and a half hours up, up and up to “Dead Woman’s Pass” (don’t really want to know why it is called that). At 4200 metres, this is the highest, chilliest part of the trail. People have been know to die at this point. Then two hours down a knee-jarring staircase to the river below. We set off around 7am. Kristy had, had to hire a local porter for this part of the journey as there was no way Jon was going to lug her pack up the mountain side. Well, we went at our own slow pace, stopping often to admire the amazing mountain views and regain our breath. Because we were so slow, I didn’t actually find it too bad going (maybe because I was prepared for the worst). The walking sticks were finally proving worthwhile and definitely helped, although I did feel a bit like a cripple using them. At the top of the pass I felt a bit nauseous from the altitude and exercise but I was relieved to see that I wasn’t going to pass out and need porters to carry me back down and out, ending my Machu Picchu dream.
Going down was a different story. I was surprised to see how fast everyone else except our group made the decent. I know I am not that steady on my feet but all the other hikers seemed to run down (including the Germans who were way in front - I think they ran the whole trail), whilst I hobbled slowly to the campsite. More popcorn awaited our arrival as did the smell of piss. Night Two’s campsite smelt like a giant urinal. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was not freezing (I had been warned). I guess when one has survived Uyuni everywhere else seems positively balmy.
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