Tracy learns about the Incas, walks a lot, and gets a bit mad...

Today I arrived back in civilization after four days hiking the Inca Trail, an ancient road that leads to the lost Inca city of Machu Picchu. The walk is around 35 kilometres, weaving through the mountains from the outskirts of the Incan town of Ollantaytambo, and traversing passes as high as 4200 metres above sea level. It was an exhilarating, inspiring, exhausting, emotional four days, filled with breathtaking scenery, Incan ruins, and physical challenges that would test even the fittest in the group.

The trek is considered by many as one of the highlights of their South American trip, and it is almost a compulsory part of any itinerary that encompasses Peru. In the high season, it is necessary to book a place in the trek as much as two months in advance, and prices for the four day trek soar to as much as US$750. Considering that you are sleeping in tents and walking the entire way, that price seems excessive to me, but the reason that companies can charge such prices is thanks to regulations governing entrance to the trail. Up to a few years ago there was no regulation, and anyone that wanted to do the trail could, meaning that at any one time there would be thousands of tourists hiking the 35km track. People camped inside Incan ruins, and the sheer numbers of people on the track meant that it was difficult to maintain.

So the government introduced a permit system, and for any one day it allows only 500 people onto the trail, including porters and guides, which means that about 200 tourists can obtain one of the coveted permits to hike the trail. So, according to the principle of supply and demand, the price goes up. Most people sign onto alternative treks, which also take in spectacular scenery, ancient roads, and Incan ruins, but for a fraction of the price of the traditional Inca trail.

Initially I was planning to hike one of the alternative routes, mostly to save money, and also because I didn’t want to book months in advance, having no firm idea exactly when I would be arriving in Peru. And it was a good thing that I didn’t book in advance, as I became quite ill on the border of Bolivia and Peru, and had to change my plans in order to turn around and go back to La Paz to see a doctor. I had been feeling unwell for days, but kept soldiering on, expecting to get better with rest, but kept getting worse and worse until I had a fever of nearly 40 and I could hardly walk let alone carry my backpack. The doctor in La Paz determined that I had not one, not two, but a combination of three different bacterial infections, and prescribed a frightening array of medication and four days in bed to recuperate.

When I finally arrived in Cusco, Peru, I was mostly recovered from the initial infections, but was still quite weak. I discovered that most of the alternative Inca treks were a fair bit longer, from 5 to 7 days, and in my weakened state, the idea of walking for a week, and being away from medical help in case of an emergency was quite daunting. That being the case, I was happy to discover that I had arrived in Cusco in the middle of rainy season, and there were permits available almost every day to join the original 4-day Inca trek, and for much less than the high season price.

I signed onto the cheapest tour I could find, $240 for the four days, compared to as much as $400 for some of the other companies around town, and was incredibly pleased with myself for finding such a wonderful deal. We left early in the morning on December 20^th. We had a group of 15 people, with about half South Americans, and half from the rest of the world. There were 2 Brazilians, 3 Colombians, 2 Chileans, 1 Argentine, as well as 2 from the US, 2 Germans, 1 from France, 1 Israeli and myself. We were accompanied by 14 porters, 1 cook, and 2 guides, so we numbered 32 in total.

The first thing that really struck me was the strength of the porters. I found every step a challenge, and I was carrying only my personal items, a sleeping bag and sleeping mat, which was precious little in comparison to what most of the porters had strapped to their backs. Yet these men, who had as much as 35kg on their backs, and who were wearing primitive sandals made of old tyres on their feet, were running past us like it was a jog in the park! Apparently there was a race a few years ago, an tourist event of sorts, in which the porters had to carry a set load and compete. The fastest porter ran the entire Inca trail that took us 3 and a bit days in less than 4 hours! They are incredibly fit men.

According to our guide, a portly Peruvian gentlemen with the oddly Russian name of Vladimir, the porters are generally farmers, who do the Inca trail 4 times a month or so to get extra money to buy fertiliser or other things that they need for the farm. Before doing the trek I had assumed that the porters would have worked with the company, or be permanent employees or something like that, but certainly with our trek, they were all freelance. After the bus had collected all the tourists in the morning, we drove through the streets of Cusco on the way out of the city, and then stopped at a corner where there seemed to be hundreds of young men waiting. The cook got off the bus, and surveyed the crowd of men, before pointing at a few of them, presumably those who looked strong and healthy. It reminded me of choosing teams in P.E. back in primary school, but here, if you got picked, you got a job for the next four days.

With the introduction of regulations on the Inca Trail, they also introduced a range of protections for the porters. There is a limit to the amount any porter is allowed to carry, and they have to pass through daily check points where their loads are weighed and recorded. There is also supposedly a minimal wage of 43.2 soles per day (about $18 Australian) but Vladimir told us that in reality they tend to get about 30 per day or less. Which is a lot more than the wage in Bolivia, but the reality is that the cost of living is more expensive here in Peru, which means that it is still pittance for these people, especially considering the tough nature of the job. Every time I felt like giving up, like it was impossible to go another step, I would think of the porters, running with loads that looked as big as houses on their backs, and I would feel a renewed sense of motivation and purpose. They were truly inspirational, and without them the entire trek would not have been possible.

Different companies definitely treat their porters differently, and with the companies that were the most expensive, the porters seemed to have a much stronger sense of purpose and identity. Some of the teams had shiny uniforms for their porters, complete with nametags and special backpacks to protect their backs. These companies had special ceremonies on the first day to introduce the porters to the tourists, and vice versa. The extra money you pay seems to buy an increased sense of dignity for the porters, which is something that I strongly believe would be worth the extra money. Our company had none of these things, and our porters were nameless, practically anonymous, and seemed scruffy and unhappy much of the time, and I realised that there was a reason why our tour was so much cheaper than the many of the others.

I was also surprised by how much stuff is carried. This was not simply camping. At each lunchbreak they set up a dining tent and a cooking tent, and we sat on fold up chairs at fold up tables, with tablecloths, knives and forks, even serviettes! Even on our budget tour! I expected to be sitting on rocks and eating on my lap, but as far as camping goes, this was 4 star. And the food, while it wouldn’t have won any prizes in a restaurant, was quite amazing given that all the food, and the gas bottles, and the hotplate, everything had to be carted up the mountain. We were served three courses at lunch, with a soup, main course and desert.

The weather over the four days could not have been better. Given that it was in the middle of the rainy season, we were incredibly lucky to have only short showers on the first day, then nothing but sunshine after that. I was determined to be prepared for the rain, so I hired waterproof shoes and pants to hike in, which I didn’t take out once. But with Murphy’s Law, if I hadn’t hired them, it would have rained the entire time, so I don’t regret the money or the extra weight. The track was steep, and would have been incredibly slippery with rain. I also bought a hiking stick, to help with the slippery path. I didn’t need it, but it was a great fashion accessory, and had a pretty indigenous design on the top, so it was 5 soles ($2) well spent.

The path itself was steep and tough, especially because of the altitude. The second day was by far the hardest for me. The entire day was one uphill battle until we reached the highest pass of the trip, over 4km above sea level. I was one of the slowest in the group, along with the girl from Germany who had also been sick. We took frequent breaks, and when we finally made it to the top of the pass, to find the entire group waiting for us, we found that we had been nicknamed ‘the grandmothers’. I felt incredibly unfit, but couldn’t have gone any faster if I had tried! Just making it to the top gave me such a feeling of satisfaction, I found I didn’t care about the nickname… Day three was much easier for me, and I lost the title of grandmother as I walked amongst the first in the group. Of course, it was mostly downhill, which helped. But by day four, both downhill and uphill were painful, as every muscle in my calves ached after days of climbing!

I remember when I was debating whether or not to book the trek, I wondered what could be so beautiful that would make it worth the money. As I am travelling on a rather limited budget, I had to go a fair bit over my budget, even to pay for the cheap tour that I did. As I walked along the Inca trail on the first couple of days, I still couldn’t work out what would make it worth it. Sure, there was lovely scenery and natural beauty, but I have seen a lot of natural wonders in my travels. The scenery, while spectacular, was not what made the trip. I guess what made the road so special was the journey itself. The fact that you were walking on a road that the Incan people built over 500 years ago, that still exists today. Every day we encountered new ruins, and each day they got grander, more amazing, more complex. As we wandered around each set of ruins that we found, we learnt more about the Incan civilisation, and I found it fascinating. Before the arrival of the Spanish, they had an empire that spanned six countries in South America today: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina. They had knowledge about astronomy and the seasons that was more advanced than anyone else in the world of the time, and they built incredibly complex cities. For their most important buildings they used interlocking rocks that fit so perfectly there was no need for mortar or cement. Their construction took into account various anti-seismic methods that would protect their cities in case of earthquakes.

By the time we arrived at Macchu Picchu, it wasn’t just one historical site, but it had a context based on everything else that we had seen. We walked there the same way that the Incans would have in the past. That journey, and everything that I learnt along the way was the reason why I found the Inca Trail so amazing. And Machu Picchu itself was definitely one of the most impressive man-made things that I have seen. I can see why it is now classed as one of the new seven wonders of the world. It is enormous, and beautifully preserved, and worth every groan of agony as I stepped down each step to finally reach the site. But I have to say that now, after a week of ruins, and having seen Machu Picchu, I really have seen enough ruins to las

The only downside about the trek would have to be some of the people in the group. It is a definitely a truth of travelling that the people you meet can make the trip for you. In my case, it was the opposite. There were a few of the group that spent the entire time complaining. "The food was horrible, the guide didn’t speak English well enough, the path was too steep, the porters don't talk much…" The negativity was horrible and overwhelming, so I found that I had to manoeuvre myself to walk away from the complainers. I didn't feel 'infected' by the complaints in the sense that they made me agree with them, but their complaining made me so annoyed that I couldn’t enjoy the trip. A couple of times I actually said, ‘you paid rock-bottom prices, what did you expect?’ but it didn’t change anything, so I gave up trying to make them see reason and just tried to avoid them. Then, there was one American girl that had an incredibly loud voice that just grated on my nerves. Actually, she was quite well-travelled and well-educated, and definitely not the typical American that you meet, but she was also one of the most self-absorbed personalities that I have ever met. In three days she hardly asked any questions of anyone else, but I could have told you her life story. So I also had to manoeuvre myself to walk where I couldn’t hear the voice of the American princess. Between avoiding the princess and the complainers, I found that I didn’t have much of an option but to steam ahead of the entire group to walk in solitude and in nature, which gave me the sorest muscles I think I have ever felt in my life!

Then on the final night something happened that just ruined my patience with almost everyone with the group. It is customary on final night of the trek to collect money to tip the porters, to supplement their income, and to thank them on behalf of the group. The discussion over how much to tip nearly turned into world war 3. I had asked the guide how much is appropriate to tip, and he said usually groups collect between US$10-$15 per porter. I had such admiration for the porters, and I was happy to give whatever I could, so this was fine with me. It was a little more than I expected, but I figured that they deserved it, so decided to go without beer or cocktails over our final night dinner so I could afford the tip. Some of the group said that they couldn’t pay that amount, that they didn’t have that much money, they were students. The rest of the group was determined that we were going to put in US$15 each, without compromises. I felt really bad for the students, and especially the guys from Argentina and Chile, who said that they really didn’t have the money. So I suggested that everyone just put in whatever they can, and between the group it would be enough. I kind of figured that it was a bit like the idea of progressive taxation, where people give according to what they earn, so those with more give more, and those with less give less. Some agreed with me, but most people wanted that everyone put in the same, because they said this was the only fair way. In the end, the only way that they would agree to everyone contributing whatever they could to the tip was if each person gave the money was individually to the cook, rather than pooling all the money together. This would basically mean that it would be public who gave what.

I couldn’t believe it! Instead of being concerned about giving to the porters, they were more worried about looking good by how much they were giving. Or making other people look bad by how little they were giving. I’m not sure. When the guide found out, he was shocked and he tried to tell people it didn’t matter how much individuals gave. He put out a hat onto the table and just told people to put into that however much they wanted to, but the group that wanted to give individually STILL didn’t want to put into the hat. It was just a total fiasco, and it all seemed to be centred around appearances. But whatever. After a while I decided it didn’t matter, as long as the money all went to the porters in the end.

But what really made me annoyed was what happened next. After thanking the porters we all went to bed. The students and the Chilean and Argentian, who all said they didn’t have a lot of money left so they couldn’t tip much, all stayed later after playing cards. I found out the next day that they were drinking beer and cocktails together... Clearly they had the money to buy alcohol, but not to give to the porters. The cost of two beers would have more than doubled their donations, but they couldn’t go without a drink. The sheer selfishness of it astounded and infuriated me, but most especially because I had felt for them, and stuck up for them to the others who were trying to pressure them to pay more. And also because I chose to go without a drink, even though I would have liked one, in order to be able to afford the tip.

The whole incident just left a bad taste in my mouth, and made me feel let down by my fellow humankind. I always knew that paying rock bottom for things gets you a lower standard of service. You get what you pay for, so that was never a problem for me. But through this trip I guess I learnt that when you pay rock bottom, you also end up with poorly paid and poorly treated employees, and a group of fellow tourists that are so tight and selfish with money that they refuse to subsidise the poorly paid employees from their own pocket. I think next time I’ll pay a little more, not for the standard of the tour, but so hopefully I will have a higher standard of tourist that I happen to be grouped with. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it more!