The only way is up

Cusco, an old town with many inca structures still functioning as foundations for the newer, hispanic-influenced buildings was the port to the trek that was going to take us through the Sacred Valley, with its main complex, Machu Picchu, as the ultimate destination.A bit of last minute shopping for hiking gear and a relaxed day exploring town was followed by us setting off by bus early in the morning. First stop was Pisac, the condor shaped sacred city, after which we said adios to Doug and Pat and Bernie, who figured their 60+ age might be of hindrance on the upcoming four day trek at high altitude. Chollong, Mel&Ben had already set off on a different trek, and so the rest of us set off, walking sticks in hand, with our local guides Rolfie and Fernando leading the way. Way behind us tagged the porters and the mules, who were carring all our equipment, and even further back a bunch of llamas who were training to become beasts of burden. They were soon to overtake us slowpoking sealevellers, though.We started at 3800 and trekked up to 4600, and the lack of oxygen and the constant uphill climbing took its toll, but as soon as we reached the peak and a bit downhill I immediately caught my breath, and more or less skipped-to-my-lou to camp a bit down in the valley. The weather changed throughout the day, so the zip-offs, the many layers of clothing and the three soles rain poncho, which happened to cover both the daypack and the camera bag, came in more than handy.When evening fell and we had coca tea after dinner, whilst playing the addictive dice game ambioso, the mercury sank close to zero, and I was extremely glad that I had heeded the tips from cousin Sara and collegue Lina about bringing longjohns.The next day consisted of, according to calculations, an 8-9 hour trek up to 5000 metres and a bit down. We were woken up with a knock on the tent (?) and served a nice cup of coca tea, before we packed, had brekkie and set out. However, the weather was optimal for trekking; overcast but no rain, and neither too warm, nor too cold. And so, our pace was quicker than expected, and we reached camp just in time for lunch after a mere 6 hour walk through stunning and, in many ways, breathtaking landscape.The following day was like the first, with rain and sun all mixed together, and we camped right by the natural hotsprings, in which we of course soaked our tired bodies. The 1,1 litre beer bottles were consumed and we thanked and tipped our cooks, porters and mule drivers and got ready for a nice, 4 hour night's sleep. A bus picked us up way before sunrise, but the trekking was in no way over. The, you guessed it, inca ruins of Ollataytambo were up next. A small, touristy town, with narrow streets an rustique buildings. We were welcomed at one of the homes, were guinea pigs roamed free and they kept the skulls of their grandparents on the wall, along with, for any which reason, a miniature crate of beer and a small dalahäst.After that we visited the acual ruins, which in this case were in the shape of a giant llama, if you squinted just right. Lars, Kate and I ventured up the Path of Certain Doom, which probably weren't a proper path at all. Man-eating cacti and loose rocks were among the perils, in addition to the sheer steepness of the mountain. But we came back in one, or rather three pieces, ready for the night's dinner out.And so, trekking for four days in the footsteps of the incas, through their sacred valleys, was over and out.