Political Peru & the Incan Journey...

So here I am in the Highlands of Peru, in Cusco, a world away from the experiences of Ecuador! I took the bus from Loja to Piura on the 02nd of July and as the bus wound its way through the southern mountains of Ecuador to reach Peru my world began to change dramatically. The landscape became increasingly drier, hotter, as it turned into the deserts of Northern Peru and with the change of geography also came a change of economy - the poverty of Peruvians became increasingly apparent as I watched slum towns of makeshift housing appear dotted through the desert, mounds of plastic rubbish littering the sands, and the apathetic faces of tired peasants as they sat in any shade available and watched the buses of the comparatively wealthy speed past their worlds of struggle. It was a strange journey, and a discomforting one for me.

The north of Peru has been described as the Egypt of South America, and that is certainly what it felt like. Huge pyramids and ancient cities of mud and sand hidden in the desert - most of the discoveries have been made around the area of Trujillo; the largest mud citadel in the world, Chan Chan, built by the Chimu people around the year 850, before they were colonised by the Incan Empire. The entire area is full of archaeological ruins and slowly discoveries are being made as pyramids are uncovered in the deserts and these ancient civilisations are studied. It was strangely disjointing to visit these ruins though, driving past communities of impoverished mestizos, the literacy rate in these areas a mere 13%. The cities felt somehow strained - and everywhere is political graffiti supporting the current president, saying "Thank you for our town". With the feelings of disjointedness in the North of Peru, I left quickly for the Incan Heartland, Cusco, an epic 30 hour bus journey into the mountains, from sea level to 3,300 metres.

Cusco has the same dry feeling as the rest of Peru - the surrounding hills are bare and browned from the days of hot sunshine and the freezing nights. Ancient Incan stones are visible in every street, giving hints of the amazing structures that lie beneath the Spanish built city that is now Cusco, with many huge cathedrals and churches built in European style over top of the Incan temples (typical "conquistador" style and ironically the same technique that the Incas used when colonising other tribes in their Empire). The city attracts tourists like a magnet, the centre is filled with people from all over the world, Internet cafes, restaurants, hotels, gift shops... it feels about as far from authentic Peruvian culture as one can get. At times a glimpse of the real Peru is seen, with the indigenous peasants from the surrounding rural communities coming into the city for trading - giving at least a slight salve to the jadedness that could be felt here!

I came here for the famous Inca Trail, the 48 kilometre trek to Machu Picchu, the Incan city undiscovered by the Spanish conquerors, and what an incredible experience it turned out to be. During my compulsory 48 hour acclimatization in Cusco a huge protest of farmers was held in the city - threatening to strike with the government employees unless more attention was paid to their hardships - what a beautiful and colourful protest, flags and cheering, music, and the beautiful bright clothing of the indigenous and mestizo farmers. As the protest march passed through Cusco's main square lines of police in combat uniforms with batons, guns and shields marched in, blocking all the main churches and buildings. What a contrast to see - the dark, hardened look of the police against the colour and life of the protesters. The trekking company decided we should leave for the trek a day early, to avoid the road blocks being set up for the national strike, so after grouping at the office and meeting the fellow trekkers we set off in a van towards the Sacred Valley and the town of Ollyantaytambo where we would camp for the night at the base of the trek. As the van wound its way down the mountains and through various rural communities we began to encounter the first of the road blocks - big rocks dragged across the road blocking traffic, guarded by peasants and children. The porters for our trek, 18 wonderful indigenous Peruvian men from the surrounding mountain communities, rushed off the bus to clear the roads letting our van pass. The journey was slow with this process, and the local campesinos watched us in interest as we slowly made our way through. With high spirits and much laughter we entered the town of Urubamba, the last large town before Ollyantaytambo, which suddenly dissipated as we met with a huge road block, guarded by hundreds of farmers, who were by now drunk and aggressive, and refused to allow the van to pass. The hours ticked by as we "stood off" with these protesters, the porters and guides negotiating for our pass, to no avail. Darkness set in and the aggression of the protesters increased - rocks were thrown at our van and a boulder pushed from a high mountain which landed a metre in front of the windscreen. The driver, fearing for his van, insisted on returning to Cusco, meaning we would miss our trek - the Inca Trail has been heavily regulated to 400 people per day (including all support staff) and unless the trek is began on the day it has been booked for, it cannot be made. We began to try alternative, more remote, roads to make it past the blocks but by now the night was well upon us and every road had been blocked, with many strikers guarding their constructions, and much alcohol fuelling the sentiments. Our group of 14 in the van became increasingly quiet and dispirited - we would have to return to Cusco. The van turned around and drove back out of the Urubamba Valley, meeting another road block constructed during our wait, the porters rushed to clear the path and a very angry indigenous woman screamed at them, threatening to throw a rock through our windscreen - as soon as we had passed this block, we saw hundreds of people running down the road toward the van, we immediately thought it was a huge group of drunken strikers, coming to enforce the block, and a surge of fear swept through the van. After a few seconds we could see that it was not strikers at all, it was the police and the army, in combat uniforms marching down the valley busting the road blocks and allowing the traffic to pass. Hundreds of these men swarmed past the van as they surged down the road - we turned around and followed them down as they broke each road block until the large fortified construction in Urubamba. We waited at the front of the queue as the police rushed into the area, we sat pensive listening for the confrontation, terrified that it would be violent, and afraid for the protesters, who we felt in solidarity with, even with our desperation to get to the start of the trek. After about five minutes gun shots sounded and tear gas canisters were let off, "quick, shut the windows!" our guide shouted as soldiers in military uniform rushed past our van toward the strikers. We sat in silence for awhile, with the sick feeling that comes with the witness of violence, and hoped that nobody would be killed in the confrontation. Thankfully, nobody was, and after some hours the van could pass through - slowly we approached Ollyantaytambo, arriving in the town at nearly 1am, again on our own, with the police having returned after breaking the Urubamba block. As we arrived at the final road toward the campsite we found another block - this time a fire block - with some local farmers who refused to let us pass. Having come so far, we were now desperate, and picked up our backpacks, holding our torches and walked the rest of the way to the campsite, the night dark and spooky, but feeling very much a team after the events of the night. We finally arrived at our campsite at 3am and fell to a restless few hours sleep before waking early the next morning to begin the trek!

Many groups of trekkers who had booked for the trail never made it, the next day the official strike was held and not even a taxi could be taken. We felt privileged to have made it and began the walk in high spirits, the sun shining down strongly on us, and our walking sticks in a meditative rhythm as we marched the first six hours past the beautiful Urubamba river, glaciers in the mountains behind us, and beautiful green mountains in front. Our group was 14, many Canadians and English, and a Dutch couple, together with 18 porters to carry the camping equipment, a cook, and our two encouraging guides - walking was wonderful for me, a meditation in movement, and our main guide, Freddy, explained to us the ancient religion of the worship of Pachamama (Mother Earth), and how this pilgrimage to the holy city of Machu Picchu was necessary for the mental cleansing of the pilgrims - to have open chakras and clean minds - which made it even more special, and empowering. We reached the first camp around 4pm and all fell asleep early, exhausted from the previous night, rising the next morning at 6am to continue the trek - the hardest day - climbing the Dead Woman's Pass to 4,200 metres - I had feared this for many months, thinking that the challenge was too great for me, physically, and I set out slowly, keeping my steps small and slow, conserving energy for the 1,200 climb. The vegetation on the way was beautiful, akin to the native bush of New Zealand, dense and damp and green, with the beautiful rich earthen smell of soil and gushing white rivers over rocks next to the path. With the increasing altitude we began to chew coca leaves, which help with altitude sickness, fatigue and hunger. These small green leaves have created such controversy with the production of cocaine, but in reality coca is as similar to cocaine as sugar cane is to vodka. The process of cocaine production requires massive amounts of chemicals, including white gasoline, and coca in its integral leaf form is about as stimulating as a cup of coffee. In addition to the benefits for energy and altitude, coca also contains very high levels of iron, calcium, vitamins A, C & E - the perfect supplement for vegetarians! Coca can be chewed in its leaf form (which has a strong taste, a bit like green tea), or soaked in boiling water and drank as tea, or ground into flour and used to make food, sweets, tea bags etc. We drank coca tea each morning and lunch time and chewed it in our mouths during the high mountain passes; it really made such a difference and I didn't struggle with the altitude anywhere near as much as I thought I would have. The UN has now classified coca as a banned substance, and it is only legal in Peru and Bolivia, but imagine how wonderful this product would be if it could be used for its health properties in western countries!

Climbing Dead Woman's Pass was incredible for me - with the slow pace, I made it to 4,000 metres without too much physical pain, and the last 200 metres (the most difficult) were an amazing experience. I climbed in solitude, my mind became completely calm and clear, and the pain in my legs could barely be felt. I took each step slowly, being guided by a small dark blue bird who flitted slowly in front of me, hopping up each step, as if leading me to the pass. I felt a strong sense of the spirits of my grandmothers with me, encouraging me onwards. It was such a meditative, beautiful, tranquil journey up; I felt so empowered. Reaching the top of the pass was incredible - the temperature dropped so quickly and freezing winds whipped around us, the view down the valley incredible, showing how far we had come. We cheered each other as the top, and performed a small ceremony to thank Pachamama. After we made it to our camp that night and sat around the camp table eating dinner, Freddy explained that the pass is named "Dead Woman's Pass" because of the deaths every year of people who climb it - about three or four, usually from altitude, or heart attacks.

The third and fourth days of the trek were at lower altitudes, as we crossed down through cloud forest into the jungle and passed ancient Incan ruins, used as bases for farmers and as temples for pilgrims on the trail. The ancient stone structures held such power, the stones formed with perfect engineering ability, requiring no mortar to hold them together, and temple stones smoothed to feel almost like glass. Our last morning we rose very early, at 4am, to make it to the Sun Gate of Machu Picchu as the sun rose... unfortunately the morning was wet, raining, and very misty - we struggled in the darkness with our headlights over the uneven paths, not stopping during the six kilometre stretch, pressing on urgently through dense forest and up flights of Incan stone stairs, to reach the Sun Gate, completely covered in mist, not able to even make out the mountains surrounding us! But, for me, this was not important. The journey to Machu Picchu, was so powerful, so enriching, that it was far more important than the destination could ever be. I felt my chakras cleansed, my mind clear and open, my heart so refreshed. We reached Machu Picchu by 7am and after a few hours the cloud and mist lifted, revealing the Incan city in all its glory - and the surrounding mountains dark and beautiful contrasting the intricate stone structures of the city. Every stone perfectly formed, perfectly placed, the architecture designed to withstand earthquakes, El Nino and La Nina storms, and the mountains terraced to provide space for varied agriculture even at this altitude, each terrace provided a different microclimate and the Incas had developed over 3,000 varieties of potatoes, jungle fruits like avocado and passionfruit and many varieties of maize. The Incas had an amazing sense of organisation and development - creating an incredible empire and controlling an area almost the size of Europe. Every year, in July, unused agricultural land was redistributed to poor people for their use (not just an idea of socialists or communists!) and their lives were ceremonious, with each month bringing a separate ritual - including the sacrifices of animals and people for Pachamama.

Arriving back in Cusco late last night my body was exhausted, and filthy, but my mind felt so refreshed, inspired, and my chakras, my personal spiritual power felt so clean, so sensitised. Being back in Cusco with the tourists and the busyness feels paradoxical, so I will head south shortly, towards Lake Titicaca (the birthplace of the Incas) and across to Bolivia... the land of coca, of revolution, and of hope for the indigenous tribes of South America.