I had always wanted to travel to
Africa and in particularly Kenya, so I was delighted when Macmillan offered me a
chance to climb Mount Kenya during the following autumn. There was one major obstacle in the way, I
had to obtain permission to take a week off school. This involved asking the
head teacher and the governing body. They were in fact very supportive and
allowed me to take the time off without pay. The head teacher even arranged a
special fund raising breakfast for the children. She had been fighting breast cancer for some
years and was well aware of Macmillan’s fantastic services.
Although I had exhausted my
supply of friends willing to sponsor me, they were in fact very happy to be
invited to any events they I arranged. In
the summer we had the first of our fabulous BBQ’s in our garden. It was incredibly exciting and I had by now
loads of ideas on fund raising, many of my friends and neighbours came and
there was a great atmosphere. Some of my work colleagues brought their families,
everyone had an amazing time; and children were on the trampling bouncing
merrily until eleven o'clock. Carnivals
were a brilliant way to fund raise and to promote Macmillan Cancer Relief at
the same time. I would book a stall, then ask for tombola items and vouchers
for days out at local tourist attractions. Everyone was very generous and along
with smaller items that I would buy from “cash and carry” we were able to put
on three or four carnivals during the summer.
It was always good to meet local
people at these events and they would often tell you their stories, praising
Macmillan for the fantastic help that they had offered in their time of need.
It was good to be part of something special and to be able to raise around
three thousand pounds a year for them.
The year passed quickly, the
winter faded to spring and finally summer brought its sunshine and long gentle
evenings. My trips into the forest became longer and easier and I enjoyed 10
mile walks with my rambling friends at weekends.
Dorset is a very beautiful county
where the land falls into the sea in a most spectacular way. The sea can be
aqua blue and the cliffs as white as peals in the sun light. From the extensive
pebble Cheasle beach to the sparkling ring of Poole Bay, Dorset’s Jurassic
coast shines in her extraordinary scenery. Many of our walks were on the stunning
Cranbourne chase with its deep bluebell woods and vivid yellow cowslip covered
slopes. The weather changed with the seasons and so did the flora and fauna. In
spring hares would act out their dance under a sky of wispy white cirrus clouds.
While autumn saw the ghostly albino fallow deer who would lead a group of timid
females though the silent woods as snow drifted quietly onto the darkened
branches of ancient beech trees.
This is the place were ancient
forest meets the ocean and The New Forest breaths life into our cities. Deep
forest beckon and gentle shaded paths offer the most exquisite of walks, here
was my home.
As summer waned and the ponies
wandered amongst the fading purple heather. I heard that we were no longer
making our way up the craggy crest of Mt Kenya, there had been developments in
acts of terrorism within the country and it was not thought safe for us to
travel there. Instead they offered us to trek along the Inca trail in Peru.
Apart from the trek being on a different continent it involved arriving at a
much higher altitude and I was worried as to how I would cope with this sudden
change. We were to stay in Lima for one night and then fly on to Cusco the
following morning. I had not had a particularly good autumn health wise and was
suffering from an almost permanent cough. After some blood tests, chest x-rays
and lung function tests had been completed by my doctor. Discover Adventure who
arrange the treks for Macmillan were less than completely happy for me to
travel. I was desperate to go and in denial that this might be a recipe for
disaster, but they allowed me to go and so I packed and left with my usual
amount of excitement and anxiety.
It was good to see some familiar
faces at the airport. I had met a lovely couple while in Iceland who supported each
other through thick and thin. He had been a vet and after developing a tumour
in his brain had suffered a stroke and become partly blind. Mick also was
troubled by his inability to remember the names of their four young sons but
could remember many other lovely stories. It was a beautiful relationship, his
wife lovingly and cheerily helped him to fill in the gaps in our conversations
and tenderly lend him over the difficult terrain when needed. Now she was here
once again with her sister, as Mick had become too sick to travel. Annette and Christine had returned and also my
singing companion from Iceland and there was a whole bunch of others either
chattering away or looking like they had been persuaded to take the first manned
shuttle to the moon.
I asked myself once more why I
was saying goodbye to my devoted husband and our youngest daughter Rachel. It
was time to go and I made my way forward in the queue for checking in.
It was a long flight , in three
parts ; the first to Madrid and then over the blue depths of the Atlantic to
the green magic and endless hours watching deep Amazon rainforests turn into the mountains of the Andes. Finally
we flew down across the low sandy desert hills that bridge the gap between the
capital Lima and the high ancient city of Cusco.
It was there that we spent the
night in the smoggy city centre of Lima. The hotel was small and uninspiring
but after a wonderful Peruvian meal of kebabs, potatoes and avocados followed
by a little camaraderie and fun from the guides as they teased that the chicken
variety had really been Guinea pig, we wandered out to discover what
secrets the city streets held. We discovered
that the streets were in fact as smelly as the air that we breathed there and
looked forward to getting away as soon as possible the following morning on an
early flight to Cusco.
The plane was old, silver and
very crowded. The locals crammed there goods in the overhead lockers and once
they were full the stewardesses packed still more, along with all our rucksacks,
into the space between the back row of seats and the galley. It looked more
like a bus on it was back from market as it rattled down the runway.
Cusco is an amazing city, high up
in the Peruvian Andes, surrounded by a ring of sandy, sun kissed mountains. The
landing is always an accelerating one, with a sudden sideways turn into the
great bowl of mountains that protects Cusco from the elements. Upon landing I was immediately taken aback by
the lack of oxygen and the effect that it had on me. My heart pounded hard and
fast in my chest and my breathing quickened and deepened as I lifted a fairly
light pack from the cluttered airport carousel. We left amid the clatter of camera lens as the
Peruvian tourists paparazzi took our pictures for postcards to sell to us
later. Then we made our way to the hotel where were to stay for a couple of
nights to acclimatise to the altitude of 3400m and the highest that I had ever
been.
That afternoon we took a taxi up
to the centre of the old city, to walk through cluttered streets and ancient
Peruvian and Spanish buildings that housed churches, monasteries, meandering
markets and busy bars. Our hearts kept pounding as we puffed around and we had
fun soaking up the warm sunshine on the balconies of tiny bars.
Cusco was the site of the
historic capital of the Inca Empire. The Spanish invaded in the year of 1533
and destroyed many of the Inca buildings, temples and palaces. They built onto
these ruins and replaced them with their own convents and cathedrals, giving
the buildings strangely solid looking foundations and elegant, even delicate
upper parts. Many of the structures have suffered badly from earthquakes over
the passing years and have been lovingly restored.
According to Inca legend, the
city of Cusco was built by the Sapa Inca “Pachacuti”, who was celebrated as the
man who transformed the Kingdom of Cusco from a quiet city state into a vast
empire known as Tahuantinsuyu. Although
the city was probably increasing in size from before his appearance anyway, as the
rivers that had been channelled around the city had given it life and brought
prosperity to the region.
The evening was made up of enjoying
a meal back at the hotel. Most of the group rested during the evening and got
an early night but others enjoyed the delights of more Peruvian bars and were
later robbed by hoards of Peruvian children, spending the rest of the night
trying to make a report of the loss of their valuables at the local police station.
I would have had a good night if it wasn't for the constant thud of the disco
below until 3am and my worsening cough.
So rising early to a bright day
and boarding the coach, I tried hard to pretend that I could walk easily
downhill from a height of 3600m and enjoy the ancient Peruvian sites of
interest. It was a beautiful day, with a fine clear sky and views of distant
places. We walked the dusty tracks,
photographed ragged children , listened to stories of Inca kings and
watched locals covered in bright feathers pretend to be Incas who ruled in a
day long past. The Fortress at Sacsayhuaman was vast with walls of huge stones
piled upon each other so exactly that not even a hair can be fitted between the
massive blocks. Although this site had not originally been built by the Incas,
but by the much earlier Killke around 1100. The Incas had later occupied and
expanded it in the 13th century.
The walk ended in a shady gully
where tables laden with potatoes, meats, and avocados were set for us to enjoy.
We ate and drunk our fill while listening to locals who played merry tunes on
pan pipes and dance with colourful costumes.
The afternoon light crept in and
we wandered back into town down dusty streets and meandering cobbled lanes,
gulping down the denser air in the city. That evening we met in an upstairs
room at the hotel to listen to an informative pre trek talk by the DA guides
and the doctor, who warned us of high altitude illnesses and what signs and
symptoms to expect. My heart had pounded as I climbed the stars to the seminar
room and continued long after, even as I sat listening. Our job that evening
was to go back to our rooms and pack a joint bag for the next 3 nights with
whoever was our room/tent partner. This was to contain only the essentials. A
sleeping bag, thermarest and one change of clothes, so that one porter would be
able to carry it for us to our high camps. We changed rooms and slept a little
better that night, the plumbing having been no better than the last room but it
was a relief to be further away from the noisy disco.
The hotel had not really been a
sanctuary, built over a Peruvian nightclub and with a plumbing system that was
probably only intended to cope with the occasional visitor. We had all managed
to emerge the second morning, be it rather haggard and pretending to be up for
our trek to Macha Picchu following the route of the Inca trail.
After a long coach ride high into
the mountains, along roads that hardly existed, narrowing at wooden bridges
with twisting turns we arrived at Km28, the start of our trek. The porters gathered,
weighing bags, tents and pots and pans. Everything that needed to be carried
went on their backs and they did so at a running pace while wearing flip-flops
and drinking partly fermented corn beer.
We bought wide brimmed hats, coco
leaves and small woollen bags to carry them in. Then we were away to the entry
post where our passports were stamped and entry cards given out. Our group
walked along a gritty flat track enjoying the flowers: colourful fuchsias and
busy lizzes. Small woolly cochineal insects, containing red dye that lived on
prickly succulents and cacti, were painted on our foreheads by the local guides,
nether to be removed for the rest of the trek as we had no water to wash with. The bright crimson dry was used since the 15th
century for colouring fabrics and had been used in the manufacturing industry
of fabrics until the 19th century.
Quite recently however it has grown as more popular product in the food
industry used as a colouring agent. Due to concerns that synthetic additives
may be more dangerous to health the little creatures are being farmed for their
unique properties once again.
The group climbed up the valley
stopping to listen occasionally to the local guides as they informed us in the
history of their country. The mountains got higher, ancient sites appeared and
vanished once again and the scenery became ever more impressive. By lunchtime
we were all ready for a rest and the porters and cooks rallied around to
organise food for the party of 27 trekkers, 8 guides and about 50 porters. In no time at all we seemed to be off again,
winding our way up the steep paths that became known as the Inca trail. We struggled
on up, munching coco leaves and puffing and blowing. As the afternoon went by
we were joined by a cluster of young children who merrily chatted as they led
younger family members up along the track. Time waned and we became bothered
about their continued presence. The children had been with us for about three
hours of our upwards journey and they appeared not to be bothered by the
distance that lay between the valley below and slopes above. The guides laughed
and informed us that the children were on their way home from school! Education
in Peru is held in high regard and a 4 or 5 hour return journey for morning
classes is considered normal in the mountains.
By the end of the afternoon I had
become very quiet and was reacting badly to the altitude. I was unsure of what was wrong with me as my
heart pounded and I felt the trickle of fluid building up steadily in my lungs.
I felt tried and my legs became lead like, but I struggled on into camp and
fell into my sleeping bag coughing badly and bringing up copious amounts of frothy
fluid up. The porters and local guides kindly came around with cups of coco tea
and a bowl of water to wash with. They
asked if I was ok with some degree of concern, obviously having seen something
like this before. I assumed it was just my cold that had got worse and said
that I would be fine.
There was salted popcorn (to help
with sodium levels reduced from sweating while walking), in the group meeting
tent and we were given the details of the following days walk. This was to be an
early start and up hill for the majority of the day until we reached the summit
of Dead woman’s pass at 4200m.
After we had eaten well in our
cosy tent, the group sat out on the grassy slopes of the camp site and drank a
few beers purchased from local ladies who had carried them up to the camp at 3000m.
We watched the sun quickly dipping down, leaving an alpine glow of orange and
pink on the 6000m mountains at the head of the valley. The air had been still
but now birds began to gather noisily in a lush green tree of large broad
leaves and tubercular white flowers that looked like giant dangling lily blooms. The sun finally set beyond the valley and a
sudden movement triggered a large flock of brilliant green parrots to rise from
the tree as if the tree it’s self was lifting from the mountain side.
The light fading fast and the
first star of the southern hemisphere appeared in the cool night sky. The moon rose from beyond the valley sides and
made its way slowly across the darkening night sky, its ark gently followed by
on lookers in ore of this beautiful sight. It seemed as if every star in the
heavens was a jewel hung in a deep pool of sequins, dotting the night sky with
their twinkling light. I had never witnessed the presents of so many stars
before.
The tents were arranged along the
top of the camp site in a neat row, having been erected by the porters. I tried
sleeping that night but sleep came only briefly and I eventually gave up and
visited the saw dust filled toilet. Unfortunately I forgot the whereabouts of
my tent on my return and wandered around in the gloom of the approaching dawn
hoping that I might remember which tent housed my cosy warm sleeping bag. My
mind was fogged due to the effects of the altitude and I rummaged around
looking for some precious water that my body needed. I felt sick, had a
headache and my tummy was feeling pretty ropey.
The porters and cooks who had
been sleeping outside on plastic sheeting were now rising and had begun to make
porridge and pancakes for breakfast. My tent partner finally called for me and
I returned to the warmth of the tent until we were called for breakfast with a
cup of coco tea and more warm water for washing. Breakfast was in one of the
larger tents, of which there were two. It was a fine affair, with pancakes,
porridge, birthday balloons and even a cake, made in camp at 6am and we all
sang happy birthday under canvas. I ate very little and joined the others as
they warmed up with exercises together. I had never taken part in the morning
warm ups, preferring to go for a run up a local hill or viewpoint and escape
all the wiggling and bending while being videoed. So it was not seen as a worry
that I was not joining in.
We left camp in single file as
porters needed to pass us on the outside. I lost interest in talking,
withdrawing into myself, hearing the chatter of others that I normally loved to
share my thoughts with, but today making no response. The local guides noticed
my stopping, losing balance and disappearing briefly into a distant part of my
mind, before returning and responding that I unsure of what was wrong. It’s a
very strange feeling, that of AMS, you feel as if you are not really in your
own body, and come and go at random. Sometimes believing you are in a
completely different place or with different individuals. As the day passed I
believed I was in a safe place, Scafell Pike in Cumbria, even knowing the route.
But I was far from safe, unable to say how I felt and the doctor only knowing
that I had the tummy upset that was going around the group and was expected in
a location so different.
With a shaky hand I willed myself
to drink some corn soup at our lunch stop, but declined the offer of sleeping
for a while in the warm afternoon sunshine as I had a strange feeling that I
might not wake from it. My heart still pounding in my clogged chest and a
feeling of falling backwards , I climbed on up towards Dead Woman’s pass at
4200m ; which was to be our highest point on the trek. The DA guides decide to take
me on up ahead of the others who were resting, as I would be slower and they
could catch me up later. The DA crew still believed that I was just suffering
from a local tummy bug.
I walked on slowly with my guide
ahead of me, I had no interest in the beautiful scenery, conversation or
anything else for that matter. I have no memory of this part of the journey,
only the pain of breathing and struggling for my next breath. My bubbly cough
became worse, bringing up a substantial quantity of frothy phlegm. Suddenly it was all over, my guide having
made the decision to stop and call the doctor, who quickly ran to my side. I
have never been able to concern anyone with my aliments so I had just been
hoping that the summit was not too far away and a rest would help. Funnily
enough it wasn't until the leader
started bombarding me with questions and told me firmly that if they didn't get
me down quickly then I would be going home in a box ,that the penny dropped
that my condition was probably quite serious . The DA leader prescribed my
retreat to the valley below and our trek doctor giving me a large handful of
tablets to combat the high altitude pulmonary oedema that I was now suffering
from. Her main concern that I was also worryingly showing signs of it becoming
the much more dangerous high altitude cerebral oedema. I remember telling them
that I was ok, my usual line, and that I would be fine going over into the next
valley. Which of course in my mind was probably Wasdale and not high on the
Inca trail!
The decision
was made for me to be taken down to the valley below by a local guide and two
porters, who would carry me if need be. I made my way down the trail against
the flow of trekkers and porters on their upwards journey and the guide told me
quietly that the rest of the group had reach the summit. In my exhaustion I was
happy for them, shedding a tear of pride for their achievement, but he thought
I was giving up and hurried me on.
Sometime later I found myself travelling speedily down an extremely
rocky track that twisted violently, upon the back of a small donkey. And as the
poor animal stumbled at seemingly impossible drops, I woke with a desperate
need to pee, begging the porters to let me down. They were wholeheartedly
against the idea although eventually agreed that this would be possible as long
as I could make my own way into the brushes, as they were shy about seeing a
woman do this, being good Catholics. They were very sweet but my need to pee by
then was so desperate that I announced that “if they didn't let me down I would
surly wet the poor donkey”. The
diuretics must have finally worked!
After the rather hairy donkey ride, which I somehow
slept though most of, we four returnees waited in the cool night air for a train.
The guide gave me more tablets, I had to pee more and the porters shared the little
food that I had in my day bag as they were hungry. The porters boarded the
first train with a hopeful farewell and I slept in the guides sleeping bag
while we wait for a train to take us to the little town where I was continue
with any necessary treatment. The empty train tumbled along the narrow track in
the darkness, until we finally reached the small mountain town that serviced
tourists visiting Machu Picchu.
1 As I rested in the local hostel the
guide told me to leave the door and internal window open as medical staff had
been called. A doctor and nurse came with oxygen that they left in my room and
spoke about a letter that had been sent by our own doctor. Then after examining
me, they discussed matters with some concern and left my guide with some more tablets
leaving me for the night.
The relief of
being at a much lower altitude was all that I needed to restore my health to a
much more acceptable level. I ate a little breakfast with the encouragement
that we could have a walk along the railway track if I did so.
It was
beautiful to be out in this busy working valley. The colours seemed more vivid;
clouds of butterflies danced about, brightly coloured flowers lined the tracks
and small farms were tucked beneath the ark of green mountains. The tracks led
to waterfalls that tumbled into dainty pools where the sun danced about on
their silky ribboned surfaces. I was very glad to be able to enjoy this special
place, and returning to the hostel I further enjoyed sitting outside on the
dusty paved lane with my back to the wall and my head in the golden sun. Small
children on their way back from school bought ice lollies and chattered playfully.
I felt happy and safe now but I knew that I had to go back up to Matcu Putchi
early the following morning and the return to the much higher altitude of Cusco
the following day.
In the semi
darkness of the morning a storm crashed around the valley, flooding the streets
and cooling the atmosphere. It felt chilly on the Mountains as we walked towards
the “Sun gate”, high above the ancient site. The others were much relived to
see me again, and after group photos we went down to view the splendours of Machu
Picchu. The storm was distancing itself from us but it was still very cold and
miserable as the rain fall around us.
Machu Picchu
was lost to the outside would for many years, although locals had always known
of its whereabouts. It wasn't until 1911 that American historian Hiran Bingham
visited the site and understood how significant his find would be to world
history. Because of this it is often referred to as the “lost city of the Incas”. Machu Picchu translates as ‘old Peak’, it
lays high on a summit above the Urubamba valley at an altitude of 2430m. The city was built for the Inca emperor
Pachacuti around 1450 and is divided into three main parts with enticing names
like “The temple of the sun” and “The room of three windows”. Within one hundred
years the lost city of Incas had fallen, its occupants having died of smallpox
long before the Spanish came anywhere near. In fact there is no evidence that
the Spanish ever found the remount valley and the site just became part of the
mountain landscape, lost and hidden forever.
We didn’t stay
long in this cold, damp landscape, however special it might be. So after a tour
of the site we were on a bus and heading back to Angas Callientes, the little
town in the valley where we would catch a train back to Cusco. We had a fine lunch in the hostel and I waved
farewell to the porters who were waiting at the station. It was back to Cusco
for a day off to explore or shop in the markets if we wished and then enjoy a
special celebration meal, night clubs Peruvian style, dancing and staying out
until it was time to leave for Lima, whatever took our fancy.
In Lima we filled
our waiting time with watching condors circling the royal palace as the
hilarious retrial of the changing of the guards was preformed for the umpteenth
time of the year. Finally a short visit to the beach and a closer look at the
Pacific Ocean, a first for many of us and then it was home, a long plane
journey home and back to the comfort that our families bring. Only it wasn't
over just yet for me!
The body can
only with stand so much : high altitude pulmonary oedema and then a long
aircraft journey was just too much and I found myself explaining my predicament
to a doctor in A and E later that
night. My right leg had become swollen:
hard and purple in the area of my calf muscle and it was thought to be a
suspected DVT. I had work the following day and was feeling very jet-lagged and
had developed a funny tremble within me, it had been an eventful 12 days, but I
also had lots of fantastic memories.
Highlights of fauna bi–speckled bears
Toucan
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