I’m high in the Peruvian Andes in South America. Cusco to be precise. I’ve just arrived having survived one of the longest and most treacherous bus rides I’ve ever taken, having left Lima about 36 hours earlier. I could have flown here for about $50 but I decided to save a few quid by taking the bus, totally unaware of both how long the journey would take and the hair-raising roads we would be hanging off along the way, with huge, certain-death drops just feet from the edge of the road most of the way. 

The route from Lima, down at sea level, up to Cusco at over 3,000 metres, basically snakes its way up and down many hills and valleys as it slowly climbs the Andes mountain range. It would probably have taken a 10th of the time to get here had it been a straight road, but the poor old bus driver has been fighting the steering wheel non-stop the whole way here. Through the night he had listened to the most awful traditional local music that sounded a bit like a Mexican mariachi band on LSD and helium. Not just that, he played it really loud too, so I’m not sure if he did that because he absolutely loved it and didn’t give a shit about us or was it just to keep himself awake so he didn’t fall off the mountain? Who knows, but it’s kept us both awake all night. 

Anyway, I’m here now and currently travelling with two fun Danish girls; Else-Maria and Lisbeth. The first looks like a Scandinavian bombshell and the other like a zitty teenage boy, so, chalk and cheese the pair of them. I met them about 10 days earlier in Alausi, Ecuador, the place where you can sit on the roof of a train that descends from high up in the Andes all the way down to sea level. They were in the room next door to me in a hostel in Alausi, so, travelling on my own I’d knocked on their door one evening and asked if they wanted to hang out. Then after the train trip, it turned out we were all travelling in the same direction south, so we travelled by bus to the Peruvian border where we then took an internal flight to Lima before getting on this bus to Cusco. Our joint goal is to go see the great Machu Picchu. 

Rooftop ride in the Andes

I seem to have struck up a pretty good relationship with one of them in particular, thankfully the fit one, Else-Maria, and although nothing’s really happened so far, it certainly feels like we’ve got pretty attached to each other in quite a short space of time. We sit next to each other on buses, hold hands under a blanket and share a little cheeky smooch whenever we can. It all sounds a bit childish I suppose, but I don’t think she feels Lisbeth would approve of us getting close, with the pair of them only being at the start of a long journey south through South America. So we play this little game of cloak and dagger behind Lisbeth’s back, I suppose both of us knowing really that there’s no real future in it. It does feel nice though. 

And here we are now in Cusco, the gateway to the Inca Trail hike and Machu Picchu. Tomorrow is the big day we’re going to travel to Machu Picchu, probably the number one thing to see and do in the whole of South America and we can’t wait. Late in the afternoon, the three of us take a short train trip to a little town called Aguas Calientes, a thermal spa town right by the edge of a river flowing down the mountain. We’d gone there because we’d heard there was a thermal pool, surrounded by beautiful mountain scenery, where you could stay as long as you want, even after the staff had shut up shop and gone home. When we first got there, there was about 10 of us enjoying the bubbling little pool, but one-by-one as it started to get dark, people began to leave, until, as it turned pitch-black there was just the three of us left. Like naughty little teenagers, Else-Maria and I touched feet and held hands under the water’s surface so as Lisbeth couldn’t see. Thankfully at some point, Lisbeth decides to get out and leave me and Else-Maria alone, if at least for a short time. It was actually a beautiful moment that had been building up for a while. It was dark, with just the stars for company and apart from the bubbling water and the sound of the river nearby, the only noise was the sound of us kissing. We could have stayed there for hours, but knew we had to leave before Lisbeth suspected anything. So we got out, got changed and eventually took the train back to Cusco. 

Now a common theme that seems to happen to me in all my years of travelling, is my total inability to have a nice quiet night-in the night before doing something amazing. Tomorrow should be one of the best days of my whole trip around the Americas. I’m not exactly sure what the day’s travel will entail, but it will start with an early train heading back to Aguas Calientes, where I will then change for a bus taking me further up to the mountain until it can’t go any further, and from there I will hike the last stretch up to the ancient Inca ruins of Machu Picchu on foot. So, a full, energetic day ahead of me, and what do I do? I go out and get shitfaced in Cusco until the early hours, drinking Pisco Sours and Kahlua all night. A great mix. So, seemingly minutes after hitting the sack, the alarm goes off and we’re up and out the door again. I haven’t even had time to develop a hangover yet. I’m basically still drunk as we clamber onto the train at silly o’clock. 

The train is totally empty, it’s literally just us, the driver and a ticket collector. Our tickets have carriage and seat numbers on them, but with the train being empty we just collapse on the first seats we see. As the train pulls out of the station and starts bumbling side to side, I start to feel a bit worse for wear as my drunken state turns more to nausea. 

With my head now on Else-Maria’s lap, I manage to nod off for a short while but am soon woken by the train whistle as we pull into the first stop on the way towards Aguas Calientes. I lift my head up to see what’s happening only to see four young, male backpackers making their way down the carriage in our direction. I can hear them a mile away and with three of them wearing bandanas it becomes pretty obvious it’s a bunch of loud-mouthed yanks approaching. I so wasn’t in the mood for this as they checked to find the correct seats as printed on their tickets. All I can think is, ‘oh for God’s sake just sit down ya nob, the train’s empty’, but wouldn’t you know it, sod’s law, we were sitting in the very seats they had on their tickets, so unbelievably they ask us to move. Even at the best of times, I have real trouble ignoring other people’s stupidity without having the need to say something sarcastic, but tired and still a bit drunk I couldn’t hold back. The loudest of them, sporting a star-spangled-banner bandana, says, ‘come on guys you’re gonna have to move’, so I jump up, give a sarcastic smile and put out my hand to shake his hand and say, ‘are you guys from the USA!?’. Gobby replies as only an American can with, ‘you bet ya buddy, 100% U S of A!’. Wondering how far I can go with the sarcasm, I come back with, ‘oh that’s amaaazing, I’ve always wanted to be an American’. It’s clearly gone straight over his head as he smiles and looks proud in front of his buddies. The girls and I move as far away as humanly possible from these idiots, if at least for a bit of peace and quiet until we finally arrive at Aguas Calientes, which comes all too soon having nodded off briefly again. 

By the time we jump on the bus, it’s becoming plainly obvious that drinking until the early hours this morning was a big mistake, and with my head now vibrating against the rickety bus window, I prepare myself for what will no doubt be a long day ahead. I don’t have a clue about how far the hike will be to our destination. It could be half an hour, it could be 2 days. Whatever….. 

The bus finally pulls up at the end of the road and drops us off in thick, thick mist. I can’t see anything in any direction. Just a trail heading off and up to the left of where the bus has left us. I don’t feel great, so I tell the girls to go ahead without me and I’ll catch them up after a bit of a rest and a cigarette break. Half an hour later, the mist hasn’t lifted at all and with no-one around to ask I assume the ruins themselves must be up the hill, so I throw on my little backpack with my cameras in and start making my way up the steep hill. 

And boy it was steep. Not helped at all by the fact we were at quite a high altitude. So every now and then I would stop for a rest, catch my breath and check to see if there were any visual clues as to whether I was even going in the right direction or not, then carry on. This went on and on and on. The mist is relentless and I haven’t seen anyone else on the trail for ages. I’m seriously knackered too. I mean, I know I smoke a bit, but generally speaking, I’m actually quite a fit, young lad. At this point, I’ve been hiking up a relentless, steep trail for about two hours now and as I sit down to light up another ciggy and stare into the featureless abyss around me, I notice that just at that moment the wind direction seems to be changing and the mist starts to lift right in front of me. It’s incredible. As I sit there and start to take in what’s happening, I can now start to see the valley to the side of me. Then a mountain appears on the other side of the valley. Then another. And another. I can now see further and further down the long trail I have been hiking up for the last two hours, and praying I will soon be able to see the great ruins of Machu Picchu, I look further up the trail above me and can see what looks like the top of the mountain. I throw my bag on and start what I hope will be my final assault of the day, ideally before my lungs explode and legs turn to rubber. 

Ahead there’s a big gate with stone pillars as I reach the top and I imagine I will see the classic view of Machu Picchu as I walk through the gates. But it’s not there. In fact, nothing’s there. The trail just starts going down the other side again, but no fucking Machu Picchu in sight anywhere. I turn around, go back through the stone pillars and look back down the trail I had just come up. With the mist having been totally blown away I can now see for miles and miles. And there ………. waaaaaaaay back down the trail I’ve spent all morning climbing ….. riiiiiight where the bus had dropped me off earlier ……. was Machu Picchu. Clear as a button. If I’d just turned right instead of left when I got off the bus I’d have literally fallen over the bloody place. No hiking necessary at all. For fuck’s sake!!! So, absolutely shagged and a bit miffed, I start my descent back down the mountain, with my lungs in tatters. 

The mist clears ….. at the top!

Back down at the ruins I eventually bump into the girls and we laugh about my misadventure up the mountain and take in the wonderful scenery around us. 

Finally …… Machu Picchu

After a few hours of walking around the ruins and taking some photos, we eventually jump on the next bus and head back towards Aguas Calientes. With the sun disappearing and a couple of hours to spare until the train goes back to Cusco, we find a little restaurant on the train platform itself and with a beer in hand, we are serenaded by a local panpipe band. 

Live music in Aguas Calientes

It was round about this time I start to feel a bit rough. I’m not sure if it’s last night catching up with me or something else. Maybe something I’ve eaten. But I feel quite sick and I’ve got a banging headache. Someone tells me I’ve got classic symptoms of altitude sickness, which I try and shrug off to enjoy the moment there in the restaurant. Then, literally as the train is pulling up at the platform, my condition deteriorates drastically. I really feel like shit and can’t see any way at all of jumping on a train back to the city. I make a sudden, rash decision. I grab my bag, tell everyone I feel ill and just walk off the platform in search of a place to stay, with everyone looking at me a bit confused as they board the train. In my haste I haven’t had any time to make any arrangement to meet up with the girls again and I don’t have the time nor energy to explain. I feel like death. All I want to do is just curl up into a ball and die. ASAFP.

I check myself into the first little hostel I can find, just behind the train station, throw my bag on the floor, myself in the bed and chuck a couple of paracetamol down my throat for good measure and pray a good night’s sleep will be just what I need. I wonder if I’ll ever see Else-Maria again, but I’ve definitely made the right decision not getting on the train. 

I nod off almost immediately.

Then, about an hour later, I hear a quiet knock at the door. Sure it’s not for me I ignore it, but the knocking continues. Thinking it might be the hostel owner concerned for my health, as I probably looked like death as I checked in, I force myself up to answer the door. As I slowly open the door to see who it is, standing there is sweet, sweet Else-Maria. She’s been knocking on every hostel door for an hour trying to find me before standing at my door. I tell her she should go back to Cusco with her friend, but she tells me Lisbeth has already left with a few other people on the train and that she is staying with me the night to make sure I’m ok. And she’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Well, if I didn’t have feelings for this young, pretty thing before, I sure did now. I still felt like death, but having her here with me felt like a great comfort and of course we wouldn’t have to hide anything from Lisbeth all night either. I just wish I felt better. 

The room is coooold. It’s the middle of December and we’re at over 3,000 metres altitude in the Andes in a cheap-ass room with no heating. So eventually she gets into bed with me. Albeit fully clothed it’s so cold. We talk and talk and talk. We hug, cuddle, talk some more and eventually start to warm up. And then, like a miracle, I start to feel a bit better. In fact, a lot better. Before we know it, we’re kissing, passionately. Then undressing. We’re naked. This feels amazing. She starts kissing her way down my torso ….. this is it ….. we’re finally going to ……. 

….. suddenly I feel terrible. I mean really terrible. I quickly push her off me, jump out of bed and realising there’s only a shared bathroom somewhere down the corridor, I grab a towel around me and make a run for it. I barely make it out of the door before I collapse and puke everywhere in the hallway. The door pulls closed behind me and I am left there in the hallway, on all fours, sitting in my own sick with just a small towel barely covering my privates. I sit there frozen wondering how in the space of a few seconds I’ve gone from having a beautiful Scandinavian girl about to give me a blowjob to sitting half-naked in my own vomit in a hallway. A few moments later Else-Maria opens the door and asks me if I’m ok, but just to make things even more interesting, I’m starting to feel a bit bad at the other end too. With no time to fix myself, I run butt-naked down the hallway looking for the toilet which, when I eventually find it, outside, I just about sit down in time before my arse explodes. I’ve got the craps, I’m covered in my own sick, my banging headache has come back, I’m naked and it’s fucking freezing. I’m basically in an outside dunny in the middle of the night with no clothes on and my guts are that bad I ain’t going anywhere soon. So I sit there, shaking to the bone for about an hour until I feel I am able to make my way back to the room. I’ve had plenty of time to sit there and consider the events of the past hour or so and the complete and utter cluster-fuck that has just happened to me. I doubt I’ll ever get that opportunity again. And even if I did, I doubt poor Else-Maria will ever be able to look me straight in the eyes again. Confused as to how cruel life can be sometimes, I am forced to write the whole thing off as just ‘one of those things’ and even though Else-Maria is super-understanding when I get back to the room, I eventually fall asleep and ponder what might have been.

Next morning I feel a lot better and having checked out of the guest house we take the next train back to Cusco and meet back up with Lisbeth at the hostel there. 

It’s pretty obvious I must have had altitude sickness the day before. I probably pushed myself too hard climbing up the mountain and my preparation wasn’t exactly ideal either having been drunk the night before and getting about two hours kip before we’d even started. What a burk. 

From Cusco, I spend about another week with the Danish girls, travelling up past Lake Titicaca and then over the border into Bolivia, just in time for the Christmas markets in La Paz. Naturally, I assume I’ve blown my one chance with Else-Maria, but Cupid would give us one more shot at love on Christmas Day before we all sadly went our own separate directions on Boxing Day; Me east to Brazil and the girls south to Chile. I would never see or hear from either of the Danish girls ever again, but I’m sure glad I knocked on their door that first night I met them in Ecuador. 

I wonder if Lisbeth still looks like a man?