Day one of our four day trek to Machu Picchu started as I fully anticipated any Peruvian organised tour to; disastrously.
As I sat in the hotel reception awaiting our 7.30am pick-up I was blissfully unaware of the events that were about to unfold as I happily watched the morning news of major landslides around the country. With still no sign of a guide after an hour (no great surprise in Peru) and having happily declined the waiter's offer of a ninth bread roll I asked the manager if she would call the tour company and ensure we had not been forgotten.
Obligingly enough she took our receipt, dialled the number and frowned – bad sign number one. She then called the next number and there was that frown again – bad sign number two. It was at this stage that I happened to notice that the company name on the receipt was different to the company whose offices we had been in yesterday and handed our $300 to – these signs were adding up fast. With both the given numbers out of order we found a third on the company website and called that to ask for Luciana who had booked our trip. As the manager got off the phone she said simply 'I think you have a problem'. When a Peruvian mentions that there may be a problem they are generally understating the gravity of the situation, my suspicions were confirmed with the next sentence 'You should go to the police – you have lost your money'.
The company had explained that they had no record of our booking but suggested that as they rent out a desk in their office to a rival operator we may have inadvertently booked with them. He also told told us he had no idea if they were legitimate or even what their name was – he just rented them a desk.
With murderous thoughts gathering and my mind turning to how I would make Luciana's last morning on earth as unpleasant as possible a small Peruvian head appeared around the corner 'I am here to collect Richard and Ciara'. We boarded the bus confused, but pleased, our confusion grew when we met a Dutch couple who were staying in the hostel next door but who had been picked up an hour previously. With hopes raised we set off for a four hour drive before an afternoon bike ride through the mountains. There were seven other people in the group all of whom, we were immensely relived to find, were not only normal but a really good laugh too. Four Dutch, Two Australians and a Canadian – all was going to be just fine.
'We could have a problem', there was that phrase again – only three hours into the trip. The sight that greeted me could be described as problematic, it could also more accurately be described as absolutely terrifying. The combination of two days of torrential rain and the incredibly steep and unstable mountains that were surrounding us, had conspired to create the picture before me. What should have been a shallow river that you would expect to see small animals drinking from had been turned into a deep raging torrent of brown water, earth and rock. This cascade ran down the mountain on one side of us, across the road and then down the mountain on the other side. A problem, he says.
I watched in amazement as a van – far too similar to the one that I was sitting in for comfort – attempted the drive through, before being swept aside by the water and becoming stuck, more than one person called upon the help of the almighty himself before the driver somehow managed to find the right gear and pull the vehicle onto the other side. Mass violence was promised unto our driver if he even considered moving forward.
We waited for over an hour but eventually, and despite every person in the van being convinced the water level was actually rising, our driver took one look at us and with a 'He who dares...' look in his eyes, hit the accelerator. I remember lots of people shouting words of advice, encouragement, prayer and abuse at the driver, I also remember how the water really did knock us sideways but mostly I just remember the relief when we got to the other side. Had the danger not been so real I am sure somebody would have filmed it, but none of us did.
The driver turned to us 'That was close, I hope the big river is not as bad', he just got abuse for that one.
I eventually got to do some mountain bike riding and under normal circumstances I would consider riding downhill in the rain and fog whilst dodging oncoming Peruvian-driven buses rather hazardous, but given what had happened earlier we all quite enjoyed ourselves, beside we had been supplied with safety gloves.
I in Santa Maria in the early evening with enough time to let my drenched clothing catch the last hour of sun in a futile attempt to dry something.
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