When Denis wrote about the long day, he didn't yet know that it wasn't the longest. The longest day was the last one. I'll explain my theory about why that happened. The day before, we'd been hiking along a picturesque section of the Salkantay trail, with magnificent views, wild strawberries, and pastoral meadows near tropical farms. The farms sold freshly squeezed fruit drinks. How could we refuse? Well, we drank a glass of orange and mango juice. We bought some juicy mango and avocado. Everything was fine until the evening, but then my temperature spiked, my stomach started churning, and I started acting up.
The next morning, things only got worse, but I still had to keep going. I had to shove down some of my breakfast with a couple of pills and exert myself once again. After saying goodbye to our hospitable host, Freddy, we set off. Soon, our trail merged with another—the Inca Trail. It was especially crowded in the morning because everyone had already gotten up, eaten breakfast, and packed their bags by around seven (some even earlier). Over time, the groups and individual tourists dispersed. But before that, we'd been walking at the same pace with some young people from Germany for a long time. Their pace spurred me on, and I was sweating, but I didn't slow down. The Peruvian guide even complimented me on my progress. We passed each other in a clearing, and suddenly, all our strength gave out. The only good thing about this was that the climb to the pass was over. Then came a long, long descent, because I could barely drag my feet and kept stopping to rest and drink water. Near the hydroelectric power station, the trail turned toward the railroad. At first, I thought, "How stupid to suggest tourists follow the railroad!" But it turned out to be extraordinarily beautiful, covered in thickets of heliconia along the sides and the sacred Urubamba River on the right.
While we were having a snack on the riverbank, we suddenly discovered the ruins of ancient walls visible on the other bank. Armed with binoculars, we spent a long time examining the ancient structure. It was likely part of the Machu Picchu Archaeological Reserve, inaccessible to tourists.
As we walked, it rained from time to time, then suddenly it cleared up as if nothing had happened and it became hot, the air was filled with the scent of unknown herbs.
We spent the last part of our journey along a road crisscrossed by tour buses, ferrying countless tourists to Machu Picchu. Naturally, there were no sidewalks or even separate paths. Once again, I thought about how nice it would be to create a more comfortable route for hikers. It may be a narrow valley, bordered by a river and steep cliffs, but a traveler doesn't need much. And walking along the paths, constantly crossing them for various reasons, is unsafe, as is the narrow dirt road with no shoulders.
By the end of the journey, I was so tired that I was moving my legs automatically. There's nothing worse than being in poor condition during a long journey! And most importantly, there's no regular transport there, only scheduled trains and tour buses, which aren't allowed to pick up travelers.
- I need to rest a little, -
I said when we checked into the hotel room, lay down on the bed and plunged into blissful idleness.
Only later, about two hours later, did I find the strength to take a shower. But I still didn't have enough strength to go to a restaurant to celebrate the end of the journey. And Denis, although he complained about the long journey and said he was tired, ran out for pizza, organized tea, and life began to improve.
What did we do after dinner? We rested, rested, and finally fell asleep. That's what our tired bodies needed.
