Fresh air at last

I admit that anything would appear fresh and beautiful after a month in the dry, noisy, polluted city of Trujillo, but this part of Peru has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Dad, you'd have been in heaven; I wish I could have shipped you out here for a birthday treat. If ever you get the chance, go to Huaraz and do the Santa Cruz hike. We walked through lush green valleys, among wild horses, cows and sheep, past bright blue lakes, and along roaring rivers with rapids and waterfalls. We climbed cold and rugged high passes between awesome snowy peaks in the sleet and bracing winds. We saw quaint thatched peasant dwellings and met rosy-cheeked kids in tatty traditional dress asking for caramelos in return for photos. We camped in the company of the highest mountains of the Cordillera Blanca, some of the most impressive in South America.

Sadly the weather was not in our favour. The path was basically a large stream which we had no option but to wade through at points, and our campsite last night (strategically located right next to a bulging river) was a swamp by the morning. It's a wonder I've not got trenchfoot after living in soggy walking boots for four days. The nights were pretty miserable - even wearing my thermals, two extra pairs of trousers, two fleeces, extra socks and a hat, it was still too cold to stop shivering and sleep. And that's when there wasn't a small pond in my tent. We only got rare glimpses of the mountains through the clouds. To top it off, the rain had weakened the valley walls and there had been several recent landslides. One large rockfall blocked the path for 500m or so, making it too dangerous for the donkeys to pass. We were therefore without our trusty burros from this point on, and had to lug all our tents, cooking equipment and rucksacks accross this treacherous rocky section and beyond. It would have been scary enough clambering over the debris with both hands empty, but carrying my sack of spare clothes and sleeping back in one hand and the bag of everyone's sleeping mats in the other across loose rocks on a steep mountainside was terrifying. Though I got off lightly; one guide tied three heavy wooden boxes to his back and set off down the valley at a sprint. Unbelievable.

But it was well worth it. Those few long-awaited glimpses of the mountains, when the clouds deigned to part for a few minutes, were all the more special for their rarity. Waking up to dawn views of six or seven towering peaks looming over our tiny campsite, before the clouds returned to shroud them from view again, was pretty awe-inspiring. Certainly, the obscurity and darkness of the mountain peaks gave them an air of mystery and danger. It was very easy to believe that hundreds have died in pursuit of their summits. When the rain (finally) ceased on our last day, we were able to appreciate the beauty of the Santa Cruz valley in sunlight. I just can't imagine how amazing it must be in the drier months when the weather is consistently good. To make it even more magical, we were treated to a rare sighting of a condor soaring above us on the journey out of the valley and back to Huaraz. It was the icing on the cake.

I hope the Slovakians didn't mind me joining their group. They were Jani and Ladi, 28 and 27, one a rock-climbing enthusiast and trek guide in the Slovakian mountains (which I am now very tempted to visit), the other a linguist and aspiring writer, both keen travellers just enoying life without getting tied down to demanding careers. Sounds good to me. Jani is mad-keen on photography and took over 250 photos in those four days. We often had to wait for him to catch up whilst he erected and dissembled his tripod next to get the perfect shot of a couple of cows or a waterfall. Oh how I wish I'd not lost my camera back in Ecuador. All three of us suffered a bit with soroche (altitude sickness) after climbing the 4,750m pass and camping at 4,250m. We had throbbing headaches, and the going was tough on the climbs. Drinking coca tea and chewing on the leaves can only do so much (if it does anything at all). Conversely, our well-acclimatised guides claimed that they have problems breathing at sea level. The guys had digestion problems too. It can't have been the water. I actually grew to like drinking iodine-flavoured melted glacier. The taste is hard to describe; I'm not sure whether it was more like licking a hospital floor or drinking from a swimming pool. The Slovakians turned out to be jolly nice chaps. I've been promised Jani's best photos (which ought to be damn good considering the number he took and the time he spent taking them) and a warm welcome if I visit Slovakia. Though I do have certain reservations. After those four days I have been left with two inexplicable puncture wounds, about an inch apart, on my right arm. Is Slovakia close to Transylvannia...?

I'm back in hot noisy Lima again today. I'm actually grateful to be here. Our trek guide Liz told me that the road between Huaraz and Lima is quite dangerous and there are frequent accidents, especially in the middle of the night when tired bus drivers fall asleep at the wheel and miss one of the many sharp turns, sending a busload of passengers hurtling over the mountainside. After hearing that, my smugness at saving money and time with a cheap overnight ticket for the trip had turned into regret and a growing sense of doom. Actually, after my terror subsided slightly when we didn't crash in the first few hours, it was actually a very pleasant journey. After three sleepless nights shivering in a cold damp tent, the dryness and warmth of the bus were blissful. In a couple of day's time I'll be doing the camping thing all over again with a new group on the way to Machu Picchu. I can't imagine that the trek will be as beautiful as Santa Cruz, but I'm praying it won't be as wet either. Hopefully I'll be acclimatised and won't get the headaches again. I'm meeting my fellow trekkers tomorrow, but I've encountered a few of them alreadys - three football-loving Irish guys in their mid-late 20s who seem to have survived so far in South America on a diet consisting entirely of beer. They were on their way to a bar.

Oh dear. I'm listening to a female gospel choir singing a Spanish translation of Robbie's "Angels". Think it might be time to go.