Lares Valley: 15-17 June

To most people, myself included, trekking means slinging a bag on your back and heading for the hills in search of adventure. You’d probably carry all your gear yourself, and you’d be expecting modest meals. Well, as I was now part of Mum and Dad’s Peru extravaganza, things were going to be a little different. We were going to trek in style.

Zac had marshalled our support team: two cooks, Chibai, the head chef, who sported a splendid white apron and hat whilst on the job, and Paulino, his ever helpful assistant who was always running; two porters: tiny Faustino whose pack was almost bigger than him, and Ocscar, a chiselled Spartan figure affectionately known as the “rocket man” as we was responsible for our portable loo. We also had two rancheros and their four horses. And finally, Zac brought along Mario, a trainee-guide whose crazy hairdo, ear to ear grin, and enthusiasm kept us amused.

The upside of trekking with this entourage is that you get to sleep in big, sturdy tents with deluxe sleeping bags and ultra comfy Therm-A-Rests. You will be served three course dinners in a pukka dining tent complete with table and chairs. You will have hot water waiting for you in a little bowl at the end of each day to wash the sweat from your brown. And if you are tired, someone is always ready to carry your pack.

If this sounds extravagant (well, it is), then let me tell you that inducements are needed and creature comforts most welcome when trekking above 4000m. Our route took us through a remote tributary of the Lares Valley, up and over the 4200m Coltambillo pass. The altitude sapped my energy, gave me headaches, and initially made me nauseous. But as I huffed and puffed up the mountain, our team thundered past, practically running with huge loads balanced on their backs.

The trail took us past two deep black lakes which sat at the foot of the 5,829m Mount Terijuay. Cloud enveloped the snow-capped peak, swirling in and out. The ground was harsh and rocky, the only vegetation that survived up here was prickly grasses and mossy lichens. It was rugged, wild, and huge. The sky stretched from corner to corner, and at night you felt closer to the stars.

The local villagers were modest yet proud. Their houses, like them, were sturdy and solid stone and mud constructions. Life up here in the mountains was undoubtedly hard. They plough the tough brown earth by hand to plant and harvest potatoes and the kids have to walk 2 hours each way just to go to secondary school. But they are organised and well adjusted. Unlike villagers in China I found that they’d grouped together, saved, and put piped water into every household. They’d used a long-existing local custom known as manu, where in an act of civic duty each villager donates his or her labour to a communal project. Of course, there is a danger of romanticising their tough life and admirable resilience. But these people had not just accepted their lot; they were happy here and were making gradual improvements to their lives.

It was refreshing to step off the tourist trail just half a day’s drive from the Sacred Valley. However temporary, I was glad to catch a glimpse of the vast countryside and its people.