5 useless things I have sent packing

1. A second pair of jeans- Honestly, what was I thinking?
2. Aqua tabs from ebay- Ok, so how was I to know that they purified 25 litres at a time and no human can possibly carry that much water!
3. Skype travel headsets- The geek in me forced me to bring them. Becky took one look at them and ordered me to send them back. " All the internet cafes that have skype have them anyway".
4. Sports Sandals- I liked these until Becky started calling them "Sports Sandals". So far, have only been used when my flip flops broke halfway back from San Thelmo market.
5. My voice box. Perhaps only useless when asked to switch to 'Spanish' mode. Utterly useless so far.

Almost made it into this list- My 10 year old rucksack which ruined my back, Thick ski socks which are useless for walking and horrendously smelly once they have been used as such, malaria tablets when nowhere near malaria zones.

Machu Pichu With A Splash

Or as Neil likes to call it`Pikacu`. Not to be confused with the yellow coloured, rosy cheeked Japenese cartoon character, we are off to the historical Inka site of roughly the same name. Preserved from Spanish invasion and subsequent pillaging by- a) Being evacuated by its residents so as to mask attention to its existence b) Being deliberately overgrown by forestry (they burnt it down to make it grow faster and cover the city) and c) Being bloody high up at the top of a mountain.

We all arrive at Cusco, minus Lou`s bag which has been lost in confusion at Copacabana when a bus fault meant we had to change buses. Several people reassure her that it has been found but seemingly do nothing to organise its retrieval. The toad like drivers of our next bus try to subtly move the bus out with our bags but not us on board. The whole bus is waiting for us and when so much time passes that it seems that short of lying in front its wheels, theres nothing we can do to prevent its departure. So we hop on and the drive puts his flipper on the accelerator.

The bus journey is a sales free for all as ice cream sellers, beggars, book salesmen and their wives are all allowed on to flog us their wares throughout the night. Keeping us rather on edge. Arriving in Cusco tired and not just a little emotional we crash in front of the TV in our hotel room to compose ourselves. Much to her relief, Lou is reunited with her bag the next day.

Cusco continues as Peru started. People pester us to buy massages, paintings, finger puppets (I succumb to one very adult looking child seller who amusingly calls a ghost finger puppet `Michael Jackson`), wooden carvings and an inordinate amount of llama patterned woolen products. All this has recently been beaten by one guy trying to sell me a shelving unit in the Rainforest despite me carrying my backpack at the time!

The Inka trail needs to be booked way in advance, so we sign on to the lesser known Larez trek which will take us to Machu Pichu over 4 days. Crazily enough we are booked onto a trip with some friends we met on the Uyuni salt plains trip. Its a little strange when you are travelling hundreds of miles and still bump into people going in the same direction.

Our guide is called Juan and according to his friend he is a 'chick magnet'. But there doesn`t seem to be any real evidence to substantiate this claim. He walks us along our daily treks introducing us to local communities, telling us about the land history past and present. Always adding his trademark `pero but` in every sentence and merrily referring to us as `amigos`. We are spoilt by being waited on by 2 porters, a chef called Cesar and his younger brother/assistant chef called... `Mike`. I think their parents fell into a similar trap when choosing names as mine did. Our meals are amazing and the tents are already set up for us by the time we arrive at camp. This ludicrous pampering even extends to a breakfast cuppa in bed in the morning. Normally coca leaf tea, which is meant to help you adapt to the altitude, we`re over 4,000m here. Juan even shows us how to chew the coca leaves to stimulate your legs on a long walk, rolling them up and chewing them in the side of your mouth. Very wild west.

We are a group of 4 added to but kept very separate from a team of 12 we name `Team A`. The llama wool sellers can even sniff us out up a mountain, as we are amused to see them setting up shop outside our tents! They are however very welcome as they sell us beers and much needed night socks (llama patterned of course!). On the first night, Juan tells us ghostly stories of murders on the trek. Then proceeds to have a very loud nightmare from a neighbouring tent. His cries echo throughout the campsite.

Local children are cunningly positioned throughout our treks, well aware that we come bearing gifts of toy cars, balls and biscuits which we trade in return for photographs of them and stories. We are priviledged to be allowed into one elderly couple`s house to see how they live. Guinea pigs (a delicacy in this country. Not much meat on and quite expensive) roam freely under their beds, adding warmth at night. How do they sleep? On another occasion we join a group of farmers and help (for want of a better word) them harvesting their crop. Truly back breaking work! The treks are long, but as we plod through lush countryside I am reminded of Yorkshire, but with llamas.

All is going well, when we stop by a stream for lunch and a bask in the sun. As i`m crossing a rock bridge with two drinks in my hand, a huge rock collapses and sends me leg first into the water with a splash. Holding my camera under my arm! Two porters have to help me out from under the bridge, still clutching the cups and a flooded digital SLR. OUCH! It works for 12 hours and then gives up the will to live. Luckily insurance should have that covered. Unfortunately, now I have 2 broken cameras in my possession with one of the wonders of the world a day away. So no way of documenting my every minute. Strangely liberating as it turns out.

I board an old colonial feeling train to Aguas Calientes, finding it strange not to be looking at the world through a viewfinder. The town is labyrinthian, a huge sprawling market saturated in Chinese restaurants. Our hotel is a kitsch mix of silken materials, embroidered curtains with spangly trims, reminding me of huge boxer`s shorts.

A 4am wake up call and we`re winding our way up a precarious misty path to Machu Pichu. We enter and are whizzed along to the far side to book entrance to Waynu Pichu, the neighbouring taller mountain you can climb for an aerial view of Machu Pichu. We`re hardly allowed to stop to take stock of what we have come here to see! Juan has kicked into`info guide`mode and obviously shows he is keen to deliver his learnt- by- heart historical monologue to his first batch of students. Melting in the morning sun and wishing to roam free we grudgingly traipse after him. We (well, not me) continue to take photographs as he talks, much to his annoyance. An hour and a half later he asks if we have any questions. `Wheres the nearest toilet?`. We are all busting in his captivity.

The site is impressive, only 10% needing complete restoration from how it was rediscovered in the early 1900`s. Even Becky who thought it would be a touristy disappointment was impressed.

As we climb Waynu Pichu, 'How did they put stone steps ALL the way up here?`, we are taken back in time (not that long ago actually as it turns out) to when this hilltop was inhabited by 700 Inka residents. Surprisingly undisturbed by commercial needs, despite its protector`s casual attitude to its preservation- A film crew managed to crash a crane into the most important section when filming a television commercial.The city and surrounding area are remarkably free from human interference. On the way out we collect a special Machu Pichu stamp for our passports.

After a couple of months at high altitude we head for Lima, this time by air. With little time before we need to be in Costa Rica, we have turned into jet setting `flash`packers.

Onwards and downwards!