Salkantay: An Alternative Inca Trail

The SAE Cusco Clubhouse was larger and better equipped than its Lima counterpart, with two floors and garden.  As in Lima - recent trip reports were thin on the ground, but we were able to have a chat with a local guide who advised us that there had been an incident with the Sendero Luminoso  (Maoist Guerrillas who call themselves the Light of Shining Path) .  We didn’t fancy being robed, so changed our plans, losing the Choquequirau leg of our planned route and sticking more closely to the original Salkantay route.

Having done the much more famous “Inca Trail” before, and having checked out the astounding price increase, we had decided to take and alternative trail to Macchu Pichu .  This had the advantage of being less crowded, requiring no permit and enabling us to camp along the way.

Having acquired the best of the crappy maps on offer at the clubhouse, we packed us and took a bus to Mollepata which marks the start of the trek.  After a quick breakfast by the Plaza de Armes, we headed off following the description Kirsty had copied from one of the guidebooks.  It wasn’t long before the guidebook and map started to disagree, so we asked a friendly local, who could confirm where we were on the map, but was convinced that the map was sending us the wrong way and directed us down another seemingly unmarked path toward Soraypampa.  As much we appreciated his directions, we where now in the situation of being pointed in the direction of a new path, that wasn’t on our map or described in our guidebook.  Lacking the Spanish (not even sure this guy was speaking Spanish) to question the chap, we didn´t want to offend him by blithely ignoring his advice and walking off in the opposite direction.  So we went round the corner and waited 10 minutes before sneaking back, only to find the bugger was still there.  Given that our retreat was blocked, we decided to follow his directions and soon came upon another local - well he came upon us - having spotted us from the top of an adjoining hill, he changed direction and came pacing over towards us.  Gringoes with large rucksacks are obviously to rare a treat to pass up in these hills.  After more stilted Spanish chat he seemed to support the original advice and we thanked him and left.

The path climbed and wove through the hillsides eventually bringing us back to a more robust looking track just in time for the rain.  Here we came across a team of pack horses whose horsemen seemed surprised and amused to see Gringos carrying all of their equipment.  They passed by and we began what seemed like an endless trudge towards the campsite in the rain.

Given the guidebook had claimed the first leg was only 16 km, we had clearly come a different route, because be now we had walked well over 20 km.  We eventually arrived at Soraypampa in the moonlight and just pitched up next to the path - had dinner and went straight to bed, only to be woken when a dog ran into the side of the tent in the middle of the night.  I think he was more scared than us and ran of yelping back into the night.

Next morning we surveyed Soraypampa for the first time in the daylight - it was lovely spot spoiled by a host of crappy square shelter made from plastic tarps, surrounded by rubbish.  This was apparently where the guided and pony trek tours stay during the trip.  Saddened we left the pampas and climbed away from these eyesores up into the pass (4600m).  The path climbed up into towards the clouds and we soon found climbing at altitude with big packs was significantly slower than the trekking we had done in the Huayhush.  We eventually topped out surrounded by large swathes of snow to find an Australian couple and their guide resting by the cairns.  We had a brief conversation during which they marvelled at the fact we were doing it without donkeys.  They left, leaving us unsure whether we were hardcore or foolhardy.  I plumped for hardcore, but Kirsty hankered after some donkey support.

The top of the pass was the point at which the path comes closest to its namesake the Salkantay Mountain (Salkantay means “savage” in quecha - the language of the Incas).  Unfortunately all we could see was a snow slope rising up into the clouds.  The cloud thickened and we descended into a cloud forest full of rain.

This was another 20 km day and we arrived at small terraced campsite as the sky grew dark.  Here we met the second tour group, with their tents all neatly pitched for them on the top terrace, dinner already prepared by their guides, all their gear carried by pack horse - soft.

They may have been soft, but they were bloody loud and even from the furthest side of the bottom terrace, we could hear the buggers.  The next morning we had a shorter day, so we slept in had a lazy breakfast whilst the tent dried in the sunshine.  Whilst we were sat there, a small gnarled women came down and sat by us, having exhausted our Spanish pleasantries she started jabbering away - eventually she got fed up with our ignorance and stalked off up the terraces.  Five minutes later she was replaced by a small gnarled man with a hoe who commence jabbering, this time accompanied by some choice gesticulation  and a smattering of English, from which I managed to gather that he had built the terraces and that we really ought to give him some dosh for camping there.

Campsite paid for we were on our way again, this time under blue skies and draped in sunshine.  The path wound its way downhill hugging the left-hand-side of the valley of a wooded valley.  As the path dropped around the corner, we caught sight of Nevado Tacahuay in the distance behind us.

The path took us down and into a small town Collpapampa which had recently been connected to the outside-world with a new dirt road.  We passed through, declining offers of goods and accommodation and joined the river, where we were able to cross a dubious homemade bridge to an older path through the trees.  This took us past a huge waterfall after which we began to meet horsemen leading teams of empty pack horses up the trail back towards the start.

The path wound down and dropped out of the cloud forest on the valley floor to join a the start of a semi paved road.  This in turn led us into a shambling one-horse town, strung out either side of a singular street, with the usual one storey dwellings interspersed with rubbish, chickens and small children.  Here we had planned to camp on the local football pitch, however as we got ever closer, it looked less and less invited.  Having spent two nights at remote campsites high in the mountains the prospect of camping amongst the detritus of La Playa was getting less appealing the more of the more of village we discovered.

Luck was with us and we soon met a “collectivo”, that was heading to Santa Theresa, a slightly larger village reported to have hot springs.  We didn’t take much convincing and we were soon hanging on for dear life as the driver rallied the van all the way to town.

In Santa Theresa we camped at a pleasantly leafy site in the centre of town surrounded by the guided tour groups.

Located on the river bank, the hot springs were divided into three main pools, floodlight with lifeguards come receptions - there to collect the entrance fee and unsure there was no no “heavy-petting”.