Well, yesterday we may not have been ready to trek over 4,400 metres but today we are.
That's what Effy says (and he's been the guide for Princess Beatrice).
That's what Mark says (and he guides treks all over South America).
If they say we are ready for it, we must be. Right? We are joined by local porters with horses 'to provide backup'. Umm, why do we need backup??
Why do I have this sinking feeling in my stomach? And that puddle around my boots was there before, honest.
Today we are doing a 'medium' 12 km, taking us over a pass that is 4,400m and then down the other side. Personally, I would say it is the same as walking over the Sydney Harbour Bridge (the long way over the top of the arch, not the easy way on the footpath), whilst wearing an old-style deep-sea diving suit, and all the while only using one lung.
Can you tell I was a tad concerned?
The climb up was as glorious (or horrendous) as you'd expect, especially when it started to snow on us as we neared the top (remember: 'it never snows in this part of Peru'). Everyone was affected by altitude, with the exception of Julie, who clearly has alpaca genes from some historical cross-breeding, probably initiated by the great-great-great grandfather of my vicuña.
As we got closer and closer the the pass (ie, higher and higher above 4,000m) each of us developed their own system for the climb.
Paul said his was to walk 100 paces, stop for 25 deep breaths, then walk some more. Nicole just kept going - slower and slower - but going. Kim took it very simply - stop every 5 metres and dry retch until it hurts too much, straighten up and go again.
My system was walk for 6 paces (or if I was feeling particularly energetic, 10 paces), come to a shuddering halt, gasp for breath, cough my lungs out, look around desperately hoping the pass was miraculously closer, then repeat.
Julie just walked, and walked, and walked. Sometimes life is so unfair.
Mark and Effy were very popular.
The day started well.
We were joined by our 'backup crew'. The horse's name is James Brown.
There were lots of shelters for the shepherds and their flocks. But what about us?
At this stage I'm exhibiting a lot of false confidence, having successfully climbed out of the valley behind me.
Unfortunately this is the climb ahead of us - the pass is that little notch off in the distance.
Trying to pretend it's all easy.
But eventually we all do reach the pass. In the snow. Freezing. And with our native porters standing around casually in their plastic ponchos and sandals wondering what all the fuss is about.
But we were very very happy. And proud of ourselves.
We start down the other side. What a difference. Particularly for Kim. No longer having to stop and retch every few seconds, she takes off like a rabbit down a hole (or should be that like a guinea pig being chased by a hungry Peruvian?). This transformation worries Effy and he takes her aside to pat her down for illicit drugs. At least that what he said he did. Kim looks strangely happy.
The landscape becomes much greener and we descend among hanging lakes and Inca ruins, followed by our trusty backups. In this area they have lots of chinchillas, gorgeous creatures like long-tailed rabbits on speed.
We finally reach the bottom, exhausted but happy.
We are farewelled by a lone alpaca reflecting on the stupidity of mere Australians venturing where only Peruvians should go. And Julie.
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