He produced small packets of newspaper containing various items: coca leaves in one, sweets in another. He laid them on a cloth in a certain order – one side of his cloth represented Pachamama, Mother Earth; the sweets go there, he said, “because she likes sweet things”. After wrapping the cloth he chanted an incantation for each of us by name before blessing us. We rode back down the way we came. “This is good practise for tomorrow,” said Guido. “Let the horse work out the best route down. Sit back. If it is really steep, you can always grab the back of the saddle with one hand.”
Top of the trail – It was with a huge sense of anticipation that we rode out the next morning. We set off from Soraypampa on an unfinished ‘road’ and then made a short detour over a ridge with a dramatic drop to a deep valley on one side, and a smaller drop on the other. It was one of those glad-to-be-alive, spine-tingling occasions as we took in the grandeur of the scenery. Next came a steep climb, zigzagging up several switchbacks known as the Seven Serpents.
We let the horses pause for a breather whenever they wanted. Two helpers were accompanying us on foot, always staying a little bit ahead, ready to grab a horse or encourage us if needed. At the top we entered a grassy plateau known as Salkantaypampa where we dismounted to give the horses a proper break. Boulders were strewn around, as if giants had been playing marbles, and viscachas, stumpy rabbit-like rodents, were sunbathing on a rock-covered slope that bordered the pampas.
Back in the saddle, it took another 30 minutes to reach the actual pass, at 4,600m. Windswept and bitterly cold, it was dotted with apachetas – cairns made by passing travellers, from Inca times onwards. Our route descended into a different world of thick cloud and muffled sounds. It wasn’t hard to imagine Inca warriors walking along here, or conquistadors riding the same route. We exited the cloud and, amidst drizzle, arrived at a meadow grazed by cows and striated by mountain streams. Rather surreally, a cook tent and even a loo tent were already set up; a cook, who was to accompany us for the next three nights, was working on a hot three-course lunch.
A short but steep ride brought us down into another large pampa, where sat the brooding shape of Wayra Lodge. Small, with just six rooms, the original plan had been to build it from adobe bricks, but a storm put paid to that idea and stone was used instead – quite a miracle, given its isolated location, miles from any road. Wayra means wind and, appropriately enough, the wind whistled around outside as dusk fell and candles flickered – it was the perfect setting for ghost stories.
We huddled around the log-burning stove as Guido told us how this area is considered haunted by spirits. Spaniards were attacked on the trail, but they wouldn’t be killed outright – that was considered too good for them. Instead they were tied to a boulder, and their guts split open for the condors to come and devour. The locals don’t venture out at night because of fear of the spirits. “If you see one, you must not speak to it!” said Guido. “If a face appears at the window, it may be a spirit – or it could be a trekker who has lost their way!” Outside, the sky had cleared. Stars twinkled furiously, the Milky Way clearly visible. Guido pointed out the eyes of the llama’ in the Milky Way, which was known as the Celestial River to the Incas who believed that each star related to an animal.
