Inca Trail: Racing French women, Pacha-mama, and unspeakable cliffs,

To hike the Inca Trail, one must hire a professional guide. We were a small group of 5 representing 5 nationalities--me from the USA, Barbara (originally) from Germany, Diego from Argentina, Ben from the UK and the captivating Elise, from France. To make it all happen for us, we also had in our group 2 guides, 1 cook, and 5 porters.

The Inca Trail served as a royal highway to the Incans. The trail itself in its original form spanned from Quito, Ecuador to Chile. We were hiking the 26 mile route that led to the lost city, Machu Picchu, whose "rediscovery" in 1911 has been credited to Hiram Bingham III, the great-grandfather of Baltimore's own Sloane Brown. Between that connection and the proliferation of UnderArmour-wear on the trail, I felt pretty special coming from Baltimore. But I digress.

Hiking the Inca Trail was an unparalleled experience for me. Right from the start the trail was challenging, dramatic, and awe inspiring. Over the 4 days, we climbed 6,000 feet walking on the hand cut stone pathway, frequently with stairs, moving from the cultivated valley at 7,500 feet to the grasslands at 15,000 feet (featuring grazing llamas) and ultimately to the jungle. The trail features dozens of Inca ruins, rare orchids, over 419 species of birds, llamas, alpacas, and even bears.

Once again, I was struck by the fact that the Peruvians do not coddle their tourists. Staying true to the design of the Incans, the royal highway followed mountain passes and ridges. One step to the right or left too far, one could easily plummet to death. In fact, this occurred on January 1st to a young American who was racing to the Sun Gate, the Incan's guard house, for sunrise. As someone who suffers from an acute fear of heights, I found myself cupping my hands around my eyes, much like the "blinders" you can see on some horses, in order to steady myself so that I could move forward.

I was unprepared for the emotional wallop that the trail packed for me. I was extremely fortunate to find myself hiking mostly alone. As I walked at my own comfortable pace, I found myself alone with the rushing streams, wide ranging biodiversity, soaring mountains, and proliferation of birds. My trek became a meditation and as I sat resting along the trail beside a rushing stream, I had the sense that the water was carrying my worries, grief and even desires away with it. Later, when I reached the top of the mountain at the trail's highest point, known as Dead Woman's Pass, I had a sense of leaving all of it behind me. As I descended, the landscape quickly became more lush, and despite the steady rain, I sensed the incredible abundance of the earth and felt as if I were somehow being held by mother earth, known as Pachamama to the Incans, herself.

Of course all was not glory throughout my 4 days. The lack of showers, on again and off again rain, penetrating clouds of mist leading to soaked clothing that I could not escape, plus the brutalizing walls of stairs had me questioning my sanity and considering abandoning my effort. But once again the Peruvians were circumspect in their outlook. There really was no way out unless on a stretcher. And I was not really serious about quitting anyway, I was just curious. I just couldn't figure out Elise. Each day she got more beautiful as the rest of us deteriorated. Plus she finished first.

Not that it was a race or anything.