Journal

Carol wrote a poem about life before she died. It wasn't maudlin or defeatist; she just wasn't like that. Instead she chose a defiant, celebratory tone - and when it was read out at her funeral, the last line stuck in my head. It's been there ever since, and stayed with me throughout this arduous, challenging and ultimately very rewarding experience. "Think of me", she said, "and savour every moment". Right: descent into Cuzco [photo: Nicky Lawrie]

I can't tell you how much that helped when I struggled through the impossibly thin Andean air in the middle of an unexpected snow flurry, wearing a borrowed fleece and a plastic poncho. But I'll get to that later.

Day 1: 23 September
London - Madrid - Lima

It's 4:45am, and my dad is reversing into a space at Heathrow's endlessly confusing car park. He's agreed to give me a lift to save me a taxi ride and some much-needed cash - and my mum has come along too in sympathy, which I appreciate. That doesn't stop me being nervous, of course, and neither does the smiling face of Liz, the rep from Cancer Research UK who greets me at the terminal. I'm handed a name badge and then I stand around for a while, watching various people in CRUK t-shirts milling about, not quite sure what to do next.

My nerves evaporate into excitement when I bump into Nicky and Lisa, two girls I'd been emailing in the run-up to today. It's also at this point that I first meet Dolly and Polly, who end up in the same trekking group as Lisa, Nicky and I and who turn out to be really supportive, inspirational people. We grab a drink and before long, the coffee shop is overrun with trekkers and resonating with eager chatter about fundraising, our inspiration for the trek and what we think the next few days may have in store for us.

This effect is even more pronounced when we board the plane to Lima (via a short stop in Madrid), which almost feels like a private jet given the number of Cancer Research t-shirts on board. It turns out to be the strangest flight I've experienced: I spend at least two thirds of it standing up and chatting to others in the group - so much so that the whole thing feels like some sort of bizarre cocktail party where none of the guests have ever met. Lima on a dull day: no, it always looks like this

We arrive in Lima - Peru's capital - at about 5:30pm local time, proceeding trance-like through passport control and towards the baggage carousel. Being an accident-prone sort of person I've waited all my life to stand by the conveyor belt nervously watching for luggage that doesn't appear - and today, it seems, is my lucky day. I am informed by a cheerless woman in an Iberia suit that my bag is in Madrid and didn't make it onto our plane; I picture it going round and round the carousel, unwanted and unattended - and feel a swell of anger, frustration and disappointment. This, though, is eased by the response of those around me as various complete strangers offer knickers, socks, t-shirts and all manner of toiletries - my first experience of what will soon turn into an amazing camaraderie within the group as friendships begin to form.

Bundled onto a coach, we are driven through Lima's concrete-and-neon streets to a four-star hotel (lulling us into a false sense of security/luxury, clearly), where we have dinner, a taste of Pisco Sour and our first proper encounter with Max, the charismatic Indiana Jones/Hitler type who is to lead the trek. He gives a short briefing that frightens the life out of most of us, and we shuffle off to bed.

next: day 2 >