Journal

Day 2: 24 September
Lima - Cuzco - Sacred Valley - Cachicata

We get a 6am wake-up call, but a mix of fear and excitement has my room-mate Lisa and I up before then. We have a quick breakfast in the hotel ("Drink lots of water!", cries Max) before boarding the coaches again to go back to the airport for the 55-minute flight to Cuzco, the ancient Inca capital. Despite a lot of jokes about the local airlines, Lan Peru turns out to be streets ahead of Iberia: the food is good, the plane is immaculate and we get to taste Inka Kola.

Cuzco airport

I decide almost immediately that I've fallen in love with this lurid national soft drink: it's bright yellow and full of exactly the sort of additives I wasn't allowed as a child - wickedly delicious, as forbidden things invariably are. The flight is over almost as soon as it's taken off and those fortunate enough to sit next to a window are afforded a stunning view as we come in to land: Cuzco nestles in the valley of the Huatanay River in the Southern Andes, and we fly over the mountains as we descend.

Cuzco's stately, picturesque town square ("enthusiastic" traders just out of shot!)

Anticipating the effects of the altitude (Cuzco is 3,400 metres above sea level), we've been warned to take it very easy when we leave the plane - and sure enough, a strange but not unpleasant sensation of lightheadedness seems to affect most people, and a brisk walk to the airport toilets leaves us all breathless. Today is an easy day in order to help us acclimatise.

Outside, a hot, dry sun heats up the tarmac of the car park, and as we walk to our coaches local people swarm around us like bees, selling coca leaves, sunhats and various other items. Coca leaves are illegal in European and North American countries but not here, where they were used by the Incas and are thought to help combat the effects of altitude. They are passed around the bus and I'm not quite sure what I think of them, but they taste foul and leave the mouth curiously numb, so they must be doing something. Obviously.

The Sacsayhuaman Inca Ruins, as snapped from the window of the bus

On the bus we are introduced to some of the local guides who will be with us throughout the trip. They're all extremely friendly, speak varying degrees of English and will later prove to be an invaluable part of the team. We have a brief stop in the centre of Cuzco to pick up a few essential items and Max despatches one of the locals off to find me a sleeping bag, mine being stranded in Madrid. Everywhere I turn there is someone trying to sell me something, the most annoying of whom is a lady who pins badges onto anyone in a Cancer Research t-shirt and then demands money for them. One of the guides accompanying our party finally gets rid of her, much to everyone's relief.

But this sort of harrassment does nothing to detract from Cuzco's charm and beauty. It was known to the Incas as "the navel of the world" - the centre of their civilisation - and feels much more like Peru than the faceless urban sprawl of Lima.

Ignorance is bliss: Nicky and I relax on sunbeds after lunch, electing not to think about what lies ahead

On the road again, we're treated to some breathtaking views from the coach windows as we make our way past the Sacsayhuaman Inca Fortress and on towards lunch. Juan, our guide, points out various sights along the way and we witness see all sorts of wildlife, including llamas and alpacas grazing nonchalantly on the hillside. Lunch is at a restaurant that seems to be in the middle of knowhere. We crawl precariously down a narrow, decidedly not-for-coaches dirt track and we arrive at a beautiful location by the river for a buffet of sweet potatoes, trout, chicken, beef and various salads and vegetable stews.

After lunch the owner of the restaurant offers us some melt-in-the-mouth chocolate and we enjoy the sun - and the posing of the resident alpaca - outside in the garden.

Back onto the bus, we drive a little further before we're dropped off for our short walk to camp at Cachicata (2,910m). The large bags - for those of us who have any! - are handled by the porters, who run ahead of us with pack-drill efficiency as we carry our day packs up to camp. The walk is a little harder than it looks because of the altitude, but fairly gentle nevertheless.

Camp is stunning. The imposing, snow-capped peak of Mount Veronica looms large in the distance, the river winds through the valley below and here we are, blissfully far away from anyone else in our own private little perch. Veronica is to become ever-present during our trek, and each camp we stay at will afford a slightly different view of it. This proves to be one of only two camps to have flushing toilets and running water - tomorrow we really will be in the wilderness.

A local boy says hello and poses for photos at the start of our walk to camp

Once we've all got tents, it's teatime. We're served coca tea for the altitude as well as regular tea, coffee and biscuits as we sit on canvas stools in a wooden shelter covered in tarpaulin. We get a thorough briefing from Max - who seems even more formidable a character than he did in Lima - a talk from Nicky, the camp doctor, and a proper introduction to the local guides. It's amazing how quickly the night sets in: once all this is over it's almost dark, and in stark contrast to the searing heat of the day, it's cold and windy outside the confines of the shelter. Nothing could have prepared us for the night sky. It's quite spectacular and feels as if someone has reached a great hook out into the inky darkness and pulled the stars several thousand metres further down. You can see entire galaxies: everything is so big and so bright that Mars - very noticeable as the brightest thing in the sky back home - is swamped in the glow, jostling for position in a sea of white light. I am transfixed: it's impossible not to stop and stare. It's like having the London Planetarium over your head.

We're back in the shelter for our first dinner soon afterwards. Plates of delicious soup are handed down the table from person to person and I spice mine up with some of the chillies that have been laid out in bowls in front of us. Our main course is chicken and vegetables and it's surprisingly tasty, although the potatoes - served cold - prove to be a bit of a shock to the system for some. There's fruit for pudding, followed by more tea.

We're in bed by 9pm. As a night owl I find this strange at first, but it soon becomes the norm as we progress deeper into the Andean landscape and become more attuned to the natural daylight hours. I can't stop thinking and don't get anywhere near sleep until 1am; the rush of the river is like a far-off motorway and a cockerell decides to start crowing from 2:30am onwards, which does not a restful night make. Right: outside the tent at the first camp