Written by Emily
After the sheer intensity of Day 2, we were insanely glad to hear from jovial Jose that the majority of this day of trekking would comprise our old friends, the Inca Flats. However, we were not entirely off the hook, as today we would be trekking a mind-bending 17km. Woah. Once breakfast had been consumed, which involved many a lashing of "Fanny Jam", a brand I can assure you is readily available in Peru, along with it´s more offensive cousin, "Fanny Tuna", we set off after Jose and Pedro like obidient trekking dogs.
Rach and I passed the time during these kilometres mainly quoting dialogue from The Mighty Boosh and The Inbetweeners, as well as laughing at Pedro and his raging ways. Presently, we arrived at an interesting little cave pass. Rach and I had at this point become separated from the group, due to the fact we were very much behind the polling legends at the front with Jose, and were a bit in front of the stragglers at the back with Pedro. So, into the cave we pressed, making hearty trekking progress on our legs that had been heartily strengthened from the day before. After a while however, we came to a jolty stop behind two trekking women from another group, who seemed intent on taking pointless pictures of each other from EVERY ANGLE IN EXISTANCE in the cave, completely blocking the path for all unsundry. After about 10 minutes of waiting I angrily said under my breath "For f***´s sake! Do you really need so many freakin´pictures?!" The two women instantly turned to glare at me, causing me to realise that even the quietest-intended sounds are mega amplified in a cave setting. The rest of the trek was spent walking deliberately slowly behind them, lest we should have to pass them and suffer the wrath of my unwitting insults...
Several more hours of trudging up and down hill on the "Inca Flats" through incessant drizzle, and we arrived at the 3rd and final campsite. A wave of excitement was running through the group at this point, as we had previously been informed that there would not only be HOT SHOWERS here, but a BAR also. Once we had all dumped our crap at the tents and swapped our mega hiking boots for less intense attire, we all headed, wholeheartedly, to the bar. Many "cervezas" were consumed in quick succession during this one hour reprieve, and so it was fairly groggily that we all made our way back to the tents for dinner, made all the harder due to the fact it was nice and dark by that time. Crashing into Robert in front of me at one point, I angrily smashed my failing torch against my hand in the vain hope that some more light would filter through. Alas no, the torch simply flickered faintly, and then died all together. Sighing at this utter failure, I stepped forwards, straight into an ominously squelching puddle. In my flip-flops. Looking up, I realised with a sinking, sinking heart that we were walking past the rampantly disgusting campsite toilets at the time. Fail.
Suffice to say, the next notable scene of this evening involved the crew sitting around the dinner table, me with my stinking foot propped up on my other leg, pouring a bottle of anti-bacterial hand-gel liberally over it. So fit. After a tasty, tasty dins dins, we all headed back to hit the bar again with a bit more vigour than before. I soon found myself with quite the lolling group, comprising myself, Rachel, Clayton, Robert, Carole-Anne, Danielle, Lisa, Jose and of course, young Pedro. We drank and laughed around for a while, pausing only to chair-dance to the mega booming tunes every now and then. Pedro then revealled to me that he was really loving up mine and Rachel´s sexy brokeback hats. A strange taste that man has...
After a while, the majority of the crew decided to call it a night and walk back to prepare for the 3:45am start the next morning. Considering we had between us a. no torch and b. a broken torch, Rach and I decided that if we were to make it back to the tents at all without falling off the edge of the mountain, we should probably cruise back with this well-lit group, and so sparing no thoughts to whereabouts Clayton was, as he had disappeared to get another cerveza a few minutes previously, off we went. Spectacularly bad idea.
We had been back at the campsite for a few minutes when we heard an almighty, stomping disturbance coming from over by the food tent. We both dragged ourselves from our feeble sleeping bags and wandered over to inspect the damage. What we found, was a bedraggled, but more prominently RAGING looking Clayton, glaring at the two of us as if we were the devil´s spawn. The following dialogue then occurred:
Clayton: "Screw you guys, I can´t believe you just left me!"
Me and Rach: "Oh, God, we´re so sorry, we thought you had a torch!"
Clayton: "No dude, i didn´t have a torch! I just nearly fell off a cliff, walking in the wrong f***ing direction for about 10 minutes, and then tripped over the lead-line of the tent! Screw you dudes, don´t ever speak to me again, I´m serious!"
Me: "O ok, well, night!"
Quite the conversation to end Day 3 on. Roll on Day 4....