Magic Sauce on the Inca Trail
Seeing Machu Picchu from this angle, in the afternoon sun made it all worthwhile
Nothing really prepares you for the Andes Mountains, where flat is still uphill
I worked hard getting ready for my trip to Peru. I was as prepared as any human could reasonably be.
For months, I walked four or five miles a day, hiking all kinds of terrain with two gallons of water in my backpack — more weight than I’d carry on any trail in Peru. I started my anti-altitude pills three days before landing in Cusco. I stayed in the city at 11,000 feet for four full days before attempting any serious hiking. I drank coca tea and chewed coca leaves like it was my full-time religion.
I really thought I was ready for the Inca Trail — the famous 26-mile, four-day trek that ends at Machu Picchu. It’s considered one of the world’s great hikes… and also one of the hardest for a reason.
The Andes Mountains smiled — the way a mother smiles at her toddler who thinks he is helping mamma out in the kitchen. I could almost hear the spirits of the Incas sighing, “Hold my coca tea.”
Because the Andes don’t care how hard you prepared or how good of shape you think you’re in.
They took one look at me, paused for half a second… and then absolutely lost it laughing.
They laughed so hard they stole my breath on day one. They laughed so hard my balance went completely offline, and I started wobbling like a drunk toddler on the Inca Trail. They laughed so hard that even when I was gasping and stumbling, my guide felt the need to crack jokes just to keep me calm.
After one especially graceful near-miss on a narrow section, he grinned and said, “Careful, man — if you fall, you’re gonna reach the bottom of the Sacred Valley faster than anyone else!”
I couldn’t even argue. The mountains had made their point.
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The steps seemed endless along the trail. Photos by James Jordan
I’m in good condition for a 69-year-old guy. Most of the people in our group were young, strong veteran trekkers who made it look easy. They were cool about it and never made me feel left behind. The Andes, however, were not as gracious. The Spanish may have conquered the Inca Empire, but even they played by the rules the mountains made.
Nothing truly prepares you for this kind of hiking. The mountains are steep beyond anything you can imagine. The air is so thin that you’re breathing in the same volume but getting almost no oxygen. It feels exactly like breathing through a straw. My guide kept reminding me to take slow, deep breaths instead of the short, panicked ones my body wanted.
I thought my legs were strong. Back in Kansas, I could walk ten miles with short breaks. I often did four miles in an hour without a break. But Dorothy was right — I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
Still, I marveled at everything. The trail is paved with stones that have been there for over 500 years — massive staircases carved into the mountainside. I kept picturing Inca warriors running these same paths in simple sandals or barefoot, carrying fresh fish from the coast to Cusco, while I struggled in my $400 high-tech boots.
Every climb seemed endless. You’d grind out a hundred stone steps, turn a corner, and find another hundred waiting. The Peruvians even have a joking term for the rare gentler sections: “Inca flat” — meaning “still uphill, just not quite as evil as everything else.”
The downhills were almost worse — treacherous for my shaky balance and brutal on the knees.
I was really grateful for my guide. This trip would have been much tougher alone. His gentle reminders to breathe slowly, his little jokes about me falling off the mountain — they kept me grounded and smiling through the struggle.
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Another view of Machu Picchu. Photos by James Jordan
And then there was his supply of “magic sauce.”
That’s what he called it. When I was leaning hard on my trekking poles, gasping, he came alongside me with a grin. “Time for some magic sauce.”
He pulled out a small plastic bottle, rubbed the liquid between his hands, and held them up to his face, demonstrating how to use it.
I didn’t ask any questions. I was desperate and would have done anything for some relief.
It was a powerful mix of eucalyptus, muña, and other herbs. My first inhale made me cough violently, but then… relief. My chest loosened, my head cleared, and I could actually breathe again.
About a mile later, I asked for another dose. He gave it with a knowing smile.
The magic sauce was indeed magic. It opened my airways like a cool mountain breeze and let me flow back into the trail.
It was about then that we reached the Sun Gate. From there, it was mostly downhill, and the combination of the magic sauce and the thrill of knowing we were so close gave me new energy. When I rounded the last corner and finally saw Machu Picchu spread out below me, the exhaustion vanished.
I was awestruck. Gobsmacked. A wave of pure wonder washed over me.
I had not conquered the Andes. No one does. I had surrendered to them long ago. And in return, the mountains granted me passage.
That was more than enough.
