Cusco, Ollantaytambo and the Inca Trail: Surviving The Stairs

Things got a little crazy during our seven-hour bus trip to Cusco. Sugar-fueled and overheated, our travel group bounced off the walls until we finally crash-landed in the centre of the Incan Empire at 3pm. Lunch was way overdue. Fearing mutiny, our guide Pablo took us straight to Jack's Cafe, of the Western-style menu and llama mugs. Starved of trendy cafe foods, I ordered a hummus-filled roasted eggplant sandwich and a mango-lime frappe. It was a little piece of beautiful. 

Next up was a short walk around the city centre, which contained all the usual cathedrals and statues as well as a stack of outdoor equipment shops. Kathy, Niki and I dropped into one of these to stock up on rainproof pants for the Inca Trail. We tried them out earlier than expected as it started to pelt down while we were handing our cash over. The streets were ankle-deep in water and we were soaked in seconds. Rainy season indeed. 

We flung ourselves through the hotel door only to find that the foyer was in the process of flooding. Dodging puddles, I made my way to my room, and what do you know? Flooded. Fantastic, I cheered, my stomach having taken a turn for the worse after ten days of not-rightness. Overcome, I holed up in Kathy and Niki's room while those two beautiful girls moved all my stuff - hidden socks included - to the room next to theirs. 

After Nasca's unbeatable awfulness, this was the lowlight of the trip. While Niki scoped out brownies for us, Kathy and I stayed at the hotel and waited for the doctor's diagnosis. Apparently I was housing a parasite paired with a bacterial infection, so he loaded me up with meds and took his leave. South America really lived up to its reputation in my stomach. 

I felt almost normal the next day, which did much to reinforce my stupidity at delaying treatment for half our trip. All packed up for the next day's Inca Trail, we drove out of Cusco in the direction of the Sacred Valley. Our lunch stop was chiefly notable for its luxurious bathroom and the Amazonian parrots out front. One sprawling set of Incan agricultural terraces later, we arrived in the small, tourist-laden town we'd call home for the night. This part of the Sacred Valley is dominated by Ollantaytambo, a striking Incan site which shares a lot in common with Egyptian pyramids in terms of mysterious construction methods. Having heard a bit about Ollantaytambo's history - Incas started building the site until interrupted by the Spanish whereupon they fled to the jungle - we took a brief hike up to the Incan storage buildings at the back of the town. We stopped halfway for a panoramic display of Ollantaytambo, and also because our lungs were exploding. Good sign for the Inca Trail. 

When the others returned to the hotel, I decided to tackle Ollantaytambo itself, buoyed up by my stomach's sudden neutrality. Up the decorative terraces I went, stopping every three steps for high altitude wheezing. It was painful stuff, but worth it once in view of the three intersecting valleys.

And then came the morning of the Inca Trail and all the accompanying antrepidation. I dressed in my hiking uniform of cream zip-off pants, explorer socks, hiking boots, a t-shirt and polarfleece vest: hot stuff coming through! Time to put those years of scouting to use. One good luck hug from Pablo later, we were packed onto the bus and leaving Ollantaytambo armed only with day packs, duffel bags and Luis, our hike guide. 

Oh, Luis. What a character. He teased Niki mercilessly throughout the four days of the trail, trying to set her up with Rudi the chef to ensure good quality meals. This was to be Luis' final job on the Inca Trail, only 600 hikes into his career. We were charged with making it memorable. 

Our bus raced around the narrow riverside road, stopping only for the occasional game of chicken with oncoming vehicles. When we reached the starting point, we met our team of 14 - yes, 14! - porters. This was glamping, not camping. The porters carried the vast majority of our equipment, put our tents up, rolled out our sleeping mats, left basins of hot water outside our tents so we could freshen up, woke us with coco tea in our tents each morning, clapped our arrival to the campsite each and every day, and, most importantly, cooked us some of the best food I ate in Peru. They also ran past us all the way along the trek as we sweated and flailed behind them. 

The first day of the hike was a relatively easy series of ups and downs, though the altitude definitely added its own challenge. We took several breaks along the way, including a stop by an administrative Incan site. In the early afternoon, we took a turn from the main path and found our lunch tent already set up by the porters. We were fed soup and fried trout, most of which Kathy gave to a passing cat. The afternoon featured lots of walking by the hugely gushing river. 

We arrived at our mountain-surrounded campsite in the late afternoon and collapsed onto the soft green grass. The tents were already set up and dinner was cooking. Remind me to bring porters to my next camping trip. The food was fantastic: obligatory soup and chicken with tasty green sauce. The rest of the evening was spent navigating the feral squat toilets, becoming outraged, and determining the best 'natural baño' locations. Everyone was slightly anxious about the infamous second day of the trek but we all got to sleep without much trouble.

Our trepidation wasn't wasted. I'm not sure there are adequate words to describe Day 2. (Niki tried 'difficult' and 'tiring', while Kathy offered 'horrifying'. I prefer 'barely survivable'.) I suffered an inauspicious beginning when woken in the night by a fever coupled with hideous stomach cramps. I dealt with this by stumble-crouching around in the dark, delirious, trying to decide whether or not to demand an airlift home. This little episode, combined with a rainy wake-up call at 5:30am, meant that Day 2 was set to be a blast. 

But quinoa porridge plus personalized pancakes - mine said 'llama' - did a lot to improve spirits, especially since my stomach had calmed down by breakfast. The first part of the actual hike was a bearable constant climb. It eventually stopped raining but the stair-heavy struggle continued for a further two hours before we took a proper break. Somewhere along the way, my energy levels plummeted. I couldn't even manage to unzip my own pocket. I've honestly no idea how my body heaved itself up those steps, but I'm pretty sure it had a lot to do with my two amazing friends. Kathy slapped half a protein bar into my hands when we reached the rest point, and it saved my life. 

Momentarily. After several precious minutes of newfound energy, the final stage of the climb - supposedly easier than the previous leg - almost destroyed me. I love hiking but the high altitude and previous night completely screwed me over. My lungs and legs weren't doing much to cooperate. Trouble was, each time we stopped to breathe, I felt like I was going to faint right off the side of the mountain.

It took us a good forty minutes to climb the final 200m to the peak. A couple of lovely Kiwis gave us a handful of lifesaving skittles when we passed by, right before they leapfrogged us. Our Danish friend Mads had been waving at us from the peak for a long, long time before we reached him. But we got there. We sat down and sucked in air at 4200m above sea level, which was a very special sort of triumph. We'd spent five hours climbing a vertical distance of 1.2km. The spectacular snow-capped mountain view was a decent reward.  

On the other side of the peak we found steep stairs half-swallowed by blanketing cloud. Down we went for an hour and a half until we hit upon our campsite. Knees shook. Muscles screamed. I planted myself on the stony ground in front of my tent until the rest of the group joined us, at which point only our 2:30pm lunch could hoist me to my feet. And then we returned to the dining tent for an afternoon tea of saladas with jam, and stayed there right through to dinner. Nobody wanted to move. It was all congratulating each other and wincing at movement and eating whatever the porters placed before us. Bedtime was 8:30pm sharp.

It was still raining when we were woken at 5:30am by the coco tea-bearing porters. No pancakes today, but we did get savory French toast and eggs with potato. Hot chocolate featured. The plan for Day 3 involved steady hiking from 6:30am until 5pm; it was going to be another big day. We started with one final burst of stairs - a paltry 300m vertical climb - which took a pretty painful two hours. Once we'd gotten that out of the way, a whole lot of downhill steps said hi. For the next two hours, our group was a line of rainbow ponchos using hiking sticks to navigate slippery stairs.

We were all soggy knees and sorry joints by the time we paused for a snack break, but all too soon it was time to continue. Up and down and around the mountain we went, faster and faster as we got hungrier and hungrier for lunch, Niki heading the group at breakneck speed. Our efforts weren't wasted. In came Rudi the chef bearing a surprise cake - a cake! on Day 3 of a hike! - that said 'Welcome to the Inca Trail' in icing. We were more than happy to devour half the cake in five minutes flat. 

Post-cake, we shiver-hurried back to the trail in the hopes of defrosting. Within five minutes we reached the Town of Clouds, a magnificent Incan site encased in billowing white, surrounded by high jungle greenery. It was straight out of Indiana Jones, as was the next set of steep, narrow, rain-slick Incan stairs. 

Things grew gradually warmer as we descended one kilometre into mosquito territory. It stopped raining. The jungle started looking as I'd imagined, with huge leaves and cartoon-colour flowers.

Next thing we knew, we were emerging at the top of Wyñay Wayna, the towering Incan stack of agricultural terraces right near the final campsite. Mountains loomed in front of us, Machu Picchu amongst them, and the brown river roared between them all. We stood up straight in our disgusting rumpled hiking outfits and wrapped our arms around each other, triumphant and achy and enjoying the sun. Fifteen minutes walk later, we found our tents pitched right on the edge of a narrow stone path. And there the views continued. 

That night we said thank you to our incredible porters, whose average age turned out to be around 40. Aside from our possessions and tents, these men had carried silverware and silver napkin holders, glass jam jars and full-size margarine containers, plastic seats and juice boxes and fresh fruit. They made jelly for us. Jelly! Using cold river water to set it. And let's not forget the Day 3 lunch cake. 

A couple of amusing incidents later - headtorch plus natural baño, oh dear - we got up at 3:45am to prepare for the final morning's hike up to the Sun Gate and Machu Picchu. It was pitch-black and drizzly, but the earliness of the wake- up call was unavoidable; the porters had a train to catch. Queued up behind fellow hikers, we waited for a torchlit hour outside the checkpoint until it opened at 5:30am and the mad rush began. There were cheers; we were off! 

We hustled down the path like champions - no breaks for an hour and a half of up-down path with beautiful mountain dawn views. Several prize idiots kept trying to shove their way past on particularly narrow bits of path. For the safety of everyone, I let this go on until the final flight of stairs below the Sun Gate - some of the scariest, narrowest, most sadistic steps the Incas built in Peru. I let two people pass, saw that about twenty more were set to follow, and just cracked it. No way.

Then we finally burst out at the Sun Gate. Although Machu Picchu was almost entirely shrouded in cloud, the landscape before us was still something beyond belief, with mountains piercing through like great hulking spears. The Sun Gate isn't just a viewing platform for hikers; it performs a special function during the Summer and Winter Solstices. On these two days of the year, sunlight shines from the Gate directly into the Temple of the Sun. How Raiders of the Lost Ark is that?

We stayed at the Sun Gate for about twenty minutes, hoping the dense mist would lift. No such luck, so we made our way down the long path to  Machu Picchu. The arsehat hikers from earlier reappeared and started singing love song karaoke. We let them pass. We also managed to find a bush-absorbing tarantula web complete with enormous dead beetles and tarantula.

There wasn't any cheering once we were stood right on top of Machu Picchu. I could barely tell we'd arrived due to the visual white noise. As there wasn't much point waiting about in the mist, we continued down way too many steps to the cafeteria to reunite with Pablo and flushable toilets. 

Luis eventually lured us away from the cafeteria so we could begin our tour of Machu Picchu. We limped out to find scorching sunlight and - thank goodness - clear views. It was like the postcard pictures, but so much bigger and more fantastic. But even with those terraces, towers and temples laid out in front of me, my eyes were still drawn first and foremost to those incredible mountains in the backdrop. 

Back before its scientific rediscovery in July 1911 by an American, Hiram Bingham, the local farmers used to call Machu Picchu a pile of rocks. That's kind of what it is. Except it's also a miracle of human achievement and a spectacular place of sun, mountain and Mother Earth worship. Machu Picchu means 'Old Mountain' and refers to the mammoth spear of sacred mountain that the temple faces. When Bingham came along in 1911, attracted by stories of a lost Incan city, he spoke to some locals and got their young son to act as guide around the rock piles. He then took the Inca Trail backwards, which would take superhuman determination in view of the crazy Day 3 stairs. 

It was a bit depressing to learn that, post-construction, the Incas would probably only have been able to use and live in Machu Picchu for about 50 years, as they fled into the jungle when the Spanish got to Cusco. The place isn't actually finished. They started building the terraces at the bottom and worked their way up, so there are still massive stone blocks scattered around the top section.

After our tour we all went and took a million photos at the classic Machu Picchu overlook. Dear god, the stairs; the knee pain! Then I made a quick circuit of the sundial and temples before fighting past swarms of tourists to get back to the others. We caught a bus for all of five minutes until we reached the site of a colossal landslide. Out of (slightly horrifying) necessity, we swapped to a second bus which took us all the way down to the town at the foot of the mountain. 

Into the restaurant we went, looking and smelling like roses. And then we proceeded to eat and drink and get a bit delirious for a few hours. A train and a bus ride later, we were back in Cusco, then out to dinner, then out on the town. Until we collapsed. 

The next day was all about Cusco. Niki, Kathy, Mads and I headed straight to Jack's Cafe for a post-trail triumph breakfast of pancakes, porridge, muesli and delicious coffee. Afterwards, when the others headed out to shop, I hit up the Convento de Santo Domingo, a gallery-church that used to be the Incan temple Qorikancha until it passed into Spanish hands in 1532. 

I filled time people-watching in the main square while waiting to meet the others. In the sunshine, Cusco could easily pass for some town in Italy or Spain with its terracotta roofing and high green hills. All that's missing from the Florence-style scene are the iconic dark green pipe-cleaner conifers. 

The others arrived, we skirted an amazing poofy 80s-style wedding dress, and into the cathedral we went. Gold and glass eyes shone from every corner. The main attraction was a painting of the Last Supper featuring tasty guinea pig so as best to woo the conquered to the Catholic side. We then headed over to the Choco Museum for something a little more suited to our Australian palates. Cocoa tea: incredible. We spent our final night in Cusco drinking, dancing and avoiding the local dog gangs. We had a lot to celebrate. 

Lake Titicaca: The Great Sheep Chase

This time, when we drove back up the winding mountain highway, the entire landscape was coated in snow. We were entirely enclosed in cloud. The snow was getting heavier when we passed an abandoned tourist van - identical to our own - which appeared to have plunged nose-first from the road. What a lovely summer day in the Andes!

Puno, our home for the night, sits right on the edge of Lake Titicaca. Our bus turned a corner in the road and there it was: a red-roofed stack of city and our first glimpse of the 21st biggest lake in the world. '21st biggest' doesn't sound all that impressive, but there are loads of lakes in the world, and when I looked out across this one, I couldn't even see Bolivia. (It apparently takes 12 to 14 hours to smuggle goods from Bolivia to Peru by boat. That's the kind of lake-scale we're talking.)

It's also pretty grimy and algae-coated down by the dock. Following an open-air 'limo' ride in three-wheeled bike-driven wagons, we hopped on a private boat and zoomed off into the reed-filled harbour. Suddenly the reeds transformed into houses on floating islands - an astonishing sight. 

Here we made our first stop. At the edge of a floating platform made entirely of stacked-up reeds stood several of the island's inhabitants, all dressed in magnificent colour. Unos is one of the 100 or so floating island communities on Lake Titicaca, 80 of which have embraced tourism as a means of making money and gaining some modern benefits like solar powered televisions. 

After I climbed an extremely wobbly wooden watchtower for a view of the surrounding islands, a catamaran made entirely of reeds (the 'Mercedes Benz') rowed us away from Unos and back to our boat. 

Two and a half hours of clear, reflective, glorious lake water later, we reached Tequile, aka Lunch Island. Reaching the restaurant required a strenuous hike up what felt like the Cliffs of Insanity, but was actually a steepish hill littered with sheep and gum leaves. The high altitude huffing was completely worth it, as lunch - quinoa soup and fried trout with veggies - was to die for. From our table, we could see Bolivia way out across the lake. 

After we ate, our guide told us a bit about the island's culture, which is largely wound up in Unesco-protected knitting practices. Knitting is men's work on Taquile. In fact, if a man fails to hone his knitting skills, he'll have next to no chance of finding a wife. The prospective wife in question, when hit on, will ask to inspect the man's knitted hat. If she isn't satisfied with the quality, better luck next time. 

Hats are used to indicate relationship status on the island. Singletons are denied suffrage, so the colour of a man's hat either confers or denies authority. Even the side to which you wear your brightly coloured woollen bauble tells the world whether you're single and uninterested, single and looking, or taken. 

Our final destination for the day was our homestay community, where we had the chance to engage with a traditional Peruvian farming lifestyle for a few short hours. Our arrival was met with a small marching band that drummed and panpiped behind us all the way up a hill to the community meeting place: a concrete sports pitch. 

We were then introduced to our 'mamas' for the night. Niki and I were to stay with Belinda, a 22 year old woman with one year old Andre strapped to her back. But before heading off to our houses, an important cultural exchange was to take place. Time for an intense - and brutal! - soccer match against some local boys. (Note my unbroken legs, Mel). 

And then came the chance to get dressed in traditional clothes - skirt upon skirt upon colourful skirt - and join the locals in a dance. Swooshy skirts and manly pink ponchos: fabulous. 

Still traditionally costumed on top of our polarfleeces and pants, Niki and I grabbed our heavy, heavy bags and almost died following Belinda up the Mount Doom of grassy green hills. Loaded up with several kilos of fruits and vegetables - a gift for Belinda - as well as our backpacks and coats, we hobbled along to what must have been the furthest away house in the community. Eventually we reached our big pink-walled room and dumped the bags on the bright bedspreads. When we went to inspect the (thankfully flushable) outdoor toilet, all my Peruvian travel fears and expectations were realized when I was attacked by a dog. Bitten! Three times! On the calves! Take that, doubters! There was no skin damage or rabies, and the dog turned out to be a naughty puppy, but still. I feel vindicated for carrying on about bitey dogs over the past few months. 

An awkwardly silent but delicious dinner followed, featuring all vegetarian food (no guinea pigs): vegetable soup with noodles, then omelette rice with a side of potato-heavy veggies. And then to bed. At 6:45pm. These guys have got to get their solar-powered TVs installed. 

We woke up in our comfortable multi-blanketed beds to the sound of pouring rain. Excellent weather for shepherding, we did not think. After a breakfast of fried bread and a boiled egg, we pulled on our coats and watched as Belinda uprooted the tethered sheep and started chasing them up the hill behind the house. This isn't so bad, we thought, drenched to the skin and skidding through poo, lungs about to explode.  Then Belinda pointed to the distant sheep. "Catch their ropes and bring them back to me," she said. So off we went, staggering up the hill after the darting sheep, catching one mud-slicked rope just in time to watch five more slither past. Belinda calmly came and took the ropes off of our disgustingly dirty hands, getting to work on re-anchoring the sheep in greener pastures as we attempted to recover. 

Upon returning to the house, we were handed a bowl of freshly dug up potatoes and carrots. I discovered a new talent for knife-peeling, barely retaining my fingertips while Niki spider-watched. Once finished, we sat in the now sunny backyard as Belinda got to work on the washing up, using old tyres as the washing and rinsing tubs. Lunchtime was at 11am. This time we ate quinoa soup (best yet) and fried cheese, white and purple potatoes, and a cooked red onion and tomato salad. Very filling. 

That was it for our homestay. Before leaving the house, I made friends with the bitey puppy. I rubbed her tummy and all was right with the world - for a total of ten minutes. Down on the dock, the dog gave my left calf one final nip, and then we were off back to Puno. 

Kathy, Niki and I celebrated our successful homestay by hiring a taxi to take us to the giant condor statue overlooking Puno. This turned into an insane taxi sprint up 'streets' of mud puddles, loose stones, more pothole than road, barking dogs and absolutely no seatbelts. The view, once up there, showed Lake Titicaca splayed out greenly below. Definitely worth the $7 taxi fare, though possibly not the near-death ride. 

We tipped the driver out of admiration for his good humour and guilt for the damage likely sustained by his car, then headed off into town for dinner and chocolate-purchasing. We would leave Lake Titicaca the next day with a handful of adventure-filled memories and filthy trouser legs.

Colca Valley: 4190 Metres Above The Sea

Coco leaves are disgusting. The Colca Valley may be way up in the Andes, and I may suffer daily from altitude sickness, but those leaves would have to work miracles to be worth the taste. Apparently the locals stuff mouthfuls in at a time. Then again, they also eat guinea pig.

We drove up the highway and admired the lumpy sprawl of cacti-spotted mountain ranges below. The Andes themselves are a little bit spectacular. I strained my neck taking drive-by shots of the plastic-strewn carpet of scrub. As the road was a series of sharp bends, overtaking became an extreme sport. Peruvian drivers are... courageous. Their indicators are their horns, and their patience is non-existent.

Upon spotting some wild huacanos (not-quite-llamas), we stopped for a photo op and the 3900m altitude ripped on in. Then a herd of vicuña pranced across the road, all skinny long necks and sweet deer faces (if deer had sweet faces, which they don't). And finally, llamas! Alpacas! Our guide taught us how to distinguish between them: large snout plus upright ears equals llama, short snout plus bendy ears equals alpaca. Also, Kathy squeals louder if alpaca.

We reached the highest altitude of our whole Peruvian trip at midday: 4910m. Higher than the highest point in Europe! It was freezing up in the cloud zone, so we only stayed long enough to snap a few photos of snow-capped volcanoes and rocky landscape. 

We drove on heading downwards along a winding cliffside highway, and everything started to look a lot like the NZ South Island. It was just like the road heading up out of Queenstown, but a little faded and llama-heavy. All was cliff and canyon, with tiny villages tucked into small green valleys.

When we finally got to Chivay, the main town of the Colca Valley, we had a fantastic quinoa-based meal. The soup was outrageously good, but better yet was a quinoa and banana cake. So moist. Must find recipe. We worked off a bit of the cake with an altitude-acclimatizing walk up a sheep-filled hill. 

Dinner was quinoa soup again, but this one did not live up to lunch's standards due to mystery cheese. I had no choice at all but to pick at some of Niki and Kathy's alpaca lomo saltado. How terrible for me. 

At stupid o'clock next morning, the non-altitude-incapacitated half of our group hopped right back on that bus to go condor-spotting in the Colca Canyon. We followed the stony-bottomed river through the lush valley. The sight of gumtrees pressed up against cacti was quite amusing; definitely not something you see everyday in Australia.

On the way, our guide told us the story behind the two varieties of hats that the Colca locals wear. Those wearing the tall flat-topped hats are descended from the Collaguas, who used to tie rope around their skulls to stretch them into a tall elongated shape. Meanwhile, the bowl-shaped hat wearers descend from the Cobanas, who similarly used ropes to achieve squashed flat heads. Fascinating and disturbing all at once. 

We had a brief stop at a convenient cliffside to take a photo with two traditionally dressed women and their baby llama and alpaca. Kathy went into raptures and molested the alpaca while I admired the llama's fantastically expressive eyebrows. Niki was Cameloid Switzerland. Our backdrop was a stunning piece of Colca Valley striped with Incan and pre-Incan terraces. These look like squat stone walls, and are still used to foster micro-climates which pump out 30 plus species of potatoes and other produce. 

We rumbled along rockfall gully road until we reached a tunnel running under the mountain. After assuring us that this tunnel was bursting with evil spirits, the guide proceeded to drive through without headlights - to create a 'spooky atmosphere'. I almost wet myself. Evil spirits indeed. 

The Colca Canyon, being twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, was always going to be impressive, so it wouldn't have been the end of the world if we hadn't managed to catch sight of a condor. The Andean condor is the king of the mountain. It rules the sky. It eats dead animals, as well as sea lion placenta from Paracas, mmm. It competes with the albatross for the title of biggest flying bird in the world, with a wingspan of almost 3m and an average weight of 14 to 16 kg. And yeah, we saw a few. Minutes after giving up all hope, we watched one fly right towards us as we were walking along the canyon's edge. 

On the way back to Chivay, we stopped in at the earthquake-ravaged village of Maca, which specialises in selling prickly pear juice to tourists like me. (It tastes like slightly sour kiwi fruit in the best possible way.) I followed this up back in Chivay with several pieces of deep-fried plantain (think orange banana) which were specially delivered to our table in response to my puppydog eyes. It was more like dessert than lunch: win. 

What next but a soak at the local hot springs? Well, before I actually got into the water, I crossed a wobbly bridge in boardies plus polar fleece to watch Niki and Kathy zip line across the river. Apparently Niki did her second line upside down, but by that time I was already in the 39 degree outdoor bath. 

Dinner was a real highlight. The (terrible) food was accompanied by traditional dancing and a pan flute band - no better way to pass an evening! I was conscripted to join the very first dance due to seating arrangements. This was a courtship dance, requiring the male partner to wear a skirt and pretend to be a woman in order to get past the lovely lady's suspicious family. My role was a bit simpler: allow myself to be led and twirled and photographed by tables of tourists. 

One particular dance was nothing less than bizarre. The man and the woman danced around each other, keeping their distance, until one of them caught malaria. This person would fall to the ground and start twitching, whereupon their partner would start whipping them in time to the music. When this somehow failed to cure the malaria, the healthy partner would either wave their sandal (if a man) or suggestively crouch over (if a woman) the sick person's face. Magically cured, the malaria victim would come to, get to their feet, and start dancing all over again. 

It was a memorable night. The Colca Valley was a wonderful surprise in many respects; definitely a must-see on anyone's Peruvian touristing itinerary. Say hola to Pepe the Alpaca for us.