Mountains, Mindset, and the Magic of Peru

A journey of Resilience: Trekking the Inca Trail in Peru

Travel has a way of calling us at unexpected times. For my niece, that call was persistent—she was desperate to go somewhere, to explore, to experience something new. At the time, her boyfriend didn’t want to travel, so she turned to me. With a young child, a busy life, work, and a dog, I initially said no. But then, something curious happened.

One day, I stumbled upon a magazine featuring the 100 Best Walks in the World. I’ve always loved walking, so I kept it, setting it aside, thinking maybe one day. When my niece asked me again, she mentioned the Inca Trail. I half-jokingly told her, If it’s in that magazine, I’ll go with you. And of course, there it was—waiting for me in print, as if the universe had set up a challenge I couldn’t ignore.

The Salkantay Trek

We set off on a 14-day adventure, with the trek itself saved for the final stretch. But instead of taking the classic Inca Trail, we chose the more demanding route—the Salkantay Trek. A grueling 75-kilometer journey over four days, weaving through the rugged Peruvian Andes before finally reaching Machu Picchu on the fifth day. It was one of the most breathtaking yet physically and mentally exhausting experiences of my life.

Altitude sickness hit me early, during our visit to Colca Canyon. It left me feeling weak, vulnerable, and completely disconnected from my own body. Determined to be prepared for the trek, I took the recommended medication, only to experience a severe reaction—within hours, both my arms went numb. I had no choice but to stop taking it. Suddenly, I was in a foreign country, unable to speak the language, feeling more alone than ever. Just a day before the trek began, I was at my weakest, questioning whether I could go on. But turning back was never an option.

Pushing Through Pain and Learning to Accept Help

The trek was as much a mental battle as it was a physical one. It was hard to accept that my soul was strong, yet my body couldn’t keep up. My knees became inflamed, making the steep descents excruciating. By day three, I was on the verge of giving up. Every step felt impossible. But something unexpected happened—the people around me stepped in. Fellow hikers, strangers just days before, offered their support, whether it was words of encouragement, sharing supplies, or simply walking beside me.

I’ve always been fiercely independent, but this trek forced me to accept help. It taught me that sometimes, strength isn’t about doing everything alone—it’s about knowing when to lean on others.

The Beauty in the Struggle

Beyond the physical challenge, the experience was deeply humbling. Being immersed in nature, surrounded by the grandeur of the Andes, and hearing our guide share stories of the Inca civilization during the walk was awe-inspiring. There’s a stillness in the mountains that forces you to listen—to your body, to the world around you, and to the deeper parts of yourself that are often drowned out in everyday life.

Days on the trek felt slow, stripped of all modern comforts—no showers, no pampering. Just waking up at 4 AM, sipping coca tea, packing up the tents, and walking—surrounded by nothing but mountains and silence. No music, no distractions, just the rhythm of our footsteps and the energy of the landscape.

Then, one evening at camp, something magical happened. That day, we had passed a tree and managed to pick a single lemon from it. Later that night, sitting together in the cold—exhausted yet connected by the shared experience—we made tea and used the lemon we had picked. One thing led to another, and somehow, we started singing Lemon Tree by Fools Garden. It was a simple moment, but I will never forget the joy of hearing music after days of silence. A song that, in any other circumstance, would have felt ordinary became something deeply moving.