It’s a 35 minute flight from Puerto Maldonda to Cusco which is at 11,000 feet.  Basically you’re flying uphill.  Within 5 minutes of disembarking I was struggling to breath.  They were handing out coca leaves to chew at the baggage carousel.  Thanks, but an oxygen tank would be more useful and definitely less leaf like.   We were prepared and had drunk our body weight in bottled water but the dehydration took hold within minutes.  Tim was fine though.  What we weren’t prepared for was the cold.  After the blazing heat of Cuba and humidity of the Amazon it came as a shock.  It’s hot in the afternoon but goes to 4 degrees in the evening and morning.   It explained why the hotel has a fire pit and sells puffa jackets rather than bathrobes.  

After a rest at our hotel we headed to The Plaza de Armas for dinner.  A beautiful colonial square with the cathedral dominating the view.  The old town is in the bowl of the valley and the mountain surrounds it.  In the dark with the pinpoint lights of the houses scattering the slopes like fat Christmas trees looking down on you.  

We were careful to eat light, not much alcohol, lots of water, walk slowly etc, but by the time we got back Tim was suffering with altitude sickness, puffing and panting, bad tempered and at times disorientated.  I was a bit worried, but with the now novel ability to use the internet I googled the symptoms and was reassured that as he wasn’t yet gurgling in his chest or frothing at the mouth with pink bubbles, he’d survive.  Our nice Australian friends had given us some medication for altitude sickness and he took that and was thankfully alive in the morning.  I woke with a headache that would have felled 15 llamas but nothing that a good dose of neurofen couldn’t deal with.   Thank goodness, as we had the whole history of the Incas to deal with that morning.  Onwards and upwards. Literally.