"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Travel is very different when you're blind. You have different priorities, and very different experiences, when you can't see properly. Leaving aside the navigational challenges, which are a whole kettle of fish in their own right, this is about what you get from visiting a new place. I love visiting new cities, new countries, and even new continents, but I'm not really one for seeing the sights, visiting the museums and ticking off things in a guide book. I can see pictures of cathedrals, bridges and museums in books and on the web, and I get a much better view of them than in real life. I can read as much history as I want about them without ever going there (although frankly, I'll lose interest after more than a couple of facts anyway). Visiting new places for me is about the atmosphere: the smells, the sounds, and yes, the visuals too, but mainly, seeing what life is like, rather than what buildings and attractions there are. You'll see this from my photos. Most of my photos are not the usual tourist things, they're incidents or angles that just catch my eye. I think sometimes it's an advantage having poor sight when taking photos - because I have no depth or distance perception, what I see is kind of similar to what you get in a (2D) photo: in other words, I see things in the same way that they appear on film. For example, those pictures where you appear to have a tree growing out of your head, or you're holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa? That's how I see in real life. The best thing, though, is when I can blow the picture up later on my computer, and see in much clearer detail exactly what it was I was looking at originally!

Dead Womans Pass - dealing with altitude

The story of my trip to Peru and the Inca Trail would not be complete without mentioning the day of Dead Woman's Pass. Apart from the first couple of days when I had a splitting headache (and I'm still not sure if that was the trapped nerve in my neck or the altitude, or possibly both) and a lot of very heavy breathing especially as soon as I started going up any hill, I'd been feeling great on the trip and no problems with altitude. On Christmas Day we set off for what we knew to be the toughest part of the trek - the long ascent up and over Dead Woman's Pass. I felt fine that morning and was in good spirits until our first rest stop at about 10am. I was with the front group of 4 people and although breathing heavily, felt fit. However, hanging around at the stop for a long time waiting for Alison and the slower members of the group to catch up, I got cold, and it was raining. Soon after we set off again, I couldn't feel my fingers and my hands went white. My breathing got worse and I was struggling. Alison and Lena warmed my hands up and I found my gloves, but they soon got wet and my hands never really warmed up. I then started feeling sick and started getting slower and slower, with more and more difficulty breathing, as reached the lunch stop. My memory is a little hazy here, I don't remember anything about getting to lunch except arriving in the dining tent where almost everyone was already seated and waiting, feeling terribly dizzy, and going to take my seat at the table. I tried to sit on the stool and fell over backwards, straight into the mud, much to the hysterics of the rest of the group. I think they realised quickly that I wasn't feeling very well. I ate a bit of soup although I wasn't really hungry, and we were soon on our way again. Now I was getting slower and slower, and feeling progressively worse. I was walking at the back with Alison, and even she seemed to feeling fitter than I was. Every step was a struggle, and I felt terribly sick. My stomach started to heave, and before long I was having to find quiet spots off the track to visit the loo. I'll spare you the details, but it wasn't pretty. Luckily I had a plentiful supply of loo roll and hand sanitiser! After a couple of hours, I was feeling so ill I could barely move. My whole body was shaking, I was stopping for the loo every few minutes, it was still raining, I felt desperately sick and everything ached like when you have flu. In fact, I felt like I had flu and a sickness bug both at once. Sometimes it took me several seconds to lift up one foot and place it on the step above. And all the while we were climbing up the steps. I felt so frustrated, and so ill, I felt like giving up, and had to keep giving myself a stern talking to about not giving in. Alison had long since overtaken me and I was alone with Juan. I could sense his annoyance, but I couldn't begin to convey how ill I was. I contemplated the options, but knew there were only 2. Carry on somehow until I got to camp, or lose consciousness and be airlifted out, and miss the rest of the trek. Which I was not going to let happen. Juan started pushing ahead, and he got a little stern about the need to speed up or we would never make it before dark. I think his only worry was about the dark, not that I was really ill. But I was getting weaker and weaker, and I was struggling to coordinate my legs, wobbling with every step and walking in a very wonky line. I saw him ahead waiting for me, made it to him and then half fell, half sat down. I had no water by this time and was terribly thirsty. He started talking to me and asking me to repeat his name, and asking simple questions. My head was foggy and I knew his name began with J but couldn't remember the rest. "Juan" he kept saying. "My name is Juan." "What's my name?" I couldn't do it. "What your name?" Hmm, I couldn't remember that either. I shut my eyes to blot everything out, and felt everything go warm and fuzzy. Juan kept shaking me and asking me questions. Next thing I knew, I was breathing something violently strong and coughing. Still fuzzy, I then realised Juan was slapping me around the face and shaking me, and my throat was burning. I came to and found he had been making me breathe pure alcohol. Apparently it gets the oxygen back to the brain. A bit like smelling salts in the old days, I imagine. I started feeling better and soon I was on my feet and able to progress. At that point, I realised that Juan was actually quite worried. I felt much better, although still desperately sick. We soon reached the top of the pass but, unlike the others, didn't have a chance to take it in or celebrate, or even take a photo, it was down the other side as there was still another hour and a half or so till camp and it would be dark soon. I started feeling sick again, and a bit later had to sit down again. My stomach was still problematic, and by this time I was just having to go by the side of the track. Luckily all the porters had long since passed so there was no danger of anyone coming up behind me. I looked up and saw 2 porters coming up to meet us. Juan had radioed the camp and got them to come up and help. One of them took my bag. Moments later, I realised I was actually going to be sick. Finally..... I projectile vomited about 3 litres in one go, and felt much better. Juan never left my side, and the porters had brought tea in a flask, which I was incredibly grateful for! After that, I felt much better and almost ran down the hill to the camp for the last hour, overtaking Alison on the way, who was suffering terribly with her knees, especially on the downhill. I arrived in camp just before dark, and saw Adrian outside my tent. He asked me if I was OK and I burst into tears and gave him a hug, as I was just so relieved to have made it and not to have been airlifted out. Adrian and Haydyn had even unpacked my bag for me in my tent and laid out my sleeping bag and mat for me. What absolute stars!

However, the story doesn't quite end there....

March of the Chinchillas - on the Inca Trail

One of the things I love to do most of all is travel. I love the thrill of going somewhere I've never been before, especially a new country or, better still, a new continent (though I'm fast running out of those), and of experiencing a new culture. Of course, when you're partially sighted, travel always becomes more of an adventure, especially if you like travelling alone as I do. But even though I usually end up having at least one terrible moment on any given trip, I try to learn from my mistakes. Or at least, I try to see the funny side afterwards.



This year I decided to go somewhere I've been dying to go for years - Peru. I've always had my eye on walking the Inca Trail and visiting Macchu Pichu, but never got round to it. So after the success of my 2 week holiday in Cuba earlier this year, I decided to go for it, with Exodus again. Oddly, the things I was most nervous about were mainly things other people would think stupid. My two biggest fears were getting a dodgy stomach while trekking, and what the camping would be like (and how cold it would be). I was also a bit worried about getting soaking wet walking and not being able to dry out overnight. I wasn't particularly worried about altitude sickness, or at least, only to the extent of getting a bad stomach. Oh, and my other biggest fear was not being able to negotiate my way around the campsite in the dark, for example to get to the toilet. And just how badly the toilet tent would smell. Oddly enough, all these worst fears came true apart from the getting extremely wet. I suffered from altitude sickness, had stomach problems and vomiting for 24 hours, collapsed twice and was almost airlifted off the mountain as a result of some combination of altitude sickness and dehydration, and a couple of nights couldn't even begin to navigate my way around the campsite in the dark. Of course, I survived all these problems and many more.

On the plus side, my worries about whether I had the right gear (warm enough / cool enough) were unfounded as I got that spot on. The weather changed from tshirt, shorts and suncream to 4 layers and ski gloves within 10 minutes. At night my worry about being cold was also largely unfounded. As soon as we got to the campsite I put on 4 layers (2 thermal tops, a fleece jumper and a light down jacket) and was fine pretty much every evening. At night I was toasty warm in my trusty 3 season down sleeping bag with a silk liner (though many people were cold), and on the coldest night we got "hot water bottles" (so glad I took a metal water bottle with me as well as my hydration pouch!). We spent most of the evenings sitting in the dining tent which was warm when everyone was in there, and then a quick run to the tents. I also bit the bullet about my sight issues and just asked for help around the campsite. Everyone was brilliant about helping me out - I usually made it to the dining tent before dark and simply asked someone to escort me back to my tent when it did get dark. Similarly when we had to walk 2 miles along an unlit track back to the campsite in Aguas Calientes, I simply asked someone to guide me and to give me their arm, and they turned out to be an excellent guide dog. There was a time when I wouldn't have summoned up the courage to ask, and would have struggled, but I'm getting better at this now, much though I still hate it and have to pysch myself up to do it. Actually the less I think about it the better. And of course, no one's going to refuse if I ask for help. The one major problem I had was going to the loo in the night, on a couple of nights when there was no way I could negotiate my way to the toilet tent. Luckily it was dark and I just went behind the tent with noone any the wiser. Even more luckily, the night I had a bad stomach, I managed to negotiate my way to the toilet tent (although it was tricky and I did fall in the ditch on two occasions!). Sometimes the guides can be a bit funny about my lack of sight - either choosing to ignore it or being over conscientious (actually I've never had the latter, but I can believe some of them might be). Juan was fantastic - he never brought up the topic and treated me just like anyone else (actually he forgot a few times about my sight, which led to some comedy conversations), but I felt he was always watching out for me just in case. Same with the diabetes, I could sense he was discreetly watching from a distance without making a fuss. On the first day (I think) when I had low blood sugar in the early afternoon, I struggled for a couple of miles and fell to the back of the group. I didn't mention it specifically to Juan, although I think I did mention it to a couple of the group, and he said nothing but walked beside me until I felt better. Or maybe he was just oblivious!


People were also very good about helping me out - whether intentionally or coincidentally, I'm not sure. For example, when we had a toilet stop, it was rare that I could actually figure out where the toilet was. It would usually be in a hut somewhere, that could have been anything. I quickly developed the habit of finding someone else going, and following them, although sometimes it was problematic finding my way back. it might sound odd, but it's worse when there are other people standing around, because you know they're watching you while you're desperately trying to figure out which was the way back. One of my main problems was distinguishing which was the kitchen tent (which we weren't allowed in) and which was the dining tent, as they both looked the same to me and were right next to each other. A couple of times one of the porters had to direct me to the other tent. I tried not to feel too embarrassed and shrugged it off as being tired!

There was only one major disappointment on the trek. On the fourth day we finally reached the Sun Gate and our first view of Macchu Pichu. It was the culmination of our trek and as we finally reached the top, Juan was there waiting to congratulate us on making it, with a big kiss and a hug. I walked through the gate, and it hit me. Nothing. I couldn't see anything interesting at all. All around me, people were gasping and frantically taking photos and celebrating (not just from our group, but from many other groups also). I fought back the tears and wondered what they were all looking at. Finding a quiet spot away from the crowds, I sat down on the edge of a rock and tried to breathe. Had I come all this way for, well, nothing? I should feel exhilarated, but all I felt was terrible sadness and disappointment, not just that I couldn't see anything, but that this was the end of the trek. I wished everyone would hurry up and move on, but it was a long time before everyone even arrived at the gate. Finally I gave myself a good talking to, and dutifully went to take a photo. The problem was, I didn't know where to point my camera. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be looking at or in quite which direction. I aimed my camera at a couple of random points and clicked away. If someone noticed I was pointing it in the wrong direction, I could pretend to be taking a picture of a bird or something. After what seemed like an eternity, I followed the others down to the entrance itself, unusually silent for me. I was determined not to let on how I felt, as I knew no one would really understand. As we rounded the final corner, my whole attitude changed. I saw Macchu Pichu in all its glory, and realised that while I had missed the first view, I could now see pretty much what I'd missed from before, just from closer. And when I finally uploaded my photos to my computer, I discovered I'd actually taken a couple of decent shots from the Sun Gate after all.

In summary, my sight wasn't a big issue on the trip (not that I had thought it would be too much of one), apart from the usual difficulties of campsites at night, diabetes wasn't an issue, although it may have exacerbated the dehydration problems - more on that in another post - and my fitness wasn't a problem (not that I was particularly worried about that). Nor of course was spending 2 weeks with a random group of strangers! I've done enough Exodus trips not to worry about that. Despite being terribly ill (see the next post), it was an amazing holiday. When I came back and recounted all my tales, people said how adventurous I was to do all these things. For me, it's a no-brainer. (1) I love travelling and experiencing new cultures. (2) I love getting out and being active on holiday, and don't particularly like Christmas and the enforced inactivity, fake jollity and consumerism. (3) I don't know how long I have left before my body refuses to cooperate and I lose my sight completely, or my body falls apart in some other way. My mum regrets bitterly having never done the Inca Trail, and there's no way her body can cope with doing it now. I don't want to regret having never done these things while I could. I already mourn the lack of years I had doing some of the things I can't do now: playing cricket amd lacrosse (too dangerous now), playing almost any sport to a much higher level than I now can, doing things like LaserQuest and go-karting, being able to drive a car, and just generally being able to do almost anything more easily than I now can, from shopping to cooking to watching TV to climbing mountains. Whatever experiences I have travelling and being adventurous, they're better than the regrets I would have if I didn't manage to do them.