As I sat in the spa sipping a pisco sour, I looked down the valley to the huge, snow covered monolith at the end. Mt. Salkantay, the highest peak in the region, would loom over us for the next two days as we worked our way up and over the pass that bears its name. I could barely make out the trail as it snaked down the valley. It didn't look so tough, I thought, then reminded myself that was only the beginning.
At 15,213 feet, Salkantay Pass would be the highest I had ever been without the aid of an airplane or mind-altering substances. That we would start from an elevation of 12,690 feet and head steadily up from there didn't make me feel any better. But that was tomorrow. Right now I had a hot, churning spa to melt into and a pisco sour to drink.