I Have Been To Machu Picchu.

Hello Friends and Family!

I write to you from Cusco, the sacred city and long time capital of the Inka Empire before a bitter squabble between two brothers when the Spanish came along caused the downfall of the glorious Empire.  I am here for a limited time only, as I head very soon to a destination that previously was not on my list: Bolivia.  I will try to give an accurate recap of the last 5 days, but given that so much has happened, please excuse some minor exclusions.

Early on the morning of the 4th, I was picked up, along with two Brazilian girls, by the agency that would take us trekking for the next 5 days.  This agency I’d found while browsing online, and was very skeptical about it at first.  After a quick email to the Government of Peru’s Tourism Office, I was satisfied enough to put down a deposit for the prestigious Salkantay trek.  I was very happy to finally be going on the one thing that would hopefully be the crown jewel of this trip, and to finally see Machu Picchu.

The agency took us to a drop-off point and we started hiking.  The first day was a short hike; only two and a half hours, a kind of test to see just how well we would manage on the startling climb to 4600 meters the next day.  We arrived in no time, grabbing something to eat at lunch time, cooked for us by the magnificent chef Jhon (spelling intentional) who deserves a job in a 5 star restaurant.  We then took a short hike up to a sacred lake, where the first Inka and his wife supposedly rose out of to found the city of Cusco many miles away.  This was quite beautiful, the lake was as clear as Lake Louise and just as beautiful.  The mountain, that fascinatingly had an avalanche as we were enjoying the sight (the sound was deafening), was beautiful, but wouldn’t be the mountain we were to trek the next day.

An early rise (5 am) later we were the first out of the shared campsite and into the pathway that would lead us to the Salkantay Pass, some 1200 meters up.  The trail was unforgiving, and didn’t leave a lot of room for error.  Thankfully though, there were no errors.  This was by far, in my humble opinion, the most beautiful part of the trek.  We were surrounded on all sides by the Cordilliera Salkantay, and in a seemingly out-of-place flat area at the base of the beginning of the climb.  A small hut had been built and was offering souvenirs (that one could find for a quarter of the price in Cusco, but never mind) and offered a nice addition to a panoramic photo.  The climb itself was harder on some of the group members, but we all persevered, making an effort to help each other up the tremendously beautiful climb.  Jaider, our guide, proved himself in these instances, pushing the others relentlessly, but subtly.  I discovered a previously unknown pressure point in my boot, just a minor nuisance though.

We summitted the Salkantay Pass roughly 3 hours after we started trekking that day, Jaider giving us the traditional t-shirt and taking the traditional photos for us.  The summit was absolutely beautiful (also very cold), and gave the whole place a powerful aspect that resonated with all of us.  The journey, however, was far from over, and after a quick bite to eat and a tea, we were on our way again to the farmer’s field that would accomodate us for lunch.  This farmer’s field in question was a fair way away, and we arrived hungry, tired, and not at all excited for the remaining part of the trek.  The pressure point in my boot had now developed into a noticeable pain.

Lunch, despite the harsh circumstances in which we found ourselves, was lomo saltado (grilled beef and vegetables), arroz chaufa (chicken and egg fried rice), and another dish who’s name I’ve forgotten.  The long and the short of it was, it was delicious.  The remaining amount of the trek (at this point, we were doing our best to not think about it) would take us downwards to the next campsite roughly 2 and a half hours away.  The walk itself took us through a dramatic shift in scenery that none of us were entirely prepared for; we went from the empty, barren but colourful mountains into the lush commencement of the Amazon rain forest.  The weather changed dramatically as well, going from a rough 10 degrees to a startling 20.  We shed the layers and kept walking on the mud path that had all but washed out, my boot now deciding that the best way to help me in my trek was to completely ruin my ankle bone.  Our campsite welcomed us beautifully for the night.  The cook, who had motored on ahead like a seasoned veteran of the trail was already there playing the local game of throw-the-disk-into-the-brass-frog’s-mouth.  I took my boot off, much to the relief of my ankle bone.  We hit the hay early, around 7:30, readying ourselves for the next day of trekking that would take us to the small village of Santa Theresa.

Santa Theresa, in all of it’s glory, hosts a local wonder that should never be unnoticed by weary trekkers: hot springs.  This natural, volcanic Jacuzzi was exactly what was needed by all of us, and we spent a merciful 2 hours in the welcoming waters, enjoying the light local beer, Cusqueña, shortly afterwards in the Peruvian everybody-shares-one-cup style.  It was the perfect combination after a perfect day of walking that was nowhere near as difficult as the day before.  We were all looking forward to the next day, which would see a walk that would be easier than anything we’d done so far.  We all fell asleep with smiles on our faces.

I did not wake up with a smile on my face.  Rather, I woke up with a foul grimace indicative of the pounding headache that I had suddenly developed without warning.  A couple Advil and a Tylenol later, I was good enough to go.  We trekked an hour and forty-five minutes to Hydroelectrica, and then another two and a half hours to Aguas Calientes, the latter stretch taking us through a beautiful stretch of trail that ran right next to the train tracks, crossing over often.

And then we saw it.

Machu Picchu, our final destination, had appeared on the mountaintop, a beacon for us to follow.  We doubled our pace, and arrived in Aguas Calientes, where a true hot shower and bed were waiting for us along with a restaurant dinner that we all lamented, given the fact we’d gotten used to Jhon’s excellent cooking. Don’t get me wrong, the food was good, and the free pisco sours were even nicer, but Jhon’s cooking had an irrepressible home-cooked feel to it that restaurant food doesn’t quite satisfy.

The next day saw us up at 4am (!) and away to the pathway that would take us up to Machu Picchu.  The trail was dark for a good two hours, and it was still dark when we got the gates.  We were all shaking with excitement: this was what we’d came for! This was what we’d hiked 5 days for through an unforgiving landscape of mountains and jungle.  This was the moment we’d all been waiting for.  It was finally here.

It was magnificent.

The side of every slope seems to be terraced with not a stone of the original mountain moved an inch (no lie, the Inka’s believed that the mountains were Gods, and so to move a stone from a mountain was the gravest insult to the mountain Gods, and could go towards causing earthquakes and mudslides). The whole place is a stunning contrast between the metallic, cool and brutal structures and colours of granite stone and the lush, light green grass that tops these terraces.  Every structure seems to rise from the mountain, but has a preserved air of lingering permanence.  Something that seems to say that it’s always been here, and it’s not going away anytime soon.  The tan brown pathways that connect the structures stick out, reminding any and all viewers that they are in fact in a city, and that this is a human creation, not a natural phenomenon.

I hope I’ve been able to accurately depict what Machu Picchu was like without the use of pictures.  It doesn’t do it nearly enough justice as it deserves, but I don’t have the ability to upload photos at the moment, so it will have to wait.  I’m sorry.

Until the next blog post Friends and Families, I hope you’ve enjoyed following so far.