Machu Picchu – the lost Inca city

Today was definitely one of the most  ethereal  days of my life. Nearly everyone knows Machu Picchu, whether they are aware of it or not. The picturesque ruins are some of the most famous in the world, but until I crested the hill that affords the arresting postcard perfect view, I didn`t understand the magic, draw, and energy of this place where one of the world`s most advanced civilizations once thrived.

My alarm went off at 4:45, and I promptly began praying for hot water as I turned the knob of the electric shower. After five minutes shivering next to the stream of water that was clearly not planning on getting warmer, I gave up and started packing instead, even though very sweaty and dirty visions of myself later in the day danced through my head. Heidi and Dimitri had lost their alarm, so I gave them their 5 a.m. wake up as requested.

Our tickets told us to be at the station at 5:45, so we set out on foot twenty minutes before hand. All of us had purchased the cheaper “Backpacker Train” tickets, a savings of $40. We quickly discovered that the rich people get to go first anyway, so being early was relatively pointless. After much waiting, we were finally allowed to board the cheaper train. The only differences in the trains seemed to be the overhead windows, which ours lacked, and the leg room. On the pricey rail car, the seats don`t face each other, so you don`t have to knock knees with your neighbors.

Fifteen  minutes  late, our engine shifted into gear and started the slow ascent up out of the bowl of the city. We switch-backed very slowly up to the rim of the canyon past some of the poorest, most trashed neighborhoods I`ve ever seen tucked precariously against the side of the hill. The train raised some eyebrows as it came to a stop each time before proceeding onto the next upward leg. Finally we had crested the lip of the canyon and were headed across the chilly plains. I felt very much at home as I watched cattle munching in the golden fields while the miles rolled by.

The food cart came down the aisle, and Dimitri, Heidi, and I were all very disgruntled to learn that our $65 dollar tickets did not come with meals. What a rip off! Even $4 bus tickets usually come with a snack at least! Grrr. I was super hungry, but since I was leaving Peru that night, of course I had calculated down to the last dollar and was afraid to buy anything until I had paid my bus fare up to Machu Picchu and my entrance fee. So, I stuck to the roasted corn I had bought the night before and my last Clif bar.

As I talked to Heidi and Dimitri about their plans, I once again realized how incredibly fast I was moving compared to others. To get to Machu Picchu, you either have to hike four to five days or take the train from Cuzco. If you take the train, the last stop is in Aguas Calientes, the city closest to ruins. From there, you take a 30-minute bus up a series of endless switchbacks to the ticket office. Because of my speed-of-light travelling, I had failed to realize that it was possible to arrive in Aguas Calientes one day and visit Machu Picchu the next. Next time I go there, if I don`t get to hike in, I at least want to do it like that.

After about two hours of reading/sleeping/chatting on the train, the scenery started to morph from grassy plains to dry coniferous forests, much like those around Devil`s Tower. Mountains began to rise up around us, and I glanced out the window where one of the most majestic glaciers I`ve ever seen caught my eye. Counter to how I have known glaciers before, these conquered the mountain from the top down until the mountain dropped away, a sheer cliff. There, the powerful sheet of blue ice came to an abrupt halt and just loomed, in mid-air it seemed, over the valley. Incredible! Dimitri tells me they’re called hanging glaciers.

I assumed, since Machu Picchu was high up in the mountains, that the vegetation would become more sparse as we approached. Imagine my surprise, then, as the pine trees slowly gave way to a jungle-like landscape with thick vines twisting in and out of all the deciduous leaves. We followed a beautiful blue-green river towards our destination, and the even ground started to grow into the ragged, wedge shaped, sharp peaks that are so abundant there. The jungle vegetation, I would later learn, could be attributed to the clouds which seem to perpetually cling to the mountain-sides and valleys providing moisture. Finally I am seeing a cloud forest and can call it by name!

The train pulled in to the beautiful Aguas Calientes right around 10:30. I said a hurried goodbye to Heidi and Dimitri and did my best to be the first in line to buy a ticket up. I only had until 2:30 that afternoon, so I was going to make the most of it. I got a ticket, behind only a few people, and hustled to the bus. I was thinking about nabbing the front seat next to the driver when a man from the back took action and slid into it. 🙁 As we wound up the mountain, I noticed the tiny narrow steps leading up from Aguas Calientes and counted my blessings as far as not having to walk up to the entrance. There was no way I would have had time to trudge up from the bottom of the valley.

When we arrived, I was immediately struck by the sense of space that people from different nations have. An asian tour group swarmed around me like I didn`t exist in the process of getting off the bus, and just tonight at the grocery store, I was amazed that no one waited their turn. Everyone just pushed and cut off the person in front of them without any regard to what`s fair or whose turn it is. Maybe this surprises me because I come from a place where there`s plenty for everyone, so you don`t have to bowl over the person in front of you to get what you want.

Both the bus ticket to the top and the entrance fee were $2 bucks more than I expected, so I was glad I hadn`t bought food on the train. After checking my backpack into the free luggage storage, I read the Machu Picchu (Quechuan for “Old Mountain”) section in my guide book one more time before heading up. I chose the path that leads you to a view point above the ruins for my first look. It was just like all the gorgeous photos depicted, but being there in 3D with the razor-like, forest-covered mountains exploding skyward all around me made my head spin. It is so gorgeous. I felt ghosts all around me as I began to explore. The landscaping, vegetation, and llama herds are all intact, and water still runs through the canals of the city and terrace irrigation systems. It was as if the inhabitants of the city heard us coming and all ran to hide.

I suppose to preserve the integrity of the sight, there are no information signs posted to explain the different parts of the ruins, so I followed the path recommended in my Lonely Planet. Between the information offered up by my book and the speeches I listened to from the back side of tour groups, I learned so many awesome things about the civilization that once inhabited these buildings, still intact save for the wooden parts that have no choice but to rot away after a few hundred years. After touring the top half of the sight, I arrived at the climbing registration shack for Huayna Picchu, the peak that rises like an axe blade in the background of all the classic snapshots (see photo). It takes an hour up, I`m told, and a little less down. Even though my time was limited, I couldn`t imagine being there and not climbing up the gorgeous peak, so I eagerly signed on and started down the trail.

The smell of the forest reminded me of the mountains back home, and in places where the jungle grew thick, a pungent earthy smell permeated the air. The path quickly narrowed as it dropped down onto the razor-like spine of the mountain and turned from packed dirt to an ancient, three-foot wide, narrow Incan staircase. I felt my face start to flush that hell-fire red color that always accompanies even the slightest of my physical exertions as I jumped from step to step. On one side of the trail, a cliff plunged several thousand feet to the bottom of the valley, and on the other the mountain raced straight up to the sky, which kept my heart pounding in my throat, just like it would anyone who has a healthy respect for heights. Clinging to the rope and wire handrails bolted into the cliffside, I thanked the heavens for my youth as I squeaked past folks on the trail ahead of me. I laughed at the dread I had earlier associated with climbing the steps up from Aguas Calientes.

After a 50-minute grueling battle for the top, my lungs and throat burning from the altitude and my heart pumping twice as hard to circulate my oxygen-deprived blood, I reached the tiny staircase that carries hikers up the old terraced fields. A platform to my right overlooked the valley and Machu Picchu, so I stopped to catch my breath and take it all in. I found a tiny path that led around the back side of the mountain top and followed it to its end to escape the crowds. It ended in a cliff, where I plunked down and dangled my feet into the giant chasm of the valley. The beauty of the place is so breathtaking that you could just stare and stare, and I did, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I was really there.

I cooled off, and after 30 minutes of enjoying the view, I got my picture taken in front of my newly-chosen favorite peak and began my descent to explore the other half of Machu Picchu. On the way down, I was even more thankful for the handrails bolted into the wall. The steps are so steep (1 ft. wide and 1 ft. tall the whole way up and down) that you could hardly make it down without the cable running along the wall. Forty minutes and I was signing out and trekking toward the residential and “prision” sector of the ruins. Everywhere I went, the houses, gardens, alleyways, you name it, I could see and feel it come to life around me. I could imagine pots and fires on the shelves in houses. I could see kids playing on the second story of the houses where the stones of the walls fit so meticulously that they`ll probably still be standing 1,000 years from now. I could even imagine what my life would have been like if I had been part of this amazing civilization.

As my departure time approached, I worked my way back through the maze of buildings until I reached the cluster of individuals whose knees and canes don`t allow them to venture too far from the entrance. I caught the next bus down to Aguas Calientes to wait for my train departure, and arrived at the bottom nearly penniless. I realized then that next town I was heading to was too small to have an ATM, and despite all my budget planning, I was going to have to make another withdrawl in Cuzco so I`d have some currency to change at the border. I whiled away my wait-time figuring out how much money I would need to get me back to Buenos Aires and onto the plane so I wouldn`t keep getting slapped with the $5 per withdrawl fee that Wells Fargo charges.

On the train ride back, I was still reeling from the day. As the sun went down, the full moon rose blazing in the sky. The countryside was carpeted in an unearthly glow, and I stood with my head hanging out a window at the back of the car, staring and remembering other nights like this when I`ve had to pull off the road and stop to appreciate the moon. With all the pine trees flashing past, I felt like I was back in Wyoming around Keyhole and Devil’s Tower. I couldn`t keep the smile off my face and we slowly swayed and rumbled away from the magical Machu Picchu back towards Cuzco.