Viajar el mundo: Machu Picchu

Love

17 de Septiembre

When you arrive to a place, a monument, an activity, a sight or a site, the first thing you generally do is chat to the person you are with, or seek out someone in the crowd, for that thought or opinion, or that nod of approval or characteristic smile. With Machu Picchu, this is impossible, for once one arrives to the summit, words are not easily found. You are trapped in the moment, stunned to the spot, as you ignore all around you and gaze down upon the fabled site, the Lost City of the Inca.

Our trip towards Machu Picchu started in Cuzco, or Cusco, depending on what your current feelings for spelling might be. Cusco is the gateway to Machu Picchu, and all kinds of treks and trails that are associated with it. We arrived after an overnight bus from Arequipa, into the cold misty morning of high elevation. Our bus trip was our best so far, first class with airline business class style reclining seats, making it easier to sleep for the journey. It’s great to be on a bus that doesn’t stop every five minutes to pick up local stragglers with chickens to transport to the next towns restaurants.

Peru is known for its fiestas, and Cusco played its part and didn’t disappoint, with the town square full of fun and music. Costumes, some more elaborate than others, were on display around town, including the masked llama children, who it seems are the only people in Peru not to ask for money for a photograph with any animal. They were quite crazy kids, this could be put down to their youthful exuberance or the very real possibility that they were drunk on Chicha, an interesting alcoholic corn beverage made in crude backyard distilleries the locals were passing around to anyone who hated their liver. It’s actually quite tasty. Its prepared with corn and yeast, and more than likely sink scum, and fermented for a few days in a giant wheelie bin. Think of corn flakes mixed with beer and you are nearly there.

Cusco.

The llama lookalike contest was not well thought out

The unfortunate baby llama would make an excellent backpack

The gramophones would attack in hordes

We booked a trek with Alpaca Expeditions, a superb local company based in Cusco. It was a 4-day trek, called the Lares Trek, which took five of us (myself, Kylie and Nicole and two lovely Canadians named Sean and Leah) through local villages, over mountains and down valleys, reaching heights of 4700m approx.

With us, we had a guide named Raul, two horsemen, another porter and a chef, whose talents with only a gas stove as his kitchen were nothing short of extraordinary. And some horses to carry our gear.

Most travellers take the Inca Trail, which is the traditional classic route, but it books out six months in advance and is apparently extremely crowded to get to bits and pieces, so it was fantastic to be able to trek around the Andes without having to line up to photograph a mountain. It felt like we had the whole place to ourselves.

The spicy curry required large bathrooms

Steve the stick was always keen on getting into the photo

Andean landlords would evict tenants constantly

No one had any better ideas or a better way

Chewing gum got the curiosity of the llama eventually

"Im quite sure Machu Picchu is just at the end of this road"

Tents are usually two man

Day 1: Lares

We awoke to a chilly Cusco morning, 4am, too cold for even the sun to bother, and we headed to Lares, a small town a few hours from Cusco. It was here we warmed up in some boiling hot springs, after a scrambled eggs and milo breakfast. The springs were extremely soothing and relaxing, but I’m not sure of the point of enjoying them just before you are about to walk for thirty odd kilometres in high altitude. Nevertheless, it was very much worth it, and a few hours later, we donned the hiking boots, and of course warm clothes, picked up some sticks, and away we went, towards our ultimate goal.

Many previous blogs of ours have described to utter beauty of this region, and this was no exception. The green fertile valleys, littered with llamas and alpacas, rolling hills and neat terraces, with snow capped peaks and glaciers within view. After an amazing lunch and quick siesta under the alpine sun, we headed towards a village, where interested locals awaited our arrival. By this time, the temperature and plummeted towards nothing, and dressed in all our winter gear we watched our porters set up our tents, complete with air mattresses and llama blankets, to ensure our comfort that night. It was freezing. Barely any of our faces were showing, covered as best as they could be by beanies. But the smell of chocolate warmed us. Deep inside the porters’ tent, the guys were concocting a massive pot of hot chocolate. The drooling scent drifted over the valley, enticing all the local children from their mud brick homes and families. They kids ran from all over, mugs in hands, down to the campsite, and sat patiently in a perfect line, for the ultimate winter treat. The team then presented bread to the children, most of whom were hungry on a regular basis, and the promise and delivery of a simple staple such as bread went a long way to nutritional needs and their happiness. It was brilliant that a company would make the effort to visit this community. During the party, we handed out books and pencils to the local kids, practiced some Spanish, had some dinner, and then wrapped ourselves in our sleeping bags and multi layers of clothing including thermals, and bedded down for the night, ensconced in shelter beneath the night sky, bursting with stars, praying that our toes wouldn’t have snapped off during the night.

One of the tough things to do when travelling and camping in sub zero temperatures is to make that ultimate decision..Do I really need to go to the toilet now? Taking a leak involves a process of first unzipping the sleeping bag, followed by the necessary layers to help perform the task. You must then find your shoes, which hopefully they haven’t frozen stiff, if you accidentally left them outside the tent. You must then add a coat for the quick twenty-metre dash to the outhouse, primitive and dark, a hole in the ground surround by some spare planks of wood. You must also ensure you have a torch, headlamp is preferable, as torches in teeth can always be a bit risky, especially if the number of the job required is a little bit higher. And don’t forget paper. Twenty meters and back in the arctic like conditions is not easy, and the more that tent flap is opened, the more cold gets in, and the grumpier your partner will be.

So we have made the decision to risk digits and other parts. The tent flap is a bit tight, and not easy to open. Apart from the black night, the zips had frozen over and the tent was now covered in ice. I’ll hand on until the morning. The queue for the bathroom was quite long, for obvious reasons.

When the frost melted other trekkers found the bodies

The Incredible hulk even struggled to lift the pot

The tourist would try anything to skip to the front of the hot chocolate line....

...to no avail

Day 2. Into higher plains

Another magnificent, substantial breakfast, and we were on our way. The morning conversations were generally geared to the “Buenos Dias, how fucking cold were you last night” variety, but we laughed it off. The wry grin on Raul’s face suggested that we might have been unaware of what we were in for again that night when we got to camp. The trek details were read out. 4700m above sea level today, 14 km of walking, and camping at the high point. Probably best we just leave our thermals on for now.

The walk today was as incredible as ever. By now we were used to the higher altitudes, although the sickness was no longer there, the thin air and subsequent breathlessness was still difficult to master. However, Sean, our Canadian, didn’t seem to feel it too much and even spent time chasing llamas around the fields.

There were regular breaks for coca tea; stuff the Incas and locals have been drinking for hundreds of years to alleviate adversities to these climes.

At times we considered hijacking the emergency horse, but we plodded on, to the peak, which was duly ice capped. We built some snowmen and threw snowballs at each other, rested at the peak in our own private moment of triumph, then reached a lake in the valley just below, where once again, the superb porters had amazed us. We also picked up another horse. At the beginning of the trek, we had four horses, used to carry our gear, and all the tents, cooking materials, food and a bottle of rum. Some random horse, a rusty looking fellow, not long out of pony stage, saw us wander past, and thought, “That looks like fun”, and followed the pack for the next two days. He didn’t do much, didn’t even offer to carry any stuff, just hung around the tents and had a chat.
We had an excellent dinner of fresh trout that night. So fresh, it was plucked from the ice-cold river only minutes before, by hand, by the porters. The chef had also baked a fine chocolate cake, probably the only person in history to ever do so inside a tent using a gas stove and some left over eggs and flour. It was of bakery standard. A French bakery, not a Peruvian one. It was another fine example of the food quality, and there was always so much. More often than not, we couldn’t finish the buffet of fish, meat, chicken, soups, salads and deserts. Which wasn’t a problem, as Sean seemed to have a bottomless pit of a stomach, and would gladly finish off what we couldn’t do it.

Raul then asked us if we would like to sleep like a baby alpaca. I misheard him, and said that we only had enough room for two in our tent and it was probably illegal in most parts of South America. Upon realising that “like” was the key word used, Raul proceed to pour a tasty nightcap, a warm cocktail of rum, pineapple juice, rum, apple, sugar, orange peel, rum and a drop of rum. Very similar to Sangria. We sat in the tent, warm rags on, including gloves, and sipped and sipped, until it was time to hack through the ice covering our tents to get to bed, only to realise that there must be a final toilet break first. This was a more difficult and strategic loo, as not only was it placed on a clean patch of grass surrounded by shallow but deep enough in the dark crevasses, but a local cow and decided to wander up and take a shit right outside the entrance. Shoes were checked closely the next morning to see who had failed.

So another blisteringly cold night, and with the temperatures still hovering in the early minuses at sunrise, we huddled together over breakfast, and planned the day.

Frosty was a cocaine addict off season

The tent thieves had played their ultimate trick

Raul , the guide, about to cheerfully explain that we would soon freeze to death

The ninja porter would soon surprise the trekker

The ranga stone was always teased by the other rocks

The mysterious horse.......

....was appreciated during food shortage time

Day 3, Aguas Calientes

Day three is typically the easiest on any trek to Machu Picchu, which isn’t hard to see why once you have been through the day two freezer. It’s all about descending here. A lovely four hour walk downhill, besides a flowing river with thirsty cows and toothless fishermen, towards another village where we were met by the porters and some very hungry cats, dogs and chickens. As we fed the cats and dogs some trout and ate chicken in front of the chickens, we also enjoyed the lunch, and then finished the early afternoon with a game of soccer against the porters and chef. It was a five all draw, with most of the gringos scoring done by our captain, Leah, the Canadian girl, who is a very good player.

And for just a few hours more, there was to be no more walking. This was time to celebrate! A car drove us to the town of Ollantaytambo, the hop on hop off point for trains to Machu Picchu and Cusco. We had half an hour up our sleeves, so popped into a chicha bar for an unhygienic treat of corn booze, and then onto a bar for a quick ice-cold beer. Who would have thought we would desire something so cold at this moment. We then walked to the train station, jumped aboard, and took the train to Aguas Calientes.

Aguas Calientes literally means hot water, or hot springs. The train ride to here was superb. We crossed rushing rapids and chugged through cloud forests, all in one of those trains with cool glass roofs to enhance the enjoyment. The town itself only exists purely due to its location to Machu Picchu and tourism. It’s a necessary stopover for a night. There is a load to do here. There are non Machu Picchu activities to get into around the area, such as hiking somewhere else I assume, and there are loads and loads of restaurants and bars, most offering drink deals such as 6 for 1 cocktails. But the food is expensive. It was like Australian restaurant standard, without the poor service. It clearly knows that its only foreigners that pass through here.

Tonight was also the night we farewelled our tents. We checked into a very cosy hotel, took our first shower in three days that wasn’t out of a deodorant can, and relaxed in our room watching trashy South American reality TV, including a singing and dancing program where transvestites and women with huge chests competed against one another for a crown.

The conductor would ignore the mans warning that his train was on fire

Day 4. The top.

A 5am wake up, and what we had come this far for and froze for was just around the corner. Some people wake earlier; say 3am or 4am, to walk to the summit, to ensure they are first in and therefore able to take that photo with no one around. Problem is, these people underestimate the walk and the time it takes, in the darkness and cold, and steepness of the walkways towards Machu Picchu. So by leaving on a 5.30am bus, we were there fifteen minutes later, ahead of the hikers, who met us at the yet to be opened admission gates, and we walked in together.

There was of course the veritable rush to the top, to get that perfect view and subsequent shot, but this was a good day, as Raul had sensed numbers were down, but anyway, this was the place, that even if the whole world at been there with you, you felt like you were the only one.

It takes a while to bring yourself back, such is the impact these ruins have on you. You read about them, and promise yourself that one-day you will go there, and experience the magnificence for yourself.

After the photos amongst the start of a new Inca day, we headed separate ways to explore the site at our own pace. Each corner and crevice hides some secret and contains some tale of another world and other lives. Then there are the llamas. They stroll around the ruins in happiness, munching on fresh grass shoots, happy to pose for snaps with googly eyed travellers. They also don’t mind a bit of people food every now and then. I made the mistake of storing some banana skins in the side of my backpack, and while sitting down looking over the ruins, a hungry llama attempted to help himself, big snout, buck teeth and all, to the contents. I managed to move away from him, but he wasn’t satisfied, and chased me down the steps, as far as he was concerned, those skins were his. So what could I do, cornered, with only a fairly steep drop my other alternative, I donated the skins to him, and assumed he was happy. But he also requested the chocolate chip cookies I had in by pockets. What could I do? After he had relieved myself, Kylie and Nicole of all their snacks, he turned on the other tourists who thought it was funny that we were getting mugged by an animal who probably should have been made into a coat, until they also had their morning tea consumed.