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Published: July 22nd 2005
First, Hi to all the new readers, Erika (twenty one and looking great!, can I see your student card please?) Kirsty (also 21 but just a few days older than Erika and looking great), Lucas (how´s your girlfriend in Cusco?), Helene and Nicole (Sorry I did not get to say goodbye at Machu Picchu, I had a great time with both of you!), Rowan and Marco (the hike up Wannu Picchu was stunning) and Emerick (great to meet you and your mom on that long taxi ride)
Get that coffee going, it a long one.
Final moments in Cusco and then....
Well, one last night in Cusco proved to be quite spectular. The Boys and I met Kirsty and Erica at MAP Cafe for what turned out to be an amazing dinner. The place, as you can see in the photo is a glass rectangle set in the courtyard of a museum. The atmosphere was great and the food delightful and we had the best wine of our trip, from Argentina! I then went out with everyone to Los Perros, the wine bar and finished off the night with some more wine and headed home to pack for
the Inca Trail
My original intention when planning to come to Peru was to not hike the Inca trail. Asking around, I found out that a few friends had done a different hike near the Sacred Valley and that sounded appealing, I tend to not like to go where the crowds and the clamour are and usually try my best to seek out more interesting and remote place, when time and resources allow. I have great adventures this way that have helped balance the disappointing experiences of winding up in more populated areas. Of course when I mentioned that I was not doing the Inca Trail all hell broke loose around me and I heard the familiar clichés´ like “but it’s a classic” and “that is the number one attraction in all of South America” and the best one was “how could you go to SA and not do the Inca Trail?” All my experiences with this type of rhetoric just tends to push me more in the direction of finding my own way, I have never been to the Statue of Liberty, it took me years to finally go climbing in Yosemite and I blasted through Yellowstone once
swearing never to return in the summer again. So why did I cave this time? What did I think I might find?
One reason to be drawn to historical places, especially ones that are so strongly connected to the natural world, like the desert Southwest for example, is that there may be a chance to become connected with the past in a way that allows us not only to see how people once lived but to possibly understand what was important to them and why. This can reflect upon what we now find important and why, this mirror can cause us to look thin and pale compared to who we think we really are or help us realize that some things we value are, and should remain, timeless. I also personally find that being in places like that can help me experience what I consider to be religion or spirituality, a deeper connection to mysteries that can be triggered by beautiful and interesting places. But...how does one experience the divine when there are hundreds, even thousands of people around you with cameras and loud conversations and in their own way trying to do the same? And, I’m one them
in their way! Granted, I’ve had many experiences that were shared but in groups with mostly common inclinations towards this kind of thing. People can be very graceful and show unlimited awareness at times but in places of great natural beauty and power, it is extremely uncommon as everyone is trying so hard to absorb the experience, make sense of it (for we begin to feel quite insecure in the face of such beauty), and not appear too moved for fear of seeming like a freak. We tend to limit these times to our own intimate thoughts, hopefully they help us grow.
So, I caved thinking I would at least get something meaningful from going on the trail and reaching Machu Picchu and signed up for the Inca Trail expecting the worst, knowing I would regret not being able talk trash about this once great place so marginalized today by the spiritually starved and the mechanics of commercial industry.
...The Inca Trail at last...
At 5:30am I rise to finish packing, little did I realize that this was going to be my common wake up call for the next 4 days. I headed over to the Hostel
for a quick coffee, say a quick goodbye to Kirsty and Erica who head off today for new adventures, and then proceed to wait an hour and then some for the tour group to pick us up. We load into an overloaded van of sorts that is very top heavy and begin out drive out of Cusco with the usual honking and weaving and disregard for human life outside the car by our driver. As we climb out of the valley we see that the mountains in every direction are totally visible in a crystal clear sky and after an hour or so we are in the town of Ollantamtaybo for last minute supplies and a bite to eat. What was a 20 minute stop is now an hour as we have a flat and somehow the back window is totally smashed (we never find out what happened). Finally, we are back on the road again and now the driver has no regard for life period as he flies along a one lane dirt road a few 100 feet above the Urubamba river around curves at dangerous speeds leaving no margin for error. Every oncoming vehicle, big or small, is
a confrontation that he will win so he can get back to Cusco and make more money today, my life feels very cheap in his hands.
We reach the trailhead and I’m just plain pissed I’m even here, between the driver and now howling wind and the women who surround me and trap me against the side of a wall as they are trying to sell me water bottle holders and rubber tips for my trekking poles while I try to get my act together, I even consider getting back in the van and getting dropped off in the nearest town. And just consider now the weight of my initial reservations back in April when I gave Jake my deposit check! After confused packing efforts by our group, a series of photos at the trailhead and signing in at the checkpoint we finally hit the trail. Holy pilgrimage, here we go through the barriers of language, bonded by the commonality of soul searching, over the piles of donkey shit and blown by the wind down the littered trails of the Sacred Valley.
Our group, consisting of Marco and Rowan, a pair of students from Holland, Helene, a writing
professor and Nicole, a special ed teacher, both from Quebec, and the boys, Jake, Ron, Derek and Joe, are led by Norma, a Cusco local and guide for close to 7 years. We are accompanied by one cook and 9 porters whose names I failed to write down but whose kindness and faces I will never forget. There is controversy right away as we try to figure out if our tour company pays the porters well enough; we never get an answer to this question from them or our guide.
The trail is truly flat for a few miles as it snakes along the river but then rises quickly to meet a small village a few hundred feet above the river where we stop for lunch. Jake and I were expecting PB and J style but when we arrive at lunch, the whole kitchen is set up and they cook us a 4 course meal that leaves us pretty unable to move. Norma, cracking the whip for the first of many times, gets us going again. We make a quick detour at an overlook for one of many interesting ruins we will see in the next 4 days. Patallacta
is the first ruin we see on the trail that suggests the tradition of building with harmony of the natural surroundings in mind, the lower terraces curve and arch with the natural meandering of the river that flows from the canyon above the city, even the buildings curve to meet this subtle shaping of the rivers edges. The canyon behind the city turns out to our destination as we turn up river and begin a slow climb to our campsite for the evening. We settle in tired as the sun sets and the cold descends from the walls of the canyon. Dinner the first night is a solemn affair as the group begins the uneasy task of getting to know total strangers in a strange environment. The general questions lead to quiet and quick explanation of what we’ve done so far in Peru and some common ground is tenuously established before we head off to bed. The group is quite quiet so far except for Marcus and Rowan, who chat late into the night because Marco has only a blanket and is freezing and can’t sleep.
The morning finds us eating another large meal that hinders our motors once
again and during breakfast we are formally introduced to our porters and cook for the trek. We are briefed about the rigors of the day, Day 2 and the highest pass at 13,700 feet will prove to be a lot more than we ever expected. Within minutes we are climbing a side canyon that leads up, up, up. What surprises me at first, and then again for the next three days, is the nature of the trail. It is built of mostly perfectly fitted stones the size of those old microwaves from the 70´s and are laided out in pathways ascending steep sections of the trail or in stairs, sometimes knee high. Where there is no stonework there is loose rock and roots and other obstacles. The going is tough right away as it begins to heat up and the climb gets steeper. Mini-groups of hikers soon become travelling communities bonded by our speed and our level of acclimatization as we ascend, rest, pass each other and then get passed as we rest again. I will meet everyday with my community and discuss everything from the hike to our bowel movements to our reasons for doing the Inca Trail. Brief
relief comes as the trail comes along a river where dense tress are growing providing respite from the blazing sun and a place to splash our bodies with cool water, too bad they don’t breath out enough oxygen to make a difference up here. Porters fly by, poverty is there burden but not gravity, that belongs to us trekkers, I’m sure they would trade with me. The trail climbs out of the trees after an hour and after the 5 hours of hiking we stop for lunch 1000 feet below Dead Woman Pass. I’m smart this time and control the amount I eat knowing the worst 1000 feet of my life lay ahead, but not the last “worst 1000 feet” I’ll face on this trip.
The trail to the pass does prove to be gruelling for everyone (except Marco and Rowan) but I reach the summit without much trouble in about 1 and ½ hours and I am rewarded with one of the best views I have ever seen. On the other side of the range lies the cloud forest, in full effect for us today. Closer ridges and distant peaks to the horizon float in a pure cotton-like
environment that flows like a slow motion river. In the distance, the river of white flows almost imperceptibly slow while just below us the clouds quickly change form and shape as they try to climb up the side of the mountains. We take our time at the top of the pass, which is crowded, and gather for a group photo while marvelling on our accomplishments and the scenery. As I descend, I am looking forward to slipping into the clouds, becoming obscured in the fog feels like it brings the sky closer, a feeling that for some reason has always brought me comfort and certain calmness and usually provokes an introspectiveness that is always welcome. There is also a sense of mystery not knowing what lies below this blanket above the world. Once I slip below the clouds, which happens quickly due to the incredible steepness of the stairs below the pass, the world becomes extremely quiet and I find for the first time I have the trail to myself, there is no one that can be seen or heard, I’m in heaven! I get the trail all to myself for close to an hour and its filled with the
introspective nature I expected, my thoughts clear for the first time all day, not distracted by the surroundings or the uphill struggle. I stop for about 20 minutes and soak up the lush and misty air and stare into the fog and clouds at the outlines of trees and ridges, as the clouds allow with its endless ebb and flow. Jake and Norma reach me and we descend the next 10 minutes into camp together.
Camp is much more a city of softly lit tents spread among terraces with little streams braiding the small platforms the tents are set up upon. It feels welcoming and primitive in the gathering darkness, the clouds denseness adding to the desire to be somewhere that feels like home tonight. Dinner and conversation are lively tonight as Helene and I share stories about climbing and other adventures, she is a working on a book that contrasts and compares her experiences of mountain culture and climbing in Nepal, Peru and Chamonix. We share a bond that all climbers share and talk about deeply about why we climb and visit wild places and I become more excited about heading to the Cordillera Blanca. I go to
bed feeling camaraderie with Helene; little did I know this would be the tone for my next day. I slip out of the dinner tent and see a warm and inviting village getting prepared for yet another hard but rewarding day.
I awake on day three, after a really bad night sleep, and head to the bathroom. Half way there, I vomit up my coca tea and water. My first thought is “this could be a disaster”. With the knowledge of 2 passes ahead, one 12,300 feet and the climb starts from camp, I worry about becoming dehydrated. I make it to the bathroom and of course the next worse thing happens, soft poop, not full on liquid though, thank god. I’m not sure what is wrong but I suspect food poisoning from the chicken last night since my legs are killing me and in general I feel really toxic. I can’t keep breakfast down so I inform Norma and she says we will go and see what happens. Here is the hard thing about being in a commercial group with a set of different clients and a tight agenda, I can’t just sit in camp and puke my
guts out all day while my friends take care of me, I have to hike! Good Grief, I so don’t want to be here right now! Then, my hero arrives on the scene.
The day before, Helene had spent the day helping Nicole overcome similar problems and now she was on the scene to help me. Nicole gave me some ORS (electrolyte replacement powder) that I was able to keep down and after packing up I started the slow trudge up to the pass. The clouds were now gone and the sun was already blazing onto my already waterless body. I have read a million stories of people running out of water and still climbing or hiking to safety but I don’t want to be one of those stories. I start pounding the water thinking I need to get hydrated fast before getting much higher. After getting down a quart of water and getting up the trail maybe a quarter of a mile, I toss the water. I try again and in 15 minutes, I toss the water again. Its hopeless, I resign to a waterless hike in the blazing heat up to 12, 300 feet and accept that
this will suck, if not only be dangerous. I come around a bend and there is our cook, telling me something in Spanish that I can’t make out. Finally, he grabs my pack off my shoulders, gives me my day pack, camera and water and begins up the trail. I’m speechless, except for yelling that I need my ORS packet before he takes off. He is smiling at me as he leaves, communicating he wants to help and that I will be ok but in my mind I don’t want help.
This is when the conflict becomes too much for me; I had been having a difficult time with the ideas of porters since the first day. My experience in the outdoors has been one that promotes self reliance and that is the source of the growth that has been such a crucial part of my life. To have others carry my food, cook and clean for me and lead me on a hike does not make me comfortable, but I have no choice since this is only way to access to the Inca trail, yet another reason I did not want to come here. It does contribute to
the local economy but again, how much goes to the porters. Now they are carrying my personal belongings and I have had enough. Just then, Helene comes up to me and tells me, does not ask me but tells me, she will hike with me and make sure I will be ok and make it to the top, step by painful step if needed. I succumb to the powers around me, I let go because last night Helene showed me that she understands my predicament and knows that I will accept her help because she understands. I dump my ORS in my camelback and Helene and I begin the slow crawl to the top.
I drink slowly and the ORS is staying down, which is crucial at this point, and Helene coachs me through every step of the climbing while she monitors my level of consciousness and makes sure my physical coordination stays in tact. The greatest hindrances are my now splitting heading, worse than any migraine, and my horribly weak legs. But every time it seems impossible, there is Helene with sometimes warm and sometimes stern words of encouragement. After 3 hours of climbing I finally eye the
pass and make the final push and ascend to the pass to find the whole group waiting for me, a wonderful warm reception follows. Norma checks in and notices I have a fever, food poisoning for sure. I am able to get down some aspirin and without notice slip down the other side of the pass. Helene has quietly disappeared, her job done; the rest is now, finally, up to me.
As I go down yet another steep decent the ORS begins to take affect and I chance some trail food, the lower elevation helps reduce the headache as well. We reach a ruin that I pass by due to the uphill climb to visit it and Nicole, who is still not 100%, and I head down into the heart of the valley ahead. The valley we are now in is lusher with all types of trees and green plants, a stark contrast to the first two days of mostly Arizona like flora. We hit the stream in the middle of the valley and after dunking my head in the cool stream I realize I finally feel ok for the first time today. We make the short hike of
10 minutes to the lunch spot. I try to eat but I can only get in a few slices of white bread with mustard (yellow, of course) and then lay down for a nap.
I am awakened a half hour later by Norma, it is time to go. I go over to get my Camelback, squat down and…you guessed it, the other great dehydrator. I though the battle was over but it has only just begin. Once I release all the water my body finally retained from the morning out my butt, I head for the last pass of the trip. Luckily, the trail is flat almost the whole way and I can drink freely without consequence. The views as we traverse the ridge are stunning with Salcantay in the background in its remote and foreboding isolation and the Vilcambamba Range to the west like a white, saw-toothed blade cutting the sky. My head is again pounding by the time I reach the pass so I head down quickly after some photos and am confronted with the steepest steeps yet. My knees get pounded for 2 more hours until we finally hit our last camp right around dark. On
the way we pass another ruin that is different from the others we have seen. Phuyupatmaarka has the shape of an arrowhead pointing away from the mountainside in which it is constructed. It is also one of the highest ruins we pass and this suggests, along with its shape and lack of housing structures, that this may have been a place for religious ceremonies where only priests lived. It is a 5 hour hike up here from Machu Picchu, again suggesting a place of special and ceremonial events. It is perfect in dimensions from side to side and top to bottom, another marvel of Inca architecture.
At camp, I instantly unpack and head to the showers! Yes, showers, which my butt needs in a bad way and they are hot too! After cleaning up and dinner, the time comes to thank our porters, cook and guide and tip them. Since I have never done this before, I defer to the boys and Helene and Nicole’s judgement. It becomes a bit of an issue but we work it out, do the formal thank you and then head off to bed. I find the cook who carried my bag all day
and give him my own thank you and an extra tip, which he tries not to accept but finally, after being as insistent as he was about taking my pack, he accepts. Wake up is 4 am for the final day to Machu Picchu, my only hope now is to wake up healthy and get there in one piece as this trail has chewed up all of at some point.
4am on day four and I awake after a full 8 hours of sleep and I feel great. My head and my bowels are fine as I chow down a big breakfast, drink a gallon of Coca tea and pack my pack, which I will carry today, and hit the trail with everyone else in camp by 5 am. It is still very dark, no moonlight, as we stand waiting, mostly in silence, for the checkpoint to open. Once on trail we begin to spread out in our usual groups and I find myself alone again in the silent darkness, the musty pre-dawn smells of the cloud forest dominate my senses as my eye struggles with the flat light of my headlamp. Slowly, after about a half an hour
of walking on the mostly flat trail high above the lights of Agua Calientes, the sky to the east begins to lighten, the outlines of the jagged Nevado Urubamba cast dark relief against the pale blue horizon of the sky. As the trail continues, there is enough light to walk by and I find that I am again a good 2000 feet above the valley below in dense forest whose smells transport me back to the forest behind my childhood home in New Jersey for a few moments. After an hour and a half of hiking, I reach the first of three steep sets of stairs and suddenly there are about 50 people pushing past a group of older trekkers in very rude and impatient fashion as if the city will vaporize before they get there. I’m hoping this is not the tone of the day although I fear, of course, the worst.
Climbing the third set of stairs brings us to the Sun Gate, the entrance to Machu Picchu itself, and as I climb somehow the crowds are gone and there is Jake, Ron and Derek just in front of me. It feels good to enter the city’s
gate together and share the first view of Machu Picchu as a group. There below us, some 1000 feet down and a maybe a mile away, built into a wide saddle between two dramatic mountains, is the city of Machu Picchu. First impressions; the scale and size of the city, and the surrounding mountains and valleys, are bigger than I thought and the term “city” is correctly given here. It has all the elements of a true city with geometricly planned sections, taller structures set against lesser buildings and open spaces meant to enhance the visual beauty of the overall layout. Despite the depth of urban planning that is evident and the angular geometry, you can instantly see the connection to the shape of the saddle it sits in and the buildings shapes model the landscape almost to perfection even from this distance, something that would become even more evident once we enter the city. The stunningly steep and beautiful peak of Wannu Picchu is the dominating feature of the overall vista and will remains so anywhere we go in the city. At the top of the peak is another ruin that is accessed via a trail going up the
sheer west face, I decide right there that I have changed my mind and will not climb up there, which surprises everyone considering my climbing background. It just looks to steep and exposed and dangerous from where we stand.
We decide to linger and wait for the sun to come over the mountains and light up the city, it ascends slowly behind us and it lights up first the distant peaks and then slowly makes it way down the ridges to the saddle where the city begins to glow. The first structures to get light are the terraces to the side of the city; they are up higher out of the saddle and not in the shadow of the peak that blocks the sun from hitting the main parts of the city. When the sun inevitably overcomes the peak, the high temple at the back of the city receives the first rays and then after several dramatic minutes the whole city is bathe in glorious morning light revealing the strong details and angles of the impressive architecture. The small group that had enough patience to wait for this moment has been duly reward.
We finally descend to the
city, taking in the site from various places along the short trail, and it is here we begin to feel the crush of tourism that will dominate the place until the late afternoon hours, unknown to us at the time as the magic hours. Visually I’m entranced by Machu Picchu and can’t wait to explore the place with my camera, I also accept the crowds and the commercialism at that moment and I hope I can still absorb and enjoy the city in spite of my current concerns. We are shuttled down into the upper reaches of the terraces by the trail and find brightly and cleanly dressed Andean woman with very tame alpacas involved in the morning ritual of feeding and everyone is taking their picture but us as we need to get to the gate, drop our packs at storage and meet our tour guide. The power of the morning light lingers in the city as the buildings cast long shadows making for some great morning photos.
The tour we take has its high and low points. We must constantly wait for other tour groups to finish the area before we can go in or must try
to pass large groups in small areas to get to the next spot. We visit every area of the city and our guide is very informative but I already know the basic history of the city from the books I read in Cusco. Our guide is very biased against the Spanish, and rightfully so, even thought the Spanish never set foot in Machu Picchu, they never found the place. This lack of desecration gives the guide a strong sense of pride towards the city and its history until he begins the description the story of its rediscovery by Hiram Bingham. According to our guide, Bingham was a young, brash and often arrogant man who made assumptions about the life of the Incas with little evidence to back up his claims in a rush to take credit for defining the function of the city’s obvious complex life. In time, it was shown that Bingham made several incorrect assessments but I don’t feel he deserves the treatment he is getting from our guide based on what I’ve read, I’m sensing some drama being not so discreetly placed in our heads as part of the show. He does a great job of talking
about the life in different parts of the city, he speaks in only speculatives since even today, there are unsolved mysteries about the urban life of the Incas and the use of the variety of structures in the city. It is clear that there was a high temple for worship with alters and windows, housing for both the royalty (large stones carved to fit perfectly together) and the workers (rougher stones using mortar), courtyards and schools, terraces and canals for farming and water supply and a Sun Temple for observing the movement of the celestial bodies, the only round structure in the whole city so common at all Inca ruins. He also notes at every turn the relationship to the natural surroundings in the design of the city which is now impossible to not see. There are even two sculptures, one small which is model of the city itself and one the size of a side of a house located at the entrance to the trail to Wannu Picchu whose top edge is an exact copy of the ridgeline behind it in the distance.
After a quick nap in an open field I’m confronted by the decision to climb
Wannu Picchu. It soars right in front of me and I can see the precarious trail from my napping spot. Jake, who is very afraid of heights, is going and I know I will regret this forever if I don’t go. The city is now packed with people so with a deep breath, I get up and run to catch Derek and Jake at the sign-in gate (you must sign in and out in case you go missing, another obstacle to my confidence) Crossing the gate you quickly go down into another small saddle between the city and the mountain and right away the trail drops off 2000 feet to the river below, already my heart is pounding but the views are amazing. We reach the base of Wannu Picchu and begin the 45 minute climb and right away my fears are washed away as the trail proves to be very unexposed most of the way to the top and the going is easy with handrails in crucial places, the drop off hidden by thickets of trees that offer only an occasional glimpse of doom. In a half hour we reach the base of the ruins and begin to ascend
some steep and shallow steps that are the first real height-related challenges. We climb up to a platform overlooking the city below with a sheer drop of 3000 feet into the river, now it has become interesting as Jake and I consider the summit. The short climb up through the ruins involves a series of exposed staircases that if you should slip, you’d be doing the worst Superman impression you’ve ever done for about 8 seconds and then there would be no chance to repeat. While our fears grip us, we still have the awareness to be amazed at the ruin on the top of this mountain. Why is it here? Did they really use that crazy trail everyday to build this place? Boy, what a whimp I am compared to the Incas who worked at this height to complete this place. With that in mind, I tuck my fear away in my pocket for the hike down and we crawl through a tight tunnel, ascend the exposed stairs, scramble up a boulder field and there you go, we are at the top! There are about 20 people up there and the top is like other peaks I have been
West face of Wannu Picchu and city.
The trail went up the sunny side of the mountian in the backgroundon with a pretty good array of boulders to sit on and enjoy the heights safely. We meet several other folks who all share the marvel of the ruins, now below us, and of the spectacular climb up.
Jake, Derek and I take a bunch of pictures and then Jake and I begin the process of thinking about going down as there are a few options. Consider our fears are still on the front burner, we decide to take the known way down, which is the way up of course, no surprises. Jake and I head out while Derek hangs out a bit longer. The first challenge is the exposed steps, now looking down into the abyss I dream of Inca magic, turn me into a Condor should my feeble legs betray me. No need for magic here as I am in full command of my muscles and make it to the next and last exposed section only to be confronted by someone who is struggling getting up the narrow stairs. She is very winded and anxious but determined, foolishly so I think. She whines and huffs and curses while her hiking partner offers no help and while we
wait perched above her, her anxiety causes ours to grow. Finally a couple of women waiting with us go down and help her get up, a mistake I feel since I can’t imagine her going down this dangerous spot, it is always easier to go up. With this in mind, Jake and I quickly navigate the steps and get to the safer terrain below. During the hikes down we both share our excitement about the ruins, but mainly about our accomplishment of getting up there, and the amazing views from the trail.
After a quick lunch at the visitors centre, Jake and I re-enter the city at about 3. I want to get contrasting shots in the late afternoon light and he just wants to relax and see some of the areas we have not been to yet.
As the sun slants sharply in the west, the light at Machu Picchu once again gathers in pools of soft colors and shadows of cold and dark relief like the morning but now there is a difference to the quality of the light. It lingers endlessly and timelessly, I swear the sun will not move and a silence falls over
the city, the few remaining visitors seem to fall under the same spell and talk in hushed voices. I never imagined the city could look or sound of feel like this, Jake and I sit in silence for close to an hour overlooking the city from the terraces absorbing this magical and powerful period in time that must have been daily routine for the Incas, and something I will never see or feel again. It is hard to move from this moment. I want to try to capture this with my camera but my heart tells me not to move, to savour this and to burn into my memory. I finally feel the power of this place and it reflects onto me the desire and need to live harmoniously with the natural world (though I don’t) Such a complex set of circumstances flood my brain and I´m left feeling adrift in my own confusion about most everything, no decisions can be made about what this means, no conclusion can be drawn right now. So…I remain adrift and learn to just enjoy not having answers or conclusions, is this what I am learning here? Well, Jake heaves a heavy sigh as
I remember he is sitting right next to me, lost in his own thoughts, he suggests we move on before it gets too late. I realize that the sun has finally begun to move again and alarmed I’ll miss the good light, we head down to get the last pictures of the day. I focus my images on the shapes of the buildings and the mountains that inspired them, hoping I’m a sensitive enough of a photographer to capture my ideas while I struggle with the overwhelming technology of my new D70 Nikon whose manual was harder to read than War and Peace. I realize, with some concern, that my camera is my mask that I am hiding behind, keeping me from being seen by the powers that inhabit this place, what a foolish and thin mask I wear. With the last rays reaching quickly now across the city, Jake and I finally depart for the bus to Agua Calientes. Looking back for the last time I am filled with more questions than answers, questions about the past, the future and my place in both of them. I finally realize as I board the bus that I came looking for
questions, not answers.
Down in the rather clean and touristy city of Agua Calientes, I am treated to a cold shower, a warm meal, my first roasted guinea pig (yuck!) and an excellent night of music and reflection with my travelling companions. We swap stories from our trip and then head off for a great night sleep. The end of the Inca trail finds me wandering around town, shopping the markets and people watching in the Plaza, some well deserved down time. At 4 pm we board the train for the 4 hour (I swear it was way longer) ride to Cusco through the Sacred Valley, the train is filled with Machu Picchu pilgrims and we chat enthusiastically with a couple from Boston until the train ride become tiring and they drift off to sleep. The train literally zig zags down the mountain into Cusco and I grow impatient, I have a tons of things to do before I have to catch an early taxi to the airport in the morning due to the pending taxi strike in Cusco tomorrow. We finally arrive at the station, walk back to Los Niño’s, grab a quick dinner and then off to
bed for a 5:30 wake up call. Some quick goodbyes to Ron and Derek and I’m in bed chatting with Jake about our diverging plans as of the morning. I had a great time, it was so much more than I ever expected it would be and I leave Cusco hungry for more.
See you all from Huaraz!!
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peter maggio
non-member comment
youi pack looks a little on the "big" side. what all you got inthere?