Dirtbiking and Machu Picchu. A good few days

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Hola again,
I have been getting a lot of feedback from my last blog entry from the Colca Canyon, lots of which expressed dismay at how dangerous the trip was. For those of you who feel this way, uh, please stop reading now.

So, three or four days ago I took the advice of a travel buddy and rented, for the day, a dirtbike to drive around the ruin riddled sacred valley just outside of Cuzco. Taking with me two backpackers from my hostel (one who is now a quasi girlfriend and the other a friend I will surely meet up with in Canada again) I got to the rental place early in the morning on a typically gray Cuzco day. I had decided earlier to take out a 400 cc bike, but once seeing the sheer size of the thing I opted for a 250 cc. It was kind of like deciding to ride a horse for the first time and being presented with Big Ben. Yikes! After a brief instruction on how to operate the manual transmission, brakes, and proper praying procedures, we headed out on two bikes, me and Claudia on one and Reece on the other. To my surprise the bikes were quite easy to ride and within fifteen minutes or so I was quite comfortable on it. For the first while we rode uphill out of Cuzco, arriving at our first set of Incan ruins for the day. Having a somewhat brief look around we finally were able to admit to ourselves that, although beautiful in their own right, the ruins just couldn't match the exhiliration of the bikes. Climbing back on board we left the first site after about 20 minutes, by far our longest stop of the day.

Don't look for poetic descriptions on this entry. Don't even bother thinking that there will be some inspirational bit of colourful description. This day was pure macho fun, heightened by the fact that I had a good looking girl grasping at my torso the whole day.

After the first stop the rain started. Although the roads were almost empty we were still extra vigilant because of the slickness of the roads. But, again, the bikes proved easy to handle and we proceeded without incident. Stopping briefly for lunch we were happy to see the rain fade to a light sprinkle by the time desert was hurriedly chowed down (damn it, we wanted to get back to the bikes!). Speeding away with testosterone replacing sensibility we had a great time winding around the roads leading around the sacred valley until our turnaround point, a totally intact set of incan terraces being smothered by tourists. Opting to just have a look from the plaza, we decided to hunt for some dirt roads... This is where the real fun started.

Quickly finding a suitable road that wound through a valley and hugged a river, we quickly figured out why they are called DIRT bikes. I cannot remember a more fun time in my life, flying around corners throwing dirt on kids frantically waving their arms in the air at the sight of Gringos openning up some bikes through their little villages. With a smile permanently plastered on my face and adrenaline pouring into my blood the speeds raised and the acceleration's pace quickened. After about two hours of flying through the narrow dirt streets, we headed back towards Cuzco in order to make our return time. Save one exception (a wild ride down a dirt road to some more Incan ruins, this time a huge array of rectangular pools used to mine salt by the Incans) we had the rest of the day on somewhat major artery running into Cuzco. The most hair-raising part of the day was coming into the city after dark, on my first day ever on a bike (made more sluggish by having two people aboard) weaving around buses and motortaxis. Completely exhilirated and now freezing cold we returned the bikes by seven o'clock. If I were at all a smoker I would have had one, sighed heavily, and knocked back some whiskey. Instead we had dinner and exchanged anecdotes about the day. After a movie Reece retired to bed and Claudia and I stayed up all night. All in all this was one of the best days of my life.

The next afternoon, after a nap cut short, Joe, Angie, Reece and I headed to Aguas Calientes for a visit to Machu Picchu. Pleasantly surprised by all aspects of the trip, save the price, we arrived at the ruins at 6:30 am after an hour and a half of hiking up a steep hill. The site itself was unbelivable. Mindblowing. Simply unworldly. However, the way in which you were restricted in experiencing it subtracted a great deal from the experience.

People who have been following my blog for a while know that I simply can't stand the fun-in-a-box sort of experience that you are so often forced into in Peru. This was the most extreme form of that experience imaginable. After being shuffled through the entrance of the park - I mean archealogical site - like cattle, we were immediately presented with an awesome view of Machu Picchu, mysteriously veiled by a thin layer of misty clouds glowing in the sun barely peeking over the valley walls surrounding the ancient city. But the allure was quickly shattered when hundreds of Gringos set up tripods and complained that the lighting wasn't good for a photograph. Exploring the city was a delight despite constantly overhearing a costant hum of tourists complaining that "there is only so many things you can take a picture of in this stupid city" and the like. After exploring the city for about an hour and inconspicuously eavesdropping on a few tours (all in English, of course) we decided to climb a nearby mountain to get a birdseye view of the site. After about half an hour of climbing I was at the top and savouring a quiet moment away from the hordes. However that tranquility was shattered when a bus load of complaining tourist (dressed mostly in spotless, obviously never before used North Face neon jackets and un-broken-in hiking boots) waddled their way up to the summit where I was perched. Without taking a single moment to savour the site or reflect on its mystery, camera bags were opened (many taking the opportunity to gloat on how much they spent on their cameras or how quickly they managed to hike up the mountain) and a plethora of photographs (all no different than those found after a quick search on Google) were snapped to prove they had gone to the site. A group of Asians took turns posing in front of the distant Machu Picchu, chests pushed out most probably to make their story about the agonizing "trek" more tasty, quickly snatching their digital cameras back to make sure the pictures turned out. I would say that more time was spent looking at Machu Picchu on the camera's LCD screen than in the flesh. Once the pictures were taken, the name "Machu Picchu" checked off their to-do lists (or to-brag-about lists) they unhappily shuffled back down the mountain, many complaining (almost in disbelief) that the path was dirty. This left a very unpleasant taste in my mouth so I left the summit and searched a quiet nook, which I found soon after.

Looking down at the city, accented by its long vertical terraces, it now looking like an elaborate ant farm (except instead of a uniform coloured ant you found neon coloured parasites), it really hit me that I was looking at a real city where real people, not physically any different from us, worshipped and worked in a real world. My thoughts often returned to Chaco, the modern day Incan town I visited in the Colca Canyon, which greatly enhanced my experience of Machu Picchu. It became easy to imagine what the society would look like and how it would function. I realized, though, that I was more impressed by Chaco than by Machu Picchu... Chaco was alive and well; Machu Picchu was a stone disney world.

I am very glad I went to Machu Picchu, no matter how disappointed I feel in how little people of my sort bothered to appreciate it (there were some remarkable exceptions, I should point out). There were more photographs taken than thoughts had about the Incan people, and it really bothered me. Afterall they had to get back to their XBoxes and their BMWs. A thought that has been growing in me and, as much as subconsciously I don't want to have it bloom, I can't turn my back on it now. We are imperialists. The white man still rules, although under a different cudgel: the almighty dollar. The most vivid example I can think of was in Arequipa, in the main Plaza, the Plaza des Armes (all peruvian towns and cities have a Plaza des Armes, don't ask me why). Sitting above on a wraparound second-storey balcony were all the white tourists, lazily sipping expensive coffee and complaining about the slowness of their service. Below, being looked down on, both literally and figuratively, worked the local people, carrying food on their backs for white tourists. In Cuzco the situation has reached an almost comical level, where in the Plaza (what i call the snake pit) locals berrate tourists (and I mean berrate: if you walk though the plaza at night you will have at least 5 people at all time surrounding you pleading with you to go to their establishment, all in English and no holds barred). The city is owned by tourists, it is completely at its whim. The culture has suffered much, with the nice colonial buildings burried by neon signs saying "Internet", "Machu Picchu", "Hostel" and "Tourist laundry". I really, really don't like Cuzco and cannot wait to head on.

First, though, I will have another day of dirtbiking and a trip to the nearby Jungle, probably with local people carrying my bags. Talk about hypocricy!

ciao for now

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Photos

Dirtbiking
A TERRIBLE picture of Claudia...

HAHaha
The flag on the left is the Peruvian flag. The flag on the right is the flag for the indigenous people of Peru... resemble something?

Comments

[Jason Wilson]

So freakin jealous...
Oh my God... Dirtbiking around to Incan locations. Finding your own place at Machu Picchu to enjoy it away from the hordes. It looks awesome. Sounds like a wicked experience! Can't wait till I do it myself. Practically drooling over the dirtbiking explanations. hehehe. Awesome.