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Published: February 27th 2009
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Machu Picchu
Sacrifice is Sacred Day 4: The Arrival to Machu Picchu
Part 1
It was hard waking up at 4 in the morning. I’d had a dream I was back in the states with an ex-girlfriend, my dad, an old bandmate, James Fanning and Emily. When James asked me what I was up to the next day, I told him I was going to Machu Picchu. I felt like I was off the trail, but when I awoke reality struck.
Jaime ripped one and there was a knock on the tent almost simultaneously.
“Buenos dias,” said Celsa, an older Peruvian who organized the campsights for the trail. “Tea?”
“Si, si,” I said. “Dos.”
Tired and sore, I sat up and took a sip of the warm tea.
“This is good,” I croaked.
“I like it a lot,” responded Jaime, always positive. In about ten minutes all of us were in front of the restaurant next to our guide, Carlos.
“All right, amigos,” he began. “Today we will reach one of the most beautiful places, one of the new seven wonders of the world, Machu Picchu.The first meet-up point today is Intipunku, also known as the
Arrival
Made it! Sun Gate. Take your time to get there, amigos. The trek is a little dangerous. Watch your steps, amigos.”
After waiting at the checkpoint until 5:30, we were off at our own pace: Holland and Mexico in the lead, the four blokes, Gretel, Leeann, Amanda, me, Mary and Jon, Emily and Mauro.
One hour before we reached the Sun Gate, I took my time and looked around the jungle. The sky cleared a bit halfway along the voyage and I stopped to view the Andes. One thing unique about this gorgeous mountain range is their massive pointy size. They’re all clumped together and—around here—the only other surroundings are ruins and campsites.
The distinctive forest green couldn’t be seen that early; the mountains were darker and still a little foggy. The rain sprinkled, but it wasn’t anything to get a pancho out for.
I caught up with Amanda just in time to reach a massive stairway of rocks.
“This is a ladder, not a stairway,” Amanda thought out loud.
Tall and fit with long dark hair and shades, Amanda from Melbourne took off slowly but surely, keeping in mid Carlos’s words.
“Careful,” said Mauro from behind as I began
Sun Gate
Before it Cleared to climb behind Amanda. “This is a gringo killer.”
Mauro repeated this two or three times thinking it was clever. We were too focused to laugh. Emily, who hates uphill climbing, took her time moreso than Amanda and didn’t appreciate Mauro repeating his joke once again.
Soon enough we were there: Intipunku. In front of us were two stone gates that correspond with the winter and summer solstices. The view was still foggy, but in the distance we could see Huayna Picchu looming.
“Just wait, amigos,” said Carlos, sitting down with his big orange pack still on, his curly black hair sticking out under his blue cap. “It will clear for us.”
He was right. In about five minutes, we had our first view of Machu Picchu. Just one hour away from us now. The city in the mountains, the lost city of the Incas (or “Andeans” as they prefer). Deserted in the 1570’s, rediscovered in 1911 by Yale archaeologist and historian Hiram Bingham.
Machu Picchu. Exhausted, hungry, yet energized by the mysticism, we looked at each other with a sense of triumph and victory.
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“Think about it. When something strikes us as beautiful, it displays more presence and sharpness of shape and vividness of color, doesn’t it? It stands out. It shines. It seems almost iridescent compared to the dullness of other objects less attractive.”
--Sarah Lorner, The Celestian Prophecy
The crowds of tourists gathered. As I continued to hike the most anticipated and shortest hour hike of my life, I was passed by other 2-day Inca trail groups with a similar itching to get there. As the fog returned, I started thinking of all the people I’d talked with about Machu Picchu. I thought of the first time I ever heard about this magical place.
“I want to go to Machu Picchu,” said Susanna. I was lying on my bed in Louisville in May of 2003. It was about four in the morning and we’d been talking on the phone since midnight.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You haven’t heard of Machu Picchu?”
I thought of the last time I talked to her. Smoking a cigarette outside Soldier’s Chapel in Big Sky, Montana, watching the sunset over Lone Mountain.
“You’re going to Machu Picchu with a girl you’ve never met?” she said boisterously yet playfully. “Come on! You could have asked me if I wanted to go!”
After she told me about it I looked up some photos. Immediately I was stirred and captivated. For a while the site was my desktop background. I longed to visit instantly.
I thought about the drunk cougar with a dirty blond perm and glasses at the Murray Bar in Livingston, Montana. When I told her I was going to Machu Picchu she took a step back like something had come over her.
“It will change your life,” she hollered, reminiscing momentarily. “Oh you’ll love it. I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
She was too drunk to really explain her experience, but I knew—whatever it was—it wasn’t going to be like mine.
“No one should try to have someone else’s experience,” said Emily. “It’s only yours.
And there it was.
We arrived to the gate after three days and nights and one dramatic morning. Victory. The ruins and Huayna Picchu. We made it.
I thought of all those who told me “I’ve always wanted to go to Machu Picchu”, whether it wsa a grandmother, a co-worker an old college buddy or an ex. I wanted them to see what I was seeing at that moment; unfortunately, my camera was long gone and my disposable left over from a wedding reception at the ranch decided to stop working at Intipunku.
More than anything else, it was the overwhelming sensation of our journey that made the present moment unforgettable.
“Sacrifice is sacred,” Carlos told us on day one of the trek. Now I understand. We pushed ourselves, we ached, slept uncomfortably, some of us puked, others got the runs. I thought of Xavier’s first day, Mary’s second day. That second day of Dead Woman’s challenged us physically and mentally. Spiritually, it opened my eyes.
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