On the Trail of the Incas

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The Inca Trail is a punishing hike that starts 88km north of Cuzco at a point some 2600 metres above sea level. It negotiates a couple of passes up to an altitude of 4200 metres and arrives at Machupicchu 43km and 3 days walking later. The quality of accommodation along the way is entirely dependent on the class of tent you pack with you. We completed the journey from Cuzco in four hours, by train.

Having made it to Cuzco we nearly did not make it to the number one tourist attraction in South America that is Machupicchu for a couple of reasons. Firstly, the Isla del Sol death march seemed to have disastrous consequences on our gastro-intestinal systems and both C and I came down with stomach bugs, the detail of which has no place outside of a restricted audience medical journal. Whilst my case was less severe C continued to suffer from it even after our 4 day stay in Cuzco was finished. This accounts for the scarcity of our travel tales from this city that thrives in the glow of nearby Machupicchu. Secondly, whilst eagerly relieving us of the considerable sum of money it costs even for the basic Backpacker train service, the tour operator was less than forthcoming about seat availability. What we thought was to be a hotel pickup the next morning actually turned out to be a brisk walk to the nearest bank to get the additional cash necessary for our enforced upgrade to the Vistadome train service. Still, we got better views during the journey, free snacks and more time at Machupicchu. At least we weren’t forced onto the exclusive Hiram Bingham service at $495 a pop. Whilst we waited for the travel agent to purchase our tickets we had the opportunity to buy waterproof ponchos outside the station. I did a quick mental check on the location of the waterproofs I had purchased in Santiago for the Antarctic trip; probably still in the luggage rack of the bus from Copacabana to Puno where I had left them some four days earlier.

The train journey meets up with and follows the raging Urabamba river, a white water rafter’s dream I imagine, an activity it seemed we might be experiencing judging by the precarious way in which the railway clung to the valley sides in some places. The river is responsible for carving a canyon into this part of the Andes and it is quite something to be dwarfed by the severe slopes and occasional snow capped peaks towering either side above us. The train delivers us to the tourist town of Aguas Calientes wedged into the valley below Machupicchu itself. We run the gauntlet of the local handicraft market unscathed to the bus that transports us the last 300 vertical metres and I’d estimate, about the same distance horizontally to Machupicchu. The journey is not for the vertigo afflicted, but I guess those unfortunates would not be tempted by Machpicchu anyway. On arrival we give our tour group the slip and make our own awe-struck way about the remarkably well kept rubble, a legacy of the Inca people who lived here some 6 centuries ago. I would have gone for the hour long climb up Huayna Picchu, the peak that dominates the ruins, but unfortunately the level walk to the entrance at the far end of the site nearly killed me and I didn’t make it in time before they closed the climb. That at least is the story I’m sticking to and don’t let anyone persuade you otherwise. There is a lot of factual information about Machupicchu I’m sure that I should be relaying here but quite frankly just being there overwhelms the visual senses and there are plenty of more knowledgeable guides available than I. Sorry - I’ll hand my archaeology degree back when we get home.

Our return journey through the Aguas Calientes handicraft market is more financially ruinous than our arrival and we only stop spending when our supply of ready cash runs out. Quite why I felt the need for an Inca style blanket I do not know, but an Inca style blanket I now own. The return journey on the train exposes further advantages of being on the upgraded Vistadome service when we are treated to a demonstration of the traditional Peruvian dance of running-up-and-down-a-train-carriage-whilst-wearing-a-funny-costume. The fashion show that followed was a little weird but this was the second time we’ve been treated to in-carriage haute couture by Perurail and we’re beginning to get used to the spectacle. As a reward to the tour operator who forced our expensive and unwanted upgrade we leave the train the stop before it gets back into Cuzco and catch the quicker bus service into town. I imagine the hotel transfer service that was waiting at the station in Cuzco would have given up by now.

It’s interesting to note that whilst we paid some $100 each for the return journey between Cuzco and Machupicchu, the corresponding service reserved exclusively for locals costs some $8. Not that I think this is unfair, I’m actually impressed at the management of this ‘natural resource’ and the way it is used to attract foreign investment into a relatively poor country, and believe me the whole Cuzco/Machpicchu experience is not cheap. Anyway, I bet they don’t get free snacks or fashion shows.

The trip to Machupicchu is the culmination of our Easter weekend in Cuzco. The journey to Cuzco 4 days earlier was also by Perurail train. This one was voluntarily upgraded and was another impressive journey, across the Peruvian Altiplano up from Lake Titicaca and into the valleys of the Andes, reaching our highest point yet at the 4,190 metre high La Raya stop and yet another opportunity to separate tourists from their money with some admittedly fine local handicrafts. Our upgrade earned us a free lunch and access to the observation car at the back of the train. Open backed and with more windows this car afforded us great views of the scenery as we rattled the day long journey from Puno. Passing through towns was a surreal experience. As far as I could tell the towns predated the railroad, so when it came time to build the latter they simply decided that a street would now be the railway and down the tracks went. Houses and shops still line the narrow street/railway and I’m sure that at least a couple of market stalls were quickly dragged to one side as we approached then re-assembled as soon as the train went by. Occasionally a local youth would greet the passing of the train with more of a ‘gesture’ than a wave, but the vast majority of native youngsters waved at us enthusiastically and greeted return waves with such smiles that even we, grumps to the last, ended up waving at everyone. In only one instance was the wave actually the motion of an arm launching a projectile at the train, which earned a stern finger wagging from the guard stationed in the observation car. Whilst he was there apparently for just such occasions, I suspect his real purpose was to quell any rioting amongst the passengers that might occur should the jockeying for limited positions at the open end of the observation car erupt into open warfare. It was on this journey we discovered the full extent of the creativity Perurail exercised in designing ploys to relieve tourists of their money. The traditional Andean folk music was fair enough. Amongst the pantheon of folk music around the world this stuff is rockin’ and certainly puts Morris dancing in its place. However, the fashion show that followed was just weird and the apparent father/daughter duet that followed, whilst the friendliest looking people we’ve seen in South America, just sounded like an animal needed to be put down.

Whilst we were completing this journey it turns out that the company that couldn’t honour our Expedia booked room was able to find us alternative accommodation at the bargain price of only double the rack rate. Whilst relieved at arriving on the evening before Easter Sunday to find that we did have somewhere to stay after all, the hotel made up for in location what it lacked in comfort. And what a superb location it was, right on the main Plaza de Armas across the road from the impressive looking Cathedral and even more impressive La Compania de Jesus church, both lit up magnificently when we arrived after sunset. Every day we needed only to cross the road to be able soak up the ambience of the town which, unfortunately, consisted largely of the relentless hawking of postcards, paintings, shoe-shines and finger puppets. I suppose we shouldn’t have expected anything else from a location that is apparently populated by 10% indigenous peoples, 10% Spanish conquistador descendant, 20% stripey trousered multi-coloured jacket wearing traveller and 60% camera toting tourist. Our dodgy stomachs meant that we were not able to enjoy what is by all accounts (well at least according to our guide book) a happening place, although we did get serenaded to sleep each night by the throbbing beat emanating from the Cross Keys pub just up the road and roused each morning by the piercing noise of police whistle and car horn, the inevitable downside of our superb location.

One would think that paying the highest cost yet for a room in South America would earn us more advantages than a good location, but we just about made the 8 a.m. checkout deadline and made the most of the plaza whilst waiting for our afternoon flight to Ariquipa. This included the by now familiar practise of fending off young street sellers, only partially successfully this time. A particularly fine pitch from a 12 year genius who surely has a bright future in sales worked C into buying a finger puppet. Other less gifted young hawkers tried to rope us in with constant enquiries about whether we had visited the ‘sexy woman’. It wasn’t until after we left Cuzco that we found out that this was actually the nearby Inca ruins of Sacsayhuaman, which at least corrected a spiralling opinion of the local pre-pubescent mindset.

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Photos

The Obligatory Machupicchu Picture
This picture surely rivals Sydney Opera House as the most common picture posted to Travelblog.

Looking up
This one´s probably not so common.

Extreme Terracing
As practised by the Incas.

Some tourists...
...get in the way of a good picture (or perhaps not).

Machupicchu Ruins
A close up view of the ruins, obviously.

Classic Machupicchu
The view on all the postcards.

More ruins...
...and a few more tourists.

The Clouds Descend
As we waited for the bus to take us back down from Machupicchu the clouds started their own journey down the mountains.

Aguas Calientes Market
We had to leave this place to catch our train back to Cuzco, but most of our money stayed here.

Urabamba River
On the way to Machupicchu.

Winding Valleys
Another shot of the Urabamba river.

The Route to Machupicchu
Snow capped peaks looming above the Urabamba river on the way to Machupicchu.

Puno to Cuzco
Whilst everyone else was still finishing their lunch we made a move on the now empty observation car for this prize photo shot.

Agricultural Terraces
In the Andes severe slopes are no excuse for not cultivating the land.

The Train to Cuzco
A short while before getting into Cuzco.

La Campania de Jesus
In the Plaza de Armas, central Cuzco.

Cuzco at Night
From the hotel room, with the statue of Jesus floating eerily in the night sky.

Cuzco by Day
Taken from the train to Machupicchu as it switchbacked its way up the hills.