Machu Picchu by way of Cuzco!

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I began my journey to Machu Picchu by first going to Cuzco, which, according to legend, means Navel of the Earth. And indeed it was to be the starting point of my adventure with the Incas, the legendary Machu Picchu. (Not to be confused with the Pizzeria with nearly the same name, as evidenced by the accompanying photo.)

After I dropped off my rucksack (I thought I'd throw in a little German) at the Mirador and had a cup of Mate de Coca , I hurried to the Plaza de Armas, one block away from my hotel. It's important to note though, that hurrying anywhere in Cuzco is not a good idea. Since the altitude is much higher in Cuzco than even Machu Picchu, catching your breathe is not always that easy. At first I was just a little winded, but after going up and down the steep, cobblestone paseos, my bouts of "being winded" turned into deep gasps and coughs, certainly not a good look for me.

Cuzco reminds me of many of the small villages and towns of Europe, only with more Incas, llamas and chullos, those fun hats with the earflaps, (I've bought about tweny, mostly for me.) It's an amazing place. I actually spent more time touring and visiting museums in Cuzco after my return from Machu Picchu. But what did stand out in the mean time is what I like to call, the Hard Sell.

It's a term I've coined myself, although I wouldn't be surprised if others used as well. Some of us are cursed with the "I have a hard time saying no" face, of which, I am a part. It's not that I'm a sucker, I just don't want to be rude. I think Hannah recognized that right away. (I called her Hannah because she had the kindest smile and laughing eyes.) She was one of the women wearing the tall hats, skirt, and rainbow colored blankets on her back. Anyway she followed me to at least four stores, waiting outside after I left each one, asking me to buy any one of a variety of things she had in her satchel. I said I wasn't buying now but would return after I had a chance to see everything. I finally left her to go sit on a park bench far away from the stores and write in my journal. Not too long after a period of time, I had a benchmate; Hannah had returned. I gave in and said I would buy a chullo for seven Solis, not the original ten she wanted. I forked over the money and put my new hat in my backpack. Afterwhich I told her, "now that I have bought something from you, you have to let me take your picture."

"Ten Solis," was her reply.

If you're a tourist and you want an amazing, panoramic view, consider taking the Vistadome train from Poroy (twenty minutes away from Cuzco) to Aguascaliente, the city closest to the base of Machu Picchu. On the train, I sat next to three people from Texas, two of them being teachers, so we bonded pretty quickly. It turns out that the teachers had actually been raised in Peru because their parents were missionaries here and set up camp. Angie and Cindy had come back to visit their childhood friends.

I watched as the train followed the path of a seemingly endless river, alongside tiny homes and scattered people working the land, fishing or just carrying on with their daily activities. If this was any indication of what Machu Picchu was going to be like, I was in for something spectacular.

The train stops at Aguascaliente, where anxious passengers disembark, some of them go on their way, others look for their guides. I was in the latter group and quickly found him my guide, Victor Hugo, that’s right, I was going to be led around Machu Picchu by the writer of such classic works as Les Miserable and Hunchback of Notre Dame. Well, if not him, maybe a Peruvian descendent? Okay, probably not, but it was fun to imagine what it would be like if it were really him.

To get to our buses that would take us up to the ruins, we scurried through a Mercado filled with endless souvenirs of brilliant colors that boldly announced, “We are from Peru!” Mr. Hugo pointed out my hotel while crossing a small bridge which spanned a huge river laden with rocks and boulders. It was great to hear the water rushing over the stones and I wouldn’t have minded staying longer. I already felt connected to this place. Many people were taking pictures, and, since I didn’t want to miss anything, I took a picture too.

We walked to the buses that were to take us to the base of Machu Picchu. I found a place in the back of the bus, anxious to arrive at my destination. The trip was about twenty minutes zigzagging along toward the top. Once all of the passengers got off, we waited outside the gates for the green flag which was how we were supposed to find Victor.

Well, after waiting some time, it became apparent that Victor was off somewhere working on his next novel. I never really saw a green flag. I saw a lime colored flag and a yellow flag on the same pole, but it wasn’t Victor that carried it. But I went along with them in the hopes that maybe these colors were close enough.

We began our journey and the first fifty feet were pretty fun. It was after that everything changed. Our ascent became very steep and I could feel my lungs desperate for more air, but I persisted.

Finally, we walked out of a clearing only to see the ruins nestled amongst the magnificent mountains. For centuries the Inca worked on completing the site and to see it up close, it’s easy to see why they wanted to build Machu Picchu. The ruins were amazing and we spent three or so hours exploring it all while Victor relayed all things Incan to us (he had returned to finish his duties as guide.)

Because I was staying overnight in Aguascaliente, my guia suggested that I could climb to the summit where there was another temple, and I even considered it, until I remembered the slight dizzy spell I had at the part of Machu Picchu called Intihuantana. But I did take advantage of climbing again the main part of the ruins and climbed to another level higher where the majority of tourists don’t get to. Maybe I would absorb some of the energy that is said to exude from the site since much of the material here is granite. The quartz within is supposed to emit some sort of energy.

I climbed for about three or four more levels before choosing a spot overlooking most of the ruins. To see them sitting in the center of the four mountains thinking about the hard work, sacrifices and inspiration it must have taken made me feel so grateful at the accomplishments humans have been able to achieve and I wanted to be a part of it. If the Incans were able to do so much to express themselves, surely I could too. With that in mind, I pulled out my journal and tried to draw some of the things I felt and saw. I hoped I would be able to capture f the awe I had while viewing everything. I layed down the foundation of my drawing and it started to take shape.

I was doing pretty well, until I noticed other hikers glancing my way to see what I was doing. In all honesty, I would have tried to spy too, but when it’s my own work on the line, that’s entirely too much vulnerability. One couple, British, I think, stopped behind me and started watching as I drew. Then the lady asked me with that European lilt, “are you painting?”

Talk about a rush of embarrassment. For some reason I began speaking to her in Spanish, but really bad Spanish mixed with babbling English. I think I tried to tell her I was just a novice, but since I couldn’t decide on either language, she grew tired of waiting for me and moved on, no longer interested in my work.

With the thought of more interactions like that, I packed up my journal and continued to climb, trying to see things I might have missed the first time. I think the second time I had more of an appreciation and reverence for what I was experiencing. I actually managed to make it to the next tourist guidepost before you get to an Incan bridge. The gentleman behind the desk told me it was another twenty minutes to the bridge, which was fine. What was not fine, though, was the unrailed pathway hugging the side of the mountain. I love Machu Picchu and all, but not enough to risk plummeting to my death.

So that would put an end to my climbing up, now to return. I headed down, retracing my steps and trying to take a mental picture of all I saw. Other tourists continued to climb, though not as many as on my first ascent. I saw some guy, probably European, trying to take his own picture with one of those huge cameras, so I offered to snap a photo of him. Turned out great, so I asked him to take mine since the other ones I had of myself looked weird to me. He lined up my camera, and I realized I didn’t know what to do with my hands, or how to stand. I’m sure he didn’t want to stand there while I figured it out, so I just kind of leaned forward with my hands on my sides. It’s most-likely one of the strangest pictures I have of myself, which I have decided not to include in my blog at this time.

As I reached the point where you can no longer see the ruins and was about to exit, I decided to stop and somehow show the reverence I felt for this culture. I couldn’t help thinking of the extraordinary feats the people of this ancient civilization had managed to accomplish, and was awed at all I saw. I said a prayer for those in the past, people right now and those to come that they may put their energies into creating something positive in this world.

**sidenote. On the way back to Cuzco on the Vistadome Train, I sat next to a young professor from Mexico who spent most of the time speaking (in Spanish) of the many spiritual places he had visited in his life. He shared with me a ritual he completes at each of the sites. He takes out a conch shell and blows on it at the apex of his journey to show respect and reverence for humankind. I believe I knew exactly what he was trying to do.

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