Machu Picchu-Santa Teresa-Cuzco

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Warning, this is a rather large entry. You might want to take it slow.

My train left in the morning, 6am, and I bought some ´choclo con queso´ (corn with a slice of cheese) from a lady selling at the platform. The train took 2 hours or so, and I sat across from a French family whose daughter bought a beautiful boquet of flowers at one of the stops. The sweet girl gave me one of the flowers, which I most certainly appreciated. The ride was beautiful, slowly climbing up to the cloud forest, misty, wet and very pastoral. Upon arrival at Aguas Calientes, a one-night stop-over town for tourists, I found a hotel that would store my backpack for the day while I explored the ruins. The sweet hotel woman didn´t want to charge me a cent, so I gave her the beautiful flower from the train. (When I returned, exhausted, to collect my bag at the end of the day, the flower was placed on the hotel´s front desk, in a pretty vase, the señora behind, beaming.)
I opted again for the cheap route, choosing to climb to Machu Picchu versus taking the 6 dollar bus. The walk reportedly took 1 hour, though that time must have included rest stops and water breaks. Two montañeros who were heading for the high country pointed me in the right direction. They were each carrying 35 kilos on their backs, and I with my plastic bag with my water and a journal, felt a little silly. I offered to carry a bag one fellow had in his hand, and almost dropped it as he handed it over. It must have weighed 5 kilos, an impossibly small plastic bag, filled with ´´mi comida´´ ´´my food´´ for the hike up. A dozen bananas, avocados, and mangoes. This was a real man.
I made it to the trailhead, took off my shirt, and started up. Half and hour later I was at the top, having not seen a single other person, and now sweating perfusely. I bought my ticket for Machu Picchu (half price for students!) and entered the park. It was raining, and quite cloudy, but I knew this was typical weather for the morning, and the name ´cloud forest´ also gave me a hint. Hiram Bingham, who in his famous 1911 expedition ´discovered´ MP and the two other largest Inca cities, also arrived in the rain so I didn´t feel too bad.
I wanted to take Machu Picchu in small sips, I had seen some pics, but more importantly read so many encounters of how everyone has their breath taken away by the sight. I timidly looked around, very different than my experience the day before, and found a long path. I took the path, which I later learned lead to the Sun Gate, from where hikers on the Inka Trail get their first glimpse of the ruins. It must have taken 40 minutes to get there, stopping a bit to write in my journal and take in my surroundings. There were clouds everywhere, causing a very dramatic picture and feeling. It´s an amazing place, completely ineffible, despite the many who have tried. It inspires dreamers, and both Ernesto Che Guevera and Pablo Neruda wrote extensively about the feelings the ruins spark inside ones soul. A funny side note, when Pablo Neruda was visiting the ruins for the first time, he was accompanied by a troup of followers - an example of the almost saint-like position of a popular latin american poet. He walked around, and came up to the ´Funerary Rock,´ a divan carved perfectly from a huge rock, and one of the main attractions at MP. As Neruda approached it, a follower behind desperate to know what the master poet was thinking, timidly asked .. ¨Sir...what is it that you see?¨ To his disciple´s surprise, Neruda responded ¨why that would make a lovely place to lay out meat and vegetables.¨(ref: hugh thomson ´The White Rock´.)
I spent the day lazily walking the ruins, snapping photos and writing. At noon the clouds lifted and you could almost hear the gasps of hundreds of tourists as we all got our first real glimpse at the surroundings. Huge steep mountains, river valleys, and MP, like a beautiful green and rocky carpet, laid out over a summit. It was, and always forever will be, breathtaking. Even if they do build the cable car, it will only mean more people will be lucky enough to see this amazing sight. I say bring on the cable car.
In the afternoon I decided to hike up Wayna Picchu, the mountain that pops out above the city. Again, another sweat-fest, as I hurtled up the mountain. There´s something about passing people on hills road biking, and passing people on stairs when hiking, that I just love. Silly I know, but I can´t deny it.
At the top of Wayna Picchu I was subject to the most beautiful of views, so I stayed a while, drank some water, wrote a bit, and took some pictures. It started getting chilly, and I hadn´t eaten since breakfast (and at that corn and cheese is hardly sufficient), so I trekked down. Like Huayna Potosi in Bolivia, it was just as hard, if not harder, to descend than ascend. An hour or so later I was back at the main gate, and starving. I had three options; I could wait in the huge line for the bus, I could hike right down to Aguas Calientes but likely pass out due to exhaustion, or I could stay for a bit and find some food. The only restaurant at Machu Picchu is in the Orient-Express hotel, a beautiful 5-star right at the base of MP. Sweaty and hungry I looked for the door, and as some people were leaving, held it for them and entered the restaurant. Like the money belt I mistakenly stole from MEC before I left, I again (completely oblivious to it at the time) had commited a crime. I had entered the restaurant from the EXIT door, and the ENTER door is where you paid the 30 dollar buffet tab. Well, it took me about 3 ½ plates of delicious salmon, pork, cheese, fruit and salads, and 3 glasses of water, 2 cokes and a carrot juice to realize what I had done. I briefly considered telling the waiter, but decided instead I would give him a tip and toast to the death of capitalism. I had some more plates of food and a bowl of soup, and checked out. I slipped the waiter a 5 sol coin (a large tip in this part of the world, and one he most certainly appreciated), and headed back out the same door I entered, stomach bursting with rich, delicious food.
By the time I had decended from MP to Aguas Calientes I was in dire need of a shower. I couldn´t afford, nor didn´t want to stay the night there, and I was excited for the next phase of my journey. Instead I opted for the public thermal baths that give the town its name (Aguas Calientes = hot water) and relxed in the baths for 20 minutes or so. I could feel the burden lifting from my legs, and happily so knowing I had at least a 4 hour walk until a bed. Santa Teresa, the town I speak of, was a trek down the PeruRail tracks, and since it was nearing 6pm, the sun was going down, and I didn´t have a map or a guide, I thought it was best to get rolling. After the baths I returned to the hotel, gave the señora a kiss, took a picture of my flower on her desk, and headed north to the tracks. I had to wait 10 minutes or so for the train to leave, as I wasn´t sure what I was doing was legal or not. Once the train rolled away I started motoring down the tracks, quickly becoming aware of the inconvenient distance between railroad ties. Too far to walk two-at-a-time, and too close to step on each one. I heard a noise behind me. To my amazement, a Quechua man in his sixties was flying along the tracks, not walking in the middle, but up on the edge where the train wheel rides. He had two sicks, which he used like extra legs, and tight-roped / speed-walked at an incredible pace. He slowed as he approached and we walked together until his house, an hour down the road. He kept offering a place to stay, saying his papayas and bananas were the best around, but I wanted to press on. By then it was 8, and fully night-time. But the stars and moon provided a perfect amount of light, and I was glad I had the carrot juice back at Machu Picchu. Maybe ½ an hour later I came across a hydro electric station, a landmark I had been told about, and slowed my pace. The tracks ran right past the hydro station, and a little civilization had been created there, I assume, by and for the families of the hydro workers. I kept walking through, followed by the odd child, dog, or cat. I came across a police station, where two officers were standing outside. They motioned for me to come over, and needing a break, I happily obliged. They asked me where I heading, and told me it was best to stay the night here—they had a free bed—and leave in the morning light. There was at least one bridge and a rope-river crossing that would be too dangerous at night, by myself, with no light, and no map. I took their advice, but first asked it they had any food, by that point I had long digested the rich offerings of the Orient-Express Hotel. They took me to a friends house, where they pounded on the door yelling ¨Señora! Señora! Tienes una cliente!¨ A very short, very old, and very sweet looking woman opened the door, smiled and waved me to follow her in. It was a cute little patio/restaurant, with a few tables, chairs and posters on the wall. The silly striped pants so popular among gringo tourists hung on wall, indicating that my kind had come before. I told her I didn´t care what she made me, mi gusta toda comida, and 10 minutes later I was sipping gatorade, eating fresh river trout, rice, tomatoes and potatoes. After my meal the Señor of the house, a brick-shit-house built Peruvian with an iron handshake offered me a bed. He said the cops bed was OK, but his was more comfortable. ¨But is it more free?¨ I asked him. Laughing, he replied that his was free too, and he would feed me breakfast. Just one example of the amazing generosity I have felt in Peru, I thanked him and helped him set up my bed. Crude, on the floor of the restaurant, but comfy, and kind, and I slept like the dead. Come morning I could smell the potatoes deep frying and was asked how many eggs I wanted. A full on Nick Jardeleza style breakfast, with eggs, potatoes, french fries, tomatoes, cheese, all piled on a giant mountain of white rice. I ate, thanked them, and left. 2 hours later, and one of the most beautiful walks I have ever had, I arrived to Santa Teresa, to find out the bus left in an hour, just enough time to record my experiences of the night before and have a drink before getting on the bus. The driver came and joined me for a Coke, and told me the name on his bus ´gabriela´ and ´harist´ were the names of his daughter and son. We got on the bus, me riding shotgun, and raced to Santa Maria. It was there that I was absolutely ravaged by the infamous black flies of the region (I had managed to avoid them up until then by hiking at night and early in the morning). The busses were full, and the next bus to Cuzco was at 7, it was around noon, so I pleaded with a driver to let me stand in the aisle. Little did I realize this was a road similar to that which I biked in Bolivia, and approximately 6 hours long. Arg. I arrived in Cuzco one tired puppy, and took a taxi to Carlos´s place.
So I opted against the two-hundred dollar inca trail tour in exchange for a zero dollar Brian Trail, where I walked along the Peru Rail tracks from Aguas Calientes to Santa Teresa. Along which I experienced amazing sights, picked fresh fruit from the trees, had two huge meals and a free bed, was ravaged by mosquitoes, and lived to tell the tale. What a trip this has been!
Carlos was at work when I returned to Cuzco, and I crashed on the bed. The next morning he woke me up, dragged me to his mothers house where I could bathe and eat, and where his sister took a memorable photo of himself, his brother brian, and me lying on the couch. It took me a good two days to recover, my legs were extremely sore, my stomach was not right, and I had a headache. Carlos´s mother took great pity on me, feeding me three meals a day, with tea and yogurt to drink as I slept on her couch watching cheezy Peruvian soaps. Once I was back in ship-shape, I booked my ticket to Ica, and Carlos took me to a disco to celebrate our friendship one last time. I was the only gringo, an experience that at the beginning of my trip was unique and thrilling now is commonplace, and we danced ALL night long. The MC really wanted to practice his 4 words of english, so I spent some time in the DJ booth telling people about Canada (and of course how much I love Peru). Now I´m not a great dancer, nor likely never will be, but I learned a thing or two that night at the Disco Tropical. Mostly the music was salsa, cumbia and bolivian salva, and the western misconception that latin american´s don´t drink, they just dance, couldn´t have been more wrong. There were men and boys passed out on tables, chairs, bars, throw-up in the bathroom, fights and all the other lovely happenings that present themselves when people drink too much. I behaved myself, but Carlos said his prayers to the porcelain queen. I left the next day, but not before re-visiting my favourite pizzeria in Cuzco, and having a ¨Peru Libre¨ with the owner, (another) Señor Carlos. My bus took all night, and I woke pressed against a steamed up window, looking out to the famous Peruvian desert, and decending into what looked like the Pacific, but was really a giant blue dust cloud. I arrived at Ica at 9 in the morning, and crashed in my hotel half an hour later. And here I am now, this afternoon I am going to attempt sandboarding, and likely stay in this (hot) desert oasis for a while, working on my tan and chilling out befoe I fly out of Lima on September 7th.
Thanks for keeping in touch, I love recieving your comments and emails. For those in Canada, see you soon, and for those in other places, Suerte, Amor y Salud.
Brian

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Photos

montañeros
the strappers i met along the walk to trailhead. the black plastic bag in Andre´s hand (on the left) is the one I mention...

THE camino inca, the inca trail
there are many inca trails, the incas built roads all over their empire, from Quito, Ecuador, to La Paz, Bolvia and everywhere in between.

postcard
as typical and common as this photo may be, whoever has taken it saw through their camera something unlike anything in the world. The resort city, temple and fort of a powerful civilization at the height of their empire, and never touched by another conquering force. And where do you study the findings from this ruin asked Che Guevera? In the USA of course!

postcard
another one, this time from the top of Wayna Picchu, Machu Picchu in behind.

wayna
decending wayna picchu, the steep trail visible on the left.

the lone traveller
yes, a staged picture, but note the two sticks I previously referred to, and the gross shirt hang-drying from my backpack...that and the beautiful background.

the bus Gabriela and Harist
a common occurence, for both taxi and bus drivers to post the names of their kids on their windshields.

back at carlos´s place
brian, brian and carlos.