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Published: August 9th 2012
The following piece is from our daughter Connie, who flew into Cusco after a two month stint in Mozambique to visit us for ten days. Since I was a bit burnt from blogging, I more than welcomed her article which offered me a break from writing as well as her younger generational insights.......
Into three weeks of volunteering in Mozambique, I fell victim to homesickness. I will never know whether it was the lack of Internet, the unwelcomed male advances, or the constant use of Portuguese that made me feel so alone. Regardless, I broke down and asked my father for a ticket to wherever they might be. A month later, on July 25
th, I was touching down on the tarmac of Cuzco Airport, Peru giddily walking into the arms of my parents. A foreign city had never made me feel so at home.
Cuzco is a modest city of foreign wealth encompassed by local poverty. Tourism screams out through the multitude of name brand stores and shops like North Face or McDonalds. All the while, local villagers wander the streets covered in unkempt cloths, shoving the most useless of souvenirs into visiting faces. Having just got off a
red-eye flight, I slowly toured the city with my mother on my arm. The altitude sickness made me lightheaded and dizzy but the real reason she clung so tightly was because we missed each other. I tried my best to soak in the information the tour guide offered but the only absorbed the fact that silver represents Incan women and gold represents men. To spice things up, we visited the local market and ordered fresh juice. To no ones surprise I ordered my usual papaya milk. In a few quick gulps, I downed two glasses of juice and proceeded to the tables stacked with Alpaca heads, hearts, balls, and other unrecognizable body parts. At one point we passed a witch doctor selling jars of shrunken animals and strange materials claiming to reveal the natural truths of life. Laden by the air mileage, I headed back to the hostel and fell asleep, smiling.
Trek- Day 1
Two mornings later, I was whisked away by Elias our guide onto the Salkantay Trek. A five day-four night trek to Machu Picchu, Salkantay Trek was a rough but rewarding experience. In the shadows of the morning stars, the three of
us met a volunteer from Denmark. Her short stature, bright smile, and excited demeanor led to easy conversation and friendship. Then came the two Philadelphians who flew in a couple nights ago in hopes of conquering Machu Picchu. They were strong and brisk individuals who craved adventure. Tired of small talk and introductions at such an early hour, I sat on the sidewalk and awaited the arrival of our bus. It was a two hour-long ride towards Mollepata - a nice little town with abnormally high menu prices. Our first Trek-family picture was taken here. Elias gathered everyone’s cameras and cheerfully shouted, “Say, Machu Picchu. Say, Whisky. Say, Salkantay Pampa.” Most of us smiled silently back at him, hesitating to acknowledge the quirkiness of our guide.
The group sprinted ahead of my mother and me. No one wanted to be seen as weak. My mom didn’t care. She had done this a few weeks prior and understood that trekking isn’t a sprint but a march. I accompanied her partly because I could feel my lungs straining on the little bit of air and because I didn’t want her to be alone. About a quarter into the hike, my father
introduced me to a couple of Brazilians, announcing that I also spoke Portuguese. A bit flustered and unprepared, I quickly retorted that I only spoke a little bit. I later carried out a longer conversation with Walter - in English of course. The seven-hour trek ended with the group trudging past a hotel. Its residents smugly bathed in their $400 a night hot tub as we continued on to our tiny tents and poorly feathered sleeping bags. That night, no one slept well.
Day 2
We awoke bright and early ready to conquer Salkantay Mountain. The group needed to scale 800 meters in two hours. This was no easy task when you’re at an attitude higher than any mountain in the Sierra Nevada’s. Gritting my teeth, I slowly worked my way up. I found it much easier by conversing and spent a few hours getting to know the guys. Each individual spoke of an interesting story. One is a physics whiz about to start his graduate studies in Paris who also reads The Game of Thrones. The other is sort of a dork that is doing his undergraduate in Mathematics. And finally there was the young
world traveler from Germany, who did his study abroad in Brazil and is visiting Peru as a graduation gift. Lost in conversation, I soon reached Salkantay pass at over 15,650 feet, which overlooked a beautiful valley. The next seven hours of trekking turned out to be a nightmare. The trail became a drastic descent that dug into my knees. Somehow, The Guys flew past me as well as the Denmark volunteer. When we finally did arrive, we see The Guys playing a small-sided aggressive game of futbol. How is that even possible?
Day 3.
The following breakfast, a friend offered some muscle relaxant pills. At first I denied his gift, but feeling the soreness within my legs, I and my parents swallowed down the reddish-orange drug. Before I knew it, I was literally sprinting uphill, leaping over and into mud puddles. When Elias showed us some edible berries, I scourged the forest for every last one, offered it to the group then gulped the rest. When I found an alternative berry, I had Elias squeeze the juice out and paint it on my face. Today’s trek was a breeze; I was full
of energy and undoubtedly high on drugs. Just as we arrived to our stop, I crashed and silently ate my lunch. Eventually, I put two and two together and realized why the Guys sprinted by me yesterday and continued to play soccer – that “over the counter” pill. What an experience.
After lunch the group took a hairy bus ride to Santa Teresa. The driver sped around cliffs as everyone held their breaths for their own lives and the life of one man who sat atop of the bus. In no time, we were all soaking our sore aching bodies in a natural hot spring. The site was wonderfully relaxing. Mountains encircled us as we splashed around like little kids.
Day 4
Today we caught a glimpse of Machu Picchu. It’s terraces peeked out of the mountainside as we trekked along the railroad. My feet were blistered and sore to the core. It was only the habit of putting one foot in front of the other that kept me continuing. Suddenly we hear the sounds of a train coming head on. I look towards the side. Foliage blocked my escape. I looked towards
the guide. “Run!” I’m overcome with a wave of adrenaline and push my way past the group and into an opening. Luckily for the entire group, everyone made it. That night we were able to wander the town. The group was overjoyed by the chance to visit Machu Picchu the following day. It seemed like we had been friends for much longer than four days. Whether tomorrow would love to its hype, no one cared. It had already been a wonderful experience.
Day 5
Machu Picchu is everything and more than I expected. It’s like climbing into a dream. I felt as if I was standing in a heaven. Even though thousands of visitors littered its sites, I felt alone, at peace. There’s not much to say, you just have to experience it. But if you can’t, check out the amazing pictures my mother took.
Epilogue
The trip ended with food poisoning and a day spent in bed.
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Kathlyn
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Machu Picchu
I loved to read Connie's blog, sorry about the sickness, I did that too!!! I see that she is a chip off the old blog, with her style of writing and her love of travel, and her parents. I'm so glad you got to Machu Picchu, such an incredible place. Stay safe!