mmm. . . machu picchu

In hindsight, I'm so glad I elected to take that bus up the mountain, rather than walk. It took probably twenty minutes to wind our way up the hairpin turns of the dirt road (I've heard it called a highway but I don't know what that's about. . . unless they're trying to be literal, because it is pretty high up), and I've heard the walk takes at least 45 minutes, going up stairs the entire way.

I wasn't part of a guided tour, of course, but there were plenty of guides waiting at the entrance, trying to entice travelers to join their group at the last minute. Because I didn't have money to spare for that, I'd done as much research as possible on the site and was counting on my semi-eidetic memory to make sure I knew where everything was. I was also armed with a little brochure and map from the tourism office.

The whole concept of Machu Picchu made me a little bit nervous. A stone city, with stone walkways, on top of a mountain, in a perpetually damp area? Seemed like the perfect recipe for Lizzie falling to her death. I can hear you right now, saying, "But Lizzie, haven't you been blessed with incredible natural grace and balance?" And to you I say, "No." That's why I opted not to attempt to climb Huayna Picchu, the steep peak at the east end of the site, which offers an incredible view, not to mention bragging rights. I had a couple of friends get up the mountain in less than 20 minutes or something like that, and they would not shut up about it.

The entrance to the ruins snaked along the side of the mountain, with only a rickety wooden fence there to protect me from my own potential clumsiness. On my left were two plaques commemorating the re-discovery of Machu Picchu: the first read, "A tribute to Hiram Bingham, on the 50th anniversary of the discovery of Machu Picchu, 1911-24 July-1961." The second plaque painted a slightly more accurate picture of Bingham's 'discovery': "The Cusco National Cultural Institute pays tribute to Melchor, Arteaga, Richarte, and Alvarez, who inhabited Machu Picchu before Hiram Bingham, October 1993." (Bingham, an American explorer, believed he was the first to discover the 'lost' city, when in reality, the site was known to the locals and a few families even lived on the side of the mountain.) I got a little bit of a kick out of this.

To the right of the path was a spectacular view of the neighboring mountains and the valleys between them. I had to stop and take a few pictures, but tried to keep moving so I could see the good stuff.

Finally I came to the main ruins. I checked the map and thought that it might be a good idea to check out the Sun Gate first, which was off the west edge of the map. It was probably just right there, not too far out of the way, right?

Wrong. I walked for an hour and a half along a narrow stone walkway with no rail, passing llamas and scattered ruins. My worn-out trainers slipped out from under me a few times, and I came dangerously close to falling off the side of the mountain, but I continued on until I reached Intipunku, the Sun Gate.

It was cool, but maybe not worth all the walking I did to get there and back. There were some terraces, and some structures, and a doorway which basically led from one side of the mountain around to the other side. I spoke with an Aussie couple who suggested that the respiratory stress I was exhibiting due to the extensive walking at high altitude was actually pertussis, which concerned me somewhat. After they left, I had a nice chat with Cesar, the park official tasked with watching over the site from around five am to five pm. Pretty cool cat.

The walk back offered me some fantastic views of the city of Machu Picchu, with Huayna Picchu in the background. I slipped and fell a few more times, and my bad knee started clicking, but I really couldn't have cared less.

Because Machu Picchu is located above the Urubamba River, there is almost constantly mist rising up around it, obscuring the view. But sometimes, the sun cuts through this fog and shines down on the old stones, and the sky is a perfect blue and grass is a perfect green and llamas wander around the ruins and it's all just perfect. I tried to capture these fleeting moments with my camera.

Once I was back to the city, I took a few obligatory pictures from the guard tower, which is where almost all of my friends had taken their Facebook profile pictures. Their pics featured them jumping, pulling super pensive faces, or posing naked. Because I was traveling solo, I didn't have anyone to act as my photographer, so I had to work some self-timer magic and find a couple of fellow travelers to take relatively boring pictures of me standing over the ruins. I found a couple of boys who had been staying at Loki, but it took them a while to recognize me with my hair in braids and under a wool hat, wearing no makeup, and with my chest flattened under a couple of sports bras. Not how I generally look while working behind the bar. There was also an older couple from Madrid, to whom I spoke for a few minutes about that amazing city. I reveled in the brief opportunity to work the classic Spanish accent.

Let me take this chance to explain the history of Machu Picchu. Because it was pretty much abandoned when Hiram Bingham arrived in 1911, no one is quite sure when or why it was built. Some people think it's a sacred site, because it is nestled amongst mountains that were spiritually very important to the Incas (the whole area is called the Sacred Valley), but the most popular theory is that it was built as a residence for an emperor. Its gardens could produce four times as much food as necessary for the number of inhabitants, and it was in such a position as to be almost impossible to attack, and very easy to defend. In spite of this, the emperor and his entourage appear to have abandoned the site when the Spanish arrived in the area, although there's no evidence that the Spanish were ever aware of Machu Picchu. We'll probably never know a lot of important details surrounding the site and its history.

As I stood looking out over the ruins, considered to be one of the new Wonders of the World, I was flooded with a sense of accomplishment. I had walked much of the way to Machu Picchu, planned my own expedition with no help from a travel agent or anything like that, dealt with adversity and problem-solved effectively, and I kept my head up even when people said, "But you're a girl. Are you sure you want to go alone?" In short, I did it, and I think the picture to the above left captures the sense of relief and satisfaction that I was experiencing.

When my little moment of triumph had come to an end, I decided to do a brief tour of the main ruins. That Incan stonework is really pretty amazing. Like the 12-sided stone in Cusco, the walls in Machu Picchu were well-carved, and everything fit together impeccably. There's a reason they're still standing after 500 years. I took plenty of pics, got into an altercation with a security guard, and watched a woman attempt to absorb the energy of the Intihuatana, a sacred stone which is designed to point directly at the sun during the winter solstice. The Inca believed that it kept the sun on track, and its name means 'Hitching Post of the Sun.' I checked out the Temple of the Sun, the Room of the Three Windows, and then I ran out of time. My attempt at a quick, inconspicuous exit was foiled by the maze-like structures, but I eventually got myself un-lost and onto a bus headed back to Aguas Calientes.

My encounter with the vicious dogs, coupled with the torrential downpours a few hours prior, had convinced me not to try walking back to the hydroelectric plant. I wanted to be home before dark, so I headed back to the train station and shelled out $50 for a ticket back to Ollantaytambo, where I planned to catch a bus home. Then I hurried to retrieve my backpack, change, grab lunch, and catch my train.

I foolishly decided to try 'Mexican' food again. It was more or less Chinese food with tortillas. Still, it was flavorful and filling. Inca Rail was a pleasant surprise (get it? It's cute because it sounds like the Inca Trail), with luxurious seats, complimentary beverage and snack service, and great views of the river and valleys.

In Ollantaytambo, I discovered that there were no buses back to Cusco, only car service. Drivers wait at the train station, shouting the price for a one-way trip, and you decide if it seems like a good value to you. I ended up in a van with a few Argentines and an Asian man, and we picked up a few locals on the way. As usual, I was the only girl traveling alone.

The highway also followed the path of the river much of the way, and I saw firsthand the destruction caused by the recent flooding. When I say that the highway followed the path of the river, what I mean is that it sort of hugged it or spooned it. Basically, there was the highway, and that gave way immediately to a steep cliff, at the bottom of which was the churning, grey river. There was no shoulder, and guard rails were rare. In one spot, the road was down to one lane, because the rest of it had simply collapsed into the river, leaving a gaping, abrupt edge. Add to that the driver's insistence that 80 mph was an acceptable speed for turns and it was a pretty interesting ride. We stopped briefly for gas, but the driver filled up only a quarter of a gallon, so I'm not really sure what that was about. Probably a drug deal or something. (And if you're wondering, gas in Peru is every bit as expensive as gas in America, if not more expensive.)

After a couple of hours, we arrived back in Cusco. I realized that the driver's route was conveniently taking me right past the Loki, and so I found myself back home, ready to enjoy my last few days as a cusqueña.

aguas calientes

The town of Aguas Calientes has only one purpose, and that is to serve the hundreds of thousands of tourists who visit Machu Picchu every year. As such, it is full of hostels, restaurants, ATM's, and internet points. As I came into town, I was passed repeatedly by tourist buses, and found myself between the roaring Urubamba River and hotel after hotel.

Loki remained by my side as it began to pour. I had seen a few maps of the town and had them well-memorized, but I couldn't be sure of the scale, so I stopped and asked the first police officer I saw how to get to Pachacutec Street. He pointed to an open plaza up the street and told me to turn right when I got to it.

I mentioned that Aguas Calientes is full of restaurants, but I don't think you understand. On the main streets in Aguas Calientes, literally almost every single storefront on the street level is occupied by a restaurant. The ones that aren't are souvenir shops, internet points, hostels, or overpriced snack shops. I don't know where the actual residents of the town are.

Waiters stand in the street and try to persuade you to choose their restaurant. At times, I would have two or three guys surrounding me, telling me what was on special and why their tourist menu had better food than the other guys' tourist menu. A couple of the waiters petted Loki as we walked past, and one called him by name--it sounded like Cookie.

"You know this dog?" I asked him. He told me the dog lived at the restaurant. I informed the waiter that Cookie had actually walked with me since the hydroelectric plant and he got a sort of bemused look on his face, saying, "So that's where he goes."

I left Cookie with him, figuring I didn't have to make good on my promise to feed the dog a steak dinner when he had his own restaurant full of choice steaks, and I continued on towards my hostel.

Aguas Calientes is stretched out across the river and between a few mountains, so the part that I was in, to the north of the river, had only two streets running east-west, and maybe a dozen other streets crossing them. (Here's a map to help you out.) Pachacutec was one of these east-west streets, and the hostel I'd selected was at the far end of town. I'd chosen it because it was recommended in the Lonely Planet guidebook, and it was also near the hot springs for which the town is named. I had been hoping to get into town with enough time to spare to go for a soak in the springs for a few hours, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.

After maybe ten minutes of walking uphill, I came to my destination. It had a nice lobby that was full of windows, so I could see the doorman napping within, arms crossed over his chest. I stepped inside and, unwilling to wake him, headed up the stairs towards the sounds of construction work to try and find the owner.

The third floor of the hostel was just a frame, open to the outside. A handful of workers were hammering, measuring, that kind of stuff. One guy came over to me and asked if he could help me.

He told me that the nightly rate was 20 soles (around $7), and I could have my pick of a couple of rooms. I think I ended up making my decision based on the room number or the fact that my room was at the end of the hall. For some reason, that sort of thing makes me feel more secure.

The room had pink and green walls, with a painting and some sort of hanging textile piece. There was also a full bed, private bathroom with shower, a small television, and a window looking out onto the back yard, which was basically a steep mountainside. Satisfied, I paid for the room, showered, laid my wet clothes out to dry, and stepped out to try to sort out my lack of funds situation and also find dinner.

Turns out that that Machu Picchu entry fee is pretty steep, which is one of the reasons I wanted to save money by walking so far. For adults, with no student discount, the price is around $45. The ticket office does not accept credit cards, and it does not accept any foreign currency. This sort of messed with my plans, as I had a $20 bill that I'd been hoping to put towards the cost. I had to run around town trying to find ATM's, one of which told me that I only had a few dollars in my account, and change my American money to Peruvian soles at a disgusting rate.

After finally getting my ticket, I had the task of choosing from scores of restaurants and cafes. There was a surprising number of places claiming to make Mexican food, so I thought I'd try one out. Long story short? Mild disaster. The guacamole was bland, and the seasonings on my grilled vegetables were a little bland. They gave me the whole 'here's the salsa but be really careful because it's the spiciest stuff we have' routine, and as usual, I finished their salsa and asked for more. Despite the unorthodox flavors, it was a filling meal, especially when washed down with some fresh lemonade.

A slight damper was put on the evening by the waiter. I was almost alone in the restaurant, and he took the opportunity to talk so much that I found myself wishing he would leave so that I could actually eat. I learned all about some mystic traditions in the town and somehow that was connected to indie rock music and the Red Hot Chili Peppers and what were my plans for tomorrow night because he was going to go out to a club and he wanted to take me with him. He could also accompany me to the hot springs if I so wished. I told him I would be getting up early to see the ruins and then planned to return to Cusco as soon as possible to get back to work. I was instructed to let him know if I changed my mind.

As soon as I had paid the bill I ducked out of there. Turned out all the talking had made me a little hungry, and I impulsively bought a sandwich from a sad little deli just up the street. Within a few minutes I was under the covers (wrapped up tight too, because as it turned out, there was an owl-sized hole in my window) and watching a news special on George Bush and what the Peruvians perceived as his deceitful, warmongering ways. I nibbled on the sandwich, which had obviously been sitting in that deli case all day, and then it was lights out in anticipation of a four-thirty am alarm.

My intent was to get up early, buy my bus ticket (the ticket office had just closed when I arrived), and see Machu Picchu with enough time to spare for a dip in the hot springs before determining the best way to get home. But when I woke up, I could hear rain pouring down, so I pressed snooze every few minutes for at least another hour and a half. Finally the rain seemed to be dying down, so I got out of bed, dressed, braided my hair, and watched the news for a few minutes.

I wasn't really sure what to wear because in the highlands of Peru, like Machu Picchu and Cusco, the temperature is usually between 40 and 65 degrees, but the sun is incredibly powerful (it's actually stronger in Cusco than anywhere else in the world, according to Wikipedia). And during the rainy season, which it obviously was, the skies could open up at any minute. It seemed like it was going to be a cooler day, with a lot of cloud cover, so I opted for black leggings (I didn't really have a choice there, as they were the only bottoms I'd brought), a blue Loki tee, my eagle scarf (someone left it at the bar so I claimed it, and it looks hella BA and adventurous and whatnot, like if Ke$ha and Indiana Jones had a baby, it would be that scarf), a grey hoodie, my alpaca wool hat, and my alpaca wool socks. I also took my umbrella, mp3 player and my passport holder, and left my backpack in reception after I checked out.

I rushed to the train station, checked train times, then ran to the bus station and bought my tickets there (some people walk, but I really didn't have the time, and I didn't feel like my knees could handle it). There was no time for breakfast. I boarded my bus and began the ride up the mountain to Machu Picchu.

an epic adventure of self-discovery

Once we had climbed up to the main set of tracks, we turned left and walked along a worn path to the side of them. I could see shoe prints in the mud, as well as a few paw prints. The river was down the valley to my left, and the jungle grew more dense over the tracks to my right.

The uninterrupted quiet was almost suffocating, and it made every innocent sound seem threatening. The sound of water dripping onto fallen leaves might as well have been footsteps behind me, and the breeze through the trees might as well have been a whisper. Although I had originally intended to do my mini-trek all on my own, I have to admit that having Loki with me made me feel much more relaxed.

Loki's presence still didn't stop me from getting a little nervous as we approached an underpass. Essentially, it looked as though a bridge had once run perpendicular to the train's route, but all that remained was the enormous concrete structure directly over the tracks. With several moss-covered columns and an interior I couldn't see all the way into, it seemed to me to be a perfect hiding spot for a psychotic serial killer to lay in wait.

But as nervous as that bridge made me, Loki seemed to have no problem with it, so I imagined myself in the trailer of a movie about my life, with Don LaFontaine doing voice-over work: "One girl. . . on an epic adventure of self-discovery. . ." and I walked right through that tunnel, emerging totally unscathed on the other side.

That voice-over sort of became my mantra for the journey. When I had to hike past the eerily quiet shacks that were infrequently located right beside the tracks, I repeated those lines in my head. When a skinny chicken burst out of the jungle, squawking frantically, I repeated them again--and walked a little faster.

I stopped to get my water bottle out of my backpack after about an hour. Loki seemed annoyed by the delay. Feeling extremely grateful for his company, and not having ruled out the possibility that he might be some kind of spirit guide, I found a fairly concave rock on the ground and poured a little water in it for my friend. He was completely uninterested, so I took a long drink from the bottle and returned it to my bag.

For that first hour or two, the river was on my left. We had drifted away from it for a bit, but eventually we joined it again, and finally it came time to cross it. Now, I'm not sure if you've ever heard of the Urubamba River, but it's pretty massive. All those angry floodwaters coming down from the mountains, pushing buses and cars off the roads and eroding the hillsides, were joining this river. It had become an angry, wide, greyish-brown behemoth, and its width made it seem deceptively sluggish. There was one way across it, and that was a rusted and rickety iron bridge. Because I was approaching from the left, I found myself standing right below a sign that said in Spanish, "Crossing of the bridge by pedestrians is prohibited."

What else was I supposed to think but that I'd taken a wrong turn? I looked up and down the river, but saw no other route. Moreover, the sign had some graffiti on it, which indicated that other English-speaking travelers had been there. And looking down, I saw dozens of recent footprints in the mud. Maybe this was the only way.

Luckily, I noticed a railing to the right of the main bridge. There was a walkway of rusted and cracked iron plates along the bridge, with a thin rail about the size of the fenceposts at my grandparents' farm for support. This pedestrian bridge looked slick, and little puddles had formed upon it where the iron had bowed under the weight of travelers like myself.

I looked to Loki. Surely there was another way? Maybe I should go back to the station and take a train instead? That sad bridge, fifteen feet above a raging river, seemed like the worst idea in the world at the moment. But I checked the time and decided I couldn't waste any time if I wanted to arrive in Aguas Calientes before dark. I took my camera out of my hoodie pouch and put it in my backpack instead, and made sure that was securely fastened. (I have a tendency to worry neurotically about losing things permanently, and having a camera fall into a river and never be seen again would certainly qualify.) Placing my hand onto the dark orange railing, I took a deep breath and my first step onto the bridge.

Did I mention that I also have a fear of heights, and a fear of open water? Yep, being a lifeguard has made me extremely uneasy about water I can't see the bottom of. I think I realized that when I swam out to the buoys in the ocean at Nice a year and a half ago. It just makes me think about sinking down and down and not being able to push off of the bottom, and not knowing what your feet will come into contact with, and that terrifies me. Anyway.

Loki could have opted to take the pedestrian bridge, but he was way more adventuresome than me, and chose to trot across the railroad ties instead. I tried telling him that it was forbidden, but I figured he had the supernatural ability to sense the vibrations created by an approaching train, or he'd at least be able to hear the whistle, so I wasn't too worried about him. However, I was annoyed because I felt like he was setting a pace that I needed to keep up with. Every step I took seemed dangerous, because the thin iron sheets buckled and creaked when I put my weight on them, and some were rusted through. My feet seemed unsteady and slippery, and my entire body was trembling, so I pulled myself along the rail hand over hand.

When I reached what seemed to be the halfway mark, I celebrated silently, but the overwhelming thought in my mind was that I was probably standing over the deepest part of the river. On top of that, I couldn't help but think of how quickly I would sink if I fell into the water with my backpack on. Great attitude, right?

But finally my feet touched land once again, and gradually the shaking subsided and my eyes dried. I continued on with the river directly to my right, so loud that I could barely hear anything else, and that made me uneasy. The path also seemed lower here, and as a result, there was more standing water along it. In some places I had to walk right on the tracks to avoid sinking. I was passed by a couple of boys, but other than that, it was pretty lonely.

At this point, the path and the train tracks were hugging the mountains pretty tightly, and we broke away from the river for a little bit. During one of these stretches, I noticed fencing and a few shabby structures to the right, obscured by foliage. Loki became uneasy, and I heard a few barks from within the fences. Suddenly, two dark dogs tore out of the farm and towards Loki.

He ran away from me and the two dogs, both of which were a little bit smaller than him, followed him. One pinned Loki and clamped down on the scruff of his neck while the other growled. Everything was happening so quickly, but I worried that the dogs would seriously hurt Loki or come after me next. I screamed for help, before remembering what country I was in and yelling for auxilio instead. Within seconds, a short, barefoot Peruvian woman had emerged from the complex, shouting at the dogs. She picked up a couple of rocks and threw them at the black and brown dogs, and that was enough to make them retreat. Although I tried to thank the woman, she kept her head down and shuffled back into her home without saying a word to me.

I picked up a few rocks of my own and put them in the pocket of my hoodie, and then started walking as fast as I could away from Loki and the other dogs. My mama taught me a few important things when I was a little girl, and one of the most important was to never run away from a dog you don't know. So I walked away, and although I didn't discourage Loki from following me, I didn't encourage him, either. Of course, he stayed by my side, and I noticed that he had a little blood marring the white fur on the back of his neck. I started to worry about things like rabies, remembering that things like that can be spread through saliva and can get into your system through your eyeballs as well. So if one of those dogs had had rabies, and had given it to Loki, and then he shook his head like dogs sometimes do, and his spit flew into my eye. . . well, I was screwed.

Obviously, my overactive imagination was running wild, so I was more than relieved when I arrived at a makeshift picnic area which was labeled as a restaurant. An old woman and her son sat on a bench with baskets filled with sodas, waters, and sports drinks. After that scare with

the two strange dogs, I was glad to have a little human company in what seemed to be a relatively safe spot, so I sat down and shelled out a few of my very last soles for a bottle of yellow Gatorade.

The woman smiled when she saw the dog, and asked me if he'd gotten in another fight. I explained what had happened and asked her if they knew him. They actually told me that they see Loki sometimes a couple of times a day--he will find a lone person at whatever end of the trail he's at and walk to the other end with them, and once he gets there, he'll go back the other way. He just does that over and over again. This reassured me a bit, because he was well-known and even though he was still a strange dog, that somehow made him seem more trustworthy, but it also made me feel a little less special because it meant that Loki probably wasn't a real spirit guide.

When I told them that I didn't think there was anybody else behind me on the trail, the two packed up their goods, wished me good luck and reminded me that I was only halfway to Aguas Calientes, and headed down a trail behind the restaurant to their home. I finished my drink and resumed my trek.

So this is when it started to drizzle. I pulled out my umbrella and trudged along, thinking that I must have been the most pitiful-looking person there had ever been. (See? Actually, this picture makes me look even worse, like my eyes were all wonky or something, which I totally don't think they were.) I just trekked along, like Charlie Brown, dragging my feet with my head hanging down, until a boy on a bicycle passed me.

Seeing someone on a bike just reminded me of how futile hiking was. At the rate I was going, there was a chance it would be dark before I reached my destination, and that idea did not appeal to me at all. I buckled down and started walking faster. The combination of my power-walking and a not so bike-friendly path meant that I caught up to the biker within a few minutes. It was the boy from the restaurant, and his name was Walter.

Sometimes we spoke in Spanish, and less often we spoke in English (but even Walter's basic knowledge of English was impressive in an area where many people don't even speak Spanish, just Quechua). Walter was able to give me tips on the area that I would never have found in a guidebook, and he was also able to point out the lower ruins of Machu Picchu on the side of a mountain as we walked farther.

"See?" he asked, pointing. "Machu Picchu."

"Um. . . not really," I said, squinting. I couldn't even tell what I was supposed to be looking at.

"There," he said patiently. "Machu Picchu. And over there, Huayna Picchu." He pointed at a peak looming over the ruins. I nodded, finally able to make sense of it.

He told me that his family had lived along the river for a long time, and he had many brothers and sisters. Although he was around my age, he still lived with his family, but he was going into town that night to meet a friend.

After an hour and a half, we came to the last fork in the road, and followed a path up towards the main road, full of tour buses. Walter pointed up and announced that there was Machu Picchu, then pointed below us to a campground and butterfly garden, and finally directed me towards Aguas Calientes to the left. He had to wait there for a friend. I thanked him and continued on towards Aguas Calientes with Loki by my side as the rain picked up once again.