Finally: Machu Picchu

The morning we were heading to Machu Picchu was like almost every race morning I’ve experienced.

My alarm went off at 4:12 a.m. (side note: I’m weird and set my alarm ending in either 2 or 7 every time. I have no real reason why). We had breakfast at the hotel, but I wasn’t able to eat much, forcing down a little fresh fruit and a roll with jam on it.

People who hike the Inca Trail actually hike straight into Machu Picchu. For most of the rest of us, we take a 30-minute bus ride up the hill from Aguas Calientes.

Despite the dark, early hour, the line stretched about four blocks up a hill. It really was like a bus departure for a marathon. Everyone was dressed warmly in clothes that they would probably start shedding soon after reaching our destination, and jitters were clearly evident.

Some entrepreneurial women walked up and down the street, offering hot coffee and snacks to everyone in line.

The bus ride was fairly uneventful, although it took some energy to keep my stomach in check as we wound up switchback after switchback.

Ruben's classroom was pretty amazing.

Finally, we were walking in Machu Picchu, and Ruben gave us a tour for the first couple of hours.

The place really is magical. And it’s truly amazing to see what people created on the top of a mountain during the 15^th Century. I’ve been reading the book Turn Right at Machu Picchu: Rediscovering the Lost City One Step at a Time by Mark Adams, a hilarious yet informative tale of exploring this area, which gave me part of the history. (Honesty: I have not actually finished the book yet.) It’s unbelievable to think about Hiram Bingham venturing from Hawaii to Peru and finding this lost city in 1911. To say Bingham discovered Machu Picchu is a stretch, considering that he paid some locals to take him to ruins in the area, but give him credit for exposing the world to Machu Picchu’s wonders.

I’ve thought a lot recently about why so many people have Machu Picchu on their bucket list (or whatever you want to call your wish list of places to visit). I don’t have an answer, but I can tell you that I have been to a lot of cool places and done some pretty great stuff, and the Salkantay Trail ending with Machu Picchu may have moved to the top of the list.

Some people say they have achieved a spiritual enlightenment after visiting Machu Picchu. I don’t know about that. However, I can tell you I gained an appreciation of what humans can do. And while the views of the lost city itself are impressive, the views of the surrounding mountains and valleys are among the most incredible I have ever seen. It’s little wonder why the Incas went to so much trouble to establish their secret city there. 

A random couple decided that an impromptu make-out session
at Machu Picchu was a good use of the morning.

After we descended and had lunch, we hopped on a train and rode back to Cusco.

I’m thankful for the eight people I was fortunate to hike with for five days and being able to experience Machu Picchu with them.

When it was all finished, this is how it added up:

Total Days: 5

Total Miles Hiked: 55

Total Number of Microclimates: 3

Elevation Change on the Second Day: 2,800 meters/9,186 feet

Total Elevation Change on the Trail: 3,600 meters/11,811 feet

Total Temperature Change on the Trail: 73 degrees

Total Mosquito Bites on My Lower Legs & Feet: 21

Total Number of Blisters on Fran’s Feet: 5

Total Soon-to-be-Lost Toenails: 1

Total Number of Stray Dachshunds on the Trail: 1

After Machu Picchu, we jumped on a three-hour train ride back to Cusco, and Wayki Treks had someone waiting to take us all back to our hotels.

It had been a really long day, and we had to hike about two blocks to our hostel because the van wouldn’t make it up the steep hill to the front door. We were exhausted and desperately wanted a shower and dinner (it was about 9:30 p.m.).

Me and Fran from Machu Picchu Mountain,
overlooking the Citadel.

The very kind owner of our hostel looked sheepish and said, “I didn’t think you were coming back until tomorrow.”

Fran had reminded his wife of our return date the morning we left for the hike and watched her type it in. Needless to say, the man found the reservation in his computer, but there was a problem.

“I’m sorry. This has never happened,” he said. “But I’m full tonight.”

We were incredulous, but he quickly jumped on the phone and made a few calls.

“I’ve got you booked into a hotel a few blocks away,” he said. “And I’m going to cover your night’s costs. I’m sorry. This really has never happened. The only thing is we are going to have to walk over there.”

With that, we grabbed all of our stuff, which at that point was spread across six bags, and lugged it up two more very steep blocks and over another three.

It turned out to be a very nice hotel, and we were fortunate to find a restaurant open at 10:30, when we finally rolled in. Of course, the owner was clearly put off that we came in that late and he obviously wanted to close for the night.

We ate quickly and walked back to the hotel. We had a morning flight to Lima the next day.  

Unintentionally Sneaking in Sacred Ruins and Shopping for Animal Snouts

About five days before we left, I got some sort of terrible head cold. I was congested and coughing and all-around miserable for about a week. It really worried me because having that cold on the Salkantay Trek was going to make a challenging five days even harder.

Fortunately for me, I mostly kicked it sometime during the flights to Lima.

Unfortunately for Fran, I gave it to her about that same time. She started feeling it the first morning we woke up in Cusco, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her.

After meeting with our trekking group for an orientation, we headed out to explore the city. Known as the gateway to Machu Picchu, Cusco sits in the Andes Mountains at just over 11,000 feet and has about half a million people. It was the capital of the Inca Empire, but there is an enormous influence from the Spanish who arrived in the 1500s.

At least the cold prevented Fran from smelling the market.

We headed to the market, which is filled with clothing and foods of all types. And I mean all types. Cuy – or cooked guinea pig – is of course a delicacy, and you could see their little snouts poking out from carts just outside the market. The Peruvian people are true believers in nose to tail cooking. We spotted all types of innards, pig heads and cow snouts (they actually looked like donkeys, but we are sticking with cows).

Many booths were set up in the back of the market with people cooking food for lunch. We chose one that had a set menu – a great economical choice at markets and many restaurants in Peru – which consisted of soup followed by rice and trout.

After wandering the city a little more, we make the hike up the hill to Saksaywaman, which are Inca ruins just outside of Cusco (and, yes, most people pronounce it “sexy woman”). Strangely, we ran into our new friends Jerome and Stephanie, who would be doing the Salkantay hike with us the next day, at the entrance.

We had passed multiple guys on the way up who were offering inexpensive horseback rides, but we really weren’t interested. We just wanted to see the ruins. Jerome let us know that the tickets to get in were outrageously expensive, and suddenly the horseback ride sounded better since it was half the price, and they promised we could see Saksaywaman from the top, even if we couldn’t get in.

We rode out through the rural areas surrounding the city to two other Inca sites before heading to the top of Saksaywaman at the end of two hours.

Fran looked exactly like I felt during the second day of the cold. I had just wanted to find a bed and take a long nap. Fran looked a little like she might nap atop the horse and trust that it would get her where she needed to go.

Our guide stopped our horses short of the site and told us to get off: “You can walk this way, and you’ll end up walking straight in the top of Saksaywaman. This way you don’t have to pay.”

He then took our horses and rode back to his barn.

It seemed a little sketchy, but we really weren’t sure how else to get back to our hotels on the other side of the ruins, so we started walking.

We passed a few stray dogs – which are everywhere in Cusco – and Stephanie mentioned how all of them seemed so calm and friendly. Not 30 seconds later, two dogs ran at us barking. The bigger one was drooling blood, and the smaller one was trying to nip our heels.

Neither seemed quite as friendly as Stephanie inferred.

We said a few things in Spanish, and the dogs finally took off.

Saksaywaman

As the guide told us, we walked straight into the top of the ruins. The sun was starting to set, so we only had time to walk through, but they were impressive nonetheless.

We split up at our hotels, and Fran and I headed to dinner so that we could call it an early night.

The van was coming to pick us up for our trek early the next morning.

Who Doesn't Like Extended Travel Days?

This was written on May 24, but internet issues prevented me from posting until now. More blogs will be following soon (or at least as web connectivity allows). 

There is a point in traveling where you realize you have absolutely hit your limit.

For me, that was the 23-hour mark at the Lima Airport. Fran and I had made the conscious decision to book flights to Cusco at 6 a.m. after landing in Lima around midnight. We figured it was better to get the biggest travel day out of the way initially.

And the plan worked fine, as we sat in a food court outside of security and played cards in the glow of Peru’s finest cuisine (which consisted of McDonalds, Papa John’s and Dunkin’ Donuts – I wish I was kidding). Because we booked flights separately from our entry to Peru, we had to check in with Peruvian Airlines, and they would not open until 4 a.m. No problem. There were several other weary travelers doing the same thing – even if all of them appeared to be 21 years old and somewhat used to pulling all-nighters. Fran would probably add that there was a woman of retirement age, sitting a few tables away and speaking to a young Peruvian gentleman, except the “conversation” involved her talking for three-straight hours without a pause, while he made a face that was clearly meant to beg anyone around to help save him

We checked our bags at 4 a.m., reentered the terminal and proceeded to our gate in an area downstairs. For those people who are familiar with Denver International Airport, this was very similar to Gates B80 and higher, which we commonly refer to as Kansas (yes, that’s a compliment but also fairly far removed from the rest of the airport). The area in the Lima Airport consists of six gates and a waiting area that was big enough for one gate.

It was complete chaos, but it was going to be less than two hours. I was longing for the moment I could get on the plane and sleep. That’s what kept me going. At least it kept me going until 5:50 a.m., when the airline announced that our flight would be delayed due to weather in Cusco. As it turned out, that was exactly 23 hours after we got to DIA.

In the States, we have gotten used to airlines providing an estimate on when the delay will end, and we can all continue on our way. We don’t like it – and most of the time they end up changing it several times anyway – but it is a system we are used to, and it prepares us for how long the misery of waiting might last.

In Peru, they don’t do that. They just say it’s delayed, and they promise to give updates in a few minutes.

Three hours later, Fran and I were taking turns napping, knowing that if we slept through the boarding of our flight, we were in trouble. We watched four other flights leave for our same destination (apparently, LAN charges more for its flights because it uses bigger planes and therefore can land in worse weather).

Finally, I got up and approached the counter in my best English asked, “Habla ingles?” It was worth a shot and seemed better than “Una mas cerveza,” which pretty much exhausts the rest of my Spanish vocabulary.

The woman at the counter said she didn’t know much, but I asked for an update while acting out every word (go ahead and try to act out “update”). She said she wasn’t sure when we would take off, but maybe not until that night.

Dejectedly, I went back to report my findings to Fran. Fifteen minutes later, Fran made the same walk to the desk and two minutes later returned to tell me we were about to take off. Obviously, Fran has powers of persuasion that I do not possess. This fact should not surprise anyone.

It was four hours later than expected, but we finally made it to Cusco and checked into our hostel. The plan was to take a shower to wash away 30 hours of airports and airplanes, grab a bite to eat in town and wander. And that was the order of importance.

Cusco is a town full of apologies, and we discovered that fact quickly. When we arrived at the hostel and went to our private room, we discovered the water was not working in our bathroom. I returned to the front desk to find out what was going on, and she told me in the most apologetic way possible, “I am sorry, but the water is out all around this area. It is not just us. I am so very sorry.” I believed her, just as I believed her husband when he explained the same thing to us. Clearly they were not happy with the lack of water because it reflected poorly on them and their establishment.

Let me be clear, though, the Kurumi Hostel is great, and so are the proprietors. We did not blame them for the lack of water, regardless of how much we wanted to shower.

Instead, we headed out to find food. The hostel is an easy walk to Plaza de Armas in the center of town, so there are plenty of restaurants nearby.

Fran has a rule while traveling – one that I quickly adopted as well. She refuses to eat at any restaurant with a person out front pushing menus at everyone who passes.

About a block away from the plaza, we saw a sign for El Jardin Secreto. The door led to a short hallway that opened into a courtyard. We had found our place.

Under the clear awning of the courtyard were a few groups that all looked American, and on the other side under a wooden roof were several locals. We found a table with the locals and asked for the set menu. It’s common for Peruvian restaurants to offer a set menu at a reasonable price (often ridiculously reasonable or flat out cheap), which obviously means you get whatever they might want to serve you.

We got soup, followed by a rice and chicken dish, and we decided to wash it down with a bottle of Pilsen beer, which comes in liter bottles.

After we finished eating, I noticed a man at the next table looking my way with his glass in the air. “Salud, amigo,” I called to him. He smiled, stood up and approached our table.

I moved my backpack from the chair next to us, and motioned for him to sit. That’s when the fun began. His name was Cyrus (although when I asked him again later, he gave me something completely different, and neither of those names matched the ones I happened to see on his license). That’s OK. We’ll stick with Cyrus.

Cyrus: “Where are you from?”

Me: “Colorado.”

Cyrus to Fran: “Where are you from?”

Fran: “I’m from Colorado, too.”

Cyrus back to me: “Where are you from?”

It seems that Cyrus may have had a beer or two before joining us, but I answered again.

Cyrus to me: “I’m sorry.”

Me: “Why are you sorry?”

Cyrus: “I’m sorry.”

Me: Puzzled look, shaking my head slightly.

Cyrus to Fran: “My English is not so good. But you have beautiful, how you say?, eyes.”

Fran, blushing slightly: “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Cyrus to me: “I’m sorry.”

Me: “You don’t need to be sorry. I agree that her eyes are beautiful.”

Cyrus: “I’m sorry.”

To make it up to us, or perhaps just because he was thirsty, Cyrus called the waitress over and ordered another bottle of beer for our table. He filled each of the three, and we all raised our glasses. Cyrus looked at me and clinked his glass on mine, then turned and did the same with Fran. He then turned back to me and clinked my glass, and turned back to Fran and did the same. Finally, after the fourth time, Fran and I took a drink, while Cyrus drained his glass.

Cyrus: “I’m sorry."

Cyrus looks at Fran: “I’m sorry.”

Cyrus looks back at me: “Where are you from?”

Me: “Colorado.”

Cyrus to Fran: “Where are you from?”

Fran: “Colorado.”

Cyrus looks back at me: “Where are you from?”

Me: “Colorado.”

Cyrus: “Are you two a couple?”

Me: “Yes.”

Cyrus: “I’m sorry.”

Me: “Don’t be sorry.”

I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure Cyrus followed that apology by asking if he could take Fran home with him, so that he could “manage her.”

The conversation continued for at least 30 minutes, but I won’t bore you with the details because it would simply be repeating the exact passage from above 2-3 more times (although at one point, Cyrus clinked glasses with Fran 12 times in a row – I counted – before finally realizing he was supposed to take a drink, which in his case was draining his glass).

One of Cyrus’ friends fell while leaving his table. I’m talking full on cartoon character slips on a banana peel moment, splayed out on his back. Another friend attempts to help him up using sort of a bear hug from behind, and both of them fell together like pair of intertwined trees falling in the forest.

That was the moment when Fran and I decided to make our exit. It was about 3 p.m., and we needed a nap. We paid, exited and swiftly made a few quick turns on the street because Cyrus seemed to be tailing us in that ultra-slow, drunk out of his mind sort of way (in other words, it did not take much to lose him).

We considered that a successful first meal in Peru, and headed back to clean up and nap.

Note: When we returned to the hostel after lunch, the water was still not on. However, the fine owner offered to turn on a reserve he kept for emergencies. It seems that the smell permeating from my body was deemed an emergency (Fran clearly does not ever smell bad). The city finally had the water working again around 10 p.m.