Getting to Machu Picchu...
We awoke early to pack up our things before breakfast, systematically shoving our belongings back into our canvas homes and awkwardly lumbered down the hill from the dormitory. One last breakfast of runny oatmeal and fresh fruit with coffee before we said our goodbyes and were on our way. Down on the road we didn’t have to wait long before we were able to catch a ride to Quillabamba with a passing bus and climbed aboard.
Once in town we waited out the rain in a juice bar aptly named La Nonna Maria, where the kindest Peruvian woman made us each a much anticipated fried egg with toast and fresh orange-carrot-beet juice. As I sat there sipping the heavenly combination I couldn’t help thinking she reminded me of my italian godmother back in Philly, there was something about her voice. After talking with her, I found out that she lived in Italy for some 20 years and now goes back to visit a couple months a year. Her warm hospitality seemed to make the rain stop and by the time we left in search of the Santa Teresa bus terminal it had in fact.
Walking across town, we were almost at the terminal (I assume) when a van came bustling down the road in the opposite direction. The driver shouted out to us, ‘Santa Teresa, Santa Teresa.’ Somehow in these small towns so close to major tourist venues the locals always know where your headed, making it incredibly easy to get around. Although Quillabamba is a bigger city, it’s far enough removed that gringos really aren’t so common and I can only imagine how much more strange we look with giant backpacks strapped to ourselves like some kind of kafka-esque insect. It would be about an hour to Santa Maria for 10 soles and then another hour more to Santa Teresa after that for only 5 soles more where we were then confronted with the painful fact that the only way to Aguas Calientes is to take the hydroelectric train or walk. In our last minute decision to see Machu Picchu on the way back from the farm, we hadn’t had much time to research getting there and were rather ill-prepared in that sense.
The train ride is a breezy 40 or so minutes whereas the walk takes about 2.5 hours on average. For locals the train is only 5 soles, which is more than reasonable, but for tourists the price is an astounding 72 soles. Not having the option to leave our giant backpacks anywhere (as most people travel from Cuzco and simply leave them with the hostel where they stayed) and not feeling confident enough to walk the whole way loaded down we opted for the train even though it would cost us. Another 5 sol cab ride got us to the train station where we purchased our tickets and waited, inhaling a can of pringles and can of Cusqueña Dorado each while doing so. Foolishly we listened to the cab driver who hurried us into his car and didn’t grab food in Santa Teresa where it would have been cheaper; he had said we could get everything we needed at the terminal but failed to mention that it would cost twice as much.
We awoke early to pack up our things before breakfast, systematically shoving our belongings back into our canvas homes and awkwardly lumbered down the hill from the dormitory. One last breakfast of runny oatmeal and fresh fruit with coffee before we said our goodbyes and were on our way. Down on the road we didn’t have to wait long before we were able to catch a ride to Quillabamba with a passing bus and climbed aboard.
Once in town we waited out the rain in a juice bar aptly named La Nonna Maria, where the kindest Peruvian woman made us each a much anticipated fried egg with toast and fresh orange-carrot-beet juice. As I sat there sipping the heavenly combination I couldn’t help thinking she reminded me of my italian godmother back in Philly, there was something about her voice. After talking with her, I found out that she lived in Italy for some 20 years and now goes back to visit a couple months a year. Her warm hospitality seemed to make the rain stop and by the time we left in search of the Santa Teresa bus terminal it had in fact.
Walking across town, we were almost at the terminal (I assume) when a van came bustling down the road in the opposite direction. The driver shouted out to us, ‘Santa Teresa, Santa Teresa.’ Somehow in these small towns so close to major tourist venues the locals always know where your headed, making it incredibly easy to get around. Although Quillabamba is a bigger city, it’s far enough removed that gringos really aren’t so common and I can only imagine how much more strange we look with giant backpacks strapped to ourselves like some kind of kafka-esque insect. It would be about an hour to Santa Maria for 10 soles and then another hour more to Santa Teresa after that for only 5 soles more where we were then confronted with the painful fact that the only way to Aguas Calientes is to take the hydroelectric train or walk. In our last minute decision to see Machu Picchu on the way back from the farm, we hadn’t had much time to research getting there and were rather ill-prepared in that sense.
The train ride is a breezy 40 or so minutes whereas the walk takes about 2.5 hours on average. For locals the train is only 5 soles, which is more than reasonable, but for tourists the price is an astounding 72 soles. Not having the option to leave our giant backpacks anywhere (as most people travel from Cuzco and simply leave them with the hostel where they stayed) and not feeling confident enough to walk the whole way loaded down we opted for the train even though it would cost us. Another 5 sol cab ride got us to the train station where we purchased our tickets and waited, inhaling a can of pringles and can of Cusqueña Dorado each while doing so. Foolishly we listened to the cab driver who hurried us into his car and didn’t grab food in Santa Teresa where it would have been cheaper; he had said we could get everything we needed at the terminal but failed to mention that it would cost twice as much.
The train itself is quite nice, the insides of the cars air-conditioned, with plush seats and wooden, folding dining tables, but the brief ride to Aquas Calientes was unimpressive to say the least. Once onboard we quickly realized we did not belong in the windowed beast with tourists who had paid close to a thousand dollars for their treks and would be staying at a fancy, five star hotel on the other end. The ride was short though, rocking gently back and forth as we made our way along the Urubamba river to the ‘Machupicchu pueblo,’ as it’s known. It was nearing dark when we arrived so we found a hostel for the night before walking across town to purchase our MP tickets. The town is touristy to say the least and after being secluded on a farm for a month, it was disorienting seeing so many foreigners, hearing english music playing in just about every shop and having locals constantly approach you, hoping you’ll frequent their establishment. At the municipal building the guard told us they weren’t selling tickets for another hour and a half so we needed to come back later. Walking up the street, a light sprinkling of rain quickly turned into a downpour so we ducked into a nearby restaurant for happy hour, which as far as I can tell is actually just all the time; Several places advertising 4 drinks for the price of one from 3-11 at night and including a small plate of ‘nachos’ or bread.
A few mojitos later we moseyed back to the ticket office, purchased our tickets for Machu Picchu and Machupicchu mountain (only 12 soles more) for a total of 140 soles, grabbed a bite to eat and headed back to Supertramp hostel for one more drink at the hostel bar before snuggling into our lumpy, 30-sol beds. After splurging on the train we decided we would walk up to the ruins from town instead of spending the 60 or so soles for the roundtrip buses that shuttle up and down the mountain.
A few mojitos later we moseyed back to the ticket office, purchased our tickets for Machu Picchu and Machupicchu mountain (only 12 soles more) for a total of 140 soles, grabbed a bite to eat and headed back to Supertramp hostel for one more drink at the hostel bar before snuggling into our lumpy, 30-sol beds. After splurging on the train we decided we would walk up to the ruins from town instead of spending the 60 or so soles for the roundtrip buses that shuttle up and down the mountain.
We woke up reasonably early the next morning, ate a quick, free breakfast of tea, bread, jam and a fried egg, walked to the store and bought some rations for the day: water, tangelos, granola bars and peanuts (which were shelled, but to our dismay not roasted), and headed out. It was about a half an hour walk, mostly downhill or level, from town along the river to where the trail begins and where the real fun begins. The trail is only a little less than 2km, but in that short distance you ascend 1350m, switchbacking up steep stone-terraced steps to the crowded main gate of Machu Picchu park, traveling a total of 8 km from Aguas Calientes to the park entrance. The vertical climb took another hour and by mid-morning I stood looking at the wondrous, ancient city I had read about in books, learned about in school, yearned to see in the flesh.
Standing in awe, adrenaline flowing from the climb, I caught my breath and realized that it was all worth it, the expensive train ride, tourist-price restaurants, hostels, 5 sol snickers bars, everything. It looked even more magnificent than I could have imagined and we couldn’t have asks for better weather, sun and blue skies with misty clouds covering the tops of surrounding Andean peaks. One of the reasons we went a little later in the morning was because of the misty cloud coverage that can typically blanket the city early on, especially in the transitional/winter ‘off season.’ Instead of heading straight up to Machupicchu mountain we decided to explore the city a little more and avoid the crowd heading up to the Sun Gate. Avoiding the crowd, as much as is possible at one of the seven wonders of the world, was another reason I thought it best to go a little later in the morning and stay longer as the crowds thin out in the early afternoon and by 3:30-4 it was almost like having the place to ourselves, but I’m getting ahead of myself. After about an hour wandering around the Temple of the Condor, Prison Group and Industrial sector on the eastern side of the ruins, the approaching clouds made it seem like a good idea to get up to the Machupicchu mountain lookout sooner than later to ensure an uninhibited view.
Standing in awe, adrenaline flowing from the climb, I caught my breath and realized that it was all worth it, the expensive train ride, tourist-price restaurants, hostels, 5 sol snickers bars, everything. It looked even more magnificent than I could have imagined and we couldn’t have asks for better weather, sun and blue skies with misty clouds covering the tops of surrounding Andean peaks. One of the reasons we went a little later in the morning was because of the misty cloud coverage that can typically blanket the city early on, especially in the transitional/winter ‘off season.’ Instead of heading straight up to Machupicchu mountain we decided to explore the city a little more and avoid the crowd heading up to the Sun Gate. Avoiding the crowd, as much as is possible at one of the seven wonders of the world, was another reason I thought it best to go a little later in the morning and stay longer as the crowds thin out in the early afternoon and by 3:30-4 it was almost like having the place to ourselves, but I’m getting ahead of myself. After about an hour wandering around the Temple of the Condor, Prison Group and Industrial sector on the eastern side of the ruins, the approaching clouds made it seem like a good idea to get up to the Machupicchu mountain lookout sooner than later to ensure an uninhibited view.
We made our way through the agricultural terraces and up to the mountain entrance, another steep venture. Just before the gate some people making their way down said that the mountain was closing and all I could think was, ‘no.’ Not in an exclamatory way filled with grief or despair, rather a declaration of refusal; I was getting up that mountain. I sped up my pace bounding from step to step only to see the gate shut, but not locked as some others were leaving. I entered anyway as the guard told me that the mountain was in fact closed. It was five of twelve and they stopped admitting people at 11:00am. It was now coming on 12pm... No. I begged and pleaded with him, I had no idea of the hours for the mountain time. He asked to see my ticket and when I gave it he pointed out the highlighted portion at the top stating arrival between 7-11am but all I could think was, ‘no.’ I had seen the highlighted bit of course, but thought that it applied to the general park entrance, not the mountain. I told him of my misunderstanding, that I had already paid for it, come all this way, that I would run up and come right back down and could he please make an exception. Somehow all my talking worked and he finally gave in, letting us sign in and saying that we would probably only get half way up before needing to turn around because they closed the mountain for good at 2pm and if I ran into a ranger who said to turn around I should do what I’m told. ‘Yes, of course,’ I exclaimed as I took off up the mountain shouting my thanks and thinking that if I ran into a ranger I would try to bribe him with my last granola bar.
Climbing step after step at an insane pace, I quickly realized why they stopped admitting people to allow enough time to climb up, a steep feat taking about 2 hours. Nevertheless I propelled myself forward, unwilling to be thwarted by my own ignorance. My calves were already exhausted from the Aguas Calientes walk and my back ached from the fall I had taken on the farm just two days before, but I had come this far, I was getting to the top at all costs. About 25 minutes in I started to wonder why I didn’t bring my inhaler, coca leaves, ibuprofen, more water. My pace was slowing and the minutes seemed to tick by faster and faster. Contemplating my progress and the weight of my daypack, albeit minimal, I decided to ditch my pack in some brush along the steps. I grabbed my camera and left everything else: money, water, copy of my passport, granola bar in the pack largely hidden by some weeds and quickly spread some other of the weeds on the step in front to try and make a marker, hoping I’d remember the spot. Unburdened, I began catapulting myself up the steep stone steps, stopping to catch my breath every so often, but quickly reminded of my time limit by the watch on my wrist and the people cautiously traversing down the mountain whom I would occasionally ask how much longer I had until the top. I continued at breakneck pace and after 50 or so minutes I began to wonder if I would in fact be able to conquer the vertical nightmare. As I got higher and higher I saw more and more people descending and slowing down around the corner of a switchback was encouraged by a guy descending who said to keep my pace because the guard had given a warning of closing about 15 minutes ago and the top was only about 15-20 minutes more.
Without any real concept of whether or not I was making good time, I continued to lurch upward, my stomach starting to cramp, my mouth getting drier, the air getting thinner. Several minutes later I ran into more people saying that the guard had in fact closed the top but I was maybe 5 minutes away. Determined, I staggered onward and upward, half-running even when my boot caught the edge of a stone and I collapsed to the stairs, breaking my fall with my wrist and already bum knee but saving the camera slung around my neck, cradled in my other hand as it hit the step. Reeling from my encounter with the ancient step, I jumped up, adrenaline-fueled, with no time to baby my bruises I persevered and at maybe twenty steps short I saw the guide from above, herding people off of the plateau. He said what I already knew, that it was closed, but I climbed the steps anyway and begged him to just take one quick picture. He shrugged his shoulders, annoyed, as if to say ‘suit yourself,’ while continuing down the steps without so much as a pause. Elated, I stepped up on to the barren plateau, heart racing, muscles aching, hand bleeding and wrapped in sweat-drenched bandana to see the magnificent city below. I made it. I could barely believe it. Knowing I didn’t have much time, it was hard not to get lost in the view and I couldn’t help thinking that everything else before had been leading up to this exact moment. I quickly but carefully explored the mountain top, took a few photos, and then turned around to start my descent down.
made it.
after never giving up;
what an insane journey.
I passed the guard and a few others before running in to Alexis who was still working her way up. I told her the top was now closed but the view where she had made it was really more or less the same and so we stood to soak it in a little longer. I could have stood there all day and just marveled in its glory, but alas, we had a deadline. About half the way down I tried to pay hyper attention to the pathway so as not to miss where I had stashed my pack and I was relieved to finally come across the weeds I had left on the step. We continued down to the gate, passing others along the way, and signed out with 10 minutes to spare. I thanked the guard again for letting us up and couldn’t help but flash him a self-satisfied grin of accomplishment. Thoroughly parched and out of water, we walked over to the terraces west of the site where we sat and ate our granola bars and tangelos in an effort to hydrate ourselves and drank the little bit of anis/coca tea I had brought along in a mesmerized daze. You’re not supposed to eat in the park, it’s true, but we of course took our trash with us and didn’t leave any kind of impact from the snack.
[view of Huayna Picchu from Macchupicchu mountain]
Feeling slightly revitalized we walked back down into the city center to check out what we had skipped earlier. It was about 3 in the afternoon and the crowds had thinned out substantially making it an opportune time to walk around and snap up some photos. Additionally, they had just started letting the llamas out to graze and as we explored we encountered them munching on grass or flopping their itchy ears around in vain efforts to ward off the flies. Having seen just about all we could see and feeling both thoroughly dehydrated and sunburnt, we headed toward the exit as the guards from the site began whistling to warn tourists of the park’s soon closure and corralling them toward the southern side of the site’s exit. Back on the agricultural terraces, we were not quite at the exit gate when we thought a few local Peruvians asked us to take their picture. As I went to take the camera, the girl corrected me to say that they wanted a photo with the two of us. We were unsure why and slightly delirious from the dehydration but obliged nevertheless and before we knew it we had a swarm around us, more and more joining in the photos, requesting photos of various combinations of them and us; it was a good 10 minutes before we finally freed ourselves from the random photo shoot and headed out. At the gate we were stopped once more by one of the girls for one final photo before we began our zigzagged descent back to Aguas Calientes. Raindrops began to fall from the sky and splattered the slippery stone steps and so we traversed with care and stopped every so often to catch last glimpses of the stone structures above before they were finally out of site. The sun was setting on Machu Picchu and the rain in the distance created a vibrant pair of rainbow arcs between the surrounding mountains before the rain picked up and clouds obscured the mountain tops. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.
'No matter what happens now
You shouldn't be afraid
Because I know today has been
The most perfect day I've ever seen.'
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