CHAPTER 27
The Christmas present that Mom, Kacey, and I had all agreed upon to give to our selves was an adventure that would be hard to match anywhere else- we were going to visit the fabled Inca ruins of Machupicchu. Panoramic photos of this mountain top fortress smear the covers of hundreds of guide books and calendars, huge posters adorn the walls of probably every travel agency in the world, and most computers come with it as a standard screen saver picture. For all the notoriety this ancient royal retreat garners, I was a little concerned that it was all just a bunch of hype. We had visited dozens of ruins over the course of our travels, all impressive in their own right, but the overwhelming publicity of Machupicchu had to make you wonder if it might simply be a clever blitzkrieg ad campaign by the Peruvian Ministry of Tourism.
Well, let me set things straight right now. Having traveled to quite a few distant corners of this world, my previous “most impressive, awe-inspiring, overwhelmingly divine” award had gone to the gleaming white minarets and jewel inlaid dome of the Taj Mahal in Agra, India. I can now officially pronounce that there is a tie for this prestigious place in my mind. The legendary mountain top ruins of Machupicchu deserve all the respect and fame they receive, and if you are ever faced with opportunity to see this incredible sight, by all means go!
Considering we were in the middle of Peru’s rainy season, and almost every clear blue morning sky we were lucky enough to experience in Cusco was followed by massive afternoon rain storms, we decided that it would be prudent to take the train to Aguas Caliente, the small tourist village that sits in the bottom of the canyon below Machupicchu, as opposed to braving the four day hike to the ruins along the Inca Trail. Our trip on the four hour train ride started early, but we had sprung for seats on the Vistadome Class train, basically a regular train coach with big skylights the length of the car, and were rewarded with impressive views of the towering canyon walls on either side of the track. Though our travel occurred without incident, less than a month later rain falling in an almost Biblical proportion washed away the tracks we had just traversed, killed a number of unlucky souls in huge landslides, trapped thousands of tourists and locals alike without food or water in the isolated Aguas Caliente, only to be rescued days later by government helicopter, and shut down Machupicchu for months. As far as I know it is still closed, and as bad as I feel for those who weathered the brunt of that awful storm, it makes me all the more grateful that we were able to experience this incredible place when we did and with such luck on our side.
An early morning bus delivered us from Aguas Caliente, up a set of 8 or 9 switchbacks, to the entrance of Machupicchu. We were some of the first 200 people through the gates, and were offered the opportunity to climb the precipitous trail leading to the top of Waynapicchu, the tall spire of rock that dominates the view behind the main part of the ruins. They only let a certain number of people ascend to this breathtaking lookout every day, and Kacey and I were eager to jump at the chance. The numbers 62 and 63 were inscribed on the back of our tickets, and we stepped across the threshold into the ancient city.
A dense fog obliterated our view of the surroundings. A well worn path led us through a few outlying buildings and along a set of terraced gardens. The terraces disappeared above and below us, as far as the fog would let us see. A few hundred yards further, and stone walls started to materialize out of the mist. A distinct trapezoid shaped window pattern was repeated in most of the buildings, and the walls were miniature examples of the precision stonework we had seen in Cusco. We made our way through the maze of small alleys, stopping to explore each room we came to. It seemed that an endless number of nooks and crannies could divert your attention all day, but we only had an hour to find the entrance gate for the path to Waynapicchu.
After a few wrong turns, we stumbled into an opening with a long line of people waiting to do the same hike as us. The gate finally opened, we wrote down our names and signed a waiver of responsibility (we soon found out why no-one with heart conditions was supposed to hike the trail), yelled goodbye to mom, and Kacey and I started down the trail. From far away, it looks impossible that there could even be a path leading to the summit of Waynapicchu- it juts up into the thin air like a tower to the heavens, craggy cliffs protecting it on all sides. Our initial incredulity wasn’t misplaced- the vast majority of the trail was a never ending vertical set of stairs, many carved right into the rock wall itself. A thick steel cable anchored to the cliff every couple of feet provided a rudimentary railing to give you something to hold on to- but the metal was slimy and slippery from condensation due to the heavy fog, and wouldn’t have been much help if you started to fall.
After about an hour of slowly overcoming the steep stairs, we came to an outcropping of more constructed terraces like we had seen in the main complex of Machupicchu far below. We found a narrow set or stairs leading up the side of these terraces, only about 8” wide and so steep that they might as well have been a latter. I wiped my sweating brow in relief when I came to a landing at the top of the stairs, and followed Kacey into the doorway of the building that blocked our way. Similar to the buildings below, this one had three large trapezoid shaped windows looking out over the deep canyon. We explored the few other buildings nearby and soon came to a jumbled pile of massive house size boulders that mark the pinnacle of Waynapicchu. The view was incredible to say the least- we could see thousands of feet down to the bottom of the winding canyon that circles the tower of rock that is Waynapicchu. And then the most amazing sight unfolded before us- the sun broke through the clouds overhead, just as the fog lifted from the mountain below, bathing the sprawling stone ruins of Machupicchu in an intense golden brilliance. Kacey and I sat there, mesmerized by this ruined Shangri-La, the swirling clouds causing beams of sunlight to play across the buildings and gardens like a kaleidoscope. The feeling of tranquility was palpable. I can only imagine how divine this scene would have been 500 years ago, the stone structures neatly adorned with wood and thatch roofs, crops crowding the terraced fields, and brightly dressed nobles and priests, clad in vibrant red robes, gold jewelry ornamenting their pitch black hair, walking the stone alleys, and climbing the steep steps to sit and admire their perfect city, from the exact spot that we were right now.
We retraced our path back down the mountain and used my newest gadgets- 2-way radios I received for Christmas- to find mom. We spent the rest of the day exploring the vast ruins, until in the early afternoon the clouds gathered overhead once again, and let out a deluge of cold rain down upon us. With our cloths sopping wet in spite of our raincoats and umbrellas, we retreated to the park entrance and caught the first bus back down to Aguas Caliente.
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