shanmonster | Pilgrimage to Machu Picchu: Part One

Every year, I want to travel somewhere new. Whether that place is far away or relatively close ultimately doesn't matter. What matters is that the place be somewhere which inspires me and challenges me and fills my mind with possibility. Last year, I went to Cornwall and Devon in the UK. It was a coach tour. This year, I wanted something a bit more active. I decided upon Machu Picchu, Peru. It was either there or the Galapagos Islands. Machu Picchu won out because I heard rumours that due to wear and tear, the Inca Trail may soon be permanently closed to tourists. The now-or-never aspect of this rumour is what decided me, and so I made my plans. I still very much wish to visit the Galapagos Islands, someday.

knightky and I began our journey on August 29, 2012. I'd been a bundle of nerves for the month preceding, obsessing over my pack size, worrying I'd forget something vital, paranoia over going to airports in a non-English-speaking country, etcetera. Kyle was pretty laid back until the day before when he suddenly felt ill: faint and woozy with an upset stomach. Was it a case of nerves or jitters? It's hard to say. He was feeling somewhat better by the time we got to the airport, though, and we freaked out the people in the waiting area by doing push-ups while we waited for our boarding call.

Although we didn't luck out and get window seats, we did manage to get some of the rare seats with leg room. We settled down for the long flight, and even got a few hours of fitful sleep despite the turbulence. For the first time, I experienced flying over an electrical storm. Although I normally adore thunder and lightning, it was more worrisome for me, this time. The constant flashes of lightning mixed with the reflection of the jet's lights off the clouds while we pitched up and down in fits and starts.

Air Canada jets show a slideshow of the flight progression, and I watched with increasing excitement as we approached the Equator, and also as we crossed the Panama Canal, going over Atlantic Ocean then Pacific Ocean. It didn't matter that I couldn't see out the window. It was the idea of crossing over to the other hemisphere that thrilled me. I'd be seeing different stars, soon: constellations I'd only heard about and seen in pictures.

The flight dragged and lurched onward. I thought it might never end. We were given immigration papers to fill out. Immigration papers? But we weren't moving to Peru. We only wanted to visit! We filled them out while we ate a mediocre airline snack. As we banked to land, I caught my first glimpse of land. Lima appeared completely flat with occasional rocky mountains bursting from its surface like stone boils. We landed at Jorge Chavez International Airport in Lima forever later, and the confusion began. The announcements were in Spanish. We followed the crowd leaving our plane and found the baggage retrieval. Security seemed much more laid-back here than at Pearson Airport. Men with happy sniffer dogs roamed around, and the dogs clambered onto the conveyer belts, snuffling all of the luggage, then jumping back off again to sniff the people waiting for their suitcases.

We got our suitcases, then looked around, not sure where we were supposed to go next. We had lots of time, though. Our layover was almost 8 hours long. I hesitantly approached a woman in uniform, asking if she spoke English. I was in luck. She did. She pointed us to our next checkpoint, and we joined a queue of apparently unsupervised travellers scanning their own luggage. We dutifully threw our luggage onto the x-ray conveyer belt, then retrieved it and wandered around until we found the airline desks. We were relieved to see all the signage was Spanish/English bilingual.

One of my fears had been that Kyle and I would somehow get separated and not be able to find one another. To help prevent this, I'd worn my eye-searingly orange jacket. My fears were quickly alleviated. Kyle and I were conspicuous gringos. I was much taller than the other women, and certainly the only one with a pink and purple Mohawk. Unnatural hair colours didn't seem to exist here. Aside from a smattering of brassy bleached blond heads, everyone had black, brown, or grey hair here. Kyle was a veritable blond giant. It would take a big effort for us to lose one another in these crowds.

The airport was a cacophony of obnoxious beeping noises, humming electrical ballasts, dogs yapping, crackling announcements, and the quick cadence of Spanish voices. We were exhausted from the long, bumpy plane ride, and not at our best. I pulled my roll-along suitcase around until we finally found the boarding gates. It was time to go through yet another security gate. We showed our passports, boarding passes, and immigration papers and were shunted through to a long corridor with multiple gates. We asked the people at the desk which boarding gate we were supposed to wait at, but no one answered us. I found a sign which said "Wi-Fi Zone" and took a seat on a bench beneath it, but the Wi-Fi was a lie. Kyle found an information desk, but that was a bit of a lie, too. The man at the desk was in the dark, taking a nap. When Kyle asked what gate we were supposed to be waiting at, all he said was, "Too soon. Too soon," and he went back to sleep.

Eventually, we figured out that the gates weren't announced until later. Television monitors showed the flights and appropriate gates. After an hour or so of bleary waiting, we found out which gate we should go to, and we headed off for a multi-hour wait. It was cold, and we laid down on the uncomfortable benches, arms through the handles of our luggage. We had fitful, unrestful sleep, and then it was time to board again.

The next plane was an airbus bound for Cusco. My exhaustion had left me in a zombie-like state. I shambled to my seat and sat by the window. Kyle almost immediately fell asleep. He's a sleeping champ. We took off in near darkness, and flew over the Andean foothills. As the sun came up, the mountains also rose to meet us. Taller and taller, the colour of oatmeal under the yellow-white sun. Switchback roads snaked their ways up desolate hills. The peaks grew more crowded, and the valleys and ravines more deep. Soon, it was mountains as far as I could see. I tried to imagine people crossing the ranges, and it boggled my mind. It wouldn't be long until I'd have a taste of what that would be like.

When we got off the plane, we found more confusion. We followed the other passengers into an airport smelling of dust and car exhaust. We learned soon enough that this is the smell of Cusco. After passing more and more bathrooms closed for renovations, my need for a toilet was getting urgent. After collecting our luggage, I finally found one, and rushed in with a huge feeling of relief. It was to be the first of many without hot water, toilet seats, or toilet paper. I was grateful I'd brought baby wipes for the trip. In Peru, when you use bathroom tissue, it does not go into the toilet, but into a garbage can beside the toilet.

I felt faint and floaty from exhaustion and bus farts. Peru either does not have emissions standards for car exhaust, or it does not enforce them. The altitude was certainly effecting me, as well. Where Kitchener is a scant 200 meters or so above sea level, Cusco soars a mighty 3400 meters above sea level. The oxygen molecules are few and far between, and my lungs were freaking out just trying to find them. We got our luggage and waded through throngs of smiling taxi drivers, each shouting more loudly than the other to catch our attention. Dozens of people stood by the doorways waving name cards. I couldn't see our names on any of them. Blearily, I looked at my travel information and found the name of the tour company hosting us. Maybe that would be on the card, instead.

Success! A woman was holding a card with the name of our tour group: Gap Adventures. We approached her. "Shantell?" She looked at a clipboard and said unsurely," "Keel?"

It was the first of many mispronunciations of Kyle's name. I guess Kyle is a strange, exotic name in Perus with its letter "y" not mapping out according to Spanish pronunciation. We followed her and got into a van. A couple of Australians were already inside, also fresh off a plane. As we drove through frantically beeping cars and vans, the woman turned around and handed me a cell phone. She was saying something to me, but the noise of the traffic and the thickness of her accent made it impossible for me to understand her. Finally, I took the phone and heard, through a bad, echoey connection, another female voice. She was asking me how my flight went. She was telling me there would be a meeting that afternoon where we'd go over our itinerary for the week. After several repetitions, I got the gist of what she was saying and collapsed back into my seat. My eyes felt like they were filled with smoke and sand. My heart was beating too quickly. I was confused. Dogs were running everywhere along the beaten-up sidewalks and between honking cars. And all around, I saw ramshackle houses and office buildings which looked like they might have been bombed a few years ago and had never quite been fixed back up.

I looked over at Kyle. "Welcome to Cusco."

(To be continued....)