Pilgrimage to Machu Picchu: Part Eleven - Alone on Wayna Picchu

[shanmonster]

When we arrived at Machu Picchu, we all had to go through yet another checkpoint. Once again, passports were checked, and knightky and I had to check our backpacks into storage. Unladen, I felt much lighter on my feet. David and Jesus took us around the city, showing us various temples and explaining their significance to us. Machu Picchu is made of steep stairways, so it was just as demanding to explore as the Inca Trail.

Tourists, not yet acclimatized to the altitude, were winded and moving slowly. The vast majority of visitors to Machu Picchu arrive there by train. The rest, a small minority, hike there over the Inca Trail. Our guides believe that in order to get a true sense of the enormity and import of Machu Picchu, one must follow the Inca Trail as did their ancestors. With my whole heart, I agree with this. When I bussed to the ruins in the Sacred Valley, I did not have a strong sense of the effort and hardship people faced in creating and journeying to those sites in antiquity. But by trekking through the mountain passes, creeping along handmade pathways, exerting myself to exhaustion, witnessing the effects of the journey on fellow pilgrims, experiencing the dramatic changes in temperature and environment firsthand, I had gained a far greater appreciation than before my journey.

Although I can understand that the Inca Trail is not feasible for some people because of health and mobility issues, if you should ever go to Peru to see Machu Picchu and are physically able, do take the Trail. It was, without any doubts, the highlight of my journey, and is more awe-inspiring than the impressive Machu Picchu.



Back in Cusco, when we were setting up the details of our trip to Machu Picchu, Kyle and I had purchased tickets to Wayna Picchu (Young Mountain). I wanted to hike up and around to see the Moon Temple, which not many people know about or visit. As I mentioned before, only a certain amount of people are permitted to set foot in Machu Picchu each day. An even smaller number of people are permitted to set foot on Wayna Picchu. Although he was destroyed, Kyle was still determined to climb Wayna Picchu. From what I knew, in terms of steepness, it was on par with the hardest parts of the Inca Trail, and I was worried. He was so ill that he could only creep along even the level parts of Machu Picchu.

After some convincing, he agreed to sit in the shade and rest with food and cool drinks. I know how disappointed I would feel, if I had to sit it out, so I can only imagine how bad he felt. I promised him that I'd take lots of pictures and make some videos so he could experience the climb vicariously. Once I was sure he had a comfortable place to recuperate, I took off at a run to the entry point for Wayna Picchu. My time there would be limited, as my ride back to Cusco left at a set time.

I was amazed I could run, but run I did, and I made it across the city to the checkpoint in porter time. Alas, but what did I see ahead of me but a long line.



The line moved at glacial speed. New people were admitted only when other people left. It took the better part of an hour for me to make it to the gatehouse. This gave me no more than 20 minutes to explore Wayna Picchu. I would not have enough time to make it to the Moon Temple. Disappointed, I decided to make the most of my limited time.

I handed my permits and passport to be signed in, then took off at a trot up the trail. I had two options: I could go on the long trail, or I could take the short one. I decided on the short trail. I knew I'd be in for something interesting when I spied this along the way:



Once I was on the trail to Wayna Picchu, the sounds of other people vanished. For the first time, I felt as though I were the only human in the wilderness. I could hear birds, but none of the other sounds which permeate my everyday life: no traffic, voices, or electrical hums.

I walked around a turn and saw steep, narrow terraces on what would otherwise have been a cliff face.



I don't have a particular fear of heights, but the crumbling, uneven staircase which confronted me gave me pause. It was the steepest one I'd seen yet, and the narrowest. The stairs were about 6" or 8" deep, and about 1.5' to 2' wide. The valley was hundreds of feet below.



I took a breath and climbed it like a ladder.

The view is incredible.



I reached the summit and found a large boulder extending over the precipice. I went out onto the edge and took a photo of myself.



Aside from the path and the ruins, I could neither see nor hear any sign of other people. The solitude was glorious. I stood there and soaked it in greedily. I don't think I've felt so removed from civilization since I was a kid living in the forest.

The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers. I heard birdsong, breeze, and then footsteps. My solitary reverie was over.

An older woman was clambering up the steep stairs to the summit. I smiled at her. "Hola."

She caught her breath, and said in Spanish as bad as mine that she didn't speak Spanish or English. I shrugged, smiled, and took a few more pictures.



Just down the edge of one of the cliffs, I could see an unusual flower. I laid down on my belly and kitten crawled as far as I could to lean over and get a better look at it. A few more people reached the summit. They spoke to the woman in French. I stared longingly at the larger peak of Wayna Picchu, looked at the time, and realized I had to go.

I got up. The woman was gazing at the view. "C'est magnifique, non?" I smiled. "Au revoir."

She looked startled that I spoke French. I headed down the stairs and off Wayna Picchu.



I signed out at the guardhouse, and another person was able to sign in. Then I jogged back along terraces and bounded down the giant steps of the ancient city until I got back to where Kyle was waiting. The rest had done him a lot of good. His colour and breathing were back to normal. The heat of the day and the altitude had dehydrated me, so I paid exorbitant amounts of money for a fountain drink at the cafeteria. The alcoholic drinks were cheaper than the nonalcoholic ones, but I didn't want to add booze to my dehydration. I got a chicha morada. It was with reluctance that Kyle and I gathered up all our stuff and caught a bus down the switchback road to Aguas Calientes, the little train station town in the valley far below. Our pilgrimage was over. It was back to the hurlyburly of modern life for us.

We found our way to the final meeting point of our group: a traditional Peruvian restaurant called Hot Springs II.

Kyle and I chose our dishes from this page of the menu (the prices are in Peruvian sols):



I ordered the alpaca a la parrilla, and Kyle ordered cuy al horno. When I was a kid, I used to buy pop on occasion. As I got older, and as pop started being sold in plastic bottles and aluminum cans, I stopped drinking it--less because I knew it was bad for me, and more because it didn't taste as good as pop in bottles. Coca-Cola changed completely, and just tastes nasty to me, like unidentified sugared chemicals. Kyle ordered a Coke here, and out of curiosity, I had a sip. It tasted like the Coke I remember drinking as a kid. It was delicious. So was the Inca Cola I ordered for myself. I guess it's a good thing I wouldn't be staying in Peru, or I'd end up drinking pop a lot.

Our food arrived.

The alpaca was delicious, tasting similar to moose.



The cuy (guinea pig) scared a couple of the squeamish people at our table, much to our amusement. A couple other people at our table asked for a nibble to see what it tasted like. I didn't care for it. It tastes like rabbit, which I do not like.



We finished our meals, made our goodbyes, and headed to the train station.

Once again, we had to produce our passports. When we found our seats, Kyle fell asleep like a narcoleptic, and I gazed out the window, trying to commit the mountains to memory. We traveled in minutes what it had taken us days to journey on foot.



I saw a different view of the bridge where we'd begun our trek.



We reached Ollantaytambo and got into a van with Jesus and David. The sun was setting. I got one last look at the mountains under a corona of lingering light, and then we drove in darkness back to Cusco while listening to 80s music.



(To be continued....)

Comments

[kohntarkosz.livejournal.com]

Finally reading one of your Peru posts after linking from Facebook, I realize I want to read them all now. My brother and his wife went to Peru and visited Machu Picchu last year. I hope I get a chance to go myself someday!
I like a lot of the rock music from late 60s-early 70s Peru btw, a really fascinating scene.They didn't have expensive equipment, but they had lots of ingenuity, heart and soul!

[shanmonster.livejournal.com]

I didn't hear much Peruvian rock, but there was a more traditional band playing while I was at the restaurant. They were very good.

[clevermanka.livejournal.com]

Wow. Just, wow.

Also, the photo of the guinea pig meal made me snicker. It looks like a lot of work, picking what little meat there is off those bones. Rather like eating pigeon.

[shanmonster.livejournal.com]

Apparently the brains are the choicest part.

[clevermanka.livejournal.com]

Well, that's one advantage it's got over the pigeon.