Yeah, Machu Picchu. Like, whatever.
I was a bit Machu Picchu-ed out before I even left Cusco to go to there. Here in Cusco it's wall-to-wall tour agencies all trying to sell you a variation on the same trip.
After the twenty-eighth time in an afternoon of hearing 'Hey, Machu Picchu. You wanna trek amigo?', you start to wish Hiram Bingham had never found the bloody city in the first place.
But they're just doing their job, and they weren't to know I'd spent four days incapacitated in hospital and therefore had to a) cancel my trek and b) lose a decent whack of money doing so.
Maybe I should have quickly mocked up a T-shirt saying 'Sick Gringo - Already Booked The Train. Muchas Gracias.'
In the event, and from what I've since heard, I'm not totally disheartened by not being able to walk the Inca Trail. My friends James and Sarah - who I met, unsurprisingly (because we bump into each other everywhere), at Machu Picchu - said that it was great, but not the most challenging walk. When I trek, I like to be pushed hard.
So on Monday morning, with a small backpack on my back, I set off on the leisurely way of seeing Peru's most famous attraction.
There were no trains from Cusco to Ollantataymbo so I got the first collectivo taxi of my trip so far. Basically, a collectivo is a taxi that only leaves once full. Everyone pays a small amount, it doesn't stop on the way, and therefore it's a really good way to travel.
We got to Ollanta (for short) after an hour and a half's drive, with some lush green fields and towering mountain views to keep us entertained.
In Ollanta I had a bit of time to kill before my train to Aguas Calientes. I sat in the main square, got continually hassled by a woman wanting change, and watched the rain come down incessantly for a couple of hours. Probably not the most memorable lunchtime I've had in Peru.
For posterity's sake, this is Ollantataymbo:
After eating a stupidly big burger (which my diet allows) I went to board my train. I got the Expedition/Backpacker train, which was still a pretty neat way to travel - despite it being the cheapest of three train options. Comfy seats, everyone at a table, free snacks, windows in the ceiling:
I think all trains should have windows in the ceiling. And in the floor. In fact, trains should just be big see-through test tubes with seats.
The main highlight of the 1.5hr trip, apart from having a leg-to-leg joust with the fat Japanese guy sitting next to (and almost on top of) me, was the river.
For a lot of the time we were hugging the riverbank, and the muddy, swelling water looked nasty. Almost violent. The current was so powerful that at certain points the waves were licking 10-15 feet into the air, and the foamy water was crashing against the rocks. It actually looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster:
We arrived in Aguas Calientes in mid-afternoon...
...where I was met by Edison - the cheery bell-hop from my hostal. A quick walk to the Terrazas De Inca hostal, where I dumped my bag and downed a couple of cups of coca tea, was followed by a trip to the thermal baths at the top of town.
Aguas Calientes (Hot Waters), is known for two things: being the nearest town to Machu Picchu (and some local establishments actually called it Machu Picchu town, which I thought was stretching things a bit) and for having natural hot springs.
At the baths, there were five or six pools. Most were almost empty, but one in the middle was packed.
Testing the water, you could see why. It was the hottest, and therefore the most pleasant (and theraputic). I also reckoned it was the most polluted by other people's flaking blisters, cold sores and other unpleasantries - so I didn't stay long.
They were those springs with murky water, where every now and then something unidentifiable floats past your line of vision. 'Au Natural', I suppose. But give me a chlorined turqouise pool any day.
Afterwards I bought my bus ticket for the morning and then read a few chapters of my book - a Dean Koontz novel about alien abduction. As I sat in my hostel - that contained no other guests - with the sound of the river cascading outside, and with temparatures dropping, the whole scene started to feel a bit eerie.
I snapped out of it by heading to an amazing restaurant in town called Indio Feliz - recommended by all and sundry, and easy to see why. It was a French bistro run by an excellent little team, and with great food. No pics unfortunately, but I have some in my head. A really good meal.
And so, onto the main event...
The first bus to Machu Picchu leaves Aguas Calientes at 5.30am each morning.
I was up at 4.20am to have breakfast (surprisingly laid on, to order, by the hostal) and walk down the road to the bus stop. Thinking, at 5.10am, that I'd be one of the early birds - perhaps joined by 20 or 30 others - I was taken by surprise as I turned the corner and saw about 150 people waiting patiently in line.
No matter though. Bus after bus streamed down the dark road to scoop us up and take us the 20 minutes to the (formerly) lost city of the Incas. We zig-zagged up the mountain, disembarked, joined another big queue for the entrance...
...and 20 minutes later I was in the park.
Now we've all seen pictures of Machu Picchu, so I knew what was coming as I rounded the final corner of the entry walk. But when I actually stepped out and saw the towering peak of Huaynapicchu looming over the intricate stone walls of the city itself, it was a stunning sight:
People stay in Aguas Calientes overnight so they can get those 5.30am buses up to MP and be there before the tour groups arrive from Cusco, and other places. It means you get the site almost to yourself for a couple of hours, plus can watch the sun rise over the adjoining mountains.
It was well worth the early start, seeing the city below change every few minutes according to the weather. From time to time a blanket of cloudy mist swooped over the site:
It was so peaceful - once I managed to edge away from the other chattering tourists - and the air was crisp and refreshing. Perfect.
On the way in, I had been fortunate to get one of the 400 daily passes up to the top of Huaynapicchu - the Sugar Loaf Mountain-esque peak that sits above Machu Picchu.
Nowadays they limit the numbers (200 between 7-8am, 200 between 10-11am) following an accident a few years ago when three girls plunged to their deaths. No-one knew where they had vanished to until their bodies were found at the bottom of Huaynapicchu some three months later.
So the lucky 400 now have to sign in when entering the part of the park that houses Huaynapicchu, and sign out again afterwards.
As I hadn't done the Inca Trail, and was feeling a lot more sprightly after my illness, I was really up for the climb ahead. At the entrance, the signs said 'only for the fit and healthy. Steep climb'. Count me in!
As I was signing in, a poor woman in her forties or fifties squeezed past, out of breath. She'd attempted the first few flights of steps before her lungs and body forced her to turn round. I began to sense this wouldn't be a walk in the park.
What it was was a 45 minute hike up a ridiculously steep mountain, climbing up haphazard steps, moving ever higher into altitude. This is a pic of the guy in front of me up one particularly stretching part:
But despite the steepness, the sweat, the gasping for air, I really enjoyed it. Towards the top there was a little tunnel that you had to clamber through, scraping various parts of your body on the way, and then a final ladder climb to the very top of the mountain:
The views at the summit were awesome. We could see over Machu Picchu as well as the rest of the 360 degree panaroma across the cloud-covered mountains:
After a 15 minute breather at the top I began my descent. At times, the tiny steps struggled to accommodate my size 8s and it wasn't easy going. Here's a couple of pics:
I found myself doing a lot of those arms-outstretched poses. Not sure why. Must stop.
Once at the bottom, pretty exhausted and with legs shaking, I took a slow wander through the ancient city.
Those Incas were a clever bunch. They used proper foundations, had some expert stonemasons and knew how to plan out a city.
Trying to fathom how they constructed this place, on the 'saddle' between two mountains, starts to hurt my head. The time it must have taken, and the vision that went into it, is difficult to comprehend. It's so well preserved.
You see buildings at home built in the last twenty years that are in worse shape than Machu Picchu.
After six hours at the site, I got the bus back to Aguas with James and Sarah, had my first beer for a while and watched some Champions League football. It then started to rain, and rain, and then it bucketed it down like the gates of water hell had been opened above us.
Not owning any waterproof clothing out here, I was soaked to the bone all the way home. It made the final leg - from Ollanta back to Cusco - particularly trying. At the Ollanta train station I boarded a collectivo minibus taxi to Cusco. It was only after I boarded that I noticed the smell. It was a smell of farm. Arable.
I was surrounded by several local women in their customary wide stetson-like hats and striped clothes. These women clearly worked on the land, as there was a stench of animal excretia in the bus. Luckily they got out halfway to Cusco, and my nostrils could start to function normally again.
And that, in a nutshell, was my whirlwind 48hrs to Machu Picchu. Perhaps not as memorable as had I done the trek, but really memorable all the same.
There are a few things in the world that I've always wanted to see with my own eyes, and that astonishing Inca city was one of them. Job done.
Since then, I've spent my time in Cusco preparing for my departure from Peru.
I went and bought my bus ticket to Copacabana (the Bolivian town, rather than the Brazilian beach) and bought myself another pair of trainers as my Nikes were beginning to smell like a pair of dead rats.
This morning I hiked to a place called Sacsayhuaman in the north of the city. Unfortunately I'd mis-read my guidebook, and rather than the Inca ruins being free to visit, they cost about 15 quid. I turned on my heel and walked back down to town.
All I wanted was a good panaromic view of Cusco. I spoke to someone who said it was possible to walk up to the Blanco Christo without incurring a charge (a rarity in Cusco), so I took another steep climb up there. At times I was battling with thorn bushes on muddy paths, but I finally made it to the top:
So I only have a few hours left before my nightbus to Puno, and then I will take another bus over the border to Copacabana in the morning.
My few weeks in Peru have been great. From the chillout zone of Mancora, to the astonishing sand dunes of Huacachina. An amazing hike in the Colca Canyon, to an unforgettable day at Machu Picchu.
It's a great country and I could have spent several more weeks here, but Bolivia calls.
Here are a few more pictures:
I was a bit Machu Picchu-ed out before I even left Cusco to go to there. Here in Cusco it's wall-to-wall tour agencies all trying to sell you a variation on the same trip.
After the twenty-eighth time in an afternoon of hearing 'Hey, Machu Picchu. You wanna trek amigo?', you start to wish Hiram Bingham had never found the bloody city in the first place.
But they're just doing their job, and they weren't to know I'd spent four days incapacitated in hospital and therefore had to a) cancel my trek and b) lose a decent whack of money doing so.
Maybe I should have quickly mocked up a T-shirt saying 'Sick Gringo - Already Booked The Train. Muchas Gracias.'
In the event, and from what I've since heard, I'm not totally disheartened by not being able to walk the Inca Trail. My friends James and Sarah - who I met, unsurprisingly (because we bump into each other everywhere), at Machu Picchu - said that it was great, but not the most challenging walk. When I trek, I like to be pushed hard.
So on Monday morning, with a small backpack on my back, I set off on the leisurely way of seeing Peru's most famous attraction.
There were no trains from Cusco to Ollantataymbo so I got the first collectivo taxi of my trip so far. Basically, a collectivo is a taxi that only leaves once full. Everyone pays a small amount, it doesn't stop on the way, and therefore it's a really good way to travel.
We got to Ollanta (for short) after an hour and a half's drive, with some lush green fields and towering mountain views to keep us entertained.
In Ollanta I had a bit of time to kill before my train to Aguas Calientes. I sat in the main square, got continually hassled by a woman wanting change, and watched the rain come down incessantly for a couple of hours. Probably not the most memorable lunchtime I've had in Peru.
For posterity's sake, this is Ollantataymbo:
After eating a stupidly big burger (which my diet allows) I went to board my train. I got the Expedition/Backpacker train, which was still a pretty neat way to travel - despite it being the cheapest of three train options. Comfy seats, everyone at a table, free snacks, windows in the ceiling:
I think all trains should have windows in the ceiling. And in the floor. In fact, trains should just be big see-through test tubes with seats.
The main highlight of the 1.5hr trip, apart from having a leg-to-leg joust with the fat Japanese guy sitting next to (and almost on top of) me, was the river.
For a lot of the time we were hugging the riverbank, and the muddy, swelling water looked nasty. Almost violent. The current was so powerful that at certain points the waves were licking 10-15 feet into the air, and the foamy water was crashing against the rocks. It actually looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster:
We arrived in Aguas Calientes in mid-afternoon...
...where I was met by Edison - the cheery bell-hop from my hostal. A quick walk to the Terrazas De Inca hostal, where I dumped my bag and downed a couple of cups of coca tea, was followed by a trip to the thermal baths at the top of town.
Aguas Calientes (Hot Waters), is known for two things: being the nearest town to Machu Picchu (and some local establishments actually called it Machu Picchu town, which I thought was stretching things a bit) and for having natural hot springs.
At the baths, there were five or six pools. Most were almost empty, but one in the middle was packed.
Testing the water, you could see why. It was the hottest, and therefore the most pleasant (and theraputic). I also reckoned it was the most polluted by other people's flaking blisters, cold sores and other unpleasantries - so I didn't stay long.
They were those springs with murky water, where every now and then something unidentifiable floats past your line of vision. 'Au Natural', I suppose. But give me a chlorined turqouise pool any day.
Afterwards I bought my bus ticket for the morning and then read a few chapters of my book - a Dean Koontz novel about alien abduction. As I sat in my hostel - that contained no other guests - with the sound of the river cascading outside, and with temparatures dropping, the whole scene started to feel a bit eerie.
I snapped out of it by heading to an amazing restaurant in town called Indio Feliz - recommended by all and sundry, and easy to see why. It was a French bistro run by an excellent little team, and with great food. No pics unfortunately, but I have some in my head. A really good meal.
And so, onto the main event...
The first bus to Machu Picchu leaves Aguas Calientes at 5.30am each morning.
I was up at 4.20am to have breakfast (surprisingly laid on, to order, by the hostal) and walk down the road to the bus stop. Thinking, at 5.10am, that I'd be one of the early birds - perhaps joined by 20 or 30 others - I was taken by surprise as I turned the corner and saw about 150 people waiting patiently in line.
No matter though. Bus after bus streamed down the dark road to scoop us up and take us the 20 minutes to the (formerly) lost city of the Incas. We zig-zagged up the mountain, disembarked, joined another big queue for the entrance...
...and 20 minutes later I was in the park.
Now we've all seen pictures of Machu Picchu, so I knew what was coming as I rounded the final corner of the entry walk. But when I actually stepped out and saw the towering peak of Huaynapicchu looming over the intricate stone walls of the city itself, it was a stunning sight:
People stay in Aguas Calientes overnight so they can get those 5.30am buses up to MP and be there before the tour groups arrive from Cusco, and other places. It means you get the site almost to yourself for a couple of hours, plus can watch the sun rise over the adjoining mountains.
It was well worth the early start, seeing the city below change every few minutes according to the weather. From time to time a blanket of cloudy mist swooped over the site:
It was so peaceful - once I managed to edge away from the other chattering tourists - and the air was crisp and refreshing. Perfect.
On the way in, I had been fortunate to get one of the 400 daily passes up to the top of Huaynapicchu - the Sugar Loaf Mountain-esque peak that sits above Machu Picchu.
Nowadays they limit the numbers (200 between 7-8am, 200 between 10-11am) following an accident a few years ago when three girls plunged to their deaths. No-one knew where they had vanished to until their bodies were found at the bottom of Huaynapicchu some three months later.
So the lucky 400 now have to sign in when entering the part of the park that houses Huaynapicchu, and sign out again afterwards.
As I hadn't done the Inca Trail, and was feeling a lot more sprightly after my illness, I was really up for the climb ahead. At the entrance, the signs said 'only for the fit and healthy. Steep climb'. Count me in!
As I was signing in, a poor woman in her forties or fifties squeezed past, out of breath. She'd attempted the first few flights of steps before her lungs and body forced her to turn round. I began to sense this wouldn't be a walk in the park.
What it was was a 45 minute hike up a ridiculously steep mountain, climbing up haphazard steps, moving ever higher into altitude. This is a pic of the guy in front of me up one particularly stretching part:
But despite the steepness, the sweat, the gasping for air, I really enjoyed it. Towards the top there was a little tunnel that you had to clamber through, scraping various parts of your body on the way, and then a final ladder climb to the very top of the mountain:
The views at the summit were awesome. We could see over Machu Picchu as well as the rest of the 360 degree panaroma across the cloud-covered mountains:
After a 15 minute breather at the top I began my descent. At times, the tiny steps struggled to accommodate my size 8s and it wasn't easy going. Here's a couple of pics:
I found myself doing a lot of those arms-outstretched poses. Not sure why. Must stop.
Once at the bottom, pretty exhausted and with legs shaking, I took a slow wander through the ancient city.
Those Incas were a clever bunch. They used proper foundations, had some expert stonemasons and knew how to plan out a city.
Trying to fathom how they constructed this place, on the 'saddle' between two mountains, starts to hurt my head. The time it must have taken, and the vision that went into it, is difficult to comprehend. It's so well preserved.
You see buildings at home built in the last twenty years that are in worse shape than Machu Picchu.
After six hours at the site, I got the bus back to Aguas with James and Sarah, had my first beer for a while and watched some Champions League football. It then started to rain, and rain, and then it bucketed it down like the gates of water hell had been opened above us.
Not owning any waterproof clothing out here, I was soaked to the bone all the way home. It made the final leg - from Ollanta back to Cusco - particularly trying. At the Ollanta train station I boarded a collectivo minibus taxi to Cusco. It was only after I boarded that I noticed the smell. It was a smell of farm. Arable.
I was surrounded by several local women in their customary wide stetson-like hats and striped clothes. These women clearly worked on the land, as there was a stench of animal excretia in the bus. Luckily they got out halfway to Cusco, and my nostrils could start to function normally again.
And that, in a nutshell, was my whirlwind 48hrs to Machu Picchu. Perhaps not as memorable as had I done the trek, but really memorable all the same.
There are a few things in the world that I've always wanted to see with my own eyes, and that astonishing Inca city was one of them. Job done.
Since then, I've spent my time in Cusco preparing for my departure from Peru.
I went and bought my bus ticket to Copacabana (the Bolivian town, rather than the Brazilian beach) and bought myself another pair of trainers as my Nikes were beginning to smell like a pair of dead rats.
This morning I hiked to a place called Sacsayhuaman in the north of the city. Unfortunately I'd mis-read my guidebook, and rather than the Inca ruins being free to visit, they cost about 15 quid. I turned on my heel and walked back down to town.
All I wanted was a good panaromic view of Cusco. I spoke to someone who said it was possible to walk up to the Blanco Christo without incurring a charge (a rarity in Cusco), so I took another steep climb up there. At times I was battling with thorn bushes on muddy paths, but I finally made it to the top:
So I only have a few hours left before my nightbus to Puno, and then I will take another bus over the border to Copacabana in the morning.
My few weeks in Peru have been great. From the chillout zone of Mancora, to the astonishing sand dunes of Huacachina. An amazing hike in the Colca Canyon, to an unforgettable day at Machu Picchu.
It's a great country and I could have spent several more weeks here, but Bolivia calls.
Here are a few more pictures:
