Day 67 - Machu Picchu and Aguas Calientes.

Awake at 4am. By the time I get to the bus stop at 4.30am, there’s already a massive queue of people. There are shops open already, so you can buy bottled water, sunscreen, walking sticks…What the majority of the people don’t seem to realise is that plastic bottles, food and walking sticks are not allowed on the Machu Picchu site.


As it turns out, that ban is not really enforced, which is unfortunate. It really incenses me to see trash in the ruins. I want to grab the person who thoughtfully left an empty juice carton and a banana skin under a bush and yell: “What, is this too heavy for you to carry, you puny little weakling?!” Particularly disgusted by a puddle at the bottom of the climb to Huayna Picchu with some toilet paper in it; some woman couldn’t control her bladder, clearly. I don’t mind responsible visitors breaking the rules (on top of Huayna Picchu, there were some hikers making coffee on a camping stove, but they took everything with them) but people who just don’t give a shit about the mess they make shouldn’t bother visiting a place if they’re not going to respect it.

In spite of Miguel’s worries, I have no trouble using yesterday’s permit. Though I’m on the sixth bus, I manage to get one of the four hundred tickets for the Huayna Picchu climb.

Wander through the ruins while it’s still pre-sunrise and most people are bunched up at the guardian hut and other viewpoints. I run my hands over the stonework, appreciating the incredible craftsmanship. Miguel is right: the Spanish were never conquerors – they were destroyers. They took apart remarkable buildings to build their own inferior ones with the stones (incidentally, Inca architecture withstood recent powerful earthquakes, while colonial architecture did not), they tortured and killed the Inca to get their gold, but they didn’t manage to destroy the people. The Quechua are still here. Luckily, the Spanish never found Machu Picchu. It must be hard being Miguel; while he’s clearly of mixed heritage, he identifies with the indigenous people and laments the fact that his Quechua isn’t very good.

When the first rays of the sun come over the mountain and hit Huayna Picchu, I hold my breath. Other people are busy snapping away, but I don’t think any photo can do this justice. It's one of the most marvellous things I’ve ever seen.

Reunited with the others by the most overpriced hotel in Peru ($1000/night) by the main entrance, I go on a proper tour of the ruins. Miguel remarks on the religious significance of the site, which would’ve been visited by the Inca ruler once a year from Cusco, the Inca capital. He points out landmarks, such as the holy window of the Temple of the Sun; during the winter solstice, the first ray of the sun, passes through the window first. He also shows us places where the Inca stonework is coming apart; Machu Picchu is sinking, and the huge number of visitors does not help. He’s bitter because the Lima authorities care more about profit than long-term preservation.

Mark complains about the morning stampede. After passing through the checkpoint at the last campsite, everyone made for the Sun Gate, some people pushing, some deliberately holding others up. The guys (minus Amy) decide to go climb Machu Picchu mountain, which is higher than Huayna Picchu but less visited, for some reason, while I head off to climb Huayna Picchu. My original plan was to see as much of the ruins as possible, but Miguel dissuades me from trying to descend to the Temple of the Moon. Firstly, you have to take the Huayna Picchu route, and then it’s a long descent along an overgrown trail which is frequented by poisonous snakes, allegedly. I’m almost tempted to go down just to see if I can spot the snakes, but there isn’t enough time.

The climb up Huayna Picchu takes just forty minutes, and you can hold on to steel cables for most of the really steep bits, but there are some seriously precarious stone steps which give me trouble on the way down. In the end, I swallow my pride and go down on my bottom, figuring that dirty trousers are better than dying young and leaving a beautiful corpse. Towards the top, there’s a squeeze through a natural cave and then a wooden ladder takes you to the very top, which is really crowded. I manage to find a quiet spot and enjoy the wind and the sun on my skin, and the sight of the tiny ruins, far below. Really glad I pressed on to Aguas Calientes yesterday.

All templed out after seven hours at the ruins with no food. Back in Aguas Calientes I stuff myself at the buffet at Toto’s House which includes sushi, sweet potato salad and awesome alpaca carpaccio. Finish up by checking out the accommodation; pleased to have found some nice new places.

Not impressed with the train. It’s slow, there’s no leg room, and we don’t even leave on time. Wait, that’s just like back home. When I finally reach my guesthouse in Ollanta, I’m dead on my feet and don’t even have the energy to go find food.