Settled on Machu Picchu mountain, surrounded by the jagged Andes, sits a little vacation village created for the Incan king during the 15th century. A four day trail from Cusco will guide your feet there, bringing you through the Sun Gate at the far edge of Machu Picchu mountain where you can cock your head to see that the sillouhette of the village resembles an Incan man’s face. To obtain an aerial view, wake up at 4:30 AM and hike up Wayna Picchu (Young Peak) at 7:00 AM. Be one of the first to see a blanket of clouds covering the sleeping settlement. In an hour the clouds will be yawned away.
“I’ve been traveling for 8 months. I’m a contracter in London and left my job to figure out how I can start my own contracting business one day… but I fear I’ll go back still not knowing how to do that! [laughter] I need to gather the courage. I’m going back a different person than I left.” said the Jamaican Londoner that shared Arrow Rock with me at the top of Wayna Picchu.
A guy from Brooklyn and I were the first of four to arrive at the top, joining a couple from Britain sharing breakfast on a rock. Huffing and puffing in the thick clouds I exclaimed,
“So, where is it?!”
“I don’t know! Maybe over there?”
“Or maybe there?”
We stared at a drawing carved in a plastic informational post to get our bearings, our Northeast cynicism mocking our unfortunate situation. Taking silly pictures with piles of clouds behind us seemed a good activity for the time being. He then recounted,
“The funny thing is, I came to Machu Picchu last year but it was closed. People were stranded here because of flooding. I really should stop coming during the rainy season.”
“So what are you doing in South America?”
“I’m actually a Producer and headed to Ecuador. I’m filming for a nonprofit that provides lifeguards during Carnival. Everyone goes swimming and apparently many people drown.”
While thinking of the obscure causes that non-profits support, we were joined by a Japanese contingent and then some rowdy young Londoners. One Londoner was swearing at his friend for missing the view of Machu Picchu once the clouds started to burn off.
As if I were scratching away the winning numbers on a lottery ticket, green mountainsides were lit up by the sun to my left, who was slowing pulling back the cloud curtains. One by one patches were burned away, the beams cutting into the atmosphere. The humble entrance blew away the cloudy introduction. The curious fog had whet our appetite and we were not disappointed. As I slowly looked around me, I felt the excitement of being there. All around me was this natural revelation that had been there all along. I was standing in the middle of a new world, sparking inspiration.
If only Sigur Ros happened to be playing on the rocks below (in their Icelandic sweaters).
Heading down was trickier than going up had been; the stone steps were steep and narrow. At one point I crawled my way through a crevice between two rocks and thought about how they could crush me (very comforting). As I passed people on the way down, who asked me how much longer, I encouraged them in their journey.
One wonderful thing about being solo is that you wait for no one. You are off and running up the mountain whenever and heading down as carefully as you desire. After I signed my name out of the book at the entrance, I meandered through the ancient civilization for as long as I liked, spending time sitting on the walls, staring at the mountains and avoiding Lama spit.
On my two hour English-speaking tour (I felt bad for the Japanese guy) I learned a bit about Machu Picchu. It took the Incas about 60 years to build the place and it was still unfinished. They used the terraces for agriculture and created aqueducts that brought water down through the town. They were scholars of the sky, chiseling a rock that resembled the Southern Cross and another one that represented Mother Earth and her three levels: the underworld (snake), earth (puma) and the heavens (condor). Shadows showed them what day or time of year it was. Sacrifices were made to appease the gods, which they thought were the mountains. Even I swear those mountains are gods; their majesty is breathtaking. If a storm came through or perhaps a bad earthquake, they might even sacrifice a child of nobility to appease them once and for all.
I wonder if that worked.
When their king stopped coming from Cusco, they thought something must be wrong so they fled the city. The Spanish didn’t actually invade Machu Picchu until nine years later though, taking all the gold they could find in exchange for chicken pox. More Incans died of chicken pox than fighting the Spanish.
The city wasn’t rediscovered until 1911 when an archeologist came upon it while searching for the Incans last stronghold, led their by a local boy. Since it wasn’t the last stronghold, he didn’t pay as much attention and continued on his way. It wasn’t until a bit later that he returned - realizing it’s value. Since then, they’ve excavated it and Yale University has graciously taken all of the artifacts. Peru is currently in dialogue with the university for their rightful return to the Cusco Museum.
During the busy season up to 4,000 people check out the city and hike up the mountain. In the rainy season, about 1,500 – 2,000 people enter. The Japanese thought Machu Picchu was actually sinking, but that has since been proven wrong. Though, they are going to start limiting the amount of people that visit.
Getting to Machu Picchu is quite the journey as well, involving flying to Cusco, being bussed through the Sacred Valley, taking a train to Aguas Calientes, and then taking another bus actually up to the site. When I first started planning, it all seemed quite confusing. But once you’re there, you have PLENTY of willing Peruvian tourist agencies more than willing to help you.
“Ok, Lady,” said the tourist guy that I signed up with at the airport as he escorted me to my hotel in Cusco.
His ring tone was a Justin Beiber song, which made me feel immediately comfortable with him. He set me up with a bus tour through the Sacred Valley, to all different archeological sites, and all my expenses for Machu Picchu (train, bus, and entrance ticket). I know he loved me. I know he cared. I shouted "wheneva" and he was there.
While sitting on one of the walls of Machu Picchu, I stared at the mountains in front of me. Time passed me by as my thoughts spaced out into the distance. The mountains still stood there though, even as time pushed through. Majestically, they had watched the Incas and now they were watching me.
I can’t seem to get a handle on the scope of that, my mind being too small. But in that moment I knew the beauty of it, and that is all I could understand.
your writing is awesome
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