Machu Picchu and Huayna Picchu: Communion with the Gods

Only a deity could have created something so beautiful as the majestic peaks surrounding Machu Picchu. I would like to return to Peru with a geologist to find out exactly what marvelous an powerful forces formed this earth that we are so humble blessed to inhabit.  The bus ride up go Machu Picchu choked me up a bit and that was before we saw the ancient citadel.  As I write this we're on a train alongside the Urumbaba River, watching the power rapids slowly destroy the boulders in its path.  I am reminded today that despite our industrial feats, nature is more powerful than man.

I had no idea that Machu Picchu was a semi-tropical zone,  so the sheer cliffs and mountainsides were covered with a lush green jungle.  The Inca were on to something.  No wonder the Conquistadores never found this city.  How it was even built I beyond my comprehension.  Or first look as we approached the site was with a gasp.  I should back up here a tell the story from the beginning...

We arrived in Aguas Clientes late, grabbed a quick bite hit the hay in time to get up at 4am to line up to catch a 5:30am bus to MP. Why? To be two of the first and only 200 people to climb Huayna Picchu at sunrise.  They only let 400 people per day in 2 shifts to climb the mountain that overlooks the site.  You know the one.  Take any picture of MP and that steep looming mountain behind it? Yeah, that's the one.

When we reached MP and saw the line at the entrance, no way were we in the firs 200. More like 500. But we realized that not everyone wanted to make the climb, so we ducked over to the registration desk and asked to be put in the first line. We were numbers 95 and 96. Score! We then walked up a winding path, and at the top was our reward: Machu Picchu laid out before us, postcard perfect.

The sun was rising behind the peaks and as we crossed the site, the sun began to illuminate the mountain peaks. We spotted the llamas grazing on the terraces. At the far end of the site we lined up at the Warden's hut to sign in for the Huayna Picchu hike.  As we stood in line, a sign warned that the hike was only for those in good physical health, among other scary notations. I started to get that pit in my stomach I feel on the rare occasion when someone talks me into riding a rollercoaster.  We signed our name and time in to the log book and began our walk.  Hike.

Death march.

Up we went.  Most steps were placed stones, some were naturally placed, and some footholds were met with a reach and a prayer. We were pleased that where at the most treacherous, there were iron spikes with stabilizing cable to assist with the ascent. It was slow going and we were passed a few times, but this wasn't a race.  The sign by the hut indicated it may take at least an hour so we had a vague idea what we were facing, knowing it may take us longer.  This is where I am so glad that last year I started running to get my lungs into shape.  I fared far better than I expected of myself, and didn't use my rescue inhaler once.  However, I was so concerned about my breathing going up, that I never considered the descent.  More on that in a moment.

In 1 hour and 45 minutes we reached the top, but that was with some rests, snack attacks, gratuitous picture-taking, and admiring the views.  And perhaps on more than one occasion pondering the meaning of life (and if we were out of our minds). At the peak was a 360 degree view of the entire valley, with a view over MP the likes of which I had never seen.  Below we could hear the distant rushing of the river water, glaciers in the high distance, and nearly every other inch covered in dense forest. We stopped to pop a squat and dig out our lunches that the hotel had prepared for us, and rested our exhausted feet while looking down at clouds that had rolled into the area.  Yes, DOWN at clouds, for we were lunching at 7,500 feet. The rest of the journey would be back down, so no sweat, right? Gravity was on our side.  O so we thought.

How we were so very, very wrong.

Those crazy Incans also built a village atop this peak, for the love of sweet Mary and Joseph I'll never know why, but we had to use their steps to descend the initial few hundred feet.  Uneven stones paired not more than 18 inches wide with no rails, and dangling alongside a cliff.  We often chatted with fellow hikers and learned that some had a fear of heights, but it was nice to see opportunity conquer fear.

About a quarter of the way down a couple had caught up with us - James and Laura from New York - and we traveled as a foursome the rest of the way, cracking jokes to keep spirits high.  By this time, the 10am group was making their way up and we exchanged pleasantries and warnings with them.  Why did we look so painful to be descending?

James described it best: it was like holding a squat for 40 minutes. Every step was a controlled step down, torturing our thighs to keep control and prevent our legs from giving out and sending us tumbling down a precipice. Flinging ourselves to the bottom would have been merciful.  Our legs trembled with every step.  The last 1000 feet we were practically hunched over and limping, dripping with sweat and dreaming of a swimming pool. I still don't know which was more difficult: up or down. But in the end, it was worth every step for the view alone and the pride that we could look back at our pictures and point to that famous mountain and know that although it kicked our asses, to quote Carrie, "we climbed that bitch". We checked out of the hike in the log book at 11am: 3 hours and 9 minutes later.

After a brief rest (and considering pouring the remainder of our water bottles over us) we explored MP in more detail. You can't take bad picture here.  Everything s beautiful. Breathtaking. We met a woman from Tasmania.  Took pictures of llamas. Marveled at the perfect and almost intact construction.  Investigated the ancient (and still functioning) irrigation system.  Explored crevices. Retraced our steps yet again to get more pictures in the noon light. The grass was bright green, the sky a perfect blue, the clouds snowy white.  We covered the grounds from top to bottom, from front to back.  We got our money's worth.  Because our thinking was that we never knew when we'd be back, so we pushed ourselves to get every shot.

We took the bus back down into town, reclaimed our luggage at the hotel (which was literally a stone's throw from the bus station), and freshened up. A couple from California chatted with us, then a gentleman from Houston joined us and turned out to be catching the same train back with us.  These times I love about traveling, when people are on their own journeys, but cross paths, share a moment, and move along, but we'll all remember that due from somewhere, or that guy from so-and-so.

As I finish writing this we're on a 3.5 hour train ride back to Cusco.  Nice big leather seats, table runners, a lovely small meal, and a view to beat all.  This beat the backpacker express we rode last night, and it was part of our plan.  Run hard then rest well.  and we'll likely hit a wall at about 8pm.  Tomorrow afternoon we'll catch our bus for Nazca.  Eight hours. Good thing we bought upgraded seats in the double-decker bus. By the looks of my elevation map we'll be passing through roads as high as 12,000 feet.  But in the meantime, we're welcoming the ride because we're certain we won't be able to walk tomorrow, let alone stand.  Not from lack of will or trying, but that the gods of Machu and Huayna Picchu said so.  Please pass the Advil.