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17th - 24th Dec: Overshadowed by the snowcapped 5850 m high peak of Mt Veronica, worshiped as an Apu, or mountain god by the Incas, Cuzco (or the navel of the world in Quechua, the Inca language) is a surreal mix of tourists and first world Peruvians shadowed by the colourful Indian decendents who still speak Quechua. The architecture and human geography within the city of 300000 is rich to explore. This was the second centre of Inca activity on the continent next to Quito, the capital of Ecuador. Following the advice of Tanya and Brenden I booked myself on the ecoconcious, porter friendly SAS travel trek to Machu Picchu. Having misplaced my $2 alarm clock and finding that my $5 a night hotel did not possess one I easily managed to pull an all nighter dancing in the clubs prior to the treks departure at 6 in the morning of a Wednesday. After briefly eying off the yawning dishevelled colourful fellow tourists I purchased a rain poncho (alias garbage bag with holes) and promptly fell asleep for the hours journey to Kilometer 82, the imaginatively named start of the 4 day Inca trail trek. Without fanfare, the crew shouldered their packs and headed up the farmer and donkey infested track towards the first of the Inca ruins. After only 3 days at 3000 m, all were soon puffing and talk was scarce. Luckily I had recovered my appetite and eaten more than sufficient of the wholesome Peruvian menus before setting out, as well as becoming accustomed to the tap water which is so aerated that it looks like soda water when poured. The original trail has been obliterated until Day 3 of the tour. One theory is that it was the Incas protecting Machu Picchu, the other is that drug runners overused the trail. For once, the completeness of the obliteration convinces me that the official tale is correct.. a rarity. Nonetheless, the scenery and many Inca ruins provide ample diversion along the 49km hike. The 14 porters and 3 guides set up the tents ahead of us, running past the puffing gringos wearing gortex and nike hikers in their recycled tyre sandals and cloth backpacks. Both the start and Machu Picchu are at 2400m above sea level. The boys (only thankyou) are invited to take on the locals at a tiny village soccer field after the hike, and we take great pride in losing with the excuse of altitude to back us up. I´m sure that one guy at least was on the national Peruvian side. We also relish the fact that we didn´t pull any muscles unlike our experienced guide who tore a hammy.. not good with 3 days hiking to come. The views in the morning as the guides wake us at dawn with coca tea are amazing. The locally legal coca itself does help take your mind from the altitude and plodding pace but does little besides. I use my training in the Torres del Paine to carry my full pack up Warmiwañusca (Dead Womans Pass), keeping pace with the lead guide to the top at 4200m. Sleeping at 3800m is a little hard to find however. The rain and mist makes its presence felt every afternoon, where sleeping and playing cards plays a large role. The cloud forests and vertical terrain which is fearlessly attacked head on by the Incas stone path is at once spectacular and wearing. Some trees remind you of those in the Degaba system, home to Yoda while the jagged peaks above educate you of the youth of these mountains. The Incas worshipped the icepeaks as gods (among other gods) because they held the water as well as for the strength required to tackle them.
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7th Jan
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After blissful hot showers and beers in a bar on the last night, we are awoken to a misty dawn on the summer equinox for our damp hike to the Inti Punku, the Sun Gate. From there, the mist clears to show glimpses of the fabled Lost City of Machu Picchu which fast becomes shrouded in clouds once again. Those who had gathered from all corners of the globe to see the 3 minutes of unshadowed light from the dawn sun ray shining from between the Sun Gate and through the east facing window of the Temple of the Sun in the city below must have been rather disapointed. Entering the fabled city is a magical experience which rapidly tarnishes under the tourist effect of fast food and gates constructed for the train-travelling day trippers arriving from the Urubamba river valley below. Our guide talks to the yawning crew about the Inca traditions and lifestyle, showing us the beautifully shaped stones (how they did this with bronze tools I know not) and trapezoidal doorways of the city which is slowly being reconstructed by a hammering crew of workers amongst the trees and grazing llamas. Five of us shed our cloaks of fatigue by climbing Huayna Picchu, the peak over Machu Picchu which houses the Temple of the Moon. The trail is as breathtaking as the view from the top. I do not find the spiritual solitude that I was seeking amongst the rope courdons and tourists, however the memory will last forever. Byron and I decend to Aquas Calientes in the pouring rain for a natural hot spring bath which eases the aches of four days of trekking. We dont even need towels, soddenly trekking back to the hotel for a buffet lunch in the pouring rain. A siesta never felt so good. The tourists give the open Peruvians a hard edge, but I know that if I took the time, I could find some of the most beautifully natured people on earth. I take the train (and interesting local transport) back to Cuzco via the sacred valley, where the ruins of Ollayantambi and the furtive locals of Urubamba intrigue me to find that Christmas cheer has taken hold of the town and the main square is full of Indians who have erected stalls, sleeping on the ground to guard the space during the cold nights. During the day and the evening the plazas are alive with movement and life... Christmas will be interesting indeed..
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