One Ticket to Peru

Katie D.

November 19, 2008 - 9:00 PM

Getting to the top of that mountain was one of the hardest and most rewarding things I have ever done. The view was astonishing, but the mountain wasn't terribly impressive by mountain climbing standards. There were stairs, after all, and 400 other people climbed it that same day. The mountain is Wayna Picchu, and stands above the site of the ancient Incan city of Machu Picchu.

I went to Peru alone. I took a week off from my classes during my semester abroad in Chile last spring. For one reason or another, none of my friends could join me so I seriously considered not going: I was already traveling around Chile almost every weekend-it would have been easy to skip the long bus ride to Santiago, the flight to Cusco, and the week of travel by myself. No one wants to be by themselves in a famous tourist destination, right?

But I had wanted to go to Machu Picchu for as long as I could remember. I had studied it in history and Spanish classes, and was totally fascinated by the idea of a city that old in a place so beautiful. I was already in South America. I had to go.

My host family was excited for me, but typical of Chilean perspectives on Peruvians, warned me to be very, very careful-Peru was beautiful but all Peruvians were thieves. I was concerned by this advice, but took it with a grain of salt. Chileans are often politically incorrect, and don't dance around the subject. (I imagine that was exactly what some US friends meant when they warned me to be careful in South America as well.) People are so often unwilling to trust each other. But I decided to trust in the goodness of fate and humanity and set off alone and without itineraries or reservations. I figured that if I asked, people would be happy to give me advice.

Trusting to the goodness of the Universe paid off pretty well. I actually met another University of Oregon student and his family on the plane to Cusco. They had a hotel reserved and I shared a double room with one of them. So I got to explore Cusco with people from my neck of the woods-they were also fellow Coloradans. Small world.

Cusco is a wonderful place for a tourist. It is incredibly beautiful, for one thing. It was a capital of the Incan empire, and one of the first cities established by the conquistadores. So many of the streets and lower walls of the buildings are obviously Incan with beautiful stone masonry that is well over 500 years old. Then there are the colonial era buildings, including old Catholic Cathedrals. There are museums and monuments everywhere along the hilly cobbled streets.

When my newfound US friends were busy that afternoon, I struck off alone to make travel plans for the next stage of my journey. I briefly considered booking with a travel agency for the trip to Machu Picchu, but in keeping with my slapdash approach up to this point, I decided instead on the most cost-effective and least glamorous option. I would take the train into Aguas Calientes, the town closest to Machu Picchu itself. But the woman at the train station explained that I could take a sort of mini bus service halfway there for a quarter of the price. So I recorded the information on the mini bus, bought a train ticket out of Ollantaytambo, and hoped I could find something to do in the little town. Sounded like an adventure to me.

Then I went out onto the street to do some shopping. Once you make a purchase, street vendors are often great sources of information and conversation. I bought some sunglasses and then talked to the vendors. They asked if I liked Cusco, and I told them it was an interesting and incredible place. I told them I wished I had months to stay in Peru and that I thought it was more beautiful than Chile (international relations at their best). Then I asked what they would do if they had four hours before dinner, and also for a recommendation for a cheap restaurant with good Peruvian food. So I was off to the Incan museum that had been mentioned negatively in my guide book, and with directions to a restaurant the locals ate at. The museum was incredible, and I was offered me a guided tour at a discount because I could speak Spanish. So much for the guide book.

Again and again I found that speaking to people in their own language, complimenting their city and children, and asking them genuinely about their lives and habits is immensely rewarding. I was directed several times to smaller monuments and sacred spaces that I otherwise would not have seen. It was also a local who told me that I had arrived in Cusco in time for Corpus Christi, a major Catholic holiday. I had bought my tickets to Machu Picchu for the day of the celebration itself, but I heard from that woman that they would be bringing in all the patron saints from the churches around Cusco all to the central cathedral in a parade the next day. And what a sight that was! The saints came from all over the city, riding shoulder high on platforms and accompanied by marching bands and people from all walks of life. It was truly a remarkable experience, and was also a genuine cultural moment. This was not a tourist show: it was a religious festival honoring both the Catholic traditions and showing signs of the older Indigenous spiritual practices as well.

The trip to Ollantaytambo was very funny. "Mini bus" turns out to mean a taxi that you share with three other people. I was crammed in the back seat and was frankly terrified by the narrow roads, but it cost $3 for the two hour ride, which was about right on target for my budget. It was also a beautiful ride. We drove through farming areas and tiny villages. The Peruvian mountains are so dramatic: like a little kid's squiggle line drawing of mountains.

Ollantaytambo was far more than just a train stop. I wish I had researched more! There were beautiful terrace ruins built into one mountain of the many that surround the little town. I started off in that direction with the other white folks, but decided to stop into a café first. I asked the owner what he would do if he had four hours to spend in the town, and he told me he would leave his luggage at the café and hike up the mountain on the other side of the town. He took me to the second floor of the restaurant and pointed at the mountainside, explaining that some of the ruins there were Incan and the higher up ones were Pre-Incan, including the face of a god either carved or naturally appearing in the face of the rock. I took his advice. I took my backpack with me, left my bag of clothing with him, and said I'd be back before dark to try his hot chocolate.

There was no one else up in those ruins. And they were fantastic. The other side of the valley held the famous ruins, at $20 a visit. These were older, more complicated, and also had a feeling of modesty that is often somewhat spoiled by tourism. These were houses and roads people had used, and places they had worshiped at. I climbed around for three hours and only encountered four other people. I looked over stone walls to the valleys, examined plant life growing from crevices, and nearly fell down the mountain twice. I also spent a long time in relaxed contemplation and meditation. Old places feel holy, and these were ancient sacred places. I felt an intense regret that my family and friends were not with me, especially the two of my closest friends who are archeology students. But I also felt very connected to the place and my experience there. The town was spread before me, with tin roofs and chickens crowing and children playing. I would have been happy with my Peru trip even if it had only included that town.

I had dinner at the café, with fabulous Peruvian soups and a kind of grain dish. I also had fabulous hot chocolate. I am a hot chocolate fanatic, and make it my business to find the best wherever I travel. That little café in a little town in the mountains of Peru has the second best I have ever tasted.

The owner of the place talked to me about the ruins and growing up in Ollantaytambo, and sent the waiter with me when I left to help me carry my light luggage and make sure I found the train station OK in the dark.

I spent the night in Aguas Calientes at a hostel I found with a British couple I had met on the train. The train ride itself was fine, but it was dark by then so I couldn't see the countryside as we rattled along. Aguas Calientes itself is really just a stepping stone. Everyone there talks of nothing but Machu Picchu: have you been yet? When? What will you do afterward?

We loaded up on snacks for the next day, bought our tickets to the park itself, and went to bed early in preparation for an early departure.

I was at Machu Picchu at 8 am, in a place high on the south side of the city when the sun rose over the surrounding mountains. The city is completely beautiful. It is shockingly green, and the stone walls are beautifully crafted. It looks like it was built to be a ruin, blending with the green and the rocks of the surrounding landscape. There were llamas running around picturesquely, and the normal hordes of tourists were not as bad as I had feared, both due to the early hour and because of the festival in Cusco. The place was beautiful in the half-light of dawn, and watching the line of the mountain-shadows creep down the scene made me feel like a kid a Christmas. And the whole time I was looking at the Mountain Wayna Piccu and trying to imagine the scene from its top.

The sun rose, we took our pictures and marveled at the sight, and then raced through the city to be among the 400 allowed to go up the mountain. The stairs are old, Incan old, and it was a long climb. It was incredibly steep, and at high altitude it was hard to truly catch my breath. But the city dropped away below me and I could see more and more of its configuration as a part of a larger landscape.

Reaching the top felt like a miracle. The city is so beautiful from above, and I was surrounded by the other giddy and exhausted tourists who chattered in more than ten languages. We were all victorious. The mountains surrounding Machu Picchu are jungle-covered, with brilliant flowers and trees. It was amazing being so far above such an iconic place. There are temples at the top of the mountain: somewhere back in history the Incans would climb those steps as a normal activity. We rested and took pictures before descending, stopping at several other temple sites along the way. (Because my Mother might read this, I will not give you full details of the descent. Suffice to say that it was terrifying and if I had slipped I would not be here to write this today.)

I said goodbye to my climbing companions, and wandered the ruins alone. I touched the stones, listened in on tours, and climbed more stairs. I thought about the miracle of a place like that still existing, a relic of an older time hidden so long amid mountains and jungles. There is no way to describe the place and the holy feeling around it. I can only say that I am not the same person I was before I went there: somehow a feeling of sacredness, of connection to the past was introduced to me that day that I hope will remain a permanent part of my soul. I was not lonely that afternoon, sitting alone beside rocks and climbing up yet more sets of ancient stairs. I was at peace, at joy with my place. I would like to say that the most beautiful place I have ever seen is somewhere no one has ever heard of: some obscure corner of the world that belongs uniquely to me. But that is not true: Machu Picchu, with all its fame, remains the most beautiful and most mind-altering place I have visited.

I learned in Peru that you do not travel anywhere alone. Humanity is always there, and can often be trusted to supply adventure and connection to someone willing to risk that. Machu Picchu broke my heart wide open, and I can still feel that place like a quiet center within me.