The Inca Jungle Trek to Machu Picchu

It was always about Machu Picchu.

My trip was centered around Machu Picchu. Any schedule I did, any itinerary I conceived, it all revolved around Machu Picchu. Iguazu Falls? Nope, not enough time before Machu Picchu. Atacama? Ditto.

This trip was conceived because I wanted to see Machu Picchu. Now, I could've just went to Peru for two weeks, no worries, so it wasn't exclusively because of Machu Picchu. Yet Machu Picchu was the axis of my trip. It was a year ago (maybe more) I wrote a list of items I wanted to do before I was 30. There were 7 destinations ranging from touching Stonehenge to just visiting Canada and Mexico. Machu Picchu was on there. I could already tell that it possessed something mystical, something spiritual.

How I got to Machu Picchu wasn't planned, however. I gave myself between Friday June 28th to July 4th to find my way to Machu Picchu. Initially I thought of making my way via the tourist route, of taking the bus to Poroy or Ollytambo, taking the train to Agua Calientes, and hiking up Machu Picchu. It would've taken two days, three tops.

A piece of advice about travelling for long periods of time that I learned is to keep an open itinerary. As one travels such as myself, the more information is given via backpackers and locals. I mentioned in the previous post how I learned about the Inca Jungle Trek from a New Zealander couple I met in Mendoza. I had been disappointed in myself for how little I trekked so I was hellbent to get some good trekking in. Four days trekking in the mountains and the jungle sounded quite fine to me. Travelling requires decisions that in hindsight may be wise or not so wise. This was the best decision I ever made on my trip.

...

This trek was four days with itineraries set for each day. The first day involved for everyone a bike ride down the mountains into Santa Maria. For some, the first day also involved rafting the Urubamba River if one paid for the extra feature. I paid.

We were all given bikes by our badass guides, Hugo and Guido, as well as knee pads, an undergarment of pads, and helmets. Looking down we had a series of curvy roads that on bike would take about 3 hours to go down, 1000+ meters. The roads weren't hopelessly downhill; they were pretty level and we made it down in one piece.

Then we made our way to Santa Maria where we grabbed lunch and afterward split into two groups. Those who chose to not pay for the rafting experience stayed behind and made their way to our accommodations. Those like me, who had balls of steel, were given instructions about rafting.

Now with this rafting experience I learned two more nuggets of wisom: it doesn't pay to be without shoes and it doesn't pay to be manly.

I learned the second nugget first. For the most part the highlands of Peru weren't especially cold. Yet we were hitting 4 in the afternoon and the sun was fading. Asked about whether or not the river was cold, the guides said a little. I took that as a t-shirt will be fine; I'd rather be a little cold than warm. The rest of my group took on rafting jackets. I should've taken their lead.

The raft guides weren't wearing especially thick clothing but unfortunately they put me up front on the raft. In rafting being up front is the worst position because the brunt of the crashing waves will hit you and soak you. The water was cold and bitter; becoming soaked I realized my brush with manliness via not wearing a jacket was stupid.

When we were briefed about the trip the question of shoes while rafting came up. "You won't need shoes in the raft" we were told. We could bring flip flops and wear them in the raft, or be barefoot, no problem. So because I didn't want to fork out money for flip flops I didn't get any and intended to be barefoot. This meant having the raft company hold on to the shoes. Holy shit was that a mistake. Once we finished we had to make our way to a road via a beachfront covered in rocks. No trail of sand, nothing; just sharp, large rocks that I had to walk over in my bare feet. Miserable. Wear some kind of footwear while rafting. Always.

The actual raft experience was pretty nice, however. I mean we were rafting down the Urubamba River for 1 hour, 1 hour 30 minutes. The river passes through a stunning assortment of mountains and not snow covered peaks a la Argentina and Aconcagua, but green mountains that were being lit by the fading sun. It was near perfect now that I remember.

Getting back and getting my shoes back on we were to hike a steep hill in order to get to our hostel. Night fell and our hike would take 1 hour with breaks every 5 minutes. Learning from Aconcagua I had my bread and water as we trailed through jungle. It was Winter in Peru so the night sky was visible with all the constellations and a little bit of the Milky Way, if I recall correctly. Our guide would stop with us and tell of Incan and indigenous Peruvian constellations, such as the Llama. We would turn off our flashlights and in the dark just look up to discover how marvelous our position in the universe was.

I knew the hostel we were heading toward would have cold showers. Once we arrived, that didn't seem so bad as we found ourselves covered in exhausted heat and sweat. After settling a bit I felt better and intended to stick to my nasty habit of not taking cold showers.

The hostel was run by a local family that made us homemade food, a beef stew with rice and potatoes that I found yummy.

...

Before I ended my day I began to get to know my group. There was Aviv and his father, Shmulik, from Israel. Aviv had been in the Israeli Army for 5 years and was now backpacking South America for 7 months before university. His father came to Peru for two weeks to see his son. Troy, of Australia, was doing a freakin' round the world trip; I asked him, "How much longer do you have" expecting 6 weeks or 2 months. His answer: "18 months." Shit. There were two sets of English pairs: Imo and Cath, recent high school graduates who had volunteered in Peru, and Matthew and Flora, whom we nicknamed FlorMatt, who were about to go to university as well. There was a Swedish pair of missionaries whose names I can't honestly remember (because I'm an ass). They kept to themselves but overall I enjoyed talking to Stina (yes--I think) and her friend. Two Dutchmen, Tom and Guido, were accompanied by the lovely Geraldine of Argentina. Last but not least was my Poroy train mate, Monalisa, of Brazil who had a pension for eating Oreos and Snickers while trekking and also had a pretty damn good American English accent. I met a lot of people on my way through South America that became close to me, but with the exception of P this was THE group I held on tightly with. We all developed bonds in our trek to Machu Picchu.

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The second day wasn't wholly eventful. We didn't bike or raft. Instead, we walked. 8 hours. That being said our journey had a value that I shall put briefly into words. First and foremost we made our way through portions of the Inca trail which was closely linked on the mountains. It was very narrow and understanding the lesson that being manly doesn't pay off I walked slowly and carefully down the shattered rock paths, straddling a deep drop on my left.

Throughout the trek our guides would let us know about the Incans, about Machu Picchu, and about the locals. We would be informed of the harsh reality of the locals' lives, of the effects of Fujimori and Fujirmorism on the peoples of the highlands, and the effects of globalism on their market. They were important lessons but I relished in seeing the bucolic existence of these people who aimed to stay close to the land. One place we stopped at for water and supplies had a couple of little girls, 5 and 6, respectively who I found inspiring and struck up a basic Spanish conversation with.

As most of the persons on our trip spoke English better than Spanish, English was the language most used. I made an effort, however, to continue learning Spanish and tried to speak with Hugo in Spanish, asking him Spanish words I didn't know. It was probably annoying.

We walked around the Urubamba River and managed through the jungle and the plantations of cocoa. By the way, much of the coffee we drank was from the cocoa grown here and it was without question the best coffee I ever had.

Our destination that day was a hot springs pool in Santa Teresa. To get there we had to get across to a mountain. This meant cable car. When I say cable car I don't mean a full on professional rig. I mean a bare skeleton cart that held two people at a time pulled via rope and hand. Down below us was 500+ m of air and the shallow river. Oh, and rocks.

Hell yeah that was fun.

Then we hit the pools. The pools had varying degrees of warmth but the one I aimed to try was the 30 Celsius pool. To get into the pool required a shower first so I showered a bit but the guard was like "Oh no, more." These showers were cold and I thought I'll get my hair wet and that'll be the end of it. He came around and said "No, more" and I thought "You bastard!" I gave myself into the full-on cold shower until he was happy and stepped into the hot pool that felt so, so, so good. It was like swimming in bath water. After 8 hours of trekking I felt as though my weariness was melting off of me. Not since my 15 minute massage at the Lima Airport had I felt so relieved, so relaxed. Heaven is a series of 30 Celsius pools.

We were given the option of hiking to our hostel or taking a bus and staying longer. Most of us chose the bus. This time our dinner was furnished at a local restaurant and afterward I went back to my hostel.

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The next morning a group woke early to zipline while the rest of us lounged around until a late breakfast was served: a banana covered in a pancake covered in chocolate. Oh it was delightful.

This day was lighter than the others, comparatively. We trekked some more but our destination was Agua Calientes and we reached the town in a short amount of time. Agua Calientes, unlike Santa Maria and Santa Teresa, was touristy. It was touristy in a bad way. It wasn't touristy in the same way that Cusco or Mendoza was, it was American touristy, bad touristy. All around were hat stores for Machu Picchu, for Cusco, etc. Llama postcards aren't my thing. Yet, this hostel had free wifi, rooms that weren't 11 or 12 per, and our food was quite nice. Plus the bathrooms had lids.

Living this life was simple and sublime but I must bitch about the toilets because I am a man who values toilet lids. None of the bathrooms in the highlands had toilet lids. Even in the most touristy spots like at the Machu Picchu Information Center which charged 1 sole for bathroom usage, didn't have toilet lids. Some of them also didn't have a lot of toilet paper but I managed that. Still, toilet lids are important. I will get rich, one day, and donate toilet lids to the world.

No less, we had to sleep early. We had to wake up at 4AM. Why? Machu Picchu, that's why.

...

This was the day. This was the day I worked over one year for, that I quit my job for, that I battled my father over through arguments for. It was Machu Picchu day.

Our day began by waking up at 4AM. We were to meet some of our fellow travelers at 4:30AM at a bridge in Agua Calientes. We were to be at the gate to Machu Picchu by 5AM.

Machu Picchu only gives out 2500 passes to the site per day. Yet many had the same plans as us, to hike up early to the site. As it was still night the scene seemed like a procession with flashlights making their way to the gate. We had to show the guards our ticket and passport and walk across, walk right, and start going up. I had bread and water. I was ready.

Except I wasn't really. There are two paths to Machu Picchu. One is up the steps that takes 1 hour to get up. The other is a road that isn't so steep but takes 2 hours. Mainly buses take the road (you could take a bus up to the site). By accident, after following FlorMatt, we ended up on the road and quickly realized we need to find the steps. Once we did we started going up a wall hit me. I couldn't even eat the bread, I just needed water. I was walking up a step at a time, breath being drug out of me. It seemed endless, all the steps, all the steep, steep mountain. I could see the faint blue of the sky coming up. I could feel the weight of my childhood falling to my feet as I kept walking up, kept walking up, not knowing if I was going to make it. Then, after FlorMatt had left me because of my slowness I heard Swedish. The Swedish girls had caught up and it was nice to hear familiar voices. We began to walk up together when we heard voices talking. We were close. Nearly falling over we reached the Information Center area. We made it. Sorta.

The Information Center area is full of touristy restaurants--a buffet, a stand with hot dogs and hamburgers, as well as overpriced drinks. Most bottles of water in the area costs between 2-3 soles; here it was 8 soles. More on that later.

For now, we made our way into the site. To use words seems almost unfair. I can't describe how lovely Machu Picchu was. The clouds were rising up and veiled the mountains. The stones walls, unfettered by mortar because of how tightly packed they were. The layers of agriculture pits that descended down. The steps that ached your thighs with each step. Huayna Picchu's intimidating presence staring at you. You realize up here how little everything is. Your problems are little, your life, your knowledge. At 8,000 ft, nestled in the Andes and smokey clouds, you realize how little Earth is. But it's not a problem to realize this; it becomes alright to be in this place, a place of realizing how little everything is.

Now our guide Hugo left us and as bittersweet as it was, we began to wander and check out the site. We got to the guard house where we got the standard postcard view of Machu Picchu and the site. A number of us had paid for the Machu Picchu mountain to hike and get a large view of the whole area. This was 9,000+ feet above sea level. Most of us had paid for it, but many conceded after the enormous morning hike going up the mountain was not feasible. As I miser I decided that if I paid for it I should give it a try. Four of us decided to continue as planned and go up the mountain. I started and of the four was last. Being tiresome from trying to catch up meant I was tired even as I moved slowly. At first I was consistent but I started feeling the hike more and more and my water became less and less. As we walked up the steep mountain, the sun became more visible and it was hotter and hotter as we walked up. A group of hikers told us we were 30 minutes away and given this information we decided to continue. Eventually the three besides me got ahead. As I kept walking I saw how painfully low my water was and felt how tired I was. Eventually a group came down and informed me that it was going to be 1 hour before I would reach the top. I was nearly dry in my water bottle and because of this poor planning I didn't have any water left with me. Given this time eventuality and the water supply, I decided to move down.

Heavily disappointed I noticed in the check out station many had done the same as me and it was little comfort. I informed a group from the US and asked them to inform my British friends ahead of me. Even though I didn't make it I understood that I was at least 8500 ft above sea level. I got a view of the site and of the world very few had managed to see. Plus, trying to walk up a mountain and making it halfway is a shit ton better than just staying at home on my ass and watching netflix (which I'm doing right now, by the way).

I did the right thing because I came back down, got one of the 8 sole bottles of water, had a lunch in the shade at the site and gathered my energy. Then I had enough time and energy to explore the rest of the site, including the Astronomy Observatory with the sun dial, the buildings, everything. I got to the site at 6AM and after 8 hours I left (by bus to help my lazy ass) at 2PM. Then I took the train to Poroy and the bus to Cusco where I slept peacefully.

There's a sense of satisfaction that comes with Machu Picchu. Hiking up, walking around, gazing at the Incan structures abandoned for 400 years and left intact. Machu Picchu is my heaven, my paradise. I can't put to words how I truly feel. The way you feel about your children is the way I feel about Machu Picchu. Beautiful, radiant, stunning--doesn't cut it. Machu Picchu is just...Machu Picchu.

It would be anticlimactic, with this adventure ended, to end in Lima. That's what I would do, however.