We were on our own for the start of the next day, several tickets dangerously in our own hands … bus tickets to/from Machu Picchu, Huayna Picchu entrance tickets (Machu Picchu included), and train tickets from Aguas Calientes back to Ollantaytambo, where we would catch our van back to Cusco. We were free to go as early as we wanted, or sleep in … we just needed to be in line before our 10 am Huayna Picchu entrance time.
Getting to/from Machu Picchu is a multiple-legged journey that takes time and money, but still draws enough tourism to endanger the site’s preservation. George Orwell might write “Success is Failure”. The World Heritage Committee expressed concern in 2007, and now the Peruvian government caps the number of visitors each day at 2500. While there may be some controversial wiggle room in whether certain numbers count against the total (people coming off the Inca Trail, for example), it’s a comparatively small drop in the bucket. Tickets to climb Huayna Picchu are further limited to 400 per day, in two groups of 200 (7 am and 10 am).
Both the hotel breakfast and the bus services to Machu Picchu started around 5 am. I woke up to darkness and fog, pried myself out of bed later than I planned, and targeted a 6 am departure. The buses are very regular, but there was already a long line. Signs everywhere reminded people Machu Picchu tickets would not be sold at the site and not to board the bus without one, but this didn’t stop the people managing the line from checking … and making everyone dig out their passports, again.
The couple in front of me had booked the early Huayna Picchu hike … having planned their trip about a month prior, this was the only time left. If this morning was any indicator, I could see why the later hike fills quicker. Arriving shortly before 7 am, the still very dense fog didn’t bode well for them to see much from Huayna Picchu. I hoped it would cook off.
I didn’t have a plan … I just didn’t want to waste the opportunity to spend more time in the ruins. Foggy wet hikes may obscure the views you expect, but they give you a nice depth perspective and can be very atmospheric. I hiked to the Inca Bridge, one of the historical access control points to Machu Picchu. Orchids and other colorful flora hung from the cliff above me. The trail was gated off just short of the “bridge” … which was just timber over a deep gap in the built-up wall that traversed the cliff face. Removing this bridge was an easy way to cut off the uninvited.
As I walked back towards the main site, the outlines of several tourists and a small group of llamas materialized out of the fog. I watched as one walked right past me to climb the stairs to the watchman’s hut, where it scanned a group of tourists for those most likely to give it food. Its baby joined it, more interested in mama llama’s milk. Whether their purpose is to keep the grass trim or just to add character, they attract a lot of attention.
Nearby is a large carved rock known as the ceremonial rock or funerary rock. It may have been used to lay out deceased Inca nobles as part of the mummification process, or it may have been an altar for llama sacrifice.
The fog started to clear a little, but it wasn’t going anywhere fast. I still couldn’t see Huayna Picchu, so I guess the 7 am group wasn’t seeing much of Machu Picchu.
I took advantage of the reduced congestion to revisit some of yesterday’s main attractions, and went to the Huayna Picchu access point thinking I’d hold everyone’s place in line. Robin was already there, at the absolute front, soon joined by the rest of our group. At 10 am, the gate opened to an immediate bottleneck with the now routine passport check and also a logbook sign in.
Clouds twisted around us as we made our ascent. We periodically took breaks to let groups on the way down pass, finding the areas with cables sunk into the cliff face safer for single file traffic. After rounding a particularly steep section of stairs I saw a woman partway over the cusp of the ledge we would soon climb. She took a picture of something we couldn’t see, and said “it’s so unreal” before climbing down past us to clear our way. Upon climbing the ledge, I immediately saw what she meant … a staircase more like a ladder rising up steep terraces fading into the fog. People were slowly crawling down it, backwards.
Initially thinking it would be a long wait, I noticed a small arrow pointing to the right a short distance up the stairs, and realized this was the start of a loop portion. I scampered up to it before the other group inched its way down, and found myself on a rare flat area, waiting for Robin and Fred, admiring the impossibly steep landscape. I didn’t know much about Huayna Picchu, and thought I was climbing for the experience and a birds-eye glimpse into Machu Picchu. That the Incans had developed the top, extensively, was an unexpected surprise.
Fog and clouds churned all around, shrouding the ancient stones and mossy walls in a mask of invisibility. As we circled around to face the city, Barry stared into a swirling white abyss and mentioned something about vertigo. Little patches of color teased us as they made brief appearances, never enough to reveal what was below.
Ahead were more stairs, a couple small caves to crawl through, and a ladder to what seemed like the top of the world. There were two guards, I’m not sure whether to monitor people’s safety, or to force people to move on as others climbed up … possibly a little of both. There wasn’t space for a large group to congregate at the summit to wait for a break in cover, so as others climbed up we would have to move on. The clouds continued to taunt us with hints of what they were hiding, but another group crested the ladder as a large cloud moved in, and the top started to feel very crowded. We started our descent.
The map at the entrance and the signage here indicated there was another optional trail that looped to a cave and back. We didn’t know what it was, had not really considered it, and probably didn’t have time before our train. From what I now understand, we didn’t just miss another cave; we missed the “temple of the moon” (probably another arbitrary name). And we wouldn’t have had time to get there and back. Seeing pictures of the temple, and also some clear-day views, I think I might need to go back and do it again someday. As we teetered down these perilous steps, in some places with no wall on either side that was near enough to use our hands to stabilize, and looked ahead at what seemed almost straight down, the distance to the bottom was obscured by clouds. Suffice it to say there isn’t much in the horizontal plane to stop you between these stairs and the Urubamba River over 2000 feet below.
This is pretty much the case for the entire trail. Whether climbing up/down skinny staircases, clinging to a cable, or walking on comparatively wide/flat earth for tiny stretches … over the edge looks about 10-15 degrees off vertical, and there’s not much beyond grass and occasional tree roots to grab if you go over. Thankfully, people are at their most cautious when they recognize their peril.
The clouds finally cleared enough to give us a peek at the ancient city when we were about two thirds of the way down.
Signing out of the logbook on our way out of the gate, we declared ourselves safe.
After lunch in town, we braved the market surrounding the station as we waited for our train. It was a huge consortium with at least a hundred booths, and they were all working together, selling more or less the same stuff at more or less the same price. Dogs ran rampant all over. There were occasional perverted wall hangings or obscene playing cards, but the market was mostly textile, with a few jewelry shops and one or two shops selling Incan flutes. We didn’t understand a purpose to having so many shops selling the same things in close proximity and not competing against each other, but maybe in some way it’s a strategy. You walk by a llama print backpack or alpaca sweater twenty times and you finally convince yourself to buy it. It still made me think about our minimum wage arguments and how brick and mortar stores struggle to compete with Amazon, but then I realize airport shops somehow stay in business … the trick must be a captive audience that’s bored.
Our train car had windows in the ceiling, giving us nice views of the mountains as we clacked along back to Ollantaytambo. The rocking motion nearly put me to sleep.
This leg complete, we recovered luggage from our hotel in Ollantaytambo, and loaded up the van.
This entire trip, at least after finding out there’s a modern way to make chicha beer that doesn’t start with saliva, I was itching to try it. Because Peru is not like our “antibacterial wipe” world, and any new microorganism might cause digestive turmoil, we hadn’t risked trying it on the trail. Now Juan made a special stop for us at a chicheria on the way back to Cusco. This was a unique cultural experience.
It was a simple building with a couple rooms, a few tables, and a packed earthen floor. A basket in the corner drained into a large clay pot, the fermenting process taking two or three days. Nothing wasted, the grass that lined the basket (a filter, I think) would be fed to guinea pigs. The guinea pigs, in turn, were probably destined for a dinner plate. Corn, the key ingredient of chicha beer, hung along the wall and from the ceiling.
The side room had a wire mesh above, with more ears of corn drying on it. Guinea pigs hid under a couple cages housing chickens. Three skulls, each wearing a warm hat, lined the windowsill.
If any of the skulls had the elongated heads some people want to believe are ancient aliens, they were hidden under their caps. These were probably a lot more recently deceased. Juan explained that sometime in the past (I didn’t catch whether this was during colonial rule), a hefty burial tax had been imposed. Many people weren’t prepared to pay it, so burials happened anywhere. So now, digging new foundations sometimes unearths old remains. Instead of thinking it a bad omen and a guaranteed haunting, the skulls are perched in the window as protectors of the place.
Juan ordered two small pitchers; one filled with chicha beer, which looked like a yellowish mash, the other resembled a fruit smoothie. After toasting Pachamama by spilling a little chicha on the floor, he poured small samples of both drinks for us. The second drink was something called “frutillada” … which I think was chicha beer with strawberries mixed in. They were both actually quite good.
Next was our introduction to a game often played while drinking chicha beer … I think it’s called Sapo. It involves tossing heavy coins at a backboard with a big mouthed metal frog in the middle and several more holes and widgets around it. The object is to get as many coins through holes of the highest value opening you can hit. They empty into a compartmentalized drawer with point values corresponding to the entry orifice, and you count it all up at the end of your turn (mine didn’t take much adding). Not remembering what this game was called, we called it Peruvian corn hole.
Entering the outskirts of Cusco we found ourselves mired in traffic, a full-up quagmire as we neared our hotel. We were rerouted around the same few blocks over and over to avoid a parade. Finally breaking free and arriving at the Hotel Encantada cued mixed emotions. Some of us would continue to Lake Titicaca, others would travel home.
Old/new friends, thanks for sharing in this journey … until next time …
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