| Discovering
The Inca Trail |
| Hiking
The Andes |
| August
2005
The sun
was just starting to rise over the green carpet of rolling hills when my
plane touched down. The flight from Lima had been nearly empty allowing
me to scramble down the aisles in search of better views of the Cusco Andes.
It was not until I reached baggage claim that the sensation of being a
tourist truly overwhelmed me. Surveying the scene around me, there were
enough guide services packed into the tiny airport to accommodate far more
than the 500 people allowed each day on the Inca Trail. Thankfully,
the traditional Peruvian band filled the room with enough noise to drown
out the crowds of tour agents and cab drivers who shouted their deals through
revolving doors and windows. |
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| I try to
stay away from really popular areas when I travel. I pride myself on my
difference, my individuality, and my own direction. But sometimes there’s
a reason for the loads of tourists. Some places just aren’t to be missed.
On a 5-week
journey through Peru, I arrived in Cuzco with several weeks to spare, presumably
enough time in which to hike the famed Inca Trail. The former capital
of Peru serves as the traveler’s gateway to Machu Pichu, among other destinations.
Nearly every person who arrives in Peru to visit this world-renowned site
will journey first to Cuzco to arrange the guide and porters required to
hike the Inca Trail to the ruins. The sheer number of tour services
is daunting; in fact, the range of prices and tours can make choosing a
guide one of the most difficult aspects of hiking the Inca Trail.
I am a spontaneous
traveler. I do not make plans ahead of time, certainly not reservations.
Actually, I pride myself on my lack of planning in most traveling situations.
Quickly,
I learned the error of my ways in a country where the majority of tourists
have one destination in mind. Though still weeks until the “busy season,”
entrance to Machu Pichu via the Inca Trail would require a wait of no less
than 2 weeks! |
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| Our group,
composed of nine tourists from South Korea, England, Holland, and the States,
was guided by a young Peruvian who dressed in a Polo sweater, stylish hemp
pants and dark sunglasses. The backbone of our expedition would be six
porters who bore the true weight of our journey. Though their loads
are not supposed to exceed 25kg (55 1bs), these men carried our tents,
food, fuel, chairs, and dining tents. The gear was separated, wrapped in
bags, and carried upon their backs with the aid of makeshift shoulder straps.
The
porters were most often seen passing us on the trail, hurrying along in
sandals to get ahead of the group in order to have tents erected, food
cooking and tea waiting upon our arrival. Though paid only $20 for
the whole trip, a portion of which goes to their entrance fee, the porters
showed no sign of discontent or malice. Instead, these men served as
our link between traditional Peruvian culture in a land where trip leaders
are usually found speaking English and gringo guests are treated like pampered
princes. |
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Offshore
Resources Gallery
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| During the
first day we crossed the Rio Urubamba by bridge and followed the dusty
footpath through a small eucalyptus wood. The trail meandered through
the Sacred Valley past the Inca ruins of Llactapata before crossing and
then following the Rio Cusichaca. We camped that night at Huayllabamba,
a small village rich in Inca terracing, where we enjoyed an exquisite dinner
of popcorn, potatoes, rice and fried trout - all the food was prepared
by the cook and porters.
The second
day began with a grueling climb up thousands of stone steps before reaching
the highest point on the trail, Abra de Huarmihuanusca or “Dead Woman’s
Pass.” The trail passed through lush rainforest and grassy pampas offering
a plethora of natural viewing options, mystical forests and expansive mountain
views. From Dead Woman’s Pass (13,780ft) we watched as a line of weary
ants trudged along the trail and descended abruptly into Pacamayo Valley
alongside a crystal stream. The precipitous, winding trail could be
seen from the second night’s campground spilling from Dead Woman’s Pass
through Pacamayo Valley as if it were a steep, twisting water slide. |
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| We began
the next day with breakfast and coca tea before ascending Abra de Runkuracay
Pass. The trail was steep and made slippery by a misty morning rain, and
led to a band of circular ruins which provided panoramic views of the previous
night’s campsite and the trail down from Dead Woman’s Pass. From the ruins
it was only a short hike to the second pass, Abra de Runkuracay. We
had begun the day in a soft rain, but upon reaching the pass the clouds
began to disband and the rain disappeared. The clouds would never fully
dissolve, but the weather was nearly perfect that day. A misty fog wrapped
itself around the mountains and a cool breeze hung in the air. We watched
the colors change as we entered a valley where elaborate flora clung to
rain-drenched mountainsides. Now the last group on the trail, we were
predominantly alone as we followed a flight of stone steps into the Inca
ruins of Sayacmarca, some of the most impressive on the Inca Trail. |
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Offshore
Resources Gallery
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| We entered
the labyrinth of stone, walking among the various rooms and admiring their
creativity and ingenuity. The construction of these ancient ruins would
continue to amaze us as we explored six sites during that third day.
From Sayacmarca
we followed the path down into increasingly dense cloud forest where delicate
orchids, bamboo and other exotic flora began to appear among the trees.
The forest around us seemed to be coming to life as we ambled along a stone
footpath through a canopy of dripping trees where we enjoyed a giant lunch
comprised of stuffed meat rolls with onion and sauce, potato salad, French
fries, vegetable medley, dirty rice, pizza and chocolate pudding. Lunch
was followed by a hike through a dense bank of fog towards the third pass.
The
fine, smoothly worn flagstone trail at one point passed through a tunnel
carved from solid rock by the Incas, avoiding an otherwise impossible climb
to the ruins of Puyupatamarca, “Town Above the Clouds.” There we observed
five small stone baths that collected constant fresh running water in the
wet season. From these ruins we enjoyed stunning views of Urubamba Valley
and Machu Pichu Mountain.
The descent
to our campsite was on a rough trail over approximately 3,150 stairs. It
was a long steep path and one of the most beautiful sections of the trail.
Through the clouds we dropped into a jungle with views of Rio Urubamba,
Machu Pichu Mountain, the tallest surrounding peaks and two more Inca sites.
We stopped to enjoy a fantastic sunset savoring the beauty of the Sacred
Valley and the snow-capped peaks that defended it. Nearly alone on the
trail we passed through dripping forests, over stone walkways and past
vibrant orchids. Time and time again Greg and I had to stop and remark
about the outstanding beauty of the Inca Trail.
I am not
sure what either of us expected of the trail. With all the hype, the people,
waiting lists, guides and porters, and the delay, it was difficult not
to be critical going into the trip. Yet, when we crested Dead Woman’s
Pass and looked upon both valleys; when we reached Sayacmarca and observed
the intricate ruins; and upon hiking over the third pass through a sea
of clouds and descending into the rainforest with the Sacred Valley beaming
all around us, we knew that the Inca Trail was indeed something special.
There was only
a bit of daylight left when we reached the spur trail to the Ictipata ruins.
Our campsite was the other direction but curiosity got the best of us and
we opted for the side trail. The ruins were a few hundred meters down
a path of dense vegetation that swallowed the trail like a tunnel. Our
enthusiasm was peaking as we literally ran down the path. Greg and
I reached the ruins under the last light of daylight and saw the forest
open up into an immense set of terraces bordered by stone walls on each
level. The site was gigantic, falling away towards the valley floor and
surrounded by dense forest. Later we learned that Ictipata is positioned
directly in line with the rising sun in order to store the sun’s energy,
harnessing it for the successful growth of crops.
Greg and
I stood upon the terraces looking out at the Urubamba Valley as the last
bit of light faded. Marveling at the sensation of solitude upon the trail,
I felt as if the ground was vibrating beneath my feet. Standing on ancient
earth in the ruins of a long-gone civilization looking out at one of the
most sacred and beautiful valleys in all of Peru, my head was buzzing so
loud that I feared Greg would hear.
With headlamps
on we left Ictipata on the trail which had brought us there. Even in the
dark our pace was quickened by the monumental day that had just come to
an end. So much had occurred, so much had been seen and still there was
more to come. Along the trail we began to see a flicker of small lights
and soon realized that glowworms were blinking all around us. We stopped
to observe the spectacle, delighted by Mother Nature’s fireworks. The
path to camp was unexpectedly steep, but still we raced down. Soon we arrived
at the Trekker Hostel where we struggled to find our camp amidst the masses
of people there. When we finally got settled in and led to the community
dining room, I was completely overwhelmed. o have come from a blissful,
mystic solitude into a swarming, chaotic mass of hikers was almost more
than my senses could take. Luckily, the 7-course dinner was soon on the
table and all worries faded just like the night’s setting sun.
Even still
our day was not over. From the Trekker Hotel Greg and I made the 10 minute
walk to Winay Wayna. It was well after dark and the ruins were hardly visible.
We sat down under the stars on one of the hundreds of terraces and attempted
to survey the ruins with the meager light of our headlamps. It appeared
as if we were in an arena. The multitude of terraces funneled down
towards a pitch-black abyss like stadium seating. The site was enormous,
dwarfing us as if we were just two flies on a ledge. Greg and I stayed
for quite a while, staring at the stars of the Southern sky and watching
as a freight train of fog attempted to submerge the ruins of Winay Wayna.
The final
day we arose at 4am for breakfast then began the 6km trek to Machu Pichu
in the dark of early morning. The trail was packed with hikers as the morning
light began to fall on the surrounding mountains and everyone could glimpse
the beauty of the valley leading to Machu Pichu. With the rising sun
racing against us, there was hardly time to enjoy the beauty that was revealed
in every direction as light fell upon the forested hills. Soon I was climbing
a vertical staircase of stone and emerging through the doorway of the Sun
Gate. A crowd was gathered taking pictures and I squeezed my way. Holding
my breath, my eyes fell upon the mystical location of Machu Pichu. It was
still in the distance, but the extravagantly terraced saddle could clearly
be seen.
We followed
the Inca Trail, fighting not to spend each step taking photos as the trail
brought us closer. Soon there it was in all its glory; a picture that I
have seen hundreds of time. Something that has existed more as a fantasy
than a realistic possibility and now finally it was right there in front
of me. The sun was beginning to rise over the mountains casting light
down upon the ruins. As we entered Machu Pichu at the upper level, I rejoiced
at the opportunity to finally snap a photo that I have anticipated for
years. We were supposed to be meeting up with our group, but it never
crossed our mind. I just climbed to the highest terraces to gain a better
view feeling as light as the misty fog that drifted around the mountaintops.
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