The Machu Picchu Odyssey

Peru – February 2019

It is clear from the first moment of planning my Latin America trip that Machu Picchu is a non-negotiable destination on the route. When I arrive in Lima, I immediately clarify whether I can complete the last days of my 6-week language course at school in Cusco – high in the mountains. The headmistress says yes and I decide to visit the ancient Inca site at the very end of my time in Peru.

When I arrived in Cusco, I immediately fell in love with the Andean city. Although I travel by plane from the capital, which is a few meters above sea level, to over 3000 meters within 2 hours, the altitude doesn’t bother me at all. My host family welcomes me warmly and I visit the local market and a few nightclubs with my school friends. It’s only towards the end of the week that my trip to the country’s sights becomes relevant again.

I now know that there are countless ways to cover the sometimes difficult path into the jungle. The most comfortable (and expensive) way is by train. In addition to the price, I’m also put off by the fact that the owners of the train company are Chileans and almost none of the money stays in Peru. The second (also not cheap & most strenuous) option is the 5-day trek on foot. But because February is the rainy season, I was told that this is not the best time for it. Finally, I decide on option 3:

My host father contacts an acquaintance who works for a tour operator in the city. He sells me the guided tour for 100 dollars, where you first take a minibus for several hours to Hidroélectrica. From there you follow the train tracks through the national park for 10.5 km to Agua Caliente, where you spend the night. The following day we set off early on foot or by bus up to the ruins. The meeting point for the return trip to Cusco is at 3 p.m. at the Hidroeléctrica.

So on Saturday my host father takes me to the city center early in the morning, where I soon see the white minibuses waiting. I show my passport and am allowed to choose a seat in one of the vehicles. I’m soon joined by a German and an Australian who lived in Austria for a while. We exchange information about our respective trips in German, then some French people get on and the full bus sets off. After a few hours we stop in a town in the Urubamba Valley where we can eat in the restaurant and use the toilet.

About another two hours pass until we arrive at the last place before Hidroeléctrica. We buy some provisions at the small kiosk and stretch our legs. Now follows the breakneck 4 km long section over a bumpy road along the roaring river. The Urubamba has a lot of water and is completely brown from the mud that has been carried along. It doesn’t take much imagination to think about the possibility of our bus and its passengers ending up in the river. But we arrive safely at the bus stop next to Restaurante Los Indios and are chased towards the entrance to the national park.

It seems that the drivers are all staying here and we tourists are on our own for the approximately 2.5 hour hike. Together with my two German-speaking fellow travelers (and around 50 other people) I set off along the railway tracks. The group soon spreads out. While fast hikers with good equipment already cross the well-known railway bridge, others first stop at Restaurante Inti Watana 2. We are somewhere in between and are making good progress.

At some point, however, the two guys become too slow for me and I move a little faster. Impressed, I enjoy the view of the river and the green hills on either side of it. The path makes a loop and I don’t yet realize that we are walking around the holy mountain the whole time. I take a short break at a waterfall. The tropical air and altitude make walking strenuous, even on flat paths. Luckily there are only about 45 minutes left to reach the “Machu Picchu village”.

Arriving in Aguas Calientes, I’m not quite sure what to do now. Because I don’t have any information about what would happen next during the day, I ask at a tourist information center at the entrance to the village. Uninterested, she gestures towards me to the left. The guides would be waiting there. Unfortunately, I walk past Plaza Manco Capac – the main square – and go up the hill. There are only hotels here and somehow no one can help me. Nobody can be reached in Cusco either. It is now dark and in desperation I ask Takuya, a Japanese guy I met in Ecuador.

He says he was assigned a guide at the main square for a few weeks on the tour. At a hotel, the receptionist shows me how to get there and after wandering around for an hour I finally meet my group. Of course, the two German-speaking guys are also there again. The guide says we have to go to the restaurant immediately and will only move into our rooms later. At dinner, he explains the plan for the next day and we then tiredly make our way to the various accommodations.

The next morning you have to get up early. First, we have to pick up the tickets for the bus up to the ruins, where we are supposed to meet the guide at 8am. On the bus, the driver greets travelers in the most common languages: English, Spanish, French, German, Japanese and Chinese. On the way, we see some hikers with capes walking up the steep road. Once at the top, the clouds slowly disappear and a little later, when we stroll with the guide to the main viewing platform, we have the best view of the Huayna Picchu summit.

From here the guide leaves us to our own devices and together with the two guys from the beginning of the trip I explore the old Inca settlement. Occasionally we meet a few llamas and – given the large number of tourists – we are surprised by the insecure barriers to the steep slopes. Because the weather is about to get worse again, we set off back to Hidroeléctrica around 11 a.m. So we now walk down the street that we previously took the bus up. Once again, I don’t regret my decision to do this.

With trembling knees, we arrive in Agua Calientes and after a short break, we continue straight along the railway tracks. We are traveling faster than the previous day and still have a lot of time before departure when we arrive at Restaurante Inti. We decide without a word to have lunch here and are already looking forward to taking a nap in the hammocks next to the path. At around 2:40 p.m. we head to the bus parking lot. Once again the organization is a big mess.

We ask every bus driver whether there are seats reserved for us in his vehicle. Both the German and the Australian finally find their seats. But for some reason, my name isn’t on any of the pieces of paper. After a few discussions in Spanish, I was finally allowed to sit in a free seat in the back row between two French people. Even in this uncomfortable spot in the middle of the bus, I fall asleep before we leave the frightening spot at the edge of the river behind us.