We were happy to hear that our guide from the previous day, Natalie, was going to join us again for our journey to Machu Picchu. Probably so that we wouldn’t wander aimlessly among the ruins like Susie and Noa tried to do the previous day. To get to Machu Picchu from our hotel in Cusco, we had to get up at 4:15 AM to catch a 4:45 mini bus over the Andes mountains to the train station in the Sacred Valley, and from there it takes one more bus ride up to the top of the mountain. We were very tired that early in the morning, which was 2 AM San Diego time, but at least our mini altitude headaches had gone away. The hotel was nice enough to put out a very early breakfast and we shoveled in some fruit, yogurt, and croissants before departure. And of course we slurped the requisite cup of cocoa tea.
The Train is on a very strict schedule, and tickets must be purchased in advance in order to get a seat, so it was imperative that we make the train on time. When our mini-bus driver did not appear by 5:00 AM, Natalie got a very perplexed look on her face and made some quick phone calls. A lot of hand gesturing and very fast talking in Spanish resulted in our driver arriving minutes later. Apparently he was at a nearby hotel looking for someone else.
I’m glad that it was still dark during the ensuing hour because I am not sure I would have made it without suffering a cardiac otherwise. Due to our lost 15 minutes, the driver was forced to make up the time by accelerating through the mountain fog on the narrow two lane road from one hairpin turn to the next. On the plane we had just read the tourist warnings about all of the car wrecks in these mountains, with whole bus loads rolling down the steep mountain cliffs. It was a white knuckle ride and we were jostled from side to side as the little bus navigated the turns. Luckily Noa was passed out in the back seats. The apex of the Andes in that area were around 12,800 feet and after we crossed the top the pre-dawn shades rolled back the darkness and we could see the valley far below as we wound down the mountainside. To catch the drainage from the frequent rains, the sides of the road feature 2-3 foot wide ditches. These would not pass any safety codes in America, and I could only imagine what havoc it would wreak on the front axle should an unlucky driver slip into one. Ultimately we passed down into the valley and after several detours made it to the village square in Ollantaytambo at about 7500 MSL. Natalie hustled us through several city blocks to the train depot, and we boarded at 6:45 AM with just 5 minutes to spare. She seemed pretty relieved at that point and we all collapsed into our seats.
The train ride up the valley was spectacular, and as we watched the changing flora Natalie explained in broken English that we were passing through a number of micro climes. To our left was the Urubamba River, which was raging through rapids for most of the ride and is one of the main feeders to the Amazon RIver. During the train ride I showed Natalie a copy of this month’s National Geographic- which features the Inca Empire and Machu Picchu. She was very interested in the article, but scoffed and said that most of the information given was incorrect. A Yale funded historian- not an archeologist, Hiram Bingham had faked the discovery of Machu Picchu in 1911 and had sent many discovered artifacts back to the university without properly excavating them. The result is a very jumbled history which is just now being pieced back together.
The last stop for the train was in a small city called Aqua Caliente, and after leaving the train we walked through a labyrinth marketplace to the bus stop (we would never have found on our own). This was the spot that trekkers cold leave from on the original Inca trail and take various routes to the top- some as long as 4 days. We took the lazy way and rode the bus via numerous switchbacks back up in elevation to the top of Machu Picchu (Old Mountain).
Once on top Natalie took us on a three hour guided tour of the ruins- amazing would be an understatement. Although none of us would admit it, our hearts were racing as we climbed the steps due to the altitude. I felt better when we passed dozens of plump Europeans bent over gasping for breath and sweating streams. Natalie spent quite a bit of time at each location explaining the history of the Inca- and got just a little bit perturbed when we kept stopping for photos among the throngs of other tourists. Finally she gave in and said “from now on at each spot I make photo for you, then you listen to me.” We agreed and happily proceeded on our tour. She even took photos of Buddy. Apart from the spectacular views of the site and the adjacent peaks rising into the clouds, there were some pretty cool things to see. Noa said his favorite things were 1) the temple of the condor, 2) the stone alter that mimicked the Southern Cross and pointed exactly to the four cardinal directions and, 3) the hydraulic systems that had been set up for agriculture. On the un-educational side, he liked the 12 species of lizard which were scrambling around the rocks, the tarantula we saw, and the Chinchilla ( a rabbit like beast) that was lazing about.
Late in the afternoon we began our trip back by retracing our steps. The highlight was in the marketplace before boarding the train. Noa was looking for some gifts for friends, and Susie was looking for the local good luck charm, which happened to be a little red and black bean. The market stalls were hosted by the traditional Indian hill people- which were the little ladies you see in the commercials with the colorful outfits and big hats. At one of the stalls Susie had inquired about the price of the beads, and was given a very high price by the little merchant- who was quite stout I might add. Natalie translated in English and explained to us that the beads were actually seeds and that they were fairly difficult to find. The little merchant lady assumed that Natalie was putting down her wares and started speaking in agitated tones to Natalie, who responded likewise. The dialog progressed for some moments and then Susie and I heard blah blah blah “Bruha,” which, through our meager Spanish, understood to mean Witch! We grabbed Natalie and walked out of the marketplace to wait for the train and had a good laugh. But after several minutes we all felt an uncomfortable presence, and turned to find ourselves under the intense glare of the mountain woman, who was most certainly a real bruha. She proceeded to give us the evil eye, and shouted some more choice words at our poor guide. At that point half of the old crones in the marketplace gathered around and chose sides. I am quite sure that spells were being woven as we stood there, and at any second we would be cast into the shapes of Llamas or Alpacas. Luckily, Susie had the good luck charm beads in hand now and the call for the train came so we proceeded to board.
For ten minutes or so we watched each other intently to see if any of us began to change shape with all that hexing. At some point we felt that we had successfully gotten out of evil spell casting range, and relaxed into our chairs for the long ride back to Cusco.
