A WELL DESERVED MASSAGE

Return from Machu Picchu Trek.

From Agua Calientes we took a train for the hour and a half ride to  Ollantaytambo, where we disembarked and picked up a bus back to Cuzco, arriving at the hotel at 9:30 PM. While my son retrieved our luggage left behind, I jumped in the shower. That hot water felt so good and after four long hard days it seemed as if I were also shedding lots of dirt and grime. I was in bed and sound asleep before he got out of the shower. Like hibernating bears, we both slept soundly.

This was during 9/11 and since we were on the trail we did not hear about the attack for three days. The next morning in Cusco we went down to breakfast and turned  the TV to the BBC to get the latest news about the terrorist attack on NYC.

I finally made it

One of the young gals on the trip had spoken to our guide about finding a masseuse, and when returning  from a trip to the plaza we learned that one would be at the hotel at 3:00 PM.  I was the first, followed by my son, and then she moved on to the girls’ room.  It was a well spent $25 for the hour-long massage. She really got after those sore calf and thigh muscles. My daypack hadn’t bothered my shoulders much, but she tackled them anyway. I almost felt like a new woman when she had finished getting all the knots out of my body.

That evening as we crossed the Plaza to our street, we saw about 30 riot police on the corner of our street and the plaza. We speculated they must be expecting some trouble with the celebration that was going on.

The following night at 2:00AM we were awakened with sirens blaring  shattering the  stillness of the night. My son got up, and went outside to see what he could learn. The hotel, located  on a hill, provided a good view of the city below. Seeing nothing, he returned to the room to get dressed and go to the lobby to see what the TV might be saying. Knowing the Andes are unstable and prone to earthquakes, he was visibly upset. Then at 5:00 AM the church bells rang, but not normally. They rang and rang and rang. Was that some sort of a warning?

With daylight and never having found out what was going on, we were packed and ready to move north to Puno and Lake Titicaca.

MACHU PICCHU

The Path to a Beautiful Sunrise

The four day trek into Machu Picchu is something I’m glad I did, but it is not something I would do again. Very few Americans make the trek and I learned that most of the guides and porters quit at about age 40, as by then their knees and hips have had enough. I was just shy of 70—what was I thinking? In this case ignorance was surely bliss.

We were told, “The old Inca trail is the most popular trek on the continent. Walking from one beautiful ruin to another is an unforgettable experience.” And that is all true, but it is not easy. Note here that what Europeans and other active societies in the world term a hike we Americans find to be a trek. Our hikes are strolls to them. I have found this repeatedly true throughout my travels and walking experiences.

I had anticipated a packed earth path, but instead most of the trail was rock paved. That sounds good, but the rocks were of various sizes from a good-sized flagstone (easiest to walk on) to small brick size. They were all intermingled and the surfaces were anything but even, forcing one to watch every step. The plus side was the absolutely gorgeous scenery. We started out walking through a eucalyptus grove and stopped for lunch on a knoll with a spectacular view.

My son and I were the only Americans on the trip and at 45 he was the old man. The other 10 (Europeans) were in their mid to late 20s. I finished every day’s trek but we were always the last into camp.

The second day started with a steady climb to the highest pass called Warmiwanusca or Dead Woman’s Pass. It is at 13,775’ above sea level. After the pass it was straight down hill over many many very steep steps. We listened to running water all day, saw many hummingbirds  and passed through a cloud forest. The hundreds of steps were so steep that they had to be taken one at a time like a small child would do who was just learning to maneuver steps. I gave a totally new meaning to the words slow and snail! My walking stick was absolutely essential!

            I was conscientious about drinking plenty of water, but had no appetite. I forced myself to eat a small amount as I knew I needed to. We had gorgeous weather for the entire trip. It was cold at night at the high altitudes. We were on the trail by 7:00AM each morning.

            The next day we faced the second summit at just about 13,000’. It was a steep climb straight up; then it was downhill until we hit the last pass. We went down steps that had been carved out of the rock by Incas and through a tunnel in the large rock.  The third pass was long and wound around the mountain. I hugged the inside most of the time as the path was narrow and the drop off very steep. I stopped frequently to admire the view and scenery. You could not see the bottom of the valley as lush foliage covered everything.

            After lunch at old Inca ruins our guide told us, “It is all downhill now.” He just neglected to tell us is that it was 1000-feet straight down over 1824 steep steps! That was some afternoon!

This was our last campsite as the next morning we would be in Machu Picchu. It was at this crowded campsite that a couple of young American medical students told us about the attack on the twin towers—a couple of days after the fact. This devastating news upset everyone.

I had perspired so much the past days, my hair was an awful mess, and I didn’t dare take off my hat. At dinner I had asked the guide, “Would it be possible for one of the porters to bring me a pan of warm water later?”

 I took a stool from the food tent, sat over a culvert and washed my hair. I was sure glad I grabbed a small bottle of shampoo at the last minute when packing. That shampoo felt so good!

That evening I told my son who had been most solicitous toward me, slowing his pace and hanging back with me that I wanted him to go on with the group in the morning so he’d be sure to be there for sunrise. I’d make it when I‘d make it and if I missed sunrise that was okay.

We were up at 4 AM and on the trail at 5 o’clock. It was still dark so we used a torch (flashlight) to light the way. Our tour guide and I were the first on the trail that day, entering just as they unlocked the gate, and we shared being the last off the trail with a young French couple.

Almost without exception, everyone who passed us was moaning about their aches and pains. We had a few steps to climb that last day, but one area was so narrow and steep we literally crawled up it on all fours.

Walking through Intipunku, the Sun Gate, I was greeted with a shroud of mist. It was just 6:45 AM. After taking in the scene I started a slow, wall-hugging decent into Machu Picchu. The cliff drop offs were steep. About an hour later, just as I was arriving, the mist cleared and the most magnificent sight opened up in front on my eyes. It was a magical sight and a mystical experience. It took my breath away, and suddenly all the torture of the past three days faded away.

In Inca times the only way into Machu Picchu was via the trail we had just traveled, and in those days it was an 8-day trek from Cuzco to Machu Picchu. Today we had entered the site via the back door and had to walk down to the main entrance to be logged into the site.

Machu means ancient, and Picchu means summit, in Quechua: ancient peak. Machu Picchu is the name of a mountain peak as well as the ancient Inca site.