When I run into someone who has traveled to Machu Picchu, my first question will be to ask how they got there. Because I know now that the journey is as important a part of the experience as the destination. In my memory, I can’t think of a single instance in which I’ve been so proud of myself for completing something and so enamored with an experience while simultaneously feeling that I never ever EVER want to do anything like that EVER again. My heart and soul are still trying to comfort my physical body. And I don’t know when it will stop feeling victimized in all this. Though all the steak and wine in Argentina is starting to make up for it.
The first day started out harmless enough if a little rough around the edges. A 3:00am wake up call preceded a three hour bus ride to our jumping off point. We found a budget trek and so the fact that the buffet breakfast turned out to be a basket of stale bread and tea was par for the course. Though it seemed hardly enough fuel for the four hours uphill we needed to walk before lunch. Then again, all that walking is probably better on a half empty stomach. And I’d read the altitude makes digestion difficult. So perhaps they were doing us a favor. That first hour went by rather quickly and the weather was perfect. The sun and breeze were as gentle as the hills. Now I know I was only easing into the worst self inflicted pain of my life. How innocently I walked my way to the point of no return. After the second hour, the hills were becoming steeper and clouds rolled in. By hour four it was raining cold rain and we were on rocky and very steep terrain. The rain made the path muddy. Bobby bought us a walking stick (literally a long stick) at the breakfast spot and we used it to help pull stranded individuals out of slippery situations. I thought I’d never been so happy to stop walking when we finally reached our lunch spot. But I really had no idea what relief could feel like. And this I think is the essence and joy of trekking and camping the Salkantay. After lunch we walked three more hours uphill. We made it to the camp site somehow, though there were moments when I thought this might all be a joke. There is no campsite, only TV cameras set up along the way waiting to jump out from behind the trees when we finally snap. "Surprise! You're on WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!" To my mind this had become a real possibility and I entertained myself with thoughts of what the consolation prize might be. I could really use a spa weekend somewhere tropical right now. But we did arrive to a camp site and there was a consolation prize of sorts; sitting. Sitting never felt so good. Sipping hot tea never tasted so good. Dinner was in a shack lit by candles. It was about 30 degrees outside and we were surrounded by snow-covered mountains.
I sat as still and contently as I can remember. After the best dinner I’ve ever eaten, we played a round of “Bullshit” and then “Memory” with our awesome group and settled in for a winter’s nap. But bed was not to be the imagined rest that kept me putting one foot in front of the other those last grueling forty-five minutes. The temperature dropped well below freezing, the ground was hard as a rock and I did little more than close my eyes for six hours. Every part of my body EXCEPT my feet hurt. And I literally jumped out of bed at our 5am wake up call. That and I really had to pee. The hot tea they served in your tent was a nice thought. But it did little to warm my frozen, aching body. Yep, ironically, I needed to walk again and warm up. And walk we did! Our second day would be our hardest. We were to walk 9 hours total. The first four hours were solidly steep. They were so steep the people in front of me were literally over my head.
I warmed up quickly and shed my layers. My hoodie felt like a lead weight around my hips. I tried out different strategies. First, I thought about the tortoise and the hair. So I decided it might be easier if I made teeny tiny steps the size of half my foot. But, much to my amazement and frustration, shuffling up the hill was still incredibly exhausting. I was taking breaks every 10 shuffles or so. Shuffling was not working. Next, I tried to stay in a steady but solid rhythm. Our tremendous guide, Cesar, who used the words “tremendous” and “Jesus Christ” so much that Bobby cleverly pinned the book he should write about trekking to Machu Picchu, “Jesus Christ this book is Tremendous,” (we loved him) said it was best not to stop and to keep a rhythm. He said to find a way to keep walking. So I put my head down and walked. But, try as I might, I couldn’t keep a rhythm. The path was so rocky my legs just wore out. I was stumbling all over the place. I then tried to pretend I was a sure-footed Shetland pony. I suppose it was a reflexive thought. After all, I’ve only walked up and down hills for over three hours on horseback. But that just made me feel awful about myself. With the way I was going, I’d have been sold for dog food. Three in the pack were making a decent pace. But, after the second hour, the rest of us were stopping every two or three steps (yes, steps). So, as I usually do when I’m exhausted and in an impossible situation, I started laughing hysterically. And as I was sitting on a rock trying to catch my breath again, I couldn’t help but think about the time Lauren and I got lost in the hay field at my Grandmom’s farm. We were around eight years old and trying to find some creek on foot that I’d found on horseback a few weeks before. Both Lo and I loved catching crawdads and this little creek was in a most magical part of the woods and was loaded with crawdads. So I convinced her we should go find it and we set off in only our bathing suits in mid-day during the month of August. Long story short, we walked for hours and still couldn’t find it. Things look different on horseback. So we were walking in this field with hay up to our eyeballs, the sun blazing down, in our bathing suits and with ticks crawling all over us. Lo is way out in front of me sneezing her brains out because she’s allergic to HAY. I can picture it now. She was so far in front of me she was like an ant in the field (I’m a slow walker and her allergies made her more desperate). The top of her back cleared the hay. Then I hear her voice faintly carried in the wind. “Amazing Grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me….Ahhh chew…I once was lost…” she sang that whole song with the full conviction of someone who thinks they might die any moment. And that’s the kind of thing that makes you laugh from the deepest part of your belly. Then and there I realized the only way I was getting up that mountain was if I sang myself up that mountain. So I start singing ridiculously silly things and sure enough I walked a decent way without stopping. Carol, one of our mates, started giving us little goals. “Okay, Katie, we can do it. Let’s just get to that rock there and then we can stop again, “ she’d say. And I’d sprint forward, cheering us to our mini destination with songs like “Eye of the Tiger” and “She Works Hard For the Money." Eventually, I settled on the more practical, “Left, left, left, right left.” And I have to say that this is a super effective song for keeping rhythm at the walk. In fact, I might still be climbing that mountain if it weren’t for that classic. I should have known all along the best strategy was collective effort (and that I’m a Quarter Horse not a Shetland). When we reached the top, a whopping 4,600 meters above sea level, we were face to face with the Salkantay Glacier. And, you guessed it, it never felt so good to have climbed a mountain.
At this point, we started to descend. It was 2 more hours mostly downhill until lunch. I could have cared less. Our lunch spot was bliss. We saw condors flying high above.
Lunch stop on the Salkantay Trek from Robert Kelly on Vimeo.
The last three hours that day were mostly downhill, too. Cesar warned that walking downhill was worse. I did get five blisters and shin splints. But it felt like floating comparatively speaking. Our camping spot the second night was in a more temperate area on soft earth and we crashed hard. I’d venture to say we left indentions of our bodies in the earth where we slept. It was the first time in three days we had a real toilet WITH a toilet seat! The fact that it was boarded up crudely with gaping cracks in which to see through and that a humongous, mean hog guarded it, chasing me in and out, was beside the point.
Six hours of walking the third day lead us into a tropical region close to the jungle. That’s right. We walked from a glacier to a jungle, complete with swarming mosquitoes, parrots and, best of all, a spider monkey!!! This was the most precious little angel monkey in the world and I’d be lieing if I told you he didn’t love me the most of all. I want one!!!
Untitled from Robert Kelly on Vimeo.
The fourth day we only had to walk three hours down the train tracks to Aguas Calientes, the town from which you leave for Machu Picchu. At this point, we were wobbling around on little nubbins of peg legs. In fact and in all honesty, I think Bobby was worse off than me. Poor thing had to carry his camera equipment the whole way and it was at least thirty extra pounds. When we passed the parked luxury train that comes in from Cusco, we couldn’t help but look longingly at those cushy seats and fine dining cars. I knew what we’d done was special, though. Because no one coming in by luxury train can really appreciate what it means to get to this location by foot. And you can’t really, REALLY respect what the Incans did unless you walk this SOB ( So Overly Big ; ) mountain. Or at least that’s what I told myself in order to break away from the alluring grip of plush velvet. That night in Aguas Calientes we enjoyed Pisco Sours (my favorite new cocktail) and hatched our plan for the morning. You can take a bus up the hill to the entrance of Machu Picchu. But, if you want to climb Wainu Picchu (a second mountain inside the park) for electrifying views, you have to be one of the first 400 people in line. And that means walking up the hill very early. We’d come this far and everyone was determined to walk it.
On day five, we met outside at 3am armed with headlamps. It was a solid hour straight up ancient Incan stairs. Our newly conditioned bodies surged stealthily passing people left and right. Go team Salkantay! I was frankly surprised at myself and impressed with what four days of conditioning can actually accomplish. Everyone cheered and high fived and hugged when we got to the top. We’d done it. I got a little teary. The sun rose behind Wainu Picchu.
Arriving early, it was as if we had a private tour. The fact that it felt empty with more than 400 people there is a testament to its’ size. First, I was struck by the way in which walls were constructed on 90 degree cliffs. It seemed like the walls were holding up the sides of the mountain in some instances. Touching the seams between the rocks it was impossible to wrap my head around how this could be made by hand, precision the only mortar. Cesar’s explanation of their religion was also fascinating, full of philosophy and wisdom. Everything in their daily lives revolved around Paccha Mama, “Mother Earth.” They saw the past, present and future existing at once and represented these with the snake, the panther and the condor. What I'd felt in the Galapagos came to mind. They left remains and sometimes whole sacrifices at the Alter of the Condor, a huge stone sculpture of mesmerizing beauty. The condors would land, feast and then take flight. After which, they believed the condor carried the soul of that being upon its’ huge wings into the future. On his wings or in his belly, the truth is they were right. And the poetry of it all was compelling. There was so much beauty. We stayed all day. We studied the advanced irrigation and fresh water system. We walked through the home of the royal family. We walked through the houses of everyone else. We walked through the storage houses and rested on feilds of stairs that used to be crops. We snuck up on the Llamas to steal a pet. We watched the sun make shadows on the stone calendar and through the "Three Windows." We held on tight as we traveled the narrow steps of the Incans. Bobby even made it up Wainu Picchu. But this quauta haws was done. I decided I'd seen my fair share of great views that day. I rested at the Guardhouse overlooking the city and soaked it all in. Machu Picchu is truly an incredible must do experience (and by "must do" I mean take the luxury train!).
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