Lost City of the Incas... or is it Connemara?!

  Machu Picchu, Sacred Valley, Peru
Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Machu Picchu... mysterious city of the Incas, lost in swathes of jungle for 400 years... and now lost to Sue and myself in swathes of cloud...

We had participated in the usual circus found at world-famous sites: got up before the roosters, joined the queue along the wet street in the dark, ridden the bus up the twisting road to the entrance, queued for an entry ticket, entered the allegedly breathtaking archaeological site... and there we were, sitting in the pre-dawn, primed for a magical sunrise...  and the sky lightened... and there, before us, was a big white void...

Bubbling clouds

The eager twenty-somethings had walked up through the dripping jungle growth in the dark, but given the weather and lack of light, there had seemed little point.  Half of the Brasilian oddball couple from our group had had a heavy night and hadnīt made the first bus, so Walter, our trek guide had asked us to sit and wait for him to return while he went to investigate.  So we sat and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  We were sure that, if we waited long enough, the cloud would lift and reveal the majesty of the ruins before us... ha!  At times it thinned and we could make out the shape of a tree or a stone wall...it really did look like a winter day in Connemara.  But the overall vista eluded us for the entire hour and a half of waiting for Walter to reappear, ready to give us the guided tour.  Not normally a fan of guided tours, I didnīt want to miss this one as there was too much significance attached to minor details that would mean nothing to a solo wanderer.  So we waited...


It was all very entertaining though, really... well, we had to find something to laugh about.  An American-looking woman was centring herself beside us on the bench, earphones inserted, palms face up on thighs, meditating in the chily, damp fog.  Now, Iīm partial to a bit of meditation myself, but not in the entrance of a national monument about to be swamped by tourists.  We decided she had read the Celestine Prophecy and was trying to ascend to a higher energy level in order to merge with it, become invisible to mere low-vibrating wet tourists such as ourselves. We were very disappointed when she eventually stood up and left, still clearly visible to the naked eye... maybe our giggling had spoiled her vibe...


Then, as we watched the rainbow wave of plastic rain ponchos, rushing along the terraces in search of the queue for tickets to hike up the neighbouring peak of Huayna Picchu, Sue had the brainwave of insisiting that only white ponchos should be allowed admittance, as they wouod look extremely spooky in the wafting, white air.  And maybe a black one to really stand out from the crowd.  Possibly even a red one just for dramatic effect.  But we lost the ability to pursue this idea, when we were convulsed in laughter by the sight of two lanky males, loping along with DIY raingear: binbags with neck holes but no arm holes, so they were straitjacketed.  I was close to needing to be straitjacketed myself at this point... where the hell was Walter?!  


After the tenth person asked us where to get tickets for Huayna Pichhu (did we really look like the local workforce?!), we thought we could be onto a winner by digging out a notebook, writing out tickets, and flogging them at $5 a pop... but the rain would have wet the paper too much...

Through 2 windows

Finally Walter materalised out of the vapourous air and led us to the rest of the group who had patiently queued aother hour for some of the 400 tickets available to climb a now dangerously wet and slippery steep track up Huayna Picchu, so they could look down at the mass of bubbling clouds in which Machu Picchu was totally shrouded, once the guided tour was done... personally, we thought that, once the guided tour was done, a bus back down the hill and a decent cup of coffee was a more attractive option.  When, just before we left, a body was stretchered past us, oxygen mask in place, having fallen on the ascent, we were reassured we had chosen wisely.

More rocks

A clear view!!

So, we dutifully followed Walter round the site, vying for space alongside the other rain- ponchoed tourists, and learning more about the Incas, how they lived, why they built as they did, and the importance of particular locations such as the Temple of the Condor, the High Priestīs house, and the Temple of the Sun. It was very interesting but the crowds did nothing for the atmosphere and it was hard to appreciate the details without viewing them in the context of the whole site, which of course, was still playing hard to get.  About half way round, the clouds did lift to an extent and we rushed for the cameras to try and capture some of the stonework and the terraces emerging through the mist and sweeping down to the valley below.  We couldnīt see the peaks around and above us, which robbed the view of that ītop of the worldī sense, but I was surprised we could see even as much as this, and before long the clouds had enclosed the entire site again.

Looking across to the storage buildings

Having ticked the īIncan-information-overloadī box, Sue and I spent a while wandering along the paths, through doorways, past mighty walls, just enjoying the eerie atmosphere, now palpable since the groups had moved on.  I had expected to spend the whole day at the site, walking some of the shorter trails to gain a more distant view, hiking up Huayna Picchu, and taking time just sitting in the sun, absorbing the feel of the place... but Inti, the Incan sun god, was clearly having an off-day, and it was no place to hang around.

Terraces

So, in defeat, we went and peed as much as we could to justify the exorbitant toilet charge and then joined yet another queue for a bus down the hill, where we drank mediocre coffee and watched the rain, then paid an outrageous extra $25 to leave town on the early afternoon train... if I had had to sit watching the rain till the 6.30 departure I would have thrown myself under it.  And thus we were in Cusco before 5, in time to treat ourselves to a pair of gorgeous boots each, made with local fabric, ( a consolation prize for the weather...)  and to tuck into bowls of hot porridge with fruit for dinner, our first decent meal since we had left Cusco to begin the trek. 


Can I go somewhere dry now please?  


P.S.  These pics were taken in the ten-minute window where we could see... I didnīt bother to take ones of the all-engulfing cloud as you all know what that looks like already...