How Real Men do Machu Picchu

End of Friday May 1st - Monday May 4th


'Joe and I agreed to make this an early one, tomorrow morning we leave for Machu Picchu. Unpacked and repacked my big bag, tried to get ahead of the game for tomorrow - Joe chose not to do the same.

I crawled home at about 3:30 this morning, fell out of bed at seven to begin getting ready for our trek. Joe was no where to be found. We agreed to leave at nine, so I figured he would be back at any moment.

I put together ten ham and cheese sandwhiches, double checked my bag, put what I decided not to take in storage, and melted into a couch in the Hostal. Still no Joe. At eleven he walked in, eyes bloodshot, skin pale, barely able to walk let alone formulate a complete sentence. This miserable heap of young adult managed to tell me he didn't sleep last night and woke up at a hostal in a stranger's bed across town. Sounded like a great night, just not before our trek.

Slowly but surely he began to pack. I had already put together a few apples, oreos, the sandwhiches, two big cans of Pork n Beans, and five liters of water. At the last minute I thought we would need a bit more food, so I boiled eight hot dogs and threw them in a plastic bag for the adventure. We left at 11:45, Saturday.

Half hour walk out of town to the Santiago Bus Terminal where we each paid 15 sol for a ticket to Santa Maria, half way to Quillabamba. Forty five minute wait, busted out a few sandwhiches nad Joe fell right to sleep sitting outside on a rusted bench. As we sat waiting for the bus, I noticed two young girls staring at us from the crack between a wall and door across the street. Each time my eyes met theirs, they would giggle. A few minuets later they shyly walked over towards where Joe and I were sitting, each holding a broken slab of concrete. They began to mark the pavement right next to me. 'Hopscotch' I heard Joe mumble. Sure enough, the squares and numbers were etched into the ground and without a moments delay out came the laughing, jumping, and beautiful spirit of these young Peruvian girls. They both wore shiny black shoes, tattered jeans, and a stain covered pink zip up sweatshirt.

The bus was an hour late, but when it did finally arrive it was comfortable. Joe and I had back row seats. The road was literally U turn after U turn, us back row boys felt each turn as though we were on a rollercoaster. The next six hours turned out to be the most beautiful bus ride of my trip. Looming snow capped mountins, riding above and below the clouds, frost forming on the windows, tiny huts growing out from the side of mountains, an occasional waterfall. Magnificant bus ride. Even though Joe slept the ENTIRE time, my appreciation was sufficient for both of us.

We arrived in Santa Maria just before eight pm. Quick and easy finding a colectivo for the one hour schlep to nearby Santa Taresa. All three drivers bumrushed the bus, somehow they seemed to know where we gringos were headed. Multiple drivers makes bargaining easy. Five minutes after stepping off the bus we were off to Santa Taresa for two and a half sols each.

Santa Taresa, like Santa Maria, is tiny. To say we arrived in the center is mos o menos the same as saying we stopped at the outskirtsof town. At nine we paid the 85 cents for the colectivo and set off on foot. The sun had long since set, slight drizzle, just cool enough to see each breath. Our first Point of Reference was the hydroelectric plant two hours away. From there it would be two more to the botttom of Machu Picchu, leaving one final blood bath 2400m slippery dippery climb to the top. We got off to a terrible start.

A kind woman directed us to the road that would lead us 'straight' to the plant. We didn't find the road. It took another pleasant elderly woman and finally a five year old to lead me literally by the hand to the stone steps down into dark abyss that would mark the beginning of our five hour walk. Five minutes later the stone path split four ways. FUCK! We took the path that lead towards a futbol pitch and what appeared to be a school.

There was an open lock on the gate, we pushed it open and walked in. Gavbe a few yells, sent up a prayer or two so as not to be shot. A young boy (12, 13 years?) came out with a headlamp and kindly pointed us in the right direction. He told us we would need to cross the 'puente.' I then asked Joe the second very stupid question of the trip. Thinking back to the Lost City trek and tiny, baby river crossings, I asked Joe if he was going to tkae off his shoes for the crossing. Little did I knowthis was no little river. This was a white rolling roaring ripping screaming fucking bucking bronco of a river! Death to he who set foot too close to the edge!!

After this kid pointed and we set off again, we still didn't make it. Walked right past the path down to the river. Luckily the kid had kept an eye on us. He came out and walked us to the path. Finally we were good to go, or so we thought. Four wrong turns, four people helping us and it wasn't even 9:30! Lord be with us...

We reached the puente and crossed the bridge laughing about my ridiculous question. Realizing then that my question earlier this morning about whether to wear shoes or flip flops was equally fricken retarted!

Incident free for roughly 20 minutes, after which we came to our first fork in the road. No easy logical reason to go one way or the other. Joe said one path looked a bit more beaten, I said we should try going up the other for 15 minutes but went with Joes better judgement. Glad I did because 30 minutes lter we asked some people in a small home half hidden from the road and they pushed us on the same way laughing and smiling while patting our backs. They dropped the same key phrase, 'straight,' which I took to mean no more intersections, one road one direction.

Before we had worked up even a slight sweat not only did we come to another fork, but there was another bridge! An hour in and we were stuck. Nothing to do but sit back, have a sandwhich, and choose one way to go. Joe wanted a spliff, I was too concerned. Its late, dark, raining, cold, and we are two lost lonely gringos, WHAT WERE WE THINKING??!!

The bridge led back towards Santa Taresa, I said we should keep on, continue hugging that lion of a river. Spent the next few minutes walking silently, up hill, down hill, barking dogs, silent homes, not knowing if we were going the right way. Both of us tired, little down, needing motivation.

Just when we needed it most, a colectivo came driving by. Sure enough we were heading towards the plant. Laughing at us through gritted teeth the young dude offered us a ride, even for free. We were too jazzed, sent his behind packin!

At eleven we reached the hydroelectric plant, right on point with the two hours. Fence, metal, lights, sleeping guards, nothing pretty or attractive but it was a victory for us. Nearly half way!!! The next two hours would be along train tracks. Nice and 'straight,' ish, we hoped.

We ducked into a small restaurant and paid a gratuitous amount for the best Powerade and Sprite we had ever tasted. Hung out there for an hour, I got some kip as joe skinned a spliff, avoiding the rain which had gathered significant strength.

A security guard told us to stay on these tracks until the third SALIDA sign, at which point we would just need to make a right and continue straight. My understanding was that that third sign would appear in more or less two hours. It sprang up in ten minutes. Slightly confused we left the tracks and began following a fuzzy path up hill through the woods. Note - My headlamp is a Saint that deserves to be knighted! Godsend!! We wound up at another set of railroad tracks, left, rainy, dark, right, rainy, dark, no signs, another intersection. Decided to go left, the same direction we had been heading in all night.

So it began, two horus, 120 minutes, 7200 seconds, looking down skipping block to block. Still drizzling, thick brush seeming to creep in on us from both sides. We were in good spirits. Joe decided to light up, I joined figuring there could be no better time than at 12:30am, in the rain, while walking alone along treacherous defunct train tracks with nothing (and hopefully noone) for miles in either direction. I tried the stuff a few years ago and really did't like it. Spitting, no high, itchy eyes, fuck that I thought, I've got better things to do with my time... until now.... Slow, shallow drags, trying hard not to cough. It was the first time I got high, and boy did it make those train tracks fun!! What better activity when stoned than walking on slippery train tracks in the dark... BRILLIANT! (sounds like something a Klebanow would do! idiots)

The endless laughing ensued, conversations with colorful topics ranged from fruit to Brazilian animals, and then we came to the mother of all bridges...

The metal rungs were slippery, widely and unevenly spaced, and I could not see the end with my torch. Laughing we said LES DO IT!! and started across. Not only did we not know how long it was, but it was the highest we had come to, shakey blocks, water roaring 20 ft below. About 15 steps in Joe stopped - 'Jordan my legs are shaking, I can't do it man I'm scared (maybe he meant to say stoned?).' He began to sit down, slowly bending over placing the joint on a nearby block. ' Joe!!, pass me the spliff, its all good, were going back' were my words of comfort. At that moment as we were beginning to head back I turned and saw a walkway on one side of the bridge. Reached land kisisng the ground and dying of laughter. After taking the path we realized there were about 150 steps to the bridge - ENORMOUS!!! We would not have been happy campers.

Off we were, on the rungs again, chatting away like old women. At about 2:15 we saw street lights not far from the tracks. Came to small factory alongside the tracks and decided to investigate. After straying from the tracks we crossed a daughter sized bridge and found that we had reached the base of Machu Picchu!! We knew this because a big sign read 'Welcome to Machu Picchu.' Not too excited though, victory yes, but we knew the pain that was about to become reality with the final one hour hike UP. During the day most people jump on the seven dollar (DOLLAR!! not sol, dollar!) bus ride to the top. At 2:30 in the morning its pretty quiet. Onwards!

It was painful. Hard enough after some sleep and a meal, but we were going on no sleep, largly empty bellies, and after four hours of trekking about! Slow go, especially for me with four liters of water and the canned (beast 570g cans!) beans. Alas, we made it. Reached the top thoroughly dead at 3:40am. The place was a dead as Joe and I, no security, no fellow bums. Found two benches near the ticket window. Joe ate his last sandwhich, I dropped mind (Sticking to the five second rule would have gotten me the dirtiest sandwhich I have ever seen, I though better of it). We had about an hour and a half ot go before tickets would be sold. We got 'comfy' on the benches.

Just after we laid down it began to rain hard. The canvas over us was full of holes, offered us no protection, cold and wet we were not happy. Neither of us slept.

How many people can say they were the first into the park!!!!! Victory for the exhausted miserable smelly bums!! Followed the signs to Wayna Picchu but chose to return at 10am. Heavy fog slowly began to lift, surrounded by mountains, above the clouds, it was awsome, inspiring, powerful. I am not one to hoot and hollar about the actual stones, ancient stairs or baths, sculptures, but I have never seen a landscape as stunning as the one from the top of Machu Picchu.

Joe and I had trouble functioning. Walked around for a while but quickly found a nice rock drenched in sun to sleep on. As is normally the case, Joe fell right to sleep. Took me longer but I eventually succeeded in using my knee as a pillow.

The climb up Wayna Picchu was greuling, but not quite a bad as up Machu Picchu itself. By our ten o clock date with this hidden beauty overshadowed by Machu Picchu, the sun had done away with the fog. One could see for miles in every direction. I don't have the words to describe the sensation experienced sitting thousands of meters above water, drowning in a sea of mountains. Just don't know which phrases do those moments justice.

Three hours at the main site, two more slipping and sliding around Wayna, we had seen enough. Time to begin the long haul back. At 12:45 we found the exit. Sandwhiches gone, ate our last four hot (raw cold) dogs, last apple for me, out of water as well. We inquired about the cost of a bottle of water at the MP restaurant shindig and were told a small half liter bottle went for eight sol (roughly $2.66). Bear in mind we bought our 2.5 liter bottles for 2 sol (66 cents) back in the city. We couldn't believe it, decided to go thirsty.

The walk down Machu Picchu was tough on the knees, ankles, not fun. Joe and I were beyond tired, our spirits low, especially without water. Not as much talking, uncertainties as to our making it all the way back to Santa Taresa on foot. I decided to fill an empty bottle with stream water when we came to the first bridge. Only a little bit of garbage, one or two toxic waste barrels floating by, nothing a yank like me can't handle. It was delicious!! Gave me new life! Joe had bought a bottle for three sol a few minutes earlier. Looked like we were going to make it after all!

Next issue at hand was food. I still had two giant cans of Pork n Beans. Thought about making a fire by the tracks, didn't seem doable. Three horus into the walk, when we reached the hydroelectric plant, I broke down. Busted open a can with my knife and went to town. Joe waited to see if I would turn green or shrivel up befoer venturing a bite. Like the water, the beans were awesome! You can't go wrong with canned beans, cooked further or not, they are a five star grade A non kosher DELIGHT!

The walk back to Santa Taresa was warm and bright, aka boring! But we made it. Colectivo to Santa Maria where we sat outside for two hours waiting for a bus. When it arrived, it was full. Standing room only. For the first half hour Joe, myself and a few others stood in the aisle. For the rest of the ride, Joe lay sprawled out in the aisle and fell asleep. I sat knees to chest stuffed in the aisle between seats so as not to roll around. It was a miserble ride, and it takes a lot for me to say that. Eight hours in that terrible position, I didn't sleep for more than five minutes at a time. Obnoxious women kept pushing me around, stepping on me, felt a hand make its way to my butt with my wallet on a few occasions. Bus rides are really never fun or enjoyable, they're usually bad or less bad. This one was awful!

Arrived back in Cuzco at 5:40 Monday morning. I didn't realize until I got off the bus and tried to tell Joe something that I couldn't speak. Literally, no sound, nothing. I had developed a nasty cold on the bus (still sick more than a week later). I felt horrible. We had a laugh about it in the taxi back to the Hostal. What a fucking adventure. 16 hours of walking after no sleep and little food, 14 hours on a bus, two and a half in colectivos, and a few unaccounted for. We made it. Fourteen dollars round trip, there and back. Compared to the normal 100 dollar train fare or 150 dollar tour.

VICTORY FOR THE BUMS IN BLUE!

Fell asleep sick and fully clothed at 6am Monday morning. '

Not much more to say, that's enough of a plate full.

Hope all is well on the homefront, everyone is healthy and safe.

My love to you all!!

xx