Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Happy Birthday, Mum... 80... wow!

Was woken just before 5am by the sound of the town hall bells ringing. As usual when hearing bells, the natural instinct is to count them so you can tell the time, especially as it was still pitch black outside... when I got to 50, I gave up... As we're due to be picked up at 6.15am (at least, according to Julia...) I got up anyway and showered and went in search of breakfast. The hotel is used to catering for tours heading off to Machu Picchu and so lays on breakfast from 5am, so I was able to start the day with cereal and a cup of coffee, my guts churning from last night's beer (not used to English Ale any more, hope it's only temporary!). Then the group assembled in the foyer around 6am, and I started the first of many of the day's headcounts, whilst they tried their hardest to wind me up, changing places and asking daft questions like “are we nearly there yet”. How amusing...

When 6.15am came and went, the group started to get agitated, so I reminded them that the original pick-up time had been 6.45am and perhaps that was when the minibus would arrive. When it wasn't there by then I went to phone to find out, only Nigel had already beaten me to it and been told that our actual pick-up time was 6.50, not 6.15... Julia's likely to be nominated for the hat for that one... At 6.50, the local tour coordinator turned up and handed me an envelope with lots of tickets, train out, train back, bus and entry for everyone in, and then we waited for the minibus to arrive. Once it did, we boarded and enjoyed an entertaining ride up the mountain to Poroy where we'd board the train up the valley. Once on the train we settled in for the expected 4 hour journey (it was only 3 hours in the end) and chatted, snoozed and generally passed the time any way we could. The scenery from the train window was beautiful, as it would its way along the side of the river, past what must be the Peruvian equivalent of smallholdings (giving me plenty to daydream about), the houses topped with little pottery pigs on their roofs to signify that they were pig-farmers (wonder if we can get some little pottery chickens for the roof of our house when we move?).





The train eventually arrived at the town of Machu Picchu (now called Aguas Calientes, or hot water after the springs nearby), at the head of the valley, and we met up with our tour guide for the day, who was also called Paul. He guided us to the waiting bus to take us up to the historical site itself, whilst I herded the group, trying to keep them all together. Chris was a particular concern, as he wasn't well, feeling all flu-like and shivering violently when sat at the train station before we headed off for the bus. Once all 19 had been counted on we started the climb up the hills on a dirt road, the bus passing several others coming down the hill, as they ferried tourists up to Machu Picchu. Some 400,000 people visit the site every year, and most arrive by bus up the dirt highway (the Hiram Bingham highway after the man responsible for re-discovering the city in 1911). This brings you out into a bus depot high on the mountain, from where you pass through a security turnstile to hand in your ticket and then a short walk brings you to a vantage point on the terraces overlooking the city itself. And what a view it is. The mountains here are high and steep, dropping dramatically down into the valley below, but they are also relatively narrow, almost pointed. Machu Picchu city sits atop one of these mountains, the city surrounded by a wall and the nearby mountainside covered in terraces. The terraced area, where we were now stood, was used for crops, whilst the city was used for dwelling and keeping animals, clearly separating the working life of the Incas in the fields from their other activities in the city.





The city's history was explained by our guide thus... it was founded around 1450AD as a governed city, the Inca king living in Cusco and the city under the control of one of his officials. It was home to somewhere between 700 and 800 people, although it would have taken many more to build it. When the Spanish conquests began, they sacked Cusco, replacing many of the Inca temples and buildings with their own colonial ones (usually built on the Inca foundations as the Inca stone-work was of very high quality). The Spanish came up the valley below around 100 years later, the Incas abandoned the city in fear, heading off into the jungle – the Spanish though never found the city, as from the valley it is completely hidden from view by the forest and the line of the mountainside. There are other theories about why the city was abandoned, but the fact that it was, just 100 years after being founded, is universally accepted and quite astonishing. The city was then reclaimed by the jungle, until it was re-discovered by an American historian, Hiram Bingham in 1911, when looking for the lost Inca city of Vilcapampa. He was led to the site by an 11-year old local boy Pablito Alvarez, and named his first book about the city the “Lost City of the Incas”. Over the next 4 or 5 years the city was gradually cleared of forest to reveal an almost intact city, by far the best preserved Inca city in Peru. Of the current site, some 70% is totally original. And it is very impressive, too, the stone-work clearly demonstrating how good the Incas were in getting the stones to fit together perfectly, shaping them using hematite stone, which is very heavy and high in iron content, and ideal for working the natural granite of the mountains, out of which the city is built. Some pictures, to help bring this to life. Hover over them with you mouse for a brief description...














We then wandered round the city, following our guide, trying to avoid the other tour groups being herded like sheep from location to location learning about the city and the various buildings and stones and their meaning. In the centre of the city, grazing on the grass in the main plaza, were a small group of llamas, quite oblivious to (or unconcerned about) the groups wandering past taking their photos. One decided it wanted to investigate me, and sidled up gave me a toothy grin and then started eating the grass at my feet. Cute or what...





Whilst we were still wandering round the site, the thunderstorm that had been raging on the mountains in the distance reached us, the rain thundering down in great big drops and drenching the ground in seconds. Unlike several in the group, I'd brought my waterproof jacket and so stayed relatively dry, whilst they got soaked. We sheltered by one of the walls waiting for the storm to abate a little, and within minutes muddy water was pouring through the drainage channels in the walls and running in a small river down the terraces below. Not only did the Incas understand how to build stone buildings to survive earthquakes (the area around Cusco is prone to them), but they also understood the need for good drainage...

With our guided tour over it was time to be shepherded back to the bus station for the ride down back the valley to lunch before catching the train back to Poroy and then the bus back to the hotel. Saying goodbye to Paul, who had been excellent and very enthusiastic in his explanations of the site, I counted the group back onto the bus, then herded them to the restaurant where our buffet lunch was waiting. And it was excellent, with a great salad bar (see, I do eat healthily occasionally) and a selection of meat dishes including alpaca (similar to beef but lighter in texture). Desserts were excellent too, undoing all my good work with the salad... After lunch we explored the market, which is much like any other in this part of the world, all the stalls seemingly selling the same range of locally made goods, including some beautiful alpaca wool jumpers I'd loved to have been able to buy Tracy, but can't as I've no way to transport them (I'll just have to bring her here and buy her one then). Finally, I herded the cats, sorry, group, onto the train and we headed back up the valley into the night...

Which gave me plenty of time to reflect on the difference between today's visit to Machu Picchu and the other visits we've made, when we've arrived by motorcycle as independent travellers, and not like sheep herded around by a tour leader (either Paul or me). Looking at the other groups being herded around the site, many of them overweight tourists who didn't seem really interested in what their guide was saying, just wanting their photo taken with Machu Picchu in the background so they can tick that box, it reminded me how privileged I am to be able to travel to most places on my own, advised where to go by the experts, but able to experience arriving their independently, to experience contact with the environment and the locals without it being staged for me as part of an organised tour... I appreciate that not everyone is able to travel this way, and I've taken my fair share of guided trips before (and thoroughly enjoyed them), but there is a much deeper sense of involvement when arriving somewhere under your own steam, and being able to enjoy the reaction of those we meet when off the beaten track...

The train journey took longer than it should thanks to a prolonged stop at Ollantaytambo, but we all got back to the hotel safely around 9pm. A small group ventured out as far as the restaurant next door for a bite of supper (tagliatelle bolognese and sprite for me, this being a “dry day”), before calling it a night, the end of another long and enjoyable day...