The Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, Peru

Editor's Pick Award

Our Editors awarded this travel blog entry for providing relevant information that may be useful and inspiring for other travelers.

When Jan and I decided to go to South America each of us had a destination in mind that stood out from the rest. For me it was the jungle. For Jan it was Machu Picchu. I reminded him of this the day before our Inca trek began, as he sat across from me on the path to Sacsayhuaman. We had decided to prepare for the Inca trail by completing a three-mile tour of the major ruins just outside Cusco. Our little tour had been downhill, but Jan was tired. He’d had diarrhea on and off for five weeks and the altitude didn’t agree with him. His head hurt, his tummy was turning, and his legs were shot. To make matters worse he had a sore throat. He tried to spit, and as if symbolic of his general state the spit flew a couple of inches out of his mouth and landed on his wrist. The next morning we would start the trail—48 K, and much of it uphill. I wondered if Jan would make it.

Of course, as fate would have it our situations completely reversed the following day. Jan was better than ever. Full of energy. I could barely put one foot in front of the other. When we arrived in Cusco three days earlier we had made the mistake of flying in from Lima. That meant going from 154 meters to 3,350 meters in about an hour and a half. Personally I’d never had a problem with altitude before. In fact, the only reason we even had altitude medication in our luggage was because Jan had suffered from it in Vail, Colorado. But at about 7:00 p.m. that first night I began to feel a strange sensation in my head, as though my brain were swelling and pressing against my skull. Then my stomach started lurching. Eventually I found myself staring into the toilet bowl wondering what in the world was wrong with me. It was then that I put two and two together. Even with the medication that first night was hell.

Three days and several pills later, however, I felt much better. Jan and I had signed up for the classic four-day trek to Machu Picchu. This would give us three days to see a tiny piece of the incredible 14,000 mile Inca road and a full day to explore the ruins. As we set off I felt pretty good. In fact, I was almost chipper. There were nine people in our group—five Brits, a brother and sister from Texas, and ourselves. We chatted away for the first hour. This was the warm up, a chance to loosen our legs. Unfortunately for me, it was also when I peaked physically—a mere 44K too soon.

We hadn’t even reached the first resting point and already my legs felt like lead. I started sweating profusely and couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. To make matters worse, this was supposed to be “the easy day.” Everyone in our group, including Jan, was laughing and enjoying the scenery. I wondered how they had the energy to talk. Just before starting the trail we had all purchased walking sticks from a local for a few soles each. These were meant to relieve a bit of pressure from our knees and help with balance. Most people in our group were halfheartedly using them. In fact, the girl from Texas was tapping hers back and forth like a cane on Broadway. Clearly no one really needed them. No on, that is, except for me. I was determined to transform mine into a third leg. I rammed it into the ground repeatedly hoping to somehow propel myself up the trail. Needless to say this didn’t work.

Eventually I simply had to stop. Jan chose that exact moment to point out that I was sweating a lot.

“Really? You’re observant,” I said furiously. The sweat was dripping off me like a fountain.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No.” I responded.

“I guess you’re out of shape.”

“No I´m not!” I yelled. “It’s altitude sickness!”

During the next three hours I watched everyone and their mother pass me up. Eventually Jan had to take my backpack and give me his walking stick. I was utterly humiliated. My only saving grace was the one other individual as pathetically unprepared for the trail as I was—a Chinese woman who was about my age. She too had two walking sticks and was endeavoring to use them like crutches. She too had a husband who was carrying her pack. Every few paces he would turn around and look at her desperately, wondering how on earth she could be so slow. Thank God for that woman.

Somehow, miraculously, I made it. And the next day things were much better. This is ironic because Day 2 is when you have to climb two passes. First, we ascended 1,000 meters to Deadwoman’s Pass, the highest point on the trail (4,215 meters). Then we descended 900 meters only to climb up another 700 meters across the second pass. Both Jan and I were feeling pretty good—probably because the scenery was so incredibly spectacular it took our minds off the pain in our legs.

We passed two beautiful ruins along the way, Sayacmarca and Runkuracay. It’s hard to fathom how the Incas managed to build the road itself, let alone the temples and waystations that line it. The Inca road is simply massive. The central road stretches all the way from Quito, Ecuador in the North, to Santiago, Chile in the South. During the interim countless different branches split off into the Andes. The road was built to last, and you can see it in the heavy stones; even more so in the buildings. The Incans built their sacred structures without mortar, each stone hewn to fit into the other like a puzzle piece. The amount of time and manpower it must have taken to create these temples is mind-boggling.

Another amazing aspect of the construction is how seamlessly Incan architecture integrates into the environment. As you descend the trail you’ll suddenly come across a colossal boulder instead of a man-made path. A series of indentations will have been cut into the boulder itself to create stairs. That’s the genius of the Incas. Rather than remove the boulder to make it conform to the rest of the path, or perhaps move the path to curve around the boulder, they simply incorporated it into their road. This same concept applies to their buildings. Sometimes nearly an entire wall will consist of a huge boulder that had fallen off the mountain. Instead of striving for uniformity—each rock carved into the same shape—the Incans made way for entropy. And the result is the same kind of harmony you find in nature, disparate pieces that all come together to form a cohesive whole.

On the evening of day three all 250 people hiking the trail end up at the last campsite before Machu Picchu, Winay Wayna. This made for a crowded, noisy environment that seemed to take away from our experience on the trail. The other nights we stayed at smaller camps where you could still experience a sense of remoteness. Nevertheless, there are two huge pluses about Winay Wayna. The first is the chance to take a hot shower. You have to pay of course, and the shower is electric which means you get a shock or two. But no one can resist the urge to wash away three days of sweat. When I went to take my shower I bumped into a familiar face—the Chinese girl from the first day. To be honest, I was shocked to see her. I personally had to dig deep within myself to get this far, and I was sure she wouldn’t have made it past Dead Woman’s Pass on day two. Of course she was probably thinking the same thing about me. We congratulated each other, and then she explained how her experience had been even more embarrassing than mine. She’d gone with SAS travel, which had two groups of 16 people each. Apparently every night when she entered the campsite they would all stand up and applaud. I cringed. “Well at least we made it,” I said. And I could tell by her smile that she was as proud of herself as I was.

The second huge plus about Winay Wayna is the breathtaking ruin for which it is named. Neither Jan nor I had done any research about the trail before signing up, so when we rounded a corner and saw Winay Wayna we were dumbfounded. A vast network of agricultural terraces and store houses, it looks like a tremendous amphitheatre created to admire the valley below. It sits in the curve of a colossal mountain, thick foliage pressing in at all sides as thought it could consume the ruins at any moment. Jan and I arrived just before sunset when there were only a handful of people around. Looking back, we feel the experience almost equaled Machu Picchu itself.

On the morning of the last day we arose at 4:30 a.m. The idea is to get to the last checkpoint before it opens at 5:30, then walk to the sun gate and get a view of Machu Picchu at sunrise. Since nobody has the energy to shower at that ungodly hour, we were all at the gate within 30 minutes. It was a classic hurry up and wait scenario, only this time it was at the top of the Andes. Two hundred and fifty people standing in line. Freezing. Tired. Half an hour is more than enough time to develop itchy feet, and by the time the gate opened people were practically running each other over. I’m serious. If you were silly enough to stop and take a picture of the surroundings about 30 people would go hurtling past you and practically knock you off the mountain. Jan and I maintained our calm in the midst of the chaos. Our guide had told us that the term “sunrise over Machu Picchu” is pretty much an oxymoron. Since the ruins are located in the cloud forest the sky is only clear enough to witness a sunrise two or three times a year. He said the agencies only use the term to hook tourists. Still, we were both eager, hoping today might be our lucky day.

We stood at the sun gate looking down the mountains into the Urubamba Valley. The sky was grey, just a hint of sunlight permeating the clouds. Slowly, in gradual increments, the midst began to lift. Through a veil of wisps the ruins appeared. A magical city full of mysterious towers. A labyrinth of walls and calculated green spaces. The city spread before us, creeping right up to the base of Waynu Pichu or the “young mountain” as she is called. Close to the top of Wayna Picchu a network of terraces clung impossibly to the steep mountainside. The whole scene was surreal. And the midst only added to the general atmosphere of mystery. Seeing it this way, disappearing and reappearing through the diaphanous clouds, Jan and I were glad there hadn’t been a “real sunrise.”

We spent the rest of the day exploring the nooks and crannies of the city up close. The temple of the sun, the temple of the three windows, the sundial, the endless houses. One benefit of doing the Inca Trail is that you get to Machu Picchu before it opens up to the general public. This means you have a couple of hours to enjoy the city in relative peace. Midway through the day we went to see the Inca bridge. We highly recommend this to anyone who visits Machu Picchu. It takes about 20 minutes to get there from a side path at the top of the citadel. The bridge spans a sheer cliff face at least a thousand feet tall. It’s incredible to behold.

At about 4:00 Jan and I decided to leave. We’d been hiking for almost 10 hours and had to catch a train back to Cusco that evening. We were hungry, tiger, and eager to sleep in a hotel rather than a tent. Still, I don’t think anyone can leave Machu Picchu without a bit of reluctance. It’s one of those places that is so full of mystery and timelessness it’s a wonder it exists at all.