The white stuff
In an effort to see the sun rising over Machu Picchu, we were raised from moderately successful slumbers at four o'clock. From the campsite it was only a 6km walk or so to the sun gate, and a pretty straightforward one it was two. The only worry was the thick mist surrounding everything. The view from the night before was gone, just a blanket of whiteness remained.
And indeed, at the sungate, the only signal that the sun was actually rising, was the fact that the whiteness was getting somewhat brighter. Those expecting the city to reveal itself with the sort of drum roll and flourish associated with a Cecil B. DeMille film were severely disapointed. Waiting for everyone to catch up, we walked the final few km to the city itself, our first glance being just a few walls here and there. Disapointment was kicking in. Had we really just walked for three days to see this?

We caught up with the others at the ticket booth, the cloud drizzle seemed to have lessened somewhat, and there was the deafening rustle of everyone removing their ponchos. Various grumbles were heard, as we reluctantly gathered around our guide for the big tour of the misty city.
And as if by magic, just as our tour was starting, the mist began to disperse in a teasing, tantalising sort of way. Before us, the shadow of a vast, conical mountain began to emerge, then spikey rocks of another, then we could almost make out shapes behind the mountains, then the valley itself began to apear.
"Ahem," said Pepe, our tourguide (not Bepe).
We turned around and there was Machu Picchu in all its glory. The place is vast, not just a colection of walls, but a mass of terraces, buildings, gable ends, temples, streets, amputheatres.
But it's not just the city, the views from all sides were stunning. These were mountains that you just don't get in Europe. Vast columns of rock, unreasonably steep jags of earth just jutting into the sky. With the mist still dancing between them, the place had a wonderful etherial feel.
Rising behind the city is the tall, ominous Winupicchu (I think) meaning young mountain to Machu Picchu's Old mountain. What's more, there was a footpath to the top and a group of us went up. Of course, when people say footpath, you usually expect a path on which to put your feet. Not a bunch of ill formed steps with pieces of rope to drag you along by. All this was pretty straightforward going, although the three and a half days of walking was starting to take its toll. However when we reached near the top, things got very tricky indeed.
If you look at a photo of Machu Piccu, and at the tall finger of rock behind it, you might be able to spot a series of terraces near the top of the mountain, and a small house on top of them. Along side these terraces was a set of stairs, of various hights and widths. They were narrow and low and very steep indeed. To go up them involved crawling, with your body as low to the ground as possible, not looking down once.
At the top everyone had pretty much recovered, except me. Of all the places to discover you have vertigo, this was not one of the best. As such, I skipped the final ten metres or so, and settled for the still very spectactular view from the penultimate ledge. Pretty amazing stuff, and I refuse to believe that an extra ten metres made the vew better!
A much easier route down took us back to ground level, where we were dined on by the local insect life before returning to Cusco via bus, train and a newly healthy Jock.
- posted by Vince @ 11:00 AM