Machu Picchu: Stairway to Heaven

"Stairway to Heaven" is playing on the bus radio as we board the final leg of our approach to the mythical city. Fitting for the steep jungle slopes either side of the raging torrent of a river, wild on account of the rains. And for these fantastic mountains, rising straight up from the valley floor. Normally, one could take the train direct from Cuzco, alt 3300, to Aguas Calientes, the town at the foot of Machu Picchu. But in rainy season we have to improvise a combination of car, train and bus, making this another time-consuming traverse. 

Aguas Calientes, another town that exists solely as tourist stopover, has an incredible setting and considerable charms to contrast with derelict Cuzco. The PeruRail Express must be one of the more scenic train routes still running. Considering the seething tourist mass that the local infrastructure and logistics have to deal with, it's amazing that the torrent doesn't burst its banks. It's all orderly, and well run, so that even these Swiss travellers are impressed. 

And the university in the sky retains its poise. In spite of the 2500 or so people that visit every day, the place manages to keep a sense of majesty and mystery about it. Of course it would be magnificent to see it alone, but crawling with people creates the impression of a lively city, and gives a real sense of the grandiose scale looking from one end of the site to the other. We also have occasion to laugh at the fieldworker scarves of the Russian tourist troupe, the Spanish girls chased by hungry lamas, taking shelter behind a stone wall. Iris, unafraid, feeds the lamas her banana.

  

Our guide Miguel carries the rainbow flag of the Andes. And if his explanations sometimes veer toward the mystical, it's a fascinating lesson for all of us to spend five hours in his company. School away from home has rarely been more vivid. Although these are impressions perhaps enhanced by the fortified coca leaves he gives us to sample. There's no argument - the place is an architectural and engineering marvel. And the setting is breathtaking. As Mom remembers it, "you feel like you are at the top of the world", surrounded by the impossibly steep tropical rainforest cliffs, feeling truly close to the spirits of the sky, close to heaven. 

And for the duration of our tour, the sky is clear. We shed the alpaca socks and jumpers acquired in Cuzco, anticipating cold and rain. It only starts raining as we begin our descent and the ponchos have to come out.   

Munch a Peach'u

Well-tended, carefully maintained and vigilantly guarded, the place really is astounding. How amazing it must be to arrive on site by foot, following the Inca Trail. I can easily envisage a future trip to Vilcabamba, reachable only by jungle trail, where another city of similar scope lies in ruins. Here's what Lonely Planet has to say about it... The real 'lost city of the Incas', Vilcabamba - also known as Espiritu Pampa - is what Hiram Bingham [NB: the original Indiana Jones] was looking for when he stumbled on Machu Picchu. The beleaguered Manco Inca and his followers fled to this jungle retreat after being defeated by the Spaniards at Ollantaytambo in 1536. The long, low-altitude trek, which takes four to nine days, is very rugged, with many steep ascents and descents....But that will have to be another time. 

Choo-Choo Picchu

It's a long and complicated way back to Lima. Our return trip by train is hysterical. Served wine and cheese and edible flowers in artful wooden boxes by the train staff, we're then amazed to see them pacing the aisle to the sudden onslaught of Latino rave music, modelling the latest alpaca fashions ("we take Visa, Mastercard, American Express..."), or dressed as carnival demons. The whole thing strikes me as completely ludicrous. Between the sun and the altitude, I can't quite keep my composure and find myself in a fit of laughter for the rest of the ride.  

Our disjointed trip takes us through the quietly charming Ollantaytambo. With its array of Inca fortifications encircling the sleepy town, this seems a far preferable place to bivouac on the way to Machu Picchu than the demented Cuzco.

Machu Poncho

One final, brief night in suffocating Cuzco, and we're up before dawn, yet again, to head back to the coast.

These days in the Sacred Valley will have been the most expensive of our trip, on just about any measure - by the minute, the vertical or horizontal km. Somewhere in the manic transit back in Cuzco, my iPhone is stolen. Machu Picchu has been a revelation, and a worthy detination. But the Incas extract their sacrifice, and we finally depart Cuzco, exhausted and skint.