Above The Clouds

Here we are; the supposed epoche of a journey around South America, the don; the daddy; the godfather of tourist detinations: Machu Picchu. Historically, for those who have only just retreated their proverbial cage like Mowgli from his respective jungle, this is possibly the prominent example of the history of south america: The Europeans arrived, trashing the place like unwanted houseguests, bringing with them 'culture', 'society' and religion (they definitely brought this one) and in return literally obliterating the cultures, societies and religions. Things were knocked down, things were raised; complex webs of society ripped apart to cater the growning need for indo slaves. Nations, Powers and societies rise and fall throughout time, some being deliberately erradicated from history. Machu Picchu is a hidden treasure, frozen in time so lucky American and Japanese tour groups can exclaim how 'purty' it is/was (and whatever the Japanese equivalent would be). But perhaps, in contrast to the initial intent to enlighten the present through the gems of the past, we instead continue to rip apart and destroy these remaining gems through our own form of disneyland colonialism. Thinking back to Puno and the fact that an ingenious and beautiful society of people living independently and simply on self made islands, is now little more than a ride in the 'Kooky Ancient Peru' section of the South American theme park.

So, from the above it's evident that I managed to see Machu Picchu. From my arrival in Cusco this is how Operation Picchu 'went down'. Solo, and in need of a bit of a social scene I arrived at the ever popular Loki pleading and begging for a bed. The tears were thick and steady, and the face of a 7 year old who's just fell off the swings did its job. I was given habitation and went off in search of a party. Sat at the bar and sunbathing in the garden were the strings of previous stints in party hostels, desperately attempting to recover in time for another celebration that night. Old faces mix with new, and the almost tribal releasing of the demons was performed with an evergrowning skill in this field. The next morning, however, distaster had stuck: earthquakes, hurricaines, volcanic activity and the fires of hell had descended to create a world of pain (or at least that's how it certainly felt). Too much time in Cusco would be bad news; I needed to get me a large slice of hot piping culture and the Picchu was calling. I booked a tour and retreated to another hostel to hang with a throng of Irish boys who were all dressed in togas and wedding dresses upon introduction. We chilled, bantered, ate and smoked through the next few days. Picchu Preparation was a major success.

The next day myself and a small bag, containing all of the essentials required to deal with mountains, rivers and the odd jungle puma (which is a threat I live with from day to day), were plucked from Loki Hostel at a quarter past ridiculously early O'clock to be dumped on a bus with a load of strangers who i'd be sharing my "life changing Machu Picchu experience" with. Most of which were couples from South America's favourite colonial exploiters of yesteryear, and a rag tag selection of solo travellers: myself, a south korean who spoke virtually no english or spanish and responded to polite enquiries into his health and happiness with "Machu Picchu!", and an American girl. The latter traveller was a bundle of locally crafted bags, piggietails and a sweet smile below her slightly sun reddened nose. In spite of our first day being a 30km downhill mountain bike ride, she couldn't ride a bike, but had been promised transport by the cash hungry Peruvian tour office. I'm not sure if there are sayings about the value of a peruvian promise, I'd imagine that it would be that it's worth its weight in dust. So many interesting surprises would rear their ugly, disfigured heads when the time was right. The first of such being 'no car; you ride'. Emily and myself hung back and I bunny hopped around the bumpy tracks while Emily tried to find out the range of ways to ditch it off the bike. This was going to result in her really hurting herself, so we gave up and walked. We arrived late, shouted at our ambilivently incompetent guide, ate and slept.

The next day we were to walk through the jungle side of Machu Picchu across the mountians. Due to rain we left late, and the beginning half of the day was sodden. As we climbed the sun came out and dried our wet clothes. With the sun the sand flies came out and immediately began looking for exposed places to bite us; the found them. To begin with, the repellent worked, but apparently it's not as effective when you accidentally drop it off a cliff and can't use it anymore. The climb rose and fell on the narrow trails clinging to the steep sides of the mountains, with the slightly lagging hoards in close pursuit. Even with a decent level of concentration required you could not help but be awed by the landscape surrounding us: the green mountains rose and fell sharply in every direction, with snaking whitewater rivers powerfully fighting their way through the valleys. The clouds, when present, were effectively blown through natural wind tunnels that the imposing valleys created and would dance around the summits quickly but daintily. On this trip describing some of the natural beauty I have seen thus far has been difficult and pictures never really do justice to what I'd love to share but just can't. Anyway, I digress. As the hours passed, the sun dipped and the bite count mounted on my legs; we were all pretty tired and in need of some rest when we arrived at the hot springs. Locally known as 'Gringo Soup', the big pool of hot springs steamed in the distance like an oasis for fly bitten trekkers. We were in the pool quicker than the water draining from the side of the mountain, and it was pure bliss. As we splashed around in the hot pools, beer sitting by the side of the pool, the sun dipped behind the imposing mountains.

By the next morning the itch from my many many bites had begun to drive me crazy, and by many I mean from my knees down to my ankles possibly a couple of hundred. Furthermore, my shorts were soaked from swimming from the day before leaving me with my coarse jeans to persistently irritate my bites. Walking for hours was going to be a challenge. After of two hours of walking, and our first sighting of Mighty Picchu from below we arrived at Aguas Calientes (Hot Waters). The plan was to lunch and then take an arduous climb to a viewpoint over MP, however walking in my jeans was now beyond being an option and Emily was tired from the last few days. We slipped from the group and went off to find more hot springs to bathe in. Later that evening major arguments errupted between the guide and the group regarding the fact that the scenic (and not so cheap) train journey back that we had paid for had now been replaced with a much cheaper and time consuming journey in a cramped minivan. In addition to this the day that we had paid to spend at Machu Picchu would be shortened as we would need to leave much earlier. The weasel of a guide was verbally attacked from all sides by seven furious trekkers and slumped away quickly saying there was nothing he could do and that he would wake us at 4am in time for a sunrise at Machu Picchu. 4am came and passed and we were eventually awoken on the cusp of 5am by the guide, questioning why we hadn't left. Shouting followed. The little shit had fucked us over one last time and we left hastily to board a bus to MP in hope that we hadn't missed our tour.

Machu Picchu recieves thousands of visitors on a daily basis; for a reason, it is a wonderfully preserved and magical place, that in spite of my aforementioned thoughts pulls the crowds for a reason. Sadly the past 24 hours had put the seven of us in a dreadful mood, hardly prepared to be taken by the surroundings. Furthermore the thick, wet clouds clung to the mountain and visibility was minimal. The tour was good and the place definitely worth visiting but our consequently sour moods an the unlucky weather ruined our experience to one of the big boys in world heritage sites.

The van returned late, and Emily and I spent the next couple of days in Cusco planning our route through northern Peru n our way to Mancora: the most highly recommended beach spot in Peru, where we planned to pass a few weeks. Long bus journeys were ahead to get there and unknown intermittent stops along the way as the Equatorial line beckoned us Northwards.