But down memory lane I had decided to go, and the day started with a 5am rise from a dead sleep, a 5:20 quick bite to eat the breakfast left out by my host the night before, and a 5:30 dazed walk to the train station. Inside the gate there was a coffee bar, which I utilized in order to down the coffee I would need to wake up. I mean it was a very, very deep sleep.
The boarding of the train was organized and efficient, and we left more or less on time. I was very glad the decision had been made to pay the extra $3 for upgraded seats. This also included a beverage and snack, although the coffee and stale cookies were nothing to write home about.
The start to the day was nice and the view of the gorge through which the train route travelled was stunning. Most of my last journey here was done in darkness. There was lingering evidence of the rail closures of the past couple of years when the river rose high and washed out the tracks.
Upon arrival at the town of Aguas Calientes (the name meaning hot waters, for some thermal baths located in the area) there was a maze of mostly closed market stalls to navigate, and it was easy to get turned around looking for the exit and the way to the cultural centre where the tickets to the ruins themselves are sold. A passport is required to purchase the tickets, which I did for the hefty price of nearly $50. Then there was the short-lived search to buy the tickets for the bus to transport all of us tourists who chose not to walk up to the ruins. Another peek at my passport and I was allowed to spend the $31. to use their services.
A hop, skip and a jump later a seat was procured and the bus did depart. Up, up, up... a long, winding, switchback road that scared silly anyone unwise enough to actually look down, especially when busses had to pass on what is essentially a one lane road.
There was a surprisingly short line-up to get into the ruins. I expected a crowd, but then the option of staying over and trying to catch the sunrise by lining up at 4am for the first bus at 6am had been easily discarded, and I suppose the crowd had more or less already been through.
And so I once again found myself roaming the lost city of the Inca. I certainly never anticipated a return journey here, but there was much I was too tired to take in on my previous visit. Then I had legs of jelly after 4 days of trekking, and was on auto pilot. This time I arrived with legs, lungs and health more or less intact.
As most people took the path leading up to the heights of the ruins, I chose a path that countered and descended to the lower ruins. This was done mainly to avoid the crowds, and because I dislike feeling like a herded sheep. The sun shone down for the first hour of roaming before the expected clouds rolled in and rain ponchos sprouted.
Sauntering across the lower terracing to the temple of the sun area I looked for the alpaca that are set to graze to keep the grass controlled, but there were none about. From time to time I listened in on the guides speaking to the various tour groups, and realized that a lot of the information given was contradictory... I mean this is the lost city, with there is no one about who knows the inside story.
Walked the temple of the three windows, saw the sun dial and the temple of the condor, but I enjoyed most just wandering the nooks and crannies left out by the tours. Followed overgrown pathways, walked the extensive gardens, imagined living in the residential complexes and wondered how it must have felt to be a prisoner chained and tortured in the prison area.
Looking out at the masses of terracing I tried to envision the multitude it must have taken to tend the crops to maintain the population. There are new terraces being unearthed every year, and when a good look is taken at the jungle vegetation that surrounds the complex I suppose we will never find them all.
One thing I missed then was the path to the Inca Bridge. Long, narrow and built into the cliffs high above the gorge, those with a fear of heights should beware. Until recently you could actually walk across the bridge, but it was closed when a tourist took a tumble. The path was a back door that met up with the Inca Trail network, and is thought to have been an escape route. A collapse of the path about 50 meters past the bridge means it is no longer possible to walk this back door, even if the authorities found a way to keep tourists from falling to their deaths.
Sigh. Another opportunity lost. For a trek.
I walked back up the path to the Sun Gate. It is here that the trekkers of the Inca Trail hope to watch the sun rise over Machu Picchu. Two years ago I was one such individual, although the lost city was elusive and shrouded in clouds. This time was no different, but as then I did not mind because I was lost in thought, and in the beauty of the terracing in the mists. The air here in the cloud that rises from below is heavy and settles in your mouth and throat. It tastes elemental.
I sat for a while facing back along the trail and remembered bits of what was essentially the turning point of my life. How different a woman I am today. Then was a desperate and black time, now a time of strength and acceptance. Then I felt alone, and now I know I am loved.
Lightened by reflection, it is a relaxed and enjoyable walk back to the ruins, and with the skies having cleared there was time for a last long look at this destination of a lifetime for so many. Now smelly and exhausted after a full 8 hours wandering and exploring it was an easy decision to skip walking down the Incan Stairs to Aguas Calientes.
Somewhere along the line there was someone intelligent who decided that it was ok to allow visitors to carry a small pack into the ruins. This was much appreciated because I was able to carry in enough food and drink to keep the energy up for the full days fun. Most people do not abuse this privilege, but here and there was evidence of ignorance. When will idiots learn to respect that which is not theirs?
Down at the base of the mountain the river was roiling... the rapids massive and displaying a frightening power. It is not surprising that the rail lines and farms are washed away. Photos will not do it justice, although an effort was made.
Another ode to inhumanity was on display at a roadside gift shop, where a tiny monkey was tied up to a wooden beam. It was pacing back and forth, agitated, and obviously wanted to get away. Why wasn't it allowed to stay in the surrounding jungle and just be?
After ignoring the aggressive restaurant touts (found in every tourist area and city) I sat down for what turned out to be an expensive cup of really crappy coffee. Ick.
Back to the train station, where there was an earlier train getting set to depart. The door attendant was having no part in letting the empty seats be filled, and it was to a seat in the waiting area for me. The area filled with people, and I am sorry to say the loudest and most obnoxious of them were Israelis. At one point in the ladies room I got to listen in while two of them, young, badmouthed their friends and the tourists around them. Didn't have much nice to say about me, but it seemed rather pointless to let them know I understood what they were saying.
Once boarded and on our way it soon became evident that there was something quite wrong. The train barely made it out of crawl, and after an hour and a half of trying the engine filled the cars with smoke and gave up the ghost. Took some time to bring in a replacement, and I was glad I had provisions left from the day because once again we were served bad beverages and cookies.
My planned stop at Hearts Cafe for a hot bowl soup didn't happen because we arrived long past closing. Just a note about this Cafe. It was started as a project to employ locals and raise funds to support programs in the high mountain communities. Great place, great food and friendly people. They do good work.
After a full, full day exhaustion set in and after the short stroll (thankfully) back to the hostal, I enjoyed a welcome hot shower and a soft comfy bed.
Tomorrow... another great day was planned.
No comments:
Post a Comment