The mornings are just getting earlier and earlier. This time, we were unceremoniously snatched from our sleep at 4 o’clock in the morning, to be ready to leave the hostel half an hour later.
We had no choice but to force our bodies to wake up as we began the walk to the first Machu Picchu checkpoint, which we had to be at before 5.30. It was still pitch-black at this stage and we were determined to make it to the top before sunrise, and before the rest of the tourists started arriving in their droves.
The ascent, even sharing backpacks and swapping every now and again, was exhausting. Alex and I took the lead, with poor Elise quickly falling behind. The trouble was finding a balance between waiting for her to catch up and take rests while making sure we didn’t reach the top too late. Thankfully, the spectacular views we were rewarded with made the gruelling trek up the hundreds upon hundreds of steep stone steps almost bearable. As we reached the upper stages, dawn was slowly breaking over Huayna Picchu and the surrounding mountains, offering us a stunning panorama over the whole valley.
When, after several rests for water, food, stripping down of layers and recuperation of breath, the top finally came into view, we put our favourite motivational tunes on Alex’s iPod: Quiero Casarme Contigo and Vivir Mi Vida. The feeling of achievement when we crested the hill was incredible; it felt like hours had passed, though it had barely been fifty minutes. We’d seen several tourist buses go past at the various landing stages (“Bus wankers”) and felt like we’d truly deserved our spot in the queue. We even took a picture of us looking bedraggled and exhausted at the back of the line.
After we’d got through the check point with our tickets, it was another short climb to the Machu Picchu ruins themselves. Being one of the first groups to enter the site, we were fortunate enough to see the ruins before they became overrun with crowds: the view was spectacular. There aren’t words to describe the feeling of gazing over the mountainside upon the ancient Inca ruins. It was truly overwhelming - and the knowledge that we had climbed up there made it all the more magical.
At 7am we had a private tour with our group, led by our guide, Amoroso. We were able to descend right into the ruins and observe all the inner workings of the place, with much-needed explanations of the previous purpose of what little remains. We also got the opportunity to get up close and personal with the resident llamas.
After the tour, which went on until around 9.30, Alex and I dropped off our rucksack at the cloakroom ready to ascend the even steeper mountain of Huayna Picchu, 360m above the Machu Picchu site. While Machu Picchu literally translates as ‘old mountain’, Huayna Picchu is its ‘young’ twin, and was apparently the residence of high priests and virgins. A small group would reputedly walk to Machu Picchu every morning to signal the coming of the new day - a whole lot of effort for something which seems inherently obvious, if you ask me. At the top of the mountain is the Temple of the Moon and the Great Cavern.
Only 400 people are admitted onto the Huayna Picchu site each day, and Eleanor, Alex, Matt and I had been lucky enough to secure these tickets. Elise hadn’t managed to get a ticket, but since her struggle up the first mountain, I think she was quite glad. However, the climb up Huayna Picchu didn’t feel nearly as gruelling as the climb to Machu Picchu itself - possibly because it was shorter, or maybe because we didn’t have our rucksack, or, most likely, because we weren’t rushing to get to the top and took our time instead, stopping for rests and to take photographs. We actually spent most of the ascent in fits of uncontrollable laughter; I’m not sure whether we suddenly all became hilarious people or whether the altitude was just getting to our heads. The mountain itself did actually provide quite a lot of the entertainment in the form of tiny caves we had to crawl through on our hands and knees, which would certainly have been a challenge for a slightly-fatter-than-average person.
We’d just about exhausted all the photographic opportunities at every angle at the top of the mountain, and were beginning our descent, singing The Circle of Life, when we bumped into a Brazilian guy trying to take a selfie. I offered to take the picture for him, which got us talking, and he soon turned out to be pretty cool, as well as pretty attractive - and he spoke perfect English, which was a winner. He said he’d heard us singing The Lion King and, presumably because he realised what a cool bunch of people we were, decided to tag along with us.
He said he had an English name, Newton (I wondered out loud what his Portuguese one was - as if there hadn’t been enough blonde jokes the past few days). We chatted for a while at the foot of the mountain before going our separate ways. Only half an hour later we bumped into him again, and again half an hour after that on our way to the Inca Bridge.
After taking in some last sites at the Inca Bridge, which was another tough uphill walk away, we decided we should start heading back. We were just on our way to the exit, when who should we bump into but the German guy (the one who’d rushed off to the disco on Saturday). Alex and I were polite but soon made our excuses to escape.
The steep descent took us just as long as the ascent had that morning - probably because by this time, we’d been walking for nearly twelve hours, and the steps were so steep that we had to take them slowly to avoid falling over or damaging our knees. We had several false alarms, thinking we’d reached the bottom, before the bridge finally came into sight.
By 5pm we’d collected our bags from the hostel and were sitting down for a three-course meal, with nachos and drinks, all for S/.15. We were just tucking into our food when who should turn up, but Newton! It seemed like some kind of weird twist of fate, so he took our Facebook details so we could stay in touch. Not only that, but on our way to the train station, we were walking past the hostel when we heard someone calling us: it was Simo, the Israeli guy! Since he’d been on the four-day tour, his trek had finally caught up with ours!
By the time we finally got on the train at 6.45, we were exhausted and I could feel an illness coming on. We’d spotted the German guy yet again as we were boarding the train and had bets on that we’d end up next to him - thankfully, we were in luck and he didn’t even see us. I’ve never seen such a sorry-looking group of passengers in my life; the whole train was full of smelly, dirty, exhausted travellers. In the short hour-and-a-half journey to Ollantaytambo, I fell into such a deep sleep that it was difficult to come round at the end of the line.
When we got off the train, we were expecting to see our tour bus already waiting, and we were getting quite concerned when fifteen minutes went by without any sign of any Loki representative. Finally, we saw someone approaching with a Loki placard and we set off on our way.
I didn’t sleep at all during the bumpy, windy journey through the mountains, and by the time we reached the drop-off point in Cusco, I was feeling awful. We’d been planning to go to Loki to meet the Australians for drinks, but I didn’t think I could face it.
We got back to the hostel to find Elise already in her pyjamas; she’d been violently sick all the way home and was feeling even worse than the rest of us. Knowing the hectic few days I’d got ahead of me, I decided not to risk making myself seriously ill and skipped the night out (taking the sensible option for once) to make sure I finish my stay in Peru on a high.
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