After three punishing days in the mountains we were beginning our journey to
Machu Picchu. For weeks I had been tipsy with anticipation at the thought of visiting
this legendary Inca city. But as we sat on the bus, shivering in our filthy clothes, bones aching, there was no talk of the wonder that awaited us. All thoughts were on the hot showers at our hostel that night.
At Ollantaytambo we were herded aboard the Vistadome to Aguas Calientes. Operated by Peru Rail, this slow but comfortable train has overhead windows that afford a view of the mountains chugging by. Vistadome is the expensive way to
travel to Machu Picchu - with a less luxurious backpacker train and a local service offering cheaper alternatives.
We found ourselves in a first class carriage and wolfed the free packed lunch sheepishly, aware that the stink emanating from our group was choking the appetites of fellow passengers
Needless to say we were stripped and showered within moments of arriving in Aguas Calientes. It was too late in the evening to walk up to the hot springs the town is famous for - a pity as they are probably its only redeeming feature.
Aguas is no more than a commercial resort - a newly-built staging area for Machu Picchu consisting of a dull assortment of restaurants and gift shops. Everything here is twice
the price of Cusco and the place has about as much soul as a Disneyland parking lot.
A fourth consecutive early night was in order - in any case we had to be up and on the bus before dawn to catch the sunrise over the city. We eschewed the option of waking at 3am to hike two hours up the mosquito-infested mountain, opting instead for a comfortable ride to the summit.
At 5am, Aguas really comes to life. Hundreds of tourists queue along the pavements, waiting their turn to board the early buses. The journey is spectacular - the surrounding mountains blanketed in morning mist, semi-tropical vegetation spilling onto the road sides. After the barren drama of Lares valley, Machu Picchu feels like another world - lush, humid and ethereal.
As the bus climbs relentlessly, zig-zagging its way up the dirt track, passengers fall silent. It is so isolated, so intimidating and so very high, that one wonders why any civilisation would dare venture up here at all - let alone build a city on the mountaintop.
But to the Incas, a people who worshipped the sun and stars, building most of their major cities at several thousand feet, Machu Picchu was a natural progression.
This soaring triumph was the seat of government for the Inca empire. Political and religious decrees were set here and relayed back to the capital, Cusco, by 'chasquis' - runners who traversed the Andes bearing messages encrypted in knotted string. These 'quipus' were the only method of recording information in a culture that achieved such spectacular feats as Machu Picchu without ever writing anything down.
At the entrance to the site, more long queues - and a quirky tourist-pleaser - the chance to have 'Machu Picchu' stamped on your passport. Dawn was breaking by this time and we were itching to get inside to watch the first rays climbing over the eastern mountains.
Our guide raced us up to the highest point of the site, thighs and hamstrings grumbling up the steep Inca steps. Behind us the mist was churning faster, warmed by the early sun. Then we were there at the very top - the Guardhouse - and turned to see the deserted, magnificent ruins drenched in golden light.
This was enough for me. Yes, I was interested in the guided tour that would follow. But it is this heart-stopping view, revealed by the dawn, that I will always remember.
After a significant spell of gawping and frantic photography we were led round - our guide pointing out the Temple of the Sun, the astronomical observatory and the agricultural terraces that made this mountain city self-sufficient. Around 200 people lived here, mostly priests and political advisors to the Sapa Inca - ruler of a vast and complex empire that stretched nearly the length of South America.
Exactly what happened to this tiny, eminent community is a historical mystery. In the Temple of the Condor, mummified bodies were discovered. They died of syphilis - suggesting perhaps that Machu Picchu was wiped out by an Old World disease. Another theory suggests that its inhabitants fled to evade attack by the Spanish conquistadors.
Whatever the truth, for several hundred years life here had evidently been luxurious. The accommodation was lavish - The Sapa Inca himself enjoying a royal enclosure that included an indoor toilet and a bed large enough for 12 concubines.
By the time American explorer Hiram Bingham 'discovered' Machu Picchu in 1911, it was overgrown with jungle and lost to the modern world. Local people maintain that they always knew of its existence - the story goes that Bingham bribed a local farmer to reveal its location.
Among Peruvian historians, Bingham is a reviled figure. His team are blamed for plundering the site of its gold and precious stones and many sacred artefacts were later taken back to the vaults of Yale University, which to this day refuses to return them to the Peruvian Institute of Culture.
As our tour drew to a close, the warmth of the sun and the exertions of our four-day trek conspired against us. The upshot was that my trek mates and I can claim the dubious distinction of having slept for two hours on the grassed terraces of Machu Picchu.
When we awoke we decided to shun the bus ride back to Aguas Calientes, tackling instead the one-hour descent down a steep and ancient stairway, beating our way through clouds of evil mosquitoes in the baking heat.
Painful as it was for our aching limbs, it was a fitting end to an exhausting, exhilarating Andean adventure.
