For a small fortune, even by UK standards, a bus took us to the nearby town of Aguas Calientes.  This is the closest town to Machu Picchu, which at first appears to be a pretty miserable place – full of expensive hotels, tacky souvenir shops, busy restaurants, and American and European tourists.  Based on the horror stories about the thermal springs we decided to give bathing a miss. 

We never found out if Gringo Bill’s lives up to it’s good reputation.  So much for making a reservation in advance – when we turned up, they didn’t have a room reserved for us and they wanted double the price we had agreed over the phone.  The extremely rude receptionist assumed we would just put up with her offer, but we just walked away.  Later, overhearing a conversation between six friends, we listened to an almost identical story.  They were extremely pissed off because they had already paid for their rooms through an agency and ‘Bill’ was insisting they coughed up for a room again. 

 Los Cabaña was a far nicer, and friendly, alternative.  After being so cold and wet, and not washing properly for four days, the shower was magic.  Aguas Calientes we were in, and ‘aguas calientes’ it was.  Standing underneath the hot, powerful jet of water, it was wonderful to feel the bones warm up again.  It was just a good job the soap and hot water ran out, otherwise Vicky would have stood there forever. 

Against popular opinion, we quite liked Aguas Calientes, once the last train left and all the tourists had gone, that is.  The main street is, in fact, the main rail track, with shops, stalls and restaurants lining the platform.  As long as we stayed away from here we seemed to be relatively safe from being touted.  Strolling around the main square with Bobby (the Canadian), and Joe (“Ah, Huh, I Rekkun”), was more than a pleasant way to spend an evening, reflecting on our trip to Machu Picchu.  Bobby taught us how to deal with any touts outside the restaurants.  When they approached, he would say “Que tal?” (How are you?), which would really throw them, not knowing what to say, and leaving them completely speechless.  By the time they figured out a reply, we had passed by and onto the next restaurant.

The next morning, just to make absolutely sure we were completely worn out from the rigours of the Inca Trail we decided to go on yet another walk, this time up Putukusi, which along with Huayna Picchu is one of the four sacred mountains that surround Machu Picchu.  It was a very pleasant walk, for about half an hour, until we turned a corner and were faced with a sheer vertical face with a rather dodgy looking ladder going up it.  Admittedly it was made of large branches and it seemed to be securely fixed to the rock face, even if it did appear to lean outwards at a few places and we could not see the top.  We were determined to make it to the top, particularly Caius, who wanted to overcome his fear of heights (not the best place to start).  After 120 rungs of intense concentration, and sweat, we reached the top.  Caius found some solid ground away from the top rung and after the adrenalin levels had dropped we set off again.  Around the next corner we were confronted with another ladder.  It was not quite as long, but around the next corner was another and then another.  This happened a few more times and finally we reached a path and a view of the rest of the route.  It was steep but manageable and, better still, there were no more ladders.

Maybe it was our poor Spanish, but we were convinced that the tourist information officer in Aguas Calientes told us it was not scary and if we had been up Huayna Picchu we would not have a problem!

Earlier on in the walk, when he was clinging tightly to a ladder, Caius had said he was not going to stop until he could see Machu Picchu.  It finally came into sight as we rounded the last corner and got a view over the other side of the mountain.  From here Machu Picchu looked so small, but it was interesting to see it from a different angle and how extensive the terracing is around the buildings.  From our vantage point we could easily make out all the geological fault lines that lie underneath the ridge that Machu Picchu is built on.  There was a constant stream of buses snaking up and down the road, ferrying visitors from the recently arrived train from Cusco.  We stripped off and lay our sweaty clothes out on the rocks to dry.  Flying high above us was the rainbow coloured Andean flag.  We were finally disturbed by a couple who had also made it to the top.  Like most people, they had travelled from Cusco on the train and were using Aguas Calientes as a base to get to Machu Picchu.  However, they had got all the way here (and paid the extortionate train fare), but were not prepared to pay $20 to go into the site as they thought it was too expensive.  It seemed a bit like going to a posh Chinese restaurant and ordering Fish ’n’ Chips.

For some reason going back down was not quite as scary as the climb up.  Perhaps it was the thought that the quicker we got down, the quicker we would be back on ‘firm’ ground.  It was certainly a relief when we finally made it to the bottom of the last rung..

The train back to Ollantaytambo was a particularly posh one, with soft, comfortable seats.  Luckily we didn’t have to pay extra for the ticket, as it was all included in our Inca Trail trip.  Forking out a bit extra for a decent tour company definitely paid off.  Given the low cost of transport in Peru in general, this train ride is probably the most expensive journey, flying excluded, in the country.  With the knowledge that tourists will pay whatever is being charged just to get to Machu Picchu the train company can charge what the hell they like.  Our single ticket from Aguas Calientes to Ollantaytambo (about 15 miles) would have cost $25 each – bargain.  Windows in the ceiling meant we could watch the mountains slowly pass by as we trundled along the valley.  The sun was just starting to set and the snow capped peaks, towering way above us, had a hint of red on them.  It seemed more than two days previously that we had been walking in amongst the mountains and now we were leaving them, and Machu Picchu, behind.  By the time we reached Ollantaytambo the sun had disappeared, only to be replaced by a beautiful full moon.  The pink light on the mountains turned to a peaceful, eerily calm, glow.

The train station at Ollantaytambo was in total confusion and there was no one there to meet us, as promised.  The conductor informed us that there was another stop further down the track where all the buses, that couldn’t get through the narrow streets of Ollantaytambo, stopped to pick up passengers.  Logically, we stayed on, but when the conductor shoved us off at the side of the road we realised we had made a mistake.  Stuck in the middle of nowhere and with all the bus drivers denying any responsibility for three scruffy travellers (Bobby was also with us) we had no option but to walk the short distance back to the village.  This confusion must happen all the time because a few minutes later a minibus came to our rescue and took us back to Ollantaytambo.  When we hadn’t shown up at the train station, they guessed what had happened and drove out to collect us.    Back in Ollantaytambo, we hooked up with a larger bus to take us the last leg of our journey, back to Cusco.  Unfortunately the driver had left the lights on and we ended up pushing the bus through the main square to bump start it. 

The full moon hovered above the mountains, lighting up the valley around and ahead us.  On the previous journeys along this part of the Sacred Valley we had not seen any of the peaks as they had all been shrouded in cloud.  That night we could see for miles, the Vilcabamba and Salcantay mountain ranges looked tantalisingly close.

Article taken from Inca Hoots by Caius Simmons & Vicky Brewis.

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