In the morning, some of us take bus to Ollantaytambo in the sacred valley of the Incas. It’s a 2 hour drive through the Urubamba valley. Tiny villages with rustic, dirt floor homes and crumbling cinder block shops (many emblazoned with the name of political candidates, their version of campaigning) appear every fifteen minutes or so. The people in the countryside still dress much the same way as they have for centuries; black wide-brimmed hats and colorful shawls. Everyone has straight inky hair, usually thickly braided, and they don’t seem to ever go grey. There are scads of dogs in every conceivable breed, but no leashes or collars, they belong to everyone and no one. In one town the garbage collectors had been on strike, and the hounds were having a field day.

Ollantaytambo is the Incan version of Rocky Balboa’s stairs. At the base where we park is a marketplace with cheesy ‘authentic’, souvenirs that our guide confides are mostly from China. There are also a few restaurants that proudly serve Guinea pig (billboards advertising this dining experience complete with disturbingly cuddly rodents nearly winking at you can be found on the roadsides). These are tourist joints. Our guide insists that in the cities no one eats Guinea pig anymore, it is only eaten in the villages. I have no feelings about eating them one way or another, but sophisticated Peruvians seem put-off when you ask about it, as if a tourist came to the USA and assumed we all gnawed on squirrel because they saw it in some hillbilly movie.
We ascend the steps of Ollantaytambo slowly; wheezing and gasping, the altitude getting the best of us. Also there is the constant obstruction of other tourists…some ambitious grandmas struggling with walking sticks (these are sold at the cheesey marketplace – supply and demand!) creating gridlock.

At the top it is impossible not to be awed by the tremendous undertaking of this fortress. Today’s guide has a lot more answers about the enigma of the Incans, although it soon becomes clear he is making a lot of shit up. The guy has brought a binder with him with Google earth photos he traced over that ‘prove’ that pretty much everything built by the Incans is in the shape of a puma or a condor or a snake (the sacred animals). After much squinting we all give up and give in and agree with him. Whatever – the guy can tell a story.

From there it is a short trip to the train station. We board the Hiram Bingham – named for the explorer who ‘discovered’ Machu Picchu, whom I will hear about endlessly while in Peru.
The train is luxurious; white tablecloths, fine china, tulip sconces, all wood paneling and brass. The curtains tied back at the windows sway with the rhythm of the tracks. We are served a lavish multi course lunch, and I feel like I’m in a Merchant-Ivory film.

A NatGeo historian gives a brief lecture on Bingham, who discovered the Machu Picchu site (which had been swallowed up by the jungle) a little over one-hundred years ago. His first photo spread was (surprise!) in National Geographic, the publication that created a major tourist destination the Peruvian government has been forced in recent years to cap at 2500 visitors a day (although my guide confides the authorities play loose and fast with that number).

Arriving in Machu Picchu we are divided into 3 groups; one will go on a fairly rigorous hike to the sun gate, the second a ‘gentle walk’ and the third a brief tour of the Citadel before sitting down to tea. Kev and I opt for the hike. We end up in a group of 6, including Chris, the NatGeo photographer who is along to give us pointers. The folks in the group are mostly the same people that opted for the Incan stairs this morning.
NOTE :Since we’ve been on this group trip, I’ve noticed a small group of old dudes who dress in safari gear every day. I mean full on Ernest Hemingway. NONE of these men choose to hike. Nor did they visit Ollantaytambo (the day trips are optional). Apparently they need that gear for napping.
The men on the hike are either in khakis, or Tommy Bahama drinking shorts (Kevin) I am in yoga pants, and the only other woman on the hike is wearing lucky bootcut jeans with a long sleeve shirt and jacket (She is also the only smoker on the trip. Kevin who fights the habit, watches her longingly each time she ducks in an alcove and lights up).

I should add that it is 80 degrees and humid.

The hike to the sun gate consists of miles of steep, stone steps winding around a mountain surrounded by lush green forest. As you rise up over the valley, you get an amazing perspective of Machu Picchu and encroaching jungle. It can be best described as something out of the original Jurassic park movie. Primitive and surreal.
There are also bugs, and despite spraying ourselves liberally, we get bit up.

We have just enough time for some reviving tea at the Sanctuary Lodge before boarding the Hiram Bingham back to Cusco. Everyone is in a celebratory mood and the bar car is jammed with pisco drinking and a Peruvian band that plays some traditional music before segueing into a cover of ‘Satisfaction,’ with the crowd yelling ‘I Can’t Get No..!’ and dancing in the aisle. Another fancy train multi-course dinner and we are back at the hotel where I scratch like a hound in my sleep till morning.