Big League Chu

As if our debauchery and decadence to date had merely been a preview of what was to come, our excursion reached its bacchanalian best during the final third of our trip. Immediately upon entering the “terminal terrestre” of Cusco, Rob and I were accosted by the imperious “Juana”, an aggressive hostel owner who demanded that we stay at the Hostal Samani located “minutes from the central Plaza de Armas”. Exhausted and vulnerable as we were, we accepted the reasonable fair of five dollars per person per night and boarded in what appeared to be the annex of a family household before exploring our surroundings the following morning. We found the city of Cusco to be absolutely enchanting, composed of five centuries of Spanish architecture constructed on top of Inca foundations. The narrow, shaded streets and tiled roofs are very reminiscent of Andalusia and the warm, open plazas provide a common meeting place for denizens and visitors alike. After a day of local sightseeing, we were ready for our trip to reach its culmination, both literally and figuratively.

Friday morning at 5:00am Juana woke us up and made us breakfast (her maternal instincts cannot be overstated) before walking us to the bus stop where we would depart for Ollantataytambo en route to Aguas Calientes. I should mention that we found the translation of Aguas Calientes (“hot waters”, due to the presence of local geothermal spas) to be laughingly ironic, as our showers were perhaps the most frigid to date. We spent the night tranquilly (only a few drinks) before rising before the sun in order to make the morning bus. And then it happened. After nearly two weeks of traveling, we had finally arrived at the one destination in our itinerary that was inflexible, the testament of Inca innovation, and one of the new Seven Wonders of the World: Machu Picchu. It is impossible to put into words the sensation one feels upon entering the gates of the ancient city and looking out onto the mist covered Andes. The remoteness of the mountaintop retreat that once hosted the Inca elite helps to explain why the site remained undiscovered for nearly 500 years until the arrival of Yale professor Hiram Bingham in 1911. Rob and I began the day with a guided tour of the particular points of interest before scaling the adjacent Waynapicchu, a nearly insurmountable peak that provides a spectacular aerial view of Machu Picchu. After dozens of photos and an unrelenting throbbing in our legs, we descended from what had been once of those “once in a lifetime” experiences.

Arriving in Aguas Calientes upon our return, we dined on “Mexican food” with an interesting character named “C.S.” who we had met while scaling Waynapicchu. The New Yorker explained to us that he had moved to Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union, become an instrumental part in the establishment of the Russian stock market, and (of course not in his words) made a fortune for himself. We parted with “C.S.” (only to reconvene later for an unhealthy amount of diversion) and headed for our train back to the anxiously anticipating Juana. Waiting at the station, absolutely bushed from the day’s adventure, we lay listening to an album of Beatles covers played on traditional indigenous instruments. When the final bars of “Hey Jude” (you know the part) came on, the entire assortment of international travelers began belting out the refrain in what was the perfect ending to our tour. The night, as mentioned earlier, began chasing a couple English girls (who we rightly deemed the “Spice Girls”) before meeting “C.S” for one last hoorah. Our early flight to Lima was the official conclusion to fifteen days, countless memories and a few hundred soles well spent.