Machu Picchu
The four day uphill trek on the Incan trail to Machu Picchu is infamous for its difficulty and length. It is one of the most popular tourist activities in the world. Yet what most travelers hiking the Incan trail do not realize is that they are following a spiritual pilgrimage. It is the necessary arduous journey one makes in order to prove worthy enough to be close to God. Here God takes the form of massive, furry peaks, formed millions of years ago by the crush of continental plates. At the end of many miles and days of uphill climbing, one crests a peak and sees below a city crouched like a cat on a small bridge of land, thousands of feet above the valley. Machu Picchu is a floating cathedral, a temple dedicated solely to the pure and unadulterated power of the Andes. There are those who claim this place to be a summer resort for the ancient elite Incans, but they are misguided, jaded by our western desires. One must only stand still and gaze for a brief moment for it to become clear that Machu Picchu is a celebration, an epic poem written in stone as an ode to the mountains.
Jonas and I were alone when we traveled the easy route to the sacred site. We had searched for a spot on the Incan trail, but slots were booked or too expensive. Yoshi and Graham had gone to Cuzco to take care of business and we were left alone in Ollyantaytambo. I knew I must see Machu Picchu – it is one of the first dreams I ever remember having. Machu Picchu was my dad’s incredible floating city…Before I ever knew where or what it was I wanted to go there. I could never imagine how one arrived at site – I pictured my father climbing the steep mountain cliffs, slipping and sliding and grappling with rocks. Of course now there is a road and a tourist bus and a luxury train from Cuzco which costs $490 per person. There is even a lodge at the top renting rooms from $350 a night up. Yet nothing, none of these odd additions and facilities take from the power of Machu Picchu – its grace and beauty are as old as the rocks upon which it is perched. The popular photos one sees of Machu Picchu in the US are like a print of Mona Lisa’s eyebrow – you cannot imagine the rich weight and size of the place until you are there, standing among its many faces.
We spent one full day at Machu Picchu, mostly sitting on the edges of great cliffs and just watching. We watched the sun move from a pinkish morning glow to hazy bright daylight, bearing down from above, to evening rays of blue, cutting across the peaks. We watched hawks flying below, petted the dreadlocked rumps of llamas pecking and snuffling among their rocks and followed squirrel-rabbit creatures as they hopped into the crevices of the ruins. We saw groups of tourists waving flags and gingerly stepping around holes and tripping next to cliffs. We found isolated and terrifying spots, where the air was silent and ripe with its great height and wild strawberries grew in the grass. We ate our lunch with our feet swaying over a cliff that dove straight down like a hunting falcon; We hung our heads over the edge and felt what it might be to fly. We ran our hands over the smooth skin of the stone walls and admired the stairways leading down into thin air over the edge of the world. We lay under a tree and stared up at Wayna Picchu, the great peak that is the heart behind the ruin. We checked the sun dial, a mirror image of the peak across the valley, as its shadow slowly moved with our day. Everywhere were images and sculptures carved of rock portraying the landscape around us. I was overtaken with love; this place gave me hope. I remembered all that is good about life and all that is artistic and lovely in humans. The ugliness, poverty, corruption, exploitation, pollution and greed we have seen were wiped clean from my slate for that one day…All I could see and feel was the overwhelming beauty of a peoples’ love for their mountains.
We waited until the last bus to leave. We sat on a stone bench, still and silent, while the sun went down behind the ruins. The final tourists chattered by, the guards passed on their way out and announced the site was closing, we would have to leave. We out-waited all of them, sitting on our rock. Finally, for a few brief moments in time, we were completely alone in Machu Picchu. The place seemed to sigh and relax, the stone walls shifted and settled, the last rays of light became gentle and soft. I breathed in air that was quiet and royal, my heart moving in my chest with such a blessing. I had seen the realization of a dream of which I had never known the meaning. This place that had called to me for so many years sat still now, as it has for centuries. I cried as I said goodbye.
Tags: Machu Picchu, Peru
