The tower of Pisac
With the Inca Trail looming in just a couple of days, and too much good food and rarified air slowing us down, we decided it was time for a bit of training ahead of our forthcoming mountain marathon. To the local bus station in Cusco we went, walking sticks at the ready and gallons of water in the rucksacks, ready to explore more Inca citadels in the sky. And we weren’t disappointed one bit!
The bus ride itself was great; there was one lady at the front with a rice bag containing two guinea pigs that insisted on squealing in fear at the thought of the dinner plate waiting for them later on. Away we climbed from Cusco to the pass that connects this great city to the Sacred Valley and the true land of the Incas, passing along the way the route we’d taken the day before when walking from Tambo Machay back to the city.
And then we were through the pass and dropping down, down, down into a fertile land that supported the Inca empire with a plethora of crops and fruits for many a year and still continues to support many local communities to this day. The road hugged the mountainside, a stream twisted, turned and gushed over rocks far below us and as the rain lifted the mist hugged the mountainsides all around us – stunning. Every so often the driver was forced to slow right down and drive around rocks and boulders that had plummeted down the mountainsides far above us and landed on the road, very scary! Suddenly we were into a series of switchbacks, clinging to the mountainside high above the town of Pisac, looking down on the awnings of market stalls and red roofs of houses, wondering where the ruins of Pisac were on the other side of the valley, shrouded in a swirling mist.
Dropped off by the bridge where torrents of water of the Rio Urumbamba smashed into huge boulders on the riverbed, we made our way through drizzle to the main plaza and a much deserved cheese and ham sandwich washed down with Coca Cola. A quick wander around the market where Em took a fancy to an Alpaca blanket and scarf, and we were ready to find the ruins.
Now, every guidebook we’ve read doesn’t make a great play about what’s at Pisac, other than to mention some great Inca terracing and a steep climb to find them. Perhaps this is deliberate; what we found came close to Machu Picchu in terms of sheer audacity of building and splendour of location, but with so few people there to enjoy the incredible spectacle.
Just to the side of the main church we set off, already climbing towards a waterfall filled with the recent rains that had overflowed making the cobbled stairway a small stream bed. And then we climbed through the most amazing terraces for 30 minutes or so, watching a herd of sheep being driven upwards and past us and at very fast rate of knots, marvelling at the way the Inca’s had turned this 1 in 3 mountainside into a fertile place for crops where the rays of sun so absent from the valley floor below could bring heat and warmth to young and tender plants. Crossing a stream bed on a rickety wooden bridge we climbed higher still, from time to time taking the opportunity to mark our progress against the mountainside opposite where the bus had first brought us down to Pisac. The sense of height, even at this stage, was incredible; we seemed to have climbed high into the sky and yet if we measured our distance on the ground weŽd travelled only a couple of hundred metres north.
Now, all the time we were climbing, we could see above us the ramparts of an Inca ruin, and as it got closer we felt we were nearing the top. The final push to these ramparts involved climbing hundreds of very steep, small steps positioned in an alleyway between the terraces hugging the mountainside. Fine, so long as you don’t look behind you and suddenly have a rush of vertigo to the head! At one point a small girl dressed in traditional costume with a tiny lamb looking as white as white came bounding up behind us and continued to scamper right up to the top as if this was a Sunday afternoon stroll. A Peruvian version of Heidi perhaps?!
And then we were at the “top”, in amongst the ramparts, peering through ancient windows down to the valley floor hundreds of feet below us. While these ruins were impressive enough, we still didn’t know that these were only the outer military buildings with their coarse architecture and dominant, defensive positions across all angles of the valley. Moving precariously behind them on a thin ridge with sickening drops on either side we spied further magnificient terracing swinging around the side of the precipitous edge we were stood on, and a path climbing yet higher and higher above us across rocky edges. On we went, wondering just exactly where we would end up at, other than right at the bottom for one wrong move.
Beyond the next false summit we came across something quite out of this world, a formal settlement of a religious function with finely carved stone fitting perfectly like jigsaw pieces in the soft mid-afternoon light. Here were a set of buildings straddling the ridge between each stupifying drop, with a hidden spring carefully utilised to feed water through the entire complex via finely carved channels and fountains. The gentle trickle of water, the warmth of the stones in the buildings and magnificient views all around complimented each other perfectly, and beckoned both of us to take a quiet moment of contemplation about what made the Inca civilisation such an ambitious one.
But we weren’t finished yet! Again we climbed higher, above the religious centre and via a small path that clung to the mountainside with drops of hundreds of feet to one side down to a dozen or so terraces sweping round. At one point we entered a small tunnel carved through the rock to avoid an even more precarious climb, before coming out the other side to yet more defensive ruins and a view across a hanging valley to a steep cliff wall pock marked with hundreds of Inca tombs.
And then we were at the top. We’d made friends with a Czech, a Columbian and a Canadian on the way up this wonderful path, and decided to share a cab back down with them since time was getting on and neither of us fancied fighting the inevitable vertigo that would come with making a descent. Eventually one turned up and offered to take us all down for an extortionate rate – but he had us by the short and curlies, and despite Igor’s best efforts to negotiate, we swallowed our pride and jumped in, with Eug penned into the boot space with the rucksacks! The trip down wasn’t quite as terrifying as it would have been if we’d walked, but again there were rocks and boulders littering the road, along with stray cows, llamas, donkeys grooming each other and the ubiquitous sheep found in these parts. All part of life!
And then we were back at the bridge, exhausted but exhilirated, delighted we’d made the effort to find and explore this stunning citadel in the clouds. Now on to Ollantaytambo, even deeper into the Sacred Valley and even closer to starting the Inca Trail. All we needed was a local bus heading that way and a fair wind to get us to our place of rest for the night, fifty odd miles away amongst the growing mountains.
Tags: Peruvian tales
mihai