AT LAST MACHU PICCHU
I’ve been drawn
to places ancient all my life. There are
some who might say it started when I married the venerable but Reluctant
Traveler back when he was a good 11 years senior to my tender 19. But no, marriage to Stanley wasn't the cause, I began dreaming of distant and remote places long before then.
It all started with childhood tales of stirring exploration and ancient people. My heroes were Tamerlane, Marco Polo and
Alexander and the unsung people who trod the Silk Road.
It’s probably why my
itchy feet took me to places today’s young Bali and surfie travellers never have
heard of much less wanted to visit: To
Kashmir in India and the backroads of China, to Bukhara and Samarkand, to
ancient cities of Turkey and Greece, to Petra (above) and Jerash … and now,
at long last, at my own now venerable age of 74 I was about to enter the
mysterious and glorious Inca city of Machu Picchu.
Besides all those high and lofty reasons, a good 30 or so
years ago my daughter had beaten me to it and I was itching to follow in her
footsteps. I left it a bit late in life, but hey! I finally got there.
*
But it pays to delve into Machu Picchu’s history before sampling the real thing. There is a reason for that and I won’t touch on it just yet. Be content for the moment to understand that on two previous visits to South America, side trips to this great site of Incan antiquity had been well and truly thwarted.
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HIRAM BINGHAM
Back in 1911 the
gentleman on the left, an American professor from Yale University, Hiram
Bingham, came upon the ruins of Machu while searching for Vilcabamba, the last
capital of the Inca before their ultimate defeat by the Spaniards. Instead of the capital he came across another
set of ruins, high up in a remote mountain range. The ruins were well hidden, covered in grass
and vegetation, and though he realised they weren’t Vilcabamba he surmised these
ancient relics were once of considerable importance in the history of the
Incans.
He was of course quite
right in his assumption, but I doubt he realised at the time just how important
to the country’s future economy these ruins would turn out to be.
Early photos of a
barely discernible Machu Picchu
After considerable
research Bingham could find only one brief reference to the site being known as
‘Picchu’ in a 1568 document which suggested it belonged to the Incan Emperor
Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui, the ninth ruler of the Inca in the 1400’s. Back then before the Spanish conquest, the
Incan empire stretched from today’s modern country of Ecuador way south to
Chile: A vast empire that put the Greeks and Romans almost to shame.
Since Bingham’s initial
discovery archaeologists have found evidence to support a theory that Machu Picchu
was originally constructed as a royal estate, a holiday palace cared for by trusted
servants in the emperor’s absence.
Eventually the Incans were routed by the Spanish and the temples and
buildings of Machu Picchu disappeared in the sands of time unknown to the emerging
civilisations in the northern hemisphere and not to be re-discovered until the
age of modern exploration.
Archaeologists delved
into the walled sites illustrious past uncovering temples and places of
residence created long ago for an elite and exalted personage, a bolt hole for
an emperor, a place of sanctity.
Hiram Bingham, back
when he first chanced on these ruins must have been tingling with the
vibrations of ancient history and culture that fairly throbbed and echoed across
the remote mountain peaks.
His initial book
sparked the flames of revival and the emergence of today’s much admired Machu
Picchu.
This then is the Incan city of Machu Pichu, set high in
Peru’s Andes above the twisting, rushing Urubamba River. In Bingham’s day the
site was largely inaccessible; without a
horse one needed to be a mountain goat to traverse the torturously steep trails
and penetrate the heavily forested countryside. Today an estimated 900,000
tourists a year make the pilgrimage to Machu Picchu. In fact so successful in
terms of tourist marketing has brand Machu
Picchu become it is now considered to be Peru’s veritable ‘cash cow’ raking
in millions of dollars per annum.
Such success though needs careful policing. Hordes of visitors were placing the revered
site under severe stress. At various
stages in its history land slides and
earthquakes had wrought their damage.
Blissfully ignorant of all this I made my way to Cusco,
deservedly known as Peru’s historical capital as opposed to Lima, the official
capital of the country. I don’t know
what I expected to find, well meaning South American friends had warned me of
‘pick pockets’ and anti social violence, so I was pleasantly surprised to find
Cusco a beautiful and entertaining destination.
I spent only two days there and wish I had allowed for a longer stay.
GETTING THERE
The machinations for actually getting to Machu Picchu
are extremely intricate and weighed down in official bits and pieces of paper. But
such is the overwhelming demand, visitors to the site are restricted to just 2500
per day which means it is essential to purchase and arrange your tickets
together with mode of travel and accommodation well in advance.
Where in the past backpackers could just turn up at the
entrance and camp amongst the ruins, entry now is strictly by ticket with
conditions attached. No food is allowed
to be taken in, no on site toilet facilities are available, (If you’re caught short bad luck) only the elderly or infirm may
use a walking stick. (Though honestly you
need two good legs and healthy lungs to cover the entire site, a walking stick
isn’t going to haul you up a million steps.)
With no road access to the small nearest town of Agua
Caliente the only way in to this mountain stronghold is by train. I opted for a
package deal - accommodation in Cusco,
with an early morning bus and train trip included along with a guide once I
arrived. Costs can vary according to pocket but even the cheapest will be
considerable.
All up and leaving my Cusco hotel well before dawn, the
bus and rail trip to Machu took just on four hours. A light snack was provided on the train,
itself a modern glass roofed carriage providing a thrilling ride along a
winding track with extraordinary views of rushing river and snow capped
peaks.
The zig zag road to the top
The arrival in Agua Caliente some 3 hours later, a
small tourist trap designed to exchange souvenirs for hard cash, was an
exercise in panic; six carriage loads of
tourists each frantically trying to find their allotted guides before being
shunted onto buses traversing the 13 zig zag bends on the climb up to a Machu
Picchu that was out of sight way above in the clouds.
A word of advice
here for intending visitors, do buy a sealed bottle of water from the hovering vendors,
plus a tube of suncream, and a tube of bug repellant; and if like me you need a power boost every
now and then, a small bar or two of chocolate.
Believe me, you will need all of these for the fascinating hours ahead. I
grabbed hold of the water only and consequently paid the price with a sunburned
nose, itchy bites and minor food deprivation.
I found my guide not far from where the train pulled
up. Only two others were part of his
flock and to our amazement we found that all three of us were Australians from
the same south eastern part of Queensland.
As my Reluctant Traveler would later comment, what are the odds on that?
Our obliging guide took us on his tour of temples and
royal residences. He knew his subject
well; any visitors without guide or guide book would have left Machu Picchu as
very ignorant travelers indeed. And that is another point I will recap on
later.
Rangers diligently
guard the various paths and byways ensuring visitors obey the rules.
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There are indeed
many steps, lots of steps.
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Order and
manicured grass where Hiram Bingham saw only tangled vegetation
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Compare this snap
with the very old one below of a solitary gentleman standing outside the ruins
of a walled house.I took the modern shot myself, not game to scramble along to
the spot where he stood. It is a sheer
drop and positively terrifying.
A HUMAN TOUCH
The very desolate nature of the original ruins
photographed by Hiram Bingham, the hint of recent occupation is completely
absent in today’s Machu Picchu, and that is something I find
incomprehensible.
Today’s presentation is pristine, neat and
orderly. Where, in Bingham’s time an
ancient dwelling was perhaps nothing more than a heap of deserted rock walls,
today we find the building has been reassembled, the weeds and falling roofline
seen above dispensed with.
The same has been done to terraced gardens and
retaining walls that perhaps suffered in prior disasters of nature have all
been rebuilt and represented in apple pie order. A factor is missing, one that is not entirely
the dirt and grime of age.
In the back of my mind I struggled with a tiny smidgen
of disappointment. I kept saying to myself, people,
ordinary human beings struggled and strained to build this monumental
city. They carted rocks, struggled with
ancient versions of plum lines, utilised skills learned through the ages. They
worshipped ancient gods, looked to the solar system for guidance, putting their
trust in the moon, the sun and the stars.
They grew their
crops, tended their animals, produced families to carry on their same existence. They lived and laughed and loved here in this
remote part of the Andes and yet we visitors from another life and culture have
been given no aid to visualising nor understanding all this.
I hesitate to suggest, but tastefully designed picture stories placed
in unintrusive spots would help fill the gap. (In Petra for instance the local Bedouin still wandered the ruins and that
vast site had not been so carefully air brushed to remove the signs of
antiquity.)
Those who chose not to follow a guide or failed to
consult historical reference would have done their visit a grave disservice.
History is not just about buildings and paths, its
about the people who created them.
My clumsy comparison though is largely undeserved. Even
in the midst of its perfection Machu Picchu is indeed an amazing destination,
one that makes your heart race and your imagination run riot. I still find it hard to believe I have been
there, that I have actually walked its paths, gazed out at the magnificent
panorama of windswept valleys and mountain peaks, that I along with all those
millions of other tourists have trod in the footsteps of the ancient Inca.
This favourite haunt of a long dead Incan Emperor
deserves its inclusion as a World Heritage Site and Peru needs to be
congratulated for preserving its image and welcoming its visitors.
And to prove that daughter Jenny and mother Robyn have both traversed this
same breathtaking path, admittedly a good 30 or so years apart, I include the
photographic proof.
Though I have to admit Jenny was far more adventurous
than her mum.
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Robyn Mortimer ©2013
