Day 5 - Planes, Trains, and Buses to Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu - Lost City of the Inca

“Something hidden! Go and Find it! Go and look beyond the ranges. Something lost behind the ranges.

Lost and waiting for you! Go!"

The words of Rudyard Kipling’s famous poem inspired American explorer, Hiram Bingham, to travel to the sacred valley of the Inca and make his way into the deep canyons and snow-capped Andean peaks of the Peruvian Vilcabamba in search of the mysterious Lost City of the Inca.

In the winter of 1911—on a rumor from a local Indian—Bingham climbed a steep jungle slope from the Urubamba River to a hogback ridge 2000 feet above. It was there Bingham discovered what would become the most famous ancient city in the world.

In the winter of 2010,—on a rumor from Kieth and Dagny, who followed Bingham’s footsteps during the production of their IMAX film, AMAZON—the intrepid explorers of Morningstar ventured into the spectacular canyons of the Vilcabamba to discover for themselves, the legendary lost city of the Inca.

They found it! This day will be impossible for any one of us to ever forget.

It began at 3:30 AM with a “wake-up” knock on the wooden doors of our frigid rooms at Amaru Hostle. (We have omitted the name of the chaperones who did the knocking to preclude reprisals.)

At 4:30 AM our mini-buses climbed the mountains northwest of Cusco headed for the Sacred Valley of the Inca. Our journey started at 11,000 feet, switched-backed another 2000 feet up the steep Eastern slopes, crossed the summit and dropped 4000 feet to the valley floor. We crossed the river and followed it west through farmlands, marked by fields and fences, haciendas and adobe villages made of adobe bricks the color of the land.

We changed to buses operated by Peru Rail at the village of Ollantaytambo and drove half an hour to Piscacucho, The journey seemed much longer. The ‘road’—a generous description—was a dirt track that followed the abandon roadbed and rails that until recently had been an operating rail line connecting Cusco with Aquas Calientes— the village at the base of Huayana Picchu from where one begins the ascent to the fabled Lost City. Huge sections of the railroad where destroyed in January when heavy rains and mudslides took out portions of the track.

The rail system between Piscacucho and Aquas Calientes was not tumbled into the river by walls of sliding mud and rock slides. Good news for us. After after almost three hours of steep hills, winding roads, ten thousand speed bumps, trying to sleep in seats designed by a skinny midget and opposing centrifugal forces playing ping pong with our sleepy heads we were finally able to enjoy the comfort, space and traveling WCs on Peru Rail’s terrific train.

The railroad followed the gorge cut by the river—raging here since primeval time—and where the vertical walls plunged straight into the river, the roadbed was hewn into the granite wall or burrowed through tunnels of solid rock.

Two lovely young ladies in uniform served a breakfast box of goodies that included paper thin slices of turkey on Peruvian bread— a type that was so delicious it would make paper thin paper taste good. An apple, not peeled. Don’t eat! A lemon tart and a bottle of water.

Our young performers were so happy to see the sun, be awake and find food they thanked the Train Attendants with a song. The village of Aquas Calientes clings to a ledge of rock between the river and the bottom of soaring cliffs. We crossed the river on a bridge not far from where Hiram Bingham crossed the river 99 years ago—almost to the day. Of that experience he said;

“There was a primitive bridge which crossed the roaring rapids at the narrowest point, where the stream was forced to flow between two great boulders. The ‘bridge’ was made of half a dozen very slender logs… spliced and lashed together with vines.”

In his journal, Bingham confessed he crawled on hands and knees. We walked on a rusted iron suspension bridge and gave no thought to the reality that falling into the river would mean certain death.

The dirt road to the ruins was a ladder of switchbacks and our Mercedes bus ascended the same slope Bingham climbed on the day he discovered Machu Picchu. We reached the top in a matter of minutes, Bingham’s climb took much longer. He remembered;

“A good part of the distance we went on all fours, sometimes holding on by our fingernails. Here and there was a primitive ladder made from the roughly notched trunk of a small tree...in places the slope was covered with slippery grass where it was hard to find handhold or foothold. My guide warned me about the snakes.”

We left Cusco wearing sweat shirts and wrapped in blankets. At the top—9000 feet elevation—we stripped to our Morningstar T-shirts (Phosphorescent orange ), stuffed them in half a dozen garbage bags and checked them next to the restrooms where we had to pay 50 centmos (15 cents) to use the facility. To our stupefaction we had to show our passports along with our tickets to enter the site.

A Chinese philosopher once said, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Happily Matt has been diligent in illustrating this blog with photographs. Mere words, however brilliantly assembled, can not do justice to the experience of seeing Machu Picchu for the first time. Being there. Walking where the ancients walked. Sensing the cosmic energy . Trying to get your head around the inexplicable mystery of the place. Who they were. Why they were here. How they did what they did. What became of them?


We ducked under the massive stone slab tilted across the path just inside the gate, cresting the small hill and looked upon Machu Picchu for the first time. I am certain that our feelings were not unlike those of Hiram Bingham who remembered:


“Suddenly I found myself confronted with the walls of ruined houses of the finest quality of Inca stonework. It seemed like an unbelievable dream… the stonework was as fine as the finest in the world…made of beautiful white granite...it fairly took my breath away… The sight held us spellbound. What could this place be? Surprise followed surprise in bewildering succession. I could not believe my senses.”

It was a perfect day. The winter sunlight sculpted the ruins in a stark third dimension and accentuated the mass of Huayana Picchu, the granite peak that soars five hundred feet above the ruins and plunges two thousand feet straight down into the river.

Our guides, Mr. Jose Gonzales and Ms Marybel Ortiz, rather insisted we break into two groups, but everyone wanted to stay together. It was curious. It was as if we were members of an expedition who had made important sacrifices to be standing there this day and we were determined to share the wonder of it together. Happily our guides agreed and we set off on a tour. Gonzales told us the story of Hiram Bingham and what the army of archeologists who followed him have concluded about this place and the people who lived here, how they did what they did and why. Few of them agree. None of them know with any confidence how the Inca carved massive stones and pieced them together without mortar with such precision that a playing card can not be passed between them.

Following the walking tour of the lost city Sue and Kaele treated everone to lunch. We gathered in a shaded grove to eat and contemplate and quietly share our thoughts on all we had seen and felt.

After lunch we hiked the trail to the sun gate. It is the last section of the Inca trail that eventually takes an intrepid hiker all the way back to Cusco. Halfway to the top Kieri spotted a massive outcropping of rock and felt inspired to stop for a devotional. It was the Sabbath and all of us were feeling the spiritual power of this place.

We assembled in the cathedral of stone and listened. In her inimitable way, Kieri enraptured the kids and all of us . She shared the story of her hike in the darkness to the top of Mt Sinai and how she came to her faith in God and the assurance that He knows and cares for her. She inspired all of us with her inspired words and invited Morningstar to write their feelings in their journals. She is remarkable!.

Some returned to base camp as the time of our departure was drawing near. Others were determined to reach the summit and literally ran up the trail. From the ruins below they were tiny orange dots moving across the jungle slopes above.

We went back the way we came. Bus down the switchback stairs to Aquas Calientes. Forty five minutes to shop. Train to Ollantaytambo. Bus back to the Peru Rail station in Cusco. None of the curves had been straightened, None of the speed bumps had been removed. The game of centrifugal head-pong still raged for those without a bundle of sweatshirt and seat against a window. 8 minute bus ride from the station to our hotel. It was after midnight before we stepped through the door of Amaru Hostel.

Today was the longest in the history of Morningstar Tours, It was the best.