Peru, Day 14, Part II: Cindiana Jones

Machu Picchu deserves two full days of pictures and anecdotes. I went skinny on the anecdotes on Monday because, really, the pictures say it all. But today I’ll introduce you to…Cindiana Jones! That’s what I felt like exploring the Inca sanctuary/citadel that was once considered the “Lost City of the Incas.” (Today, other less-accessible sites are more likely to claim the title). We had a full day at Machu Picchu, and we intended to make the most of it. Like I mentioned in a previous post, we had dreams of arriving at Machu Picchu early enough to make it into one of the two groups (200 people each at 7 a.m. and 10 a.m.) to climb Huayna Pichhu, the mountain in the background of the most famous of Machu Picchu photos (like mine—see back to this post). (Well, I guess I can’t claim my pictures are famous, but the view is!) We spoke to our guide about it the night before (which was torrential-downpourish). He pretty much talked us out of it, in that it became very evident very quickly that he did not want to meet us at 4 a.m. and get a taxi or whatever to the gates to wait in line and claim our spots to climb Huayna Picchu. He told us that the “sunrise” that everyone always wants to see at Machu Picchu didn’t occur until 7 a.m. anyway. The sun rose long before 7 a.m., but not in the specific area to which he referred. Oh, well, it was cloudy anyway. But not rainy. We couldn’t figure out why the GAP representative (the tour company we used) who met us in Lima before we flew to Cuzco told us to let our guide know we wanted to climb the mountain and he would make it happen told us that—and then he didn’t. Initially, we weren’t very impressed with him because of that. He made up for it by providing us with an excellent tour of Machu Picchu. And considering how exhausted I was (not being in the best health at this point) after eight hours of climbing all over the terraces, I can’t imagine how worn out I would have become climbing Huayna Picchu. But a part of me will always be a little disappointed that our guide did not present the opportunity to us, especially after we asked.

Yes, I’m whining. I couldn’t climb Huayna Picchu, so I snapped my zoom lens onto my camera and shot this close-up instead:

If you google Inca Bridge, you’ll find that there are two types of such structures, one being a rope bridge and the other, as shown above, being a trunk bridge. This bridge was another route into Machu Picchu. Why not just continue the path, you ask? Why leave a gap for a bridge? Because, if you have a trunk (as in tree trunks) bridge, you can easily destroy it. Comes in handy when your enemies are chasing you.

Before we could walk the path to the Inca Bridge look-out (there was a wimpy wood gate preventing you from going any further. IOW, no one actually gets to walk on the bridge anymore), we had to sign a guestbook of sorts. Why do you think that is? We were assured that “tourists never fall off the cliff.” Yet you need to sign the book before you continue on (unless the guy at the desk isn’t there; then you might not realize you need to sign the book). You sign when you enter the path and you sign when you successfully emerge again. If you don’t “sign out,” what does that mean? Are you camping on the narrow path? Have you Cindiana-Jonesed your way across the bridge? Or have you taken a tumble down a 1900-foot cliff? (I just googled the height). I’ll let YOU decide. 

So there I stood while other people passed me by. Moments passed. Moments and minutes and more moments passed. Finally, M.L. returned. “Cindy, you just gotta see this!” Something to that effect emerged from his mouth. Lucky for him, I had already decided that I had to conquer my fear. I finally conquered my fear of roller coasters that flip you upside-down while chaperoning Youngest Son’s band trip to Disneyland years ago. I could do this! So when M.L. returned, I agreed. I would do it. But no way could I have done it without his help.

He took my daypack from me, wearing his on his back and mine on his front. Then he went ahead of me and held my right hand with his left while I gripped the rope-cable thingy with my left hand and stared at the cliff the rope-cable thingy was stuck into with my left eye. My right eye was closed, because there was zero wall at that point and if I had ANY chance of seeing how far up I was, I knew I’d get vertigo and destroy myself.

But I made it! Cindiana Jones!

Someone else took the above picture. No way was I attempting self-portraiture with only that little fence to protect us from falling onto/entering the rest of the path to the bridge.

Can you see how skinny the path is beyond the look-out point? Those Incas were crazy!

On the way back, M.L. still carried both daypacks and went in front of me again. This time he held onto my left hand while I gripped the rope-cable thingy with my right. My LEFT eye was closed (the eye closest to the drop-off cliff) while my right eye was firmly glued to the rock the rope-cable thingy was sunk into.

 

Out of everywhere we went in Peru, Machu Picchu is the one spot I would consider visiting again. Not because I didn’t enjoy the other places, like Nasca and Huancayo and Lake Titicaca, but because it’s a lot easier to get to than the 3 others. Well, I could be convinced to take the train to Huancayo again. However, other train rides occur in other parts of South America, like the Devil’s Nose in Ecuador, so I probably wouldn’t duplicate the train to Huancayo again. The only thing that would bother me about returning to Machu Picchu is that I don’t know if seeing the ruins a second time would have the same effect as the first. But if we were traveling with friends and they insisted we make that one stop again with them, I could be convinced. It was that beautiful and surreal.

I loved it!