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Machu Pichu Trek

In this next installment of "Reggie's Crazy Adventures", I intend to answer one of the age old questions asked by travelers and vacationers alike...'What really constitutes a good tour'? Knowledgeable guides, picture-perfect weather, massive buffet lunches, or that famed T-shirt souvenir? Or, is a good tour measured by the number of bumps in the road? When you can't imagine anything else going wrong and extreme sarcasm to the point of outright denial, is the only way to cope. If this is the case, then Alicia and I's 4 day trek to Machu Pichu, goes down as one of the best. The breathtaking vista's, extreme ecological diversity, and ancient Inca ruins were of course, memorable, but it was the broken bicycles, stomach parasites, countless mosquito bites, and dodgy tour agencies, that made this trip truly unforgettable.

Beginning at 3,300 meters, the first day kicked off with an exhilarating 6 hour downhill mountain bike ride, taking us from the cool, rocky cliffs of the Andean cloud forest, into the steamy, subtropical heart of the jungle. Well, the first 4 hours were exhilarating anyways, but thanks to 'technical difficulties', the final 2 were more frustrating then anything. Still not sure what happened to my "trusty steed", but I'm sure the black electrical tape wrapped around almost every inch of the frame, had something to do with it's poor performance. Now, in a situation like this, anger won't solve anything
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Now, in a situation like this, anger won't solve anything (trust me, I've tried) and the only cure is a healthy dose of laughter. So, laugh we did, to the point of tears. And to be honest, how could you not? Haphazardly bobbling down the narrow mountain path, trying to pinpoint the necessary method to this possessed bikes madness. Ferociously pedaling one minute, only to crawl a painstaking inch, to the very next moment, pumping like an Olympic athlete, desperately trying to keep up with it's record breaking pace. I was just waiting for Richard Simmon's to jump out from behind a banana tree yelling, "work it girl", "work those cheeseburgers off". Needless to say, I now know what a fat man feels like on one of those belted, blubber machines. Our laughter began to dissipate though as darkness crept through the valley and the reality of our situation crept in. What if we took a wrong turn somewhere or worse, unknowingly passed our village and were now carrying on further and further into the untamed, wild unknown? Alone in the Peruvian jungle with a broken bike, depleting chocolate supply, and worst of all, NO more mosquito repellent...AHHHH!!! Well, I shouldn't say all alone. We did have the company of whatever beasts owned the red squinty eyes peering at us from almost every direction. Our one defense against this increasingly grim situation was...ta dah...Alicia's book light. Never leave home without one folks. That little wonder not only lit our way down the mountain, it doubled as mosquito repellent, distracting thousands of blood sucking skeeters from an otherwise, delectable gringo feast. Follow the light skeeters, Follow the light!

The next two days saw nothing but trekking. Weaving back and forth between the sun scorched river bed and the cool jungle canopy, we made our way closer and closer. Engulfed in dense foliage, teeming with exotic flowers, I was surprised to discover the main form of wild life to be a familiar face...Big...Ferocious..... Chickens! That's right, chickens. For centuries, nearby villagers have allowed their poultry to roam wild along the lush jungle floor, bringing "free range" chicken to a whole new level. And if for some reason a chicken fails to return to the pen, well, it's assumed they became dinner for another local resident, Snakes!

Finally, after years of trekking and living in what most consider a snake mecca, Australia, I was lucky enough to see one of these giants in the wild. And what a beauty she was, a cobra. Coiled up along side the path, just inches away, she lay hidden amongst the mangled vegetation, shrouded by her natural camoflage. Heck, we probably would have walked right into her, if not for her loud, agitated greeting. After eying Alicia pretty good, she decided Al would not provide enough meat, and instead went for a bigger meal...me! Just kidding. She writhed upwards into the tallest, most threatening position she could muster, wavering back and forth as if to tease her prey before striking, and then, within the blink of an eye, she was gone, darting across the path into the opposing bush. "Chicken!" Night fall over the jungle was never what it seemed. The idiosyncratic animal cries and galling insect songs were expected, but what about that racket in the distance...the Macarena? That's right guys, hope you brought your dancing shoes because the jungle discotec is where it's at. And if her lyrical clatter isn't enough to keep you up all night, the roosters sure will. Commencing their morning ritual at 2 am and continuing to 7, these senile birds would not shut up. Forget the free range chicken, I want bound and gagged rooster for dinner. Actually, forget the chicken or rooster, I just want something other then crackers and water. Yes, as luck would have it, I came down with a strange Peruvian stomach flu, plaguing me for the entire 4 days. I won't go into the gory details, but let's just say, I thoroughly abused the phrase, "the jungle is your bathroom". Arrived to Aguas Caliente (the township located at the base of Machu Pichu) covered in 3 days worth of dirt, hundreds of bites, and let's not forget, a lovely aroma. It's easy to take the small things for granted, but that night, I savored showering more then ever before. I still find it ironic though, how a town literally translated to mean,Hot Water, struggles to produce anything of the sort. Hot water or no hot water, it was still water.

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Day 4 saw an early start once more, commencing with a steep hike up the final menacing cliffs of Machu Pichu. The climb itself, already extremely taxing, was only made worse by the loads of tour buses, whizzing past on the way up. Full of older, richer, and probably wiser tourists opting for the easier route up, a constant reminder of how effortless this trip could have been. But we had come too far...only one more hour to go! Walking through her antediluvian gates and finally laying eager eyes on what we had come so far to see, could not have been amplified more then with what I possessed; 4 days of grueling trekking over the same lands walked by the Inca's and, of course, having my fabulous sister by my side to share in the joy. After seeing so many photos, watching numerous nerdy documentaries on Discovery Channel, and hearing other travelers first hand accounts, I feared De Ja Vu would drown out the "awe" factor. Luckily, that was far from what I experienced.

Flanked by precipitous cliffs and placed in the protective bosom of the surrounding mountains, it was easy to see how this marvel could disappear into hiding for so long. And, as if perfectly timed for all the tourists delight, the sun peaked over the horizon just as we arrived, releasing her warm morning ways and waking up the sleepy village. Racing through the ruins, each ray illuminated thousands of aged rocks, showcasing the intricate detail paid to each brick, an immaculate testament to Inca construction. Never before, had I seen so many hues of green. From the bright, kelly greens of the agricultural grasslands, to the dark forest greens of the thick foliage situated along side the neighboring mountains, all the way down to the faintest pea green mosses clinging to the ancient stonework. (In an attempt to keep your attention, if I haven't lost it already, I have split the 'Machu Pichu trek' and 'Machu Pichu history' into two entries. For those of you history buffs, I have included another entry dedicated to just that. Otherwise, carry on with me as I conclude with "the best tour ever").

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After such an inspirational day, it would have seemed the 4 day trip was looking up. However, more was still to come. Our 'tour company' not only failed to purchase, but also reserve, the necessary forms of transport for Al and I's return to civilization, leaving us high and dry, literally in the sky. Borrowing money, scrambling to make last minute transport connections, and worst of all, resorting to the 'damsel in distress' act on a few occassions, pretty much summed up our evening. And just when we thought we'd made it out of the jungle, we found ourselves in an even scarier one. The thick jungle of lies, arguments and monetary battles. The intense battle for a tour refund waged on for days but the Busse girls refused to say, 'Die'. I'll be the first to admit that my Spanish is less then adequate (ok, it's downright shocking) but tick me off, and I can speak in tongues. No, my head does not spin around too, but thanks to this new found Spanish fluency and necessary over-assertiveness (what, I only blocked his exit and threatened to call the police), Jose finally coughed up the money. Hey, now there's a thought. A new full proof way to learn Spanish. I can see it already, "Learn Spanish Fast. PISS ME OFF, has been tested and proved by thousands of angry, ripped-off tourists like yourself. So, go ahead, PISS ME OFF!" In conclusion, what constitutes a good tour? Ah, the hell if I know. The answer is, there is no answer. The only thing I can conclude is simple, 'You pay for what you get;'. And in this case, we paid the least and got the least. Hmmm...maybe it doesn't always pay to be frugal....

For more of Reggie's crazy adventures, please visit: http://www.backpackerswanted.com

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