Lording It Over Them All
The Sun struggles over the ridges of the Andean hills and spills down their slopes, light snagging on tree tops, and illuminates the edges of the expertly-cut stones of Machu Picchu. The city, still standing but for the thatched roofs, nestles amongst these hills like a filigree ornament on a velvet gown. Unlooted, untainted, the site is every bit as spectcular as even the most vociferous archaeologist can pronounce.
The gates have just opened, and the first tourists are making their way through. You’re one of them. What are you doing? Gazing in awe at the mortar-free stones, exactly cut to fit together with no support but their own weight? Marvelling at the crisp clean lines of the maize terraces, tumbling down the hillside? Watching the rays of light slice through the faint mist and glance off the sundial at the centre of the hill?
Of course not. You, like all the other idiots at the summit at this time, are pelting along the roads, over the walls, through the houses, at top speed without so much as a second glance at the mysterious buildings, now-deserted but soon to be inundated with camera-toting tourists. Why? You want to climb Waynapicchu, of course!
This is the stereotypical tourist photo of Machu Picchu, and that big hill at the back which looks like a nose (yes it does) is Waynapicchu. Pretty much everyone you speak to who has been to Machu Picchu quickly tells you that you simply must climb it. What they don’t tell you is the hell you have to go through in order to achieve this.
The site gets 10,000 visitors a day, and there are 400 tickets for the big slippy hill. They give them out as the gates open at 6:00, on the other side of the site to the entrance, just for a laugh. The first bus from the town beneath leaves at 5:30.
But, of course, you have to get on that first bus. That means you have to start queueing at 4:00. Not too bad? Well no, but you see some people don’t want to chance the bus. They walk up to arrive before the first bus gets to the gates. Which means that everyone wanting a ticket has to do the same. That 1h30 up steep steps, in the pitch black, at 3:30.
The sweat was literally dripping from my neck, my legs screaming (not literally) in agony and lungs ruggedly gasping as yet another fitter person passes me by. One more ticket that I can’t have. Absolute hell. It was 5:10 when I got in the queue. 50 minutes of sweat cooling on my body before the gates open and runfortheloveofgodrun!
I got ticket number 22. There’s a picture of me in the photo section just after, skanky and glistening. I was so proud of my ticket, as I collapsed on the Incan grass and tried to rub the feeling back into my legs.
It was at that point that I remembered that that ticket, that ruddy ticket, entitled me to climb yet another fecking bleeding hill.
Machu Picchu, Peru - Saf
Location, South America | saf | 
July 25, 2009 9:24 pm
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By mum, July 26, 2009 @ 7:40 am
you are an absolute star!
reading your blogs is hilarious and captivating !
xx
By Tancredi, July 27, 2009 @ 11:18 am
Hurrah!!
By Adqam, July 28, 2009 @ 9:34 am
I’m agog - was it worth it?
By Saf, July 28, 2009 @ 10:11 pm
Adqam => I’m still not sure about that! I think Tancredi might just be trying to hurry me into an early grave…