Machu Picchu: The Lost City of the Incas

by

David Workman

Publishing History - The Heritage, 16 September 1981, The Kingston Whig Standard, 20 March 1982

The prospect of visiting ancient ruins has always fascinated me. Last spring that chance occurred and I took it. At 8:15 a.m. I boarded my plane at the Toronto airport and waved goodbye to civilization. Fifteen hours later, I stepped off the plane into the South American jungle village of Iquitos in Peru. Here I found my flight would be delayed until 5 a.m. the next morning. Since I had taken this trip on the spur of the moment, I had no reservations anywhere and was sort of making it up as I went along. This definitely had its advantages, I thought as I prepared myself for bed on the couch in the lobby of the local hotel. The manager woke me in the morning and a policeman who doubled as a taxi driver drove me to the airport. Around noon, I arrived in Cuzco, which with an altitude of 11,440 feet, makes it the world's highest city.

While eating in a small restaurant I met another transient like myself. Al and I decided to pool our money and go half on a room for the night. Within an hour we had found one to our liking...cheap!! We paid our \\$4 each then hired a taxi to see some sights. Roberto, our guide took us on a tour of the area which included the colourful Indian market of Pisac in the Urabamba Valley. Although I did not buy anything there, I did see some fine examples of Indian crafts, not to mention the famed alpaca blankets that could be bought for a reasonable price using the barter system.

Pisac Indian Market

Our tour over, we headed back to Cuzco pausing briefly to examine the two massive walled fortresses of Ollantaytambo and Sacsahuaman. We returned to our room with a severe case of altitude sickness, a term I had scoffed at previous to this trip. I found that it was much like a hangover...only worse! Not even the local cure of chewing cocoa leaves helped us. Al spent most of the night in the bathroom.

My watch alarm woke us at 4:46 a.m. My dream of having a shower was shattered when I discovered that management shuts the water off during the night. I repacked my gear. This consisted of a small pack holding 20 pounds of clothes and my 38 pounds of camera equipment. It was raining out. I didn't think to bring a raincoat, so I dressed in my best garbage bag and we walked the half mile to the train station. We bought tickets for the 25-mile trek through the Andes to Machu Picchu, the lost city of the Incas. During one of the many stops I leaned out the window and bought some strange looking berries from a vendor. The berries tasted even stranger than they looked.

At 11:30 a.m. we arrived at our destination and took a bus up the winding road to the top of the mountain. Here, 8,000 feet above sea level, are the remains of what was once a great city. Discovered in 1911 by the American explorer, Hiram Bingham, Machu Picchu is believed to be the last refuge of the Incan ruler Manco who was relentlessly pursued by the Spanish Conquistador, Francisco Pizarro. In 1532, Pizarro and his troops seized the Incan Emperor Atahualpa and held him captive in Cuzco until a ransom of two rooms filled with gold, silver, and jewellery were paid. When this priceless treasure was amassed, Pizarro had it melted down, and, after saving a portion for the king, distributed it among his men. He then had the hapless emperor garroted and began pressing Atahualpa's brother, Manco, to reveal more caches of treasure. Manco, fearing for his life, fled to a secret city where he buried his treasure. The greedy Spaniards never discovered its location. Machu Picchu is believed to be that fabled city.

Machu Picchu	Llama at the Ruins

I spent the remainder of the day dwelling on those thoughts while walking through the terraced gardens and exploring the sacred temples. Because of the altitude, I found I could only walk short distances before having to rest. At the end of the day, Al and I teamed up to split the cost of another room. The manager of the tourist hotel adjoining the ruins shocked us when he quoted us \\$55 for one night. We quickly left and walked a mile to the next village where we found a room for \\$1.50 each. They didn't even charge us for the cockroaches.

Not having eaten we decided to pop over to the local dive for a meal. We were soon joined by an Italian Ducatti racer, a priest from Colombia, a native Peruvian, a nurse from Brazil and her boyfriend who told me in the strictest confidence that he was from another planet. I didn't doubt him in the least. His name was Jorge and he serenaded us with his flute during the meal, despite being tone deaf.

Being an open air restaurant, there was also a dog under the table which was transferring his fleas to me. Suddenly the whole town was in blackness. Apparently at 8:30 sharp every night, the main generator is shut off. Within minutes we were having a candlelight dinner interrupted by kamikaze moths congregating on the wick and putting out the flame. At least then I couldn't see the spiders and cockroaches on the walls.

Jorge told me in Spanish if I gave him the money, he'd pay for my meal. I gave him enough to cover it. Apparently I need some more Spanish lessons because he returned in a few minutes and said he was very sorry but he was unable to buy me any cocaine. While visions of life in a Peruvian jail danced through my head, Jorge the alien passed out on the dirt floor punching a native in the head as he went down. Obviously he had been able to find some cocaine. I decided this would be a good time to leave, so I did. The proprietor had other plans. He chased me down the street and dragged me back. In all the confusion I'd forgotten to pay. Once that was sorted out, I headed back to my room passing Jorge being carried by four Peruvians.

I killed several of the larger cockroaches then climbed into bed for what I thought would be a peasant night's sleep. This was not to be. At 2:30 a.m. I was awakened by a pounding on my door. It was Sonia, the nurse from Brazil. I was all set to invite her in for tea and cockroaches but she said she needed my help. Apparently Jorge had had several drug-induced heart attacks. We dragged him out of bed and the two of us made him walk around for half an hour until he calmed down. I found myself wishing I were a tree. After all, would a tree be nearly 5,000 miles from home forcing a babbling drug addict to walk, while chatting with a Brazilian nurse? Probably not, you'd say, and you'd be right. After the fun and games were over, I went back to bed leaving my door open in case I was needed later. Jorge dropped in around 7:30 a.m. to accuse me of stealing his flute. I ignored him and he left.

I didn't get up until a dog and some chickens wandered in. I walked a mile along the railroad tracks back to the ruins. Today's plan was to climb the adjoining mountain of Huayna Picchu. Halfway up, a heavy fog set in and it began to rain. It became so treacherous I had to turn back. Of course by then I was lost. It took 45 minutes and a lot of backtracking before I found the trail again. Back at the ruins I polished off an Inca Cola and shared the last of my cookies with some llamas that were passing through.

Generation Next

I met up with Al again and we bought a pair of 4 p.m train tickets. At 3:30 p.m. a train came and went. I asked the clerk about it. He was very friendly and informed me that that was the 4 p.m. train. It came early. Seconds later, Al and I could be seen racing down the tracks. Miraculously we caught up to the caboose and jumped onto the side.