Wednesday, December 17th: Parte Dos
We return to our needlessly (though Hollywood-trendy) split up in our story line, with Ellen and JA left atop of Huayna Picchu, staring down like Incan Gods on the puny ruins of Machu Picchu, contemplating the fate of the mere mortals below. The return hike ensues.
Gran Caverna and Templo de la Luna
Because I have the long term memory and self-destructive tendencies of a lemming, John Alex and I opted to prolong our mountainous torture and take the long loop back--down and around the mountain on the other side--rather than retracing our footsteps. We knew we had definitely made the correct call when a local guide hurriedly ran after us, fervently trying to explain...well something. Shouting from a distance while frantically waving one's arms does not allow for the most ideal of translation settings.
(I think he's saying "have fun.")
Turns out he just wanted to make sure we knew what we were getting into. Which we totally did, because it wasn't like this was a last minute spontaneous decision made when we came to a symbolic split in the road. So we thank our concerned benefactor and head onwards, silently laughing because it's downhill...how bad could it be?
(Eff.)
The hike begins rather pleasantly, as we descend along an empty trail to the sounds of birds chirping and labored breathing (guilty). The flora begins to subtly change as well, taking on a more King Kong-esque jungle feel, as the humidity sets down upon us. An hour or so later we reach the main reason why crazy people opt to take this route: the Templo de la Luna and the Gran Caverna.
(Which the Inca conveniently labelled for us.)
And then the Gran Caverna in all it's glory. Not so much a cavern as my new summer home.
(And in better shape than some if the 'fixer-uppers' on the market.)
The Ascent Back
Somewhere along our leisurely stroll down, this nagging suspicion that we descended further than we hiked up kicked in. Uh oh.
Sure enough. Hello hills.
(Though if the Elves of Mirkwood swept in to save us, you certainly wouldn't see this girl complaining.)
I learned three things on this hike back:
Lesson 1: Ellen is related to a supernatural being.
And that being would be my trailmate, John Alex. That boy, my brother, is this nonstop powerhouse of stoic consistency while simultaneously able to leap from rock to rock with the nimbleness normally reserved for spring-born mountain goats. So I dubbed JA's trail name to be Goat. Because I'm his sister, and I refuse to give him a more flattering nickname.
Lesson 2: The Inca will find any excuse to add more stairs
But seriously though. After an hour plus of solid uphill climbing, we round a bend and see ourselves even in elevation with Machu Picchu. Perfect!
Just kidding. Let's proceed to climb further up, then descend down a bit, then what the hell, let's add another 200 stairs up for the fun of it. Now rinse and repeat. It was like having a sadistic football coach leading you on suicides along a drunk, oscillating sine curve. At some point, you ask yourself: "couldn't we just go *around* the mountain?"
But then you see views like this and it makes it all worthwhile:
(Or terrifies the living daylights out of you depending on whether your eyes were first drawn to the mountains...or John Alex's pterodactyl-esque mouth.)
Lesson 3: Ellen is not a mountain climber
Ellen is not a mountain climber. She is driven not by the challenge, the view, or even a love for the mountains. She is driven out of misplaced stubbornness, seemingly self-destructive tendencies, and the right to thumb your nose at the people who didn't make it. Because, class. Always the epitome of it.
However, I did discover one thing. Ellen is an expert mountain descender. I can descend a mountain like it ain't nobody's business. You got a mountain? *Bam* drop me off at the top and I'll descend the crap out of that mountain. Just be sure to meet me at the bottom with a cup of coffee, scantily clad men, and a hot tub.
Machu Picchu
Okay fineeee. I've been putting it off long enough. Machu Picchu, according to my favorite scholar Wikipedia, was built around 1450, and was believed to be a summer resort for the Incan elite. Because nothing says vacation retreat like a 4 day climb uphill in rainy season.
At first glance, the ruins seem small, never holding more than 750 people at a time. But then you start to realize the sheer architectural genius that went into its construction. Seriously, look at the size of these stones:
(I like that boulder. That's a niiiice boulder.)
Speaking of architectural genius, this was one of the only labelled portions we could find: the Tres Portadas. Or in English, the Three Doors.
Which, as JA pointed out, is architecturally significant because it was TWO whole doors more than normal.
The crowds had started to pick up at this point, so we spent most of our time along the outskirts. Which was totally worth it:
Most people complained about the mist obscuring their photos, but I felt it added a surreal mystical feel to the place, and if you very carefully ignored all the other sounds/smelly tourists, you could almost feel transported back 500 years.
It started to rain just as we were leaving, so we awkwardly high-fived like two dead fish slapping each other and congratulated ourselves on our great but totally unintentional timing.
Alpaca Steaks
One last thing of note for the day. There were two consistent(ly unusual) items on all the Andean menus: alpaca and guinea pig. And given I had not desire to spend $40 to eat a glorified furry rat, I was on the hunt for some alpaca. Mmm.
Easier said than done. There's a long back story behind it, but essentially not only did Ellen manage to cross off her Fourth World Wonder off her list today, she also finally got some grilled alpaca! We live in a magical world.
(And it was delicious. #noregrets)
Okay, that's all for today! Tomorrow we head to a completely different climate: the Amazon basin! I promised my dance partner I wouldn't let a piranha chew off one of my legs, but other than that, the adventure possibilities are endless.
We end with this picture of the Incan quarry, which JA o-punned were evidently the rocks that didn't make the cut:
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