Yesterday I made it back from the rainforest, and for all I would, in general circumstances, complain about the paving of America, smooth roads uncovered by landslides are an unrecognized luxury. More about that later.
Getting back to the Machu Picchu hike, on day two we awoke to an overcast sky but no rain. Unfortunately, this didn't last long. This was especially unfortunate, as day 2 of the trek is generally one of the most spectacular, in terms of views. We had about an hour of no rain and overcast but not befogged skies, but not long after our first rest stop the drizzle started. One of the things I learned pretty quickly is that, when you see the porters dropping their 50 kilogram packs from their backs and deploying their cheap but effective plastic ponchos, that's a sign that you should too. About midway up the day's ascent - to 4200 meters, the highest point on the trail - the porters en masse decided that things were going to get worse before they got better, and suddenly they all were wearing yellow plastic. I held out for a little while longer, but my shoes were getting somewhat soggy, as was my backpack, so I stopped and recognized the inevitable. By this time, the clouds had descended from the sky and enveloped the mountains, and visibility was woefully poor.
The climb was arduous, much of it along stone stairs, but making it to the peak did feel like something of an accomplishment, even if all I could see was gray and rain. I did get a good look at the sign saying that this was the highest point on the Inca Trail, so there is that.
The descent wasn't much better, though the clouds thinned out enough for us to get a nice view of one of the many impressive waterfalls along the way. It rained through lunch, despite everyone's fervent prayers to the contrary. Hiking after lunch took us by some Incan ruins, which were shrouded in fog and somewhat eerier for it. After several hours we made our campsite, assembled with amazing speed in a complete downpour by the porters. I climbed inside my tent, peeled off and squeezed out my socks, and picked out some drier clothes. As the afternoon wore on, the rain diminished, and we managed to get some decent views from the campsite. I got a chance to practice being a doctor as well - one of our guides had a minor plastic surgery to remove some ugly scar on the left side of his face only two days before we departed on the tour. The site was weeping a little, and he was nervous about it. Fortunately, it didn't look infected, wasn't the least bit tender, and he felt fine, so I gave him a small pat on the back, reassurance, and a bill for $120 for the consultation. Okay, one of those things isn't true. Also, as an aside, it's nice to feel useful.
During dinner our main guide, Freddy, told us some of the history of Machu Picchu as well as of the Incans. Pretty fascinating stuff, again made all the more impressive by the relatively short time the Incans were around as an organized civilization. What we call the Inca trail is actually just a fragment of a much more extensive system of roads reaching from Chile into (I think) Ecuador. They had no coherent system of written language, though they apparently did use written symbols, an early precursor. The Incans were conquerers, subjugating their neighbors with greater and greater ease as they grew stronger. The Spanish visited similar treatment upon them, I suppose; I despair a little at this phenomenon. Peoples and civilizations can coexist, but once one of them gets a taste of power and glory, conflict and conquest and savagery seem inevitable. (As an aside, my favorite author, David Mitchell, explores this idea in many of his books, including Cloud Atlas, my favorite.)
Day 3 was significantly better. The hike was shorter, the sun shone for at least part of the day, and we saw some impressive Incan ruins unimpeded by clouds. It did rain a little later in the day, but without the steadiness of the previous day. After reaching camp, we all availed ourselves of the "hot" showers available in the nearby restaurant - actually lukewarm, but still very pleasant. On the patio outside the showers, some of the porters played a game of futbol, which meant dodging the ancient and slightly flat futbol they were using after emerging from the showers. We passed part of the afternoon playing a card game introduced to the group by the Danish girls. It was a simple game, a little noisy, and involved trying to create four of a kind in your hand and avoiding being the last to grab a stone from the center of the table once someone had done so. Some of the porters even joined in.
After dinner we returned to the restaurant for beer and relaxation. Most of the hikers and many of the porters go to this restaurant on the third day, and it turns into a makeshift discotheque. I went with the intention of having one or two beers and calling it a night; we had to wake up at about 4:30am the following morning to make the Sun Gate looking over Machu Picchu by sunrise. Unfortunately, our guide, Freddy, asked if anyone wanted some rum, and things really went downhill from there. When your glass of rum and coke is constantly full, despite the fact that you seem to be drinking from it constantly, that should be taken as a warning that some unknown person or persons are maliciously refilling it. I did manage to awaken the next day as scheduled, but I felt exactly like you would expect after drinking too much rum and then getting up at 4:30 in the morning.
On day 4, it rained all morning, of course. The Sun Gate typically affords an impressive view of Machu Picchu, but the clouds were, as usual, formidable. The main event at the Sun Gate was not the view of Machu Picchu but witnessing one alpaca pursuing another up the trail, through the Sun Gate, then down the opposite side. The pursuer had romantic intentions; the pursuee, given her agitated bleating and heedless galloping (she nearly knocked over more than a few hikers on her ascent,) didn't seem to care for the attention.
As we got to Machu Picchu, the clouds started to thin out. It is, of course, much more impressive in person than in pictures. An ancient city of stones and terracing surrounded by impossibly tall mountain peaks. In its heyday, it apparently served as home for about 600 people, which seemed a small number to me. Interestingly, there were parts of it still under construction at the time it was abandoned. If I recall correctly, it was at least 60 years in the making. We toured the site for several hours, with the most magnificent views to be had from a sort of watchguard's post atop tens of rows of terracing. You couldn't help but imagine people living there 500 years ago. This was actually the most... well, perplexing part for me. The landscape in Peru is almost uniformly astonishing and awe-inspiring, and around Machu Picchu it's almost as if this aspect of Peru is distilled into its essence. Everything about it - the mountain peaks, the deep valleys, the distant rivers, the clouds, the sun casting mighty shadows against cliff faces - was humbling beyond description. It was almost a relief to leave after a few hours, because of this. That some people considered this home half a millenium ago is unsettling. How can people live amidst such impersonal beauty? What resources did they draw upon? What made their work worthy of the world in which they lived? They must have found ways to make their lives resonate with meaning that at least approached the grandeur of their surroundings, but it's hard for me to imagine the work that must have taken every single day. The midwest has its own singular beauty, but the scale seems more approachable. Maybe that's because it's nothing for us to get in our cars and drive for a few hours. Mastery - or at least the appearance of mastery - of our environment is mostly an American phenomenon, I think, but it is, of course, illusion. We'd probably do well to find ways of letting that illusion go.
All right, enough for now. Tomorrow I'm flying from Cusco to Lima, and heading up the coast in search of a reasonably comfortable beach. If I have a chance I'll sit down and write some more tomorrow, but Tuesday is a possibility as well.
I hope all is well at home. I returned to discover that the cabal of sociopaths now running Wisconsin finally dropped all pretense of concern for the state's budget and passed their odious union-busting legislation as a standalone bill. Fortunately, for most people the fight has just begun.
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