Only a year ago my newlywed husband and I began our honeymoon exploring Cusco, the Sacred Valley, and trekking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, the Lost City in Peru. It was a dream come true to finally set foot in South America and walk the path laid by ancient Incans 500 years ago.  

For our summer-long matrimonial vacation, Thad and I wanted to start with a destination neither one of us had ever visited and which met our criteria of providing: a physical challenge outdoors, exposure to an ancient culture, a spiritual element to the destination, an opportunity to learn and practice Spanish, and a vacation which did not involve a touristy resort, lying on the beach, and drinking Mai Tais all day.  We were both "Machu Picchu virgins" and a year later I am still grateful we began our journey of lifetime companionship walking those ancient steps together.

However, by no means was the experience perfect or totally blissful.  Upon arriving in Cusco, I was besieged by halting altitude sickness.  Fortunately, it was not as severe as pulmonary edema, but I did spend the first week gasping for air, bracing my pounding head, and feeling barely able to stay awake all day.  Thad, however, felt great, and he explored more of Cusco than I as I opted to skip his early morning explorations of the city.  After much consumption of the local coca tea, an unsuccessful attempt at taking Diamox (it just made me feel worse) and descending from Cusco (3400m) to Pisac (2970m) my symptoms lessened.  We had planned to spend two weeks exploring Cusco and the Sacred Valley to acclimatize, but in my bridal haze I did not pay attention to the fact that Cusco was higher in elevation than Machu Picchu itself.  I had erroneously assumed I would have no problem with altitude sickness since I had trekked in Nepal at 4500m in years past with no problem.  I did not take into account that landing in Cusco was literally taking me from 0 to 3400m within a day.  I was a bit worried that I would spend most of my honeymoon in bed with a splitting headache, but happily the soroche (Spanish for altitude mountain sickness) only temporarily sapped my energy.

 Besides my halted health, there was also the issue that we HAD to use a guide to walk the Inca Trail.  I was not accustomed to backpacking with a guide so I was less than happy to join and pay for a group backpacking tour.  On June 18th, we met our group's bus in Ollantaytambo (an Incan settlement in the Sacred Valley where the ruins are probably the best preserved since the Incans defeated the Spaniards in a 1537 battle) at 7am and walked towards the back of the bus where two adjoining seats remained.  Everyone seemed nice enough and young (at 37 I was the oldest of this group), and we settled in for our 2.5-hour bus ride to km.88, our "trailhead" to the Inca Trail.  Pleasant Andean music was playing over the speaker system, but within minutes of our departure heavy metal "music" was screeching loud in my ears.  My fears of joining a group tour were becoming reality.  Upon asking, "What the hell is this?," Thad informed me that we were listening to "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns and Roses as we drove past Incan ruins along the Urubamba River.  With a scrunched face, I replied "Who?"

Kenny Flores, our 27-year-old guide, had been guiding since he was 15 years old.  He loved to get fired up to heavy metal music and presumed that his customers would also love to get "psyched-up" before trekking.  In hindsight, I can understand his approach since I do the same before a soccer match, to Salsa music or the rhythmic beat of Afro Celt Sound System, but, I had NEVER felt the need to get "fired-up" before entering the sanctuary and adventure of a backpacking trip.  Despite my initial impression and concerns, Kenny knew Machu Picchu like the back of his hand, and he proved to be a charismatic, fun, informative, fluently bi-lingual, and responsible guide.  He spoke about the Inca Trail like he was a Machu Picchu virgin himself, and he kept us riveted telling us about encounters with the Shining Path during his early years of guiding.  During the off-season he surfed the coasts off Lima.  While trekking and resting he frequently donned a headset as he jammed to his favorite heavy metal CDs.   Kenny definitely knew how to have a good time.  We now recommend him to everyone who is thinking about trekking the Inca Trail. 

Kenny also taught us how to properly chew our coca leaves by embedding a small mound of black carbon paste in the middle of a huge handful of leaves.  We stuck the wad in our cheeks then chewed and sucked until the concoction became tasteless.  Thad, an ex-college baseball player, with a history of chewing with his buddies, was thrilled to get to "legally" chew in front of his new bride since I had made it clear that chewing tobacco was not welcome in my presence.   So there we were, almost 20 of us, trekking the Inca Trail, each with a distended cheek full of coca leaves, happily walking the 500-year-old path built by compact giants of architecture and cosmology.

Our three nights and four days were warm by day, cool by night and sunny and clear the morning we arrived at Machu Picchu on June 21, 2002, their winter solstice.  Fortunately, a strict permit system limited the number of people trekking the Inca Trail, but it was still a bit more crowded for my taste.  However, who can blame all of us for wanting to walk those ancient footsteps to the Lost City?  

Day One we started our trek crossing a suspension bridge and pleasantly strolled through an arid valley flanked by mustard hills dotted with cactus and agave.   Day Two proved most challenging because of the ascent to Dead Woman's Pass (4200m), the highest point on the trail.  With my coca wad in cheek and asthma inhaler in my pocket,  I trudged up the trail, happy that I had just purchased an Incan walking stick which I leaned upon heavily with each step.  Thad still was not affected much by soroche; however, his pace did wane as we approached 4000m.   Arriving at Dead Woman's Pass was joyous, yet brief.  After re-fueling, a photo-op and re-grouping, we quickly descended to escape the brisk wind and relax in our tent overlooking the high altitude cloud forest.

Day Three we walked on the actual stone slabs laid by the Incans.  The original stones on the earlier part of the trail had eroded from many years of merchants trading by mule.  Thus, the slabs of the narrower trail, which approached Runkuracay, were built mainly for foot traffic and were still well preserved.  Besides arriving at Machu Picchu, the third day was my favorite day of trekking because of the lush, green subtropical ferns, lichens, mosses and trees; the beautifully vivid pink, yellow, white and orange wild orchids and bromeliads; walking on the actual stones chiseled and placed by the Incans; and because I had already finished the hardest part of the trek!  The Cloud Forest lived up to its name as mist hung below the rounded tree tops of its dense forest.  Pleasantly, I found myself walking alone, or just with Thad, which allowed me to enjoy the magic of the birds, the dripping greens and moist orchid tongues. In my solitude, I envisioned ancient Incan feet walking where I trod, and I wondered how their bodies compared to my 5'1" frame as I entered  their hand-carved stone tunnels.   Knowing that we were similar in stature, and that they made their home high in the mountains to be closer to their Gods, I felt a kindred spirit with these ancient people.  After two days of focusing on the physicality of this journey, I had finally entered the state of being present in my surroundings and feeling the ancient vibrations of that magical place.

At 4am on June 21, 2002 we awoke to breakfast then descended to Machu Picchu.  Bobbing head-lamps marched, one by one, and as daylight broke, four of us, Thad, Mike from London, Robin from Colorado, and myself, were overcome with excitement and ran the last hour to the Sun Gate for our first glimpse of Machu Picchu. Although Robin had been very sick with a stomach ailment the day before, Mike had sprained his ankle, and I had my bouts of asthma and soroche (Thad was still in perfect health), we miraculously sprinted past the other trekkers and arrived feeling exhilirated as our blood coursed with adrenalin.

The main reason we chose the winter solstice for our arrival was to witness a particular architectural and astronomical feat of the Incans: the perfect alignment of the winter solstice window with the altar of the Sun Temple at sunrise. With 15 minutes to spare, we grabbed one of the few remaining spots with a good view of the altar.   Throughout Machu Picchu, various winter solstice phenomena and rituals were occurring:  Shamans were performing condor ceremonies, and various temples and windows were anticipating the simultaneous display of the amazing architectural alignment the Incans designed to correspond with the movement of the planets.         

Across the valley, we looked towards the notched saddle in the mountains and watched as the globe of the sun slowly crowned and glowed.  Suddenly, its outstretched rays instantly lit up the sky.  Like a spotlight, a trapezoid beam shined through the winter solstice window and aligned perfectly onto the altar of the Sun Temple as camera shutters syncopated with oohs and aahs from the crowd.   It was entertainment in nature at its best.

Instead of a crowd gathering like the paparazzi waiting for a glimpse of a celebrity, it seemed like that moment should have been spent in silence to revere that cosmic wonder of the world.  But I am happy that a year later, that moment has given me a memory I can relive alone or with others, now and for the rest of my life.