Discovering the Lost City of the Incas

Katherine and John F. Dean

The itinerary seemed innocuous enough: John Wayne to Dallas-Fort

Worth Airport to meet our traveling companions from Holland, Mich.,

daughter Karol Hicks and 14-year-old grandson Robinson Hicks.

We arrived in Lima, Peru, at midnight, checked into the Imperiale

Hotel within a couple of hours, up again for a 6:30 a.m. departure to

the airport and the 9 a.m. flight to Cusco. One hour later, we met

our Adventure Life guide for the week, Vidal Jaquehua, and four more

adults to complete our group. Karen, a recent college grad from

Canada; Jerry, a 20-something from New York; Armand, owner of a hair

salon in New Jersey; and Steve, an architect from the Florida

Panhandle. Together -- and unbelievably compatible -- we began an

incomparable adventure.

Cusco is a magnificent city of 300,000 people nestled in a valley

at an elevation of about 11,000 feet, with surrounding Andes peaks

soaring above 12,000 feet. Accommodations at the El Balcon Hotel were

rustic and most comfortable. We were served coca tea soon after our

arrival, guaranteed to help acclimate us to the altitude. Three green

parrots shared the “foyer” outside the dining room. They were free to

roam, but their clipped wings kept them close to the log perches and

trees.

Our first morning featured one of several “walks” in and around

the magnificent, ancient city of Cusco, and I felt every yard of the

11,000-foot altitude. Then on to Sacred Valley with Vidal and a

five-kilometer trek in very thin air -- definitely not for the faint

of heart. As we climbed higher and higher, and I sought to draw a

deep breath, I thought often about my World War II flying

experiences, when we put on our oxygen masks any time we crossed

10,000 feet.

Huge rocks, hand-fashioned by the Incas more than 500 years ago to

fit without mortar, lined one side of the four-foot-wide trail. The

outer edge was a sheer 1,500-foot drop to the bottom of the canyon,

with no railings or handholds.

Back to the van and another walking tour down a hill, past the

salt ponds, heading for the village of Ollantaytambo, where we had a

welcome dinner and a restful night. Next morning, early, we walked to

the train to Agua Caliente, the last town before Machu Picchu, Lost

City of the Incas. The train stopped three times to let small groups

and individuals embark on the Inca Trail, trekking to the famed

village abandoned more than 500 years ago.

The final stretch to the ancient village was by bus, located past

a labyrinth of souvenir stands probably two blocks long. Within a

half-hour, we disembarked, and were immediately caught up in the

majesty of precision stonework, unbelievable placement of massive

boulders 10 to 15 feet above our heads, with no evidence of how they

were raised there.

Although the altitude was a mere 9,000 feet, the ups and downs of

maneuvering on the hillside were quite strenuous for most of our

party. Several layers of terraces provided planting areas to support

the original inhabitants, with stone troughs directing the water flow

from more than 70 inches of rain each year.

By late afternoon, we were exhausted and ready to return to Agua

Caliente and the Machu Picchu Inn for hot showers, cool drinks and

serious shopping. Many restaurants feature live music of guitars,

flutes and whistle-like bamboo tubes with vocal groups presenting

lively Peruvian songs. Menus featured alpaca steaks, roasted guinea

pig and fondue, as well as the usual fare of pork, chicken, pasta and

pizzas.

Our second day was unscheduled, the itinerary suggesting an

independent visit to the ancient village. Those of us who had enjoyed

as much walking as we could handle on our first visit chose to relax,

but Katherine, Karen, Jerry, Armand and Steve headed for the bus once

again, determined to climb Huayna Picchu, the “junior peak.” When

they returned to the hotel mid-afternoon, all five had achieved the

goal.

We were back in Cusco and the El Balcon Hotel that night, ready

for more “treks,” walking tours of the plaza in “downtown Cusco,”

with an extended visit to the expansive market offering the

essentials and nonessentials to support local life in Peru. We found

the Inca Art Museum and heard a brief, almost haunting multi-flute

concert by one musician. In the courtyard, we witnessed several older

women in colorful dress weaving clothing and rugs of alpaca wool.

Beautiful examples of hand-made shawls, ponchos and scarves were

among the choices displayed by a local artisan in the lobby of El

Balcon on our last evening; one final shopping spree was available

and used to full advantage.

Finally, it was time to repack our already stuffed bags for the

morning trip to the airport. For half of our party, it was back home.

Our family of four flew to Puerto Maldonado on the Madre de Dios

River and went by outboard riverboat to the EcoAmazonia Lodge for

three days in the jungle: no electricity, no hot water, lots of

crawly things, a visit to Monkey Island, a friendly 500-pound tapir

that roamed the dining hall, a machete-wielding trail guide named

Elvis and a marvelous adventure ... but that’s another story,

possibly for another time.

* KATHERINE and JOHN F. DEAN are residents of Newport Beach.