Without expectations, no, on the contrary, with reduced expectations, I set out in the morning to make the approximately 500 meters of altitude to the entrance of Machu Picchu on time, as noted on my ticket. The path zigzags from the river up to the mountain. Again and again I have to cross the road, on which the masses with buses stream to the wonder of the world.

Somehow it is depressing to be reminded again and again by the humming that others have chosen the easy way up and will probably stand in front of you at the entrance later without a bead of sweat on their foreheads. Also in Choquequirao (More about the ruins here) they are thinking about making the access easier with a cable car. I’m glad I got there before the crowds completely swamped the ruins. I like putting in work to reap the rewards later. It would be half the fun for me by bus.

Since the climb up to the ruins was still not enough for me, I decided to take the route with the ascent to the highest mountain above Machu Picchu, another 500 meters of altitude with a view of the entire ruins. On the way up, I met a group I had already talked to at the ticket booth. I immediately struck up a conversation with one of them, David, a Mexican. He had lived in Belgium for a long time and traveled a lot in the world. We quickly got to talking about the differences between the various cultures and especially about the peculiarities of the Peruvians.

Cultural differences

I was quite happy that I was not the only one who noticed that it is not uncommon not to be served or to be served late, that people are happy to pass you in line, that there seem to be no toilet seats and then there is cumbia, the traditional music, which seems to be the only music that Peruvians know. Every song sounds exactly the same except for tiny nuances. We talked about how traveling shapes you, especially when you understand that things are done differently in other countries. Even he, as a Mexican who feels culturally close to Peruvians, feels the difference.

Depending on which ticket you buy, you can only see certain parts of Machu Picchu. But if you are smart about it, like I was, you can get into the other parts without having paid. I also understood from my Mexican friend that if that doesn’t work and you are still controlled, the controller will gladly help you in exchange for a little grease.

Since I didn’t pay attention to the time, I almost missed my entrance to the mountain. With the ticket you get a time slot assigned to which you are admitted. Five minutes before my slot, I realize that I am still way too far from the entrance. I try to meander through the crowds and find shortcuts. Unfortunately without much success and to my chagrin I also slipped on a staircase and hit my hand.

After my frustrating exit, I asked one of the attendants for help in showing me the shortest way. He, too, was a bit perplexed at first, but then instructed his colleagues over the radio to let me through at all the barriers by the shortest route. So I arrived at the entrance control exactly on point.

Since the weather was very changeable that day, we had good visibility on the ascent, but up on the summit we were repeatedly annoyed by the clouds. Like the clouds, time also flew by. I spent more than five hours in the ruins. Of course, the nice company also contributed to that.

The second part of my nine-day ruins expedition led me back to civilization through a valley parallel to the Salkantay trek. After the 1000 meter descent from Machu Picchu, I had to follow the tracks back to Hidroelectrica to get to the valley I wanted to climb up, then behind Mount Salkantay to reach the beginning, or end, of the Salkantay trek. Since it wasn’t an official trek, I couldn’t assess how good it would be to camp there. As it turned out, not very well. As it started to get dark, I decided to pitch my tent in the middle of the trail. My legs wouldn’t have carried me much further.

The next day I didn’t feel as rested as crossing the two saddles ahead of me would have required. The constant climb and the rather cool weather gradually sapped my strength. The onset of rain, which did not last, but which I did not know at the time, prompted me to take a shorter day and give my body a break. Since I had enough food with me and wouldn’t have made it to the end of the trail that day anyway, the break was more than justified for me.

The bad weather and poor visibility of Salkantay accompanied me the next day all the way to Soray, where for many others the Salkantay trek begins. A ride later I am in Mollepata where the hunt for my luggage begins. More here.