We had no interest in contributing to this scam, so found alternative directions (see Machu Picchu on a shoestring). Apparently this involved riding to two remote villages to the site's north and walking two hours up a train track to Aguas Calientes, the township at the base of the Machu Picchu mountain. Easy done? Sort of.
As usual, we started out in the afternoon. First hurdle: a 4316m mountain pass. This turned out to be a blast. The asphalt was new and smooth, and the endless switchbacks were the material of motorbiker's fantasies. Once at the top, Andy decided it was very important to head down again for a photo shoot - and as I dutifully stood on the edge of the cliff peering through my camera at the fast moving Andy-speck, I wondered about his motivations ... was it the photos he was after, or the chance of riding the curves two more times??? (bit of each - a)
The other side was a buzz of a different kind. We were slowed a bit by landslides, rivers and frequent chunks out of the freshly-laid asphalt (down where we could see the switchback way below). Crazily, this all seems to be in a day's riding for us at the moment, and we were soon warm again in the next valley, and letting out our tyres for the last 110kms of dirt. Nice one. Except by this time it was very late in the afternoon.
The first of our waypoints (Santa Maria, some 50kms down the road) appeared a sort of dusty transit stop, with no welcome except from a rather unlikeable 10-year-old boy who tried to convince us to stay in his family's hostel by lying to us about the passability of the road to Santa Teresa. Enough to encourage us to keep going.
Not for long. 'Be careful up there, people get robbed. They killed and robbed taxi driver recently' (the parting words of a woman we stopped to chat with) and the sunset sky were enough to turn us back from the small dirt track heading over the range towards Santa Teresa. Smarmy kid or no, we were going to have to take shelter in Santa Maria.
However as luck would have it, just as we turned around, a van and three rental bikes (a tour from Cusco) passed us. Andy and the guide came to the arrangement that we would follow them over the pass - saftey in numbers and all that. So, now we were safe from bandits, but were choking in the dust of four vehicles ... something Andy does everything possible to avoid.
This could be the scariest ride of my life. The pass was one narrow lane, dropping into a precipice on our left. While I was imagining murderers around every corner, our night vision was hindered (to say the least) by clouds of thick dust from the van and bikes ahead of us. We forded a river or two (I walked through the deepest - my sooden boots adding to my pretty dark mood), and the ride went on. We overtook them, the van overtook us (by trickery), and finally, when we had had too much of it, we decided to risk the bandits and took off ahead of them, only 10 ks to go.
As always, we made it on one piece, and found ourselves a cozy place to camp for the night. We dropped the ball a bit after dinner by accepting a sip of rum from a jug, and then joining the resturant owner and his young mates in drinking a number of them in the street. The result was a slow, muddle-headed morning.
Another half an hour ride, and we were at our next waypoint, Hidroelectrica (as the name may suggest, a hydroelectric powerstation), the end of the road.Bike stashed, we set off for Aguas Calientes about 15 minutes after the one train for the day had left. Bummer. The walk along the tracks was hot and tiring ... but did offer some great views, including our first glimpse of the famous ruins (up there on the horizon).
Aguas Calientes is in a picture perfect location - a valley surrounded by mist-shrouded mountains, on the banks of a raging river. The village itself is a sort of shoddy imitation of a European alps resort - prices included. The three hour walk, last night's rum and yesterday's ride took their toll, and after checking into the first reasonably-priced hostel and asking the proprietor to wake us in half an hour, we promptly crashed out.And woke two hours later, at 3.30. Ready to make the two hour ascent two hours before sunset. This requires an entry of it's own - see Sneaking into Machu Picchu.
On the way out, we missed the one train for the day by 15 minutes (a theme emerging?), and so headed again down the tracks on foot. A riverside picnic and a two-hour walk later, and we were saying a final goodbye to the spectacular valley.
Back to the bike. Back to Santa Teresa, a quick and much-needed dip in the local thermal pools. Back to Santa Maria, where we were accosted by the same smarmy 10-year-old. This time he offered us lunch. Andrew told him nicely but firmly that the reason we wouldn't be visiting was because he lied to us two days previously. As we left, I turned to see him quietly sitting in his chair on the verandah, hopefully contemplating the lesson in these words.Back to the start of the asphalt, and this time we were pumping up the tyres, not letting them down, just as the sun was setting.The pass at night was a totally different scene. The rivers were bigger (presumably from snow-melt), and in some cases runnning down the road, and the trucks seemed to take no heed to the fact that the road was often only one lane. At over 4000m and at night, it was also freezing. The climb seemed endless - at one stage when I thought we must have been near the top, I spied a pair of headlights high high above us, in a place that should have only been occupied by stars.
I hugged close to Andy as he picked our way slowly up and over the pass, down the other side, and through the valley into Ollantaytambo.The rest is really history, and its getting late. Needless to say, we took the first available room - twice as expensive as we were used to, and (surprise surprise) twice as nice. Imagine a hot shower! Pure luxury, really.
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