Yesterday we took the lazy way to Machu Picchu, a one day organized tour through our hostel. Granted, we had to get up at 4am and take a bus, a train and another bus to get there, but it was nothing compared to the Inca Trail or a jungle trek. We decided on this option because the Inca Trail is closed throughout February’s rainy entirety and books up months in advance anyway. We planned to do the jungle trek option, four days and three nights of mountain biking, rafting and zip lining. But it’s been pouring of rain every day since we arrived and it didn’t seem quite so appealing to be outdoors, soaking, miserable for four days.
So a one day visit it was. And it was lovely to take a fancy train to Machu Picchu Pueblo, the town at the base of the mountain that Machu Picchu is built upon. From there we took a nerve shattering bus journey up winding roads on the side of the mountain to the site entrance. I’ll never willingly reach this altitude again in my life. Every journey is terrifying and an unnecessary lesson in fear. Along with their disregard for safety or comfort, Bolivians and Peruvians just love building things on top of fucking mountains. I realise I am my father’s daughter when I say I’ll be happy to be at sea level with a cheddar and branston pickle sandwich.
Here are some pictures from the journey before and after Machu Picchu.