There was a car waiting to take us to our hotel, which was located in a quaint-sounding, and as I would later discover, gorgeous place called Sacred Valley. The hotel was part of a chain of hotels around Peru called Casa Andina. I couldn't wait to get there. If I have not already given you an impression of my eagerness to see all these places, let me do so now. Peru has been a source of mystery and interest for me since I read James Redfield's The Celestine Prophecy. Redfield's description of the place and its beautiful landscape had long held me in awe. The way he describes the jungles of Peru and the fact that his fantastic story unfolds in that region made Peru seem like the Mecca for all explorers...well, all explorers who fantasized being in an adventure, Indiana Jones style, of which I will admit without shame, I am one.
Anyhow, I've digressed enough. So we were driven to Casa Andina, Sacred Valley, and the journey took a little more than an hour. The drive was bumpy and I alternated between sleep and a groggy wakefulness that took the charm out of the ride. Arriving at Casa Andina was worth every bump that gave us a backache. The day had dawned beautiful, and Sacred Valley was soaking up every inch of its beauty. Perhaps the thing that I noticed first was the fact that the mountains around us were red! Although the vegetation on the mountains was sparse, the valley was green enough, and the red earth contrasted with the sprinkles of trees and shrubs that populated the slopes. The colours were so rich and intoxicating, I took a moment to just breathe it all in. After a while, the quiet morning air was rent with frantic clicking noises as we attempted to capture each and every perfect moment. I don't think we did the landscape any justice in our photographs.
Our stay at the resort was simply blissful. The dinners were fancy with live Andean music, there was a pool house and a gym (neither of which we visited, although we talked about doing so after every meal). It was also where I tried Alpaca meat for the first - and the last - time (to be honest at the time I didn't really know what it was, I thought it was a type of beef), and didn't like it much. I was also a bit repulsed once I found out what alpacas look like. We also did some sight-seeing. We went to Ollantaytambo, which used to be an Incan village built on a slope, and of course, Machu Picchu.
Machu Picchu. I'm sure poets and authors have done more justice to this place with their words than I could even attempt to. There are so many legends about Machu Picchu. Even the sound of the name produces mystical vibrations that travel from the lips directly to the heart, where it echoes and resounds, endlessly weaving its spell upon travellers. It is built on a high peak (almost 2,500m above sea-level) and affords breathtaking sights of mountains and valleys that surround it. It is no wonder that outsiders did not know of it until 1911 when Hiram Bingham, an American historian chanced upon it during his travels.
We went a bit crazy with our cameras, but no pictures can do justice to the experience. I cannot explain what it felt like to be there, to be part of such magnificence and glory. And yet, we were just passing through. Like mere punctuations on the pages of time that constantly flipped through. Our presence was marked only by the briefest moments in the vast history of Machu Picchu. We arrived, we experienced, we departed.
Our guide was Rodolpho, who knew anything and everything about the place - history, religion, magic. He answered our questions patiently, adding detail and flair to his story. I wondered how many times he had had to answer the same questions. Did he ever get bored?
Nevertheless, he was phenomenal. He told us tall and short tales in colourful language. He explained the myths and legends of Machu Picchu. He painted a picture in our minds that we will never forget. In true national spirit, he also denounced the American Hiram Bingham as the "discoverer" of Machu Picchu. You cannot discover what is already known, he said.
The Peruvians have one complaint against the Americans - when Bingham came to Machu Picchu, he took many artefacts back to Yale with him... and there they still remain.
We returned to Sacred Valley that evening, thoughts weighing on our minds.
We went a bit crazy with our cameras, but no pictures can do justice to the experience. I cannot explain what it felt like to be there, to be part of such magnificence and glory. And yet, we were just passing through. Like mere punctuations on the pages of time that constantly flipped through. Our presence was marked only by the briefest moments in the vast history of Machu Picchu. We arrived, we experienced, we departed.
Our guide was Rodolpho, who knew anything and everything about the place - history, religion, magic. He answered our questions patiently, adding detail and flair to his story. I wondered how many times he had had to answer the same questions. Did he ever get bored?
Nevertheless, he was phenomenal. He told us tall and short tales in colourful language. He explained the myths and legends of Machu Picchu. He painted a picture in our minds that we will never forget. In true national spirit, he also denounced the American Hiram Bingham as the "discoverer" of Machu Picchu. You cannot discover what is already known, he said.
The Peruvians have one complaint against the Americans - when Bingham came to Machu Picchu, he took many artefacts back to Yale with him... and there they still remain.
We returned to Sacred Valley that evening, thoughts weighing on our minds.
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