Day 1

Recently I had the privilege of hiking the Salkantay Trail – a five day journey through the majestic Peruvian Andes. The 75-kilometre hike traverses from snow-capped peaks that leave you breathless in more ways than one, through stunning cloud forests and ancient Inca ruins, down to the humid jungles of the Amazon Basin, before ending at the world-famous Machu Picchu.

The journey began with a 4am wake-up in Cusco, as I sluggishly stumbled out of bed and wandered down to the bus stop. The typically vibrant city was eerily quiet at that time of the morning, not to mention utterly freezing. Our group of 16 hikers introduced ourselves with a curious combination of excitement and fatigue, before hopping on the bus to start our three hour trip to Soraypampa – where the trek would begin.

Like most of the group, I slept for the majority of the ride – sleep would prove to be a valuable resource for the coming days. However, I remember waking up at one point, looking out the window, and immediately being encapsulated by the view. A full moon hovered over a spectacular Andean valley; a layer of clouds stretched like a blanket from one side of the valley to the other; and the entire scene was backlit by the blues, purples and oranges of the pre-dawn sunlight beginning to break through the darkness of the previous night. We hadn’t even started hiking yet, and Peru was already showing off the otherworldly landscapes for which it’s renowned.

After a short stop for breakfast, we arrived at Soraypampa with an air of excitement as the snowy peaks of the Vilcabamba mountain range loomed in the distance. Starting at 3,850 metres above sea level, the air was already thin as we began walking. Today was to be a relatively easy day – a six-kilometre hike peaking at 4,250 metres, designed to ensure that the group was both fit enough for the days ahead, and more importantly, acclimatised to the altitude.

The highlight of the day was to be Humantay – a spectacular mountain and lake combination. We hiked for around two hours, as the snowy peaks loomed ever larger with each step, until we reached the final ridge and the vibrant, turquoise blue of Laguna Humantay came into view. The lake’s source is the melting glacier that grasps the side of the mountain, and its incredible colour is owed to a unique algae that calls Humantay home.

We spent an hour or so relaxing around the edge of the lake, before hunger settled in and we began the final stretch of hiking for the day.

One curious feature of the weather at that altitude was an ability for it to seemingly be both freezing cold and boiling hot simultaneously. The height caused it to be naturally cold, but the sun quickly burned through the thin air, meaning direct sunlight was often scorching. We finished hiking at around 2:30pm that day, and the last stretch was a steep climb without any shade. At the top of the climb was a cabin where we’d be having lunch, and I arrived there drenched in sweat.

In the hour or so while we ate, the sun dipped below the surrounding mountaintops, and when we emerged from the cabin, the outside had transformed into an icy, bone-chilling environment. I would guess that the ambient temperature had dropped by about fifteen degrees, perhaps more.

We were supposed to be spending the night in small huts, located back at the bottom of the aforementioned climb. However, in a stroke of luck, our guide informed us that no one had booked the series of glass igloos that lined the edge of the hill, so we received an upgrade.

Located at precisely 4,000 metres above sea level, the igloos were surprisingly warm, and provided stunning views of Salkantay mountain, beautifully illuminated by the evening’s full moon.

It was a calm, peaceful environment to rest in preparation for tomorrow – which would prove to be the toughest day of the trek. 

Day 2

Day two began in true Peruvian style as I was awoken at 5am in my glass igloo by a lovely man offering me a toasty cup of mate de coca (coca leaf tea).

While cocaine remains illegal in Peru, the coca leaves from which it is made are perfectly legal and plentifully abundant. Mate de coca is one of the most popular beverages in Peru (I’m literally drinking a cup as I write this), and it has a stimulatory effect similar to coffee, but without the caffeine. It’s also common to chew on a small handful of leaves for ten minutes or so to achieve a more rapid burst of energy, and to ameliorate the effects of altitude sickness. In other words, a cup of mate de coca in the morning, and a bunch of leaves just before starting a steep climb, is great way to make it through the hardest parts of a day spent trekking.

The warm beverage was certainly a nice way to start the day, but as I stepped out of the igloo, I immediately regretted all the decisions I’d made that had led me to that point. There is cold, and then there is 5am-at-4,000-metres cold. I think my nose was the only bit of exposed skin on my body and I still damn near froze it off.

We demolished a quick breakfast and at 6am we began the most difficult stretch of the entire five days. By 9am we had climbed the aptly named ‘Gringo Killer’, a sharp incline featuring seven switchbacks, in order to arrive at the Salkantay Pass – the highest point of our journey, with stunning views of Salkantay mountain. At 4,600 metres, it was more than double the highest peak in Australia, and I was sucking in the breaths with oxygen levels almost half that of sea level. Despite this, it’s barely half the height of Everest… mountain climbers are a crazy breed.

The rest of the day was, literally and figuratively, all downhill from there. By 5pm, we had descended more than 1,700 metres to round out the 22-kilometre day and arrive at Collpapampa – our camp for the evening. Snow-capped mountains had transformed into cloud forest, although the temperature remained fairly chilly after the sun went down. After taking quite possibly the coldest shower I’ve ever had, we settled in for dinner and a hard-earned drink. Accommodation tonight would be wooden triangular huts with glass sides, overlooking a gorgeous Andean valley. Sleep came quickly after a long day that had been equal parts exhausting and rewarding.

Day 3

The easiest day of the trek begins with a sleep-in – a lovely 6am start! Once again, our alarm clock was a warm cup of mate de coca, and a slightly less freezing environment than yesterday awaited us outside the hut.

In a nice change of pace, today’s hike was almost completely downhill but for a handful of brief inclines. The path winds through the Santa Teresa Valley, following the curves of the Salkantay River, and the temperature quickly became warm and humid as we descended more than 1,000 metres into the dense vegetation of the jungle.

After hiking around 10 kilometres, and with the soreness of yesterday’s climb starting to settle in, we stumbled across a small clearing. It contained nothing but a simple shop and, most importantly, a makeshift football field.

Now I don’t know about you, but a strange phenomenon occurs with me whenever the chance to play football arises. I could be utterly exhausted, at my absolute physical limit, but if someone brings out a ball, I will miraculously transform into an enthusiastic puppy dog with boundless energy.

Turns out I wasn’t the only enthusiastic puppy around, and a four-a-side game quickly broke out – Europeans against Non-Europeans. I’m still convinced we scored an equaliser at 2-3 down, but alas, the Peruvian Andes were lacking goal-line technology, and morale among the Non-Europeans dropped following the controversial decision. The intense encounter ended 4-2 to the Europeans, with both exhausted teams immediately regretting their life choices once the hike resumed.

Arriving at our camp in the mid-afternoon, we had a quick lunch before taking a half hour bus ride to something we had all been looking forward to – the hot springs! After covering 44 kilometres of mountainous terrain over the last three days, a good soaking in the thermal waters of Colcampayo was exactly what the doctor ordered.

We emerged from the springs around 6pm, feeling thoroughly relaxed. Naturally, with a 700-metre ascent in the morning and a 24-kilometre day of trekking on the cards tomorrow, our guides decided now was a good time to have a quick dinner and ensure everyone got an early night and a good rest in preparation for tomorrow.

Just kidding. We walked out of the hot springs to a series of outdoor stalls with plastic chairs and tables, and our guides proceeded to buy copious amounts of pisco, tequila and beer for the group. I’d already start to develop a bit of a cold and wasn’t feeling 100%, but when in Colcampayo, you do as the Colcampayans do (although future me from 7am the next morning would probably strongly disagree).

The evening escalated quickly, and following countless elaborate toasts in just about every language we could think of, we started the return trip to camp around 8pm. It featured a brief stop to refuel (both the bus with petrol and us with more alcohol), as well as plenty of perfectly tone-deaf makeshift karaoke.

While there would be many regrets on tomorrow’s hike, the evening had undoubtedly been one of the highlights of the trek so far.

Day 4

Following the shenanigans of the previous night, I awoke both mildly sick and a tad hungover on the morning of day 4. The 5:30am cup of mate de coca didn’t quite have the same invigorating effect that it had had on previous days, and the three-hour ascent that followed was rather torturous (albeit absolutely stunning).

Along the way, we passed avocado trees, incredible views of the valley, and an ‘Inka Andean Starbucks’ – a rustic wooden stall with a dilapidated tin roof that I assume typically sells local coffee, but this morning was staffed only by a family of smooth rocks with hand-painted faces on them. Sadly, no matter how insistently I asked for my Llama Spice Latte, the rocks refused to budge.

Eventually we arrived at Llactapata, an Inca ruin that sits atop the mountain. Imagine someone stole a small patch of Machu Picchu and moved it to a neighbouring hill – that’s what Llactapata is. The small clearing with its old stone structures provided a beautiful, sun-drenched spot to stop and rest, and most excitingly, gave us our first glimpse of Machu Picchu. It was rather humbling to see one of the New Seven Wonders of the World reduced to nothing more than a tiny speck by the grandeur of the Andes mountain range.

After soaking in the views for half an hour or so, we began the 1,000-metre descent back down the other side of the mountain towards Hidroeléctrica, where we’d be stopping for lunch. The final stretch of the day was to be a 10-kilometre walk along the train tracks to Aguas Calientes, the last resting place before Machu Picchu. Though we were exhausted from one of the hardest days of hiking so far, it was a calming walk on flat terrain through humid jungle. Well, calming except for the occasional person yelling ‘TRAIN!’ and everyone darting off to the side of the path as the old blue and yellow Peru Rail locomotive thundered past.

Finally, just as the sun was setting, we trudged into our hostel in Aguas Calientes, grateful to have a bed and a lukewarm shower. Tomorrow was the day we’d been working towards, and a well-deserved rest was in order.

Day 5

The Salkantay trek typically culminates with an early morning ticket to Machu Picchu on the fifth day, with entrance around 6am, so as to allow enough time to get the bus or train back to Cusco later that day. However, when I went to book the trek, I was informed that there were no morning tickets left for Machu Picchu on the day I wanted to go, but I could book an afternoon ticket and stay an extra night in Aguas Calientes if I wanted.

This turned out to be a blessing in disguise for several reasons throughout the day. Firstly, it meant that while the rest of the group awoke at 4am, had a quick meal, and then began the brutal ascent up to Machu Picchu; I was able to roll out of bed around 9am and enjoy a nice breakfast and coffee at a local café before starting my death climb. (You can get the bus, but that seemed like a cop out after everything we’d been through the previous four days.)

A little after 12pm, I made it to the entrance, drenched in sweat from the late-morning sun. Despite having a different entrance time, I’d been informed that I’d still have a guide to take me around the site, and that they’d be waiting at the entrance at 12:15pm calling my name. 12:30pm rolled around and said guide was nowhere to be seen. I’ve never been a big fan of guided tours anyway, I prefer to see sights at my own pace without the pressure of keeping to someone else’s schedule, so I decided to cut the suspense and head in to Machu Picchu alone. It was at this point that I got my first taste of what would be a common theme throughout the day – Machu Picchu has very strict rules, with very few exceptions.

The entrance time on my ticket was 1pm, and at any other tourist attraction in Peru, if you had an entrance time at all, it would be nothing but a friendly suggestion. Not at Machu Picchu. Approaching the entrance a little after 12:30pm, I was curtly informed to come back at 1pm. Fair enough, I thought, it’s a busy site and half an hour is a considerable amount of time. I chilled out for 25 minutes before re-joining the line, and it was 12:57pm when I reached the front and re-presented my ticket.

“Tres minutos,” said the attendant without expression or tone, handing the ticket back to me like an automated machine.

So this was what the day was going to be like.

After twiddling my thumbs for a further 180 seconds, I was finally inside the gates of Machu Picchu – a moment I’d been anticipating for many, many years. I’d been warned that there were four routes to choose from, you can’t change routes once you’ve started, and they are all one-way, meaning you’re unable to go back and revisit somewhere you liked if you change your mind. I went for the longest route and tried to move as slowly as possible through the ruins.

The first thing that struck me was the unfathomable amount of people roaming the ancient Inca citadel. Thousands flowed through the narrow paths, typically in groups of 10-20 and accompanied by a guide. They reminded me of the herds of llamas I’d seen being corralled through the Andean mountains by their shepherds, except that many of the llamas here appeared to be Instagram influencers working on their reels.

In a comical role reversal, Machu Picchu employs around thirty actual llamas to patrol the ruins, which are the freest beings in the entire complex. They go wherever they want, whenever they want, and they are paid in the grass they eat, negating the need for lawn mowers.

In addition to the llamas, visitors and guides, the entire site is also riddled with guards that are constantly blowing their whistles at tourists who are doing the wrong thing – sitting on the rocks, walking the wrong direction along a path, even jumping! (Machu Picchu is sinking at a rate of 2-3cm per year under the weight of all the tourists, so leaping into the air is now forbidden.)

Like many popular sites in Peru, Machu Picchu is finding it difficult to achieve the correct balance between profit and preservation. In the early 1990s, it was receiving around 80,000 visitors per year – today, that number is 1.5 million. While the incessant policing can be frustrating as a visitor, it’s probably an unfortunate necessity unless you’re going to drastically decrease the number of tourists (and hence increase prices).

However, any grievances in the back of my mind instantly fell away about 45 minutes into my time at Machu Picchu. As I rounded a corner, the classic perspective of the ancient ruins came into view – the one you see on all the postcards.

Despite all of the people, all of the regulations, all of the hype, and despite knowing exactly what to expect, that view is still one of the most spectacular landscapes I have ever seen in my life. Centuries-old ruins from an ancient citadel, belonging to one of history’s greatest civilisations, all encompassed as far as can the eye can see by the jagged ranges of the Andes mountains. I sat down on a rock and just stared out at it all, taking an instant to breathe it in and truly appreciate this magnificent sight. There was a calm, peaceful quality to that moment.

That serenity lasted for all of about ten seconds, before I was jolted back to reality by a guard blasting his whistle at me. Don’t sit on the rocks, you idiot.

After taking a thousand photos of a view that has been photographed millions of times before, I continued to slowly weave my way along the well-trodden path. I spent hours trying to find unique angles, interesting perspectives, or simply waiting for a nice framing to be as tourist-free as possible (probably the biggest challenge of all). I tried to ensure I’d exhausted every possible alternative before moving along, for fear that I’d regret leaving a particular spot and be unable to go back.

I arrived at the exit at 4:30pm, half an hour before closing time, and despite spending three and a half hours exploring the ruins, I’d still felt rushed – I didn’t want to leave. I decided to walk back the way I had come and try my luck. After all, when was I going to be here again?

Right on cue, a whistle pierced through the air as I came into view of the nearest guard.

“Tengo una pregunta, amigo,” I said, trying to indicate that I was coming back to talk to him.

He initially looked displeased as I politely asked in broken Spanish if I could go back and take just a few more photos in the remaining half an hour. But his demeanour suddenly changed, and a wry smile spread across his face.

“Follow me,” he said.

He led me up some stairs and through a narrow pass between two giant stones. We emerged halfway up one of the old Inca terraces and he gestured that I could remain here if I liked. It was a stunning view, the sun was just beginning to dip behind the ruins and the twilight rays were dancing on the peaks of the Andes. I thanked him and was left beaming as the guard returned to his post.

As a steady stream of tourists trickled towards the exit below me, I sat (not on a rock this time) and watched the sunset, finally achieving that sense of calm in a more long-lasting manner than earlier. It was the perfect ending to an incredible few hours at Machu Picchu, and a truly magnificent way to conclude the five days of trekking on the Salkantay Trail.

Machu Picchu remains one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world for a very good reason, and despite the hordes of visitors and the over-zealous nature of (most of) the guards, I firmly believe it deserves a place on every traveller’s bucket list. It’s but a shadow of what it used to be a few decades ago, and I’m quite concerned about what the site will look like in the decades to come. But for now, a visit to Machu Picchu still remains absolutely worth every cent, every step and every scintilla of anticipation it takes to get there.