My guidebook said you could visit the ruins at night. As I watched the sun set over Machu Picchu, this thought tantalized me. Ten hours of exploring had left me hungry for more.
All day long I had been rubbing shoulders with the tourist throngs, mesmerized by the beauty of this most famous of South American destinations. Not that I begrudged anybody else the experience, but the crowds were overwhelming. Since daybreak, tour buses had been snaking up and down the hairpin switchbacks from the Urubamba Valley far below. I wondered if the crowds might disperse after nightfall, permitting a more tranquil visit.
It’s ironic that this spot, chosen by the Incas for its solitary majesty as the lofty mountaintop refuge of nobles or priests, has become such a poster child for the tourist industry. For centuries Machu Picchu remained unknown except to its Inca builders and local residents. Invisible and nearly inaccessible from the valley below, it eluded discovery by the Spanish conquistadors, then slipped into vine- and jungle-
covered oblivion following Inca abandonment in the 1500s. Only in 1911 did American explorer Hiram Bingham finally catapult the site into universal consciousness.
Like many modern-day travelers, I hoped to get a taste of Machu Picchu’s original “lost in the clouds” atmosphere by making the classic high-altitude pilgrimage along the Inca Trail. I joined the obligatory tour group in Cuzco, then spent the next four days surrounded by other trekkers. Along the way, we crossed two breathtaking (literally!) 13,000-foot Andean passes, treading on original Inca paving stones, and passing several other fine ruins, culminating the third night at Huinay Huayna, where dozens of impossibly steep terraces cascaded into a deep green gorge backed by a high waterfall.
Before dawn the final morning we climbed to the mountaintop Gateway of the Sun, hoping for the classic panoramic view of Machu Picchu before the tour buses arrived. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t cooperate. With dozens of other disappointed trekkers, I shivered on the hilltop in chilly fog for two hours, waiting for a sunrise that never came. As I trudged down the hill to Machu Picchu itself, the clouds started lifting, revealing the place to be every bit as spectacular as I could have hoped. By day’s end, my tour group had dispersed, apparently having seen enough of the ruins and preferring a hot bath. But not me.
Inquiring about boletos nocturnos (night-visit tickets), I was directed to a counter near the entrance gate. I fully expected to encounter a small army of other nocturnal adventurers. After waiting patiently while the last daytime visitors filtered from the site, I was startled to suddenly find myself alone with the night watchman, who was asking me how long I’d like to “stay in there.” He explained that he was leaving for his dinner break, so he’d simply lock me in and return when I was ready.
Intimate encounter
So began my unexpectedly intimate encounter with one of the world’s most overrun tourist destinations. The last traces of daylight were disappearing as I heard the heavy gate clank shut behind me. Insects and birds chirped loudly. Inca stone walls plunged headlong toward the dizzyingly deep gorge of the Urubamba River hundreds of meters below. Knife-edged green mountains rose up on all sides, their peaks obscured by a dense layer of cottony clouds turned bluish- gray by the vanishing sun. Before me, great stone steps descended through a trapezoidal door into the complex of temples, houses, terraces and fountains that the Incas built half a millennium ago. The moon was now almost directly overhead, casting enough light to walk by, moving in and out of the clouds. And there I was, completely alone in the ruins of Machu Picchu.
By daylight Machu Picchu had been surreal enough, an almost perfect melding of human and natural design. By night it was utterly spellbinding. In the moonlight, it was impossible to avoid an eerie fascination with the question of whether there might be ghosts roaming about. The evening chill began to come on, and I shivered involuntarily. Suddenly I felt with distinct certainty that I was not alone. Two mysterious presences were moving in the shadows. Then from behind me came a sudden snort and heavy breathing only inches from my neck. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Gathering my courage, I turned. There stood two furry llamas who had come down to share the evening with me!
The llamas squeaked, I laughed at myself, and then we wandered our separate ways into the night.
Gregor Clark is a contributing author to the forthcoming “Lonely Planet Guide to the Middle of Nowhere.”
His work also appears in two LP cycling guides: “Italy” and “USA West Coast.” “Travels With Lonely Planet” is coordinated by Global Travel Editor Don George. You can e-mail him at don.george@lonelyplanet.com. For more travel information, visit LonelyPlanet.com.
The details
Getting there: Cuzco, Peru, is the closest airport. Flights from the U.S. connect through Lima.
On foot via the Inca Trail: Regulations limit the number of people on the trail, so advance booking with an approved tour operator is essential. Numerous Cuzco agencies such as perutreks.com offer four-day packages costing $300-$350 (discounted for students). Prices include meals, camping gear, train and bus transfers, and all entrance fees.
By train: Three classes of trains depart Cuzco each morning for the four-hour trip to Aguas Calientes, the town nearest Machu Picchu. All trains return late afternoon. Round-trip prices are $68 for the basic Backpacker, $105 for the glass-roofed Vistadome, and $495 for the luxury Hiram Bingham (details at perurail.com). From Aguas Calientes, frequent buses ($6) climb straight uphill to the ruins (entrance fee $35).
