Past Adventures: Escape to Peru

Sometimes the best place to find perspective is in the past. I was recently flipping through one of my old travel journals and came across my account of a journey I took to Peru. It was a spontaneous trip planned with a good friend after a particularly difficult season in my life. In revisiting those dusty pages, I was reminded of the power of adventure to shake us loose, to remind us of what matters, and to occasionally leave us with a couple of stowaway parasites.

Carl and I booked our flights to Peru in under an hour. We figured if Machu Picchu, one of the New Seven Wonders of the World, couldn’t lift our spirits, nothing could. Normally, you’d plan a trip like this well in advance, get your shots, and update your insurance. We had none of that. We booked our departure for the following week, skipped the inoculations, and discovered that Peru was under a “do not travel” advisory due to political unrest. No insurance company would cover us. But we weren’t about to let a little thing like diplomacy or caution stand in the way of an adventure.

I opted for the budget flight, so my route down resembled an episode of The Amazing Race, touching down at what felt like every airport in the hemisphere. But I did manage to get some altitude sickness pills; worth every penny, because Cusco’s air was thinner than my travel budget.

First Impressions of Cusco

The first thing you’ll notice in Cusco is the constant smell of diesel. By that, I mean the fuel, not the cologne. Vehicles there operate with no concern for pedestrians or emissions. Clouds of blue smoke hang in the air like fog, and that alpaca scarf you’re thinking of bringing home as a souvenir? Probably carries the same long-term health risks as a carton of cigarettes.

Second, every postcard you’ve ever seen from Cusco was taken in the Plaza de Armas. It’s stunning, absolutely. A little pocket of postcard perfection. But as you move outward from that plaza, the “charm” begins to wear thin. You’ll be called “Amigo” until you don’t buy something, then you’re just a “Gringo.”

Also, word to the wise, bring toilet paper. In Peru, no one owns toilet seats, much less functioning flush toilets. They have bowls, but most of them don't flush unless you pour water into them. You don’t sit. You hover. Unlike squatting toilets, which are essentially a hole in the floor in remote parts of Asia, here you can’t squat. Because there is a toilet bowl but with no seat, you are forced to half squat. It’s like a CrossFit workout for your thighs. I realize they are a struggling country, but drawing the line at toilet seats seems like an odd choice to save a few bucks. 

If you’re lucky, the sink might give you a few drops of cold water. Usually, beside the non-functioning sink, you will find a plastic basin of water. Everyone who has just used the bathroom with no toilet paper is forced to share this same plastic basin of water to clean themselves. In other words, pack hand sanitizer like your life depends on it, because it might.

Incan Ruins and Gassy Horses

We began our adventure by renting horses to visit some local Incan ruins. Mine was a pony-sized creature with a look in his eye that suggested he was near the end of his days. He seemed to rely on flatulence for propulsion. Somehow, we made it up the hills.

While exploring one of the ruins, Carl and I discovered a cave system and crawled in, only to be escorted out by a very unimpressed park ranger. Apparently, we had wandered into a sacred site. Our Spanish was limited, but the message came through loud and clear: “Leave.”

Market Madness and Lake Titicaca

Next, we took a tour bus to Lake Titicaca. The brochure promised ancient ruins and cultural highlights. What we got was a boiling hot bus with no AC and endless stops at tourist markets. We were rushed past the good stuff, temples, churches, ruins, and left to wilt in open-air bazaars. By the third stop, I turned to our guide and said, “There are only so many blankets a man can buy.” He backed away slowly. Either I had made my point, or the Peruvian sun had turned me into El Diablo. Like almost everything in Peru, local tour buses are a scam. They blow past the sites they advertise to hold you hostage at several markets outside of town while stall owners yell at you to buy their identical goods. 

If you do manage to visit a historical site, there will no doubt be an elderly woman in traditional garb sitting at the entrance. Try to take a photo of the site, and her nephew will jump out of the bushes, demanding payment for you having taken a photo of the old woman. I have had the privilege of travelling to many parts of this world, and I can honestly say that Cusco and the surrounding area are home to the most filthy and unscrupulous people I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. 

After what felt like a lifetime, we arrived at Lake Titicaca. The lake itself was spectacular, especially the floating reed islands. Their homes, boats, and even the islands themselves are made from river reeds. It felt very National Geographic—until we noticed the solar panels, televisions, and the hard sales tactics. All of which indicated they weren’t as traditional as they would have you believe. Still, it was a moment I’ll never forget.

The “Motorcycle Tour” (or Dakar Rally, Part One)

Back in Cusco, we needed to get to Machu Picchu. Tired of tour buses, we opted to rent motorcycles. I had my license, but my riding experience was limited, and I had only taken one day of off-road training. Still, we found a rental company that promised an easy route and a private guide who would take it slow.

None of that happened.

They didn’t ask to see my license—just my Visa card and blood type. That should’ve been the first red flag. We were given 400cc Honda Falcons and a guide who seemed to be training for the Moto GP. He flew down mountain switchbacks and peeled off-road with no warning. Carl and I just tried to keep up. At any given moment, it was either a cliff wall to our left, a thousand-foot drop to our right, or a prayer whispered into my helmet. I’d signed up for a scenic tour. What I got was The Long Way Down, Fast & Furious: Andes Edition.

We did stop at a hot spring along the way, which seemed relaxing, until I found out it was home to multiple species of parasites. Two of them decided I’d make a fine travel companion. The doctor never said exactly how they got in, but let’s just say my internal border security failed.

Machu Picchu and Magic

We survived the motorcycle ride and boarded the train to Machu Picchu. The experience was complete with misty windows and spectacular mountain views. We spent the night in a town called Aguas Calientes, which translates to “Hot Water” in English, though ironically there was no hot water in our hostel. Early the next morning, we began the hike to the famous postcard overlook of Machu Picchu.

The fog was thick as soup. Our hike up yielded nothing but grey. But on the way down, the mist parted, and there it was.

Machu Picchu.

Even standing there, you feel like it can’t be real. Like you’ve stepped into a dream of some long-forgotten kingdom. You get a sense of what Hiram Bingham must have felt as he first set eyes on it in 1911. It’s a place that humbles you, its history, its silence, its sense of purpose carved into stone.

Everyone should see it at least once.

Homebound Reflections

I had a few days left in Peru, though once the parasites had set up camp, I focused on touring bathrooms while contemplating starting a business importing toilet seats to Cusco.

But in the end, as I sat on the plane, lighter, wiser, and slightly more sanitized, I realized it had all been worth it. The journey, the near-misses, the laughter, the discomfort, the views... and yes, even the parasites. Getting travel parasites is a rite of passage for an explorer. Upon my return, I got rid of them with the help of Dr. Livingston, not the Dr. Livingston, but close enough.     

Peru is a land of history, hardship, humour, and high altitudes. And somewhere in between all that chaos, I found a bit of myself again. Much like Egypt, if you can handle the constant harassment and look past the filth, there are ancient wonders to behold. Just remember to bring the hand sanitizer, skip the tours, and for the love of God, don’t swim in the hot springs.