Let's all live in Cusco!

I felt like I'd moved to Cusco. Just packed up and moved into my hostel bunk for all eternity. I was feeling better in health, but pretty gutted about missing out on the trek, so I threw myself into being a tommy tourist for a few days.

I fully realise I'm a disgusting travelling cliche, but I was in the middle of Che Guevara's The Motorcycle Diaries, and I kind of think Che himself explains Cusco best. So I'll let him do the talking.

"There are two or three Cuscos.. or it's better to say two or three ways the city can be summarised. Cusco invites you to become a warrior, and to defend, club in hand, the freedom and the life of the Inca. It invites you to be a hesitant tourist, to pass over things superficially and to relax into the beauty beneath a leaden winter sky. 

And yet another Cusco.. a vibrant city whose monuments bear witness to the formidable courage of the warriors who conquered the region in the name of Spain, the Cusco to be found in museums and libraries, in the church facades and in the clear, sharp features of the white chiefs who even today feel pride in the conquest. This is the Cusco asking you to pull on your armour, and, mounted on the ample back of a powerful horse, cleave a path through the defenseless flesh of a naked Indian flock whose human wall collapses and disappears beneath the four hooves of the galloping beast.."

Okay, so I wasn't exactly speeding through the streets on the back of a horse mowing down the indigenous people, but I kind of get what he's saying. Cusco is all at once polluted, yet beautiful and picturesque, historical and yet with a dirty great Starbucks in the middle of the main square. Also, it was totally FREEZING and I was dying to get to somewhere warm - and I'd say there was a fourth Cusco, too. Gringos-Get-Pissed-Cusco.

But after being Che's 'tourist' for a few days, I hopped in a collectivo to Ollantaytambo, where I finally boarded the Machu Picchu Express. It was all very Jurassic Park, a tourist filled train with a perspex roof and a running commentary of which bit of the jungle we were in. I arrived in the strange, damp town of Aguas Calientes, Machu Picchu's base camp, to catch up with the rest of my group who were exhausted from the 83km trek. However refreshed and raring to go I was, I still managed to sleep through the 4am alarm call but luckily was woken in time to join the group for the early start to catch the sunrise at the ruins.

The trek up the steps was exausting, but we were amongst the first groups to arrive and as the light ascended behind the surrounding mountains, the first picture-postcard, money shot view was pretty spectacular. Take it away, Che:

"Here we found the pure expression of the most powerful race in the Americas.. replete with immensely evocative treasures.. the spectacular landscape circling the fortress supplies an essential backdrop, inspiring dreamers to wander its ruins for the sake of it.."

As the sun continued to rise, more tourists poured in so after a walk through the ruins, we climbed to the top of Wayna Picchu, the pointy mountain you see in all the postcards, to get the opposite view. I had a total sense of wonder and achievement, even if I did cheat and take the train, and we soaked up the sun, played with the llamas and enjoyed the views. I definitely felt like a dreamer.

Cusco still had a few days of fun left in it, but after a mini-Bolivia reunion, it was time to leave this weird and, all in all, wonderful place.