PERU: Inca-redible

Mild headaches, lack of appetite, shortness of breath and heart palpitations. No, these aren't side effects of Cialis for Once Daily Use. We were in Cusco, Peru, 11,000 feet above sea level and I felt the symptoms of “hypobaropathy” or altitude sickness slowly start to rankle my body.

Altitude sickness generally starts affecting people at higher than 8,000 feet. Machu Picchu is at 8,000 feet, so no problem there. But everyone who so desires to visit the ancient ruins passes through the city of Cusco, just as every Nintendo gamer who faced Mike Tyson in Punch-Out passed through Soviet slugger, Soda Popinski. A rite of passage so to speak. Flights land in Cusco. Buses load in Cusco. Trains travel from Cusco.

We arrived at a chic hotel in the middle of city, near the main square. You know it's a fancy hotel when it houses a 17th century courtyard and the towels in the bathroom are laid out to look like baby swans. Within minutes after checking in, we daringly tested our tolerance to the thin air by drinking pisco sour, the national cocktail. This, we both slowly realized, was a big mistake. A few jiggers later, as we prepared to head out to do a bit of sightseeing, we became dizzy and nauseous as we struggled to walk. I remember seeing her drag her body, until she could go no further and finally collapse into the granite floor of the hotel lobby. I was fine though, still conscious and aware of the hotel staff rushing like a professional ER team to give her first aid and oxygen. They revived her, led her to a wheelchair, and covered her doleful face with an oxygen mask, looking like an ailing, female version of the Batman villain, Bane ("When you climb Machu Picchu, you have my permission to die").

I knew Peru was supposed to take my breath away, but not like this.

For the rest of the afternoon, we ended up doing a whole lot of nothing, laying in bed, resting and acclimatizing to the oxygen-deprived air. Drinking ample amounts of cocoa tea numbed the senses and mitigated the effects of this bout of mountain sickness. It was thus a relatively quiet first night, capped by some fairly decent room service and bad telenovelas.

I was a young kid leafing through the World Book Encyclopedia (or is it "encyclopaedia"?) when I first learned about Machu Picchu and the legendary Inca Empire. The images of that city of stone, veiled in clouds and hugged by jagged mountain peaks had always set my imagination reeling. I didn't know when or how, but knew that one day I will see it in person. It’s 4 a.m. in Cusco and darkness still gathered. Today is that day.

There are many ways to get to Machu Picchu as there are many ways to shear a llama. A popular route is the traditional Inca Trail (Camino Inka), a 4-day, 26 mile, scenic hike through mountain passes along the Sacred Valley. But time was limited and I was not interested in smelling like a patch of grass for four days. Not to be "anti-beaten path," but the easiest and most convenient approach seemed to be the luxury train route. Inca Trail? More like Inca Rail.

We took the early morning train. The carriage mildly shook, the engine roared and the beer was gently poured. The sight of Andean rivers and landscapes while enjoying a morning Cuscquena was definitely a good start to the day. Three cervezas later, we reached the not so sleepy town of Aguas Calientes, which lies in a deep gorge below the ruins of Machu Picchu.

Our group, composed of a hired guide, some cheery Scandinavians and a hilarious man-purse carrying bloke from London, trekked a portion of the Inca Trail and hiked towards the famous Sun Gate. I didn't realize the Inca Trail was an actual footpath with stones meticulously laid out. I go one foot at a time, looking down and inspecting every rock and stone I placed my feet on for balance. The ramble took over an hour until we reach the Sun Gate which splendidly looked down into Machu Picchu. We sat down with the stone gate behind us as we soaked in the sight of the Incan fortress from a distance.

We hiked for one more hour to take a closer look at the mysterious citadel. I took a few more pauses to catch my breath and looked around at how high we had climbed, revealing sprawling mountainous landscapes. I gazed at my clothes which little by little grew damp under the rain.  

There in the mist, majestic and silent, stood Machu Picchu. I stood over an overlook, admiring the buildings which seemed like bungalows made of rocks with missing roofs. We took in the scenery surrounding us on four sides. But any sort of fantasy you may have of relishing these remarkable ruins in pensive solitude should be ripped from your head. It wasn't even high season and there were camera-toting sightseers everywhere. No wonder there’s 30% less oxygen here. It’s all these selfie stick-carrying tourists climbing Machu Picchu. But then again, there is a reason why everyone and their favorite aunt come here. It’s just simply one of those incredible places you have to see before you become worm food.

We travel back to Cusco in the evening. We got to the hotel quite late and fell straight into bed. The following morning, we felt a bit more acclimatized to the thin air (thank the Inca Gods) and ventured down to the center of town to grab something to eat. The main square is colorful and full of energy, yet quaint and aging like a European town, a poor man’s Salzburg. The cobblestone streets, decaying buildings and surrounding hillsides set a slow and relaxed pace.

It was early in the day and we decided to check out the city’s popular Inca tourist sites: the famous angle stone in the middle of a wall on a pedestrian street, the ancient temple that was converted by the Spanish conquistadors into a Catholic church and a local museum showcasing assorted ancient artifacts (with the cameo appearance of a couple of well-preserved Peruvian mummies).

As we cross Plaza de Armas on the way to a Yelp-certified sandwich shop, a young Peruvian lad, probably no older than seventeen, offered to sell me some of the wacky tabaccy (i.e. marijuana). "No, gracias," I politely declined. We were already high up in the atmosphere and I had no intention of getting high any further.

We had a lip-smacking lunch of local Peruvian sandwiches (thanks to Yelp). I ordered a beer. My day drinking was then interrupted by my siblings, who at that moment, travelling together in Vietnam, Facetimed me when they fortuitously bumped into a mate from Beantown now based in Ho Chi Minh City. As Yoda would say, “Small, this world is.”

She went off shopping for touristy tats, while I looked for a place where I could relax and soothe my muscles, sore from yesterday’s Machu Picchu hike. I found what seemed like a sketchy little spa across a church. Inside, the massage beds stood close to one another and were separated by thin curtains. I think they were simply blankets flung about. The only light that flickered was from tiny electric candles on each corner of the massage room. I stripped naked, laid down and had a good, long massage with hot stones for a rock-bottom price. I paid the equivalent of 10 US dollars to the breastfeeding cashier and resolved that it was time for an afternoon beer.  

The perimeter of the main square serves as the overpriced happy-hour center for the straight-off-the trail crowd. I decided to grab a drink in one of the bars with a wooden balcony overlooking vibrant Plaza de Armas. There I met an Indonesian grad student based in Sydney who was, as you guessed it, "finding herself" and backpacking across South America. She broke the ice by offering me her plate of papa fritas. We thereafter drowned in beers and pisco sours while we yakked on about our travels, altitude sickness, geopolitics, and our personal beliefs (she was a progressive Muslim and told me her conservative Mom would kill her if she finds out that she was treating alcohol as a food group). 

In Peru, the guinea pig or “cuy” is considered a delicacy. Other than gaining bizarre foods bragging rights, I was certainly curious how these furry rodents tasted like. No, it doesn't matter that these cute creatures are ill-fated servants of science or that my cousin used to keep them as pets. 

For dinner, we went to a suitable restaurant that specialized in local delicacies. I rubbed my palms together with anticipation over eating a small pet. I was expecting a plate with an animal, paws up, claws and head on, ringed with fries and maybe a side of veggies. But to my disappointment, the waiters served the guinea pig sans its appendages, with just its body flattened and fried (it was a classy joint). I got over it and said to myself that the presentation didn’t matter…I was about to chomp on Mickey Mouse’s heavyset cousin. It was stringy and chewy and tasted like chicken wings.

After dinner, we headed to Museo del Pisco, a local bar serving an extensive collection of pisco sours. It’s no doubt a tourist spot, but one of the good ones. The joint’s friendly mixologists were alcohol experts and helped with our liquor selections. I started off with a classic mix and further challenged drinking frontiers with unique infused pisco-based libations (pisco with mint!). It was a long day and the voluptuous effect of alcohol was as comforting as the caress of a wet nurse’s hand. 

It was our last night in Cusco. Hold the ceviche, tomorrow we fly to the capital.

Heavy clouds greeted us in Lima. But there was no chance of rain here. Lima is a large desert city. It’s no Vegas though. This is no Sin City. This is not the place you hit hard half naked in the back of stretch limousine with champagne cascading down your lady friend’s breasts.

Lima oozed with gritty urban chaos. A sheet of thick grey fog hovered over the city for a decent portion of our stay. The streets were clogged with pedestrians and taxis. But once you peel back some of the layers of grime, you’ll find a gem of a city, as vibrant as it is varied.

The district of Miraflores, marked by cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean was home base. We passed by the Parque del Amor lovers’ statues, looked out to sea and observed parasailers before checking in our hotel, a luxurious edifice armed with the necessities: a heated rooftop pool, a luxury spa and on-site gourmet restaurant.

Glass skyscrapers and shopping malls dot Lima, but we came here for the city’s old school charm: pre-Colombian ruins, colorful Spanish mansions and baroque cathedrals. We meandered into Plaza Mayor, the city’s hub of its colonial past, surrounded by striking architecture: the Presidential Palace with its iron gates, the two-towered national cathedral and the Archbishop’s Palace with its elegant wooden balconies. Our guide, Jose, steered us into the city’s oldest bar, Bar Cordano where we grabbed beers to-go and continued the urban expedition, cervezas in hand, blissfully free from open container laws. We concluded at El Convento de San Francisco, which housed catacombs chock-full of skeletons eerily arranged in circles. This was a fascinating tour, make no bones about it.

The Huaca Pucclana ruins were settled sometime around 500 A.D. by Lima Indians as a temple to worship the sea. It’s a massive adobe pyramid and is an active excavation site. I rounded up friends who called Lima their home and grabbed dinner at a restaurant overlooking the incredible ruins. It was difficult to concentrate on the food as the view of the ruins, lit up at night, was captivating. 

As we dined over local delicacies, drank the local spirits, laughed at memories and exchanged stories while surrounded by glowing ruins, I felt a vibe of buena onda, a sense of being sealed into the moment, a feeling I always seek out when I travel and certainly found in Peru.