SustainablEthos

Day One

4:30 came in a restless hurry; however, we were gathered and ready by the time our tour bus pulled up outside. As each person boarded the bus, the growing group scanned its new company until eyelids were too heavy to bother. Half dreaming-half hungry, I was hearing the word “manzana” repetitively being broadcasted outside the foot of our stopped bus. Even if my hunger was more painful than my reclined position was pleasant, it wouldn’t have mattered; Manzana was the name of our head cook!

After all parties were securely fastened, we climbed and twisted our way for two hours from Cusco into the world of the Sacred Valley. Green with farms, forests, and dirt roads; our view glistened in the rising sun until, one by one, everyone had re-awoken. Our bus pulled into Mollepata. around 8am where we had one last chance to purchase supplies (I bought a lifesaver of a “gorro” since my sunglasses were broken) and pay for our last meal for the next four days.

Coca tea, bread and marmelade, and scrambled eggs were all devoured as everyone got their first chance to exchange names, backgrounds, and journeys. Instantly, the group began clicking. The introducing questions have varied little (What did/do you do?, Where are you headed?, What drives you?) on this trip and, honestly, never got tiring to say or talk about with the disparity in unique individuals. Everyone’s perspective in leading them to cross paths at this moment – which is all that mattered then and there – always filled me with a fresh pride in the humanity around me. I also find it no coincidence that being surrounded by nature turns people into a clearer-minded puzzle piece in the circle of life.

Following one of our two guides (the second, Cesar, brought up the rear to maintain and effective cohesion), Louisa walked us along a dirt road out of Mollepata at 2,900m (nearly 10,000ft). Most of our day’s valley side walk was a steady, yet rocky, dirt road with the occassional steep trail climb through slick mud. Bees the size of grapes buzzed around us as we alternated “descansos” with air-thinning inclines. The sun beat down on us throughout the ascent to our first lunch, but slowly the bugs retracted to lower altitudes and our non-mountain lungs caught a sense of pace with our hungry muscles.

Lunch, a delicious quinoa soup and beef saltado, was served at 3,500m where our trail opened up into a three way split of meeting valleys. Five feet from our table the terrain plummetted into the roaring river below while the mountain natives performed a ceremonial ritual of carrying a cross to and partying at the closest peak above us.

We washed down lunch with a digestion-helping mint tea and set out to climb the final 300m into camp. The path was still road (something that would thankfully cease after today) and laid a slow incline at our feet. We passed cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, horses, and sheep. They all seemed to accept us and our path, but occassionally Javier would push his limits on their territory if they didn’t respond to his calls for attention. Over the next few days, as the road turned to trail and the hike more closed off to the domesticated world, these animals would begin commanding respect, sometimes aggressively.

Around 4:30pm, we completed our first twenty-two kilometers of acclimatizing hiking and found what would be our highest camp, 3,800 meters. Here, in the Apurímac valley, we were perched between a glacial mountain to our west and the connecting valley with Salkantay mountain poking out its ice-capped peak to our north. From the east is where we spent most of today and also where the sun was casting its final rays of light. While the south laid out the range that was our day’s left hand companion.

At 5:00pm, after making our beds and switching to warmer gear, tea was served with popcorn and biscuits. Another common theme that has taken place a lot on my trip was that of language. We would take turns offering up a particular country (or region) and give everything we knew about it as a collective group. Now and then, since we represented Canada, Columbia, Argentina, England Germany, Spain, Brazil, Peru, and the United States, a subject would receive enough attention that a representative from each country we be called on (gringo, norte americano, or US in my case) to explain or demonstrate their side. This probably dominated a third of our group conversation.

Once tea ended, we were given a time frame of an hour until dinner would be served. As people began to scatter about the site a bit, Dominic (Germany) came into our wind tent and ordered (or suggested) everyone’s presence outside for a quick admiration of the night’s sky. Never in my life have I seen the universe in this light. Stars, planets, constellations, and the Milky Way. I quickly admitted my lack of knowledge in recognizing some of the various combinations but, as Dominic began pointing majority of them out, I was becoming inspired to pick up a book. There is an option to get a “guided tour” ($30, with night’s stay, www.spaceobs.com) at an observatory in San Pedro de Atacama, but only when there isn’t a full moon. So I suppose luck was only half on our side there.

After a few minutes, Dominic, Camila (Colombia), Helena (England), and myself (I couldn’t get enough) remained. Here conversation got quickly philosophical and even spiritual. At this point in my journey this wasn’t the first opening of these doors (and it wouldn’t be the last), and a general understanding of a need for unlimited or unbiased education, hopefully leading to a respectable “tolerance”, would calm a lot of miscommunication and unsubtantiated pretense that exists and causes some bloody conflict in our world. If I look at our tiny world in a thirteen billion year old universe and become fascinated about all the “imaginative” possibilities and begin to look at my life as almost pure chance, I want someone to a least honor my curiosity and share a conversation with me about it. Further, I want this person not to attempt to debunk my thoughts with the sense of a blind belief but rather to offer his/her own experience with their feeling or mentality or give me a story of their own accord on the meaning, or origin of the said belief. With so many unanswerable questions, I have begun finding an appreciation in the origin of all belief systems. At present, destiny is both physical and spiritual to me, and I have no problem dedicating myself to my physical environment around me while picking and chosing my own personal set of spiritual beliefs as well.

So gaze at the stars and ponder our universal importance we did. At dinner I could sense the nature around us slowly making it’s mark on the fully inspired people we would be five days later in Machu Picchu and even the next day atthe Salkantay Pass. With the cold setting into zero degrees Celsius and our muscles needing rest for the big ascent the following day, we began filing away to bed. I laid awake in my sack for awhile taking in full appreciation of the peaceful, natural world I had slipped into that morning.

Day Two

After a breakfast of hot chocolate, bread and jam, an omelet, and coca tea, we were given the option of horse or foot to the top of the 4,800m pass. To me, this wasn’t even a question; I was walking the whole way. It did seem like a beautiful opportunity to see all of the trail unfold around you and I surely don’t blame those for one second that chose this option. I, however, feel I appreciate my reward/accomplishment that much more, but, again, that’s just me!

Setting out in the shadows of our next valley, with Salkantay at our twelve o’clock, the 1,000m climb began steadily before opening up into sun and steepness.

In this same time, the temperature slowly dropped and the air thinned. We took two much needed descansos to snack and rest before setting foot on the highest point of our trek, Salkantay Pass.

After Cesar graciously alotted us a solid fifteen minutes of posing with the 360 degree backdrop, he sat us down to explain the history and meaning behind and relationship of the glacier, the cairn, the gods, and the people of this area. As he spoke his passion resonated from every word. Pachamama, earth, Pachapata, sun. Viewed from Machu Picchu’s main sundial, the Southern Cross is above Salkantay’s summit when at its highest point in the sky during the rainy season. The Incas associated this alignment with concepts of rain and fertility, and considered Salkantay to be one of the principal deities controlling weather and fertility in the region west of Cuzco. The cairn (or sets of cairns in this case) began as an offering to these gods from all passing travelers. They would pile on a stone of their own, offer some coca leaves, and pour some caña (a sugarcane rum) over the cairn to finish. The glaciers have obviously brought life to this area for centuries and has slowly begun shrinking over the last few decades. It was sad to hear the fear in his voice that the yearly ceremonies for Salkantay could disappear along with the glacier and the happiness it brings. He wrapped up the story by offering us each a shot of caña while Louisa walked around offering a floral remedy to those wanting help dealing with the altitude. Then, just after we made our offering and as we were about to leave, an avalanche came crashing down in front of us. Perfect length and distance for some good photos:

From here we would descend almost 2,000m into camp today. Along the way, we did take one more descanso to do some meditating and headstands before stopping in a sheep’s grazing meadow for lunch. Following this new scene the decline got quite steep and, at times, muddy; fortunately the temperature changed some as well. At one point we passed two girls coming home from school by ascending the same river/path of mud we were all using makeshift walking sticks to descend. Javier handed them each an apple and wished them well as we were all surely thinking “Que vida!” – what a life.

Today’s trek totalled eighteen kilometers and was all uphill or all downhill. Make no mistake, the downhill wasn’t much easier, if only on the lungs, and is actually more dangerous; surer footing is needed to avoid injury (or worse) from slipping. Your legs begin to simply move on their own and occassionally erratically by the end of a long day. Pulling into camp, a farmer’s backyard, word spread of a shower. With it quickly getting dark, I made haste to avoid a line and jumped in. The water, piped straight from the nearby river, was ice cold but 100% refreshing in every sense of the word. After I came running out, in a heightened feeling of freshness, screaming to the water gods, it became a bit of comic relief to hear each subsequent person’s intial yelp when first breaking the stream and their animate exit no more than thirty seconds later.

We quickly organized our tents and took advantage of the uber-expensive (relatively speaking), warm beer being sold by those living here and shared a few liters in place of tea with popcorn and biscuits. Conversation was great this evening. I tended towards a spanish-speaking crowd on this trek and, with the help of Vanessa at times, got on just fine. I’m certainly not in the realm of 100%, but points were able to be made and understood. It all made for a pleasant night through dinner.

Sleep was the most challenging tonight as Camila, our Colombian cantante, serenaded us for a good hour after everyone had filed into their tents. Then, in the midst of a dream, the roosters began no earlier than three in the morning and lasted until we woke at five and began chasing them around in thanks for the two hour wake up call.

Day Three

The third day was planned to cover another eighteen kilometers but, due to a stable elevation, was to be finished by one o’clock thereby allowing us a half day of freedom! Starting out we descended a few hundred meters into a hot, insect- and flora-filled climate to a river which we would follow for the next five hours into camp at Sahuayaco. Along the way, Louisa did her best to point out every exotic plant endemic to the area while we each played our own individual game of “find & balance” from rock to rock on the muddy, jungle-like path. Vanessa and I shared a passion fruit that Javier bought from a local ten year old selling his goods and had a good conversation on the need versus want versus convenience of marriage. We concluded that readiness is an understanding that has no such pretense.

Our one lengthy descanso was spent at a family’s house/farm to buy water and snacks, eating delicious oranges, and fighting off a few aggressive roosters and one massive turkey who were trying to steal our grub. Everyone was armed with their walking poles and “kick-ready” legs but, when one hiker turned his back, a hen was able to make off with a granola bar still in it’s package. A short chase ensued and Cesar came out the heroic victor.

Camp today was held in the town of Sahuayaco. Here you also had the option of a shower, which also shared air with a hole in the ground toilet, or heading down to the river to bathe. You can guess which one we chose.

That night our cooks prepared one final feast of chicken wings, stewed veggies, quinoa, and pasta salad. The group also tapped into the resources of this little mountain village and refreshed our palates with cola, cerveza or, in my case, vino. Javier, Vanessa, and I shared two bottles and were feeling just dandy. It sure took the pain away from our aching muscles with the food did its best to heal them. Up to this point, all the walking I have done, including Torres del Paine, has paid off immensely as my legs were feeling stronger than ever. When Javier looked at me with tired, worn eyes, I would pound on my legs jokingly and say “legs of my father”. After a while he began asking how my father’s legs were doing; I would answer “bien” and tell him, with a smile, that “my mother’s heart is beating strong as well”.

That night, before bed, we were individually given the choice to walk the Lucmabamba Pass portion of the Inca Trail to a messenger post and potentially get a glimpse of Machu Picchu in the distance before descending down to a river and following the train tracks into Agua Calientes OR taking a bus to Santa Teresa and cable car across the river before walking the same tracks. The group split nearly in half while yours truly obviously chose the scenic route, if only to say I walked on the Inca Trail after all!!

Day Four

We were briefed that today would consist of eighteen kilometers all the way into Agua Calientes: three hours arriba, two hours abajo, and nearly three final hours of relatiyvely flat terrain along some train tracks. It was also assumed that the length and climb of day two would still be the hardest. Well don’t let them fool you; everyone who walked this pass with me will tell you how intense the climb was as well as how mentally challenging those final three hours of “flatness” ended up being. My father’s legs and mother’s heart would surely be put to the test.

We said adios to the other group (who would meet us at the hostel in AC) and gathered our things. Porters were no more, so all bags were carried from this point. Cooks were also no more; however, they did leave us with a bag lunch for the day. They also surprised Camila for her birthday with two cakes for everyone to share for breakfast. So, with rucksacks hoisted and the singing birthday girl taking the lead, we set out.

After almost fifteen minutes, Cesar stopped us and informed us that the three hour climb portion was mostly along the Inca trail and, with clouds in our favor, we may get our Machu Picchu glimpse atop this pass. So climb we did. We climbed stone stairs (some 3 feet in height) and log stairs. You better believe we also climbed that lovely earth-beaten path.

Camila had the front three in line cheering her on for her next Shakira rendition but, looking back from behind me at position five, everyone else was churning to a different beat (including myself). Eventually, Camila began saving her energy for where it was needed most while everyone’s pace began to vary and settle. It was widely understood, by now, that such varied paces were acceptable so long as the leaders stopped at obvious forks or checkpoints. The group also naturally assimilated to a normal company and place in line as a result.

We all filed into the ruins of the Lucmabamba Pass – messenger resting post – around 10am. Making way through this small Inca site, you walk out into an obvious viewpoint. If you are lucky the sky is clear and the hump of Hueyna Picchu and outline of Machu Picchu city ruins is all noticable in the distance. If not, you simply needed to be patient as the clouds (which we had) moved in every direction, mostly in an upward-diagonal fashion. If properly attentive, you could catch a break for a glimpse long enough to take a quick picture. Here’s what I got:

As we began our descent to the river below for a possible foot bath and some lunch, Cesar stopped us to explain the annual forty-five kilometers Inca trail run. With three arribas and three abajos before and an Andes plain, the record was set by a porter in no more than four hours forty-seven minutes. No friggin joke. Further, this aspect of running downhill got into mine and Dominic’s head and Cesar sensed it. Not the smartest idea, as one highly probable misstep could send one off or sailing down a rocky trail, but certainly the most fun. We sailed halfway down the hour long trail to the river in ten minutes, legs shaking and very much burning. After Dominic let out a scream (rumor had it as a guinea pig) and safely joined Cesar and I, we made a makeshift “branch” arrow at a fork and continued to the rock beach of the river to wait for the rest of the group.

We all took turns bathing our feet in the fresh water and eating our lunch of chicken and rice while taking in these last few moments of our Salkantay trek. Some of us quietly stepped away to capture the group on digital film while the others gazed off into the distance silent, thinking about how wonderfully beautiful this adventure has been and how rewarding tomorrow’s in Machu Picchu would be.

Once everyone was fully satisfied, we made our way to the train tracks a half an hour away. My legs were suddenly in a state of shock; the three hour climb destroyed my calves and the run downhill my knees and thighs. My stomach also began to have problems eliminating an appetite to feed my aching muscles. As a headache was also making ts presence felt, I had to tell myself to straighten up and keep my shoulders back for easier breathing and, clearly, to avoid unnecessary tension before bed tonight. For $2, I slammed a gatorade for a final jolt.

The walk was thankfully scenic; above our heads the valley rose into the ruins of Machu Picchu mountain and the rushing river, that we were following, was eroding it’s boulders into shaped so smooth that you would think they were from some piece of art. Along the way, I chatted with Charlie (Phil’s girlfriend) about my life’s prospects when my trip is done as well as their one year world tour which included base camp at Everest, a volcano in India, and more. I spoke with Helena to find out that there were not one, but two, nineteen year olds on this trek travelling solo to various continents. Finishing these three hours, I spoke with Camila about her experience getting lost with her boyfriend while trying to hike a volcano in Colombia – bringing back memories of my time in the Cascades in Washington last fall.

We stumbled into Agua Calientes around 4:00pm to find that the rest of the group had just arrived not to long ago. I knocked on the door to the room of the hostel that I would be sharing with Javier and Vanessa. Without words, I collapsed onto my bed before eventually being pulled away at the aspect of food, a toilet, and a hot shower. All were utilized in brute fashion.

Before meeting with the group and guides for dinner at 7:30pm, we walked about this quaint tourist town and got attacked by restaurant hosts in the plaza de armas, each offering a unique happy hour to gain our business. We settled on free chips and guacamole with six drinks for twenty soles ($7). We deserved it. I shared my story and photos with those that were curious and had chosen the other option.

When 7:30pm finally rolled around, we set down for our fourth, and final, dinner of saltados, paltas rellenas, and cervezas. The topic of conversation was none other than the moments and themes that had now solidified as memories for our lives. It slowly turned into thoughts and plans for our big day. Almost on cue, Cesar asked who in the group wanted to go to Hueyna Picchu as entry is only permitted to the first 400 people in line before the gates to the Sanctuary open at 6:00am. Every single person raised their hand. Accordingly, we were told that we would then need to be on our way the following morning by no later than 4:00am. We were also told what to bring (including snacks and lunch), what to wear, where to meet Cesar for his portion of the guided tour, and under no circumstances to forget our cameras. With a purpose, and the clock now ticking to 3:15am, the group scattered to buy groceries, pack bags, change camera batteries, and try to sleep. Tomorrow would be our four day, seventy-five kilometer reward – the Sacred Grounds of Machu Picchu.

Day Five

Our night’s sleep couldn’t have seemed any shorter; we desperately needed sleep and my alarm sounded with warp speed. I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face, outfitted myself in a new set of clothes and a headlamp, adorned my day pack, split an orange, and gathered in the street with my companions. A 400 meter incline to the gates of the Sanctuary lay ahead of us in pitch black. This we did know. What we didn’t know (I feel purposely weren’t told so as not to discourage us) was the steepness of the stair-ladden incline. Nate and I were in the front and our tired legs were moving with surprising speed. After five minutes of stairs, the trail opened onto the slowly winding bus route and, not seeing another reflection tape arrow, we began to question, or hope, if it wasn’t just a few stairs before all road to the top. We then committed the cardinal sin of not waiting for Louisa and our group to show us the way. We were ahead of the pack by a few minutes but, after the five minute detour, ended up finding ourselves trailing and Louisa somehow knowing we had sidetracked. She must have seen out headlamps flickering, lost, in the distance.

We recovered well, though, and didn’t rest until the top. In the dark emptiness of each step we ascended, beathing and sweating, with purpose knowing that the finish line was just around one of the next bends. What takes about an hour on average, we finished in forty minutes with a detour. The record: twenty-two. Coming around that last bend we exhalted in both relief and hope that the volume would wake those sleeping in the $400 per night posh hotel just outside the entrance. We sat about 15th and 20th in line with proud smiles on our faces; our journey had reached a day long culmination. Every day had been new scene, a new challenge and a new reward. One by one the rest expressed their own individual appreciation upon arrival well within the 400 limitation. For an hour we sat and cooled and waited.

When the moment finally came to be let in, and people rushed to the gates, cameras ready, it felt a bit “theme-parky”. Nonetheless, as we walked excitedly around a row of ruins with thatched roofs and out into what can only be described by the pictures below, chills went up and down my spine. For this initial sight alone it was all worth it; and to think that we had until 5:00pm to explore! First on our list was a guided tour of the city itself by Cesar. We all gathered for a congratulations, he was finally proud of us he said, and introduction to the ways of the Incan people.

From here we visited the living quarters of the royal family:

the sector of the temples:

the temple of the three windows:

the astronomical observatory, which included the “energy rock”:

the main square, which included a unique compass:

and the ceremonial rock (which had the shape of the background mountain range):

At this point, we then said our goodbyes and thank yous to our wonderfully passionate guides as 10:00am was approaching and entrance would be granted to 200 of the 400 Waynapicchu ticketholders. This climb was stepped and steep and also cliffside – up and along the left face according to this picture:

It was said to take about forty-five minutes (thirty for athletic types) and was adorned with rope railings most of the way as a testament to its danger. Further, you are required to sign in (and out) and receive a passport stamp (for those who bring them, also at the main gate). I was told people have lost their lives on this climb, and I don’t doubt it. Here’s what I was able to capture on the way up:

The “top” was more like a series of platforms at different heights and with different views inclusive of all three hundred and sixty degrees around you. The mountainside steps opened up into a panoramic view of Machu Picchu city below, now seemingly a labyrinth:

From this viewpoint you can make your way through a crawl tunnel, up a few sets of “normal” stairs, in between some massive boulders, and up a wooden ladder until finally reaching a spread of boulder peaks to chose a seat from:

Being initially at the front of the line and so quick to the top, we were lucky to have this choice as it soon got crowded, alluding to why they limit the amount of visitors at a time in the first place. Each person found a spot of their own and sat in meditative state of awe and wonder, making no mistake in enjoying every millisecond of this lifelong memory. With ruins constructed all over the “tops” of this mountain, it made me think, first, how amazing it is to have architecturally defied gravity with tons of granite as the building block and, second, who was so lucky to live here and wake up to this every single morning:

It takes a setting such as this for one to easily, without efforts, loose touch with all political, societal, material, and/or religious (organized) pretense and exist only in the present. To maintain a physical and spiritual connection with the life-radiating earth around you. As Peter Matthiessen wrote in an account of his journey through the Himalayas:

“Pine needles dance in a light breeze against the three white sister peaks to the northwest. I sit in silence, in the burning hum of mountain bees. An emerald butterfly comes to my knee to dry it’s wings, gold wings with specks above, white polka dots beneath. Through the frozen atmospheres, the sun is burning.

In the clearness of the Himalayan (Andean) air, mountains draw near, and in such splendor tears come quietly to my eyes to cool on my sunburned cheeks. This is not mere soft-mindedness, nor am I that silly with the altitude. My head has cleared in these weeks free of intrusion – mail, telephones, people and their needs, and I respond to things spontaneously, without defensive or self-conscious screens. Still all this feeling is astonishing: not so long ago I could say truthfully that I had not shed a tear in twenty years.” (The Snow Leopard)

No embodiment of modern day civilization can explain or portray such a real feeling as this. Be there a god or not, I am certain that the earth and sun and universe and all their intimate beauties are worth adoring in a moment and place like this – such as the Incan people did their whole lives.

Following nearly two hours of sitting in awe, snapping photos, and taking part in inspired contemplation with the others around me, we began the equally perilous descent. Once the group was all safe at the sign-in hut, we continued on to the Inca Bridge. The roundtrip was no more than thirty minutes and the bridge consisted of four solid logs suspended for the purpose of continuing what used to be another path into the city but now dissipates into sheer mountainside as you can see (one can not cross it and I’m not sure I would if I could):

Since returning to the base of Hueyna, the group had begun breaking up to explore in different manners: some soaking up the sun and resting on the lawn for the llamas, some wandered back through the city to ruins unseen after the bridge, and some (including myself) finished with one last hike up to the Sun Gate. En route, a gradually inclining walkway, we estimated that today’s ventures included nearly 1,200 meters of pure arriba and capped off eighty-five kilometer of total distance walked. With a roundtrip time of almost an hour, the Sun Gate was a relatively simple set of ruins, but, situated in a “V” between moutain peaks, it offered the most stunning view (consensus had it) of Machu Picchu city, top to bottom, with Hueyna Picchu bringing up the rear and the sun beginning it’s trip to the dark side:

From my rock atop the Sun Gate it was 800 meters all the way back to Agua Calientes and full relaxation. Again, the aspect of taking a bus had not occured to me for I wanted to see that mornings ascent in daylight! As every solo traveler or couple was now leaving at their own pace, Nate remained my only companion. At this point, my legs weren’t even on talking terms with me, but descend on them I did. It took us a little under thirty minutes to get to the bridge at the bottom and, seeing just how many steps we labored through that morning in a blind, zombie-like daze, gave me a second wind of appreciation for our guides not having told us in advance of what to expect.

In Agua Calientes, Mariana and Lucas (Argentinean couple) and Cesar were sitting on the steps of the hostel when Nate and I exhaled our last bits of energy and plopped down in the middle of the sidewalk; there we would stiffen for nearly an hour. The three also thought it funny to finish dressing me as a beggar which, at the moment they claimed, I didn’t need much help with considering my tattered and broken character.

(photo coming once I find it!)

Being 5:30 in the afternoon, we had three hours to kill before catching an awful slew of train and buses (that I wouldn’t like to bother talking about). Since some folks were hungry and some hadn’t returned yet, the group spread out once again with Nate and I braving the public hot springs on the outskirts of town. Now I know I was spoiled in Mendoza, but I really hesitate to recommend this place. In my opinion, if your muscles are in dying need of attention, spend a few soles more on an hour long, full body massage back in Cusco. From doorstep to doorstep of our hostel, this lumped off no more than an hour and a half, after which we dined, bought post cards and made our way to the train station.

Five bourse later, and officially awake for more than twenty-three hours, our third mode of transportation dropped us off in Cusco (I would have rather walked if I had the time). We all wearily said goodnight, made plans to meet tomorrow night for drinks, and made way to our scattered hostels. Our new one was Casa de Mi Abuelo ($10 pppn, highly recommended), and I am pretty sure I have never slept better.

Tags: camping, Casa de Mi Abuelo, Cusco, Ecotrail Peru, Inca, Jesse Bania, Machu Picchu, Peter Mattiessen, Sacred Valley, Salkantay, trekking, Waynapicchu
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