Lost City: Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu: The famed Lost City of the Incas, recently declared one of the new Seven Wonders of the World, and for many the single biggest highlight of a trip to South America.

From the city of Cusco some 70 kilometres away, once the 'navel' of the Incan Empire (as its name means in the indigenous Quechuan language), there are a number of options available for travellers to get to this point. The middle-aged, package-tour masses are herded in their thousands by train to Aguas Calientes, the tourist town in the valley below Machu Picchu, and then bused directly to the ruins. But for those who really want to earn that feeling of triumph and awe from the top, trekking is the only real option. Depending on your budget, time constraints and fitness level, there are plenty to choose from, but bare in mind that all hikers are required to go with registered tour companies. The most well-known trek, and consequently also most popular and expensive, is the Inca Trail, a four day trek of medium difficulty which, as the name suggests, follows a trail constructed by the Incans through spectacular scenery and a number of other archeological sites to the Lost City. The trail is closed for cleaning and restoration in February, and in other times there is a limit of 500 trekkers a day, which typically fills up a couple weeks in advance. The cost of the four day, three night trek is normally $300 to $400 US.

For a number of reasons - feeling all archeologied out, leaving booking until the absolute last minute, and a sick masochistic desire for some good hard physical exertion brought on by five months of little exercise and a shocking backpacker's diet, we chose the Salkantay trek, a five day, four night hike considered to be the among the most demanding out there. Its name, meaning 'Savage Mountain', comes from the 6271m peak, the largest in the region, around which the trek winds. While this route doesn't have the cultural significance of the Inca Trail, the scenery more than makes up for it, as its inclusion in the 25 best Treks in the World list in National Geographic Adventure Travel Magazine will attest.

There is no limit to numbers on these alternative treks, which can be either a curse or a blessing. While this means treks can be booked at virtually no notice, during high season (June - September) you may find yourself sharing the experience with up to a thousand other travellers. We were there in early March, the middle of the wet season, and considered to be the worst time of the year to do it - however, muddy shoes were a small price to pay for having the trail entirely to our group of eight. The other advantage is the price: the base price can be bargained down to around $180 US, and with equipment, extra meals and tips included, this still totals less than $250 US.

Day 1: The 4:30 pickup comes as a bit of a shock after the cycle of big boozy nights and sleep-ins in Cusco. Especially as we've left packing until around midnight the night before. A couple of bumpy, sleepless hours in the minibus later, we arrive in the town of Mollepata. Over breakfast we meet the rest of the group. There's me and Mikey, both friends from Sydney, who are getting towards the end of a seven month backpacking stint in South America. Ken and Rob, a couple of easy-going Californian guys we met about a week ago in Cusco and roped into the trek, are at this ungodly hour of the morning looking less than impressed at us. Doug from Melbourne and Lydia from Vancouver, newlyweds enjoying a yearlong, round-the-world honeymoon, and Bevan and Donna, incredibly down to earth environmental engineers cycling around the continent, round out the eight. Last, but certainly not least, there's our irrepressible guide Wilson, the self-proclaimed prince of the Incans. While we're a little disappointed at the lack of Swedish swimsuit models in the group (Wilson seems particularly upset), everyone does get along well and seems in pretty good shape. We set off at 9:00, at 2900m above sea level, with seven solid hours of trekking ahead of us, over a couple of steep hills before following a spectacularly deep valley as it winds up from farmland, through dense forest, to our camp in the barren alpine terrain at the foot of Salkantay, at an altitude of some 3850m. At this height, the going is certainly tougher than expected, and there's a combination of relief and exhaustion as we take off our packs and tuck into a surprisingly tasty dinner prepared by the 'A-Team', as our motley support team are known. We end the meal with 'macho tea', a potent mix of coca tea and cachaca, a local spirit, which goes some way towards warming us up as the temperature plummets towards zero. We hit the hay, hoping for a good long sleep before our toughest day of trekking tomorrow.

Day 2 So much for a nice night's rest. The altitude makes it very tough to sleep at the best of times, but when stuck in a leaking tent in a freezing downpour it's impossible. Still, compared to Ken and Rob I should consider myself lucky. Their tent has transformed overnight into a pool. Wake-up mugs of tea delivered to our tents are a nice touch, but do little to lift my spirits. I've now had around three hours sleep in the last two nights, my throat feels on fire and my nose is running like a tap, just in time for the hardest section of the entire hike, four hours following a ravine straight uphill to the Soraypampa pass, the highest point of the trek at 4600m. The thought of quitting flashes through my mind for the briefest of moments, but instead I suck it in and concentrate on putting one foot after another. The altitude affects everyone differently. As we go up, up, up above the snowline, we all feel out of breath, but only Mikey, who to this point has been striding ahead, starts to sway and fall back as a crippling headache kicks in. Eventually we find ourselves at the pass, in the shadow of the great mountain, pausing for hugs, photos, and to build an Apachayta, a pile of stones in respect of Pachamama, the Incan mother of the earth.

With every step downhill our exhaustion is gradually replaced with exhilaration. The air becomes thicker and we shed off layer after layer until by mid-afternoon we're surrounded by dense rainforest. The small glacial stream we've followed from the top has transformed into a raging torrent spilling through a gorge hundreds of metres below us. We've descended 1700m from our highest point by the time we pull into camp, in a tiny farm perched spectacularly above a valley. While we wait for dinner, the grizzled owner chases the chickens around with a stick, then a shovel, then a huge pole. It all seems almost normal in such a surreal setting.

Day 3 Finally we get the good sleep we've all been craving. The mood around the breakfast table could hardly be more different than the day before. We have a relatively easy day ahead of us, following the river deeper into the rainforest. Wilson points out and picks the various fruits we pass: wild strawberries, mangoes, bananas, mandarins, and so many more I've never even heard of. The rain comes and goes, eventually settling into a steady downpour. The going slows as we hit knee-deep mud and a few tricky creek crossings. On one particularly slippery one Mikey slips and crushes his music player on the way down. Before long my waterproof shoes have become anything but. We set up camp in the late afternoon on the outskirts of the village of Santa Teresa. With the toughest part of the trek behind us, the group heads into the village for a couple of bottles of celebratory wine. On the way to bed, we catch a guilty-looking Wilson sneaking out of his tent to visit a 'special lady friend' in the village.

Day 4 The 7:00am wakeup feels like a big sleep-in. Any lingering doziness disappears as we approach the roaring, raging rush of water that is Rio Urubamba. The only way across: two at a time in a tiny platform suspended by a cable. Wilson seems a bit short of sleep, and doesn't exactly fill us with confidence when he explains that Santa Teresa, now located on a hill high above the river, was once right on the banks of the river until, not too long ago, a flood upstream caused a landslide which wiped out the entire village and most of its inhabitants. We continue to follow the Urubamba upstream, stopping at a waterfall for a refreshing dip. After passing fruit vendors, trout farms, and an enormous hydro-electric plant, we hit the trainline to Aguas Calientes, the town below Machu Picchu. It's a tedious few hours following this to its destination, through along the way we do get a few glimpses of the ruins atop the mountain way above us. By the time we've reached Aguas Calientes, the blisters that have been growing all over my feet have been rubbed so raw I'm pretty much left a cripple. Maybe hiring shoes wasn't such a smart idea. Still, a couple hours in the thermal springs after which the town was named help to ease the pain. We spend the night in a hotel, and just having a roof over our heads and a hot shower seems incredibly luxurious.

Day 5 The last test, the final pain before the pleasure. We're at breakfast by 3:30, and by 4:30 we're heading in pitch black up the long, steep path to Machu Picchu. The option of taking the bus to the top was given to the group, but after four days and 70km we're not about to take the easy way out now. My feet are so bad I'm forced to stop my hobbling after a few minutes and swap my shoes for thongs. With only a few slips we all make the top by 5:30, and when the gates open half an hour later we're literally the first people in to admire that famous view in all its serene, deserted grandeur. The sight of the Lost City clinging to the edges of the mountaintop is somehow even more spectacular than we were prepared for. Cloud hides the surrounding valley, creating the impression that we're floating, miles away from the world below. The cloud rolls around Machu Picchu, hovering behind them as the sun rises, and then, just as the hordes arrive by the busload, sweeps in and completely hides the ruins from sight.

We try to take in as much of the obligatory tour as possible, but by this stage we're too awe-struck by our surroundings, and the fact that we've finally made it, to really concentrate. There's actually not much known about what Machu Picchu's significance was during Incan times. It wasn't, as initially thought, their final place of refuge after the Spanish invasion. Our guide's theory is that it was a sort of university town, a centre of learning for the Incan elite. How much truth there is to this, we may never know, and in a way it seems fitting for this place to be forever shrouded in mystery.

We still have one final climb: 400m up to the top of Huanya Picchu, the sacred mountain behind the Lost City. Not only are there more ruins here, but it also provides an amazing birds-eye view of the City, revealing its condor-shaped design. We take a well deserved rest at the top to savour a nip of whiskey and take it all on, then hobble back towards civilization just as the rain begins to fall. It's almost like Pachamama is smiling down on us.