Much to my disappointment, Tom and Will decided the best way for us to visit the ancient Inca site of Machu Picchu was via a 3 day jungle trek. I don’t mind a bit of walking but 60km over 3 days uphill didn’t really sound too appealing. Add to this the fact we couldn’t even take a change of clothes and it quickly turned farcical.
It rained the whole first day. My suggestion of direct train there and back was looking better by the minute but they were being rather stubborn. “Its the sense of achievement you get from hard work and effort” was there excuse. I was more concerned about the sense of walking around in wet pants for the foreseeable future.
By the time we eventually arrived in Machu Picchu I was drenched. Not a single inch of my body avoided the onslaught. Luckily for Tom and Will, Machu Picchu distracted me sufficiently from pushing them off. The sight was like a painting, the sort of thing you see in films. Really quite surreal. An entire town built 600 years ago from huge rocks 2500 meters above sea level. We arrived there just before sunrise and as daylight broke across the mountains, not even my squelching footwear could upset me.
