Machu Picchu

I arrived in Aguas Calientes, Peru (a small town just 20 minutes outside Machu Picchu) two nights ago at 11:00 PM.  The train was about 40 minutes late in leaving, and it took its sweet time, stopping frequently to smell the roses and stargaze.  I happened to be sitting in the same area as a group of teachers, an Assistant Principal, and high school seniors from Canada who were going to be doing some volunteer work with local schools after visiting Machu Picchu.  They were a riot, and kept me entertained the whole ride.  We said our good-byes after the train finally arrived, I checked into my hostal and went right to bed.

Four hours later, I at 3:30 AM, my alarm went off.  Awesome.  It was time to make a mad dash for Machu Picchu.  Only one problem: I had been told the night before that I needed to purchase an entrance ticket for MP and a bus ticket to get there from Aguas Calientes.  I hadn´t purchased either one.  I had my heart set on climbing Wayna Picchu, the mountain behind the ruins that you see in most pictures of Machu Picchu, but knew that I´d have to be one of the first 400 people through the gates to do so.  I figured I was probably screwed, that there would be no more entrance tickets to Machu Picchu for that day, and that even if I did get a ticket, I wouldn´t have a guinea pig´s chance in Peru of making it in time to climb Wayna Picchu. But, I had to at least try.

So, I walked to the front of the bus line, which was already about 50 people deep by 4:15 AM, and asked a Peruvian man (whom I assumed was a worker, as he was very well dressed and stood out amongst all the North Face gear toting, backpack wearing tourists) where I might go to pick up an entrance ticket to Machu Picchu.  "I still have to do that, too," he replied.  "It´s right around the corner, off the Plaza de Armas.  I`ll meet you there in a little bit.  The office opens at 5."  I wandered around, found the place, and was the first to arrive.  Sat on the steps and ate my breakfast, a sad little cheese sandwich from the hostal, and drank a bottle of water.  I tried to avoid eye contact with a drunk man wandering through the plaza, and was greeted by two very giddy girls who had just spent the evening doing God only knows what kind of substances with a shaman.

The man I met in the bus line was the next to arrive, and he introduced himself as Ronald from Chiclayo, a northern coastal city.  He is 26 years old and works as a mechanical engineer in Lima.  He had arrived by train at 1 AM that morning and, instead of paying through the nose for a hotel (hotels in Aguas Calientes tend to price gouge), decided to just wander around the city for a couple hours.  He got in line for the bus at 3 AM, met an Argentinian family that got in line behind him, and then had them hold his place in line while he went to pick up his tickets.  So, basically he was in the same boat as me, except that he had a sweet spot in line and I was on track to be way back, in danger of not even being one of the first 400 people through the door (and thus not being able to climb Wayna Picchu).  After talking for a while, he offered to let me come with him to the front of the bus line.  I almost peed my pants in excitement.  Obviously the answer was yes.

So, problem solved.  We bought both of the tickets necessary, went to the front of the line (which I felt HORRIBLE doing, but I´ve been budged in front of so many times on this trip that I feel like it´s kind of just how things work around here) and nobody complained.  Got coffee orders from the whole group after introducing myself and hurried off to hook them up with a caffeine fix (which, really, was the least I could have done).  We stood in line, getting to know each other and sipping coffee, and I wondered what I had ever done to get so lucky.