Chapter Twelve

Potosi to Machu Picchu, Peru

A couple from New Zealand who I met while I was visiting the mines, accompanied me for some days as far as La Paz, capital of Bolivia. There were many mountain ridges to cross and streams to ford over. Along the way we visited a colourful Sunday market in a mountain village called Tarabuco, some fifty rough kilometres along a dirt road from Sucre. It was a delightful market with the indigenous locals wearing myriad forms of colourful woven clothes, many layers thick, as the cold on a winters night is quite severe in this mountainous terrain. Most of the women wore hats and most had babies slung around their necks. I spent a morning melting in with the crowd as best as I possibly could, in order to photograph these interesting people, without disturbing them as they haggled over merchandise.

After many days driving along dusty roads I felt totally relieved, once again, to find ourselves on an asphalt road. A pleasant spot was found alongside a clean running stream where we camped for a couple of nights to relax and to clean the road dust off us, and off our clothes and out of the van.  Bathing in the clear cold stream was invigorating and exhilarating. While wiling away some time beside a blazing campfire, we chatted as travellers do in similar circumstances anywhere around the world and waited for our clothes, which were left spread over bushes, to dry. A local Indian arrived and decided that this particular location was also the perfect place to shepherd over his flock of sheep and goat herd. We watched him watching us! He seemed quite fascinated! We equally so with him and his simple existence.

While driving along the high altiplano of Bolivia we came across a Swiss couple, also travelling around South America in a much later model VW campervan. The huge difference being that the driver was a paraplegic! His accelerator, clutch and brakes were handled by his hands alongside the steering wheel. We drove in tandem for an afternoon to La Paz. Along their journey they had developed an oil problem and were going, therefore, to La Paz for repairs. At one point they had to stop in order to top up the oil. His wife had to take out the specially designed wheelchair which he manoeuvred himself into quite deftly and wheeled it around to the back of the VW where the engine compartment was and checked the oil! This operation took about five minutes. It does goes to show, however, that if you are determined enough to do something it can be possible to achieve, even against seemingly insurmountable odds.

I dropped my New Zealand companions off in La Paz, a city located at the bottom of a deep valley with the skyline being dominated by the spectacular snow-covered 6700 metre peak of Mt Illimani. Thousands of shanty houses were built on the steep hillsides overlooking the old city centre and as high up as the 4000 metre altiplano. These old Spanish colonial cities, for position and architecture, leave an indelible impression on any visitor!

After receiving an excellent service by VW Bolivia, I proceeded to another one of the locations that I had read so much about, Lake Titicaca. Located at an altitude of 4000 metres, it is the highest navigable lake in the world. A recently restored steamship operates services between Puno, Peru and Copocabana, Bolivia. I arrived early in the morning at the lakes edge where small villages made of thatch, straw and bamboo were dotted along the perimeter and several traditional reed boats carrying fishermen could be seen paddling idlelessly on the lake. Surrounding all of this were the awesome 6500 metre snow-capped peaks of the Andes!

To drive to Copocabana, I had to cross a narrow waterway on an old ferry where men still use long poles to manoeuvre their boats in position. The ferry took on road traffic, passengers and the odd flock of sheep! A few days were spent resting at Copocabana's lakeside beach where time was available to enjoy the beautiful sunrises and sunsets over this yet uncontaminated and pristine lake located high up on the Andes Altiplano. I cleaned the van again and bathed salubriously in the ice cold waters, relaxing and pondering over achievements made so far, as well as planning for the next stage of the journey.

One of the advantages of travelling independently and freely in a campervan is that there is no strict schedule to uphold. It can be possible to stop anywhere at anytime, to relax and absorb periodically all the stimulations that quite often engulf the traveller, without having to abide by transport schedules and arrange hotel accommodation and without having to think about the daily expenses involved with that mode of travel, the back-packer's adventure!

On a Sunday afternoon, when I felt the urge to continue I drove to the little border post nearby thinking that there would be no problems to cross over on this particular day. There was a border guard! But he had decided to stay closed that afternoon! I could, therefore, do nothing more except drive along a roughly-hewn track away from the village and position the van to maximise the beautiful view of Lake Titicaca and the high spectacular snow-covered mountains in the background. As I wandered around, I watched the local peasants bringing in their flocks of sheep as well as their women and young daughters who were stamping and crushing, with bare feet, some of their recently gathered potatoes.This forms part of their staple diet, not only for human consumption but also for their animals.

At the border with Peru, as at the border with Bolivia, Colombia and Ecuador, I was quite concerned whether I would be allowed entry into the country. It was apparently necessary to have documentation in the form of a Carnet de Passage for the vehicle. It was supposed to have been arranged in the country where the vehicle was registered and an amount, equal to the cost of the vehicle was supposed to be left in a bank which acts as a guarantor. This can be an expensive undertaking and any travellers thinking of doing this journey should perhaps look into the details a little further than I did before commencing their journeys. In my case I wasn't aware of this potentially difficult situation that I could have placed myself in until I was in Mexico City. At that time I had no desire to return to California to arrange this red tape and decided to continue and take the gamble that a friendly smile, a pleasant chat in Spanish to the border guard and perhaps a few dollars would greatly facilitate my entry into those countries! It worked!!

And so into Peru I went!

I drove slowly along the lake shore as I did throughout the journey, very rarely faster than eighty kilometres an hour. After all, it isn't possible to concentrate on the road and admire the magnificent scenery at the same time! The lake on my right, lofty high mountains beyond the shore in the far distance and on my left the altiplano, with attractive rustic villages scattered about the plain. Towards late afternoon I arrived at the town of Puno, on the lake shore, where small boats transport visitors to the floating reed villages. The boats, operated by astute natives, continue to Taquila Island where tourists may stay with local indigenous people for a short length of time, for a small price of course! Tourists get to savour their culture, eat their food and exchange friendship. There were no roads on the island but many steep winding paths had human traffic competing agreeably with mules and other livestock for walking space. At 4000 metres, the energy required to walk around was quite noticeably more difficult to come by. The going was quite slow!

I stayed with a Peruvian Indian family for a couple of days while on the island, enjoying their friendship tremendously, aware also, that I was not the first person to have taken advantage of similar hospitality in exchange for some money. Yet I felt like a traveller who had lived with these people for some time. I felt particularly interested to watch them cook their meals in their tiny, very dark and very smoky kitchen, men gathered around, sitting on their haunches and chatting constantly, as their women, some with babies at their breasts, prepared the meals. I would like to have stayed longer with these fine people but it was time to return to Puno and continue the journey north.

While on Taquila Island, I met a Dutch tour group travelling with two four wheel drive V8 Landrovers. They were on their way to see Machu Picchu and the tour guide knew of a secure location (an inhabited Peruvian farmyard) to leave the vehicles while people visited this spectacular monument to the lost Inca civilisation. I was invited to accompany them but it meant travelling in convoy, starting the very next day at sunrise, and driving continuously all day at a fast pace. Their company through this guerilla country would be appreciated however! The question was, could the van keep up with V8 Landrovers travelling over corrugated dusty roads at nearly 4000 metres and at the same time ford streams where bridges had been destroyed, etc? At these altitudes engines run with significantly less power, at one point when I crossed over a mountain pass which had an altitude of 4300 metres, the van could only manage to crawl along in first gear and was unable to go faster than ten kilometres an hour!

I was up to the challenge however! The day was long, with a sunrise start and an arrival in darkness. The mountain scenery was spectacular as we drove through wide fertile valleys containing traditional villages and fields where peasants were working, threshing hay with oxen which were tied to wooden beams. These oxen rotated around a central pivot point, stamping and crushing the hay as they walked. Many other day to day routine tasks that are no longer observed in the West continue to form a major part of these peoples' daily working lives.

At one narrow stream where there was no longer a bridge, but the steep sided embankment of a muddy ditch, I had to take an accelerated run-up with the van in order to have had sufficient momentum to drive across to the other side without becoming stuck in the mud. As I was speeding my way through, I heard a 'clunk' when the engine bottomed out against the ditch. After examining the back of the van, it turned out that my engine mountings had snapped, yet the engine still held! A repair was necessary but I had to continue moving to keep up with the landrovers. Along the way I was also determined to take photographs of this spectacular mountain scenery, thereby making my progress even slower than that of the landrovers! In retrospect, I guess I can say that it was the only time during the entire journey that I had to take a couple of tablets to combat a tension headache as a result of stress from driving. It was a relief finally to arrive at the farmhouse alongside the railtrack at Ollantaytambo, the town from where most travellers take a local train to Machu Picchu.

Ollantaytambo is a beautiful little village located deep in the gorge of the Urubamba River. Several old Inca forts surrounded the town which still seemed representative of its Inca predecessors. The incessant gurgling noise of running water could be heard as one walked along the narrow cobble-stone alleyways, where two feet wide, water-filled channels separated the houses which were built entirely of smoky-grey, smoothly worked stone. In the backyards of these traditional old houses, cows and other live-stock could be seen while the local inhabitants attended to cooking chores and other activities such as weaving cloth on hand looms and making straw woven baskets, etc. It was a fascinating village to walk around, especially in the early evening. Some cows which have learnt to find their way home could be seen wandering along these narrow paths followed by their owners.

One night I was wandering around when I heard the sound of traditional musical instruments. I followed the sound and came across a traditional wedding ceremony in progress within the confines of a private courtyard. Local indigenous people, dressed colourfully in their traditional clothes, were mostly quite inebriated on their home made alcoholic brew called 'chicha', a drink made from maize left to ferment. There were no foreigners there which made it all the more interesting for me when they invited me in to join them. Many of the little ladies, some quite old and toothless, and quite drunk, invited me to dance!

Back at the farmhouse the following morning I watched the arrival and departure of the tourist train which came from Cuzco and took tourists, at a considerably higher price than the local train, to Machu Picchu. I was warned by some travellers, however, to guard money and papers, etc. when taking the local train, which I boarded that evening up to the little station of Aguas Calientes where overnight accommodation in cheap little hotels was available on the station platform.

Before sunrise the following morning I walked along the railtrack for about two kilometres to a small bridge that crossed the Urubamba River. From there I clambered up the short-cut straight up the mountain-side to the gates of Machu Picchu. That particular day, I was the first person to arrive at this most awe-inspiring sight! It was all the more rewarding because it was the fourth of July, my birthday!

Machu Picchu defies all superlatives! As an Inca town lost high up in the Andes, the ruins were rediscovered in 1911 by Hiram Bingham. It has become one of Peru's most sought after tourist attractions. I subsequently found these ruins to be another one of the many spectacular highlights of South America, not to be missed! Machu Picchu was built on the flattened peak of a mountain with extremely steep slopes leading down to the Urubamba River below. This river had wound its course over thousands of years, cutting a deep and narrow gorge. It is on one of the river bends that almost turns back on itself where Machu Picchu is situated, a superbly strategic location against enemy invasions in bygone times. Nearby, overlooking Machu Picchu is Huayna Picchu, another mountain peak also located high up on the same bend in the river. The town's position therefore made it very difficult for marauding armies to conquer Machu Picchu, the only access being along the Inca Road, a narrow but solidly built stone path built through the mountains and protected by forts. From Huayna Picchu spectacular vistas can be enjoyed over Machu Picchu and the entire area. Truly it is a feast for the senses!!

  Back to Table of Contents