There is a train, a one and a half our train, to Machu Picchu.
We did go to Machu Picchu, but we did not take the train. Or, the bus that allows visitors to bipass the thousands of stairs woven in to the mountain that lead you to the threshold of Machu Picchu, which costs three times as much for tourists to cross through.
We opted for the two day route. It saved us under thirty dollars.
1. Our bikes to the bus station at five in the morning.
2. A bus from Cusco to the top of a 400 something meter pass. Meg doubled over, cursing into her lap, from fear or illness, both often present for her, periodically in combination.
3. Our bikes down the mountain, the paved portion, then not paved.
4. A collectivo, a shared van, from Santa Maria along a cliff wall for a few hours. Meg doubled over, cursing into her lap, from fear or illness, both often present for her, periodically in combination. Later, after discussion with the tourists that we were sharing the van with, discovering that we had payed extra for the driver to drive extra fast. The others explained...because the road is dangerous at night. So the driver excelerated around every curve inches from the absence of gaurd rails at the bending of the sheer sidewalls that dropped over a thousand feet straight down from the rocky sand road, to insure that we would we reach our destination before night fall.
DAY 2
4. A taxi along a cliff wall for a half an hour at five in the morning from Santa Teresa to some train tracks in the middle of the jungle. Meg doubled over, cursing into her lap, from fear or illness, both often present for her, periodically in combination.
5. On foot along the train tracks, through the jungle, over a bridge that would not have held our weight if we had eaten breakfast, until light, and until finding the path that tourists coming from the opposite direction, the tourist town where the train drops you off, were taking a bus up.
6. Stairway to Heaven. A winding set of stone stairs in the side of the mountain in the jungle.
7. Back down, a hell of a lot faster. A winding set of stone stairs in the side of the mountain in the jungle.
8. On foot along the train tracks, through the jungle, over a bridge that would not have held our weight if we had eaten lunch, until finding the tourists coming from the opposite direction, the tourist town where the train drops you off, who were trying to figure out how to get back to Cusco a more adventuress way, and so chose to come with us. Two guys, photographers, from the East Coast.
9. A collectivo, a shared van, along a cliff wall for a few hours. Slower this time, but with ten extra people, two guys from the east coast, various locals, grandparents, children, many more people than seats. Meg doubled over, cursing into her lap, from fear or illness, both often present for her, periodically in combination.
10. Another collectivo, the last one leaving town, hurry you have to go now, if the cops catch you they won´t let you leave, was our send-off from the women who sold us the tickets on the sidewalk. All four of our bicycles tied to the roof verticaly. The two guys from the east coast, two children, and two mothers. The six hour ride in the dark in the fog in the rain up the 400 something meter pass. Meg doubled over, cursing into her lap, from fear or illness, both often present for her, periodically in combination. Though we had not paid the driver extra, he swung around every curve, every truck, with the label Peligro, as our bikes thudded the roof, as they drooped until they could be seen from the passenger window.
Peligro means danger.
