Back to Puno

Sunday 17th April 1988

We awoke with hangovers all round and in our fragile state we tripped across the island to the village for breakfast. This was followed by a walk to the high points of the island. The pre-Inca ruins turned out to be a few moss-covered dry-stone walls.

We sat in quiet contemplation amongst the rubble, looking out at the island and the lake until it was time to get our bags and head for the disembarkation point. We ate in the little restaurant by the reception arch and watched the village elders who appeared to be having a council meeting. They swigged at a beer bottle containing a dubious alcoholic spirit in between their deliberations.

There was some excitement as a package containing six panes of glass arrived, delivered to the island by the incoming boats. Workers carried bundles up and down the 567 steps from the newly arrived launches.

Down at the dock everyone was loaded onto one launch, the other two remaining in harbour. At 14:30 hrs. we set off for Puno, waving goodbye to tranquil island of Tequile. The trip back seemed to take ages. I read my book and tried to weave a bracelet in the stiff breeze.

There was a good exchange of information between travellers on the roof of the boat, with me supplying information on Machu Picchu and the Inca Trail. I got plenty of good gen on La Paz in Bolivia and Chile.

There was some argument as to who had cracked the front window of the boat, but after a vicious verbal onslaught from a Brazilian girl and a couple of French people, the crew retreated, looking forlorn and nobody had to pay for the damage.

Back at Puno we went on a brief shopping spree, buying fruit and sweets. It was too dark to examine the quality of stuff on the craft stalls. At the Europa we had hot showers and then dined at the Internacional as usual (great tomato soup). I was with Anita and Reinhard. We had a good social evening aided by beer and Pisco Sours.

Taquile Island

Saturday 16th March 1988

I awoke with the sun and crammed my sleeping bag, coat and a bottle of rum into my “Pro-Bears” holdall bag. I walked down to the docks at 07:00 hrs and was almost immediately asked if I wanted boat passage to Taquile Island.

I filled in the usual details on the guys clipboard and sat on the bow deck of the motorboat “Rayo” while the crew touted for more customers. We finally set sail at 08:30 hrs. with a multinational group of passengers.

Most of them had paid 500 I/- at the various tour offices in town but I only had to pay 250 I/- for a return ticket. The 500 I/- was supposed to include a nights accommodation on Taquile Island but someone had forgotten to tell the islanders!

Enroute, we stopped off at the floating rush islands of Los Uros. On Lake Titicaca, one ancient people, the Uros, live on islands made of living reeds that float around the lake. The Uros people have been living on the lake for hundreds of years—they were forced to take up residence on the floating islands when the Incas expanded onto their land. In the shadow of the Andes, on the world’s highest navigable lake, they make their living from fishing and from selling their reed handicrafts to tourists.

The Uros use the totora reed, which is plentiful along the edges of the lake, to make their homes, their furniture, their boats, and the islands they live on. Their boats, which are shaped like canoes, but with animal heads at the prow, are used for fishing and to bring visitors out to the islands, which are usually moored to the bottom of the lake but can be moved if necessary. As reeds disintegrate from the bottom of the islands, which are four to eight feet thick, residents must add more to the surface, which is soft and occasionally spongy.

Each island has a collection of simple, reed houses, and the biggest island has a watchtower: originally, the mobility of the islands was used as a defence mechanism. Even tiny outhouse islands have been created, and the ground roots of the outhouse islands help absorb the waste. But despite the traditional lifestyle, the Uros people are not against modern amenities. Some families have motorboats or solar panels, and the main island is home to a radio station that plays music for several hours each day.

We stopped at this tiny spongy raft with about ten huts on it and a mass of kids asking for propinas (tips or gratuities). We walked about on the dodgy reed surface which felt like walking on a balloon filled with water and saw women selling model reed boats and woven crafts. Other folk in colourful traditional dress were gutting small fish and laying them out in the sun to dry.

We set sail again after twenty minutes leaving a horde of kids yelling for pens and sweets. We continued across the vast blue lake heading east. It was cold despite the glaring sun in a clear blue sky. I dozed on the foredeck with a French girl and a couple of elderly Scotsmen armed with a load of bananas to give to the kids on the island.

At 12:00 hrs. noon we pulled up at the jetty on Taquile Island and began the steep climb up the more than 567 steps to the Island Reception Centre. The island was colourful, cultivated with different crops on a multitude of terraces.

Local men in multicoloured knitted pointed hats and waistcoats carried sacks of empty Coca Cola bottles and other goods for return to Puno down the irregular stone steps to the boat.

At the top of the stairs we registered in the visitors book by an arch built of dry stone without any mortar, and topped with crude carved stone busts and animals.

I was allocated to a room with two Germans, Reinhard and Anita. Our host led us across the beautiful island, where the only noise was the sound of bird song, on an irregular stony trail to his house by the school.

Above: Our accommodation on Taquile Island.

Our bedroom was a tiny mud brick cubicle with a padded L-shaped ledge to sleep on. The wall was half covered with rushes, and we had a rickety table, a map of South America and a 1986 calendar for decoration. It was very quaint and cosy.

We dumped our stuff and went up for lunch in the “restaurant” by the Island Reception Centre and Folk Museum. We ducked our heads to enter into the low thatched mud hut and took our place at one of two tables. One end of the room was partitioned off with a sheet and this formed the kitchen.

An old Indian woman popped her head over the sheet occasionally to take orders. We had fish and rice as the day trippers got ready for the return trip to Puno. We drank Coca Cola in the yard outside the restaurant while the owners’ kids played around us and tried to persuade us to supply them with pens, sweets, money, etc. The eldest lad concentrated on weaving a bracelet which he had fastened to one bare big toe to keep the tension on.

We walked down into the small collection of huts fashioned from mud blocks with corrugated metal roofs which formed the main “town” on the island. We continued into the main square with it’s official building, it’s church and it’s warehouse-like shop selling artisan goods. The knitwear and weavings were nice but expensive compared to Puno.

We walked around the island in the sun. Women were at work in the fields, chiselling away at the clayey soil while the men wove traditional hats, and the children ran and played in the dirt. The brilliant blue lake spread off into the distance to the distant mountains.

The dust on the tracks preserved every fine detail of our footprints. Reinhard went back for a nap while Anita and I went back to the village for a coke. A group of locals all pitched in to build another small house on one of the terraces.

We sipped our cokes as an evening chill fell. A German couple gave sweets to a couple of cute children who wasted no time in running to get all of their chums. The couple handed out more sweets and balloons, but the initial joy turned to tears as the kids squabbled over the spoils.

As the sun set over the island Reinhard, Anita and I followed the rocky trail from our room to the village square. We decided to eat in a restaurant on the plaza. Local youths played volleyball in the failing light and one of the kiddies from earlier walked around still clutching his balloon with a happy smile on his face.

We ate omelettes and pancakes as a lethal kerosene lamp occasionally threatened to burn the place down. The German couple were the only other customers in the café. We sat in silence most of the time while the owner struggled to control the dangerous oil lamp.

My suggestion to return to our room and drink some of the rum that I had bought was warmly greeted with approval. We borrowed a torch as the trail was dodgy enough in daylight. We passed a hut where the locals were grouped together singing.

Back in our cosy cave we shared the rum bottle, drinking it neat because there were no mixers available. We chatted happily and munched biscuits until the 1 litre rum bottle lay empty. Occasionally the little girl who lived in our house peeped in to see what the funny gringos were up to. We slept well that night on our padded ledge.

Lake Titicaca

Above: Puno Harbour.

Friday 15th April 1988

I had a really good nights sleep and felt a lot better for it. Firstly, I went for a walk around the town. There were a lot of sturdy Indian women in bowler hats, many of them squatting amongst wares for sale. Three-wheel bicycle taxis with two wheels at the front, ferried people about, squatting in lordly fashion on their baggage in the glorified butcher’s bike wicker baskets.

I walked along the waterlogged avenue to the docks where small boats were loading up with locals clutching their sacks of belongings. The huge Lake Titicaca spread off into the distance. Lake Titicaca is one of the largest and highest lakes in South America situated in the high Andes at an altitude of 4000 metres.

According to my guidebook by visiting Puno and the many manmade and natural islands on Titicaca, a traveller or a historian can get a deeper insight into centuries-old Aymara and Quechua civilizations that have thrilled on the banks of Titicaca, which is a special place for both Peruvians and Bolivians religiously.

There were also a couple of huge merchant ships moored off the jetty. I walked east along the Avenida el Sol to the covered food market. The roads were dusty, and I saw nothing remarkable. I returned via the two town plazas, which have a couple of nice colonial buildings, but on the whole Puno is a bit of a two bob (two bit) town with nothing to write home about.

I changed some money in a tour office at 105 I/- per $1 US dollar and went on a mini shopping spree. Around the stalls by the Hotel Europa, I bought a razor blade, bananas, bread and toilet roll and then returned to my room for a mammoth catching-up-with-my-diary session. In between bouts of writing, I munched sardine sandwiches and drank maracuya juice.

At 16:30 hrs. with a mild case of writers’ cramp, I went out to find the Tourist Office. I bumped into Karin Brann, one of the Swedes that I met on the train, and she accompanied me. I discovered that the cheapest way to get to Taquile Island was to turn up at the dock between 07:00 hrs. and 08:00 hrs. in the morning to get a boat.

Breaching the green waters of Lake Titicaca is the little mound island of Taquile where the local villagers have created a steady industry of knit handicrafts, which are knit by the men of the community.

The fine textiles that come out of Taquile are renowned the world over and are even protected as a UNESCO world heritage subject. However, unlike the often tragically traditional view of knitting and textile work as the demesne of women, it is the men of Taquile Island do much of the delicate thread work.

The craftwork is divided between weaving and knitting; women do the weaving, while the knitting is man’s work. The tradition begins when they are young as boys on the island begin learning their trade at the tender age of 8. Chief among these crafts are the iconic chuyo hats that many of the locals wear. Women can also be found making yarn and other tasks surrounding the creation of the items.

Karin’s friend was flying back to Sweden from La Paz and she expressed an interest in travelling with me – great! We browsed around the artisan stalls looking at the alpaca jumpers and colourful hats. I went back to my room for another writing session until 19:00 hrs. when I joined Karin and Joe for a visit to the cinema.

We saw “Innerspace”, an interesting idea: In San Francisco, down-on-his-luck U.S. Navy aviator Lt. Tuck Pendleton resigns his commission and volunteers for a secret miniaturization experiment. He is placed in a submersible pod and both are shrunk to microscopic size. They are transferred into a syringe to be injected into a rabbit, but the lab is attacked by a rival organization, led by scientist Dr. Margaret Canker, that plans to seize the experiment and steal the miniaturization technology and it is accidentally injected into a man. It was reasonable film fun.

After the film we had a meal in the Internacional, joining a Kiwi and a German called Reinhard. We were all tired and walked back to the hotel in the cold night air at 22:00 hrs. for an early night. Before turning in I packed up my excess luggage and put it in the hotel store.

Puno

Above: View from the train to Puno.

Thursday 14th April 1988

I awoke just before the alarm clock which was set for 06:15 hrs. with the shits and feeling wretched and tired. I was tempted to stay in bed but forced myself to get up and pack. I walked down Avenida Sol with Eddie and said goodbye as he took his bus to the airport for his subsequent flight back to Lima.

I was surprised to find only three people in the queue for first class train tickets to Puno. I bought my ticket for the buffet car and got settled in my seat on the train. Then for some reason we had to change carriages and, in the reshuffle, I ended up on a table opposite two older American women.

The train left on time at 08:20 hrs. and we chugged out through the more primitive and poverty-stricken outskirts of Cuzco. Throughout the day the scenery remained pretty much the same. The track followed a wide, flat-bottomed valley with mountains at each side. Most of the valley floor was cultivated with sweetcorn, other crops or was lush, grassy pasture for sheep, llamas, and cows.

Rain spattered the window for most of the day. The two American ladies, bravely touring the world with their mountain of luggage kept me well fed with half of their expensive (280 I/-) lunch which was served to them on the train.

Every now and then we would stop at a small town, largely constructed of mud bricks, with a dominating church. Stout indigenous Indian women in shawls and bowler hats sat in doorways while the kids and menfolk ran to the train selling white fur rugs and slippers, clay figures and bulls, or simply begged for food and pens.

Above: Another view from the train to Puno.

Sometimes dogs streaked along in pursuit of the train and occasionally a lone cyclist was seen on the track which ran alongside the railway. Towards evening the landscape got wetter with swampy lakes and sinusoidal rivers carving mini–Grand Canyons.

I read “The Dead Zone” which is a science fiction thriller novel by Stephen King published in 1979. The story follows Johnny Smith, who awakens from a coma of nearly five years and, apparently as a result of brain damage, now experiences clairvoyant and precognitive visions triggered by touch. When some information is blocked from his perception, Johnny refers to that information as being trapped in the part of his brain that is permanently damaged, "the dead zone." The novel also follows a serial killer in Castle Rock, and the life of rising politician Greg Stillson, both of whom are evils Johnny must eventually face.

The American women played Patience with playing cards. At 19:00 hrs. we arrived at Juliaca where I helped them get their multitude of bags off the train. They gratefully said goodbye and disappeared with the “Lima Tours” representative and a mob of eager porters. After a short stay in the station we trundled off towards Puno.

The carriage was now almost empty so we could sprawl over the double seats. At 20:15 hrs. we pulled into Puno. Puno is a city in south-eastern Peru, located on the shore of Lake Titicaca. It is the capital city of the Puno Region and the Puno Province. The city was established in 1668 by viceroy Pedro Antonio Fernández de Castro as capital of the province of Paucarcolla with the name San Juan Bautista de Puno. The name was later changed to San Carlos de Puno, in honor of king Charles II of Spain. Puno has several churches dating back from the colonial period; they were built to service the Spanish population and evangelize the natives.

Puno is an important agricultural and livestock region; important livestock are llamas and alpacas, which graze on its immense plateaus and plains. Much of the city economy relies on the black market, fuelled by cheap goods smuggled in from Bolivia. Puno is served by the Inca Manco Capac International Airport in nearby Juliaca.

Puno is situated between the shores of Lake Titicaca, with it’s Floating Islands and the mountains surrounding the city. There is less than two miles of flat land between the shores and the foothills, which has caused the growing city to continue to expand upwards onto the hillsides. As a result, the town's less developed and poorest areas, which are high on the hillsides, often have very steep streets, which are generally unpaved and cannot be accessed by automobile.

We battled our way through the hotel and tour touts. I walked with two Swedes, Joe and Karin, and a New Zealand girl to the Hotel Europa on Alfonzo Ugarte where I got a double room to myself for 200 I/-. I dined out with the trio of travellers from the train.

We went into the Café Internacional just down the road from the hotel where I had tomato soup followed by chicken chop suey. At 22:00 hrs. I laid out my sleeping bag on top of the grubby bedclothes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Kamikaze Special

Wednesday 13th April 1988

I got up at 09:00 hrs. and had a shower at last, followed by a clean set of clothes. Luxury! There was a strike on in Cuzco and demonstrations against the exploitation of natural gas by the Shell Oil Company. Gas had been found in the south of Peru and the locals felt that they should benefit rather than Lima and the gringos.

Many Indians marched with banners and anybody spotted working was pelted with fruit and vegetables. All the shops had their shutters down and the protesters looked as if they were really enjoying themselves. The army looked on with indifference.

We went to the Faucett Airline office and sneaked furtively through the Judas gate in the shutters to confirm Eddies flight to Lima. On the way back I bought a couple of apple turnovers from the bakers, who were also operating through their Judas gate.

Back at the Hostel Suecia I wrote some postcards and started to catch up on my diary. At 12:30 hrs. I went down to the Post Office and then onto the train station for Puno on Avenida Sol. Here the guy on the gate told me to come back tomorrow at 06:30 hrs.

I went back to the Plaza de Armas where I met Eddie, Harry, Diana and Mark as arranged and we went for a steak dinner and a few beers. Afterwards Eddie and I walked around the smelly food market and ended up in the Tourist Office. Here I found out that the train to Puno took twelve hours and cost 600 I/- in the luxury buffet car. The distance between Cusco and Puno is 332 kilometres (206 miles) by train. It departed at 08:20 hrs. Monday to Saturday.

I wrote some more of my diary and as evening fell I went out to take some photographs of Cuzco and buy some music cassettes of typical local music (although it required copious amounts of Pisco to make it sound good).

I woke Eddie up at 19:15 hrs. and we had a bit of fun changing a $100 US dollar travellers’ cheque for $50 US dollars cash and $50 US dollars’ worth of Intis, before meeting the others for dinner. We had filet migñon and then went on to Quatuchay Peña where we drank pisco con limon while local groups played folk music and the local drunks smashed pots and punched each other, rather spoiling the atmosphere.

The Peña was like an ancient inn with stout wooden furniture, uneven floor and pigskin wine sacks hanging from the ceiling. We moved on to the Kamikaze Bar at 23:30 hrs. for Machu Picchu cocktails and consequentially enthusiastic dancing.

Later on, we tried the Kamikaze Special, a mixture of pisco, Coca Cola and beer, which was an acquired taste. Eddie and I ended up chatting to a couple of Danish girls. We left with them at 03:00 hrs. and had a couple of fried egg rolls with them, standing in the rain at the tricycle stall while the drunks rolled passed.

Back at our room we sold the girls our excess food for their Inca Trail trip the next day before crashing into oblivion.

Machu Picchu

Tuesday 12th April 1988

It really pissed down with rain overnight, the noise amplified by the corrugated tin rooves of the hotel which was established in 1982. We had a leisurely breakfast until the rain stopped and then walked along the train tracks to Machu Picchu Railway Station at 10:30 hrs.

Here we had a frustrating wait for a bus to the top because each bus would only leave when it had a full complement of 22 passengers. We had to pay 220 I/- each for a return bus trip. You couldn’t buy a one-way ticket and anyway the “path” down was little more than a mud slide littered with loose rocks.

At the gate to the ruined village, we had a long argument with the ticket collector and the Tourist Police as the Australian couple, Harry and Leslie, who were with us had mistakenly had their tickets stamped the previous day.

Eventually they had to buy another entry ticket so they got in 2 for the price of 1, but they shouldn’t really have had to pay anything as this was their first entry into the ruins.

Machu Picchu is a 15th-century Inca citadel located in the Eastern Cordillera of southern Peru on a 2,430-meter (7,970 ft) mountain ridge. It is located in the Machupicchu District within Urubamba Province above the Sacred Valley, which is 80 kilometers (50 miles) northwest of Cuzco. The Urubamba River flows past it, cutting through the Cordillera and creating a canyon with a tropical mountain climate.

The Incas, in contrast with the Mayans, had no written language, and no European visited the site until the 19th century, so far as is known. There are, therefore, no written records of the site while it was in use. The names of the buildings, their supposed uses, and their inhabitants are all the product of modern archeologists, on the basis of physical evidence, including tombs at the site.

Most recent archaeologists (2021) believe that Machu Picchu was constructed as an estate for the Inca emperor Pachacuti (1438–1472). Often mistakenly referred to as the "Lost City of the Incas", it is the most familiar icon of Inca civilization. The Incas built the estate around 1450 but abandoned it a century later, at the time of the Spanish conquest. According to the new AMS radiocarbon dating, it was occupied from c. 1420-1532.

Machu Picchu was built in the classical Inca style, with polished dry-stone walls. Its three primary structures are the Intihuatana, the Temple of the Sun, and the Room of the Three Windows. Most of the outlying buildings have been reconstructed in order to give visitors a better idea of how they originally appeared. By 1976, 30% of Machu Picchu had been restored and restoration continues.

Machu Picchu was declared a Peruvian Historic Sanctuary in 1981 and a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1983. In 2007, Machu Picchu was voted one of the New Seven Wonders of the World in a worldwide internet poll.

We had a cursory look around the ruins and then went to see Waynu Picchu. The Spanish film crew were amongst the ruins filming some comical looking scenes with the hero dressed up in local clothing.

We filled in the Visitors Book and began to climb to the summit of Huaynu Picchu. Huayna Picchu, Quechua: Wayna Pikchu, is a mountain in Peru around which the Urubamba River bends. It rises over Machu Picchu, the so-called lost city of the Incas.

The Incas built a trail up the side of the Huayna Picchu and built temples and terraces on its top. The peak of Huayna Picchu is 2,693 metres (8,835 ft) above sea level, or about 260 metres (850 ft) higher than Machu Picchu.

According to local guides, the top of the mountain was the residence for the high priest and the local virgins. Every morning before sunrise, the high priest with a small group would walk to Machu Picchu to signal the coming of the new day.

The Temple of the Moon, one of the three major temples in the Machu Picchu area, is nestled on the side of the mountain and is situated at an elevation lower than Machu Picchu. Adjacent to the Temple of the Moon is the Great Cavern, another sacred temple with fine masonry.

The other major local temples in Machu Picchu are the Temple of the Condor, Temple of Three Windows, Principal Temple, "Unfinished Temple", and the Temple of the Sun, also called the Torreon.

The path goes through wet vegetation and then climbs steeply up the side of the “Norman helmet”-shaped peak overlooking Machu Picchu. Sucking sweets for energy we reached the top rocks, passing through the Inca Tunnel just below the summit.

The steps up are quite good but there are colossal drops to the right and the whole climb took us 45 minutes. There were many colourful wild orchids on the way up.

We basked on the rocks at the top, cameras clicking unrestrainedly at the magnificent views all around.

We descended through the religious ruins and narrow terraces at the top and climbed quickly down to Machu Picchu itself. We did a quick tour of the ruins and then had the same frustrating wait for a full bus load before we could get back down to the train station.

We finally got down at 15:30 hrs. and hurried back to Aguas Calientes to collect our kit. A whistle announced the arrival of the train at 15:45 hrs. and we ran down the track with the other guests, jumping aboard just as it left. Several people left their kit behind in the rush.

The train was scheduled for 16:00 hrs. but was usually at least half an hour late. I sat with a couple from Lima who’s kids poked and slapped each other as all kids do on long journeys. There were enough of us gringos together to watch each other’s backs and avoid the threat of harassment and theft. It was quite a relaxing trip back to Cuzco.

At 20:00 hrs. we saw the lights of Cuzco, with the two cathedrals illuminated beautifully on the plaza. It took about half an hour to descend the switchbacks down to San Pedro Railway Station. Dodgy suspicious-looking scruffy locals jumped on and off the train at the halts unloading bundles wrapped in cloth and trying to avoid the army guards. The train is part of the cocaine route.

At Cuzco we got a room with three beds in the Hostel Suecia for 300 I/- for me and Eddie. We dumped our kit, collected the rest from storage and went out, unwashed and unchanged, for a celebratory night on the town.

We met the Canadians and the Australians for beer and steaks in the Piccolo before moving on to piss it up and dance the night away in the Kamikaze Bar. Eddie and I indulged in the “Machu Picchu’s”, a cocktail with layers of red, yellow and green, which kept us going until 03:00 hrs. when we returned to our room for some decent sleep at last.

* In homage to Machu Picchu, a cocktail with the same name was created. The main ingredient is pisco, the brandy symbol of Peru.

* This cocktail also uses orange juice, grenadine syrup and spearmint.

* The flavour of the cocktail ‘Machu Picchu’ stands out for its intense sweet flavour.

* The fame of this drink lies in its name and the intense colours of its presentation: orange, red and green.

* The colours of this cocktail symbolize the flag of the Empire of the Incas (Tahuantinsuyo).

* The origin of this cocktail is not known exactly. However, it is believed that it was a creation of the Cuzco barman Bernardo Solis Loaiza who in 1984 created this drink while working at the Hotel Libertador del Cuzco.

* In tribute to Machu Picchu and Cusco, this drink was created that over time became one of the most symbolic drinks in Peru.

Wiñay Wayna

Monday 11th April 1988

We had a good night’s sleep. I woke up at 07:00 hrs. and did the five-minute walk to Wiñay Wayna. It was shrouded in mist and I got soaked whilst exploring the terraced ruins in the waist-high grass. A lot of the ruined walls had a gabled end, coming up to a point where they once supported thatched roofs.

Back at the Wiñay Wayna Tourist Lodge Eddie and I had a leisurely breakfast with Diana, a Canadian, and Mark, a young Englishman who had been on Operation Raleigh in Chile. We set off late for the final stretch to Intipunku from where we would first see legendary Machu Picchu.

The trail was well paved and the jungle terrain dropped precipitously away on our right. We munched boiled sweets and walked between colourful butterflies across “dangerous” bridges and poisonous snake areas.

We stopped at a stone gateway for a rest before ascending an almost vertical, short-stepped stairway and came over the ridge to Intipunku for our first glimpse of the ancient ruins. Inti Punku or Intipunku (Quechua inti sun, punku door, "sun gate") is the final section of the Incan Trail between the Sun Gate complex and the city of Machu Picchu. It was believed that the steps were a control gate for those who enter and exited the Sanctuary.

It is one of the most important archaeological constructions around the Machu Picchu site. Inti Punku was once the main entrance to Machu Picchu, in particular it was the primary approach from the then capitol city of Cusco to the southeast. The gate likely would have been protected by Incan military.

Inti Punku is dedicated to the cult of the Inti, the Sun god. Because of its location on a ridge southeast of Machu Picchu, the rising sun would pass through the Sun Gate each year on the summer solstice.

It is located 2,745 meters above the sea level. The altitude of the climb to Inti Punku from Machu Picchu is 290 metres. It is a wide archaeological site with windows and gates that are held up by terraces. This is the first place that tourists can see the whole sanctuary. Tourists are able to see the sun rise over the whole mountains by Machu Picchu. The location of the gate was given to watch the people passing.

We were sweating but happy as we surveyed the magnificent view below. We took photographs when the ruins were revealed between the drifting clouds and watched the yellow buses plying along the zigzagging Hiram Bingham Road from the Machu Picchu Railway Station far below at the bottom of the valley to the Tourist Hotel at the top, by the entrance of the ruins.

We chatted to two American women who were on a 17-day Tour of South America which cost them more than I spent on my entire 7-month trip! We then walked down to the archaeological site with Mark and Diana.

We stopped at a high terrace by the cemetery caretakers hut overlooking the stone city. It is from here that all the textbook and postcard photographs of the Machu Picchu ruins are taken.

We sat there cooking in the hot sun for an hour or so and then decided to go down to the town of Aguas Calientes to relax. We would return tomorrow to explore the ruins at our leisure.

Machupicchu or Machupicchu Pueblo, also known as Aguas Calientes, is a location in Peru situated in the Cusco Region, Urubamba Province. It is the seat of the Machupicchu District. Machupicchu lies at the Vilcanota River. It is the closest access point to the historical site of Machu Picchu which is 6 kilometres (3.7 miles) away or about a 1.5 hours walk. There are many hotels and restaurants for tourists, as well as natural hot baths which gave the town its colloquial Spanish name.

The village of Aguas Calientes did not exist until the railroad was built, as it was a centre for construction workers. It took off after the railroad opened in 1931 and foreign tourists started arriving to visit the Machu Picchu ruins. Enterprising individuals set up businesses serving the tourists, primarily restaurants and small hotels. Those who could afford luxury stayed at the luxury hotel up by the ruins.

We ploughed through the camera-happy tourists and paid 110 I/- to be taken down to Aguas Calientes Railway Station by bus. It was sweltering hot, and we had a Coca Cola among the souvenir stalls outside the station.

It was a fifteen-minute walk through two dripping tunnels along the railway track to the village of Aguas Calientes. The brown river tumbled splashed and boiled on our right. The small town extends in a line along the railway line between the river and the cliffs of the gorge.

The wooden buildings gave it the feel of a frontier town in the American Wild West. We booked into “Gringo Bills” Hostal Qoñi Unu and gratefully demolished a couple of bottles of Cuzqueña cerveza beers and some banana pancakes.

The beer was apparently inspired by their millinary heritage. With more than 100 years of superior brewing, its origin dates back to 1908, in the imperial capital of Cusco; also called, the "Navel of the World". A captivating ancestral city full of culture. The flavors and history of our land welcome you! Discover the magic and explore more than one wonder in each variety of Cusqueña. Uncover the adventure and be part of this meeting of flavors.

To make a good beer, we carefully select and integrate each of our ingredients: yeast, water, hops and barley. But in addition, a premium beer with an incredible flavor is only achieved with a special process for malt. Therefore, each of our varieties has 100% pure malt.

Soon afterwards we joined the others who had completed the Inca Trail today in a welcome visit to the hot thermal baths. We paid our 50 I/- Intis and began to totally relax by standing up to our necks in the hot water baths.

Occasionally we would jump into the freezing cold rapids of the mountain stream next door before leaping back into the hot pool. Great stuff! All of the bathers were from Commonwealth countries so there were no communication problems. We stayed around the pools for about two hours, standing in the hot water during the afternoon bout of light rain.

In the evening we walked down to the main drag, along the railway track, to eat. I ate chicken with Jerry, his sister and his Brazilian girlfriend in the Aiko Restaurant while Eddie and the others had pizzas in another place a few doors along.

We were pestered by dogs, cats and children selling Inca artifacts and jewellery. Back at Gringo Bills the planned piss up never materialised and we sat drinking pop in the kitchen while Bill told us of the trials and tribulations of living in Peru.