Hiking the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu remains one of the most impressive and challenging treks in the Americas. Many have achieved greatness (some with equine assistance) in walking in the footsteps of modern tourists and ancient priests alike, reaching its' dramatic entrance Gate of the Sun; and all will recall the young lad who runs a straight course intersecting the ziz zag road down the final mountain, waving his arm in a grand gesture, yelling "good bye" each time the bus passes. But somewhere between the MM88 trailhead and the grand "goodbye" was created a journey that would leave that ancient stone way and lead us to paths less traveled.
On that, my first effort to accomplish its' mystery, I had established expectations born of adventure and commerce (I was evaluating the tour operator for a travel network in Canada). Carlos Nordt and his INNERPERU company (Lima and Cusco) came highly recommended. Our guide, Wilbur, and his father, Max, would accompany the 6 of us, (including son, Matthew, age 10) along with an equal number of porters to traverse the route revealing the secrets of the Inca.
The first indication that our journey would not be a traditional experiencing of the well travelled path came when night fell after the first day of gentle uphill deception (the second day is a thriller at almost 14,000 ft. and there forward the trail offers magnificent vistas with ice mountains which claim and honor every awed comment ever whispered about them). In the glow of kerosene lanterns, we feasted in typico fare and in discussion of cultural uniqueness of the fellow travelers. We discovered that Max, who also cooked for us, was 65 and had been a guide on the trail most of his life. Matthew was proud to hear that he was the youngest person to have hiked the trail with Max in all of those years. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and a passport to a new adventure. Every time Max would run (literally) by us on the trail to help set up camp ahead for the night, he would pick Matthew up and swing him around and laugh heartily, bringing the same response. Max spoke no English. Matthew spoke little Spanish. Laughter and hugs spoke for them both. Max was a family man and Matthew became adopted.
The goodwill turned to trust very quickly and that night as we warmed to coca tea, with Wilbur as translator, we listened to stories of ancient and sacred traditions of the Quechua peoples, hinting at the mystery and majesty of the Andean legacy. We would come to experience ritual ceremony in the ruins, guided by Max, a keeper of the light, descendent of the ancient brotherhood. The honor of the experience haunts me to this day.
In the sweeping shadow of a condor on the wing, we met our sacred valleys of the Inca and one by one, the temples of the priests greeted our energy, and Max and Matthew followed hugs with hearty laughter along the way. At the end of the journey, we said our adios y gracias, and Matthew was presented with a traditional cap of intricate beadwork and colorful tassels. It was obviously very old, made for a child, and came from Max's village in the mountains down south. A family heirloom for the newest son.
The days of the trek far surpassed any expectations I could have had; and I have returned, guided by INNERPERU and Wilbur; and I remain eager to repeat the trail at any time. But the adventure wasn't over when the train from Aguas Calientes hugged the roaring Urabamba River back to Cusco. The next day, Wilbur greeted us at our hotel with an invitation for three of us to come to dinner at his home. Max's home.
We were met at 7:00 P.M. by Wilbur and hopped a cab to the far end of Cusco. We were taken to a street in a neighborhood that perched itself on the side of the mountain.
No sidewalks or streetlights, we followed our friend past light from windows in the adobe structures. We were greeted along the way by smiles and interest. This neighborhood was not commonly visited by Anglos, especially a very young one. But they all seemed to know we were coming and we felt quite celebrity in the response. At the top of the hill was Max's home. Wilbur took us in to the living room space where the table had been set for 4 of us. Max greeted all with a grand hug and a hearty laugh. We met his wife, and Wilbur's sister and several cousins. By the time the next door neighbors and friends had arrived, it was a houseful.
Dirt floor, a single naked lightbulb, a rough wood table and two benches, it was time for us to eat. We had brought some wine, and it was served to us. The meal was traditional and delicious, including meat which was an additional expense for our hosts. We ate dinner, and they all watched us, smiling. It was a bit awkward, but Max finally had a glass of wine with us and Wilbur's cousin was armtwisted into having some potatoes. Matthew made a funny face in response to a unique flavor of something and Max roared with laughter. We relaxed into the warmth of the family together - and spent a few unforgettable hours in the company of genuine and generous friends. At the end of that evening of very little talking and very much laughing, we said final goodbyes at the front door.
No surprise, Max hugged all of us. Matthew quietly presented Max with his favorite Swiss army knife. Max got tears in his eyes, and with one final hug, we were sent on our way by a gathering of neighbors and friends. We left that home with a new definition of family, of friendship, of sharing and sacrifice (it really was Matt's favorite knife), and of putting oneself out into the world. Who could have guessed that the trail to Macchu Picchu would end in the humble kitchen of a guy named Max.
The perfect trail is not made of well-worn stones, or of the cleared way through the forest; for those are just the roadmaps to adventure. The perfect trail is made of friendship, wisdom, legacy, and hearty laughter.
One trail, many paths.
Steve Rinder is an ecotourism consultant, based in Canada. He previously wrote Saving Panama's Wildlife on Islands in the Canal for the May 1998 issue of Planeta. He can be reached by e-mail at srinder@ldn.mediaglobe.net.
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