Staring up at the mountain in front of me, so high that it strains my neck to see the top. Hundreds of years filled with the Andean culture of the Incas. Four days of hiking the Incan Trail is ahead, the ultimate goal of Machu Picchu. Sweat pouring, legs aching, and the hike has not even begun, only the promise of one of the most famous, sacred, spiritual and protected sites in the world. I watched the hikers, mentally and physically preparing for some of the hardest days of their lives, from my climate-controlled train car, sitting in a nice chair while the stewardess served me coffee and fresh fruit for my hour and a half train ride to Machu Picchu. Suckers!
For the last few days I've sat down to write about Machu Picchu, but I am still having trouble finding the words. "Stunning" and "amazing" are useless and empty in comparrison to that feeling of standing on top of the world in that sacred space and time, feeling the energy coming out of the mountains and witnessing with my own eyes one of the last intact sites of the ancient Andean people. It is truly a spectacular sight. Instead of trying to force out words I can't say but only feel, I'll just assume you're all jumping out of your chairs, quitting your jobs and getting a babysitter so you can go see Machu Picchu for yourselves. Here is some advice for when you get there:
1. Get there on the first bus, ay 5:30 a.m.
2. Bring food, water, and your passport, because you're going to need all three.
3. Go for two days, because it's worth it.
4. Rent a Shaman.
Our Rent-a-Shaman, Juan de Dios Garcia Garcia, appeared through the mist near the bus stop early in the morning. We saw him from across the road walking slowly and, by the look of him, was either a drunk man trying to get home, or our Shaman. Drunkards don't usually carry condor feathers and incense home from the pub, so we waved and he ambled over, high as a kite and smiling, leaving a trail of coca leaves in his wake. He met the group and walked to the front, where one of our number, Rand, was chatting up three pretty, blonde Scandinavians and feeling pretty good about himself. Now, I have seen many things in my time, many odd experiences have knocked on my door, but I have never, never seen anyone get cock-blocked by a four and a half foot tall Incan Shaman at five a.m. It was so incredible, I had to name it "The Shamaning." Rand glared down at the little man as he stepped between him and the ladies, shooed them onto the bus and put us on the next bus. Too shocked by what had just occured, we all burst into laughter and the thoughts of killing our Rent-a-Shaman slowed faded from Rand's face. Juan de Dios Garcia Garcia didn't laugh. Shamans don't laugh, they shaman.
Once on top of the mountain, looking through the clouds to the ancient ruins and waiting for the sun to rise, our J.d.D.G.G. took us to a special spot, a giant rock once used as an alter and holy place. The ancient Inca and pre-Inca civilizations then and now believe and worship the natural world around us. They built temples to the sun and moon, stars, thunder, and the rainbow. They celebrate the Pacha Mama, or Mother Earth, as well as Taita Inti, Father Sun. Their life energy flows from the mountains, from the springs, from the wind, and they praise the equality in all things. We sat with our Shaman to talk of these things, to have a ceremony for the strength, beauty and balance of Nature. He spoke to us of his ancestors, about stating intention for ourselves there on the mountain, and pushing that intention out into the world. We made an offering to the Pacha Mama, adding quinoa and corn from the earth, coca leaves for medicine, our intentions, different colored carnation petals for power, energy and knowledge. He put in llama fat for the animals, fabrics for people and industry, and little bits of candy because, as our Shaman says with a secretive smile, "Pacha Mama, she likes candy." After the ceremony was over, hardly and eye was dry in the group, and we finished by being told we had to hug each person in the group individually, which I think made some of the men nervous and some of the women cry harder.
Unfortunately you can't light fires at Machu Picchu, it being sacred and all, so we folded up our offering for the Shaman to take home on the mountain and finish his Shamaning by offering it to the Sacred Fire. Sceptics will scoff and say he went back to his city apartment and threw it in the trash, but not our Shaman. Our Shaman is Incan and pre-Incan, he is past, present and future, and he is with me now as I write. He is the Pacha Mama, the Taita Inti, the stars and the rainbow, the corn and the coca leaves. But then so are you. So am I.
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