Machu Picchu, in the language quechua; “Machu Pikchu” (“Old Pico”), also is called “the lost city of the Incas”. It is a pre-Columbian, situated city in the top of a mountain, the 2,057 meters of altitude, in the valley of the river Urubamba, in the Perú, hidden in the  forest, encircled of other sacred mountains and with an almost perfect celestial alignment. It was ordered to construct for the sovereign Inca Pachacuti, in the XV century.

This mysterious  city was discovered by the professor American north Hiram Bingham (head of an expedition of the University of Yale) the 24 of July of 1911.Bingham was anthropologist, historian and explorer become a fan in archaeology. In the height, however, it tried to discover the city of the Incas descendants; Vilcabamba, but when entering in canyon of Urubamba, a peasant informed it of the existence of ruìns, in the top of a mountain of Macchu skeptical Picchu.Embora, expert of many myths that exist on the lost cities, was lead by a boy (son of resident shepherds close to the place) to cerro, finding the city invaded for the tropical vegetation and vipers. While it inspected the ruins, writing down notes, each time if haunted more.He was returned city, in 1912,1914 and 1915 and diverse explorers they had taken maps, they explored the area and the outskirts, at great length. In its hollowings, not very orthodox, it found some objectos in bronze, it has covered, silver and rock, not finding nothing in gold, but convincing it, of that the ruins retraced to the esplendor of the period Inca.

The city is divided by two great areas; the agriculturist, formed for terraces and enclosures where they stored foods; e the urban one, where if it detaches the sacred zone, with temples, squares and palaces. It has diverse theories on its function, most accepted it is that it was constructed to supervise the economy of the conquered regions and with the private intention to protect the sovereign Inca and its military next in attack case.

 The ways that took to city were hidden at common population, therefore the secret was the main military defense. The known enclosures more are: The “Acllawasi” (“house of the chosen ones”), a temple of sun virgins. The “Intiwatana”, the solar clock, that marked the stations of the year. In 1997 a fire destroyed part of the vegetation of the city.

 Macchu Picchu is of the ones of the enigmatic places prettiest and of the World, without a doubt deserving to be one of the 7 wonders of the World.

Our Peruvian guide Wayo is at the door of our van, just returned from a nearby tienda (store) with an innocuous pink bag in his hand. He hands over the bag and invites me to take a look inside. I open it to reveal the small green leaves within, each about the size of my thumb.

“With these leaves,” he states, only somewhat tongue-in-cheek, “you will have the energy of the Incas. You will ride all the way to the ends of the empire, like the chasquis who ran these trails hundreds of years ago.” He is as giddy as a schoolboy. I suspect he has already sampled the bag's contents.

In my hand is a healthy portion of coca leaf, enough to land me seven hard years in a Canadian penitentiary. I am holding a plant with an illustrious and controversial history. Unlike its infamous derivatives crack and cocaine, coca has therapeutic properties and is held sacred by the inhabitants of the Andes. For thousands of years, they have used the coca leaf to improve digestion, relieve headaches and mitigate the negative effects of altitude. In spite of this it is feared and outlawed by most governments of the Western world.

I take a wad of leaves, give a short prayer of thanks as is Inca custom, and wrap the leaves around a small piece of llipta - the hardened ash of the quinoa plant. The whole package takes up an uncomfortable and intrusive residence in my cheek.

The juice slowly seeps into my mouth; it is is pungent yet pleasing. My tongue is buzzing and my cheek soon goes numb, but I feel a surge of energy. My 3 riding companions, observers until now, tentatively follow suit.

“Welcome to Peru!” gushes Wayo enthusiastically when we are done.

“Now we are ready to ride.”

We are six mountain bikers high in the Andes of Peru, intent on reaching Machu Picchu via the system of trails laid out by the Incas centuries ago.

Despite living in the Canadian Rockies for a decade, I'm not prepared for the sheer scale of the Andes. These are mountains, in the most imposing sense of the word. The Andes are the longest mountain range in the world, and Peru contains more than a thousand mountains over 5,000 m above sea level.

Canada has five.

We are at 3,200 m in Andahuaylas province - the pradera de los celajes, prairie of coloured clouds. Today we will get our first taste of the main Inca trail - the Camino Real, or Royal Road.

Among the many roads and trails constructed in pre-columbian South America, the Inca road system of Peru was the most extensive. Traversing the Andes and reaching heights of over 5,000 m, the trails connected the regions of the Inca Empire, covering approximately 22,500 km and providing access to over three million km2 of territory. The Camino Real was the most important of these "roads", with a length of 5,200 km (3,230 mi).

The trail isn't really a "trail" in the mountain biking sense of the word - the sport is still fairly new and undeveloped here. It's more like an intricate Brobdingnanian web of meandering and intersecting foot- and animal paths. The 1,500 m descent is as long and challenging as anything I've ridden. Loose rock and exposure force me to concentrate solely on the few metres of trail in front of me. It's exhilarating - I have to remind myself to stop and take in the awe-inspiring scenery. Halfway down, I briefly lose concentration and fly over the handlebars into the arms of a cactus. It takes Wayo 20 painful minutes to get all of the needles out of my ear.

We pass through villages where dusty Quechua-speaking campesinos (peasants) smile curiously and wave. Farmers wearing the vibrant clothing typical of the Andes harvest potatoes from their fields and sing in the midday sun. By late afternoon I am lost in the rhythms of these awesome mountains.

Racing against the fading sun, we pull into the remote town of Huancarama in total darkness. The rock-hard mattresses of the El Gordito (Little Fat Man) hotel are as welcoming as waterbeds. In my exhausted, satiated state I fall asleep within minutes, grinning and fully clothed.

Two days and 170 km of Inca trail later, I awake under a spectacular stone wall with a splitting headache. I look up in a laboured effort to get my bearings. Last night… Cusco? Mmm-hmm…. Discos? Yes. Cervezas? Many.

Have I passed out in one of Cusco's narrow stone alleyways?

I survey the scene once more. No, I am under two inches of warm blankets in a cozy hotel room. A hotel room with an extraordinary 10-foot-highInca wall.

Welcome to Cusco, the former capital of the Inca Empire.

There's something tragic about this bustling colonial city. Under Francisco Pizarro the Spanish massacred most of the city's Inca inhabitants and constructed grand cathedrals and mansions on top of the original architecture. Much of this architecture would have remained hidden forever had a massive earthquake in 1950 not unearthed much of the original stonework. The Inca were renowned masons whose work still defies explanation. Many of the city's alleys are lined with detailed and ornate brickwork; stone jaguars and serpents watch menacingly as tourists pass by oblivious to their stares.

Despite the crush of tourists it is easy to befriend the locals of Cusco; I spend my afternoon drinking tea with a craft vendor selling his wares in a quiet back alley. That evening I give in to one of Cusco's surprisingly professional $10 massages and dine on cuy al horno. The roasted guinea pig is a Peruvian delicacy and is delicious despite being somewhat tough and stringy.

I eschew a second round of discos and retire to my room under my personal Inca wall. I fall asleep while the throb of electronic music fills Cusco's main square.

The next day begins with a massive breakfast of fruit salad, eggs, homemade pan, and generous doses of mate de coca, or coca tea. The tea arrives without asking. It is ritual in Peru, as normal as coffee is in North America. After two cups of this heady brew I am buzzing once again. It relieves my altitude-induced headache and fills me with energy for the day's upcoming adventures.

Soon we are on our bikes following the Urubamba River through the Sacred Valley, once one of the most resource-rich areas of the Inca Empire. Riding through this valley today, it is not hard to see why; the earth here is a deep crimson red and the crops are bountiful, unlike the hardscrabble terraced agriculture we've seen elsewhere in Peru.

The riding is majestic; around us 20,000-foot peaks tower above the small villages dotting the pastoral landscape. Russo, our Quechua-speaking guide, teaches us a few phrases that endear us to the locals. He is the Peruvian national cross-country mountain bike champion and thus somewhat of a hero in these parts.

The trail drops sharply into a narrow canyon. The exposure is scary but electrifying. We stop at an Inca mine where salt is still mined today the same way it was thousands of years ago. From there the trail descends once again to the Urubamba River.

To protect the wealth of this valley the Inca built a series of fortresses, most of which survive to this day. One of these former fortresses is Ollantaytambo, now a quaint village of 2,000 that we enter via cobblestone road. Ollantaytambo is surrounded by ruins and is one of the main jumping-off points for the journey to Machu Picchu and host to hordes of adventure-seeking tourists.

Tomorrow we go to The Lost City.

The 7:30 a.m. train ride through the Sacred Valley is both sublime and sordid. Lush green mountains line both sides of the Urubamba River while hordes of trekkers, guides and porters line the tracks. UNESCO has threatened to withdraw Machu Picchu's World Heritage Site status unless Peru gets a handle on the throngs of people crowding the Inca trail and leaving masses of litter and pollution in their wake.

At Aguas Calientes, a small town at the base of Machu Picchu, we crowd onto the bus in a heightened state of anticipation. The energy is palpable among the travelers on board this spiritual express.

“Machu Picchu,” I yell as we ascend. “We're going to Machu Picchu!” With iconic images of the storied citadel etched into my memory, I can hardly believe that I'll actually be there within minutes.

We arrive at the gates of the Lost City amid a crush of tourists. Leaving our guide behind, we quickly lose ourselves in Machu Picchu's serpentine mazes. Despite the tourists and the cost of getting here, it is worth every cent. My fellow travelers and I look at each other knowingly and remain silent as we explore, aware of the futility of words in a place such as this.

Theories abound as to the ancient city's purpose. What is certain is that it was abandoned for over 400 years when American Hiram Bingham "discovered" it in 1911. I look out over Machu Picchu and imagine how Bingham must have felt after hacking his way through the jungle to discover this otherworldly place.

We climb the nearby peak of Huayna Picchu in the pouring rain - typical weather for this area. Upon reaching the summit, I find a place away from the tourists on an outcropping of rock. Sitting silently in the mist and rain, I gaze out over the surreal landscape. It is unlike anything I have ever seen before.

“Machu Picchu,” I whisper silently to myself.

For the Incas, the mountains were gods - apus who could kill by a variety of means: volcanic eruptions, avalanches, and climactic catastrophes.

On our final day in Peru, these violent deities are angry with me: I'm sick and weak, beaten down by the altitude, late nights in Cusco, and long days of riding. It seems the apus are angry with my compatriots as well, so a consensus forms that we should drive to the top of our last day's ride. We file into the van for the last time as our driver Joselo straps down the bikes. This, Wayo assures us, will be the icing on the cake, our Homerean epic to cap off our Inca journey.

We climb. And climb. And climb… on and on and on. It feels as if we are ascending to the very roof of the world. We pass through rustic villages, past pre-Inca ruins and herds of alpacas. Farmers offer bottles of chicha to our open windows. The air is getting thin.

As we arrive at the start of the trail, I check my altimeter: 13,945 feet, over 4,270 m. It is going to be a long ride, Wayo informs us. The scenery is barren, grey, and forbidding. A few alpacas are the only other living beings in sight. I chew a little harder on my coca and llipta wad and swallow a big mouthful of juice.

I'm nervous.

The trail is epic all right; rocks the size of grapefruits litter the trail and alpacas scurry out of the way as we push our bodies and bikes to their limits. One of our riders narrowly escapes a fall into the river when his front wheel slips on a technical descent. As we descend, we pass through narrow canyons, along Inca irrigation canals, through hamlets virtually untouched by the modern world. It is unlike any ride I have ever done, neatly combining stunning scenery, challenging riding and vibrant culture. It feels as if the Incas foresaw the advent of the mountain bike by a few centuries.

We arrive in the town of Calca soaking wet, covered in dirt and thoroughly spent. Women in traditional garb walk by and stare. Schoolchildren in bright white uniforms giggle and point at our muddy bikes and strange outfits.

The sun has returned; for now the apus are not angry. They have welcomed us into their valleys, their canyons, and their mountains. I smile and reflect on what was, without a doubt, the best mountain bike ride of my life.

I'm changing into dry clothes in the comfort of our van when a hand slaps me on the back. I turn to see Wayo, our perpetually grinning guide. I smile back at my new amigo. It has been an eventful and exciting 10 days since we first met at the airport in Andahuaylas.

“Congratulations, my gringo friend,” Wayo says as he offers an outstretched hand. “Welcome to Peru.”

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I wrote this article, because I believe that some of you may benefit from my experience of visiting Machu Picchu, and may be encouraged to take the same route. It was, indeed, a fantastic trip. Inca Trail was amazing.

Everything started when me and a couple friends decided that Machu Picchu would be a cheap nice trip we could all take together. We were college students back then, and we didn't have much money. After a few weeks of discussion, we chose a travel bureau that would take care of things like transportation and accommodation. We paid for the cheaper route, meaning everything would be by bus or train (I live in Brazil, and although it is possible to go to Peru by ground means, it still is very far), except for the Inca Trail, which is don by foot.

The day we got into the tourist bus to Machu Picchu, I had my first chock. We were the older ones in the bus. I was 22 back then, and everybody else was barely 18, and that was not the only problem; they were those kids that we can tell that are professional pot smokers just by looking at them. They all wore loose, old and hand made clothes and had that slow talk typical in marijuana addicts. I felt incredibly misplaced, but I didn't let it crush my spirit.

Twelve hours later though, my spirit was a little crushed. The bus was in the Pantanal, dozens of hours away from Machu Picchu, and it was noisy, people talked loud and sometimes yelled hysterically. The landscape was beautiful, but after a few hours of the same one, I got bored. My friends already made some friends by then, but me, I'm kind of a difficult person and I don't make friends easily.

Things got really interesting when we reached Corumbá, the border city between Brazil and Bolivia. There we had a fun, although sad moment. The border agents are used to tourists crossing Bolivia border to get to Peru in their way to Machu Picchu, and they take great advantage of it; we had to pay 5 American dollars as a bribe to the Bolivian agents, so we could cross the border. I never paid bribe for anyone in my entire life; I felt so important in that moment. Of course the feeling flew away when I saw the city that expected us on the other side of the border.

Puerto Quijarro was something I only seen in TV. Do you know those Western Movies, where they show a ghost town without a living soul around and hay balls rolling over unpaved streets? That was the scenario. The bus moved around a little before we reached what seemed like an oasis in town. It was the hotel. It was not like it was a five stars hotel, or anything… it was just much better than everything around. I saw poverty there, and the only good thing was for the tourists. Quite depressive, indeed.

That night, the people made a party around the green water pool. I stayed for a while but went to my bedroom around eleven. A few hours later I woke up with the noise of people talking in the room right next to mine; they sounded worried. I went there and one of my friends was drunk as in the verge of alcoholic coma. We put him in a borrowed truck and took him to what the natives called “hospital”. It was a small, dirty and fetid building, with rats' sized biting flies moving around like they owned the place. We had to buy the medicine my friend needed outside the hospital, and the nurse, a nun, had frightening tremulous hands. I'm still surprised that my friend survived without any sequelas. In the morning, he had the worst hangover face ever. I sincerely hoped that Machu Picchu would worth it.

The next day we took the “Death Train”, as the Bolivians call it, to Santa Cruz de La Sierra. Twenty-five hours in the most uncomfortable train I had ever been, and yet, it was a funny trip. The train stops in every city, and in all of them, vendors move outside, around the windows, selling anything you can imagine from food to craft. I bought some oranges, and my friends, more courageous than me, got some “pollo con papas” (thicken and fries - very typical in the country). Despite many people told us not to leave the arms outside the train, a 15 year-old kid traveling with us didn't feel like taking the advice. His 300 Dollars watch was stolen right under his nose in the first hour of the trip. We all laughed so much. Beyond that, there was the dirt. Really… more dirt than you can imagine. In the end of the train trip, my hair felt like clay, and anything that left my nostrils were hard and black. That day, we didn't have much opportunity to know Santa Cruz de La Sierra, because we entered a bus and took our way to the next city.

The first impression I had from Bolivia wasn't a fair one. I realized that when we got to Cochabamba, one of the many stops we had before reaching Machu Picchu. The city was big, urbanized, had tons of restaurants, stores, casinos and nightclubs. Cochabamba's nightlife is very intense, and the kids from the bus got a new supply of marijuana in about an hour. It was another party night, and the thing I realized just when we got in the first restaurant was the power Brazilian money, Real, had over Bolivian Pesos. I felt like a king. I could buy, eat or drink whatever I wanted without even thinking about money. I could move around the city by taxi during the whole day with nothing more than 5 American Dollars. Their handcrafted objects are beautiful and unique, and with very little money I could buy more than carry. I bought gifts to all my relatives and friends and I think I didn't spend more than 20 Dollars on them. Great city. I would love to re-visit it.

The next city was La Paz. Well… in La Paz I was already feeling the consequences of ingesting great amounts of Bolivian food. It tastes awesome, and the spices are great, but my stomach and intestines didn't agree very much. By that time, I heard noises coming from my belly all the time, and I was severely constipated. I tried to ignore it, and kept having lot of fun. La Paz had so much culture around the streets. Everything, from the bricks on the walls to the church towers seemed like works of art. Food was, once again, amazing. In a street called “Ruas das Brujas” (witches' street) we could buy all sorts of amulets, magic recipes and ingredients as herbs or dried insects. Unfortunately, one of the most common magic ingredients there are llama fetus, and there were hundreds of those. I must say that I bought a Love amulet there, and a few months after I came back to Brazil, I met the girlfriend that became my wife in a couple years. Coincidence? I don't know.

Next stop, Peru. Finally, in the same country as Machu Picchu. When we arrived to Cuzco I was already sick. Vomit, diarrhea, nausea, you name it. In Peru and Bolivia, if you feel sick, the natives push into you as much as they can of “mate de coca” (a tea made of coke's leaves), and the cokes' leaves themseslves, so you can chew them. The first times the “mate de coca” worked and I felt better. After a while I could vomit just by feeling its smell. I tried once to chew the coke leaves, and it was a very disgusting experience. The taste was awful, and after a couple minutes my entire mouth and tongue were completely numb.

I spent the whole day in bed, paying for the king days in Cochabamba. At night, I went to the city. I was amazed with Cuzco at night. If I thought that Cochabamba had a great nightlife, it was because I didn't know Cuzco. The whole place is crowded by nightclubs ands pubs, each one better than the other. People are very friendly, and the food, that I didn't resist again, was divine.

The next day, we started the Inca Trail. Four days by foot, from Cuzco to the Lost City of Machu Picchu. Those were the most beautiful landscapes I have seen in my entire life until today. Despite the cold, the diarrhea, the pain of sleeping on the ground and from hours walking, I was overwhelmed by the trail's beauty. Sometimes, we were so high above the ground that we were literally walking in the clouds. All I could see while I had my eyes opened was perfection.

Of course, the beauty was just an aspect of the trail, and that is the moment where I handle a few tips.

1. Never drink water that you didn't purified with water purifying pills. I did, and my doctor in Brazil said that I was infested by alien bacteria.
2. You will need to carry with you baby wipes, toilet paper and a powerful source of light. The accommodation camping facilities in the path to Machu Picchu aren't much more than somewhere you are allowed to place your tent. There are no showers or decent bathrooms. You can use the baby wipes to clean yourself after a long day walking, and toilet paper is a rare commodity in the trail. At night, the place is black dark, and you will need the light source if you want to do anything after twilight.
3. Sleeping bags. The hotter you can get. Sometimes I couldn't sleep the cold I was feeling.
4. Rain cape. That one was tricky. In the second day of the trail, the harder one where you spend most of the day climbing, it rained the whole day; ice sometimes. At night, everything I had was wet, including the clothes I was going to sleep with.

After four days of long walks, we got to Machu Picchu. I must say it was very disappointing. It is not that the city isn't nice; it is. But after four days walking through the most beautiful landscapes, a stone city is kind of boring, and of course, at that time I was exhausted and all I wanted was to get some decent sleep. In the end, the best wasn't the destiny, but the unforgettable journey we made.

This colorful steep-sided gorge is a sight to behold. Carved out by the Colorado river in Arizona, it is 277 miles long and varies between 4 and 18 miles wide. Best seen by helicopter.

2. Golden Temple

This temple is the most important shrine of Sikhism and is beautiful to see. It is located in Amritsar in India.

3. Taj Mahal

This mausoleum, located in Agra India, is the finest example of Mughal Architecture.

4. Machu Picchu

Often referred to as the "Lost city of the Incas", this amazing Inca site sits 7970 feet above sea level in Peru. If you want to trek there you need to be fit! There are easier ways to see it though.

5. The Pyramids

These are amongst the largest structures ever built. They are the most famous symbol of Ancient Egyptian civilization.

6. Venice

Situated in the North of Italy, Venice consists of 117 small islands and is often known as the "City of Water". Take a Gondola and bathe in the romance of it all.

7. Great Wall of China

This amazing 4000 mile-long wall was built and rebuilt between the 5th century BC and the 16th century to protect the Northern borders of the Chinese empire.

8. Paris

The city of love and romance. If you haven't been, go now!

9. Rio De Janeiro

The second city of Brazil is set in a spectacular natural setting and is famed for its dancing and its carnival.

10. Salisbury

Ok, this city in Southern England won't feature on many lists, but I live there, and it is a wonderful place to visit! The Cathedral has the highest spire in England.

The declarations of the New Seven Wonders of the World are done randomly and with no rankings. The final seven are choose from the hundreds of other wonders around the globe. The process of choosing the new Seven Wonders of the World is through online voting.

The Seven Wonders of the World that garnered large amount of votes are the following:

1. The Great Wall of China

   The wall is said to serve as a barrier from the Mongol tribes. It was also the only structure that would be seen in the outer space.

2. Petra in Jordan

   Found besides the Arabian Desert. Petra is the capital of Nabataea Empire of King Aretas IV. Petra is known for the impressive tunnel constructions and water chambers. The Palace of Tombs which is 42 meter high is one of the structures that you would find in the city of Petra.

3. The Brazil Christ the Redeemer

   The 38 meter high statue of Christ is build on the top of the Corcovado Mountain. This statue took 5 years to be completed.

4. Machu Picchu in Peru

   The Machu Picchu is a city found on the top of a mountain. The city is lost for 3 decades and it was only on 1911 that a person named Hiram Bingham discovered it.

5. Chichen Itza

   Chichen Itza is the popular temple city of Mayan civilization found in Mexico. Inside the temple city you could find the Pyramid of Kukulkan, Hall of the Thousands Pillars, and other fascinating structures.

6. Italy's Colosseum

   The ruins of the most beautiful amphitheater is found in the center of Rome, Italy.

7. Taj Mahal, India

   This beautiful mausoleum made of white marble was built to commemorate Shan Jahan favorite wife.

And that's the complete lists of our New Seven Wonders of the World.

 

So, last spring, I went on a trek with my husband and two of my three college aged sons, to explore the ancient Incan ruins at Machu Picchu. This journey had been on my travel “to do” list for awhile, after having read several inspiring articles. The occasion of my birthday was just the right excuse to bring it to fruition.

The sights were breathtaking; the trek was extremely challenging, and the experience as a whole, is etched forever in my memory. But what I believe left the deepest impression upon me, were the unsung heroes of the trip, the porters; the native Andean men who accompanied us trekkers, throughout our high altitude adventure.

Accompany is not really an accurate depiction of what these bronzed supermen did. They were not hiking alongside of us looking for hummingbirds and digitally capturing the orchid laden vistas. But rather, these perennially pleasant men, carried unwieldy, hundred pound bundles of supplies on their backs, from campsite to campsite. They cooked three meals a day, cleaned up, dealt with all kinds of waste removal, broke camp and attended to any and all needs that we had; and most remarkably, with an ever present smile.

How sobering it was to see their bruised and battered toes peeking out of their well worn leather sandals as they ran at astonishing speeds, up and down the treacherous, rocky mountain paths; the very same paths that took me and my fellow trekkers, hours and hours to negotiate … in our costly, brand named hiking boots.

There were about fifteen men in all, and whether they cooked the food, set up the camp or tended to the bathrooms, they did their jobs with great integrity and an obvious sense of pride; despite the hard work and meager wages. Each man earned what was equivalent to about $35.00 (plus tips), for their four days of service.

I looked upon these men with a great deal of respect and admiration and yet an undeniable feeling of compassion. Their physical abilities were incredible and the simplistically happy approach they brought to their jobs was stunning; but how could they be so happy, when they worked so hard for so little?

I reflected on this many times throughout the days we spent together. I considered the possibility that maybe my empathy was misplaced and that perhaps these gentle men with the easy smiles were truly content with their situation; maybe I was confusing my definition of happiness with theirs. The kind look in their eyes made me wonder if they actually felt sorry for me, since I was the one trying to take a bite out of their world in my own unavoidably American way. The more I considered their plight, the more I realized that I needed to rid myself of the notion that they aspired to my lifestyle when in reality, I was embracing theirs.

After all, I was the one who chose to fly thirty-seven hundred miles to walk in their footsteps; to see the sacred llamas grazing amidst their ancestral ruins and to savor the sweet delight of their native cuisine. It was I who sought out the challenge of trudging up their steep mountain passes … out of my element and gasping for air.

By trips end, I came to realize that the porters, actually enjoyed the greatest gift of all; the pleasure of sharing their world and their customs with me and my companions. I was reminded of this each morning at six AM, when I would awake to the sound of a faint “knock” on my tent. A voice would cheerfully sing, “Good morning Miss. You want coca tea?” I would jump out of my cozy sleeping bag and scramble to open the zipper on my tent flap. “Good morning, good morning,” I would sing back. “Yes... please, coca tea!”

As much as I adored this morning ritual, I can say with confidence that the pleasure was truly a shared one. This delightful way of greeting the glorious Andean sunrise became a daily celebration; one that joyfully connected us to one another, if only, for one brief moment in time.