Peru

Discovering the Lost City of Choquequirao

THE WORST 5 DAYS OF MY LIFE

Day 1 was by far the worst.

I had to wake at 3:30 am, still a bit drunk either from the copious amounts of medicinal Guinness I administered at Molly’s pub to counteract my altitude sickness or just the general lack of oxygen in Cusco (which sits 11k feet into the sky). Regardless, I was up, and had to make my way to Alpaca Expedition Headquarters as I was about to do something few people get the chance to; visit the lost city of Choquequirao.

Most have heard of Machu Picchu. Many have even hiked the sacred valley to get there. Very few have caught wind of its sister city Choquequirao, and that’s a very good thing. This 15c. Incan archaeological site was rediscovered in 1909. Located in the Apurimac Valley, its remote location has kept it in pristine and untouched condition for over a century. The ruins here rival Machu Picchu as it was the last bastion for the Inca and perhaps one of the last destinations tourists have infiltrated.

You can only walk to Choquequirao, and while the threat of a tram being built to assist in tourism has hung over the travelsphere for a decade, no solid plans have ever been put into action. This is why I find myself loaded into a passenger van with a small team for a 4-hour drive to Capuiyoc, the trailhead where we will make our assault.

Our guide Victor and his porters load up a team of very pretty mules with our camping gear. On our backs we carry just the necessities; 2 liters of water, some camera gear, rain gear, and life-saving snacks. The road to Choquequirao is not the easiest; while the Alpaca Expeditions website says the 5-day journey is “challenging,” fit for anyone who “enjoys hiking and is in moderate shape,” the nearly 35 miles round trip with a 20k altitude change is definitely something to be concerned about.

The first leg of the hike is all downhill, about 6.5 miles, with a 4k foot descent. I was with two twin sisters from NYC, about ten years younger than me, who were cheery and excited to do something different than spin class at a midtown equinox. Most of the way, we oscillated between gasping at how stunningly beautiful it was and demonstratively declaring that downhill hiking is way worse than going uphill. A few hours later, we found ourselves at Chikiscca, our camp for the night, where our tents had already been prepared, and dinner of fresh fried fish, potatoes, and giant choclo (corn with farmer’s cheese) was being served with the most stunning view of the Apurimac River valley you’ve ever seen. Sleep couldn’t come quick enough, and with a 4:30 am start time, we got right to it.

Day 2 was, without question, the absolute worst.

From Chikiscca our legs were on fire as we descended to the river basin and crossed the questionable suspension bridge we found there. Once across, it was a constant incline to our next stop. Ten miles and a can’t-believe-I’m-writing-this five thousand-foot ascent back up to the top of the ridge on a nearly 45-degree incline of brackish rubble. It was at this point the mosquitos arrived and seemed to be using the liberally applied DEET 30 as a type of guacamole dip for my blood. Anemic, parched and exhausted, the sun decided to break through the cloud cover in the last leg of the journey. Victor saw I was losing steam rapidly.

“Mister Robert,” he said with the quiet tone of a confidant, “would you like the emergency donkey?”

I thought he was kidding, but thankfully he was not. A stubby, brown, furry ambulance arrived shortly after a radio call, in which I threw the entirety of my pain, suffering and 230 lbs of Italian corpus on the back of this brave, poor beast. I do not like riding horses and have a general aversion to the idea that one animal should ever burden another with its weight, but it was me or the donkey that day in the valley, and I was glad to have him.

At the top, alive and having pounded my weight in water, I fed a bag of apples to my furry friend, thanking and apologizing profusely for eating all that pizza over my 45 years on earth. For now, I was safe and once again having a fine, freshly cooked meal overlooking the most stunning mountain range and valley I had ever seen. The sky bled pastels and as the wind died down, we crawled into our tents for tomorrow when we would reach our destination.

Day 3 was decidedly and unequivocally the absolute worst.

I woke up with intense shivers, an aftermath of sunstroke and exhaustion. I had no desire to shower or even change my clothes because taking off my boots would require me to witness whatever gore was within them. The hundreds of bites on my arms stung in the cool morning air, and as I stumbled with premature rigor mortis in the dark for my gear, I tried to psych myself up to reach the summit.

We set out along the ridge, and while the hiking itself wasn’t as challenging as the day before, we found ourselves in a thick, humid, mountain jungle. Cutting through switchbacks and over lazy waterfalls, we slowly made the last 1km to the summit. Soon, we started to see signs of the ancient Incan civilization as we climbed a makeshift stone staircase in various states of disrepair. Then, like birthing into a new world, the dense vegetation cleared, and we were literally above the clouds. Before us lay the lost city of Choquequirao.

I won’t attempt to persuade you of how intense the feeling is reaching this untouched settlement. I will not try to use poetry or prose to instil an understanding of the profound sentiment of accomplishment that comes with seeing it. For all the pain and discomfort and strife, the payback is ten-fold in pride, wonder and excitement. You are truly alone up here among the clouds. Able to roam freely through these ancient structures, perfectly manicured and unmodified. You get to sit quietly and feel what it was actually like 500 years ago, living on top of the world. It is yours and yours alone, and it’s marvelous.

As a traveler whose job it is to travel, the constant struggle I face is that I’m part of the problem I find wherever I go since wherever I go, there are always other travelers, taking away and sucking the lifeblood from the destination. Fewer and fewer places around the planet are truly untapped and unique. Choquequirao is, without question, one of the last places that is truly untapped. Fitting that this was the last place the Inca existed, the location of their final stand against the colonizers. It also seems to be the last place unconquered by colonizing tourists as well. Here lies Choquequirao’s wonderful treasure, and all you need is blood, sweat, and perhaps an emergency donkey to get there.

Day 5 was absolutely and most definitely the worst.

On this day, I find myself back in Cusco, having hiked up and down a mountain to see a site most will never get to see the same way. I had a 2-hour massage and two full dinners with two liters of wine to soothe my battered body and soul. I was melting into my feather-top bed under a deep comforter at the exquisite Rumi Punku Hotel, watching reruns of The Office on high-speed internet. It was clearly the worst day of the trip since I was no longer in that sacred place and sacred space. Already, I was plotting my return, but after a very, very deep sleep.