© Richard HuangIt rained all through the night. The mountain streams swelled, their racing waters surging and leaping as they struck the boulders washed down from the slopes.
(The photograph above was published on 1x.com.)
© Richard HuangMist had settled over the mountains as well, the spreading morning fog all but erasing the outlines of the distant peaks. There would be no sunrise to watch. The patter of rain and the drifting, half-seen mist were rather dispiriting. Thank goodness we had changed our plans and gone up the mountain yesterday. In weather like this, we really had to consider whether it was worth going up again.
Still, I wanted to see how different Machu Picchu would look in the mist. Besides, the boss had spent time doing yoga and absorbing the mountain’s spiritual energy at the summit yesterday, leaving us too little time for a closer look at the ancient city. So we bought rain ponchos and decided to head up once more.
© Richard HuangBy the time we reached the top, dense fog had swallowed everything. It was still early, and we could barely see five metres ahead. There were only two things left to do: go back down, or wait…
© Richard HuangWe waited and waited until, at last, the sky began to clear. Like a shy young woman, the ancient city slowly lifted its veil. The instant it did, the sight was breathtaking—utterly enchanting.
© Richard HuangLooking out, we could see sheer cliffs plunging 600 metres to the Urubamba River. Beyond the ruins, tier upon tier of agricultural terraces ringed the city, while the urban area comprised some 200 buildings and 109 stone stairways linking the slopes with the city. Its layout was orderly: palaces and temples stood mainly in the north, with living quarters to the south. A central plaza separated the two.
(The photograph above was published on 1x.com.)
Machu Picchu was built around 1450, at the height of the Inca Empire. It then vanished from view for some four hundred years, hidden as completely as it had been in the fog moments earlier, with no one knowing where it lay. Its veil was not lifted until 1911, when the American historian Hiram Bingham happened upon it during an archaeological expedition. Hence its other name: the Lost City.
Just as we were about to enter the city for a closer look, the fog rolled in again, wrapping the citadel in the clouds once more. Back into waiting mode we went…
© Richard HuangBecause the Incas had no written language, why they built such a citadel in the clouds remains a mystery. They worshipped the sun and regarded themselves as the “Children of the Sun”; perhaps they chose this site so they could be closer to it. The most persuasive theory, therefore, is that Machu Picchu was a place for religious rites and ceremonies.
© Richard HuangA place of worship naturally needed temples, and the celebrated Temple of the Three Windows is one of them. Three openings in one of its massive stone walls face the central plaza and the distant Andes. These trapezoidal windows are a fine demonstration of the Inca stonemasons’ extraordinary skill. A rectangular stone slab inside the temple is thought to have been used for observing the sun.
© Richard HuangAnother celebrated sanctuary is the Temple of the Condor. Above it stand two mottled boulders shaped like a bird’s outstretched wings; on the ground lies a stone head, with a basin in front that once held ritual offerings.
© Richard HuangThe city also contains numerous pools, linked by channels and drains cut through the stone. These in turn connect to the irrigation system serving the terraces outside the city.
© Richard HuangBeyond the city lie terraces rising one above another. Centuries ago, the Incas used them to grow crops on the mountainside and sustain themselves. No one lives here now, but alpacas can still be seen everywhere.
© Richard Huang
© Richard HuangWaiting for the morning fog to lift had cost us time, and before we could see every sight, it was already time to leave. We still had an afternoon train to catch back to Cusco. At the entrance, we made sure to stamp our passports with the souvenir seal—a perfect way to preserve a lovely memory.
© Richard HuangTo reach the railway station, we first had to wind our way through a maze-like souvenir market. It was packed with a dazzling array of colourful goods, but commercial trinkets did not interest us much, so we headed straight for the station.
© Richard HuangThe railway station in Aguas Calientes was small and crowded, with passengers for several trains squeezed into the same cramped space. The announcements over the loudspeaker were impossible to hear, and there were no electronic departure boards. All we had to go by were the female train attendants holding signs and calling out to passengers.
© Richard HuangThe confusion was genuinely nerve-racking. After asking again and again, we finally saw our train pull in. At last, we could board and continue our journey.
© Richard HuangThe carriage was the same as on the journey out, with broad windows on three sides offering panoramic views. This time, however, there was nothing to see: night had fallen, and outside was pitch-black. Then a costumed demon appeared, performing a local dance and repeatedly inviting passengers to join in. The carriage immediately came alive.
© Richard HuangOnce the demon had finished dancing, it was the train attendants’ turn. They transformed the aisle into a catwalk and staged a fashion show right there in the carriage.
© Richard HuangThey were not professional models, but the attendants gave it their all as they showed off the local clothing. Why had there been no such splendid train fashion show on the way here? My guess is that, during the daytime journey out, the scenery provided all the entertainment we needed. On the way back, with darkness outside, the fashion show made the ride more enjoyable. Thoughtful, wasn’t it?
© Richard HuangAmid the cheerful, easy-going atmosphere, the journey passed almost unnoticed, and before long the train reached Cusco. Beneath the night sky, the city was as beautiful as ever.
Today we visited Machu Picchu for a second time. It was the same mountain city, yet what we saw today was entirely different from yesterday: yesterday it stood in brilliant sunshine; today it floated in mist. We travelled out and back on the same train, yet those journeys were different too—on the way there, we watched the scenery outside; on the way home, we watched the performances inside.
The ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus said that no one can step into the same river twice. Perhaps this is what he meant?