Long Tall Sally

The day starts early with the hope that I can do Machupicchu before England-Ukraine at 1345. After a shared taxi with the workers of the hydroelectric dam, I begin the two hour trek along the railway.

Before long, the railway track ends, and a path leads into the jungle alongside the often aggressive white water Urubamba river. I´m enjoying a vigorous solo jungle trek for ten minutes until I find the path has disappeared. The jungle is wild, but not impossibly thick, so I can traverse left and right. There´s still no sign of a path. Thousands of tourists should be doing this every year, but I can´t find a single track - just doesn´t make sense. I go back to find the path, then follow it forward again, more carefully this time. Again, the path just fades away. Where did these tourists go? They never left here. Hell, it's like they just disappeared. I have to turn back and return to the dam, and that makes me angry. As I´m stomping back, shouting profanities at the Peruvian jungle, I find the path splits right, from the side of the dam. This could be another dead end, and waste another jungly twenty minutes, but trying to maintain the spirit of adventure, I roll right. I find a train track with a well beaten path along side and I´m back on my way.

As I come up around a bend, ahead of me, the Rio Urubamba is crossed by an iron railway bridge with spaced wooden sleepers holding the track across it´s length. There´s a pedestrian footpath along the side, and a sign prohibiting crossing by way of skipping across the sleepers, but I´ve seen a pre-pubescent Wil Wheaton and Corey Feldman perform this feat. I´m listening for a train, but hear nothing, so move towards the track for a closer look at the challenge. Before, I can so much as step onto the track, I think, maybe, I can hear something. The PeruRail 0900h blazes out from the jungle behind me, blowing it´s horn hard. I´m a little gun-shy after that and favour the pedestrian route.


Arriving in Aguas Calientes at 1030, I´m still hopeful to get up and down Machupicchu. I´m still struggling with the Peruvian take on Spanish, but I think I´m being told there´s no way I can do it today.

In town, I´m searching for the English contingent, but despite this being a dedicated tourist base of restaurants and hotels - even slightly reminiscent of Las Vegas - I´m finding only a few gringos at all, much less anyone recognisable as English. I eventually settle for the biggest TV around. It´s a sixty-incher and is still wearing the stickers assuring the buyer that it´s 3D-ready and SuperSlim. I´m hopeful , after the progressive game against Sweden, but by the forty-five minute mark, it´s clear that no progress has been maintained.