An unforgettable pilgrimage to Machu Picchu, with early‑morning travel, mountain railways, dizzying cliff roads, a deeply emotional first sight of the Inca citadel, and a long journey home filled with gratitude and awe.
I woke up today feeling genuinely excited; this was the day I had been waiting for. Today I would visit Machu Picchu, the place my dad always dreamed of seeing but never could because of his health. It felt like I was carrying him with me.
After an early morning call at around 05:30, I showered and headed down for breakfast. A buffet meal and the usual coca tea set me up for the long journey ahead. At 06:15, we boarded the coach outside the hotel and set off through Cusco on the first stage of our three‑part trip to the Inca city rediscovered by Hiram Bingham in 1911.
The Train to Machu Picchu.
After a two‑hour coach ride, we reached the train station near Ollantaytambo. Visiting Machu Picchu requires advance booking, so after showing our tickets and passport copies, we were quickly ushered through. The platform was crowded with porters loading provisions and parcels bound for the mountain.
We boarded the first train of the day and were shown to our seats by a hostess who wouldn’t have looked out of place on a major airline, smart, organised, smiling, and effortlessly efficient. The carriage was clean, spacious and well laid out, with four of us seated around a table.
The train followed a winding river through the mountains, crossing and re‑crossing the Inca Trail that trekkers use to reach Machu Picchu. Our hostess served snacks and drinks as we travelled through stunning scenery: white water crashing over rocks, steep cliffs rising on either side, and lush vegetation clinging to the valley walls. I found myself wondering whether people attempt white‑water rafting there and how many would survive.
Two hours later, we arrived at the Machu Picchu station and transferred to smaller coaches for the final ascent.
The Climb to the Citadel.
From the station, walkers were already setting off up the mountain, though the city itself was still hidden from view. Our coach climbed a narrow, winding road clinging to the mountainside, barely wide enough in places. Those of us by the windows had spectacular, and slightly alarming, views of the drops below.
We could see a set of steps running directly up the mountain, supposedly for visitors who wanted a more “direct” route. They were so steep that even a mountain goat would think twice. I felt tired just looking at them. The only walkers we saw were sensibly using the road.
It took another thirty minutes by coach; I can’t imagine anyone walking it in under two hours.
Machu Picchu, A Moment I’ll Never Forget
When we arrived, we split into groups for a guided tour. I still struggle to put into words how I felt standing in the place my dad had always wanted to see. Even writing this now, I feel a lump in my throat. The closest words I can find are awe, amazement, gratitude, love, peacefulness, and sheer glee at finally being here.
Our tour lasted around two hours. Somehow, I managed the endless steps at nearly 9,500 feet. We visited the king’s complex, springs and fountains, storerooms, an unfinished temple, and, of course, more steps.
Our guide initially said we would skip the final climb to the sundial because it was steep and some might struggle. But when several of us insisted, walking sticks in hand, she relented. Reaching the top, I found myself thinking of my dad again. I knew he would have been proud, and I felt as though he was seeing it all through my eyes.
This viewpoint, the one in every travel brochure, is famous for a reason. It is breathtaking. If Machu Picchu isn’t on your bucket list, it should be.
Lunch and the Journey Back.
After the walking tour, we had a buffet lunch in the restaurant beneath the large hotel. I doubt the Incas would approve of a hotel, restaurant and gift shop perched beside their sacred city, but I was grateful for a seat and a rest. The food was excellent, though some people complained about the cramped space and service. Honestly, you’re at Machu Picchu. Perspective, people.
After lunch, we boarded the small coach back to the train station and caught the train for another two‑hour journey. The views weren’t as dramatic on the return trip; the sun had dipped behind the mountains, and darkness fell quickly.
At the station, we met our coach for the final two‑hour drive back to our hotel in Cusco. It had been a long day, but one I will never forget.
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