Wake up, eat up, pack up – all part of the routine – every step of which became increasingly difficult to accomplish after our attention was taken. Crawling out of our nylon nest now dripping with dew, we lifted dreary eyes across the valley as a rolling fog unveiled the fabled City in the Clouds, Machu Picchu. We would have preferred to sit and watch as the sun rose over the mountains to dance with the mist, but I had work the following day and chores had to be done so begrudgingly we finished up with the help of a new found friend and moved on.

This turned out to be our shortest day so far, but still we hiked over 4.5 miles of the rugged mountain route. As we were led downward, Machu Picchu was quickly swallowed by the Andes and we came to understand just how the ancient city remained hidden for so many years. The forest surrounding us defied our vision of even a peek beyond the dense canopy despite our constant twisting and turning down steepening switchbacks. The passage spread like branches as we descended, but thinking back on our misguided meanderings of the previous day, we stayed true to the most travelled thoroughfare. By mid-morning the trail turned shallow and sandy, and the shade was overrun with random sparks of stippled sun. The land on either side filled with fruit-bearing trees as we made our final decent into the Valle del Río Salkantay once again.

We crossed over the raging river on a long and narrow suspension bridge pieced together from chain link, bent rebar, and rough wooden boards, past a small fishery built to resemble terraced Incan walls, and through a sandy flood plane, before finally arriving at the Planta Hydroelectrica spied from the cliffs the day before. Even though Matt wanted to continue along an abandoned train track to the next town, Aquas Calientes, we decided to hop a collectivo scheduled to start back to Cusco within the hour so as not to be on the winding mountain roads after dark.

Before leaving for the trek we had been warned a dozen times that the rainy season was just around the corner; that, “mucha lluvia,” much rain was to occur any day. Thankfully, we hardly had a drop, but as we left the base of Machu Picchu in our rear view the tides turned. While patiently waiting for our bus driver to finish his impromptu dinner in a small market along the way, what had been a slow and steady sprinkle turned into a torrential downpour. The tin roof of the market amplified the sound of the rain to a deafening roar, forcing the small collection of passengers now huddled together at its center to resort to short gestures and mimes as we watched a river form on the road in front of us.

A slight break in the storm sent us racing back to the van and on our way again. Despite the deluge our driver maintained nail-biting speeds around death defying corners until the rain became sleet and a fellow passenger yelled out angrily for him to “CUIDADO! CUIDADO!,” be careful, and slow down. The sleet then turned to snow that slowed the van to a crawl and elicited excitement from the mostly native crew who began snapping pictures and commenting emphatically to one another. Apparently our driver was unaware that turning the defroster to heat would have saved him from having to continually wipe the windshield with a handful of napkins as we painstakingly crept down the mountainside.

After yet another detour caused by a rockslide on the byway just after Ollantaytambo, the group almost cheered aloud at the sight of the city lights of Cusco glittering in the distance. Our 3 hour trip had doubled by the time we rolled into Centro, bringing to mind our first bus ride into town almost a year earlier when a scheduled 12 hours turned to 24. Still, we were thankful to be back, and for the rains which had waited our return, stopping almost immediately as we climbed out of the van to gather our bags. We could hardly believe the timing of it all. Ravenously hungry, we stopped into McDonalds on our walk home – as any remotely sane, calorie starved pair would – where Matt ordered several BigMacs, and I, two grandes papas fritas to eat as we trudged the rest of the way – a decision we would come to regret.

Returning after such an amazing week was bitter sweet. Of course, a warm and inviting bed is always a plus, but it was hard to leave the mountain behind. It seems every time we get away from things for a bit, we learn a little more about ourselves. Nature can be a gracious teacher. We look back with such gratitude for the time and experiences along the way, and now excitedly await our next adventure.