Travel: A trip to Peru is a whirl of lofty heights and dazzling sights

In Peru’s 11,152-foot-high city of Cusco, after a solid night’s sleep in a former monastery with oxygen pumped into my room, I joined local throngs at the colonial town square where the last Inca king was beheaded on a chopping block 450 years ago. However, on this mid-morning the packed crowds gathered to celebrate the annual, exalted, flamboyantly colorful Inca Festival of the Sun, just like in ancient times when devotees gave thanks for that fiery ball in the sky.

During two melodramatic hours, in a whirl of geometric designs, beads, brocade and tasseled fringe, a cast of nearly 1,000 vibrantly costumed performers streamed in from an Inca-era stone alley.  Marching about were gold-adorned Inca nobles sprouting feathered helmets; silver-bejeweled princesses; warriors hoisting spears and battle axes; petal-tossing maidens donning yellow flower hair wreaths; finery-flocked Inca priests; snarling spotted jaguars; enormous flapping condors; corn stalk-hauling tribesmen, creepy mummies, and other figures, many dancing, singing, speaking in the indigenous Quechua language, blowing conch shells, puffing flutes and thumping drums. The intense extravaganza reminded me of some grandiose, epic Cecil B. DeMille movie. Known as Inti Raymi, the centuries-old revered pageant honors almighty Inca sun god Inti (in Quechua, Inti means, “Sun”), asks for a bountiful new cycle of crops and takes place every June 24, right after the winter solstice in Peru.

“The Incas considered themselves sons of the sun,” noted my Cusco-born guide, Luis Diaz. “They would pray, ‘Without your light, without your energy, life is not possible here.’”

I’d lunge into more captivating in-depth encounters with Inca lore and culture on this curated itinerary with Belmond (belmond.com), the international luxury travel company that in Peru alone owns two premier trains and six upscale one-of-a-kind hotels (at the bucolic Rio Sagrado lodge, I bottle-fed baby alpacas!).  A day before Inti Raymi, a Peruvian troupe — traditionally clad in elaborate, rainbow-bright, pom pom-festooned attire —  offered up sacred coca leaves to Pachamama (Mother Earth) at the railroad tracks for our safe journey on Belmond’s classy 1920s-style Hiram Bingham train to the iconic “Lost City of the Incas,” Machu Picchu. Later that week, I rode Belmond’s sleeper train, the Andean Explorer, for a three-day stellar adventure that included a visit with native families on their tiny floating island of reeds atop the world’s highest navigable lake.

Both train voyages left from Cusco, the vast Inca Empire’s capital until ruthless Spanish vanquishers clobbered it in the 1530s and ultimately quashed the entire “pagan” civilization with Catholicism. A short stroll from where Inca leader Tupac Amaru’s decapitated head was once impaled on a pike, I stayed at two Belmond hotels, the Monasterio and Palacio Nazarenas, each formerly an Inca palace, currently filled with renowned gold-framed colonial art, and oozing history along with elevation-combating oxygen piped into guest rooms. (I felt fine but Cusco’s thin air can cause altitude sickness symptoms such as shortness of breath.)

Inti Raymi dancers pay tribute to the Sun God during the annual celebration in Cusco, Peru. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

Elaborate costumes of Inti Raymi, such as this one, replicate Inca attire in detail. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

Two dining cars aboard the Andean Explorer serve excellent cuisine and specialty wines. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

An actress reincarnates an Inca empress during Inti Raymi, a festival dating back nearly 600 years. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

Abiding by a centuries-old tradition, only males knit on Taquile Island in Peru’s Lake Titicaca. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

A passenger’s cabin provides spellbinding views of the Andean highlands as the Andean Explorer chugs along in Peru. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

With their keen sense of astronomy, Incas may have built Machu Picchu’s Temple of the Three Windows in line with the sun, solstices and other heavenly events. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

The Maras salt mines are mysteriously fed by a mountain’s underground saltwater stream and have produced superior salt for more than five centuries. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

The enigmatic, amphitheater-like terraces of Moray are believed to have been an experimental Inca farming site for different crops. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

The piano car/lounge is a favorite place to hang out on the Andean Explorer train. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

A 3-month-old alpaca takes a bottle from a guest at the Rio Sagrado lodge in Peru’s Sacred Valley. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

A Uros woman, wearing a tortora reed hat, sells handicrafts also created from the sedge that grows in Lake Titicaca. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

In Machu Picchu, the head of a bird and its huge boulder wings behind it are part of the Temple of the Condor. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

The indigenous Uros people use dried tortora reeds to make homes, boats, mattresses and their islands. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

Resident alpacas have the right-of-way at Rio Sagrado lodge. Here they’re seen in front of the hotel’s restaurant and bar. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

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Inti Raymi dancers pay tribute to the Sun God during the annual celebration in Cusco, Peru. (Photo by Norma Meyer)

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I did gasp upon learning Palacio Nazarenas had been a private mansion named “House of Serpents” for its notorious occupant, brutal Spanish conquistador Mancio Serra de Leguizamon, who carved still-visible decorative snakes into walls. Leguizamon seized a 13-year-old Inca’s daughter as a concubine and was an obsessive gambler who supposedly stole a huge hallowed gold sun disc from the Inca’s Temple of the Sun in Cusco and quickly lost it in a bet. I thought I felt his presence when I laid in bed next to my butler-delivered hot water bottle that looked like an adorable monkey. Or maybe I sensed the 45 nuns wearing crowns of thorns when they arrived at this place in 1747 and turned it into a convent.

I also cloistered next door at the colonnaded, landmark Monasterio hotel, erected in the 16th century as a Baroque seminary for Spanish priests. A soundtrack of Gregorian chants lilted through the lush courtyard as a waiter brought me coca leaf tea (a customary, legal, non-druggie beverage in Peru to curb altitude woes — although when chemically processed, the leaves are a base for cocaine). That night, in my antique-furnished onetime bishop’s suite, a venerable oil painting of a winged, half-smirking female angel and cherub child stared down at me brushing my teeth.

Next, all aboard! First to the remarkable Andean Explorer sleeper train, where I chugged along with 43 other passengers on 18 carriages traversing one of the world’s loftiest rail routes; it reaches over 14,200 feet above sea level. For a heady treatment, try the spa car’s herbal “Altitude Acclimatizing Massage” while your wheeled hotel sways and clickety-clacks. The changing landscapes of the high Andes mesmerized. I could gaze out the window of either my cozy bunk bed cabin (suites also available), the tinkling piano bar car, the two white-linen-draped dining cars, or the Pisco sour-serving observation car and watch it all glide by —  puffing volcanoes, endless butterscotch-hued plains, wild vicunas and their llama cousins, vaulting mountains sheltering “apu” gods, farmers clearing maize fields, village children waving at us, ceviche stands, a town’s tarot card reader underneath a sign promising “100% Efectivo.”

At 5:30 one morning, layered in Andean Explorer-gifted shawls embellished with  the Incan chakana cross, we shuffled into the bitter cold to witness a spectacular  exploding sunrise at 12,500-foot-elevation Lake Titicaca, the planet’s highest navigable lake. In Inca legend, the god Viracocha emerged from the sparkling waters to invent the sun, stars, moon and universe.

“These days, people come here and go back feeling younger. The lake has a powerful energy center,” said guide Jose Bustinza. I’m not sure what he meant but when we motored across on a boat, Jose commented that a soup concocted from the lake’s large frogs and killifish “make a powerful Viagra.”

We moored at an astonishing, human-built floating islet belonging to the indigenous Uros people and totally constructed of bundled tortora reeds and roots stacked atop each other for about 12 feet. Ropes anchored the buoyant pile to eucalyptus branches on the lake’s floor. Six families live on this scrunchy, faux terra firma in huts also fabricated from tortora reeds; members welcomed us in their native Aymara language, “Kamisaraki” (How are you?) to which we replied, “Waliki” (I’m good). It was beyond unique. The traditionally dressed women wore loud happy colors of pink, turquoise, red, yellow and orange, wide-brimmed straw hats, long full pollera skirts, vests stitched with flower emblems, and cascading braided pigtails. Beautiful hand-embroidered wares and an array of crafts — all for sale — covered the aquatic outpost. One grandmother showed me her stew of juvenile coot birds cooking over an open fire.

Our boat next ferried us to 2.2-square-mile, 13,000-foot-elevation Taquile Island, a cultural gem where males only have been knitting alpaca wool hats and accessories for five centuries. Women weave intricate textiles on looms. An enchanting group of inhabitants in resplendent ancestral (and everyday) attire danced and played pan flutes and drums on what we’re told is the world’s highest beach. Then the men, many seniors and all wearing thick chumpi belts and chullo caps, went back to knitting with needles just as they’ve done since age 8.

There was so much to relish off the train before our final disembarkation in  Arequipa —  a hike uphill in the remote darkness to savor a fabulous, unforgettable sunrise by another lake, Lagunillas; a trek to the Sumbay Caves to view stunning 8,000-year-old rock art of llama-like guanacos, a puma and man; a ramble through the mystical Raqchi archeological site featuring part of the tallest Inca temple. ( Always, in case we needed him, our onboard nurse Harold was right there carrying an oxygen tank.)

Remember, the Andean Explorer was my second rail ride in Peru. Earlier in Cusco, passengers quaffed Veuve Clicquot Champagne before we boarded the day-tripping Hiram Bingham, which like the Andean Explorer had a live Peruvian band grooving in the observation car. After three scenic hours, the Hiram Bingham arrived near Machu Picchu and a cliff-clinging bus brought us to the entrance of the famed, mystery-sheathed, 15th-century citadel that is one of the “Seven Wonders of the World.”

Some scholars believe sprawling Machu Picchu had been a cushy, seasonal retreat for the great Inca emperor Pachacuti and 500 elites; I guess like their own Saint Tropez but with slaves and teenage girls anointed “Virgins of the Sun.” I’d been to Machu Picchu years ago, but my mouth continually dropped open during this walking tour that focused on such cosmic shrines as Temple of the Condor, where Incas worshipped the immense vulture who flew souls of the dead to the afterlife.

Before returning to the train, we were offered tea or tipples at Belmond’s very Zen, semi-tropical Sanctuary Lodge, the only hotel at the gate of Machu Picchu and facing the ruins’ much-photographed velvety-green Huayana Picchu mountain. Yale University professor Hiram Bingham “rediscovered” Machu Picchu in 1911 with the help of local farmers and used to stay on these grounds when they housed researchers. On this early evening, a shaman in all-white conducted a special blessing, arranging teeny sparkly stars, sweets, quinoa, corn, and other items on coca leaves shaped like a lily pad and then wrapping it up in red, heart-patterned Valentine’s Day paper.  A present for “Earth Mother” Pachamama, who’s clearly annoyed she’s melting.

You’ve got to admire the Incas’ utmost respect for nature (although occasionally they sacrificed a virgin if, for instance, they needed more rain). In between train jaunts,  I traveled with a Belmond guide in a Mercedes van (equipped with coca leaf candies) through the Incas’ spiritual, fertile Sacred Valley. We stopped at mind-boggling Moray, the Inca agricultural science lab that has three terraced circular craters resembling UFO landing stations. Here it’s believed Incas ingeniously created hundreds of different hybrid crops such as potato varieties (Peru has a whopping 4,000 kinds of the root vegetable). Several miles away, we gaped at another wonder, the massive, centuries-old Mara salt mines, said to be tears of an Inca warrior and consisting of some 4,500 adjacent salt ponds that look like gigantic, chewy almond nougats and produce superior pink salt.

That afternoon I felt fuzzy in love. It happened at my new Belmond lodge, the pastoral Rio Sagrado serenely nestled in the Sacred Valley alongside the shimmery Urubamba River. Four resident orphan alpacas (one seemed more llama) romped through the grassy grounds and pool area, past relaxing visitors and chefs preparing a sacred underground Pachamama lunch. Twice daily, guests can feed the alpacas. I delightedly held a baby bottle of milk up to a 3-month-old, long-lashed camelid who tugged and sucked on the nipple and guzzled the contents. White specks of milk dotted his shaggy, puppet-cute countenance. The following morning, I again bottle-fed my Andean fleecy friend, peering into his inky expressive eyes. Up above, Sun God Inti shined down on both of us.

Originally Published: July 31, 2024 at 9:58 a.m.