I never imagined the toughest day would hit me during the final morning’s sprint—not because the trail was especially perilous, but because dragging myself out of bed at 3 AM felt impossible. By 5 AM, the Machu Picchu checkpoint opened, and we joined the throng of eager adventurers entering the sacred grounds.
Darkness clung to us briefly, but soon the first hints of light began to pierce through the misty veil that draped the valley. As the sun climbed higher, the dry heat in the valley intensified, drenching everything beneath our jackets in sweat.
After a grueling ascent, we arrived at an ancient Inca site. Carolina and I sought refuge on a secluded cliff, far from the crowds, where the majestic silhouette of Machu Picchu Mountain came into sharp focus. It seemed as though the heavens had parted the mist just long enough for us to glimpse this wonder—before it playfully concealed itself once more in a soft, swirling embrace.
The mist below flowed like a river, and after what felt like an eternity of waiting, the sky brightened, revealing Machu Picchu in all its breathtaking glory.
This was undoubtedly one of the most stunning mornings of my life! Golden rays of sunlight bathed Machu Picchu as the mist slowly dissipated, casting the “lost city” in a radiant glow, perhaps much as it appeared to its earliest discoverers. Though the four-day trek often left me feeling indifferent about reaching the end, witnessing this awe-inspiring sight emerge majestically from the fog stirred something deep within me, bringing tears to my eyes.
There, nestled quietly among the peaks, lay a fully functional, impeccably preserved Inca city—a testament to the ingenuity of those who built it.
