15 mai 2019
Machu Picchu, PeruI'm suffocating in my own sweat. It's raining, but the droplets are disturbingly warm. The humidity level is rocket high: my poncho has become as sticky as a slug. My legs are shrieking in pain. No amount of water seems capable of alleviating my thirst.
The night is dark and I can't see anything apart from my swollen feet climbing an endless trail of enormous stone stairs. I thought Incas were short. Why the HELL did they build steps this big?
I've been walking for five days, for an average of seven hours per day and four hours of sleep per night. The end is near but seems so damn far away. And here I am in the middle of the jungle, climbing the 1600 stone steps of the Inca Trail, all the way up to the Machu Picchu.
At one point, I shut my mind off and accepted my pain. With a steady but fast pace, I suddenly found myself out running multiple groups of people on the way. I climbed to the top in forty-three minutes, drenched. A German girl from my group and I were the first to reach the Machu Picchu that day, and we exploded in joy! We watched in awe as a dense cloud dissipated and revealed the majestuous site, void of people.
Stillness. Silence. Harmony. Splendour. The scenery was enchanting, royal, and remarkably relaxing. Three minutes later, the Machu Picchu became flooded with people and lost all of its glory.
It's time to go back down.