I was going to type this out on my phone, but I fear it died at the most inopportune moment. Anyway, here’s the little story I promised not to write tonight. Why? Some sort of vanity I suppose. Maybe I didn’t want to make promises I couldn’t deliver. Whatever it is, I had the best ramen in Peru.
Hear me out. I know, I know. It’s random. And it might seem unreal if you have never been to Cuzco. Let me assure you, it’s a bustling, diverse, multicultural city. No, destination. And if you have been there, you know why; Machu Picchu.
So that’s where it started. I landed in Cuzco, heavy and heady and giddy from the Galapagos Islands and sort of wishing for just one good night’s sleep. But the tour guide at the concierge, he got me good. As I checked in, he told me that someone was trying to sell their ticket off for entry the very next day. Not to go off into too much detail, but they recommend you book in advance for the attraction due to limited traffic and high demand. Whatever. I booked this flight on a whim and I had convinced myself to try my luck. If I didn’t get in, I didn’t get in. Either way, I had a story, and I know how to keep myself occupied in a new city. Perks of learning solo travel.
Now, I subscribe to the fate model. I had just mere hours ago told myself to not be too disappointed if I couldn’t find a ticket for my five-day window, and the moment I step foot on Peruvian soil, I’m being handed (gifted) an opportunity. Of course, I took it. Scam or not (it wasn’t), I was willing to risk the meagre cost. Contrary to popular belief, entry is not all that expensive. It’s the getting there and figuring out logistics that does you in. Anyway, I sorted out my ticket and was informed to be ready and waiting in the lobby for six am sharp. Great. There went my sleep. I trudged along to my room, showered, and listened to music until the sandman did his rounds. Alarm set for five am. I like to be prepared.
Side note, here’s what my ticket included; entry at sunrise, one night’s accommodation, one lunch meal, and one way transport to Machu Picchu. A steal really. Terms and Conditions included a three-hour hike from the lunch restaurant to the hotel, a one-hour staircase climb at sunrise. Fine. Whatever. I’m young, I’m fit, I can do it.
I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed, because it’s a wonder what excitement can do for your motivation, packed an overnight bag, tied my shoelaces, and headed to the lobby. My hotel had breakfast included, so I topped up on fruit and juice and a pastry or two, then sat at the entrance and waited. I was alone, but for one other solo traveler. A blue-eyed blonde who looked vaguely European. I mean that in the stylistic way. There’s something about the way a European girl dresses and carries herself and looks, that’s what I mean. She was cool.
We eyed each other warily, neither of us willing to make the first foray. There were a lot of factors to consider, to be fair. Language — what if she didn’t speak English? Awkwardness — what if she’s waiting for people to join her? And then the epic one, what if she wasn’t going on the same tour? It sounds silly, I know. But there’s something tragic about meeting someone on the road, making friends, and then discovering your journeys don’t run parallel. It blows. It’s happened to me before, and it will again. And if any of you are reading this, even though we never exchanged numbers or social handles, I still think about you and who we could have been.
So, we eyed each other with the same apprehension, the joined hesitation. She grinned first. I returned it. We both checked our phones. The tension rose. The departure time was creeping up on us, and nobody had made a move. She stood up. I looked up from my phone. She opened her mouth, closed it, and walked to the restaurant to grab a bottle of water. I slouched back down into my chair and pulled up some news to read. That was it. My threshold. It was too early, and maybe I was overthinking it. When she came back, I didn’t look up.
Long story short, we were on the same bus. But the embarrassment of the morning had us selecting seats quite far apart. We both stared at the city in part melancholy and part wonder as the vehicle filled up on its rounds. The rest of the drive was a whirlwind. If you’ve done it, you know it well. The swerving mountain climb, the sheep, the llamas, the Peru-ness of it. It’s wonderful. It’s magical. It’s not the ramen, though.
It would take until the first stop for us to finally break the silence. When we did, it was to share the Oreos and Pringles we had purchased at the convenience store. There we were, waiting for the rest of the tour to return, and a look passed between us. A look that said, ‘now, right?’ The crinkling packaged junk food cheered us on for overcoming this major adversity, and just like that I had a lifelong (as of publication) friend. She’s Dutch, from Amsterdam, a fitness trainer and all-round badass boxer. I’m me. It was a match made in random adventure heaven. No, really.
The other half of the bus journey had us exchanging music, snacks, and motion sickness pills, and when lunch came, neither of us were hungry. This is where the adventure really sets in. It’s also when we found out that our tour guide was handing us off to the trusty guidance of a railway track and would meet us in the city later. Yeah. I know. I knew this though. It had been mentioned that the walk was easy, and a guide could be purchased, and I had just filed it under Not Me and moved on. Typical.
Turns out not her either. Perfect. We shouldered our backpacks and marched onward, following the questionable signage through the brush and finding our footing. This was my favorite part of the whole thing. Seriously. Serious. There’s a charming way to describe it, but I’m going to go for lively. The train tracks, at first, are widely spaced and originating at a modern looking station. Cool. Normal. About fifteen meters in, yes fifteen, you hit dense jungle. Another twenty meters and you may as well be Dr. Jones. This is where it gets magic. Slowly, your sense of what-the-fuck decreases. You allow the green to swallow you. And just as you think you’ll never get out, the tracks widen again, and you find yourself in the midst of a fairy story.
Wooden structures hang on either side, outside of trees and haphazard stone outlets. White eyes stare at you, cheering you on as you begin your journey. I should mention, this is a busy route. We were alongside about thirty other adventurers. Traipsing along this not-so-secret secret city in the tress. City? Village? Commune? Whatever. Each building invited you into a restaurant or a bar or a snack stop. It’s a well-oiled business. But a little too early for us so we walked on through.
The details fade, because it’s a blur of jungle, waterfalls, botanical gardens, gushing rivers and butterflies, but let me just say I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a dinosaur. And if you know me, you know how awesome that would have been. We hiked, and we wondered, and we wandered, and we jumped a sketchy river, and climbed a tree for a few photos, and illegally crossed a bridge on the train tracks, et cetera et cetera… our way to the hotel. Along the way, we added an Italian influencer to our motley crew. He videoed everything on his phone, so records of this trip definitely exist out there somewhere. We see you, Ale!
The three of us made it to the steep walled hill at the foot of Machu Picchu in good time and good spirits. Once we navigated to the hotel and settled in, we debated on whether to go out or rest before our four am wake up. In the end, food won. We took on the town. We didn’t have ramen, but we did find a perfect papaya salad and real Italian pizza. It was damn good. We slept happy. We woke up to the dark and a cold shower. We made our way to the entrance.
I know you’re waiting to hear about the ramen, but let’s just get to Machu Picchu. It was pretty beautiful. The ruins, but also the hour-long trek up the mountainside staircase. Maybe staircase is too liberal. Let’s say roughly hewn stone edifice. And let’s say it wasn’t just dark, it was foggy and sticky and a little damp. It was beautiful. I’ll always love to think about that climb. It was over too soon. The sharp turns, the uneven steps, the thick greenery of it all. Absolutely magical. So, we did that, and we did Machu Picchu. And I’m not going to go into that bit because there’s a lot of other stories about it, some of which I will come to one day.
Once we were done, and we took full advantage of the timing of our ticket, we headed back to grab our backpacks from the hotel room and booked an impromptu train ride back to Cuzco. If I recall, we had initially planned to walk back. But, you know, we did a lot of not sleeping and we maybe needed a break. So, we splurged and found our way back to the place we met. Except this time, we weren’t strangers, and we were absolutely certain that we were going to the same place. Cool, right? I love travel.
Worn out and road weary, we still needed dinner. And now you’ll see where this is going. I had arrived in Cuzco a mere two days prior, in this same place. Alone and bedraggled and in need of bedrest so that hadn’t changed. But between now and then, I’d done so many things. Made a friend on the side of the highway, hiked through the jungle, eaten fresh papaya for dinner, climbed a mountain, hopped a river, and taken a train through the countryside. Here I was, in the same place but completely changed. And completely changed, but still hungry.
And that’s where it happened. By chance, we picked the first menu from the hotel counter. We stepped out on cobbled stones, under the same stars we always do, and linked arms. A ten-minute walk later, we sat down and ordered, authentically, the best ramen I’ve ever had. In Peru.
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(PS: And this is on my mind because I just tweeted ‘I’m participating in the Get High And Don’t Write challenge,’ and in true fashion, inspiration struck about seven seconds in. Here I am, one bowl of ramen in hand later, writing something.)
