Escape from MachuPicchu

So here’s how it all went down.

Yesterday morning, Cody, Christie and myself woke up around 4am. We quickly gathered our belongings in the dark and briefly considered “borrowing” a blanket from our hostel because it was much colder outside than it had been all week. A quick glance out the window of our room gave us a welcome sight: stars. Stars meant no clouds and no clouds meant clear skies for helecopters once the sun came up.

We walked through the plaza of Aguas Calientes one last time. It was more quiet than ever and had began to take on the feeling of a ghost town. Shops were completely emptied out and restaraunts boarded up, their tables and chairs stacked ceiling-high against any exposed windows. The only movement aside from us was a few stray dogs that wandered the narrow streets.

We arrived at the train station, which was the gateway to the helepad. The night before, Peruvian authorities had allowed a large group of tourists into the station to stay the night so they could be the first out in the morning. We decided against sleeping there because we were almost 100% certain that we would be out today.

A line had already began to form outside the station in the dark, and we noticed that many of those gathered were obviously locals of Aguas Calientes with their families and children. We had woken up even before the military, so there was no one there to direct us where to stand. We just knew we wanted to be as close as possible to the train station gates.

Within five minutes, another group claimed their place in line behind us. Within 15 minutes, there were at least 100 people behind us. A lot of cutting in line and saving places was going on, which put everyone on edge. A couple elderly Peruvian women were pouring coffee into styrofoam cups and handing them out to people in line.

Soon after day began to break, Peruvian authorities arrived in their green fatigues and began to police the line. From the outside of the station, we watched soldiers walk through the train cars in the station, waking people up and herding them onto the next staging area beyond the station.

The first helecopter could be heard in the distance, followed by another, and another. Such a welcome sound.

A loud voice then directed all tourists to enter the station, bypassing all the locals in line. It had been military orders all along that tourists were to be evacuated before locals, but I couldn’t help feel a pang of guilt when I passed by several women in line with newborn babies slung over their shoulders. I reminded myself that if they kept with the pace of yesterday’s evacuations, there was no way they would not get out today. So I kept with the order of things and stayed with my group.

Once inside the train station, soldiers rushed us into train cars, and we were each handed bags with water and food, which I devoured over the next hour. The train cars were in a state of dissaray, with blankets and half-eaten food everywhere. They had been used as sleeping quarters for the past four nights. It would be months before they will be in normal operation again anyhow.

Inside the cars, we slept and some stepped outside to smoke cigarettes. Soldiers often came in to bark orders at us in Spanish, but no one translated them into English. My brain was not functioning enough to exercise my Spanish skills, so I just watched everyone else and did as they did.

After about an hour, a hurried general’s voice yelled into the car and everyone began grabbing their bags and exiting the train. On the platform, every few feet a soldier was rushing us along toward the opposite end of the station. Soon we were through another set of gates and walking across the same bridge that Cole and I had crossed three days earlier as the guards had yelled after us.

We were led up a stairway and onto the grounds of an extremely posh resort, which was the only path to the helepad now that the railbed was washed out. People were excited and happy but walked quickly along the cobblestone paths. The sound of landing helecopters became much louder and I knew we were within yards of the landing pad. Suddenly a deafening sound roared overhead and a helecopter landed beyond the trees about a hundred feet from where we were standing.

As we waited in line, a woman from the US embassy walked the line and took down our names and passport numbers.

She explained that we would be evacuated in one of two types of helecopters: a US chopper that holds seven and that would take us to Ollatataymbo where we would be met by a bus that would drive us the remaining 1.5 hours to Cusco.

The other helecopters were Peruvian and held 20 people. Because of fuel limitations these had to return directly to Cusco. She said the US choppers had a much better view and took a more scenic route so I crossed my fingers for one of those even if it meant a longer trip.

Within 5 minutes of the previous helecopter taking off, the next one landed and soldiers counted out 20 people ahead of us in line to descend the path to the helepad.

Almost immediately, they counted out seven more, of which I was the seventh, (yes! I had gotten a small one!) and directed us past where the others were waiting and up a hill through the brush. Soldiers in the distance motioned us to run to where they were standing, which as it turns out, was a second clearing.

We all lined up below and crouched to the ground as we watched an army-green chopper come straight toward us in the distance through the canyon.

It was just like every helecopter scene you have ever seen in the movies.

The noise was roaring and the draft was much greater than I expected. Grass and plants were flattened to the ground and my sunglasses blew off my head. I clutched my backpack and scrambled to put it on backwards so it was close to my chest. Once it landed soldiers slid open the doors and we were rushed up to the landing pad and into the chopper. I was directed to a back seat that faced sideways toward the window. Everything happened so fast I could barely figure out how to put my seatbelt on in time.

In a matter of seconds, the door was sliding closed and the soldiers outside were signaling for takeoff. At first we slowly lifted off the ground and then picked up speed as the soldiers below waved a friendly goodbye.

I was seated next to Cody and both of us were simultaneously trying to photograph and take in the experience. The pilot in front of us turned around and gave us a big smile and thumbs up.

As we ascended into the valley, I could see below us the line of other tourists, the river, the washed away rails, the town of Aguas Calientes, and the road leading to MachuPicchu of which entire sections were missing. We had walked this road and ridden these rails just five days before and now they were completely destroyed.

What came next was completely unexpected (although we had joked about it throughout the week). The pilot treated us to an arial view of the ruins of MachuPicchu, circling the mountaintop in full. The “thumbs-up” pilot in front of us even opened the door so we could get clear photos. He was obviously thrilled by how happy we all were with this experience.

After circling MachuPicchu, we returned the way we had come through the valley and began our 15-minute ride through the valley toward Ollatataymbo. All around us were lush green hills, a spattering of lesser-known ancient ruins, and of course, the now-infamous river.

Soon we could see in the distance the town of Ollatataymbo. We circled the town and I could see the landing pad below: a large soccer field. We had a smooth touchdown and before I could even yell “muchas gracias!” to our pilots, we were rushed off the aircraft and away from the winds of the chopper. We were welcomed and handed bottles of water at a table where our names, nationalities and passport numbers were taken once again. From there we exited the field where a bus was waiting to depart for Cusco. The van was full after Christie, Cody and I boarded, so we left immediately.

Once in Cusco the bus dropped us off in the main square. I got off and felt a huge sense of relief, as well as urgency, and not just because I had to use the bathroom very badly. Mostly because I wanted to get out of this rainy region as soon as possible. Weather conditions were expected to deteriorate over the next few days so I hoofed it to the hostel where my large backpack had been in storage during this whole ordeal. I thanked the hostel owner and grabbed the first cab to the airport I could find. Christie and Cody were staying another night, but I had the beach on my mind. Before I knew it, and as I write this post, I am en route to the Northern Peruvian beach town of Mancora where a cocktail and sandy beach has my name written all over it.

All in all, I have to say this was an incredible experience that I will not soon forget. I met some awesome people and saw the best and worst of human behavior. I am also well aware that while I am moving on to another portion of my trip and adventure, the residents of Aguas Calientes will have their lives disrupted for many months to come, and my thoughts are still with them.