I am fortunate to be put on an earlier flight – 2 hours early. However, due to delays, I end up arriving the same time I would have. The turbulence as we head East and fly closer to the Andes makes me feel a bit light-headed, especially since I am in the toilet when the fasten seat-belt sign goes on and we hit a particularly nasty patch. Fortunately, I was sitting at the time. We do a bumpy left-hand turn and land intact at Cusco airport. In Arrivals I meet a mischievous fellow dressed in multi-coloured clothes. I am unsure who he is or what he represents but intend to find out. The surrounding hills are brown and dry with many levels of mud-brick dwellings.

It is hot enough to shed layers. I organise a taxi for a set price and we head into town. There is the ubiquitous latin music on the radio. My driver has features that appear more typical of the native indigenous, the Quechua. His Spanish is slow and clear, and we enjoy a lovely conversation until the inevitable question is reached: are you travelling alone? I feel more comfortable here to tell him the truth – no, there is no husband; yes I am alone. However, this line of questioning tends to lead to, “how old are you?”, a scrutinising look via the rear-view mirror, and comments along the lines of “I can be your special driver for x amount of dollars” etc. This time I stop the conversation at how old are you with “I don’t know.” He takes the hint and we talk of other things. While we drive I listen to the sound of the tyres on the cobble-stone streets and smell the aroma of cooking food on street corners.

Cusco (spelled Cuzco by the Spanish) was the capital of the Incan empire for many years. In the centre of a very Spanish-looking Plaza surrounded by impressive and beautiful colonial Spanish buildings and churches, there stands a fountain to honour their ruler – the Incan emperor Pachacuti. I ask my driver to take me to where I can buy my ticket for Macchu Picchu, sold at the Ministry of Culture just off the main square. I have not prepaid anything and at this point have no idea how busy it gets at this time of year with mainly foreigners on their northern hemisphere vacations. He drops me at the door. I drag my bag (only 10 kg – I left stuff in Santiago) two metres into the office and am left puffing. Cusco is at 3399m and I am not yet acclimatised. My mouth is dry as I am trying to conserve what little I have left of my essential bottled water. My focus is MP ticket, train ticket, and accommodation – in that order – then to be watered and fed; probably not a good idea in the heat.

I discover after lining up that I need the train ticket first, then to come back. I drag my suitcase around the corner to a helpful and friendly English-speaking Peru Rail representative (this disguises the fact that the train ticket is quite exorbitant – approx USD $200 return), then back to the office of Culture. I’m told that tickets for the following day to MP are sold out. My heart sinks. I have just caught a plane and bought a train ticket for no reason. In the next sentence he explains that he will just book it for another day then change the date to tomorrow’s later. I hesitate. What can I do but trust he’s done this before.

The square is beautifully presented and well laid out to take advantage of its pride of place nestled among Andean foothills. I lug my bag – backpacking with a suitcase – until I find a single doorway to try my luck with a hostel. The woman asks me if I have a reservation. When I say no, waiting for a downcast look, I’m surprised to find she has room, and plenty. But what is the catch? I ask about the bed: double; breakfast: included; and the deal breaker, bathroom: private! (I was expecting shared) Now the cost. The going rate is 80 soles – about AUD$30 per night. It worries me but I have no choice. I am prepared to travel this way but I have now realised this is the height of the season here, having seen so many foreigners both on the plane and in the square. I snap it up.

After unpacking I wander the streets, buy myself a nutella icecream, see some artisans selling their wares in a park, sit and listen to some traditional music being played in a nearby restaurant, talk to some locals, and am approached by about 50 people selling things – from dolls, massages, jewellery, bags etc – and replying “No gracias” each time. I become adept at sensing when they are approaching.

It is a pretty square surrounded by dramatic arches with a backdrop of less affluent buildings going up the hill. I am only spending one night here pre-MP but reserve my room for when I return post-MP. I continue walking and replenish my water supply.

Finally I decide to try a typical Peruvian meal, accompanied by a Peruvian Pisco Sour at a restaurant that is right in front of my hostel, with a great view over the Plaza. It is a potato dish with a spicy chilli sauce – seems like a bit of Asian influence here because chilli sauce is readily available – with a side salad. When I head ‘home’ – literally downstairs – my head throbs a little but I am unsure if it’s from altitude or alcohol.