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After breakfast, we were off on our way, walking down the dark streets of Aguas Calientes.  Just outside of town, we saw what we were up against.  Into the sheer mountainside had been carved two sets of switchbacks: steps for backpackers, and a winding road for buses.  The series of steps, in turn, were connected by shortcuts -- steeper, stepless dirt paths that, if ascended properly, could make the climb to Machu Picchu quicker.

I took a couple of these shortcuts, but the steps were plenty steep enough.  As we rose up, dawn slowly crept away:

The French, Ken, Dana, and I reached the top first, though for our efforts we were rewarded with waiting -- for Pio, and for Jorge, who was at the back of the pack with Tammy but also had our group's entrance tickets.  Some of our group members expressed mounting frustration as we watched more leisurely tourists streaming off buses and through the entrance gate.  After a bit of a wait, Pio finally arrived, tickets from Jorge in hand.

Our reward for entering Machu Picchu so early was a quick run-through of the ruins,

a view of the sunrise -- we made it! --

and yes, more climbing.  Every day, 400 visitors to Machu Picchu can climb an even higher peak adjacent to and overlooking Machu Picchu: the towering former military lookout point, Wayna Picchu:

Machu Picchu sits at an elevation of 7,875 feet; climbing Wayna Picchu adds almost another 1,000 feet.  Naturally, though, there was never any hesitation in our minds that we'd scale it.  Nir, Nya, Ken, Dana, Natalie, Sorcha, and I rushed through Machu Picchu to the Wayna Picchu entrance.  There, we all had to sign in (the low-tech means of enforcing the limit of 400 visitors per day); on my sheet, I signed up as the 24th person.  Shortly thereafter, the final climb began.

We started off with a little descent..

..but before long, it was nothing but steep uphill. 

I'm not particularly fond of heights, but I can certainly appreciate a breathtaking, spectacular view.  The hour's climb to the summit of Wayna Picchu was well worth it for this very reason. 

On our way up, we got a stunning visual that summed up what we'd accomplished over our five days of trekking.  On the distant horizon, we spotted the Salkantay mountains -- the very same mountains we'd brushed up against on the morning of Day 2 of the journey:

From those now-distant peaks, we'd essentially traversed to Machu Picchu on foot, with a couple short segments aided by truck.  For the five days as a whole, we'd walked some thirty miles -- certainly more (and at a higher altitude) than anything I'd ever done previously.  Ken perhaps put it best: if you'd ran the distance we'd trekked, you would have completed a marathon.  Except most marathons don't take you up to 2.5 miles above sea level, up mountains and through jungles.

The journey to the summit continued, with occasional pauses for looks down at Machu Picchu:

After a lot of work, the climb was complete, and I was at the top of Wayna Picchu.  The famous aerial photos of Machu Picchu are taken from Wayna Picchu's peak, and hopefully some of my photos here can relay some of that visual wonderment.

After spending some time on the summit, it was time to return to Machu Picchu for a closer look.  I headed back down the mountain, snapping some more photos on the way:
 

The panoramic view partway down Wayna Picchu was simply spectacular:

After a 45-minute descent, I was back at the Wayna Picchu gate, where a line to sign out and exit awaited me.  Once this was dealt with, I was free to explore Machu Picchu.  First, though, I needed a drink -- after having run out of water early in the climb, I was thoroughly parched.  I weaved my way back to the Machu Picchu entrance and waited fifteen minutes in line to get a 32-ounce Inka Kola, which I downed in one gulp (obviously, my no-soda rule was not in play in South America).

After this, it was back into Machu Picchu.  The ruins are impressive not only for their spectacular elevation -- it must have been mind-bogglingly difficult to build the city atop a mountain -- but for their sheer complexity and elaborateness.  The maze of stone reflects a place that, in its heyday, must have truly been a spectacle to behold -- which is saying something, considering the impressiveness of what remains:

Machu Picchu's height gave us some rather amazing views of the surrounding valleys:

The ruins are home to another Peruvian national icon: the llama.

More Machu Picchu:

Pio gave a few of us a little tour.  Among other things, he mentioned that -- while scholars have yet to pinpoint why the Incas abandoned Machu Picchu -- there was good reason to believe that, in its heyday, the site served as a school, complete with temples devoted to religious and astronomical study, terraced farms for studying agriculture, and more.  The aforementioned Wayna Picchu likely served as both a astronomical observatory/temple and, given its optimal vantage point, a military lookout post.  One thing is clear, however: there is a lot about Machu Picchu that we do not (and are likely never to) know or understand.

Once the tour was done, it was time to head back down the mountain, to Aguas Calientes.  An admittedly tired Pio said he would ride the bus down; I joined him.  Sitting in the back row of the air-conditioned bus, I was finally hit with the realization that our five days of trekking were over.

Back in Aguas Calientes, I took a cue from Ken and Dana and burned the contents of my [already-full] memory card to CD (for a paltry 10 soles).  Once this was done, I joined the rest of the group -- which had also made its way back from Machu Picchu -- to await the train to Ollantaytambo.  Nir and Nya, sadly, had been issued tickets for a later train; the rest of us dealt with utter chaos as the 2:15 train arrived, running with our bags down to the tracks and alongside the waiting train to find our car.  At Car #4, our group members battled our way amidst the crowd, hauling our bags aboard.  We found our assigned seats and settled in for the ride.

The ride to Ollantaytambo took a short couple of hours.  Upon arriving, we frantically (though not as frantically as with the train) made our way to the bus, evading purveyors of corn-on-the-cob-topped-with-green-sauce en route.  Our bags were heaved atop the bus, and we made our way back to Cusco.

The final bus ride for our group was not too eventful.  I sat in the second row, behind a row of Peruvians and next to Pio, who was in front of a sleeping Jorge.  The Peruvians engaged in loud conversation amongst themselves, with Pio interjecting here and there.  I didn't understand much of what they were talking about, though I did hear "chino" a few times (and I don't think they were referring to Jorge's nickname).

The bus dropped us off at the Plaza de San Francisco in Cusco.  Our group said an unusually quick set of goodbyes; people were gone before I even remembered to get our final group photo.

Tammy and I took a taxi back to the Hospedaje Sanbleño, where we retrieved our bags.  We then headed down the street and checked in at the Amaru Hostal, which had been highly rated in both our guidebooks -- and was named after the Incan leader Tupac Amaru:

Once we checked in, I went down to El Sol to return the equipment we'd rented for the trek.  After this, we met up again at the hotel, and we headed for the Plaza to find one a place to eat.  We settled on Don Ceferino, where Tammy got "Peruvian spaghetti" and I got a supreme pizza and a couple Cusqueñas.  Our time in Cusco had almost drawn to a close.

Map of Peru