Maybe you’ve heard of this place?
We hiked in along the railroad tracks. By the time we reached Aguas Calientes, six miles and a thunderstorm later, we were soaking wet. Perhaps the Inca God of Drenched Smelly Backpackers With Very Few Changes of Clothes was purifying our dirty rags before we entered Machu Picchu. A cleansing ritual, of sorts. Lovely.
Whatever the case, we made it. “Words cannot describe, pictures do it not justice.” Normally, I take that as a cop out. Really you’re just a worthless writer with nothing to say. Not so here. Not so.