In which Layla and Roz have startorial shame at Machu Picchu and biking shame in the Sacred Valley

By Layla

We had a pleasant evening of pizza in a cute little restaurant, and iPad film viewing, before an early bed for the next day was to start at an early with a visit to the most famous Peruvian sight: Machu Pichhu. And we'd booked a train for some ungodly hour. This was made worse by the lack of hot water in the shower, and a delay in the hotel providing our promised breakfast bag - so it was with some harassment that we leapt into a rickshaw/tuk tuk type thing and zoomed to the train station.

Of course I always worry too much - we had time to spare, but soon we were off, admiring the lovely scenery and watching it change from farmlands to more jungly/mountainy. And the weather change from bright and sunny to grey and rainy. We looked down at our sandals and felt a bit silly. The train arrived 90 minutes later, and with toes that were rapidly turning blue, I pulled Roz over to a stall selling alpaca socks, laughed in the face of her sartorial disapproval, and purchased a woolly pair to wear under my sandals - desperate times call for desperate measures. As I'm sure Roz would agree, had she not forbidden me from discussing any desperate sartorial choices she may have made herself.

We eventually found the buses to Machu Pichhu itself - it's a ridiculously expensive hassle to get there with obscenely expensive trains, expensive entrance tickets, and now $17 obligatory buses! Sigh. I was preparing to find Machu Pichhu an overrated, tourist-filled disappointment. But hooray, it was not to be. We entered the complex, high in the mountains with clouds swirling around us (thank goodness for the alpaca socks!) and climbed for 15 minutes to a lookout point over the whole ruins - a spectacular and compelling sight. After the obligatory pictures, we descended and spent the next couple of hours wandering around this massive complex - nobody's quite sure what its purpose was, but it's like a small city. It was quite fascinating. After we'd had our fill of the royal quarters, tombs, sacred stones, civilians' quarters etc, we climbed high above the ruins into the mountains and went on a little hike to an Inca bridge which was really lovely.

All of which, of course, is hungry work - so we descended by bus to the little touristy town at the base of the mountain, and headed to the Tree House, a posh-ish restaurant, where we feasted on quinoa, falafel, and squash soup, then retired to another cafe for ice cream and internetting til it was time to take the train home to Ollantaytambo. And what a train it was! First we were given snacks and drinks. Then a man dressed as a brightly coloured lion started dancing up and down the carriage to very loud music. Next, the music changed to that of a fashion show as the train staff donned various alpaca-based garments and walked up and down the cabin, to the music, while all the passengers clapped (including the lion). A completely surreal experience.

We had dinner at a lovely restaurant near the station, then went home via a tour place to organise a bike ride for the following day. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into...

This morning we turned up for our bike ride in pretty tops and sandals - only to meet our 3 Lycra-clad biking companions who looked at us askance, and enquired as to our mountain biking experience. It turned the bike company had ignored our information about being beginners. It started off well, with a drive up into the mountains in the sun, and our first stop at Moray, a weird Inca ruin of concentric circles, thought to be used for agricultural experimentation. Interesting. Sadly it went wrong at that point - we hopped on our mountain bikes and within moments our companions were but dots on the horizon. We got to grips with the unfortunate fact that we're too unfit to cycle up steep hills, too scared to cycle down steep hills, and the entire thing was steep hills. We did a lot of walking. The altitude sucked away Roz's breath. We barely noticed the spectacular scenery as we staggered onwards. We were a panting, sorry pair by the time we caught up with the others. Eventually we got to the little mountain town of Maras, at which point it was clear that we were not mountain biking gurus. Our guide firmly loaded our bikes onto the van and told us to hop in - then while the others cycled to the salt flats, we were driven there. The shame.

The salt flats (aka Salineras) were actually extremely cool - row upon row of square water enclosures at varying stages of salination. White and cool, like snow. We were able to walk along a little ledge through the salt baths or whatever they're called. Our concern was that at the start the Spanish speaking driver had pointed vaguely in the distance and told us to walk to the village where he'd pick us up. No village was in sight, but we set off gamely. After walking the full length of the salt flats, we found a little path, and followed it as it wound its way down the mountain. At last we were able to really enjoy the scenery as we hiked down the hill, feeling cheery - tempered with a fear that we'd never see our tour group again. On and on we walked, getting increasingly nervous that we were lost forever. We entered what seemed to be a totally deserted village. A hen popped out from the village shop, which appeared to be closed, judging from the chair in the doorway. On we walked, and then suddenly, unbelievably, our tour group appeared. Looking a tad battered and bloody and proclaiming the technical difficulty of the ride. A beginners' route it clearly was not. We felt smug at having enjoyed the alternative plan so much.

A tasty lunch at the Coffee Tree on Ollantaytambo's main square, overlooking Inca ruins, and it was into a shared minivan and back to Cusco, where I'm writing this from our new hotel. Dinner time now!