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At six in the morning, the old city of Cusco was still fast asleep in the gray haze of dawn. I hopped onto a minibus by Plaza San Francisco, squeezed among equally bleary-eyed travelers from around the world, and began my journey to Machu Picchu.

The night before last, I realized I had made a not-so-small blunder: I had bought my entry ticket for the wrong date. It was one day earlier than planned, and Machu Picchu is famously strict, so changing the date was basically impossible.

So I hurriedly bought a flight to rearrange my itinerary and, in the midst of all the panic and scrambling, flew to Cusco, the Inca capital high in the Andes.

Under dim yellow streetlights, I walked the uneven cobblestone streets of the old city with my backpack, looking for a place to stay. It vaguely reminded me of Shangri-La. Too sleepy to savor it properly, I collapsed into bed as soon as I could.

By the time I was fully awake, I found myself already on this speeding minibus cutting through Peru’s highland mountains.

There are two ways to get to Aguas Calientes, the town near Machu Picchu: either pay a few hundred dollars for a comfortable scenic train, or spend 10 hours on a minibus and then continue on foot. Naturally, I chose the latter.

About two hours later, the minibus reached the first Inca town on the route: Ollantaytambo. As we bumped through its winding little streets, I truly felt for the first time in days that I had arrived on a completely different continent.

The highland town was charming, but before I could enjoy the warm sun of the Sacred Valley, the driver had us back on the road.

The minibus wound its way up the mountain road. The vivid blue sky within reach and the seemingly bottomless canyon below reminded me of driving through Xinjiang.

At an elevation of 4,200 meters, just before entering the mist of the Andes, our devout South American driver crossed himself several times. My heart tightened. I almost wished I could strap my seatmate’s seatbelt onto myself too.

The driver was excellent. His Virgin Mary and my Monkey King joined forces and got us safely through the maze.

A particularly rough stretch of gravel road before our destination made it hard to tell whether it had always been like this or was under major construction. Then I noticed familiar Chinese characters on the uniforms of Peruvian workers and realized Chinese infrastructure projects had made it all the way out here. Among the Peruvian workers, I caught sight of one Chinese face. He was clearly even more surprised to see me than I was to see him.

Our destination was Hidroelectrica, a place well known among backpackers. It’s the final stop for the minibus and also the starting point for the 10-kilometer hike along the railway tracks. For Western backpackers who like saving money and don’t mind walking, this route is a perfect match.

I didn’t mind either. And since the scenery along the way was great—aside from the gravel digging painfully into my feet—I simply walked right on the railroad ties.

Every now and then, an old-school train came toward us, and along the route were all kinds of parked PeruRail and IncaRail carriages—a special treat for train enthusiasts.

But with Peru nearing the rainy season, the weather was no longer especially cooperative. It often started raining in the afternoon, and I arrived in Aguas Calientes thoroughly soaked.

Aguas Calientes is built against the mountainside, packed with hostels, restaurants, and souvenir shops. As soon as I entered town, I was hit by a long-missed sense of familiarity. Like many small towns I’ve encountered over years of travel, it draws together travelers from across the country and around the world—like Yubeng, or Namche Bazaar on the EBC route.

See? Cusco–the route–Aguas Calientes: I’ve already found the budget-substitute version for you—Shangri-La–Xinjiang–Yubeng—except for the one-of-a-kind Machu Picchu.

And yes, one-of-a-kind Machu Picchu leaves the people of Aguas Calientes beaming with happiness. After all, very few places get the fattest sheep delivered in by the truckload every single day.

The owner of my small hotel said that if I could walk into town today, then I could also walk up the mountain tomorrow. Encouraged by his confidence—and by the chance to save $12 on the bus—I got up in the dark a little after 4 a.m. and started climbing. It felt less like tourism and more like taking refuge in the wilderness on a snowy night.

Of course, I’m no great outlaw hero, and I was genuinely a little scared. In the pitch-black canyon, it felt as though countless Inca spirits were hiding in the dark. Only after I met an Israeli guy on the trail—and then saw reinforcements from various countries steadily arriving—did our uphill procession begin to look a bit more formidable.

But those 1,600 steps in the early morning were no joke. Halfway up, I realized that this $12 might have been the very last expense I should have tried to save on. The hiking path crossed the switchback road from time to time, and whenever a bus kicked up dust, it felt like a slap in the face.

And just like that, I arrived at Machu Picchu.

The heart of South American civilization, the lost city of the Incas.

What kind of city is this? Watched over by Huayna Picchu behind it, it lay here in silence for more than 400 years until it was rediscovered. At the overlook, my collapse from the climb turned into full-body amazement, and I was convinced I felt even one degree more joy than everyone else. The effort of yesterday and this morning gave me the satisfaction of having earned this view.

From above, the city’s layout is clearly defined: an outer district and defensive towers, dense residential areas, and a broad central plaza with religious buildings.

According to one academic theory, this may once have been a retreat for Inca nobles. If so, just how enthusiastic were the Incas about travel? Even without trains, they would have had to spend days and nights getting here via the road network they built themselves just to vacation here. (And remember: Inca civilization never developed tools like ox carts or horse-drawn wagons.)

Walking downhill along the mountainside path and through the city gate, the images I had once seen in geography and history textbooks were suddenly right at my fingertips. Thanks to my family for helping me realize this dream.

Honestly speaking, the Inca Empire, which peaked in the 15th century, left behind no writing and did not develop especially outstanding commerce, industry, or animal husbandry. Compared with other civilizations of the same era, it was not all that remarkable. (Now I want to play Civilization again.)

But when it came to building with stone, the Incas were masters. Without any mortar or binding material, they achieved astonishingly tight joints simply by fitting together stones of different geometric shapes. On one old wall in Cusco, there is even a famous twelve-angled stone, shaped that way just so it could lock perfectly into place. The Incas were born Lego masters.

Because of that, you don’t need much historical knowledge to tell, among the many structures at Machu Picchu, which ones were important religious sites, which ones were for rulers, and which belonged to ordinary people. Just look at how smooth the stones are and how tightly they fit together.

Terraces were also an important part of Inca life. Not only at Machu Picchu, but at other Inca ruins along the Urubamba River as well, terraces are an indispensable feature.

Here, the Incas and other American civilizations developed highly advanced agriculture and domesticated many wild plants. Corn, potatoes, tomatoes, chili peppers, other tubers, as well as tobacco and cacao—all originally came from the Americas. It’s easy to imagine how boring our diets would be without the work of these civilizations.

Now and then, I spotted lazy alpacas wandering with their heads down across the terraces. Alpacas—animals that have a rather inelegant slang nickname in China—were among the few animals the Incas managed to domesticate.

Before colonization, animal husbandry in the Americas lagged behind. Other than alpacas and turkeys, the civilizations here never domesticated large animals like cattle, horses, or donkeys, and that was one reason they never achieved a more dramatic leap in development.

It was only after arriving in Peru that I realized there are many kinds of alpaca. Scarves and sweaters made from top-tier vicuña wool are very expensive.

In the past, one ticket let you explore every corner of the ruins. Now, you can only choose one designated route and see part of the site. Before coming, I kept grumbling about Peruvians “squeezing every last dollar” out of visitors, but once you’re actually standing in Machu Picchu, you realize how much pressure this volume of tourism puts on the ruins. In many places, all it takes is one careless moment, and they’re gone.

I spent nearly four hours exploring Machu Picchu and, in the end, gave up on climbing the towering Huayna Picchu. Even if someone carried me, I doubt I would have had the energy.

I had originally planned to make a small contribution to Peru’s GDP by taking the famous Inca Rail on the way back. But on the way down, I suddenly felt strangely full of energy and ended up walking all the way back to Hidroelectrica.

Under the cover of night, I returned to Ollantaytambo in the Sacred Valley. I would spend the night here and dream an Inca dream.

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