In January 2022 I set off again. This time, I was with my son Adithya and a good friend. We were embarking on a seven-day trek. Peru was going through political unrest. Still, our tickets were booked. We decided to go anyway. We stayed alert, listened to local advice, and followed safety instructions as we went.
The Experience:
We started in Cusco, sorted basic gear, and drove early morning through Mollepata to Soraypampa. We took the short hike to Humantay Lake. The lake was turquoise, silent, and serene. Then we crossed the Salkantay Pass (around 4,600 m). From there, we took the usual route down into the warmer side. The route led us from Soraypampa to Salkantay Pass. It involved high altitude, cold mornings, and a steady climb.
Each place felt like a sentence in a long, beautiful paragraph that I have to mention here:
Salkantay Pass to Huayracmachay and Chaullay: long descent, big views. Chaullay to Collpapampa: more trees, river crossings, simple teahouses. Collpapampa to La Playa/Lucmabamba: cloud forest, coffee plants, humid air. Lucmabamba to Llactapata: a ridge where you can see Machu Picchu across the valley. Llactapata down to Hidroeléctrica: trail to the railway, the Urubamba River on our side and Hidroeléctrica to Aguas Calientes: flat walk along the tracks into town.
At Lucmabamba, our guide took us to a small family coffee farm. It was a simple setup behind their house. They showed us the process step by step. First, they picked ripe red coffee cherries. Then, they ran them through a hand pulper. Next, they washed the beans and dried them on tarps. After that, they roasted the beans in a pan over a wood fire. Finally, they ground them with a hand mill. We drank fresh coffee that was filtered through a cloth. The family discussed harvests, how coffee helps pay for school supplies, and how difficult the unrest had been. We met their kids and grandmother, and a few chickens walked through the yard. It was basic, honest, and the stop that stays with you.
Machu Picchu itself was a quiet miracle. We climbed in the early light and watched the citadel wake—terraces stepping down into cloud with precision and patience. It looked like an entirely different world, old and fresh, and the noise of the world far away.
The Unexpected:
The way back reminded us that the world was still turning hard. Train lines from Aguas Calientes were damaged by the local protesters, and service was halted indefinitely. We had to get transportation back to Cusco. Two options were suggested by our guide, one was to wait until the railroads are fixed, which can mean months. Second was to start early and walk over 25+ miles on the railroads in the heat while carrying our backpacks. We had to get back home sooner, and the choice was only one – Walk.
We woke at 4 a.m., shouldered our packs, and started walking the tracks out. The plan was to find any local transport that could help us move from one village to the other. All local transportation was halted. We kept our heads down and moved carefully. Some locals were throwing stones and rocks to show their protests. They were not targeting tourists. Sometimes we had to run our way out of those zones to protect ourselves. We stayed respectful, listened to our guide’s advice, and took small steps: one rail, one bridge, one bend.
Twenty miles passed – slow, steady, sun and real. We sat on the railway lines in possible shade to rest and have water and leftover snacks. An experience that made us humble, grounded, and strong. Eventually, a truck stacked with locals pulled up, and we squeezed in shoulder to shoulder. It carried us to a village where we found a moto-taxi for a few miles more. We walked again until a car agreed to take us to Cusco. Late that night, dusty and grateful, we reached the city—the arrival that felt tired, exhausted and well earned.
What we learned:
The trek was everything we hoped for—mountains, snow, clouds, forest, orchids, ruins that rewrite your sense of time. It was also the raw reality of a country in unrest. The experience asks you to move with humility, to listen, and to adjust without bitterness.
That’s the best part of stepping outside. You learn the landscape and yourself. You learn not just from the perfect days but from the unpredictable ones.
I carried home a simple truth. Beauty and challenge often travel together. You can prepare, you can be careful, and still, you’ll need courage in the moment. The mind is where that courage starts.
it’s all in the mind—one steady breath, one careful step, and the courage to keep going, together.
Video of our journey:
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