Adventures of an ALMOST fifty-year-old backpacker: Peru
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I’m just going to put it out there… I didn’t feel spiritually connected to Machu Picchu.
Don’t get me wrong, Machu Picchu is magnificent. It’s majestically tucked between high green peaks — clearly a sacred spot. Clouds move in and out, hiding and revealing grey stone walls that outline the vast ancient city. With a little imagination, I could picture its temples, homes, shacks, and terraced gardens in all their glory. Its a Wonder for good reason.
The four-day hike to get there via the Inca trail was breathtaking. Passing through cloud forests, grasslands, and alpine tundra, I was awestruck by the foliage hugging the mountain sides, rivers and waterfalls popping up sporadically, and archaeological wonders appearing out of nowhere. The journey wasn’t easy. It drove me to the brink at times when I felt my heart would pound out of my body. Thankfully we had trained with Fit for Trips, so I recovered quickly and kept on moving. Slow and steady was our mantra. I saw young and old, large and small, successfully complete the trek. If they can, you can. And you should.
Inspired. More knowledgeable. Challenged. Rewarded. Check, check, check, and check.
For me, it just wasn’t spiritual.
What does that even mean? Spiritual? If it was all so stunning, why do I care if I was spiritually connected to the place? I think it’s because I hear the word thrown around a lot, especially as it relates to places like Machu Picchu, so I expected to feel something deeper than an intellectual appreciation. And I didn’t, so I want to understand why.
I think that for someone to have a spiritual connection to something there need to be stakes. Someone connects with God because heaven is a better place and he’d like to go there. Someone prays to Pachamama (the Inca Earth Goddess) because she needs a bountiful harvest or her family might starve. What were my stakes? I’m a secular Jew who is so disconnected from the sources of my food that I judge my dishes by how beautifully they are plated versus what actually went into getting the food to my plate. Reductive, I know, but I think my lack of perceived stakes is core to understanding my spiritual disconnect.
It was in Paracas a few days later that I came closer to appreciating just how hard it could be to extract resources from Pachamama, and how that struggle could foster entire belief systems around making the forces of nature that you depend on happy. Paracas is one of the most desolate places I have ever been. Sandy dunes extend as far as the eye can see. And I don’t mean just in Paracas, but as soon as you leave Lima from the south, for several hours along the highway, the landscape consists of white, yellow and occasionally red sand with a just few small pops of green. Once there, I wasn’t sure if Paracas was a vacation destination or a vain attempt to sustain life in desolation. The kite surfers who make Paracas their home may disagree, and when you take a boat out to visit the sea lions, penguins, and boobies, you begin to understand the attraction of the place, but I couldn’t get past its barrenness.
It was while I was looking into the sandy void that I thought about the peoples who had been inhabiting this land for thousands of years and why they had connected so deeply with their surroundings. Where I saw desert, they looked left and saw the abundance of the sea. Where I saw dry sand, they dug deep to find the water the flows underneath it. They harvested basic crops, created beautiful textiles, and adapted to their surroundings in ways that were beyond my comprehension. It was hard work, and it required a whole lot of faith, ritual, and prayer. They created religions to deify the earth, the heavens, and the dead, connecting to them spiritually through deep faith, because to me, they had to.
But here’s the thing, the more I pondered this, the more I realized that I do have stakes, even if they are not as directly tied to my immediate surroundings as theirs were. My (our) spiritual detachment from Pachamama has led to a climate that is deteriorating, the depopulation of plant and animal species, and a rise in chronic disease. These issues are rooted in our belief that we can science our way through anything, respect, adoration and connection to nature be damned.
Unless I live through an apocalypse, I’ll probably never be dependent on my immediate surrounding like billions of people still are, and like most ancient peoples were. But I don’t want to be another person distracted by the modern trappings and contented in my disconnectedness. It’s not good for me, or the planet.
There were a couple of things that I witnessed in Peru that might help me better connect with my own surroundings:
Revere your food. There seemed a universal appreciation for food in Peru. Whether it was chicha and corn cake in a small local bar in Lamay, fresh scallops straight from the sea in Paracas, or a fourteen-course tasting menu at one of the top restaurants in the world in Lima, the preparation and presentation of the food was done with an unparalleled level of integrity. Food is deconstructed and reconstructed in ways that honor it. Cultures fuse seamlessly to celebrate the ingredients. Honor the bounty. The fresher the better. Know where it came from and don’t take it for granted.
As a side note, my digestive system was at its peak in Peru. I can’t say as much after my return to the U.S. That should not be ignored.
Know your history. And by your history, I don’t just mean your history, but the history of the peoples who have inhabited the places that you inhabit. In Peru, they venerate their pre-Colombian history. The museums tend to spend more time on the pre-Inca nations than on the Inca Empire, the Spanish conquest, or modern Peru. This focus is intentional. There appears to be an understanding that we can learn more from the cultures who connected deeply with their surroundings, than those who imported their belief systems from another place. There is a clear message in this adoration for ancient peoples. Respect nature. Don’t just tame it. Respect people. Don’t just tame them.
For my friends from the United States, we have a pre-Colombian history that is as rich as that of Peru. The Peruvians have just worked harder to preserve and present it. Check out the Mississippian civilization. They built cities and established elaborate trade routes. And they are just one example.
It all came together for me in Lima, the final stop on our Peruvian journey. It’s a city filled with wonderful neighborhoods on the rocky Pacific coast, where you find modern buildings next to ancient temples, contemporary art cohabitating with pre-Colombian, and some of the best restaurants in the world (and not just the fancy ones). Not to mention, it had the cleanest streets and sidewalks I think I’ve ever seen. Despite ever present political upheaval, the city is grounded in a culinary culture, an appreciation for artistic output, and a preservation of its history that allows it to thrive.
Peru did not disappoint. It was as fun as it was eye opening. Layers of beauty and brutality create a rich mosaic. Cultures thrive in its jungles, deserts, small towns and cities. It’s not without its issues. Wealth disparaties are real. But, there is something undeniably special about a country whose people share a pride of place, as I discovered through every interaction I had while I was there.
Did I return inspired? Check, check and check.
A few important shoutouts:
Our trip was made more incredible by the dedication of Melissa Franchy. A Peruvian expat living in New York, she took the time to provide us with pages of recommendations and connected us with her friends and family in Peru. They then took the time to show us tiny slices of their lives. Diana, Nicole and Renzo, it was great to meet you, and thanks for everything.
While we were able to navigate Paracas and Lima ourselves, with the help of Melissa’s recommendations, we developed a custom tour with Setours for the Cusco, Sacred Valley and Inca Trail portion of our trip. Our guides, Celio in the valley and Hugo on the trail, were caring, passionate, and knowledgable. They were everything, and our gratitude runs deep. I highly recommend Setours for any South American adventure you may be contemplating.
And of course, a big thank you to Curtis. He was laid back, adventurous, and supported me when the Inca Trail was getting the best of me. Can’t wait for more travels together.
You can find the Instagrammed version of our trip here.
Hit me up with thoughts or questions, as I’d love to hear from you — especially about my take on spirituality. I tried to simplify a very complex topic so that I could begin to make sense of it.
