In the darkness of the middle of the night, we were awoken and served the coca tea that we so adamantly fought for (they even brought the sugar), then we downed it and packed like the wind so that the porters could leave in 20 minutes to catch their train. My brother awoke covered in mosquito bites! But the rest of us had gotten few or no bites. He must have tasted good.

I swear I've accumulated things during the trek. After stuffing the duffels in a half-asleep rush, those two bags were the most full they'd ever been. They struck the tent within seconds of us vacating it. (The porters never appear impatient or grumpy, but they work fast.)

The nine remaining hikers, headlamps lit, took to the trail. The rest of us sat at the covered picnic tables and chatted as we ate our to-go breakfast: juice, bread, cheese, and cookies.

I limped around the campsite, so stiff and sore I could barely walk.

Then, at 5:15, we exited the camping area, each of the three steps to the road making my quadriceps burn. It was strange, standing on the side the road before dawn, in the middle of Peru, hoping that everything was going to work according to plan and hoping that Elvis convinced a bus driver to leave seven empty seats in what must be a long line of sightseers waiting to board. Not only did we want to make it up to Machu Picchu in time for sunrise, but we also wanted our passports back.

A few folks with backpacks and headlamps passed by on the road; we assumed they intended to save the 24 bucks and hike up. Soon after, the first bus went by. It didn't stop. It looked like a chartered bus. Then another went by. Then another, all full of tourists.

Finally, near 5:40, one bus pulled over and let the seven of us on. Elvis smiled at us from inside. Relief!

We went up the switchbacks and arrived at the same place we had boarded the previous evening, except this time, it was packed. Buses arrived every minute, one after another, dumping their passengers and returning for more.

The first of the hikers in our group had reached the top, but we were still waiting on a few. (Glad they were not waiting on us!) Once we were all gathered and everyone had their large backpacks stowed in storage as was required - luckily our day packs were okay to carry in - Roger handed us our entrance tickets and we joined the crowd in line, which had already started to shuffle in.

They checked our tickets against our passports, then we were inside!

The first thing we did upon entering Machu Picchu was climb a ton of steps! Looking back, I should have expected this given that we had to go DOWN to get to the bus in the first place. But, sore, we took it slowly.

I was resigned to the probability that it would be hard to get "the famous" photo of Machu Picchu. I was short and there were a ton of tourists hoping to do the same thing. Every photo I've seen looked like it was taken from the same spot, so I thought there was one overlook.

Luckily, I was wrong.

Despite the thousands of people wanting to take the perfect picture, the locations from which to take an excellent sunrise Machu Picchu photo were plentiful, rising up several long terraces and stretching across the mountainside.

The sky was spectacularly clear, which is unusual. Our perfect weather trip had ended with a fantastic finale. We were very lucky!

You want to take every photo ever. You can't help it. Especially at sunrise, when the view is constantly changing, with more and more light hitting the mountains and the ruins.

I looked back at the other people gazing at the famous site, thinking how far every person must have come. Even if you don't hike here via The Inca Trail, getting to Machu Picchu is no trivial feat.

When posing for pictures, we exercised caution. (See leftmost photo above.) The terraces were high, and railing free of course, so a fall could break a limb. My mom didn't like us too close to the edge.

Some people in our group took out a Colorado flag (not us, amazingly), snapped a photo, then got yelled at by a passing guard since you are not supposed to take pictures of Machu Picchu with any sort of brand in front of it.

Hence why I'm not including a large version of the photo.

But I love the coincidence and that they carried the huge flag all the way up here!

It was also a hint of how many officials wander the site.

Finally, Roger gathered us together and we headed toward the entrance.

The sixteen of us entered the ruins. We stopped just within for our first talk of the two-hour tour. Our guide spoke of the history of Machu Picchu and suggested that it might not have been abandoned for four centuries like historians think. It was funny, because he'd told us the name "Hiram Bingham" dozens of times, repeating that this explorer re-discovered Machu Picchu in 1911. Now he was saying that it might all be baloney and the locals always knew it was here, even lived among the ruins.

Noticing one of the ladies snacking on a granola bar, he reminded us that we weren't allowed to have food in Machu Picchu. Really? I was sure I was going to get hungry before we were done...

The craziest thing he told us was that Machu Picchu is not the name of the ruin! Obviously, we call it that today, but the name actually means "old peak". It's a mountain! The mountain behind Machu Picchu in most photos is called "Huayna Picchu" which means young peak. It was all a misunderstanding! The mountain named Machu Picchu is behind you when looking at the famous view, but got associated with the ruin.

Roger told us a possible real name, but it was lost among dozens (and dozens) of other facts he spouted.

You can climb Huayna Picchu if you arrange ahead of time for a permit. (You follow the signs from within Machu Picchu itself.) Three of our hiking-mates, the Chinese-Canadian family, made the climb! The concept seemed utterly unthinkable in my current state of physical exhaustion. They reported back that the trail was steep and involved ladders but that the views were awesome and they were glad they did it. They even seemed to be in good spirits, not falling over.

We walked around the ruins. Roger pointed out the quarry, where the raw materials that became the amazing perfectly-fitting stone came from. I'd never before considered the source of the famous walls.

He said that even the extraordinary Incans sometimes made mistakes. But they could recut and replace as needed with the quarry so close.

One of the other things he mentioned was that the original purpose of Machu Picchu was a royal retreat. A break for the king and his family from the hustle and bustle of Cusco.

Speaking of which...

We entered the king and queen's quarters and sat in the pleasant shade, talking about earthquakes. Machu Picchu being somewhat prone to earth-moving events, the Incans accounted for this by, amazingly, building corner stones into their walls to stabilize them.

Regarding earthquakes, the only thing that has ever disrupted the perfect stone has been faults. Major geological events. Evidence of at least one such occurrence is on the site. You'll notice it because it is one of the rare places where Imperial Incan stone is out of place.

We also peeked in the Royal Bathroom. Because the Incans were masters of water flow, they did not get sick from waste-water-borne diseases.

It's easy to forget when looking at ruin after ruin, but these houses and buildings did originally have rooves on them. Imagining the whole ruin covered in straw-like thatch makes for a very different-looking place.

Like our guide in Pisac also said, the rooves were thatched to let smoke through but keep rain out. Most of the buildings, if you look closely, have little posts sticking out near the ceiling to support the roof.

The sun was higher in the sky now, putting out its heat as we walked from place to place among the thousands of other tourists both in large and small groups. You could make guesses as to which of these few arrived the hard way.

Seriously, people in uniform were everywhere! My stomach was rumbling. I had to be sneaky about getting a handful of trail mix out of my pack, looking both ways, stuffing it in my mouth, and chewing nonchalantly.

Arguably the most important structure in Machu Picchu is the Sun Temple. It is mind-boggling not only because of its perfectly-fitting rounded stone but because of the two windows. On winter solstice, the sun shines through a V-shaped divot in the far away peaks straight through one window. On summer solstice, the sun shines through the Sun Gate through the other window.

How did they do this? How did they know to build the temple in that perfect location, creating shadows that you could not test except once a year? Too crazy to contemplate.

I bet this place is popular on June 21st.

You can tell that the Sun Temple and Royal Quarters were built with the close-fitting "Imperial" style stonework the Incans were famous for. Other structures, not as much.

In fact, a lot of what you see at Machu Picchu is actually a reconstruction!

Even more impressive than the Sun Temple, if possible, is a section of wall that had been dug out then placed with a glass cover above, so you could see into the pit.

The Incan walls...

...just kept going down!

I think Roger said that 40% of Machu Picchu is underground!

Mind-boggling.

After Roger's final talk, overlooking a small patch of ground that used to hold the monolith stone until it was removed to make a landing strip for visiting dignitaries, he gave us our bus tickets and told us to meet at a specific restaurant in Aguas Calientes around lunchtime so we'd have ample time to eat, debrief, and get to the train station by 2:30pm.

That left plenty of time for wandering.

Shortly later, we discovered what became our family's official hang-out room. Shady with big rocks to sit on, it was a nice place to relax and get away from the growing crowds, few who came into this unremarkable room. (No cornerstones here.) We discovered, however, that it was also the food stash location for local workers! They gotta eat sometime. Those inset windows make a great storage spot.

After resting our legs, we climbed up the hill to the (decidedly uninteresting) sundial but took some nice photos from up there. There were guards stationed at the top and plenty of ropes since, apparently, there had been a fatal accident earlier in the year.

We found ourselves on a long one-way loop, following the arrow signs around various stone walkways that eventually led through either the factory worker's homes or the maiden's homes, I forgot which.

So much to explore here! We walked slowly, every set of steps an effort. People were everywhere but as an interesting side note, Roger said he guesstimated that the original Machu Picchu city could house as many as 2,000 people.

And they only allow 2,500 people up per day. So, these were authentic crowds?

I'm sure you've noticed...

Machu Picchu is full of steps!

Of course it is. And we felt every single one of them.

But... this elaborate ruin has something that most of the rest of the Inca Trail does not:

The tourism industry, I'm sure, prefers to keep accidents to a minimum, regardless of how authentic safety barriers are. (Falls do still happen with regularity, though. Watch your step, please.)

We saw so much, but there was even more to see.

Our steps got slower and slower as we headed toward the exit, knowing this might be the last time we would ever see Machu Picchu.

But we finally crossed through the gates and passport control, back to the place we started.

After a stop at the extraordinarily clean Western-style toilets (with trash cans, toilet paper, and SEATS) that only cost a 1-sol coin to use, we hung out in the shade, shared a beverage from the cafe, and waved to our hiking-mates who were wrapping up their own individual exploring.

There were non-stop buses coming up and going down. Barely any wait to board one.

The switchbacks weren't as bad as in my imagination. The road only gets tight if buses have to pass each other; we had to slow to a near stop once to squeeze by. The curves are paved, at least. And the views out the window - continually stunning!

And, we made it down.

This small town exists solely to ferry people up and down to Machu Picchu. Its purpose is 100% tourism. Every building you see is a hotel, shop, or restaurant aimed at the traveler. Little reason for low prices here!

I read that the official name has changed to "Machu Picchu Pueblo" and sometimes I see it on maps as "MachuPicchu" with no space. The center of the tiny town is pretty cute, with pedestrian paths along the river. The railroad - the only way to get to Aguas Calientes other than walking! - also runs straight through town. There is a road, but the sole vehicles on it are tourist buses.

Buses. That's it.

(Well, and the occasional work truck if you look at the below photo closely. No cars is my point. You can't drive here from Cusco.)

It's hard to ask directions when every shopkeeper wants your business, but we did discover that we were walking in the wrong direction to the restaurant Roger told us to meet at (Maybe Ayasqa? Something starting with an "A".)

We were the first to arrive and ordered drinks while we waited. Mom had a "Pisco Sour" which was so good, we planned to look up how to make it at home. Choosing an entree from the long menu seemed to take a lot of brain power. Finally, I decided to split a pizza with my dad. The food wasn't bad, just overpriced. Some people came by to sell us photos they had taken of us on Day 1. Also overpriced. But haggleable because what else are they going to do with photos of us? They also accidentally left one on the table so we grabbed it.

Then we were given a feedback form. It said, "if you're too tired, you can email customer service later." Tempting, yes, but I filled it out at the table anyway, giving them 5 of 5 stars and making special mention of the delicious food and their efforts to get us on the bus, but also saying that the pace was ambitious & difficult and we really could have used longer rest breaks.

There was otherwise nothing special about the feedback form until Roger started spelling Elvis' name for us to write it.

E... L... I...

Wait, what?

S... B...

???

A... N.

D'oh. I guess he'd figured Elvis was close enough; he answered to it the whole trip.

So, in the end, the only guide we had in Peru with a Spanish-sounding name... was the one we got wrong. Us dumb tourists.

After we paid in cash (since their card-reader had broken), tipped our guides, said our goodbyes, and picked up the red porter bags, which were now our responsibility, we re-traced our steps along the river to find the train station. We followed other tourists with luggage through a giant entrance into what looked like a warehouse. Then, a maze of trinket shops! Rows and rows of them. Finally we escaped, found the entrance gate, confirmed that we were in the right building (which was not immediately obvious), located empty seats, and waited.

I was a bit nervous when I saw the "one carry on and one large bag allowed" per person rule. We had six porter bags and three backpacks between the four of us. When people in uniform appeared at the front of the waiting area holding signs with letters, we lined up at the end of the already long line for the letter "C" and followed the leader to our platform. I carried two porter bags in one hand and sort of held them behind me nonchalantly. Although the two crew members next to the train door carefully checked my passport against my ticket, they didn't notice or care about the extra bags.

When we found our reserved seats, we realized they were pairs on opposite sides instead of at the same table. Odd. So we asked the people sitting at one of the tables (who were in our trek group!) if they wouldn't mind switching to the other side so our family could sit together. They did. And, weirdly, they knew the people on the other side (one was her sister, also on our trek). Didn't they want to sit together, too? Though I couldn't tell for sure, they didn't seem particularly pleased.

I guessed why as the train began its journey.

Although the Vistadome train - an upgrade from the typical train - had a ton of windows, the view on one side, our side, showed the beautiful river valley while the view from the other side was mostly a wall of mountain with only the occasional vista. I felt a bit guilty about this. I had cared more about sitting together than about the view and would have gladly taken the other side had I known. I wondered if they knew? It explained why they split the original seats.

Throughout the majority of the four-hour ride, pretty Peruvian flute music was piped in. We played Hearts, watched the scenery go by, and snoozed.

Not long into our journey, we crossed our starting place, rolling by the green bridge and the "Camino Inka - Inka Trail" sign we had posed in front of so long ago.

Each train car had two or three staff members whose job, it seemed, was to serve us food and beverages, upsell the alcohol, do a fashion show of alpaca clothing and scarves available for purchase, and put on a bird mask and do a crazy dance.

Yes, you read that last part right...

As we ate the TV-dinner style meal which involved pumpkin, corn, and mysterious large orange berries and drank the alcohol (beer with a picture of Machu Picchu on it and local wine), we watched the entertainment / sales pitch which was so lively, the entire train car was clapping along at one point.

The colorfully dressed birdman was so energetically wacky, I thought he was one of a kind as he danced up and down the aisles, until we exited the train on the other side.

The wine had knocked us out as the sun set, but we blearily exited the train at its terminus, our six red porter bags in hand, and found the Llama Path driver in a red shirt. Once the seven of us were gathered, the driver navigated the intense parking lot in a giant bus and drove us the thirty minutes back to Cusco, depositing us back at our individual hotels and hostels.