Next Stop: Touchdown Lima, Peru. But only briefly.

This capital city never received glowing reviews from other travellers and I was getting exhausted.

At this point it had been almost a year into my travels and I was ready to sleep in my own bed.

Yes, I could have changed my tickets and just flown home, but could I seriously leave and not see the famous Machu Picchu?

I suffered one night in a Lima airport hostel before an early morning flight to Cusco (a southern town also known as the historical capital of Peru).

I boarded the flight, promptly fell asleep and an hour later found our flight pulling into a terminal. Only it was still the Lima terminal! Something was wrong with the plane and we would have to wait (or so I understood from the translation by my buddy from the hostel who was also on the flight).

Four hours later we were ushered back on. Not comforting especially since descending into Cusco places the tips of the wings very close to mountains. Not a lot of room for negotiation.

Arriving here also threw me 3,600 metres above sea level with very little time to adjust (they offer oxygen at the airport!).

I stumbled out trying to find the taxi organised by the hostel. I had been told the price by the hostel owner in US dollars and Peruvian sols. I handed over US$5.

Problem? Apparently because it was in $1 bills he was going to have to pay more to exchange it. Right. As the woman working at the hostel watched me struggle with my nascent Spanish to tell him he could hit the highway (or one lane tiny streets that wander through ancient buildings) I grew more and more exhausted.

Without a doubt this small hassle (in the normal travel world) coupled with the plane delay would have sent me home without Machu Picchu had it not been for the smiling, tall, spiky-haired Bostonian who greeted me as I opened the dorm room. Anthony was visiting for two weeks with a friend, Daniel, and they had both arrived the day before. Their energy made me rethink calling the airlines to get me out.

Joining forces we walked ten minutes into town and I discovered they were on the same page about going up Machu Picchu, i.e. they had no clue how they were going to get there and had not booked one of the ubiquitous Inca Trail treks. These treks walk tourists along part of the 80 kilometres separating Cusco and the pre-Colombian town.

Machu Picchu was started in AD 1430, but abandoned only 100 years later with the Spanish conquest of the Empire. There is however no evidence that the Spanish knew about the town (which is why it has not been pilfered) and in fact the Incans may have been slaughtered by small pox, not swords. Following this, the existence of the town was only known by locals until 1911 when American historian Hiram Bingham wandered across it.

Now treks of two, four or seven days meander up to this former Incan mountain town. However, after my body breaking down on the Patagonia five-day hike and the travels arriving at almost a year I was looking for an excuse not to hike. Well the Bostonians were up for the lazy version of this overly-photographed site a train to the town below (Aqua Calientes) and a bus up to the entrance so, so was I. Phew.

I needed a few days to adjust to the metres above sea level so the following day the three of us walked into the hills behind Cusco to a former Inca fortress Sacsayhuaman which is about 3,700 metres above the sea. As I struggled up the cobblestoned hill wondering if I was that out of shape we passed a woman, easily 70 years old, who was far from concerned about walking these hills with her llama in tow.

We eventually made it to the fortress, which is surrounded by green pastures with baby humans and llamas playing next to each other. Then it was a hike up to the inevitable Jesus statue overlooking Cusco before tackling the Quenko ruins (a sacrificial site apparently) before hopping onto a school-kid crammed bus for the final ascent to the Red Fortress or Puca Pucara and the water temple of Tambomachay. After visiting most of the hills' ruins I was ready to walk back down to Cusco, but my two travel buddies were far from impressed with the idea. We hailed a communal minibus which stops when pedestrians dare to stand on the side of the road, to return.

The constant hairpin turns and sudden descent did far less for my stomach than the altitude. While my travel buddies continued their tour of the town I headed back to the hostel to recover. Luckily there were enough DVDs and some cocoa tea to calm my stomach.

The next day Anthony awoke red. Being so close to the sun was apparently not the best thing for these pale Bostonians. He hid himself in the covers of his bed while Daniel and I decided to head into town to figure out how to get to Machu Picchu without having to sleep in tents to do it. We found an agency which promised us a 'mostly flat' bike ride through the Sacred Valley countryside to see salt ponds, and Incan hot houses. Then if we booked the bus, train and hostel to visit Machu Picchu they would give us a discount. Sounded good to me!

The rest of the day was spent wandering around Cusco. This city of more than 350,000 people was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in the 1980s and the historical capital by the Peruvian constitution and the Inca Empire who arrived in this neck of the woods in the 1200s. Apparently this is why the town is allegedly built in the shape of a Puma (one of the sacred animals for the Incas). We quickly discovered that any site we visited in this part of Peru would be puma, condor or snake-shaped. You might have to stand on one foot and look sideways but these Incas (the guides promised) shaped everything this way.

Back from the side note. Anthony was in no shape for the bike ride so it was up to Daniel, me and an Australian girl to tackle the terrain. First we had to take the bikes to the local bus stop and onto the bus before being expelled at some nondescript crossroads. It all started off well. Stunning flat dirt roads passing locals planting potatoes and children who should have been in school herding lambs. After two hours of idyllic countryside we arrived at the historical site of Moray. These terraced circles created different degrees in temperatures as they descended into the earth giving the Incas a chance to experiment with various crops. Upside down pyramids if you ask me.

Our hardcore bike leader gave us half an hour to eat before returning to our two-wheeled death traps. Or at least that is what they became. The dirt paths are great when not trying to ascend and descend mountains. The second half of our trip was far from idyllic and I found myself walking my bike down neck-breaking hills that included potholes, hairpin turns and cacti on the sides to stop your fall. Well to stop Daniel's anyway. We found him on his belly with his face inches from the cacti and from the side of a cliff.

He started walking his bike down the hills with me.

We eventually arrived at the salt ponds (with me swearing to give Maria, who sold us the trip, a piece of my mind when we got back) passing some poor beasts of burden sharing the bike path with salt strapped to their backs. From here it was another hour's ride before finding the bus that had unleashed us on this torturous bike path.

Barely able to walk up the stairs at the hostel, the scrapes and pain were nothing a few nachos at a backpacker cafe couldn't fix (we gave up our usual polleria chicken and rice restaurant for the night).

The next morning we set out on the Sacred Valley excursion (more Inca cities on hills) that would eventually deliver us to Agua Calientes and Machu Picchu. With Anthony hiding from the sun and Daniel struggling through the biking bruises it was not the most fulfilling day so when we arrived at Agua Calientes no one was very happy.

This sketchy town sits on a river and below Machu Picchu. Unfortunately what should be an idyllic setting with the Urubamba River running through it, has been destroyed by over-population of tourists and those who prey on them. After inhaling some dinner we decided sleep next to the river was a better option than wandering.

The next morning we took the lazy way up the hill (which I never do but after the bike ride there was no way I was walking up to Machu Picchu) and boarded our bus. We were also provided with a guide for the first two hours in this former Incan city. He was fantastic. "This is going to be the best tour ever." I began to forgive Maria for her sadistic bike trip.

I don't know if there is anything that completely prepares you for the viewing of postcards in real life. More stunning than the precariously-balanced boulders that create the buildings and roads without mortar are the clouds that envelope the surrounding mountains. We were in the middle of a cloud forest and it was beautiful.

I had been told by more than one person that if I was going to ascend Machu Picchu I had to make the arduous 360-metre or 1,200-foot trek up the neighbouring mountain Huayna Picchu. Two hours with our tour guide and we were left at the bottom of this towering mountain. Convincing my Bostonian travel buddies that the only thing left for them to do was go up, we placed our hands on Pachamama (a rock symbolising Mother World) and started. Arduous? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely. Steep steps wander through green overgrowth and expelled us onto terraces that overlook the condor shaped (though even on one foot looking sideways I couldn't see this) Machu Picchu. It was calming and serene. No wonder it was the residence of the high priest.

There really wasn't a better place to eat lunch.

Going down was far easier and as the sun began to descend we realised we also had to. Again I persevered with my travel buddies and rather than the bus we took our feet down the stair-lined path into Agua Calientes for a beer before grabbing our gear and jumping on the train back to our bus to Cusco.

Gluttons for punishment? Maybe. We arrived at 10 in Cusco for dinner, drinks and then a 9 a.m. wake-up call the next morning for our bus to Puno to visit Lake Titicaca!

Next stop: The highest navigable lake in the world.