The trek started off without much fanfare as we crossed the Urubamba River on an almost flat terrain to kick off the 49-mile 4-day Inca trail hike. We had completed our application for a permit to hike this historic trail half a year before and over the next few months, we got ourselves ready by walking up staircases instead of taking elevators at work or running up hills and on inclined treadmills. We purchased sturdy trekking boots and hiking trousers, back packs that were just the right size for long hikes and headlamps with long-lasting batteries. The Indiana Jones in us envisioned a trek of discovery, where we would brave the Peruvian jungles and survive the altitude in our quest for “the lost city” of Machu Picchu.

In 1911, a Yale professor of South American history named Hiram Bingham III embarked on an expedition to discover the last capital of the Incas. In his quest, he did set foot on what is now considered the last capital, Vilcacamba, although he did not realize at that time that it was the city he was looking for. Locals led him to another set of ruins, a far more impressive and remote one, which he named Machu Picchu, literally the “Old Peak”. Machu Picchu flourished in the 15th century, and was thought to be an estate of the great Inca emperor Pachacuti. Mysteriously, its population was obliterated just as the Spanish conquest of Peru began and its ruins remained untouched, hidden from civilization by dense forests and mountains until Bingham introduced it to the world the year after first setting eyes on it. Just as Bingham’s legend has grown through the years (he has been considered by many to be the inspiration for “Indiana Jones”), Machu Picchu continues to capture the imagination of crazy dreamers who travel from all over world to experience a trail built centuries ago by a civilization that is now long gone.

Through verdant forests and rambling rivers, we climbed up seemingly unending steps to summits and the unreal landscapes that awaited us there. We gingerly descended precipitous inclines that opened into lush valleys and meadows.

On our second day, we gritted our teeth at the most challenging portion of the hike and were out of breath at Dead Woman’s pass, at 4300 meters, the highest point of the trek. In intense heat, we found shelter under canopies of trees while our porters, who started an hour after us carrying our tents and sleeping bags, passed us by. There were anxious moments on the third day, especially for city folks like us, as we found ourselves lost in the forest as darkness was drawing near with only the light from our head lamps and the moon to guide us.

We took refuge in Inca ruins alongside llamas resting on the grass, and were luckily found by porters and local children who led us to the next camp. Tucked in our sleeping bags in full trekking attire, we shivered in our tents at night, reluctant to walk in the dark to spartan toilets ten minutes away.

We would wake up to stunningly beautiful sunrises, drawing strength at the sight of silver linings behind the majestic peaks, before embarking on another day of hiking.

How sweet it was to share this experience with fellow trekkers who had come from all over the globe to converge in this common path, and with old friends, whose bonds we had sought to rekindle.

How humbling it was to be a speck amidst the grandeur of the Andean jungle while also experiencing the ups and downs of our own emotions, from the exhilaration at reaching almost unreachable heights to total exhaustion (and buckling legs) at the end of each day’s hike. I witnessed sheer grit and occasional doubt, shouts of joy and even tears of relief. I marveled at the tenacity of the human spirit when one is at his lowest. Then there was the laughter over sparingly-lit dinners and the serenity of treks alone as if engaged in a rhythmic dance with mother nature.

On our last day, we woke up at 4 in the morning and had a hot breakfast under a communal tent while torrential rain battered the camp. Walking with headlamps and ponchos in the pouring rain, we tried our best to reach the Sungate at sunrise to catch our first glimpse of Machu Picchu.

As the rain subsided, we trudged along muddy terrain, exhilarated by the sight of stunning landscapes and the scent of cool mountain air.

There was a ridiculously steep climb towards the end of the trail, as if placed there to tease weary and tired trekkers.

And then just as we were recovering from this last challenge, there it was…. the lost city of the Incas, shimmering in the sunlight, ethereal amidst the clouds. In our own humble way, we imagined how Hiram Bingham might have felt as he first laid eyes on this hidden majestic wonder.

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The beauty of a journey lies in the discovery of unexpected finds. Just like Bingham, who in his search for Vilcacamba discovered Machu Picchu, each of us had our share of unexpected discoveries about the trail and about ourselves. Yes, there was astonishment at the sight of the lost city of Machu Picchu in all its spectacular glory but the more profound, more meaningful journeys may have been the more personal ones, when we dug deep inside and discovered our own personal machu picchus.