Mountains lie in rumpled splendour as far as the eye can see. Wisps of cloud shift and eddy; at this elevated altitude I’m sometimes below, sometime above, sometimes within them. Around me are the remains of an ancient Peruvian hilltop city – intricately constructed temples, houses and irrigation systems, all hewn from rock. At my feet is an almost sheer drop down into the Apurimac River Canyon.
The name in Quechua means “the speaking god”, and even here, 1,700m above its tumbling waters, I can hear the babble of the deity. There’s precious little in the way of other sounds to compete – no roads, no visible human settlements, barely another visitor. I’ve trekked for two days to reach this, the lost city of the Incas.
