The cries of faceless children pierce the darkness of a storm. These are sounds that never truly leave a person. My waterproof boots and insulated rain gear keep me comfortable as I walk though the puddle-filled road, but no gear I own can muffle the screams and sobbing. I walk on, but now with urgent curiosity about how I can help. What can be done for them? While avoiding the pools of rain and trash, more questions surface, dominating my attention. Are indigenous peoples expendable in the tourist economy? Can traditional ways of life sustain themselves against the invasive interests of a foreign dollar? How can a government open the doors to its unique cultures while protecting their integrity? I traveled for the next two weeks through obscure mountain villages and popular wilderness destinations. I walked with questions that rose from the cries of children.
The evening before departing to the Inca Trail, I walked through Cuzco’s Plaza de Armes to attend the midnight mass in the city’s central cathedral. Only hours earlier, the plaza was bustling with Quecha Indians, all of whom had walked for days to reach the city, hoping to sell all manner of artwork, trinkets, clothing and small bags of cocoa leaves. A shop owner told us the husbands and fathers of the women and countless children in the market were many of the thousands of porters working the Inca Trail. Others remained back on the land of their homes, tending to the never-ending work of subsistence farming.
As the pastor concluded his sermon, monstrous blasts of thunder roared outside the Iglesia de La Compania. First built in 1571 by the Jesuits, flashes of lightning illuminated the stained glass windows as strangers hugged and exchanged wishes of peaceful futures. As the storm’s rage continued, my partner and I walked past a sea of blue tarps covering the wailing children as policemen yelled for their evacuation. Earlier in the day, the Indians found an easy welcome because the vital tourist hordes find such value in their imagery, energy and products. But when the tourists leave, the police treat them like public nuisances or threats to civil order. With thunder, lightning and confusion overhead and all around, we wandered slowly back to our hotel while the storm drowned out the plaza’s Christmas Eve chorus: the hundreds of cries for help.
Clear skies covered the plaza the following morning. Quecha families sleeping against storefronts in their colorful ponchos were prodded awake with police batons demanding their departure. Swarms of young children, many dirty and apparently malnourished, tugged at the clothes of their mothers who cried in despair after a sleepless night and nothing to look forward to but the tolls of the journey back home and the hard lives awaiting them there. My trip’s focus was to explore how Peru’s recent ecotourism reforms were influencing the country’s physical and cultural landscape, especially regarding the Inca Trail, Machu Pichu and the thousands of porters whose livelihood depends on Peru’s ecotourism. But in the plaza, right then, another side of Peru’s societal practices was unfolding, and I wondered how the Peruvian government was really treating its indigenous peoples, who one day earlier were protected and even promoted as a trademark of historical and ethnic significance.
The next day we boarded our bus from Cuzco to the Inca Trail. The route crosses roads both sensational and grueling in the Sacred Valley that cuts through the towering Andes Mountains. We hug the railing of the cable bridge above the river Cusichaca and begin our journey. Over the next five days, we pass villages and traverse ridges and mountain passes through rain forests and alpine meadows of the world’s longest mountain range toward the prized archeological Inca city of Machu Pichu.
As the most famous trek in South America, the Inca Trail has undergone a series of reforms over the last decade that each affected the landscape, economy and culture of local communities. With the global rise of ecotourism, Cuzco has established itself as an industrial hub and the Peruvian government has implemented bureaucracy to control the region’s growing flows of visitors and the challenges and opportunities that accompany them. Despite these efforts, in recent years many Peruvians have come to suspect that the benefits of mass tourism have also hurt local communities both materially and culturally.
Only five years ago, hardly any regulation existed on the Inca Trail. Years of debris and neglect have damaged the health of the physical environment and indigenous peoples who rely on the land for their livelihoods. Over this period, new policies have been implemented to restore the vitality of the once pristine natural landscape. Other measures have been established to sustain the employment network of the roughly 4000 indigenous Quecha Indians who work for outfitting companies as cooks and porters for travelers from around the globe.
One reform on the most popular 88-kilometer section of the Inca Trail was limiting trail access to protect the land and its archeological sites. Today, only hikers with registered guiding outfitters are granted the necessary hiking permits to set foot on the Inca Trail. As a result, the guiding industry in Cuzco has competitively boomed and signs outside Cuzco storefronts and hostels advertise daily trips open to anyone walking by and willing to pay the hefty fees that can transition this strenuous multi-day hike into something closer to an elaborate, gourmet backpacking experience. Despite this abundance of availability, travel websites and guidebooks inform travelers that reservations are required months in advance. While some struggle to find the adventure in a guided trip and others complain of high costs, a majority of hikers still say you get what you pay for.
Despite the incredible cultural and natural beauty of the Inca Trail, there exists a disheartening poverty that consumes so many villages in the Incan Sacred Valley and throughout Peru. Nearly all the porters who quickly pass us on the trail descend from these villages that sit nestled in the mountains. Watching them quickly pass me with what appears twice the weight I carry, I wonder how many of their relatives were forced to wait out the Christmas Eve storm under the blue tarps in Cuzco only days earlier. As we pass conversations in countless languages, I notice leather hiking boots, suspension poles and Gore Tex shells of fellow hikers. The porters utilized none of these.
Two days into the alpine rainforests, I catch up to our group’s head porter, Angel, as he enjoys a rare trailside rest. Higher than eleven thousand feet, I breathe in the fact that altitude sickness is a serious condition experienced by many travelers in Peru. A small man wielding broken English, Angel sits on a rock beside the trail next to our guide, Manny. Shod with only tattered sandals, Angel carries a large bag on his back at speeds I can only sustain at sea level and unburdened. Although often greeted, thanked and passed, both men (after an initial sense of hesitation) found a level of comfort with my questions regarding how the government reforms have changed porter culture and ecotourism in Peru.
In broken sentences that still express complete thoughts, both Angel and Manny describe how recent reforms have positively affected the approximately four thousand porters catering to Peru’s eco-tourists. Would both men have been as vocal had they felt differently? Although reluctant to praise the government directly, both men shared how reforms and stronger collaboration between park officials and guiding organizations have led to improvements. Stressing that his colleague may not agree, Manny stated that although these improvements are beneficial to their professional interests, they are most likely meant to assuage any distress an ecotourist might feel while watching battered and poor men carry their belongings. I was surprised to hear him articulate this sentiment so clearly. As I watched the pondering in Manny’s eyes, I too wondered how often changes are made on behalf of cosmetic perception instead of a deeper sense of fairness and entitlement. Our conversation ended without closure as Manny silently pushed off the rocks and walked down the trail into the cloud-laced valley.
With the clouds above shrouding the towering Andean peaks, I walked behind the cooking tent to where Manny and Angel sat. Knowing their duties kept them busy, I realized my time with them was limited, so I began questioning them immediately. I asked what they felt the most important measure the government has taken to improve ecotourism in Peru. Angel instantly slapped the large pack that sat on the ground between his feet. Elaborating off his friend’s familiar gesture, Manny shared how porters are now not allowed to carry more than 25 kilos of weight. Consequently, the ratio of porters to hikers has increased, thus providing more employment. Having decided to communicate vocally, Angel shared that legislation is on the table, and due to be implemented within the coming year, to offer insurance for all working porters. Manny interrupted and joyfully reminded me of the old American saying, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
After five days on the Inca Trail, the seasonal clouds and rain hung low over the city of Machu Pichu. Standing among the mesmerizing outcrop of structures that nameless geniuses created centuries ago, one can see in every direction why people are drawn to this unique place on our planet that combines a rare balance of historic culture and physical beauty. Here, the concerns of New Peru seem like those of a foreign country. Here, one can only stand, amazed and grateful, and try to understand.
In a nearby village, groups of porters who carried tourist gear for days or weeks at a time await the train back to the trail’s beginning to start again with another group and another set of packs. Before walking away I wondered if my experience would have been possible without the porters. I realized that the answer was no. It is they, above all, who enable the outsiders to have such experiences here in this ancient mountain realm. I started to question if the improvements to their lives from the government reforms would continue, and if so, at what cost? Will they increase the already high fees for people interested in the incredible experience of walking the ancient footpaths to Machu Pichu? Quite possibly, yes, but at least it would buy the peace of mind that one’s money goes to support the local inhabitants of the region instead of the guiding companies whose websites sell their services to curious, adventurous strangers, all of them continents away.
