Randi Baird

February 25, 2026

The Salkantay Trek to Machu Picchu: My 60th Birthday Adventure in Peru

Four lodges, one legendary route, and what the Andes taught me about breath, attention, and connection.

The first thing I noticed wasn’t the mountains.
It was the sound of breathing—my own, and the breath of strangers around me—thin and uneven in the high air. We’d barely started our first hike when the Andes made one thing clear: altitude doesn’t care how prepared you feel.

Within ten minutes, Trish—one of the travelers in our group—stopped, pale and nauseous. Lightheaded. She made the smart call to ride ahead by vehicle to the lodge while the rest of us continued on foot. There was no drama, no debate. Just the quiet reality of being at elevation: you listen to your body, or the mountain will force you to.

And that’s when it hit me: this was real.

Earlier that summer, my family had thrown me a 60th birthday party—warm, wonderful, full of people I love. But I wanted something else. An experience. A challenge. A gift to myself that couldn’t be wrapped. I wanted a milestone —something that would pull me fully into my body: breathing, moving, paying attention.

So I boarded a plane to Peru and signed on for a lodge-to-lodge trek to Machu Picchu with Mountain Lodges of Peru, a company known for responsible travel, cultural immersion, and community engagement in the Andes. I’d long been fascinated by Machu Picchu—the engineering, the mythology, the mystery—and the idea of reaching it on foot felt like the right challenge for this chapter of life.

I traveled alongside three women. Cary, my newer neighbor—someone I admire and adore—a physician with steady energy and quiet grit. Jenni, Cary’s longtime friend and the architect of the journey: the researcher, organizer, and decision-maker behind every detail. She’s also a true New Yorker—direct, funny, wildly competent, and refreshingly honest. Jenni invited her friend Mirna, a Physician Assistant who stepped away from work about a year ago as a genetic, progressive vision condition began to limit her sight. Spanish is her first language, and she became our interpreter, helper, and steady presence. Hiking, she told me, has become her way back into movement and adventure.

Once the trek began, the rest of the group filled in around us—twelve travelers total. There were couples, a family traveling with adult sons, a few quieter personalities. But the mountains don’t care about social dynamics. They turn strangers into a team quickly.

Orientation Night: “You Are Family Now”

The night before we started, we met our guides, Roger and Claudio. Claudio set the tone immediately. Over the next several days, he said, we’d get to know each other fast, rely on one another, and work through whatever the mountains handed us—altitude, fatigue, weather shifts, the unexpected. “You are family now,” he said.

Claudio lives in Cusco but grew up in the countryside we were hiking through. He’s deeply knowledgeable about the Andes—flora, fauna, terrain—and has been leading this route for more than two decades. We’d heard about him through a friend of Cary’s who’d trekked with him before and raved. After that first meeting, I understood why. His calm presence was grounding, confident, and quietly funny.

Before the Trek: Choosing to Slow Down

We flew from Lima to Cusco, the former capital of the Inca Empire, where history, architecture, and altitude all make themselves known immediately. Even a staircase can feel like a workout.

Cary and I arrived early, giving ourselves time to acclimate. We took Diamox for a few days, explored the Sacred Valley, and let our bodies adjust gradually. By the time we regrouped in Cusco with everyone else, the nervous energy had shifted into something steadier. We felt ready.

Day 1: Quillarumiyoc + Salkantay Lodge (12,690’)

The trek began with a visit to Quillarumiyoc, an archaeological site where stonework and cosmology intersect. From there, a winding mountain drive led us to Challacancha, where the trail started and the route truly opened up.

By late afternoon we arrived at Salkantay Lodge in Soraypampa, Mountain Lodges of Peru’s flagship lodge. Set in the Rio Blanco valley with unobstructed views of Mt. Salkantay, it felt both grounded and expansive—comfort designed to support effort, not excess. We stayed two nights, a gift at altitude.

Day 2: Lake Humantay + Ceremony

Lake Humantay doesn’t look real—even when you’re standing in front of it. We hiked under overcast skies until the lake appeared: glacial green, luminous, tucked beneath ice and peaks.

Later, we took part in a ceremony honoring Pachamama, Mother Earth. It brought stillness to the group—a reminder that in the Andes, nature isn’t scenery. It’s sacred.

Day 3: Crossing the Salkantay Pass (15,213’)

That morning started with one of the quiet luxuries of trekking with Mountain Lodges of Peru: the logistics were handled. Horses were loaded with our duffels, carrying heavy weight ahead. All we carried was a day pack—food, water, layers, camera. We woke to a clear, brilliant sky, sweeping views of Salkantay, and the feeling that the mountains were granting us a rare gift.

As we climbed, alpacas, llamas, and horses moved through the landscape. Then the trail steepened into switchbacks. The air thinned. The work began.
Slow and steady became the mantra.

I hiked mostly in the back with Roger, who quietly pointed out plants, birds, and details I would have missed. Along the way, I learned about tropical glaciers—rare now, fragile against the mountains. Seeing one in person was both beautiful and sobering.

Cary was nervous going into this day. Her cardiologist had warned her that the altitude and exertion might be too much. But Cary came for a personal challenge—to see what her body could do, and to trust it again. Step by step, she kept moving forward. When we reached the highest point—15,213 feet—she made it. She stood there smiling, the kind of smile that carries relief, pride, and disbelief all at once. I was incredibly proud of her, and for all of us. Cary asked my to take her photo—to send proof home to her doctor.

We descended to Wayra Lodge, the most remote of the lodges—a quiet mountain refuge with dramatic views and deep nighttime stillness.

Day 4: Cloud Forest + Colpa Lodge

Day four felt like entering another world. We descended into the cloud forest and everything changed: warmer air, richer smells, mist in the trees. Orchids, tropical flowers, papaya, and passion fruit appeared along the trail. Light filtered softly through the canopy. Hummingbirds darted past.

Colpa Lodge sits at the confluence of three rivers, surrounded by lush green mountains. The afternoon was restorative— yoga, hot tub, quiet conversation, deep breaths.

That evening, we were treated to a traditional Pachamanca feast, cooked underground with hot stones. Cary and I tasted guinea pig and alpaca, and in that setting it didn’t feel exotic—it felt like an honor, a welcome into our hosts Peruvian tradition.

It was also Cary’s birthday, and the staff baked her a cake. Candles, laughter, mountain air—simple and unforgettable. Later, we learned how to make Pisco Sours, each of us taking a serious turn shaking the mixer. Proper foam, it turns out, requires both arm strength and commitment.

Day 5: Lucma Lodge

By day five, the air was warmer, the trail greener and more humid. We’d left alpine terrain behind and moved toward the Amazon’s edge.

Lucma Lodge was my favorite. Set in an avocado orchard and designed like a contemporary treehouse, its tall windows made you feel immersed in foliage. After days on the trail, it was the perfect place to land—lush, peaceful, and alive with sound.

Food was an essential part of the experience at every lodge. Each meal was delicious, thoughtfully prepared, and rooted in local traditions, with enough variety to keep us energized and curious day after day. Every lodge had its own staff, ready when we arrived—welcoming us with a glass of fresh juice or a warm clothe to rinse off. The bedrooms were modest but cozy, and every night brought the same small delight: a hot water bottle tucked under the covers, which felt downright fantastic after hours on the trail.

Day 6: Llactapata Pass

Day six delivered one of the most special moments of the trek: a steady, uphill hike through the cloud forest to Llactapata Pass. From there, we saw Machu Picchu from across the valley—distant, quiet, and worth every step it took to get there.

Throughout the journey, I’d been reading Turn Right at Machu Picchu, a modern travel memoir retracing the story of Hiram Bingham. Reading history while walking through living terrain added depth to everything. Machu Picchu isn’t just beautiful—it’s layered and complicated.

By now, our group had its own rhythm. Shared snacks. Inside jokes. The kind of quiet support that only comes from doing something hard together.

Day 7: Machu Picchu

When we finally reached the top, Machu Picchu was completely socked in—foggy and almost invisible. Slowly, the clouds lifted, revealing the citadel piece by piece.

Claudio’s guided tour brought the site into focus: precision stonework, farming terraces, temples carved into an impossibly steep hillside, mist drifting through the ruins like a moving veil.

Trish joined us for this final day. After being hit hard by altitude early on and riding ahead, she was feeling strong again. Hiking up together felt full-circle—like the Andes offering her a second chance at the ending.

What moved me most wasn’t just arriving. It was how we arrived.

Walking to Machu Picchu changes it. The destination becomes part of a longer story—one built from breath, effort, and attention. Something closer to pilgrimage than tourism.

The Gift I Actually Brought Home

Machu Picchu was extraordinary. But the real gift was the journey: on foot, one breath at a time. Turning sixty didn’t need fireworks. It needed something honest.

This trek gave me that.
And it gave me connection.

Somewhere between the switchbacks, the altitude, and the sheer beauty of Peru, we became a small team. We supported each other, laughed often, and saw each other clearly in a way everyday life rarely allows.

For a birthday gift, it couldn’t have been better.

The Gear That Made It Possible

On a trek like this, gear isn’t optional—it can make the difference between enjoying the experience or simply getting through it. The right layers and equipment keep you comfortable, safe, and present when weather and altitude do their thing. I try to choose gear from companies that care about how things are made and use their business as a force for good.

What our team of 4 used and recommends: