July 5, 2004. Fifty years after first discovering the wonders of the Inca civilization, I was seated by the window on a LAN Chile plane for the eight-hour flight from Los Angeles to Lima. After dinner and a little background reading, I fell into a dream-filled sleep alive with images of the places to be visited. Following a quick, no-hassles process — much appreciated after the 1:15 a.m. arrival — I was settled into my room by 2:30 a.m., returning to dream-state travels in the Inca highlands.

The 16 days of adventure that followed began with a morning flight from Lima to Puerto Maldonado, a town on the Madre de Dios, a wide, strong-flowing tributary of the Amazon. We flew over the Andes, the white of the summits surrendering to the lush green of rain forest and grassland. Most of the land remains untouched, although here and there clearings for pasture and homesteads speak of the inevitable vulnerability of such wild places to the inroads of settlement. Puerto Maldonado is a frontier town — a few sidewalks, no paved roads, and a two-day trip on body-jolting dirt roads from the country's paved highways.

I stayed at the Reserva Amazonica Lodge, 11 miles downstream of Puerto Maldonado by narrow riverboat. The lodge can host up to 40 people on a sellout night. Perched on stilts on a rise overlooking the river, the bungalows are safari-style, with comfortable, mosquito-netted beds, running water, flush toilets and a communal dining hall that serves as rendezvous central. Electricity is generator-powered, with bungalows supplied with kerosene hurricane lamps. Meals, served buffet-style, are healthful, tasty and filling.

The lodge is run by Lima-based Inkaterra, a company partnering in ecologically compatible tourism and committed to funding environmental preservation efforts, here and elsewhere in Peru. From the lodge, we set out on boat-and-walking tours to nearby preserves, the highlight being a sunset swim in Lago Sandaval, a lake about two miles inland of the river, ringed by towering palms and other rain forest giants set against a sunset sky.

Good weather prevailed throughout the two days of our stay: skies clear, breezes surprisingly cool. The river, bordered by tall trees, is the highway in Amazonia, the narrow boats linking isolated settlers to civilization.

At first glance, all appeared wild and pristine. Then it became obvious that farming has eroded the riverbed in many places, green replaced by the dark reddish-brown of raw earth. It is the most obvious sign that even this remote place is not immune to the pressures of humankind. At risk are the diversity of plants and animals that make the Peruvian Amazon one of the most biologically rich ecosystems in the world.

In pre-Columbian times, this was the farthest extent of the Inca empire, a place actually autonomous, known for its wild inhabitants, who paid tribute to the Inca with the feathers of rain forest birds and skins of its animals. The humid riverside environment did not suit the Inca, a people who flourished in the high Andes, not in the moist lowlands where they easily sickened and die

The mountains of Sacred Valley between Cuzco and Machu Picchu overlook terraced fields, some built at the height of the Inca empire.

CUZCO

Departing Puerto Maldonado for Cuzco, city of my childhood fantasies, we again crossed the Andes, the 4,000-mile-long spine of South America. Exquisite landscapes were brought close to my window as we circled into a landing pattern between the mountains that create Cuzco's great high-altitude valley, more than 10,000 feet above sea level — just about the same altitude as the summit of Haleakala.

From the air, the size of the city surprised me: 350,000 people sprawling across hillsides and flatlands. Arriving by air seemed far too modern a technology for the Inca city of my imaginings, the city of precision-cut stonework. This is the place the Inca considered the navel of creation, where narrow streets were lined by cut-stone walls, the houses of Spanish conquerors built atop great stone platforms that once held Inca palaces and temples. All it took was the 15-minute taxi ride from airport to hotel to convince me that much of what I'd hoped to see was still to be found.

I had given myself a week in Cuzco, time to discover places like Pisac, a Spanish colonial town with the ruins of a great Inca city crowning the heights overhead. Closer to town are a collection of Inca sites, highlighted by Sacsayhuaman, the great Inca mountaintop fortress overlooking Cuzco. Designed to protect the sacred seat of empire, it was ultimately taken by fewer than 50 mounted conquistadors, a prelude to the sacking that followed in 1535.

Over time, many of Sacsayhuaman's great carved stones were carted away, many used in building the colonial mansions and cathedrals that are now Cuzco's dominant landmarks. Yet what remains — stones too large to move — provide Sacsayhuaman with a sense of grandeur and spiritual power, as I would discover several days later while watching the Inti Raymi ceremony, the Inca celebration of the winter solstice, performed on the courtyard below the fortress walls.

For the three days preceding Inti Raymi, the Plaza de Armas, once the empire's grand ceremonial courtyard and now the heart of the old city, became the focus of day-long costumed parades and evening celebrations, the city alive with the addictive rhythms of Andean music. I enjoyed the lighthearted revelry, colorful costumes, music, the animated dance, and the fact that the crowds that filled the city's squares and streets were largely made up of Cuzquen›s. Where the parade drew to a close, festive crowds gathered, musicians and dancers performing for admiring crowds made lively by liberal chewing of coca leaves and free-flowing chicha, the fermented-corn beer, legacy of the Inca past.

That mood turned more serious on the day of Inti Raymi when a costumed cast of hundreds re-creates one of the most sacred and significant celebrations of the Incan calendar, a time when the Inca, considered son of the sun, spoke to his father on behalf of his people, appealing for longer days, like the demigod Maui of Hawaiian lore.

I took a taxi to Sacsayhuaman, having paid $75 for a centrally located seat in the bleachers, set in a wide circle around the platform where the Inca and his priestly retinue would seek the sun god's blessing. Thousands of Cuzquen›s covered the hillsides behind the bleachers.

Dark clouds and a chilling rain had defined the day since the morning ceremony at the Corianche, the colonial-era church built on the site of the holiest Inca temple. The misty rain continued as the entourage made its way first to the Plaza de Armas, the heart of the city, then up the steep path that links Cuzco with Sacsayhuaman. I was seated in the bleachers erected for the ceremony, a misting rain restraining my enthusiasm.

Speaking in Quechua, the ancient language still widely spoken in the Andes, the Inca began his pleas to the sun. Arms outstretched, face toward the heavens, he intoned the god's favor in strong yet supplicating tones. In what the Hawaiians would have considered an answer, a great, vivid rainbow slowly materialized against the still-gray skies, followed by a lighter sister. Arching over Sacsayhuaman, the rainbows were a prelude to what followed when the Inca, having offered a llama in sacrifice, again addressed the sun, expressing himself with heartfelt intensity. His soulful prayers echoed off Sacsayhuaman's massive granite walls as he called upon the sun to restore light to the shortening days that climaxed with the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year.

In symbolic harmony, the first great cracks appeared in the cloud-dense sky, widening to reveal the vibrant blue of the high-altitude sky. Within minutes the dense overhang of clouds had dispersed.

As the ceremony drew to an end and the Inca and his retinue prepared to depart, the setting was bathed in rich afternoon light, the sun glinting gold off the Inca's regalia.

MACHU PICCHU

Entering Machu Picchu from the Inca trail, a panoramic view greets visitors in a place so isolated it was never discovered by invaders.

The scenery and a visit to the ruins of Ollantaytambo, a fortified Inca settlement at the northern end of the Sacred Valley, proved a perfect prelude to Machu Picchu, built in the heart of the high Andes, in a place so remote and inaccessible that it was never discovered by the Spaniards. In fact, it remained unknown to the outside world until 1911, when it was discovered by Hawai'i-born scholar Hiram Bingham III, grandson of the missionary of the same name.

From Ollantaytambo, it's a spectacularly scenic three-hour train ride to Aguas Calientes, the small town in a gorge of the Urubamba River that serves as a base for most visits to Machu Picchu. The ruins are far overhead, reached by buses on 25 minutes of unpaved switchback road that makes the 2,000-foot ascent. I planned to make the first bus, a 6 a.m. departure.

I checked into the elegant Machu Picchu Pueblo Hotel, an eco-conscious, lushly landscaped enclave of contemporary colonial-style cottages on extensive acreage at the edge of town. I was welcomed by a tasty pisco sour, a powerful grape alcohol that's a local specialty, followed by a delicious dinner. The evening ended with a quiet walk as we searched for a break in the foliage to get a look at the star-filled sky. I set the alarm for 5 a.m., pulled the quilt under my chin for protection against the first chill fingers of the Andean night and fell asleep, the room gently lit by the final embers in the fireplace that warmed the room.

I awoke to a dark night sky, my breath leaving a trail of slowly rising vapor. A 10-minute walk got me to town, where the first bus was boarding, though not departing until all seats were full. For a few minutes, the road ran parallel to the river, starting on its 20-minute switchback ascent, the deep confines of the valley replaced by Machu Picchu's 360-degree views. It's a dramatic introduction, pointing up the isolation that allowed Machu Picchu to escape the destructive attentions of the Spanish.

I'd caught a fleeting glimpse of the ruins when the bus made its final ascent, a view framed by densely draped vines and towering rain forest trees. It was a heart-thumping moment, a long-awaited milestone on the verge of fulfillment.

The brilliant morning light warmed a landscape set against a deeply blue sky, revealing not only the mountains close at hand, but also glaciated giants like Salcontay and Veronica, more than 100 miles distant. At more than 20,000 feet, they are 6,000 feet higher than the summits of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa.

The ruins rise from a narrow saddle of land connecting two vertical peaks — Machu Picchu, which gives the site its name, and Huana Picchu, itself topped by ruins that are reached by a strenuous, vertigo-inducing climb that is a highlight for many visitors.

Machu Picchu lay before me, lit in warm sunlight under a sky without even a hint of a cloud. Here and there an early arrival wandered the otherwise empty grounds, the solitude enhancing the magic of the moment. By 10 a.m., that serenity would be replaced by busloads of visitors, many on day trips from Cuzco, exuberant groups invading the precincts of a sacred place.

But Machu Picchu covers hundreds of acres, with great terraced hillside fields surrounding the city proper. Here were the temples to the sun and the moon, the key deities of the Incan pantheon. Here was the palace of the Inca who came to perform ceremonies, like Inti Raymi, dedicated to the sun and the moon.

I spent the entire day enthralled, wandering about on my own after a two-hour-long introductory tour that provided me with perspective. Midday, I set out on a two-mile hike on the Inca Trail, a stone-paved path from Inca times that once linked Machu Picchu with Cuzco, 50 aerial miles to the east. Several companies offer three- and five-day camping excursions along the trail, culminating in Machu Picchu; these are only for the very fit.

I was heading from the city to the notch in the mountain, a place called Inti Punti (Sun Gate), where the trail provides its first view of the sacred city 1,200 feet below. Built where the trail was easily blocked, it afforded protection to the city's one vulnerable approach. In the high-altitude air, under a warm sun, the hike was a challenging introduction that made me more impressed still with what it took to build and maintain a city in such a wild and isolated place.

A musician plays a flute and guitar duet at the market in Pisac. Winter solstice festivities draw hundreds of locals and visitors to Cuzco.

I hiked to the top of a series of terraced fields for a final panoramic view as the pale colors of a long dusk made their first appearance. With the end of day drawing near, the few remaining visitors, miniaturized by distance, made their way to the entrance.

After lingering a precious 10 minutes alone with the view, I headed out, trailing the last watchmen.

I boarded the last bus (6:30 p.m.) back to Aguas Calientes, where a Peruvian-style massage and a delicious dinner awaited me at the Machu Picchu Pueblo Hotel, an elegant cluster of casitas hugging the steep hillside. Like Machu Picchu, it is a refuge, home to hundreds of orchid species and hummingbirds, and a welcoming haven after an exhausting day.

I regretted that my schedule required a midday departure. I spent the morning relaxing at breakfast, a many-choices buffet, and touring the Inkaterra grounds, home to iridescent hummingbirds and hundreds of species of orchids, many native to the Andean highlands. Heading to town for an hour of browsing and souvenir hunting, I boarded the train for the 3ý-hour return trip to Cuzco, overnighting before heading out on a final leg of my highlands adventure, a visit to the Incan homeland and Lake Titicaca.

LAKE TITICACA and LIMA

At more than 13,000 feet, this Tahoe-sized waterway, the highest navigable lake in the world, is fed by the waters of the highest of the Andes, magnificently rising from the altiplano. Renting a car and driver for the 400-mile trip from Cuzco to Puno proved a good choice, allowing my party to stop and take in the magnificent landscapes of the high plains.

Titicaca is a fitting place to end my visit, for it was from here that the Inca believed their ancestors had come, identifying the Island of the Moon, off the Bolivian shore (doable as a long day trip, or as an overnighter, with visas available at the border) as their place of origin.

While not particularly attractive, the city of Puno proved an easy base, the Hotel Libertador providing an elegant lakeside setting affording panoramic views of lake and city. I followed my pilgrim's urge, heading out on a day trip to the Bolivian town of Copacabana and from there to the Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun), a high offshore island where a summit spring is said to be the birthplace of the first Inca, Manco Capac. A steep trail led to the site, which aside from the view, offered little to establish it as special. This was not true of Copacabana, a lakeside town with the charm and scale lacking in Puno. For those willing to travel past Puno, Copacabana is a definite overnight possibility.

Other days were spent visiting other islands in the lake, scouting the town's lively market, and visiting the pre-Inca tomb towers at Sillustani. On my fourth morning I headed to the airport at Juliaca, a rough-and-tumble town that links Titicaca with the rest of Peru. A LAN Peru flight headed to Lima, where I had three days to visit the capital's museums, several renowned for their remarkable collections of treasures of pre-conquest Peru.

Lima proved a perfect finale, thanks to the Museo de Oro del Peru (Gold Museum), also home to an incredible military collection; the Museo Enrico Polli with fascinating, often magnificent artifacts; and the Museo Larco, housed in an 18th-century mansion, its eye-opening collections hinting at what was lost to the destructive greed of the Spanish conquest.

I grew to like Lima, particularly at night when its colonial-era architecture is beautifully lit and the streets are happily alive. But it was the Inca highlands that flashed through my memory. The grandeur of the landscape, the tantalizing ruins hinting of a civilization lost to time, and people for whom "aloha" is natural. For me it was a winning combination, the reality more than matching a child's fantasy.