Beyond Machu Picchu: 7 Breathtaking Hikes in Peru's Sacred Valley

Let me tell you something about Huchuy Qosqo—it's the trail I'd drive my bus up if I could, just to show more people its magnificence. This 'Little Cusco' sits at 3,650 meters and offers views that had this old Liverpudlian speechless (a rare occurrence, ask anyone).

The trail begins in Lamay, about an hour's collectivo ride from Cusco. Now, these collectivos are something else—imagine my Sydney bus at rush hour, but smaller and with chickens occasionally. For 5 soles (about £1), you'll get dropped at the trailhead with a smile and perhaps an egg laying in progress.

The hike itself is a moderate 4-5 hour affair with an elevation gain that'll remind you you're not in Liverpool anymore. The path winds through rural communities where locals still farm as their ancestors did. I passed an elderly woman carrying a bundle of wood twice her size—made me think of my bus driving posture problems in a whole new light.

About halfway up, I stopped to catch my breath and pulled out my hiking snacks (always carry extra—the altitude makes you hungrier than a double-shift day). The real magic happens when you round the final bend and the ancient ruins appear, perched on a plateau with the snow-capped Andes creating the sort of backdrop that makes your camera finger itchy.

What makes Huchuy Qosqo special isn't just the Inca ruins—though they're magnificent—but the solitude. While I counted 12 buses in the Machu Picchu lot, here I shared the entire site with just two German hikers and a local guide who told me he'd been walking these paths for 40 years. Made my bus routes seem positively boring in comparison.

If the Inca Trail is first class, the Lares Trek is the reliable local bus route—less glamorous but arguably more authentic and certainly more affordable. As someone who's spent a lifetime making sure people get where they need to go, I appreciate a path that delivers the goods without the fancy price tag.

The Lares Trek starts about 3 hours from Cusco, and getting there is half the adventure. I hopped on a local bus at Cusco's Santiago terminal (a chaotic affair that made Sydney Central look like a library) and settled in for a journey that cost me 15 soles. The driver, noticing my bus driver's squint as he navigated hairpin turns, invited me up front for a chat about driving techniques. Universal language, that.

This three-day trek takes you through remote Andean communities where children still herd alpacas and grandmothers weave textiles using techniques older than my hometown. The highest pass sits at a lung-busting 4,700 meters. I won't lie—at 64, that elevation had me stopping every few minutes, but my trekking poles were absolute lifesavers, distributing the work to my arms and saving my knees on the descents.

What struck me most were the hot springs at Lares town. After 30 years of bus-seat-induced back pain, soaking in those mineral waters while staring at star-filled skies was better than any chiropractor's table. I shared the pools with local families who come weekly, and a farmer who told me tales of the mountains that no guidebook contains.

Unlike the Inca Trail, Lares doesn't require booking months ahead. I arranged my trek just three days before through a local operator in Cusco for about $300—a fraction of what the famous route costs. For solo travelers watching their pennies but not wanting to sacrifice authentic experiences, this is your ticket.

If Machu Picchu is the express bus, Choquequirao is the rural route that only locals know about. This massive archaeological site is often called Machu Picchu's sister city, but receives less than 1% of the visitors. Why? Because getting there requires a challenging 4-day round trip hike with elevation changes that would make a mountain goat wince.

The adventure begins in Cachora, a sleepy town about 4 hours from Cusco by public transport. I caught a bus to Abancay and then negotiated with a taxi driver for the final stretch. My years of bus route planning came in handy here—always have a Plan B for transportation in rural Peru, as schedules are more suggestion than commitment.

The trail to Choquequirao is no Sunday stroll. You descend 1,500 meters into the Apurimac Canyon before climbing back up 1,800 meters to reach the ruins. It's like walking down and then up the side of a skyscraper, twice. My knees—already veterans of 35 years of bus braking—protested loudly.

I'd packed my trusty water filter which proved invaluable. The streams along the route provided clean water after filtering, saving me from carrying extra weight on those punishing inclines.

The reward? Having an archaeological wonder practically to yourself. During my two days at Choquequirao, I counted just eight other hikers. Compare that to the 2,500 daily visitors shuffling through Machu Picchu! I sat alone on ancient terraces watching condors soar below me while contemplating the Inca engineers who built this city on a mountain ridge. Beats watching passengers fumble for correct change, I can tell you that.

The site itself is only partially excavated, adding to the Indiana Jones feeling. Massive terraces cascade down the mountainside, and intricate stone llamas are inlaid into the walls. My favorite spot was the usnu (ceremonial platform) at sunset, where the fading light painted the stones gold and the valley fell into shadow. No bus timetable ever gave me that kind of peace.

In my decades of bus driving, I've seen countless passengers staring at their phones instead of the world outside their windows. The Ausangate Circuit is nature's way of saying, "Look up, you fool!" with colors so vibrant they seem digitally enhanced.

This 5-day circuit around the sacred Ausangate mountain (6,384m) is not for the faint-hearted or the unprepared. It's a high-altitude trek that rarely dips below 4,000 meters. Getting to the trailhead in Tinki requires a 3-hour ride from Cusco on a bus that reminded me of my early days driving in Liverpool—charming, but with questionable suspension.

The star attraction is Rainbow Mountain (Vinicunca), which has become Instagram-famous in recent years. Most tourists visit on rushed day trips, arriving when the light is harsh and the crowds thick. But trekking the full circuit, you can time your visit for early morning when the colors truly pop and you'll share the view with more alpacas than people.

The weather in the Andes is as reliable as bus timetables during a football match—which is to say, not at all. One moment I was hiking under clear blue skies; the next, I was fumbling to pull my waterproof jacket from my pack as hail pelted down. That jacket saved me from a drenching more times than I can count, packing down small but providing proper protection when the skies opened.

The circuit passes through remote Quechua communities where tourism hasn't changed centuries-old ways of life. In one village, I was invited to share a meal with a family after I helped fix their radio (bus drivers are decent amateur mechanics by necessity). We communicated through my broken Spanish and universal hand gestures, sharing a meal of quinoa soup and potatoes while their children examined my camera with wonder.

The nights were brutally cold—temperatures dropping well below freezing—but the star-filled skies made up for the discomfort. No light pollution means the Milky Way spreads across the heavens like spilled paint. After decades of city lights in Sydney, it was a humbling reminder of how small we really are.

When the Inca Trail permits sell out faster than bus tickets before a holiday weekend, savvy hikers turn to the Salkantay Trek. This 5-day journey takes you past the magnificent snow-capped Salkantay mountain (6,271m) before descending through cloud forest to reach Aguas Calientes, the gateway to Machu Picchu.

I've always preferred routes with variety—it's why I enjoyed city bus driving more than long-haul coaches—and Salkantay delivers diversity in spades. You start in high alpine terrain, cross a 4,630m pass, descend through cloud forest dripping with orchids, and finally walk alongside coffee and banana plantations in the lower valleys.

The logistics of getting to the trailhead at Mollepata are straightforward. Collectivos leave from Calle Arcopata in Cusco (near San Pedro Market) every morning around 4:30 am, costing about 15 soles. As a former driver, I always sit up front and chat with the man behind the wheel—you'd be amazed what local knowledge you can pick up this way. My driver pointed out a hidden waterfall that became one of my favorite lunch spots on day one.

Unlike the Inca Trail, Salkantay doesn't require permits months in advance, making it perfect for flexible travelers. You can book through agencies in Cusco (around $450-500) or do it independently for about $200 if you're comfortable carrying your own gear. Having hauled bus passengers' forgotten luggage for decades, I opted to carry my own pack, supplemented by my trusty hiking backpack which distributes weight so effectively I sometimes forgot I was carrying it.

The highlight for me wasn't Machu Picchu itself (though it's magnificent) but the night spent at Llactapata, an Inca ruin with direct views of Machu Picchu across the valley. Watching the sun set over the famous citadel from this quiet, lesser-known vantage point—with just four other hikers for company—was the kind of moment that makes retirement feel like an upgrade rather than a downgrade.

Some of my favorite bus routes in Liverpool were the ones tourists never took—the ones that showed you the real city, not just the polished center. Waqrapukara is Peru's equivalent—an archaeological site so off the beaten path that many local guides in Cusco haven't even been there.

The name means 'Horn Fortress' in Quechua, referring to the two rocky spires that frame this ancient site. Getting there requires a 3-hour drive from Cusco to the village of Huayqui, followed by a 3-4 hour hike. Public transportation is limited, so I joined forces with two Canadian backpackers I met at my hostel to share a taxi (120 soles total).

Our driver, Ernesto, turned out to be a former tour guide with a wealth of knowledge about local history. When he learned I was a bus driver, he insisted I take the wheel for a stretch of dirt road—a white-knuckle experience on narrow mountain tracks that made Sydney's rush hour seem like a peaceful Sunday drive.

The hike itself is moderately difficult, with a steep final climb to the ruins. What makes it special is the complete absence of tourist infrastructure—no ticket booths, no souvenir stalls, just you and the ancient stones. I encountered only one other hiking group during my entire day there.

The ruins themselves are impressive, but it's the setting that takes your breath away. Perched on a ridge with 360-degree views of the Apurimac Canyon, Waqrapukara feels like it's floating between earth and sky. The central plaza contains a perfect natural rock formation that functions as a solar calendar—proving the Incas were timing experts long before bus schedules were invented.

I'd brought my compact binoculars which proved invaluable for spotting Andean condors riding thermals in the canyon below and examining architectural details in the distant parts of the ruins. For wildlife and ruin enthusiasts alike, a good pair of binoculars is worth their weight in gold.

As sunset approached, we had to tear ourselves away to make it back before dark. The return journey was silent, each of us processing the privilege of experiencing a place that mass tourism hasn't yet discovered—though I fear those days are numbered.

In the bus world, we have express routes that everyone knows and local routes that only regulars appreciate. If Vinicunca (Rainbow Mountain) is the express tourist route—complete with crowds and selfie sticks—then Palccoyo is the local's alternative that delivers the same colorful payoff with a fraction of the hassle.

Located in the same region as the famous Rainbow Mountain, Palccoyo actually offers not one but three rainbow-colored mountains, plus views of the Ausangate range that will have your camera working overtime. The best part? The hike is significantly easier (only about 1 hour of actual walking at high altitude) and sees about 10% of the visitors.

Getting to Palccoyo requires some planning. The trailhead is about 3 hours from Cusco, and while there are now a few tour operators offering day trips (around $100), the adventurous can do it independently. I caught a bus from Cusco to Checacupe (20 soles), then negotiated with a local taxi driver for the final stretch to the trailhead (80 soles round trip including waiting time).

The driver, Miguel, was fascinated by Australia and peppered me with questions about kangaroos while navigating the bumpy dirt road to the trailhead. This kind of cultural exchange is why I prefer independent travel—you don't get these conversations on organized tours.

The hike itself starts at a lung-testing 4,700 meters, but the trail is relatively flat compared to other options in the region. Even with my bus driver's knees, I found it manageable with frequent photo stops (a convenient excuse to catch my breath). The landscape is otherworldly—mineral-streaked mountains in shades of red, yellow, green, and purple set against a backdrop of snow-capped peaks.

I'd packed my hiking daypack which had just enough room for water, snacks, extra layers, and camera gear without weighing me down at altitude. After years of carrying nothing but a bus route map and thermos, I've become quite particular about comfortable daypacks for hiking.

What makes Palccoyo special isn't just the colorful mountains but the glimpse into local life. The trail passes through communities where families still herd alpacas and live in traditional stone houses. I was invited to try fresh cheese by an elderly woman who found my attempts at Quechua pronunciation highly amusing. These authentic interactions are increasingly rare at Peru's more popular sites.