At Machu Picchu, the Guardhouse is pointed out often as the entryway for the 15th century visitors arriving on the trails. For those arriving now from the town below, the Guardhouse stands out as the highest point.

Until you pass it heading higher to the intersection with the Inca Trail that is. Try that hike slowly, with lots of pauses. People who hire guides instead of trekking alone as I did sometimes refresh with the small oxygen canister the guide lugs along.

That’s where I met the healer. He spoke only the native Quechua language but sensed my frustration on the steep, rocky, muddy path I had chosen toward Inti Punku — the Sun Gate. Wrong path, he pointed out.

Armed with anise he plucked from my new route, mint leaves from the edge of the path overlooking the Urubamba River circling Machu Picchu and believing myself stronger because of the ancient Inca ceremonies he performed with me at the Pachamama rock altar, I was ready to go.

I walked to the top, the Sun Gate, which is the arrival point for hearty souls who hike and camp four days to get there from Cusco.

My four travel partners — a historical society photographer from Oklahoma, a photojournalist from Chicago and a writer from Rhode Island, plus tour organizer Hans Kuppers from Baltimore and Lima — doubted my tale at dinner that night, certain I could only have reached a lower gate.

Thank goodness for instant digital photos. I tried not to gloat but truth of the matter is I probably still am.

Will I attempt to hike high above Machu Picchu again when I return, which I surely want to do? Aging knees will decide that.

For certain, I want to meet more of the people in the town below. Aguas Calientes is its name, or used to be. Marketers were changing that to Machu Picchu Pueblo when I was there in April; I fear the advertising impact on this little community and its people of limited means now that the Citadel is an official wonder.

I washed with some of the residents in the public baths, found after a steep walk high above the downtown stretch of tiny family-owned restaurants serving interesting and tasty dishes. The elegant baths of Baden-Baden, Germany were my introduction to community waters years ago, and my afternoon in the baths in Budapest with survivors of wars and Communism was a highlight of being in Eastern Europe so I figured Machu Picchu’s baths would matter to me.

I was soaked when I got there, trudging in a downpour during the last week of the rainy season. Some of the pools were warm, some cold fed by the mystical Urubamba River, which flows south to north in Peru. I didn’t spot any other tourists but nodded and smiled to local families of all ages.

I was soaking; they were shampooing.

The entry ticket lists the proportions of the medicinal properties of these waters: magnesium, sodium, potassium, zinc, boron and words I can’t translate.

Local folks live in small apartments near the baths; visitors book rooms in a historic sanctuary linked to the Inkaterra Association, a non-profit devoted to conserving the biodiversity of this cloud forest and other spots in Peru’s Andes Mountains and Amazon Rain Forest.

I didn’t discover the Machu Picchu Hotel in this lush sanctuary until lunch my last day so I skipped dessert to explore the orchid trails with the naturalist; 372 native orchid species bloom here.