My Discovery Channel

For our last post of Travel Month, I thought I'd honor the thrill of discovery. For me, that's what travel is all about. Ever since I learned to read, I've loved stories of explorers discovering places long hidden from the world. My parents had a collection of National Geographic magazines dating back to the nineteen-teens, and I loved the pictures of long-lost ruins hidden in South American jungles and ancient tombs buried in the Egyptian sand.

When I visit an archeological site, I always try to imagine what it was like to actually discover it--to be the first to see the outlines of a Mayan temple in a vine-shrouded pile of rubble, or to enter a buried tomb untouched for centuries. In fact, if I could choose to be present at one historical moment, it would be Howard Carter's discovery of Tutankhamen's tomb. Imagine working your way through the passageway and breaking the seals on the door to see, by wavering candlelight, a treasure trove that was hidden for over 3,000 years. I love Carter's own account:

"At first I could see nothing...but presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist, strange animals, statues, and gold - everywhere the glint of gold...When Lord Carnarvon, unable to stand the suspense any longer, inquired anxiously, 'Can you see anything?' it was all I could do to get out the words, 'Yes, wonderful things.'"

My other favorite tale of discovery is the story of Hiram Bingham, the Yale-educated historian who brought the ruins of Machu Picchu to the attention of the world. I first "discovered" these incredible Incan ruins in the pages of National Geographic when I was about ten years old. Last year, I was lucky enough to make my own trip of discovery to Peru.

We were celebrating a landmark birthday for Scrape. (Just which birthday will go unrecorded, per his request.) He decided he wanted to spend his day at Machu Picchu - which just happened to be the one place in the world I most wanted to see. Coincidence? I don't think so.

We flew to Lima, and from there hopped a plane to Cusco, a Peruvian city perched at 11,000 feet. The flight was amazing; snow-capped Andean peaks poked through the cloud cover outside our window. Landing in Cuzco is an adventure in itself. The plane does a long, banked turn around a moutain before easing down onto the runway.

After a night in Cuzco, we explored the town. As a gawking gringo, I obviously had a target etched on my forehead, and the local children knew a sucker when they saw on. Running up to me, they shoved a puppy into my arms and gathered around to pose for a picture. Naturally, I showered them with coins, which won me a charming, chattering entourage for a good part of the afternoon.

The next day, we took the train up to Aguas Calientes, the closest town to the ruins. From there, we rode a bus up the precarious mountain road to Machu Picchu. If mountain roads scare you, this one will probably kill you. It's absurdly narrow, and the rear end of the bus hangs off in midair while the driver negotiates each of the many switchbacks.

We finally reached the gate, paid our fee, and stepped through an archway to see the ruins spread before us. Millions of tourists had seen the place over the years since its discovery, and dozens were exploring the ruins as we entered, but I still felt a little of the magic Carter expressed when he first laid eyes on King Tut's "wonderful things."

Later in the day, two Andean condors appeared as we stood atop one of the ruins. They soared and spun below us, putting on an air show that had to be God's birthday present for my fighter pilot companion.

That was the trip of a lifetime. I doubt we'll ever top it--but I'm always willing to try. Egypt, anyone?

If you could choose to be present at any historic moment of discovery, which one would you choose? Which explorer would you like to accompany on his (or her) adventures?