Machu Picchu
July 29, 2025
In the 1990s, my wife Dorothea and I, along with our son Alexej and our friends Maru and Paolo, hiked the Inca Trail, which culminates in the 15th-century Inca city of Machu Picchu. Positioned dizzyingly on a ridge high in the Andes Mountains of Peru, Machu Picchu is said to have been a private city for Inca royalty. It was abandoned when the Spaniards arrived, and largely forgotten until the American academic and explorer Hiram Bingham rediscovered and publicized it in 1911.
My trip began in Lima, where our Guarneri String Quartet had just finished a South American tour. But what was I to do with my rare and valuable Cremonese violin while hiking the rugged Inca Trail? Even more vexing was the fact that almost immediately after the Machu Picchu adventure our quartet had recording sessions planned. There’s an old saying, “If I don’t practice for one day, I know it; for two, the critics know it; and for three, the whole world knows it.” Walking into a recording session without practicing for some ten days, our entire planetary system would know it. The solution then was to find a temporary home for my very good violin, and in its place find a very bad one so I could practice daily. Two friends came to the rescue. Edward Ranney, who has photographed brilliantly and extensively in Peru, had a friend in Lima who was willing to house-sit my concert violin, and Roberta Guaspari, violinist and founder of the Opus 118 violin program, gave Dorothea a cheap violin to bring to Peru for me.
Hiking the Inca Trail for four days, we encountered ancient Incan archeological sites, sub-tropical forests, alpine tundra, and breathtaking mountain passes of over 12,000 and 13,000 feet in altitude. The porters, wearing cheap flip-flops rather than our expensive hiking boots, carried food, supplies, and tents on their backs—including my violin perched on top of a cooking stove—and set up camp at the end of each day. And each night, I practiced, often with gloves on minus the fingers because of the high-altitude cold.
On the fourth day of hiking we finally looked down at Machu Picchu, spread out spectacularly beneath us. The city’s exquisitely fashioned granite stonework, already covered in centuries of jungle growth when Hiram Bingham first arrived, had mostly been cleared and was now bathed in golden late-afternoon sunlight. For the next days we reveled in the artistry of the city’s stonework, its aura of spirituality, and its profound connection to the surrounding mountains and the cosmos itself.
The bold genius of the Incas, whose dominance in the region lasted less than a century, made an indelible impression on me, but so did an event along the way that had seemingly little to do with our Machu Picchu experience. I noticed that several of the porters listened to me as I practiced each evening. I could see by the look of curiosity on their faces that quite possibly they had never heard a violin before. Apparently the porters had spread the word throughout the nearby mountain communities that a man was daily playing some kind of musical instrument on the Inca Trail.
The news must have reached an accomplished musician from one of the local villages, for, on the third evening of our hikes, he showed up at our campsite accompanied by several of his friends. For all I know, he could have been a descendant of the Incas who had built, lived, and yes, probably made music in Machu Picchu. His native language, Quechua, had first to be translated into Spanish and then from Spanish into English for me, but his message was to the point: I’d like to hear you play whatever your musical instrument is called, and then please teach me how to play it.
I chose one of Johann Sebastian Bach’s dance movements from his Partitas for Solo Violin. Then I handed him the violin and showed him how to tuck it under his chin and hold it with his left hand, followed by demonstrating how to hold the bow with his right. Being a musician himself, he got the knack of those static positions quickly, but drawing the bow across the strings to successfully produce a good sound proved more challenging. At first he winced as the bow wandered too close to the bridge and produced an unpleasant, shrill sound, On the next try the bow moved too near the fingerboard, emitting a dull, unfocused tone. After several further attempts, however, the man found that sweet spot somewhere in between, and, as the bow moved across the strings, out of the violin came a sustained and most pleasing, pure sound. It was only a single note on an open string, but, still holding the violin and bow, he lifted his head and roared with laughter out of sheer joy.
Was it the joy of accomplishing the first step in learning a new instrument along with the ones the man already knew? Or was that single note a way to connect us listening to him in the growing darkness—us tourist hikers, the man’s village friends, and the porters, all rejoicing with him through the power, the miracle, of music?
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Comments
Dear Arnie, you did it again! This story was so unique and beautifully written as always.
Although I am very impressed with the fact that 35 years ago, you climb these unbelievable peaks and had an experience of a lifetime, I’m even more impressed at the sociocultural event that you inspired with your violin, taking this young man, seriously, resulting in his successful attempt at discovering the ability to produce sound on an instrument, he had never even heard of let alone heard. What wonderful memories you have. Surely you will live forever looking back at all the amazing events of your life and forward to more wonderful life ahead. Ted and I both send our love and our admiration,Judii
Arnold, I always intend to write to you after reading one of your lovely nuggets. But I’m 72 now, and who knows how much longer we will be around, so I thought I’d better do it now! We met years ago at concerts in Laguna Beach and the short-lived string quartet congress (conference) at the University of Maryland. I was the cellist of the Angeles and NY Quartets, and after leaving Juilliard in 1978, I have made my home in the LA area for the last 45 years. I had a successful run in the Hollywood studios, but I wanted you to know that your playing in the Guarneri greatly influenced my love of music and your musicianship was always an inspiration to me. I’m still playing (how can we ever not?), and my wife and I have been dislocated from our home since the Eaton Fire on January 7th. We will be back there after the house is cleared of the lead and asbestos (and whatever other toxins are out there), and I’m looking forward to reading some chamber music with friends and getting back to music. Thanks for your stories and all the years of your wonderful music-making. One more thing, I had the fabulous opportunity of playing the Dvorak 5tet with Victor at the Oregon Bach Festival some 25 years or so ago. What a fine pianist and a great guy! Stay safe and well. All the best, Steve E.
wonderful
What a wonderful story! Thank you!
Beautiful story! Thanks!
Dear Arnold – this is such a moving story!
The pure joy of creating an unknown sound for the first time,
and the also the joy of sharing this miracle of music across the language barrier.
Thank you for sharing – love your stories!
Julie Ayer, former Gingold student, 1972-75
I too went to Machu Picchu but didn’t have such a wonderful sharing experience. Another great tale from an astonishing life with a fiddle.
Arnold, I enjoy all your Strawberry entries but LOVE this one!
great story arnold. and the cremonese made it through too, obviously… sandy
but my manouk papazian classical guitar would have never made it through such a trip. too big. even if it could have, those guys would have played circles around me…
Lovely story… You might enjoy Judith Glyde’s (cellist Manhattan String Quartet) book about spending her sabbatical in the remote Himalayas with her cello studying and memorizing the 6 cello suites by Bach. “Under the Goddess of the Sky: A journey through Solitude, Bach, and the Himalayas”.
Another great story beautifully told…that man was overjoyed at making a new sound…didn’t you play Bach’s Chaccone way up there ? Were there also listeners ? Thanks yet again !!
Thank you so much for this amazing and moving story. It put my husband and me back on the Inca trail which we also hiked in 2004 when we were 64 and 62. You described it all so vividly, including the porters in their flip flops some of whom were as old as we were. And now our memories of that hike will be embedded with the imagination of teaching a young Inca descendent the joy of making a beautiful sound on the violin.
A well-told tale, absorbing in several ways.
It’s rare enough in fiction and even more so in actuality to come across a poetic symmetry so neatly embodied in your memorable interaction with the Incan musician. That mutually rewarding exchange of approaches to artistic expression remains, I imagine, as inspiring to him as it is to you.
Long ago, my circle in college talked about “art” as much, if not more, than we practiced it. By nature an eclectic, I felt and still do that my creative capacity is enriched not enfeebled by perspectives and experiences quite unlike mine.
A recurring focus of our youthful musing was “the most accurate definition of art.” Many of our efforts were clever, but I trained my attention on the senses and came up with this attempt, which asks for a certain amount of conceptual leeway: “Art is a blind woman listening to a deaf man sing the song of her beauty.” I hadn’t thought of it in decades, but your account of a serendipitous meeting in the Andes brought it to mind.
To answer your question, I think the Inca’s happiness might well have been due to both possibilities you cite.
Thank you for another most enjoyable post.
I love this story. Dodo’s photographs and your historical and human perspective, and of course, your humor, taunt me into thinking I was on that trip too. I wasn’t. But I was sort of by your telling of it. Thank you. , Arnold.
So delightful to read your memories of discovering Machu Pichu,
and sharing your joy with all of us! Great photo of course! You bring the wide world to us! W.
Beautiful story, so well written. And how wonderful that you have Dodo’s photo , which captures that exquisite visual moment of so many years ago. What a gift you gave (and received) on your journey to Machu Picchu.Thank goodness you are an adventurer as well as an artist, even chancing to practice on a violin (not yours) on a mountain in Peru. If you had stayed back in Lima to practice on your own fiddle, think of all you would’ve missed!
I love all your stories. This one is special, made all the more poignant by a week-long immersion in the Ensemble string and piano trios and quartets at Music@Menlo. All of these talented musicians would love to have an Incan encounter– like the one you so poetically describe! Thanks for all of your stories.
Hi Professor Steinhardt! I’ve loved reading your books indivisible by four and violin dreams ! I’ve been a fan of yours since I was 14 and I just completed a DMA in violin at USC! I’m currently based in LA and wondering if I could have the honor of playing for you ?
Dear Mr Steinhardt,
Your carefully wrought essays encourage re-reading. With it, I better appreciate their scope and detail.
Case in point: Your description of the absolute necessity of daily practice goes well beyond the obvious, and you’ve smoothly woven it into the logistical challenges of staying “in tune” while traveling to a remote destination.
Aside from that, in searching for your blog today, I came across your charming 2011 essay on practicing in your early years. The musical history you cite — in this case, personal — is always informative. Who’d have expected your family’s boarder to be a concert pianist studying under Olga Samaroff (of Galveston, neé Lucy Mary Agnes Hickenlooper), eventual wife of her protegé, Leopold Stokowski?
Many thanks.
Just discovered this web site (Actually Arnold told me about it). I had the pleasure of meeting Arnold and the Guarneri several years ago when they performed for several years for the June Music Festival in Albuquerque, NM. It was an honor for me to be one of the sponsors of the festival. After the performances the quartet, my wife and I and 4 or 5 other friends would go out for pizza and beer and on Sunday they would attend a Lox and bagel breakfast at our house with our friends. Arnold, David and Michael (the 4th would usually be out on the golf course) would entertain us with wonderful stories mostly humorous. After many many years Arnold is back in NM within an hours driving distance and we have reconnected. I look forward to many more years of freindship.
Sitting here on Duke Ellington Blvd (as you and Dorothea have done for decades), we are looking down the Hudson over the rooftops of the Seven Beauties, the aptly named houses on Riverside between W106 and 105. But thanks to you, we are breathing the high mountain air of Machu Picchu and hearing that one perfect note rising from the old violin in the hands of the young Andean musician. The spirits of the Lenape people who occupied this place centuries before us are lifted into the present like a wellspring. Thank you for connecting us all. Dan and Eileen
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