Belmond Hiram Bingham
It’s not a hotel. It’s not even an overnight train. And yet the Belmond Hiram Bingham offers one of the most elegant, cinematic, and transportive travel experiences in the world—departing early morning from Cusco and returning late the same evening, having carried you not just through a Sacred Valley, but across time.
BACKGROUND
Machu Picchu, perched high in the Andes at nearly 8,000 feet, is the crown jewel of Peru’s Sacred Valley—a lush, river-carved corridor that once formed the spiritual and agricultural heart of the Inca Empire. Built in the 15th century and mysteriously abandoned a hundred years later, the citadel is a marvel of engineering and mysticism, with terraced hillsides, astronomical alignments, and stonework so precise it defies explanation. Nestled between mist-shrouded peaks, it remained hidden from the outside world for centuries, and even today, reaching it feels less like tourism and more like pilgrimage.
The Hiram Bingham train first began service in 2003, offering travelers a glamorous, round-trip rail experience between Cusco and Machu Picchu in the spirit of early 20th-century luxury travel. Operated by Belmond—a company renowned for its iconic trains like the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express and Royal Scotsman—the Hiram Bingham was designed not merely as transportation, but as a rolling celebration of Peru’s culture, cuisine, and landscape.
GETTING THERE
The adventure begins well before your first step aboard. A short drive from the center of Cusco brings you to a modest station that becomes, in an instant, something entirely more refined. A private roped-off lounge is set with elegant chairs, trays of hand-pressed juices and coca tea, and sharp-dressed attendants in richly embroidered Peruvian jackets. As guests sip and mingle, anticipation builds. Then, with a theatrical flourish, the Hiram Bingham glides into view—midnight blue, polished brass, windows gleaming. A literal red carpet is unfurled on the platform. And before boarding, a folklore performance erupts in color and rhythm: dancers twirl in traditional Andean dress, drums beat, and the entire station seems to rise in celebration.
THE JOURNEY
The train itself is an homage to a different era—one where travel was not endured, but savored. Stepping aboard feels like stepping into an Agatha Christie novel: plush armchairs with tall backs and window-side curtains, gleaming brass lamps, dark wood paneling, and white-linen tables that gleam with proper glassware and silver. I barely had time to settle into my seat before being summoned to the Bar Car, where the bartender handed me a leather-bound menu of cocktails unlike any I’d seen—each celebrating native Peruvian ingredients, from coca leaf and lucuma to Andean herbs I couldn’t begin to pronounce.
Beyond the bar, the Observation Car opens to the sky. Glass-paneled walls frame the landscape as it whisks past, and an open-air platform lets the wind and scent of the valley roll over you. From there, the Sacred Valley unfolds in slow, breathtaking vignettes: roaring rivers, patchworks of farmland, eucalyptus forests giving way to desert scrub, then back to jungle. Microclimates shift every few miles. Villages appear and vanish. Locals wave. Mountains rise like myth. The train glides with a steady, rhythmic sway, the soft clatter of wheels on track creating a soundtrack of motion that soothes as the landscape rolls by.
The kitchen hums somewhere in front, and soon the staff begins the first service of the day—a three-course gourmet lunch served with polish and charm. The menu leans Peruvian with a fine-dining finish: trout ceviche with yellow chili, quinoa-stuffed peppers, Andean cheeses, warm bread with native fruit preserves. Wine flows freely, but with grace. It’s indulgent, but never showy. Just right.
By the time we arrived near Aguas Calientes, the gateway town to Machu Picchu, we felt we’d already journeyed somewhere far more profound than geography could measure. From there, we were whisked up winding mountain roads in a private shuttle to the park entrance. Our local Peruvian guide, part scholar, part storyteller, led our small group of five through the forested path toward the site. And then, suddenly, we turned a corner—and there it was.
Machu Picchu. The sunlight broke clean through the clouds as if on cue, illuminating terraces that hung impossibly on the spine of the mountain. It felt like stepping into a dream you didn’t realize you’d been having your whole life. We wandered through temples, storehouses, and sacred plazas, tracing the stonework that had survived centuries of wind, weather, and mystery. Our guide pointed out solar alignments, ceremonial water channels, and architectural secrets that only come to life when someone who loves the place tells its stories. We passed grazing alpacas and quiet corners that felt untouched by time. The air was thin, and yet somehow full.
We learned the story of Machu Picchu’s rediscovery—and the complicated legacy of the man after whom our train was named. American explorer Hiram Bingham III is often credited with "rediscovering" Machu Picchu for the Western world in 1911, though locals had long known of the site. Bingham’s expeditions, funded in part by Yale University and National Geographic, brought international attention to the ruins—but also stirred lasting controversy. During his excavation, Bingham removed thousands of artifacts from the site and transported them to Yale, sparking a decades-long dispute between the university and the Peruvian government over rightful ownership. Though many items were eventually returned, the legacy of Bingham remains complicated—a mix of scholarly achievement and imperial overreach, discovery and appropriation. The train that bears his name nods to that complex history while offering a much more considered, respectful journey to the sacred city in the clouds.
After hours of wandering, our visit ended with tea at the Belmond Sanctuary Lodge—the only hotel at the gates of Machu Picchu—where we enjoyed tea and snacks as we watched the clouds curl around the mountains like smoke from a sacred fire.
The journey home was no less magical. As the sun dipped behind the peaks, we boarded the train once more. The return was celebratory: candlelit dining, traditional music played live in the Bar Car, and a kind of shared joy that pulsed through the cabins. Strangers clinked glasses. New friends traded stories. Outside, the Sacred Valley retreated into shadow.
final thoughts
The Hiram Bingham doesn’t just take you to Machu Picchu—it changes the way you arrive. It reminds you that the journey matters, that style and substance can pair well, and that sometimes the most extraordinary destinations deserve to be approached slowly and deliberately.