Exploring Peru and its famous sites is even more meaningful when the moments are shared with members of the local community.

Arms linked, they stand together, a bright blaze of colour unfurled like a ribbon amid the muted green tones and ethereal mist of the cloud forest. A low rumble of thunder reverberates through the jungle-coated mountains, bouncing off Machu Picchu’s vertiginous terraces and threatening to shake the 15th-century fortress off its improbable perch and send it crumbling into the frothing brown Urubamba River, 600 metres below. But the 16 women from Huilloc Alto, a tiny mountain village high in Peru’s Sacred Valley, look completely at peace, gazing down silently – almost defiantly – on the famous citadel their ancestors built, a place they never thought they’d see with their own eyes. Today is their ultimate homecoming.

“The mamas were so happy when they learned they were going to Machu Picchu, they were jumping," says our Intrepid Travel guide Norma Caller who, like the ‘mamas’, speaks Quechua, the Indigenous language of the Inca Empire. It’s been almost 500 years since the Spanish conquest of Peru, but the cultural dislocation caused by colonisation is still felt acutely, especially here in the highlands. Machu Picchu is special because the Conquistadors never found it, so could never destroy it.

Managing the surging numbers of tourists wanting to visit the UNESCO World Heritage site is a hot-button topic in Peru. Daily visitor capacity has been raised to 5600 during peak season, but the cruel irony is that the Indigenous people to whom Machu Picchu means the most will likely never be able to afford to go there.

This is the first time Intrepid Travel has invited members of a local community to join a tour to Machu Picchu, but it won’t be the last. Experiencing Peru through the lens of the locals is at the heart of Intrepid’s nine-day Classic Peru itinerary, which takes in everything from cosmopolitan Lima to the remote, floating reed islands of the Uros people on Lake Titicaca.

Standing together at Machu Picchu, the mamas already feel like old friends. We met them the day before in their village above the town of Ollantaytambo, dressed as they are today in bright red jobona jackets, pollera skirts embroidered with patterns, hand-woven shawls called lliklla and basket-like montera hats filled with fabric flowers.

Everything they wear they’ve made themselves, woven on a backstrap loom with the aid of condor bones and wooden pegs, an ancient technique that’s been part of Andean culture for more than 5000 years.

The universal language of a mother’s love

We disembark our minivan to a soundtrack of roosters and donkeys, followed by a startling BANG! Norma glances casually over her shoulder. “Exploding stone," she explains. “Someone put the wrong rock in the pachamanca."

A pachamanca is an earth oven, similar to the Māori hangi I grew up with in New Zealand/Aotearoa. Chicken, potatoes, plantain and lima beans are arranged among fire-heated stones, covered with banana leaves and hessian, then left to cook while we get to know the mamas, who are part of a weaving collective run by a social enterprise called Awamaki, an Intrepid Foundation partner.

The onomatopoeic word for children in Quechuan is wawa, and the mamas introduce themselves by declaring proudly how many wawas they have (some boast up to eight). Our tour group’s tallies are pathetic in comparison.

To secure the best possible future for their children, the mamas weave exquisite garments and textiles such as chumpi (a type of belt) bags, ponchos, rugs and more. A demonstration on how to spin alpaca wool into yarn, using a hand-held spindle called a pushka, follows. I’m terrified we’ll be asked to have a go, and of course we are. My efforts at spinning are predictably woeful, but my instructor Benita is patient (or at least amused) and waits at least two minutes before mercifully confiscating my pushka.

The colours of the textiles are rich and earthy, created from dyes derived entirely from natural sources such as flowers, minerals, moss and roots. The vivid red that dominates Peruvian patterns comes from the cactus-dwelling cochineal insect, which, once collected, is dried, ground into a fine powder and mixed with lemon, salt or fermented urine to tweak the tint. The little bugs don’t come cheap, either, with the mamas paying 280 sols (about $115) per kilogram. A simple scarf can take up to a month to make.

One of the mamas, Josefina Cruz, tells us that all the money she earns goes directly towards her children and her house. “I am so thankful you have come," she says, “because it’s making a huge difference to our lives."

A new era for travel and tourism in Peru

A concerted effort by the Peruvian government is also being made to integrate locals and tourists in a more collaborative way and to provide opportunities for Peruvians to discover the wonders of their own country. We experience an unscripted example of this on the road from Cusco to Puno, at the archaeological site of Raqch’i, home to the ruins of the Temple of Wiracocha, built in the 1400s as a monument to the pre-Inca deity and creator of the universe. A battered stone wall 92 metres long stands behind a few crumbling columns, all that’s left after the Spanish destroyed the temple in the 16th century.

As we stand around contemplating the ruins, a group of Peruvian women dressed in traditional clothing approaches us shyly but inquisitively. We learn they’re from an Indigenous community in Altiplano, the high plateau region near Puno, and are visiting tourist sites as part of a program run by the Ministry of Social Development and Inclusion.

The sight of ‘gringos’ is clearly a novelty to them, and they politely ask to take photos with us. It’s a charming reversal of the usual tourism routine and so fitting on a trip like this, where tourism norms and cultural barriers are being continually broken.

Connecting through cuisine: A homestay in Llachon

We leave the women to their sightseeing and continue south to the shores of Lake Titicaca for an overnight homestay with families from the village of Llachon. It’s a rewarding – and very hands-on – insight into the daily lives of the locals, as we help them harvest potatoes and prepare meals, which begin with a ritual offering to Mother Earth.

Vegetables, tubers and cereals are the staple foods, supplemented by fish from the lake, and perhaps a llama sacrificed for a special occasion. We sit down for semolina soup with our host families as a full moon rises above the lake, casting a silver shimmer across the water, and life suddenly seems so simple.

Eating responsibly is a huge part of the Intrepid ethos. Back in Cusco, we enjoy a meal at Nuna Raymi, a restaurant that sources all its produce from family farms within 13 nearby provinces.

Chef Eric brings out four different types of potatoes as appetisers (there are more than 4000 varieties of potatoes in Peru), served with wild tomato and uchucuta, a spicy pepper sauce made from ground chillies. He explains how these organic potatoes, high in antioxidants and bursting with flavour, have been championed by top restaurants and chefs, leading to a surge in demand. “Fifteen years ago, you couldn’t find these potatoes in the markets in Cusco. Now they’re everywhere."

Eric introduces us to one of the farmers, Julio Cruz, who arrives at our table wearing a traditional poncho, handmade by his mother and embroidered with the ancient iconography of the area – llamas, flamingos, hummingbirds and pumas. He explains how partnerships with restaurants such as Nuna Raymi help ensure that farmers are paid a fair price for their produce, and that communities have a sustainable future.

Our time at Machu Picchu comes to an end. Justina takes a final look over her shoulder at the wondrous, mysterious city in the cloud forest. “Coming here reminds us that we are Incas," she says, on behalf of the mamas. “We feel even more connected to our ancestors."

Back in Ollantaytambo we give a final hug to the mamas and watch them head off back into the mountains, where their wawas are waiting. It feels like goodbye, but it can’t be, because in Quechuan no such word exists. Instead, the mamas’ parting word is tupananchiskama. “Until life makes us meet again."