"Peru "
Friday Night, April 3, Dallas-Fort Worth Airport:
I forgot to sign my passport. The gentleman at the American Airlines counter in DFW airport was quick to point that out, mocking me and my obvious lack of international travel experience. Other than a few brief excursions to Mexico for surf, tequila and tourist crap, I have never ventured outside our little economic safe haven.
My flight to Peru left DFW at about 9 PM on Friday, April third. We flew all night; six and one half hours to Lima. I met with my friend Darren in the terminal at DFW. Darren, in pre-flight absent mindedness, forgot to lock his suitcase, and had requested the American Airlines personnel to (get this), pull it off the plane so he could correct his error. "Excuse me Mr. Flight Attendant. My bag filled with expensive hiking gear is unlocked and vulnerable. Would you be so kind as to ask the nice, underpaid and overworked ground crew to find it and bring it to me?" After waiting about half an hour, Darren gave up on this course of action, assumed all his gear was now evenly distributed amongst the men on the tarmac, and we left to find beer.
In the DFW bar I met Darren's friends for the first time: Noel and his girlfriend Shina, Laura and her sweetie, Steve, and Jay, Darren's old fraternity brother. All of them were based in the San Francisco area.
Steve was an interesting guy - an experienced traveler and quick wit with a knack for storytelling. He had stories that were so outrageous you knew they had to be true (no one could make that stuff up).
Jay was the wild boy of the bunch. When he and Darren got together, look out. The two were constantly gambling, smoking, drinking, and carousing - regular Rat Pack. I liked them right away - even if they did take me to the cleaners playing Liar's Dice. Jay is virtually unbeatable at this game of BS. I think Darren has to make Jay's next house payment to cover his losses, but he did smoke several hundred bucks worth of Jay's prized Cubans during the trip. I suppose it all works out in the end.
The fact that I ended up rooming with these wild boys is a bit ironic. I am just one kick to the head shy of joining the priesthood. I've been told I could make a monk proud. I don't drink, smoke, gamble, and I'm usually too shy or oblivious to carouse effectively (not for lack of trying). Needless to say, I was in deep. But, what the hell - I'm on vacation.
I ended up near the back of the plane on the way to Lima. Darren was up front with Jay, and both were next to three VERY attractive, young and single women from Lima. I half expected to end up next to George's parents from Seinfeld fame, but thankfully, I sat next to a very nice couple from Austin. Still, given the choice, I would have picked the three Peruvian ladies who were gracing Darren and Jay with their presence.
It took Jay just under a New York minute to have the drinks poured, the numbers exchanged, and a card game started. Darren lucked out the most. He got to spend his 14 hour layover in Lima with them on his return trip home. I just sat in the back and sulked.
Saturday, April 4, Peru, Day 1:
We reached Lima just before 6 AM. I had my first taste of Inca Kola - "la bebida de Peru". Tastes like carbonated Bazooka Bubble Gum and offered some none too pleasant gastronomic after effects. I leave it for the Peruvians (burp).
From Lima we flew to Cuzco, the one-time capital of the Inca empire and current tourist capital of South America. There must be 100 hostels in Cuzco. Tourists abound. Cuzco is an ancient city. The streets are narrow cobblestone - all fitted by hand even today. The oldest buildings are supported by foundations of Inca stone.
Like most of Latin America, children and street vendors bustle about, trying to squeak out a living. "Chiklete, señor?" (rattle, rattle). Take a picture of a traditionally clad Quechua child, and it will cost you. Usually a sol or two (about 2.8 solares will get you a buck). No big deal, but I hadn't converted any money yet, and my smallest bill was a five. So I got a five dollar picture of three kids with their mom. Better be a damn good shot.
Our guide, Daniel, picked us up at the airport, took us to the hotel and then out to lunch. From the beginning, Daniel had everything covered. He knew the history, was totally organized, and solved any problems. If you are traveling to Peru on a limited time budget, let me tell you, Daniel is DA-MAN. The guy needs a cape and a theme song.
We had dinner at El Truco, the best restaurant in Cuzco. Still full from lunch, I ordered only a fruit salad. Little did I know we were splitting the bill evenly among us. As a result, I enjoyed a $25 fruit salad that fit neatly inside a coffee cup. Chalk that one up to experience.
Cuzco did spank me a bit the first day. It is located at about 11,000 feet in the Andes. The altitude gave me a headache -- one that even 1200 milligrams of good old vitamin I (ibuprofen) couldn't handle. I guess oxygen is a good thing.
We stayed the first few nights at the Posada del Inca right on the Plaza de Armas. Yep, center of all the action. Clean sheets, HBO, and hot water. Can't ask for more in a hotel! Well, maybe a French chamber maid, but that's a different issue all together.
We drove through the traditional Cuzco open market. Imagine several thousand Cuzconians, farm animals, and about 100 dogs all milling around in a street no wider than ten meters. On display is every grocery item imaginable, including the chickens and pigs that occasionally dart across the road. Coming from the land of the sterile, safe and stench-free, this market was sensory overload. I loved it.
We visited an Alpaca product warehouse. An Alpaca is a llama unfortunate enough to have been born with the softest wool in the world. And we gringos are willing to shell out the bucks for it's hide. I wonder what kind of kickbacks Daniel gets for bringing a busload of rich gringos to these places. Darren bought a queen size Alpaca bed spread. Jay made some comment about Darren wrapped up in that thing like a big Alpaca burrito, and Darren promises to let him know how often the new "Alpaca of love" works for him.
Sunday, April 5, Day 2:
I woke up Sunday morning to the sound of explosions. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I shot up out of bed, completely unaware of where I was and what was going on. "Oh, yeah, I'm in South America". For some reason, that was enough to satisfy my sleep deprived mind, and I went back to bed. Incidentally, the explosions were from firecrackers for some unknown holy day. Apparently, Cuzconians prefer to celebrate with gun powder at about 7 AM.
Daniel picks us up and drives us to the Urubamba - the sacred valley. On the way there, we saw our first Inca ruins: Puca Pucara. I even got to pet my first llama. And for only five solares; what a deal! For just ten solares I could tick him off and get a face full of Alpaca saliva. I decided to save that experience for another day.
Further down the road, while admiring a stunning Andes vista, we were presented with a compelling photo opportunity of the business end of a cow expelling the contents of its bowels (to quote Jay, "taking a growler") right in front of the van. Got a nice close up for the photo album. Chances are, that's the only shot that develops.
OBSERVATION: Peru is indeed a third-world nation. The people live in crude adobe houses, plumbing is uncommon, and farms dot the landscape. Dogs and livestock are as common in town as in the fields. The people are very friendly and have a keen and familiar sense of humor. I never felt unsafe, and never met anyone I didn't like.
We stopped in Pisac to shop in the traditional outdoor market. Handicrafts, produce, butchered and unbutchered meat (the e-coli playground), and lots of interesting tourist crap. Painted gourds, pornographic key chains and pipes, little wooden chess sets, Alpaca everything, and loads of Peruvian pan flutes (for those tourists who want to take up a new instrument). I loved it - and I have lots of interesting tourist crap to prove it.
We made it to Ollantaytambo around 11 AM. This is the only living Inca city in existence, and the first big ruin we saw. It was actually under construction when the Spaniards arrived in the 1500s. They weren't the best house guests. Showed up at the party and rather rudely "borrowed" all the gold. And don't get me started about hygiene! They should have washed their hands. Managed to kill most of the guests with all those damn European diseases, and after just a few drinks they decided to kill whoever was left while they were at it.
Ollantaytambo was an amazing sight. Huge stones, carved to interlock with up to six other blocks formed the foundation of the walls. Some of these stones weigh as much as 12 tons and were brought in from sites many kilometers away. Don't forget they hauled these stones up hundreds of stairs. Those new age fantasies about alien involvement don't seem so far fetched when you observe the work first hand.
We took a different road up from the valley that evening. That drive back to Cuzco offered perhaps the most spectacularly beautiful scenery I had ever witnessed. The high clouds move out at night, exposing the upper Andes all decorated with glaciers and snow. The evening light brought out the rich colors of the Peruvian landscape, colors found in the thousands of small farms that quilt the countryside to the Urubamba River below. These vistas were sensational. I remained glued to the window of the bus for the remainder of the trip.
OBSERVATION: In Peru, lots of towns have houses that offer beer to the weary traveler. Usually Cristal or Cuzqueño - the spirits of choice in Peru. They advertise this by hanging a red flag or bag on a stick outside a window or door. In some towns every other home features this Peruvian version of the neon Bud Light sign. Yes, a red beacon for alcoholics, guiding them in from the road. We must have passed a hundred of these mini-bars on the way to Ollantaytambo. Talk about a beer crawl! I wonder if Darren and Jay were up to the challenge. Dos Mas Cuzqueños por favor!!!
We arrived in Cuzco fairly late. Darren, Jay and I went out for a quick bite with every intention of getting back early to prepare for our trek to Machu Picchu. How quickly those intentions are forgotten.
After three restaurants in Gringo Alley, forty games of Liar's Dice, and God knows how many Cuzqueño Grandes, it was pushing midnight, and we needed to be up a 5 AM. I quietly reminded Jay and Darren that we still had to pack. Nothing like a shot of reality to screw up a perfectly good party. Jimbo, always the voice of reason. Of course, had I been winning at dice, we might still be there. However, I was spanked like a buck-tooth kid from Arkansas with an alcoholic pop. I won not a single game, and Darren and Jay enjoyed several rounds of Cuzqueño due to my lack of experience and/or inability to lie. You know, gambling is a lot more fun when you win...
Monday, April 6, Day 3:
Up and at em kiddies! It's 5:30 AM and you spent last night drinking Cuzqueños and smoking Cubans. Jimbo, your hero and the consummate prude awoke fresh and ready to go. Darren and Jay...well, let's just say they had seen better mornings. Nothing like a four-day trek with a hangover. Jay looked pretty bad. Normally the jovial prankster, mere consciousness was Jay's enemy this morning.
The road to the trail was for the most part uneventful. When we reached Urubamba we stopped to select the porters. Immediately, a throng of smiling, anxious Peruvians surrounded Daniel's assistant as he chose his crew. The process reminded me of fifth grade recess. Everyone is lined up for kickball, just hoping they don't get picked last. I wonder if there are a couple of overweight porters who end up shuffling away to the Quechua taunts of the more athletic porters.
Several kilometers from the trail head, El Niño had washed out a tiny bridge. A tour bus ahead of us got a little overconfident and was stuck mid-river. Ten or twenty porters immediately swarmed over the bus, eventually rocking it back to safety. Our bus made the swim without hesitation - to both our relief and delight.
At about 10 AM I strapped on the pack and began a-walkin. This first day was relatively easy. A few small hills, and a couple steep descents. The hardest part was getting used to the pack. The dogs started barking at about 3 PM, mostly due to a lack of training. My feet had never had to support 40 pounds of gear.
We made camp in Wayllabamba at small farm on the trail. Nothing like sharing a bed with two donkeys, a handful of dogs, a pig, two turkeys, and whole mess of chickens. Built in alarm clocks, those roosters. Up at dawn was no problem for them. Hell, up at four was no problem for them.
At the campsite, I met a number of other trekkers from a different tour. Most of them were young, international gen-xers, traveling extensively in South America. Matt was a New Yorker and soon to be medical student. Lilly, the pierced Swiss student was with her friend Tim from Germany. Rose, the object of virtually everyone's affection (mine included), was a very attractive 27 year old lawyer from Brazil. Noam and Avi were the lady charmers from Israel. Peru is certainly a favorite destination of travelers in South America. I met dozens of people from around the world during my short stay there.
Tuesday, April 7, Day 4:
The big hurt. The second day of our four-day hike is the gut buster. An elevation gain of 1000 meters all before 1 PM, and most of that without shade. I started out OK. A couple hot spots on my heels, but nothing that a little Moleskin couldn't take care of. But as I pushed upward, the altitude began to take a toll. First came the headache; a constant constriction like some medieval torture device squeezing my brain from inside my skull. Why did those damn Incas have to put their temples so high in the mountains?
By the time I reached the 3500 meters the nausea and dizziness set in. I got to know lots of people that day. Pretty much everyone who passed me up on the trail. Actually, this was how I met Rose. She passed me wearing a cocoa leaf stuck to her forehead (for inspiration I suppose). I think I was the last person in Peru to reach the summit that day. Porters were lapping me - mocking the sorry, wheezing little gringo from sea level with all that expensive trekking gear as they zipped up the trail, using only a blanket as a backpack and two-dollar plastic sandals on their feet.
Along the way I was offered cocoa leaves to help alleviate the altitude sickness. A porter even offered to carry my pack. I would have nothing to do with it. My goal from the outset was to complete the trek, sans stimulants and carrying my own weight.
I reached the peak of 4200 meters (Warmi Wanuska) at about 1 PM. Lunch brought little relief even though my main course was 900 milligrams of Vitamin I. After a long slow descent down to our camp at 3290 meters, I sat down and closed my eyes.
That's when it started to rain.
The hike had put us into the wet part of the Andes. From the ridge where we ate lunch we watched the clouds roll toward us. Right about 3 PM, Pachamama (Mother Earth in Quechua) turned on the tap. It came down and came down hard for about two hours. Thankfully, it really didn't begin to pour until after I had put up the tent.
Several tours were caught in the downpour and arrived at the camp site looking something less than miserable. I watched as the hikers stumbled in from the storm. Most of them were not prepared for the climate change. While my drenched neighbors watched, I casually reached into my bag and pulled out my fleece pants and jacket, followed by my nylon rain pants and "Goretex" jacket. Yes, my preparations for Pachamama's bastard son, El Niño paid off in the end. Color me Cub Scout blue!
That evening, the clouds broke and mysteriously rolled back off the once invisible Andes. Slowly, peak after peak came into view, and the sun gave us one last burst of color before retiring for the evening.
Wednesday, April 8, Day 5:
I woke free of the altitude sickness that handicapped my climb. A beautiful morning, we fueled up on pancakes and eggs. Daniel had it covered and kept the crew VERY well fed. This would be our last day of hiking. The third day is the longest hike; we cover most of the actual distance this day. The hills are not terrible. Only one steep climb at the beginning of the day. The third day also brings us to four spectacular Inca ruins: Runcuracay, Rumiwasi, Phuyupatamarca, and Winaywayna.
The trail drops ever further into the Andean forest - sometimes disappearing into hollowed caves in the rock. Dozens of streams and waterfalls carve up the landscape, and the threat of afternoon showers is ever-present. Not wanting to get caught in a storm like my fellow travelers, I put on my rain pants in the afternoon and covered my pack.
I began my descent down the famous thousand stone steps that lead to the Machu Picchu trail. Count them: One thousand rugged, stone steps. All the way down for two hours. Can you say, "torn ACL"? How about "rolled ankle"? Thank God for trekking poles.
It never did rain. I made camp by 3:30 PM. Having just spent the last two and one half hours in water-proof (read sweat-proof) rain gear, the pants became virtual water balloons, catching what seemed like ten or twenty gallons of sweat. I was drenched. In my effort to protect myself from the rain, I ended up soaking myself in my own perspiration.
The final camp site prior to Machu Picchu is a base camp for all the Inca Trail hikers. It even comes complete with showers and a bar. The showers are terribly cold - and worth every drop. It felt wonderful to shed the three days of trail dirt and sweat. I was presentable again. But just barely.
OBSERVATION: Base camp is always busy - especially in the evening when all of the tour groups have arrived. It's filled with several hundred hikers, guides, cooks, and porters. People from all over the world. A dozen languages can be heard in any conversation. Everyone is filthy, stinking, tired, and generally happy.
Just before dusk we set out on the short walk to Winaywayna. Winaywayna is an Inca ruin set into side of a mountain, thought once to be a supply center for Machu Picchu. Winaywayna is loosely defined as "Forever Young". An odd name for a ruin, wouldn't you agree?
Winaywayna was the highlight of my vacation. This ruin is literally carved into the mountainside. Dozens of terraces cascade toward the valley below. A procession of ritual baths is fueled by natural spring. The water in these baths has run unfettered for perhaps a thousand years. Precisely carved stones form the walls of Winaywayna. Like all Inca walls, they use no mortar, yet have withstood countless earthquakes and the relentless expansion of the forest.
Winaywayna is perhaps the most spectacular place I have ever seen. From the terraces of Winaywayna, you can see the winding Urubamba river several thousand feet below. Above you can see the glacier capped Andes, and your ears are filled with the sounds of a waterfall just east of the ruin.
As the sun fell, the clouds revealed their Andean prizes, and the moon illuminated the mountains and cast an ethereal glow over the ruins. I have rarely been so moved by a place.
Jay took it upon himself to test out the ritual baths, and as instructed by Inca tradition, stripped, and placed his naked body under the running water - to the amazement of everyone else in the park. What he didn't know is that Daniel would later request that we all do the same (although nudity was at our own discretion). So Jay again presented himself in all his glory to the Pachamama, only this time with a shout of "pequeño pepe!" One at a time the rest of the group followed Jay's lead (although some of the group chose to remain at least partially clothed). I alone decided to abstain from the ritual bath. I don't much care for ritual anything, nor am I a big fan of public nudity or follow the leader. Color me prude.
Perhaps I do have some doubts about my withdrawal. But I have no regrets. I always keep my own pace and never did follow the beat of someonelse's drum. Regardless, Winaywayna is still magical to me, whether or not I gave her "the full monty".
I went to bed at about nine. I woke up an hour later, nauseated, shivering and feverish. By eleven, I was out of the tent, pacing in anticipation of impending vomitus. Vomiting inside of one's sleeping bag is not generally recommended by the helpful folks at REI. I spent the rest of the night outside my tent, shaking uncontrollably.
Thursday, April 9, Day 6:
Jay's alarm went off at 3 AM, and the group prepared for the final trek to Machu Picchu before sunrise. I had fought off the nausea, and was ready for the final leg of the trek, my reason for visiting Peru. I declined breakfast for obvious reasons, and made the hike on an empty stomach. We reached Intipuncu, an outpost overlooking the sacred city by 5 AM, and waited for the sun to arrive.
As the sun brought Machu Picchu into view, you could see the famous, rugged peak of Winay Picchu (Young Mountain) illuminated by the first rays of the morning. Over the next two hours we watched as the sun delivered the full splendor of Machu Picchu.
We were the first people to arrive at Machu Picchu. By 7AM, about a hundred other trekkers had joined us on the ridge before we set off down the trail into the sacred city.
Machu Picchu is as spectacular as any picture or postcard you have seen. You can sense how important this place was to the Inca people. You can see it in the location and in the construction. The vistas at Machu Picchu are beyond compare, and the Inca engineering is astounding. I visited Machu Picchu twice that day, and shot two full rolls of film. I just wandered, touched, sat and watched.
To be perfectly honest, by the time I made my second trip up to Machu Picchu, the overabundance of tourists drastically took away from the location's majesty. You spend four days trekking to arrive, and when you get there, the place is swarming with fat gringos, all wearing tacky t-shirts and ugly sun hats. Machu Picchu no longer feels remote, mysterious and ancient. Perhaps that's why Winaywayna had a greater impact on me.
By about three, the nausea overwhelmed me again, and this time, it stuck around. I spent the next two days curled up alone, shaking uncontrollably at random intervals. Jimbo, the human vibrator. I had no appetite, and was unable or unwilling to eat more than fruit salad until Sunday.
Friday, April 10, Day 7:
They kicked me out of the hotel bed at 10 AM. I sat in the lobby until about three, before boarding the train back to Urubamba and the bus back to Cuzco. I started a cycle of the antibiotic "Cypro". Feeling a little better.
Saturday April 11, Day 8:
Spent most of the day in bed at the Hotel Liberatador. HBO is a good thing when you are sick. Watched a half-dozen movies with Spanish subtitles that I had already seen before. I did drag myself out of bed to visit some archeological sites in the afternoon. I felt good enough at about 10 PM to head out to "Mama Africa", a popular night club in Cuzco where many of my fellow travelers were meeting. And besides, Jay needs a wing man now that Darren has flown back to Cali. I made it to Mama Africa too early for any sort of night scene. Not feeling up for a late night of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and music, I went back to the hotel and crashed in front of the tube.
Easter Sunday, April 12, Day 9:
The Cypro finally killed the last of that wretched bacteria, and I was up to my old tricks again. I did miss Easter Mass (don't tell my mother), but I managed to watch the parade and celebration in the Plaza de Armas. Somehow (perhaps due to my inability to understand Spanish) I failed to see the connection between Christ's resurrection and victory over death and sin, and the Peruvian armed forces who were awkwardly goose stepping through the plaza. I must be missing something.
I spent much of the afternoon speaking with an interesting older gentleman from Cuzco. He was a retired professor of Inca history at the local university. Although a very charming gentleman, I couldn't shake the feeling this guy was trying to sell me something.
His conversation was a bit odd. He asked about my family, work, and where I lived - the usual small talk. Then he asked about girl friends and proceeded to tell me he recently had sex with three different women in a week. Old guy has a WAY better track record than me, but regardless, it seemed like a weird subject to bring up with a stranger. He was also practicing his English, and had a note book with words he had written down. He asked me to help him with the pronunciation. Some of the words were innocent enough: "Hall", "fascinate", "smile", etc. However, his list also included "defecate", "erection", and "urinate". I don't know where he found those words. Could have been a Harold Robins novel, could have been his new pamphlet on prostate problems. Thankfully, I'll never know. As it turns out, he was indeed trying to sell me something. He tried to convince me to get some sort of city pass or tour. I politely declined and continued writing my essay notes in the afternoon sunshine. Everyone's selling something...
That night, I met with Matt, Avi, Noam, and Jemma at "Uptown", a popular club with free drinks before 10 PM. The night life in Cuzco is excellent. Lots of international twenty-somethings running around in filthy clothes, sans-attitudes, drinking, smoking, and dancing until about 4 AM. Uptown is a very popular spot, but Mama Africa seems to get the most traffic later in the evening. Sooner or later, we always seem to end up in Mama Africa.
Holy Monday, April 13, Day 10:
I had stayed out so late the night before that I missed the big Easter Monday celebration and procession. I did, however, wake up to some more explosions. They really need to schedule their fireworks at more opportune hours.
Pretty slow day for Jimbo. I packed everything up in the morning, and proceeded to the plaza to continue working on my notes. In the plaza I met four young children. They spoke no English, I spoke almost as much Spanish, yet we spent the next two hours communicating with one word sentences, and drawing pictures in my note pad. Terrific kids, they were curious about everything, especially how much stuff costs. "Cuantos? Cuantos? Cuantos?" They wanted to know how much I spent on the pen, the pad, the boots, the camera, the watch, my car, my house. I offered answers for the little items, but how do you explain finance options, lease payments, cost of living increases, and rent checks to kids, aged 3 - 10, none of whom speak your language? I just responded with "no se" or avoided the issue all together.
Like all children, they always wanted something. Gotta grub a solare or two whenever possible. I work at a Boys and Girls Club in Irvine. Trust me, it's the same everywhere. Except in Irvine, they want quarters for Skittles, Dr. Pepper or Mortal Kombat. And if they don't get it, they pull a nine millimeter. Actually, that's Santa Ana. In Irvine, they threaten to sue. I bought them ice cream for a few solares, and eventually moved on to a new bench. But I have to admit, they were a real highlight to my time in Cuzco.
Of course, I ran into my old friend the professor again. And again he asked me to read some more words out of his notebook, and again he asked me to get a city pass, and again I politely declined. I give him points for persistence.
Avi and I went to a new club Monday night with about three of his many lady friends. Mirjam was a stunning, 20 year old woman from Switzerland with an amazing smile. We hit it off right away, but alas, I had a flight home the following morning. She does, however, have my number and has promised to call me when she arrives in Los Angeles a few months from now. I met up with Matt again in Mama Africa and bid him farewell and good luck in med school.
Tuesday. April 14, Day 11:
I checked out of the La Cusquenito Hotel, and made my way to the Cuzco airport. I wish cab fare in the states only cost me five solares. I barely made my connection in Lima. I did see one of Darren's friends from our first flight (they were American Airlines employees who had traveled to Dallas for a training seminar). I had my own row for the long flight back over the Caribbean. The plane landed in Dallas at about 5:30 PM to be greeted by my mother and three year old niece, Audrey. She was quite pleased with her new Alpaca teddy bear. I boarded my flight to Orange County by 9 PM and found myself back in the irrigated, mirrored shine of Southern California by 10:15 PM. The vacation was over. Time to start selling some more chemistry software (Oh boy!).
Despite the occasional bout with altitude sickness and a short battle with a nasty little intestinal bacteria, Peru was an exceptional vacation, and I would be thrilled to visit time and time again.
Peru really found me at Winaywayna. At about 8 PM that night, I went back to Winaywayna with the tour group that my new friends, Matt, Avi, Noam, Lilli, and Rose were traveling with. OK, so I went back to flirt with the lovely Rose, but regardless, when they went off to learn about the history of the ruin, I wandered off alone, and just sat quietly on a terrace, staring out at the horizon. I sat alone and stared out at the Andes, the Urubamba valley, and the ruins, all illuminated by the ghostly light of the nearly full moon. I sat silently in this place of extraordinary beauty, and watched a distant star suddenly appear from behind the mountains, and move slowly into the night sky. I sat silently in the presence of history, high in the Andes, and did nothing but watch the world turn. I sat silently, in touch with my soul.
