Cusco

Hellllooooooo? Is anybody out there?? I'm sorry for postponing this next post until after the holidays, but how the season does catch me up by the ankles and hog tie me in a kind of socializing, over indulging, under achieving, knot.

Anyways I've freed myself from yet another holiday season and am back with more tales from our adventure. Gather round and we'll continue where we left off-- Our arrival in Cusco, & the beginning of the trek to Machu Picchu.

After disembarking from the bus we'd grown to love like a newborn loves the womb, we were feeling out of sorts when our womb spat us to the curb in Cusco, and left us to find our way again. But then came a solution... "no problem, please, I have taxi for you beautiful ladies, anywhere you want to go,". You have to love the peruvian men. Even when our faces were drained of blood & our stomachs furious, they still thought we were beautiful. Being rescued by a wrinkly old taxi driving peruvian had its perks.

Our beds beckoned, so plush, even though the mattresses were solid. Nothing felt better than slipping under the covers. I could have stayed between thosesheets until December, but the universe insisted I meet up with an old pal from a lifetime ago.

The boy who received the last mix tape I ever made was making his way home to England from the Land Down Under, crisscrossing South America with his lovely fiance. And strangely enough, after five years since the last time we saw each other, we happened to be travelling through the same country at the same time. See, insistent Universe.

And one would think after 5 years it might be weird to see the boy who received the last mix tape I ever made, but he was no longer that boy, he was only a very dear friend and I finally got to meet the mystery girl who had stolen his heart, whom I believe is the most perfect match for my friend.

After the reunion I slumped into bed and refused to move from that position until the sun was high above the horizon. Heaven= bed, book, tea. We all felt obligated to cruise through the plazas, making an effort to be touristy, but hanging over our heads was the four day pilgrimage to Machu Picchu and secretly we were all enjoying our last bits of civilized toilets, warm bedding and clean clothes. Pathetic really, but it's true.

Dark smeared the skies long after we'd hopped back into the loving arms of our beds, and s the stars poked through we knew it was time to head to our trekking outfitter's office. Once inside I noticed they locked the doors behind us, perhaps as a way to keep any nervous would-be trekkers from scooting out before the end of the presentation. Seated on hard, orange plastic chairs, 14 people about to take on the Inca trail, sized each other up as a young pot-bellied Peruvian guide named Marco cleared his throat. "Please excuse me if I use words which might offend you, but I speak english as a second language. And know that this isn't the fucking military." Everyone visibly relaxed, sitting back and swallowing the detailed information Marco explained about each day, mile by mile, meter by meter. When he described day two, the brutalist day of the trek, consisting of two passes, the first being Dead Woman's pass 900 meters straight up, Mom stiffened noticeably. I could tell she was worrying. I could practically hear the concerns swimming around her head, wondering if she'd be able to make it, or whether she'd die trying.

But we'd find out soon enough. The plan was to meet in the main square at 4:30 am the following morning. And then there'd be no turning back. Even though all we wanted to do was stay in our lovely beds, we had travelled hundreds of miles to arrive at this place and we were there and committed.