Gosh Papa!!!

Today we take flight to Peru! We are quite excited as we both have been working and studying immensely, and desperately desire to go somewhere else in the world and forget ourselves. With a short drive and a bunch of puddle jumping between airports we made our way down to Peru. This actually saved us a nice sum of money, instead of taking a direct flight. Overall the first flight from LAX to Bogota, Columbia, was pretty uneventful. I kept myself busy with reading and watching in-flight movies, whereas Kelly (my wife and better-half traveling companion) listened to her music and slept. She could sleep through anything, including train wrecks, gunshots, and stampedes, whereas I wake up if someone sneezes in China. So, to say the least, I do not sleep very well while flying. The highlight of this flight was when everyone began to fall asleep from the coma-induced food the airlines served. At this time, only myself, and what appeared to be a dozen or so children on board, were the only ones to remain awake. Now free of their parent’s grasps, they began to meander up and down the aisles—surprisingly proportioned to their size—exploring as far as the confines of the plane would permit. Several times they would pass observing people as they slept, mouths gaped open and deep snores emanating throughout the plane, then they would move on to finish one of several laps they would accomplish before our landing. Their curious minds obviously absorbing the enjoyment of a new and alien environment. Neither Kelly nor I speak Spanish. The few phrases and words I know is enough to get me fed, find a bathroom, and embarrass myself (which happens all too often). So this trip—deep into Latin America—shall be an interesting adventure and cultural exchange, as I will probably find myself using hand gestures and shadow puppetry to communicate. Also, I could not imagine myself taking such a trip without someone to share it with. As long as I’m with Kelly, it does not matter how lost we get in this world. I believe that it is good to have someone you can depend on, but more so it is the shared experiences you receive from traveling that make it all worthwhile. After our arrival in Bogota, confusion for the first time set in. Columbia’s international airport must observe the concept of controlled chaos. If you have a layover at this airport, just expect to be shuttled by a bus from your plane, to your plane, and to exit terminals, only to reenter them again to board your plane. However disorganized this may appear to the Western mentality, it does somehow work, as we had no issues connecting to our next flight or problems with missing luggage. Just find your gate and follow the flow. Also, if you buy something at the airport on a credit card or bankcard, don’t worry if you get a receipt back saying you spent thousands of dollars. I bought a bottle of water that cost me $1,500, however this is in Columbian currency and is much, much less when converted to U.S. dollars. We arrived in Lima around 1:30 a.m., and extremely tired, we went straight to the Ramada—fortunately right across the street from the airport—and promptly went to sleep before our morning flight to Cusco. Due to extreme Jetlag and surrounded by foreign voices I found myself in an interesting kind of delirium as I fell off into a deep slumber.

Our sleep was brief, and our flight to Cusco was even shorter. Surprisingly I slept for a bit of the ride, I accused Kelly of drugging me but she swore she didn’t. It was a beautiful flight in, full of snow-capped mountain peaks, green valleys, and all the beauty only higher elevation geography offers. As we flew into Cusco, a sea of buildings and houses extended far into the distance and climbed every hillside. Their matching rooftops and charming architecture transported the mind back in time, to an age of innocence and old-world ways. When the plane touched down and opened its hatch, Kelly and I were both immediately short of breath and a little dizzy. We knew it was because of Cusco’s elevation sitting around 10,000 feet, whereas our bodies—and heads—were used to sea level. Kelly, in her wisdom, had begun taking Diamox (altitude sickness medication) a day before in Lima, but falling victim to my own machismo ways, I decided to wait and see how my body would react to the higher elevation. In hindsight, this was not a good idea. We picked up our luggage, and were punctually greeted by our guide, Ayul, with a big smile and a sign with our last name in plain print. I asked Ayul if I could call him Azul (Spanish for blue), laughing he promptly replied, “of course, my friends call me that.” For the purpose of this journal however, I will refer to his given name. Ayul appears charming, nice, and a bit of a jokester to top it off. He took us to our hotel where we quickly dropped off our gear, utilized the facilities, and then we were off to explore the rustic city of Cusco. He took us around demonstrating how to navigate the cobbled stone walkways, dodge speeding traffic, and which restaurants to venture and one’s to stay away from. He pointed out how colonial construction was built upon ancient Inca foundations, and how Cusco possesses a long history of culture that extends way before the arrival of the Conquistadors, and continues to this day. One of the churches we visited—just off the main square—was impressive in size and architectural design (emulating European standards of the time), but more so it was completely breathtaking once you stepped inside. Tapestry’s dating back centuries, hung in every available space along long gothic hallways, beautiful ornamentation created in silver and gold filled every room, and a sense of complete calmness and peace entered your very soul. You could immediately tell Ayul’s passion for his country, culture, and its vast history. His insights, along with charismatic humor, brightened our minds with the mysteries and tales of the past, as he pointed from one tapestry to the next, then to magnificent alters and ornamentations. We ate at a nice restaurant called “The Inca Grill,” where I gorged myself on alpaca tenders, and a grain called Quinoa. Kelly ate kabobs of varying meats, complimented by an appropriate side. Ayul had warned us that the food in Peru is good, but I believe he has underestimated it. The food is fantastic, rivaling anything I have ever eaten, in the U.S. or any other country for that matter.

We awoke early to a nice continental breakfast supplied by the hotel staff, spread out before us of varying treats, breads, meats, and poultry products. I had a cup of the local coffee, which poured out in a consistency comparable to molasses. I usually make a thick cup of cowboy-coffee myself when I go camping, but this brew put all to shame. Making it only halfway through the cup, I switched to cocoa tea, a local favorite brewed from native leaves. It is said to help with altitude sickness, contain numerous vitamins, and essentially cure the world of disease. However, I am unsure of the tea’s actual potency and magical remedies, but one thing I can say, “this is one fantastic cup of tea!” The flavor is smooth and inviting, filling you with warmth and energy that does not leave you in the usual rollercoaster of energy spikes and pitfalls, as does its caffeine counterpart. After our fill, we made our way to the hotel lounge where we would meet Ayul and two Canadians that would be joining us on our adventure through the Peruvian unknown. Their accent and pleasant demeanor reminded me of my time up north, and with Ayul filling the air with his witty banter, it was truly an interesting meeting of cultures from the Americas. Ayul took us to several markets, where working our way through crowded walkways, we bartered for the latest wear in alpaca. We struck an amazing bargain on alpaca hand-knitted hats, costing only six soles a piece (only about $2 U.S.). Instantly, we started sorting through the stacks of varying color combinations, planning out early Christmas presents. It was like sifting through clouds, due to the lightness and spongy softness of the alpaca fur. By the end, we figured all extended family would now have warm heads during winter in their very own Peruvian cap. Walking by a school, we were fortunate to see a group of children practicing a traditional dance. They would make large movements with their hands and feet, all matched with passionate facial expressions for each motion. Many possessed wooden dowels, which they swung about as if they were extensions of their own body, moving in rhythm to a single drum. For a moment you would be caught in their energy and absorbed by their exhibition. We then visited several museums, exploring into the history of the Quechua people and their culture. Never have I visited museums where one could be so close to artifacts dating back so many centuries, and the only thing separating them from you is a simple pane of glass. The ruins Ayul took us to next were at the peak of the surrounding hills of Cusco, which we kept referring to as “sexy woman.” The Quechua name for these ruins was hard to pronounce and sounding very similar to “sexy woman,” we all decided this was easier. What was amazing about these ruins is just the sheer size of the boulders they built with. Ranging into the thousands of pounds and towering over an individual with ease, somehow the Inca (king), and the Quechua people constructed long massive walls, intricately designed to fit and slide together into a single locking unit. Quite impressive, as the architects would have to think in terms of three-dimensional space, whereas I have troubles with just putting cardboard puzzle pieces together. From this standpoint you were also able to see all of Cusco spread out before you. A spectacle of rustic rooftops opened up into the distance, as a single hillside with giant letters displayed proudly to the world “Vive el Peru.”

Leaving Cusco, it took us nearly five hours to reach the small town of Ollantaytambo, which would be our last hotel stay before our four-day hike up the Inca trail to famous ruins of Machu Picchu. We took many side trips before arriving at our hotel, visiting communities engaged in the ancient art of textile production, Peruvian salt mines, and the sweeping terrains of the Sacred Valley. Visiting a community, dedicated to the historical art of textiles, we were fully engulfed within their welcoming embrace. Sipping on cocoa tea—now a favorite of mine—we were shown demonstrations of how complex this craft truly is. From dying the alpaca wool with natural herbs, berries, and vegetation, to the creation of clothing, blankets, hats, among many other articles, this craft has not changed in its design or production since before the colonization of Europeans. The designs and quality of their products were all handcrafted, and second to none, as was their hospitality. As we continued down the road, passing beautiful farming terraces outlined by colossal mountain backdrops, we twisted our way along a winding dirt road with precipitous drop offs. Soon we came upon a vast ravine of miniature bodies of water surrounded by a white powdering that shimmered in the afternoon sun. As we stepped out of our van, we were amazed to see this was in fact a salt mine, farmed by families on a yearly basis, and passed down through generations. The small pools of water were fed from a stream coming from a massive salt deposit within the hillside. The water would eventually evaporate away leaving behind mass quantities of salt, which would then be harvested by families and sold to make up a large part of their yearly income. We dipped our fingers into the salty stream and tasted it for ourselves, and then quickly decided it was enough to turn your face inside out. One tourist was foolish enough to put his whole hand in, which I’m sure he regretted later. Our next stop was the flowing landscapes of the Sacred Valley. Sitting around 12,000 feet we found ourselves short of breath but eager to see everything. By this time our dizzy spells had vanished, as I reluctantly began taking Diamox. The Sacred Valley was gorgeous with its Spanish architecture, and ancient farming terraces that filled the hillsides off into the horizon. The stone architecture was again astounding, lasting centuries and remaining in remarkable condition. We climbed all over the terraces and staircases, seeking the best portrait shots we would later hang on our wall at home. Surprisingly we saw a futball (soccer) game in the process as we descended back to our awaiting ride. How they could play such an intense game at this altitude was beyond me, as I huffed and puffed my way down a set of stairs. After arriving in town and checking into our hostel “El Sauce,” we climbed and explored the near ruins and local surroundings. Quaint and full of character, I would say that this town is so far my favorite. The local people again demonstrate their kindness and charm in simple interactions as we pass, or look into shops. Ayul gave us the great pleasure of visiting with a local family, and seeing how indigenous people live today. Their house was made of stone and rock, and consisted of only one room, which they transformed for daily use. The floor was earth, and various decorations hung from the wall with their vibrant colors, warming the environment to a comforting reception. I had a hard time comparing my life with theirs, due to the obvious differences. I have grown accustomed to and nearly dependent on modern Western conveniences, where they have none. However, shown in their eyes and smiles they appear more happy and content than many I’ve seen back home in the states. My respect for these people has grown immensely by their attitudes and convictions in life. In the evening, Ayul went over the agenda of the hike, a sort of pre-meeting before our ascent into the Andes. I felt as though I were a member of an expedition team going to climb Mt. Everest, entering an unknown and exotic world. I could barely contain my excitement, and looking around to my wife and the Canadians, it seemed the rest of the group shared in this exhilaration as well.

We awoke early and had our bags in the lobby by 7:00 a.m. The Canadians were already eating breakfast when we entered the lounge, so we quickly joined them and ate a delicious meal of eggs, fruit, and a pancake similar to a crepe. Ayul suddenly appeared out of thin air and with a blink of an eye we were at the Inca trailhead. Hikers and porters filled any available space packing and repacking gear, as vendors walked around selling last minute walking sticks and bandanas. We were smart enough to bring our own clothing for protection against the sun, but we ended up buying a couple of walking sticks from the little market in Ollantaytambo for five soles a piece. We usually don’t use walking sticks when we hike, but from the great wisdom of our guide, we bought some and later became very grateful for their support, as we ascended mountains that touched the skies. We would have nine porters and a cook joining us. Although this may seem excessive for only four tourists, it really isn’t as they would carry most of the gear, including the food, camping and cooking equipment, and of course the bulk of our clothing for four days. Each porter would essentially carry forty-five pounds—and not an ounce more due to regulations—as I would carry only the daily essentials of water and snacks, weighing about fifteen pounds in all. Kelly carried the cameras was considered the paparazzi of the Inca trail. I initially believed this would be a “luxury hike,” considering Kelly and I are in decent shape and hike frequent enough, plus we wouldn’t be carrying any gear. I would say my ignorance was bliss, but if it were not for porters I would still be stuck on that trail. As we begun the hike, Ayul assured us the first day was easy, however my lungs disagreed. I found myself in constant search of air as my heart pounded in deep rhythms inside my chest. The terrain lay before us in long stretches of soft dirt—later to turn into a cobbled stone path—blazed by hundreds of hikers a day, making an obvious route to follow which was accompanied by subtle inclines and picturesque landscapes. The hike itself was no more difficult than what I would normally do back home, but the altitude and my sea level physiology were at odds. It was like running at a dead sprint while trying to breath through a mouth full of cotton balls. I believe Kelly shared in my agony, however the Canadians exhibited the strength of an ox, and the endurance of a marathon runner. We stopped at a small village to rest in the shade and eat energy foods and consume vast amounts of water. Ayul was impressed by the time we were all keeping, but I think he’s just kind, and acting as our own personal cheerleader. Porters would fly passed us at a steady rate. Their packs—often bigger then they are—would not slow their pace, as they flew up the trail to set up the first base camp for so many hikers. The porters varied greatly from young to surprisingly older ages, but all exuded a common strength that I have never seen before. Not only would they hike and work all day to accommodate hiking tourists like myself, but they would do it with a smile on their face and a genuine good spirit that seemed to be encompassed by all the people of Peru. By the time we arrived at the first base camp, Kelly and I immediately found our tent and collapsed in exhaustion. We later awoke to the porters serving cocoa tea and hot water to bathe our bodies, which were now layered in crystallized salt. I enjoy camping, but I also love being as clean as I can while doing it. The hot water was most welcome and refreshing, as was the cocoa tea. From our campsite you could see the next days hike, as we would be summiting “Dead Woman’s Pass.” Knowing how our first day went, Kelly and I were both intimidated by what awaited for us tomorrow. The pass was extremely high—sitting between two monstrous peaks—and what appeared to be a distance beyond our grasp. Later, we were served with an amazing three-course Peruvian cuisine, where we found our appetites. Ayul entertained us with jokes and stories until we all fell too tired to stay awake, where we made our way to our sleeping bags. Zipping up our rain covers, we all drifted off into a deep slumber as we joined in the accompaniment of snores emanating from our synthetic housing.

Warmiwanusca is what the indigenous people call this behemoth of a climb, but better known to tourists as “Dead Woman’s Pass.” Towering close to 14,000 feet, we would ascend from our base camp 4,000 feet up steep winding trails, massive stair cases carved in stone, as well as battle an unrelenting sun, and depleting air supply. Today’s hike would test everyone’s ability who attempts her path, both physically and mentally. We’d start early this day. A wonderful breakfast, complimented by my favorite tea, and words of advice from Ayul, was all we needed to motivate us for our impending climb. There would be no horizontal path to follow today, as our ascent began immediately, burning muscles and awakening the heart. Soon, Kelly and I were left in the dust of our Canadian friends as their mountain goat agility kicked into gear. Hearts pounded, muscles came alive, and our breath quickened as we found our pace, slowly climbing the sharp incline. This part of the trail is mostly uneven stone, worn and obstructed over time and weathering. Any stretches of dirt were short lived, and eventually lead to a cascade of stone stairs. The stairs were definitely the evil of this route. Often we would find ourselves staring up at an infinite climb we had no choice but to do. The morning was brisk, but warmed quickly as the sun rose to a high point in the sky. A canopy—provided by the surrounding forest—offered plentiful shade early on, however tapered off the higher we climbed. The trail was littered with other hikers, so eventually we made friends with fellow trekkers along the way. We met people from all over the world, from New York to Spain and France, to our own backyard. Interesting to think that for this particular moment, a handful of people from across the globe had something spectacular in common. We all came to Peru in order to hike to Machu Picchu, and here we were, sharing in this experience, rooting each other on as we ascended a formidable pass. A sense of mutual respect surfaced on all faces as nods were given in greeting to others as they passed, faces streaming with salty rivers, as encouragements and laughter could be heard throughout the day. We were all essentially in this boat together, and we could feel it. Slowly, our green canopy transformed into small bushels of vegetation, now offering little shade. Any area discovered untouched by the sun would be swarming with other hikers, giving no inclination of moving as they sought relief from the heat of the day. Sticking to our steady pace and one foot in front of the other, we eventually made it to our first check point. Ayul and the Canadians were of course applauding our efforts and snacking away on energy foods. To our surprise, after many hours into the hike, we found out that we were only about fifteen minutes behind our Canadian counterparts. The checkpoint was well received, as our legs were to the point of breaking, however, the break would be short, as we had to make the summit before noon. This of course was a personal goal we set for ourselves, to keep us motivated and moving. With the last thirty percent of our climb left, we pushed forward at a slow but stubborn pace. We would find a point in the distance and would not stop until we reached it. Over and over again, a bush, a rock, would be our focal point as we pushed our tiring bodies uphill. At 11:43 a.m. we reached the top of “Dead Woman’s Pass,” greeted by cheers of other hikers praising the efforts of all. It was truly a magnificent sight, to stand at nearly 14,000 feet and look at the surrounding peaks and far into the valleys below, as we were in fact left breathless, but this time not because of the altitude. After a nice and well-deserved break, not to mention a quick photo-op, we descended another two miles into our second base camp, where our porters were already hard at work. I do not know how this hike could ever occur without them, as I would not have the energy by the end of the day to set up a tent, little alone cook something. This camp offered ice-cold showers, which I happily took, screaming like a little girl as I washed the sweat off, and revived my body.

We slept like newborn babes that night, only to awake to the sweet sound of cocoa tea being poured just outside our tent. “Gosh papa!” A Quechua phrase we heard Ayul say over and over again to the porters. When we enquired what it meant, he said, “It’s like saying thank you very much.” So naturally we took it upon ourselves to use this phrase every time a porter did something for us, catching a few off guard and creating a laughing frenzy. I’m used to cold breakfasts and food bars while hiking and camping, but here I feel as though I eat as king, an Inca of the time. Never once is the food the same, and always delicious to the very last bite. The porters are too good to us, we thought, as we stuffed ourselves over breakfast with every morsel they put in front of us. We began a little later in the morning than usual. In fact we were the last one’s at the campsite by the time we started the day’s hike. Our bodies were grateful for the extra time to rest. Eventually we started off again and began ascending a second summit—much smaller than the first—where almost immediately my left knee began to hurt. An old track injury, that always seems to appear during extensive exercise, was making itself known. Slowly, it worked itself out as I focused climbing the stone stairs with my right leg and supporting my left with my walking stick. My right side burned—especially my butt cheek—as I pulled myself up each step at a determined pace. We laughed at the idea that my right side would be extra muscular by the time we reached the top, and soon I would just be walking in circles because my left side wouldn’t keep up. We visited many ruins—including lookout towers, farming terraces, and ancient dwellings—that were abundantly scattered along the trail, and each magnificent in their construction and design. Slowly the vegetation transformed from small bushes into a lush forest again, full of stunning flowers and active wildlife. It’s interesting, as now the higher we climbed, the thicker the foliage grew. Overall, this day was considerably easier than the first two days, as Kelly and I found our breath and more so, discovered a newfound energy. I imagined my blood as thick as syrup, as it transported copious amounts of oxygen and red blood cells through my veins, giving life to my body. The scenery and landscape increasingly grew more beautiful as we approached our third campsite. Ayul had mentioned that this was his favorite location, and we were all able to see why. As the trail ended, the world opened up and we stood amazed. We would be camping amongst the clouds, and the very peaks that we had admired from the trails and valleys below. You could see in every direction, as far as your sight would carry you, and be astounded by mountain peaks covered in snow, valleys carved by rushing rivers, and impenetrable forest canopies stretching off into an endless horizon. It was truly a sight to behold, as a thrilling yet euphoric feeling surfaced in each of us. We tingled with excitement. We ended our night watching the sunset behind the Andes great peaks, as laughter over Peruvian wine filled our heads. Gosh papa!

Although the temperatures dropped to below freezing last night, Kelly and I were bundled away in our sleeping bags, like caterpillars within their cocoons. However, instead of emerging as butterflies, we would appear in our gray thermals and brightly colored alpaca hats. The stocking cap I brought from home wasn’t nearly as warm as the local wear, so I decided when in Peru do what the Peruvians do, wear alpaca. We awoke before sunrise, so we could see the sun come from over the darkened peaks and fill the valley with its basking glow. Standing atop the highest point in the campsite, sipping cocoa tea—which I’m pretty much addicted to by this point—we could see three hundred and sixty degrees all around us and everything that light may touch. When the sun first peaked over the ridges, and gave life to the world, you knew in that moment everything the Andes had to offer. Words could not describe the feeling and beauty that moment created, and for as long as I live, I will never forget it. After breakfast our porters packed all the gear and left us to finish our voyage. Words and speeches were made of gratitude and appreciation, and “Gosh papa’s,” all around, as we shook hands, and took group photos. They were an amazing group that made our trip possible, and I will always be grateful for their good nature, and the hard work they demonstrated every day. We were all in high spirits and feeling the best we’ve ever felt since arriving in Peru. The rest of our trip would be a steady descent into Machu Picchu. Breathing was easy and the hike was full of nature as the thick forest became alive. Birds flew about, including very large humming birds and the occasional parrot, but what was more interesting were the butterflies, or just the sheer quantity of them. Sometimes a few would flutter about, but then suddenly there would be swarms of them in a playful frenzy. Ayul described one butterfly that was extremely large in size, which also changed colors in the sunlight. I don’t think any of use believed him initially, writing it off as a joke we didn’t get, until we ran into one. It was a creature straight out of a fairytale that came to life before our very eyes. Transfixed by its beauty, we all stared dumbfounded. It’s wings would shifts in colors from a bright yellow to a light violet as they flapped in the shafts of light penetrating the canopy, giving off an almost fairy dust illusion. After if flew off, we only saw one more of its kind, a sort of unicorn of the butterfly world. The hike went by quickly as we were comforted by the forests cool shade, and natural scenery. Ayul had quickly ascended a steep set of stone stairs, where I yelled up at him, “You lied Ayul, you said it was all down hill.” Where he promptly replied, “piece of cake, this is small, no problem.” With one foot over the other, we pulled ourselves up a very intimidating incline, where reaching the top, Ayul then looked at me and said, “you made it, we’re here.” A little in shock that we were at the end, I rounded a stone pillar as the forest opened its embrace to the spectacle of Machu Picchu. It was an amazing sight. To hike twenty-five miles and reach a monument of such scale and beauty was more than rewarding, it was a gift on the largest of scales. We all could do nothing but look down at our prize, amazed by our efforts and a little sad to see our journey come to an end. We hiked down the rest of the way to Machu Picchu, took some pictures and quickly took a bus to our hotel for a hot shower, knowing full well we would return tomorrow rested, and ready to explore the ancient ruins in greater detail.

Already missing the synthetic housing I called home on the trail, I awoke in the comforts of a soft bed and hot shower. The pleasures of modern conveniences were all there, however lacked the ambiance and the greatness of the outdoors. Breakfast was of course a large spread, offering anything you could ever desire and more. We met up with our Canadian friends over a croissant and a cocoa tea, and then reflected back with stories of our trek through the Andes wilderness and the times we shared. Ayul met us out front of our hotel early in the morning, where we then took a bus back up to Machu Picchu. As we wound our way up the steep incline of the mountain, the sun began to break apart the thick canvass made of clouds. I willed the bus to go faster and to reach the top soon. As any photographer could tell you, clouds—especially broken up clouds—can make great texture in a picture, especially if that picture was Machu Picchu. As we reached the top, I asked Ayul if it would be all right to go to the top and take pictures first, while the morning light was still good. With his nod in agreement, I shot up the mountain’s trail as fast as my legs could carry me, knowing they would be sore after four long days of hiking. Fire instantly shot through my lower extremities. I tried to ignore the temporary pain, as I knew the sunlight would change with every passing second, and if I wanted my epic shot of Machu Picchu I would have to hurry. Just as I reached the ancient farming terrace where I would take my picture, the sun appeared from behind the clouds with amazing beams of light, which lit up the ancient ruins in streaks of gold and yellow. Snapping away as fast as I could, changing angles, framing, and exposure often as the light shifted, I found my shot. The picture I had envisioned from before ever arriving in Peru, the one I held in my head, anticipating the moment I would be here in this location, came alive before me. My heart was full of content, as my lungs filled with the air of my surroundings. I clicked the button on my camera, releasing the shutter and forever imposing the image of Machu Picchu on my memory card. After my paparazzi moment overlooking Machu Picchu was over, we started down into the city. However, my paparazzi moment had only shifted, as I became the stereotypical tourist, snapping pictures away of everything I could fill my lens with. It was all so very enchanting, as we wandered among the ancient ruins, knowing full well that we were walking in the same footsteps of the people who came before us, who built and lived in this amazing city so long ago. As Ayul dove into the history, architecture, and custom that held its meaning in the walls that now towered around us, you felt a sense of privilege of being here, a privilege for experiencing history in such an intimate way. We wondered the city for hours, walking up and down long hallways, curving stairs, and climbing to the top of sacred structures. It was a world far foreign to my own, and I loved it all the more. We eventually left Machu Picchu and all its wonder—however I do not think the impression it made on us will ever leave—as we took a train back to Ollantaytambo, then a van to Cusco. We went to dinner, where we ate the local delicacy Cuy (guinea pig), then made our way back to the hotel where we said our goodbyes to Ayul and our Canadian friends. We were all strangers when we first met in that hotel lobby in Cusco, but it was now like saying goodbye to some of my dearest friends or family members. We shared much more than an adventure together, we shared a new chapter in our lives with one another, as our worlds grew a little more from this awesome experience.

All I could think about on our long flights back to the U.S. were of my times in Peru. The people, our guide Ayul, our porters, the Canadians had all made an impact on my life in ways I still do not quite understand. The people of Peru are not just rich in culture, but rich in humanity, as they have shown hospitality beyond measure. Someday I wish to return to this country, to have a beer with Ayul again, and experience much more of what this corner of the world has to offer. I will forever be grateful for this adventure in my life.