The craziest 72 hours of my life: Marco, not Mark

We continued to chat as we neared the hotel.  It was dark and beginning to get cold on June 28, 2007, and literally thousands of people were out on the streets, listening to the live music emanating from the Plaza de Armas, bundled up in parkas or at least heavy sweatshirts.  It was a decidedly more modern festival than the one we had observed the previous Saturday.

The driver pulled up in front of the hotel. We tipped him well, as we always tried to do. "You guys. You are good guys. You deserve some cusqueñas. Get out there and find some." He waved his hand and drove off down the cobblestone street, weaving around the clusters of tourists and natives out enjoying the evening.

*********

We had discovered Películas my second night in Cusco. As we walked around the Plaza de Armas somebody gave us a flyer, and we ended up there. Películas ("movies", literally translated) was a unique establishment.  I had never before been in a place quite like it, nor have I since.  It was part eatery, part bar, part dance club, part movie club. Películas wasn't its real name; it was the shorthand that the three of us used to talk about it.

Rosa was the hostess. She was a short, industrious young woman with the rosy cheeks and lilting Spanish typical of cusqueñas.  She constantly wore a heavy parka and spoke halting English, which allowed her to communicate directly with all three of us. That first night, she explained how Películas worked. The first floor was mainly a sports bar, with a couple of TV's that we watched the Copa América on. The stairs led up to a third floor, eventually; but it seemed like there were floors between floors, where they had crammed in tables or viewing rooms.

Besides a drink menu and a food menu, Películas had a movie menu, a list of the thousands of movies they had on DVD (pirated, of course: that is the only way in South America). You and your friends could choose a movie and order food and drinks and they would install you in a viewing room, depending on the size of your group. The second floor, Rosa told us, also became a dance club after 10:00 or 11:00 in the evening; we had not been in Películas late enough to see that happen.  In fact, the only time we had been out late in Cusco was my first night, when we accompanied our new European friends to Club Asia, directly across the street from Hotel Suecia 2.

It was probably sometime between nine and ten on June 28, 2007, when Rosa installed us on a second floor table between the landing and what would become the dance floor.  We hadn't changed upon returning to Cusco; we were dressed in hiking garb and dirty from the expedition to Machu Picchu. More significantly, we were exhausted, and Cody and Adam had to catch a flight back to Lima at the crack of dawn.  We ordered Cusqueñas and some food; Rosa was happy.

"Finally, you guys will be here to dance," she said.

"I don't know," I said. "We're pretty tired, and we're leaving tomorrow."

"What?" she asked. She looked genuinely sad, even though her livelihood consisted of people constantly coming and going. "Already?"

"We've been here a week," Adam said. "We have to see Lima before we go home."

"A week? That's all?" Rosa said. "You should stay longer."

We laughed. "We have families, you know," Cody said.

"Well. I don't know. You never got to dance. You said you know how to dance salsa," she said, to me.

"I do."

"I don't believe you. If you did you would stay and dance."

"I'll dance," I said. "Let's dance right now, before our food is ready."

"You and me?"

"Sure. Why not?" We had switched into Spanish.

"Okay. Well, I have some things to do, and I'm going home at 10:00."

"Well, let's dance at 10:00. Right after you get off work."

"That should work," she said.

Rosa left. The three of us put our bottles of Cusqueñas together and said "Salud".  These would be out last beers together in Cusco and we were already reminiscing on an incredible seven days (six for me, due to my Mexico City detour).

Cody spoke of his and Adam's first night in the city, when they were on their own with limited Spanish.  Cody had had a rough couple of years before our trip, which I think he saw as a sendoff of those tough times. He had been a little nervous without me to translate, he said, but when they had gone out for pizza, the waiter befriended them, took them out on the town, and insisted on buying rounds for the three of them. He said it reaffirmed his faith in humanity.

Adam recalled the young woman who worked in the diner across the street from Hotel Suecia 2.  My first meal had been there; when she asked me to translate a sign into English for her and I agreed to do so, she literally jumped with joy and gave a bear hug. "She was so happy just to have a sign in English," Adam said wistfully.

So much had happened in such little time: meeting our European friends at Hotel Suecia 2, from England and the Netherlands. Walking the steep streets and looking at the Incan walls, still perfectly together after hundreds of years. A spontaneous six-hour overnight bus ride to Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca, and a night there.  An ill-fated purchase by me of a cowboy hat on the way home. And of course, the 15 hours we had just experienced.

"Do you think Lima will match up?" I asked.

"Fuck yeah," Cody said. "We're gonna take over that city."

"Miraflores. Avenida del Avión. Irish pubs. Tequila Rocks. Barranco," Adam recited. He had nearly memorized the relevant parts of our Fodor's Travel Guide to Peru.

As we talked we began to exchange eye contact with a pair of cusqueñas who were at a table 10 or 15 feet away from us: far enough away so it wouldn't be natural to talk with them, but still to close to talk about them.  One was very short, her dark hair cut just below her neck.  The other was a little taller, thinner, fairer, her hair a bit longer, with a pair of black glasses.  They were both cute in their own way and bound up in parkas; they would look at us, look away and talk to each other, then look back and smile.

"Guys, there they are," I said. "The cusqeñas our cabdriver told us about."

Indeed, Películas was hopping; it was busier than we'd ever seen it. It was Thursday, and the concert outside in the Plaza de Armas was drawing to a close.  Our food came and we ate like cavemen.  As the food began to settle a great weariness began to set in; the alarm had gone off so early in Hotel Suecia 2.

All of a sudden Rosa was back at our table. "Okay, I'm done working. Do you still want to dance?" she asked. I think she still really didn't believe me.

"Let's do it," I said and stood up.

"Go Mark!" Cody and Adam said and tipped their beers at me.

I laughed as Rosa and I walked to the dance floor.  Luckily for me, the song was salsa; the only Latin music I know to dance to is merengue and salsa.  Rosa and I danced and chatted; she was mainly concerned with what our impressions were of Cusco.  I once again admired the strong pride the cusqueños had for their city and state.

"It is amazing," I assured her. "The nicest people in the world."

When the song ended we walked back to our table.

"How was he?" Adam asked.

"Pretty good. Better than I thought," Rosa admitted. "Hard to believe he is a gringo."

We all laughed.

"Well, I am going home," Rosa said. "You guys. Thanks for coming. I wish you were staying longer. Have a great trip."

Rosa walked around the table and gave all of us a strong hug.  Then she bounced down the stairs with her signature energy.

"She was fucking awesome," Cody said.

"Absolutely," Adam and I agreed.

As Rosa disappeared at the bottom of the stairs, the two cusqueñas who had been sitting near us stood up and began to go down the stairs. Both of them looked back at us; one made some sort of odd signal with her hands and then they, too, disappeared.

"What was that?" Adam said.

"No idea," I said.

"Well, maybe that's our cue," Cody said. "Our flight is at 6:30. We should probably get back. Adam?"

"Yeah. I guess. Although I wouldn't mind getting to know some cusqueñas. And drinking some more, too."

We laughed.

"Adam, if you want, I'll stay out with you.  I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon," I said.

"No, I better not," he said. "Got to have energy to conquer Lima."

Him and Cody stood up and I did, too. But then I paused. "You know what, guys? I am gonna stay out a little while. What the hell. When's the next time I'm gonna be in Cusco?"

"Are you sure?" Cody asked. "I guess we can stay a little while."

"No, go ahead," I assured them.  I knew how early they had to be up.  "I'll be fine.  I'll probably just drink another beer, then head back. Hopefully find somebody to dance with."

"All right, dude," Cody said. "You made it all the way here from Mexico City on your own. I'm sure you can handle yourself in Películas."

We fist bumped and I sat back down as they descended the steps. My short dance with Rosa had sparked me, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally.  I was anxious, in a good way; I felt something in the air that I could not yet define. I wanted to dance and drink, but it was something more than that: I realized, as I sat there, that when I had lived in Venezuela, I had been fortunate enough to build the kind of relationships that allowed me to experience Venezuela not as an American, but as a native. Mark had gradually morphed into Marco. I realized that I had not truly gotten to know even one person from Cusco in a relationship that was not based on commerce.  All the relationships I had built were with Europeans, Australians, Californians. I wanted to experience Cusco, but not as a gringo. I wanted to be cusqueño, before it was too late, even it were for one night, for one hour, before I left this enchanted city in the mountains.

To be continued...

The craziest 72 hours of my life: Cusqueñas and cusqueñas

Inside the train, Mark again rested his head on the glass. This time, he was smiling. If he was really going to do this whole God-thing, he realized, he had to remember people talked about Him (or Her) (or It) (or Whatever) in lots of different ways.  Sometimes they used words for hours on end. Sometimes they just gave a thumbs-up.

The train lurched into motion. They were making the stretch run into Cusco. “Good,” Mark thought. He was tired. And fucking hungry.

**********

The cabs were lined up as far as we could see when we exited the train station. We picked one and jumped in. The cabdriver was probably fifty years old, short, like most cusqueños. He was in the mood to talk and we shared, essentially, the same conversation I had had with the cabdriver 15 hours earlier. It seemed like weeks ago.

"So, what do you guys think of the Cusqueñas?" the cabdriver asked.

I laughed. "We love them. We drink a few every day. In fact, just had three on the train."

Now the driver laughed. "No, not the beer. The women, from Cusco. Las cusqueñas. Or did you just have three of them on the train?"

I laughed too and explained the misunderstanding to Cody and Adam, who also laughed. "We love them, too," I said, "but we don't know them nearly as well."

"Oh, you have to get to know some cusqueñas," the driver said. "Wonderful women. And they love foreigners. They love gringos. You guys go out, go to some bars, meet some cusqueñas."

I translated for Adam and Cody, and then I said, "But we barely see any cusqueñas when we're out. It's all these Europeans. Where are they?"

The driver waved his hand dismissively. "If you look, you will find them." (I had a flashback to Field of Dreams here). "They are all over. Just ask them to dance. They love to dance. Dance with them and they will fall for you."

We were approaching the Plaza de Armas, and as we got close we could observe a giant, inflated Inca towering above a temporary stage. "What the hell is that?" Cody asked.

"It's for Inca Raimi," the cabdriver said. "Big Incan festival."

"But wasn't that last Saturday?" I asked. "I mean, we saw this huge parade...."

The driver waved his hand dismissively. It was his signature gesture. "In Cusco no party is just one day. You see? The cusqueñas will be out tonight. Big time."

We continued to chat as we neared the hotel.  It was dark and beginning to get cold on June 28, 2007, and literally thousands of people were out on the streets, listening to the live music emanating from the Plaza de Armas, bundled up in parkas or at least heavy sweatshirts.  It was a decidedly more modern festival than the one we had observed the previous Saturday.

The driver pulled up in front of the hotel. We tipped him well, as we always tried to do. "You guys. You are good guys. You deserve some cusqueñas. Get out there and find some." He waved his hand and drove off down the cobblestone street, weaving around the clusters of tourists and natives out enjoying the evening.

"That guy was fucking awesome," Adam said. "We better do what he said. Find some cusqueñas."

"Well, we gotta eat anyway," I said. "Where do you guys wanna go? It's your last meal in Cusco. You're leaving first thing in the morning. My bus doesn't leave until 2:30."

"I can't believe you're taking the bus," Cody said. "How long is that gonna take again?"

"19 hours. Supposedly."

"Jesus Christ. Why don't you just fly with us?"

"I hate flying. And it's cheaper. Besides, I don't mind. I'll just pop a sleeping pill."

Cody shook his head. "You're one interesting dude, Mark Plum."

"Yes, I am. Now. Where the fuck are we gonna eat? I'm starving."

"I don't think there's a choice," Adam said. "We have to go to Peliculas."

I laughed. "You love that place."

Adam laughed, too. "I do. I love that chick. The hostess. Rosa. She's super nice."

"She's pretty nice," I agreed. "Fine with me. Cody? Películas?"

"Let's do it," Cody said. "I fucking love Peliculas."

We locked the door to our hotel room. Películas was four blocks away, on the other end of the Plaza de Armas. We walked out into the cool, dark night, and weaved through the crowds on the way to our last meal together in Cusco.

To be continued...

The craziest 72 hours of my life: Strangers on a Train

As it became apparent that it was going to be tough to get in on this conversation, I sort of gave up. I sat back against the wall of the train, and closed my eyes. I tried to sleep but I was far too uncomfortable. Around me, Andrew and Bob, the Australian guys, competed with Roy for who could be the loudest, and I just bought another Cusqueña and tried to relax.  I was really ready for some socializing, but it looked as though between trying to avoid Roy and the incredible alpha maleness of these two Aussies, it wasn't meant to be. And I made my peace with that. It looked like this train ride really would just be about getting from Point A to Point B.

*********

The young man's gazed focused on nothing in particular.  Eventually he settled back once more against the side of the train, and his eyes alternated between open and closed. His Cusqueña beer was snug in his hand.  Once again, he marveled at his privilege.  To spend a day, even just an afternoon, among the ruins of Machu Pichu was something he would never forget.  He hadn't felt that close to God--whoever or whatever God was--for a long time.  Perhaps when his son had been born the year before; perhaps that was the last time the presence had been so strong.

There was a tap on his shoulder. "Excuse me?" said the American woman who had been crouching in the aisle. "Do you mind if I use this seat? My legs are starting to hurt."

"No. Of course not. Have a seat." The young man swung his legs back over in front of him so she could sit down.  She, in turn, swung her legs into the aisle to continue the conversation with Cody, Adam and the Aussies.

About an hour, maybe ninety minutes, into the trip, there was a lull in the conversation across the aisle.  The young man began to feel uncomfortable. Had his eyes been closed, he may have feigned sleep; but after a few minutes he couldn't handle the awkward silence.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I ever got your name," he said to the young woman.

"No, I don't think we were properly introduced," she said. "I'm Jamie."  She extended her hand.

"Mark," he said, shaking it. "Where're you from?"

"California. Southern California. And you guys were from...Ohio?"

He smiled. "Close. Iowa. Common mistake."

She slapped her head against her forehead. "Oh, sorry.  It's just I've never been to the Midwest. To be honest, I don't know that I've ever even met someone from Iowa."

"No worries. But just so you know, I know plenty of Californians."

"Oh? You've been?"

"No. Never been. And I don't really know that many Californians, either. Just giving you shit."

The conversation continued like that for a while. Jobs, educational background, family, interests. Relationships, of course.  Mark told her about the whole background for the trip, from its inception as a honeymoon, then a destination wedding, and finally a boys' trip/honeymoon.  For Jamie's part, she had been in a serious relationship for several years and had just recently broken it off. In a fit of spontaneity, she had taken the opportunity for this trip to Peru. She had volunteered for a month in an orphanage, and was now sight-seeing before heading back to California to start work as a nutritionist.

"The best part of this whole thing," she said, "is that I'm doing all this on my own. I mean, people have arranged contacts for me and shit, but I am the one building the relationships, making the trips, meeting new people. And the funniest thing is, I barely speak Spanish!

"I would have never done this before," she continued, "but since the break-up, I don't know. I needed to do...something. Anything different from go to school, graduate, go to work.  I've always just done the regular old middle class shit. My parents said I was crazy. My ex-boyfriend begged me not to go."

"Well, fuck him. He's out of the picture," Mark said, laughing.

Jamie laughed too. "Absolutely. Abso-fucking-lutely."

There was a pause.

"And you know what," she continued, "now that I've done it, that I'm doing it, I can't even fathom NOT having done it. You know what I mean?"

Mark nodded. "Absolutely. When I went to Venezuela eight years ago, my dad was totally supportive. But there were a lot of people who didn't get it. But I can't even conceive of my life without that trip. My job is in Spanish. My wife is Peruvian. None of those things would have happened."

Jamie started to talk but Mark plowed ahead. "And it's not even that, you know, the tangible things. It's the way I see the world. It's the way I see people. Like, earlier, I heard some young kid tell an older gentleman that 'Machu Picchu is the best part of Peru, hands down'.  And I thought, you know what, kid? How many Peruvians did you talk to at Machu Picchu? How much actual Peruvian culture did you absorb in those ruins? In Lima there's 10 million fucking Peruvians. Go there. Talk to them. Live a week there, in a middle-class neighborhood."

Jamie was nodding. "It's the people, I totally agree. My Spanish is, like, third semester Spanish, but I've forged these relationships. They're gonna last my whole life. I feel like, as soon as I get back to California, the first thing I'm gonna do is start planning my return trip. And improving my Spanish."

They laughed.  "You don't want to try another country instead of returning to Peru?" asked Mark.

Jamie was almost bouncing up and down in her seat.  "That's just it, I don't fucking know. It's like, oh my God, I love these people, but I could repeat this process again and again.  I could go to Africa, I could go to Europe. But then I just can't imagine just not coming back and seeing these Peruvians again...."

Mark was nodding in agreement. "I'm not that much more experienced then you," he said. "Venezuela, now Peru. A crazy-ass night in Mexico City that was never supposed to happen. But the thing about it is--and this is what kills me, this is the crack-cocaine part of traveling--is that wherever you go, people do different stuff. They eat different foods. They find their romantic partners a little different. But once you get past all that--and it's not nearly as hard as people make it sound--the freaking amazing thing--or maybe it's not that amazing--is that we're all so goddamn similar.

"Oh my God," Jamie said, "I couldn't agree more. And you're right. It's like this drug. Once you get a hit, all you want is another one."

Mark took a swig from his Cusqueña, or, better put, he tried.

"I'm gonna get one more beer," he said. "You want one?"

"You know what? I have to use the restroom. I'll get us one. But don't leave--I want to continue this conversation."

Mark looked out the window. It was now close to 8:00 in the evening, and it was very dark outside, although by looking carefully, he could see they were starting to approach the tree line. He made a mental note: right before they got off the train in Cusco--in about an hour, maybe a little more--he would have to tell Jamie how much he had enjoyed the conversation they were having, and how much she impressed him as a human being, and that he wished her luck in all that lay ahead for her. He was a man who didn't like to leave things--good things, at least--unsaid. 

As the train rumbled slowly up towards Cusco, the five men—the three Americans and the two Australians—began to share pictures. On June 28, 2007, the most common way tourists took pictures was with digital cameras; phones that took good pictures were still a few years away. Bob and Dave passed their phones around, as did Cody. Cody took all the pictures for the three Americans: he was a graphic designer by trade and had an eye for good shots; also, Adam and Mark were both too cheap to invest in a digital camera, so it was a pretty good system. When Jamie got back, she put hers into the mix as well.

“Whoa! Who is this?” said Bob, showing everyone an image from Jamie’s phone of a young blond woman, wearing a formal evening dress, her hair professionally styled.

“That’s me,” said Jamie. “From my sister’s wedding last summer.”

“No way.”

“Seriously, it’s me!”

“No way,” repeated Bob. “This woman is way more attractive than you.”

“I swear to God it’s me,” Jamie insisted.

Mark took all this in quietly. True, the image from the camera and woman sitting beside him were quite different; Jamie was, after all, not dressed for a wedding. Like all of them, she had dressed for a day of hiking and sight-seeing: cargo shorts, tennis shoes, a bandanna holding her hair back. But it wasn’t only the Bob’s shocking rudeness (at which Jamie hadn’t seemed to bat an eye) which perplexed him; it was his insistence that the woman on the phone was so much more attractive than the live version. Quite honestly, Mark thought, she looks better now.  More authentic, maybe.

He started to state his opinion, but even before he started, he stopped. It would come off all wrong. At best, it would come off as some lame attempt at chivalry; at worst, as some sort of come-on. He decided instead to wait, to tell her his opinion (and it probably didn’t matter, but he’d feel better if he said it) as they parted ways at the train station in Cusco, with everything else he wanted to tell her.  That way, he wouldn’t call attention to Bob’s appalling lack of manners (though maybe someone should), and she also wouldn’t take it as a come-on: after all, why would he hit on her if they were never going to see each other again?

Then he realized Jamie was talking to him. Resuming their conversation.

“I’m sorry, I was a little out of it,” Mark said. “It’s been a long day. What was that?”

“I was asking why you didn’t like Machu Picchu.”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Well, you were telling that story about the kid who loved Machu Picchu, and how he should go to Lima instead….”

“Oh. Yeah. I see what you’re saying,” Mark replied. “But I didn’t mean that. All I meant was, as travelers, I think it’s a shame when we put buildings and objects first in our memories, instead of the personal relationships we build. But no. I loved Machu Picchu. It was…I don’t know. I can’t even put it into words.”

Jamie was nodding. “I getcha. It’s unbelievable. Sorry, that’s totally cliché. But you’re right: it’s beyond words. You have to see it.”

“I’m glad Cody was taking pictures,” Mark said.

“Me too,” Jamie agreed. “I took a shit-ton of pictures. Although even that…I don’t know. I don’t know if the pictures are enough. You know?”

“I know. There was this…I don’t know…feeling.”

“Yeah! A feeling.  That’s the only way to put it,” Jamie said. “I felt…well, I don’t know where you are on religious stuff…?”

Mark smiled. “It’s a long story,” he replied. “I’d like to say ‘I’m spiritual but not religious’, but I hate it when people say shit like that. Everyone our age says shit like that.”

Jamie laughed. “That’s true,” she said, “but it’s true. That’s how I am, anyway. I believe in God, or something, but I don’t think church is the best place to go to find him. Or her. Or it. Or whatever.”

“So we go to Machu Picchu.”

“So we go to Machu Picchu. I mean, I don’t mean it that way. You don’t have to go to another continent to find God. That’s pretty fucking elitist. Still, though. Especially later in the day, when the clouds started coming down…I could swear I felt God, more than in a long time. Definitely since before the break-up. I just don’t know the last time I felt God so close to me.”

Mark looked at her for a few seconds before he responded. “That’s incredible. I was just thinking the same thing.  I mean, the exact same thing. The last time I had felt so close to God was when my son was born.”

For the first time in a long time, neither one spoke. There was nothing else to say.

“Jamie! Are you coming?” It was Andrew.

“What? Already?”

“Yeah girl. Ollantaytambo, second-to-last stop. This is where the taxi’s meeting us. You’re coming, right?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah,” Jamie said as she jumped up and ran down the aisle to grab her backpack.

Andrew and Bob shook hands with Cody, Mark and Adam. “It was great meeting you guys. Hopefully we’ll see you out partying tonight. Or maybe in Lima. You’re saying in Miraflores, right?”

Adam said, “Yeah, I think so. Inkawasi, right, Mark? It’s in Miraflores?”

“Yeah. Inkawasi. It's in Miraflores.”

Bob said, “Well, I don’t remember the name of our place. But there’s supposed to be some Irish pub in Miraflores where people party hard.  Supposedly they got good blow. Hopefully we’ll see you there.”

Jamie ran up with her backpack. “Okay, I’m ready. It was great meeting you guys,” she said to the Americans, giving each of them a quick hug. “I hope the rest of your trip is awesome.”

Jamie, Andrew and Bob walked off the bus.  Cody, Adam and Mark sat back down.

“God, I’m tired,” Cody said.

“And fucking hungry,” Adam added.

Mark sat quietly.  He knew that he had just had one of those stereotypical, once-in-a-lifetime type conversations you always read about. Being a guilty sort, he immediately began fostering an odd feeling of resentment at himself, at God. He would never, ever see Jamie again. He was a man who didn't like to leave things unsaid. All he wanted to do was tell her those three things: how much he was impressed her, how much he had enjoyed their conversation, and about that picture. That stupid fucking picture.

Once again, he rested his head against the window. No sooner had he done so that the glass vibrated three times as though someone were knocking on it.  He looked across from him before he thought to look out at the moonlit platform, where Jamie was waving to him.

“Thank you so much for the incredible conversation!” she shouted.  He read her lips more than he heard her.

He couldn’t shout inside the train car. Not knowing what else to do, he put his right thumb in the air. On the other side of the glass, Jamie laughed and put her thumb in the air.  Then she ran off to meet her friends.

Inside the train, Mark again rested his head on the glass. This time, he was smiling. If he was really going to do this whole God-thing, he realized, he had to remember people talked about Him (or Her) (or It) (or Whatever) in lots of different ways.  Sometimes they used words for hours on end. Sometimes they just gave a thumbs-up.

The train lurched into motion. They were making the stretch run into Cusco. “Good,” Mark thought. He was tired. And fucking hungry.

To be continued...

The craziest 72 hours of my life: Back to Cusco

I looked down at the verdant green, but unforgiving, slopes.  I gazed into the blue skies, becoming thick with the afternoon clouds. I heard no one; the crowd was growing scarce as the Park Service began quietly pushing people to leave.  I took a sip of water.  A feeling of peacefulness, a strange powerful peacefulness, washed over me.  And in that moment, I felt God pulse between my veins, consume my skin.  In that moment I didn't doubt God anymore than I doubted the llama chewing on the grass a few yards away from me. I said a silent prayer to whoever or whatever God was:

Thank you.

***********

The Park Service asked me to leave; it was after four o'clock and the afternoon clouds were descending on the ruins.  The Park Service had to make sure everyone left, that no one had tried to sneak in a sleeping bag to spend the night among the Incan ghosts.

Cody, Adam and I met in the area outside Machu Picchu and got on the bus to go back down to Aguas Calientes.  We followed Felix to a local restaurant, where I think he got served for free in exchange for directing tourists to the establishment.  I ate ají de gallina; it was the first meal we'd eaten since the night before in Cusco. It was one of the best meals I've ever eaten.

Then it was time to board the train back to Cusco.

************

It may seem as though I've dedicated an inordinate number for words to transportation in these essays: trains, buses, vans.  But when you travel, or at least when you take this kind of trip, this month-long, multi-destination trip, bus trips and train rides become more than a way from Point A to Point B. They become a way of marking time, a way of remembering how and why Point A led to Point B, and what happened before and after Point A and Point B.  They become as much as--or even moreso--a part of the trip as the great meal you had in Aguas Calientes, as the fearsome terrain of the Andean jungle. The train ride to Machu Picchu gave us Ray, and his history of bad luck in love. Cody, Adam and I still talk about him to this day; not even, so much, to make fun of him, as to remember that moment we shared together.

At 6:00 on Thursday, June 28, 2007, however, my main worry in getting on the train back to Cusco was to stay away from Roy.  I wanted to reflect a little bit on where we'd just been, not hear more stories about internet love.  I was lucky; this time I was seated across the aisle from Cody and Adam. There was no one sitting right next to me, and I didn't know the people across from me.  Roy sat a few stations down, and I realized Cody and Adam had been right: he was really fucking loud.  And with a new audience, he was sharing many of the same stories he had shared with me in the morning.

I made a point to kind of sit back and quietly reflect the first 30 minutes or so of the train ride back. By the time I came out of my self-imposed reverie and bought a Cusqueña, Cody and Adam had already gotten into a lively conversation with the two young men across from them. They were Aussies; they were somewhat similar to us in their ages and backgrounds, but they, too, were loud. I'm sure the whole train could hear them. They'd been in several South American countries already and were headed for more, but were, for the moment, focused on that day, and that night:

"Look at this poncho. I love this fucking poncho.  I am going to wear this fucking poncho everywhere," said one of them, handling with love the Incan poncho he had bought in Aguas Calientes.  "Did any of you guys buy a poncho?"

"Wha 'r ya boys doing tonight? You partying?"

"Maybe," Cody said. "But we have to get up early to catch a flight to Lima."

"Mark doesn't," Adam said. "He might be partying."

The Aussies looked at me. "You guh be partying mate?"

I shrugged. "Maybe.  But I don't know if I'll stay out alone, without these guys."

"You guys know where (some club) is? I think we're gonna party there," said one of the guys.

"I hear they got good blow in Cusco. You guys know anything about that?" said the other.

Adam, Cody and I weren't sure what to say.  But they insisted:

"Seriously, we want to get some good blow. Seriously, you guys know? Where we can score?"

It was one of those conversations where it was hard to join in if you weren't in it from the beginning. There was also a blond woman with them, American, who had left her seat and was crouched in the aisle while the five of them talked, holding her Cusqueña.  Apparently she was on her own multi-country trip, and had ran into these Australian guys the day before, and they had made fast friends.

As it became apparent that it was going to be tough to get in on this conversation, I sort of gave up. I sat back against the wall of the train, and closed my eyes. I tried to sleep but I was far too uncomfortable. Around me, the Australian guys competed with Roy for who could be the loudest, and I just bought another Cusqueña and tried to relax.  I was really ready for some socializing, but it looked as though between trying to avoid Roy and the incredible alpha maleness of these two Aussies, it wasn't meant to be. And I made my peace with that. It looked like this train ride really would just be about getting from Point A to Point B.

To be continued...