The craziest 72 hours of my life: Miracles

They were nearing the train station.  The sun hadn't broken the eastern sky and its ominous mountains yet: it was dead winter in the southern hemisphere.  In fact, just four days earlier, the three travelers had seen the traditional Incan celebration of the Inca Raaimi, or winter solstice.  The parade had wound around the Plaza de Armas, the people in traditional clothing, and they just kept going, and going, and going....

"We are here," said the cabdriver, pulling to a stop at the train station.

"Thank you so much," said all three of the young men. They tipped the driver well.

"Enjoy," he said. "You will love it. It's incredible. It's like a miracle."

***********

A miracle.  I had needed a couple already, just to be here, just to be hearing these words.

In case you haven't figured it out, I was the young owner of the cell phone who was fluent in Spanish.  The young man underneath the blankets, battling with his digestive system, was my friend Adam. The other young man was my friend Cody.  We were on my sixth day in Cusco, and their seventh.

The genesis of this trip had been in 2005.  That was when I married that woman from Lima, Sonia, with whom I will celebrate 12 years of marriage in a few weeks.  Our plan for a honeymoon was an abbreviated trip to St. Louis that summer, then an extended trip to South America the following summer of 2006, when we would visit her family in Peru and my adopted family in Venezuela. 

Plans have a way of changing.  We spent the summer of 2006 caring for our newborn son, Niko.

Later on that year, Sonia's sister announced she would be marrying her longtime boyfriend, Jeremy, and that the ceremony would be held in Lima.  Sonia and I began making plans at once: the wedding would be on June 30.  We'd arrive ten days or so beforehand, see Peru, do the wedding, then take off for Venezuela a few days later. Niko would accompany us.  We cast a wide net for friends who wanted to travel; eventually, Cody and Adam took us up on it, knowing that there would be plenty of people to translate for them.

Plans have a way of changing.  For a variety of reasons, Jeremy and Wendoly would no longer marry in Lima, but here in Iowa.

Thus the first miracle, a minor one.  After much discussion, it was decided that I couldn't leave Cody and Adam in the lurch, having already bought non-refundable tickets.  I would leave with them as scheduled.  But could Sonia join us at a later date?  After much dealing with airlines, we got it worked out, and the result was even better for me personally: Sonia would join me on July 3; Cody and Adam would leave as planned; Sonia and I would spend an additional week in Peru before leaving for Venezuela; and Sonia's parents would watch Niko. All in all, I would be in South America nearly a month; I'd have my boys' trip AND a honeymoon. Perfection.

It all nearly collapsed at the last possible second, giving place to a second, more major miracle. Cody, Adam and I left for Chicago on June 21.  We left in the middle of the night and landed in Mexico City, where I experienced a manic episode.  I ran all around the airport, taking free shots of tequila at duty-free shops and taking in this major international hub. When we got ready to board the plane to Lima, my passport was missing in action. I was told, "You'll have to go back to Chicago."

What happened in the next 24 hours could easily fill its own blog post. Maybe "The craziest 24 hours of my life". Or "Being Illegal in Mexico City".  But somehow, someway, it worked out.  Cody and Adam left on that flight; they would go on to Cusco and do the best they could.  They arrived in Cusco on Friday morning.  The next morning, at 9:00, I knocked on their door at Hotel Suecia 2.

The days passed in a blur.  Partying on Saturday with some Europeans from Hotel Suecia 2 at Club Asia across the street.  Walking the steeply inclined streets.  A few local markets.  An overnight trip to Puno and the world's highest navigable lake, Lago Titicaca.  We arrived from Puno late Wednesday afternoon, got something to eat, and retired early.  We were leaving for Machu Picchu early the next morning.

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

Daylight was breaking over the train platform as we boarded.  It was cold but clear and the train was filling with people from all over the world, except for Peru.  Peruvians have their own train, which costs quite a bit less money, and is reputedly not as nice.  Not that the train we were riding in was deluxe by any means: the seats weren't cushioned and didn't recline, and leg room was sparse.

But no matter: we weren't there for the accommodations.  We were to meet our van, S21, in Aguas Calientes, and train would take us there.  The seats were in groups of four, with two people facing two others.  Since we had purchased our tickets late, we were split up.  Cody and Adam sat together, and I was in the same car, but down the aisle a little ways.

Almost exactly at 6:30, the train lurched to a start.  We were leaving Cusco. I opened my breakfast, a Snickers bar that a vendor had been selling on the platform.  Across from me was another American, Roy, from Florida. He was a few years older than me and was accompanied by his girlfriend, a woman from Lima he had met online. They were both quite conservative but very nice; she was very affectionate, constantly hugging him and giving him pecks on the cheek and on the mouth.  I really missed Sonia right then.

As the train progressed, I finally understood a word I had heard many times before but never fully captured: switchback.  We were actually going down in altitude; Cusco is significantly higher up than Machu Picchu.  The mountains were too steep to just run down the rails, so the train descended for a while, then pulled up flat, then changed direction and continued descending.  As we progressed, vegetation, which we had left behind in Cusco, began to reappear, fledgling at first, gradually thickening and growing more lush. 

A mix of tiredness, boredom and amazement settled over me.  The scenery was incredible, but progress was slow, and Roy almost never shut up.  I pretty much knew his whole life story an hour into the trip, in particular his many struggles with women until he had met this wonderful Peruvian woman and how she had changed his life.  I struggled to stay awake and struggled to fall asleep simultaneously. 

At one point (probably many, but I remember this one in particular), the train came to a halt, and there were some indigenous girls, probably eight or ten years old, playing right outside the train on an ancient piece of farming machinery.  Some Portuguese guys, quite verbal (and obnoxious) in their own right, yelled out the window at them in broken Spanish, and took several pictures. The girls smiled shyly and continued playing.

This bothered me.  It was as if, to these guys, the girls were part of the scenery, another element of the exotic, another Incan wall to document for their travel blog. I could just see these blowhards flying back into Lisbon the next week and showing this picture to their privileged, elite friends and saying, "See, we saw it all in Peru: the mountains, the jungle, AND real, live, off-the-grid, poor Indians."

But I tried to withhold judgment; I didn't need that negative energy. We were almost to Aguas Calientes.

To be continued...