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...