Not Lucky

People came in and out of our office all day today. Stressed people, happy people, curious people, clueless people, and one very broken person.

I remember the feeling well...

You're where you're meant to be, doing what you just know is what you're supposed to be doing, and then out-of-the-blue, comes that text, that email, that call, and the world crashes down around you.

Normally I like to write upbeat, humorous posts; but going out and having adventures, living all the dreams you never thought possible, it comes with a price - at times a high one.

For me it was my Grandpa, and due to issues with my Visa, I watched over Skype from South Korea as my family gathered together to say goodbye to my last grandparent. Skype.

For her it was her grandma, and she gets to go home to be with her family when they lay her to rest, but that hardly makes it easier.

The woman, my age more or less, broken. And my heart could only break along with her in silent sympathy. Oh yes, she put up a brave face, laughed and joked along with the rest of us during dinner, mentioned she was leaving but glossed over the reason why.

I get it. It's hard. There's nothing to say, and no one to say it to. It's like walking through a dense fog, hoping that no one notices that you have no idea where you are going. Doing whatever it takes to feel normal - unbroken, whole.

But them someone mentioned Disney songs, and for the rest of the night she sang. As a small group of us meandered toward the city center, snacked on sweets, wondered at the swan/merman/faun creatures adorning the fountain in the plaza, and slowly made our way back to the school. She kept singing. Every time her voice cracked and she laughed at herself and said she was done, she started again.

And I sang with her.

I went out with a group of people I didn't know, paid an outrageous amount of money for a drink I didn't even want, and sang like a crazed tourist.

But why?

She doesn't know me, I don't think she even knew my name. She has no idea that I know her story all too well. She will never know any of that, and tomorrow, on her flight home, she won't remember me.

No, traveling isn't easy.

Nights like this when I can't sleep because I'm wishing that my dreams didn't have to be so far apart, times when people you love pass and you're not there to be a part of the support and closure, moments when you reach out to someone you don't know and give them a piece of your heart without them ever knowing.

And why?

All for a dream - that chance to feel for a fleeting instant that it's all worth it.

So no, I'm not lucky.

Traveling is my dream, but achieving it doesn't make me lucky - it fulfills me while it's scarring me, it gives me life while it's breaking my heart.

Warning: Flexibility an Imperative

It started at 5:00am, Wednesday morning - the most eventful week of my life, that is.

27.5 hours later I arrived at my friend's apartment in Lima. Many kilometers and Spanish conversations later, at 5:30pm Tuesday afternoon, I boarded the bus for Cusco. After 24 hours of Peruvian road-tripping, I finally made it to my final destination - Amauta Spanish School. And now, after a nice meal of water, tuna, crackers, and an orange, 12 hours of sleep, and a long hot shower, I'm finally sitting down to try to record the events of the last 170 hours.

-- Wednesday, August 26 --
***Waking up at 5:00am really isn't a big deal, especially when the prospect of the day is going to bed in 18 hours in a different city, a different country, a different continent.
***Everything went smoothly: the flight to Washington DC where I met a nice old Jewish man heading to Florida for a reunion of a life-long group of friends. It was for a funeral, but in his words it was only one of the group that he loved to hate, so he wasn't too perturbed. (Dad, he said to send his greetings to you.)
***Another quick flight to Ft. Lauderdale, nothing out of the ordinary until we landed, then due to lightning strikes near the runway, we sat on the tarmac, with countless other planes, for over an hour.
***I heard many life lessons from the Dominican lady next to me. She talked about her children, her struggle learning English, her family back in the Republic, her new retired life in Florida, and many other topics. But what she really wanted me to hear was this: Sometimes, even when we love someone, we must not only let them go there own way, but also close the door in our hearts.
***We finally made it into the airport, where, for some reason or another, I sat/stood for 8 hours, until finally boarding the flight for Lima - originally scheduled for 5:36 - at 11:00.
***Inside the Ft. Lauderdale airport, I walked to the gate I'd originally been assigned to, and was surprised to see so many white, English-speaking people at the gate for Lima, Peru. It wasn't until 45 minutes later when they announced that the gate for the flight to Boston had been changed from F6 to F4 that I understood. It happened again when my gate changed and all the people sitting in that waiting area were very black. Turns out they were headed to Jamaica. In the end, it was me, 4 other white people, and a whole lot of Peruvians, who boarded for flight 1825.
***$20 food voucher for the inconvenience of waiting for endless hours? I'll take it.
***Have you ever seen an adult literally dragged kicking and screaming? Well I have, thank you Ft. Lauderdale Hollywood International Airport.

-- Thursday, August 27 --
***I think I slept for about half an hour somewhere over Cuba, but neck and shoulder problems prohibited any real rest.
***As we landed the crew announced that we would all be receiving $250 in travel credit, so that was a small highlight.
***We finally landed at 3:11am. It took about 15 to get through customs and baggage claim - see, there is a plus to travelling at night.
***My friend had planned to pick me up at the airport, but as my flgiht was delayed later and later, we cancelled that plan. I, however, had no idea what the new plan was.
***Money exchange kiosks aren't open at 4:00am.
***Neither are the kiosks to renew the service on your local phone.
***Fortunately I met a sincerely helpful taxi driver who directed me toward an outlet where I could charge my US phone, and a Starbucks where I could get some WiFi.
***While charging my phone I met an old man waiting for his flight to the jungle to visit his daughter who is a dentist. He bought me coffee; that was nice.
***I finally got ahold of my friend, and she called a taxi for me. At 7:00, after 25 hours in various airports, I was finally on my way to the real world again.
***It was rush hour, and the route was a new one for my driver, so it took 90 minutes to reach our destination, but it was well worth it!
***Hazel had stayed with my Uncle and Aunt in New Jersey for several months while studying English, and I'd also been in contact with her through email and Facebook for several months. Meeting in person was just as wonderful as we thought it would be. You know when you meet someone, and you can't even imagine pausing to eat because you feel you've known them your whole life and you need to catch up on everything? Sleep wasn't even in the question. (And believe me, this girl LOVES her sleep and food!) It was magical.
***Many hours of conversation, a quick tour of the neighborhood - Pueblo Libre, Free Town, so named because it was where Simon Bolivar resided, a few stops to buy food, exchange dollars for soles, and buy service for my phone, and a nice relaxing shower constituted most of Thursday.
***To finish off the day, I got to meet an incredible woman who'd put Hazel in contact with my family, and inadvertently introduced her to me as well. Sitting there with those two, Hazel and Olga, I couldn't help but wonder at the great fortune I seem to meet with at every turn.

-- Friday, August 28 --
***I awoke at about 5:00am to the sound of taxi horns. After 40 hours without sleep, I'd hoped to spend a few more than 6 sleeping, but the excitement of being once again in a place I've grown to love so much, made sleep a bit difficult.
***Fresh fruit and hot tea - the breakfast of champions.
***A bit of English practice with Hazel and her brother, a bit of political discussion regarding social practice and climate change, and talk of all the wonders the day would hold.
***As I'd mentioned that familiarizing myself a bit with the public transit system of Lima, it was suggested that said brother, Jorge, would accompany me by bus to the tip of the peninsula on which Lima is built.
***Incredibly beautiful ocean views, the Naval Museum, a quick stop for water, and conversation ranging from careers to history, significant other and the nature of love to the usefulness of knowing Spanish made the many kilometers we covered by bus and on foot fly by.
***Homemade "Chifa" - Peruvian Chinese food - because Hazel knew I'd studied in Korea and enjoy Asian food.
***My friend texted me and asks if we can meet at 9:00pm that night. Is that normal here? Normally I make plans for 6:00 or 7:00, but apparently 9:00 on a Friday is how we do things here.
***Our little group, Hazel, Jorge, and myself left the house again around 5:00pm to wander around Lima's city center, "La ciudad de los Reyes." It was quaint and artistic. We saw live mannequins, street musicians, a very few tourists, the pub where the president and congress always go for breakfast on their first day in office, and probably the longest line of people I've ever seen waiting to place flowers on a shrine and request a miracle at the Cathedral.
***"Arroz con Leche" is Peru's version of rice pudding and I could eat it several times a day, every day.
***Then it was 8:30, time for me to go out on my own to find my friend in a distant district of Lima.
***2 buses, 2 helpful (and nosy) caballeros, and over an hour later, I finally arrived in the Plaza in Barranco where we'd planned to meet. For the first time ever, he arrived somewhere before I did.
***A text from Hazel, "It's going to be both expensive and dangerous for you to come back here, so if you can stay with your friend for that night, that would be good." Well I wasn't expecting, planning, or even wanting to do that, I didn't want to get lost, be robbed, or die, so flexibility it was.
***It was so very nice to spend a few hours dancing with my favorite dance partner ever, drinking just enough to remember how to dance, and laughing like we only had a few hours to live.

-- Saturday, August 29 --
***Then talking for hours and hours before finally falling asleep at about 3:00am.
***The honking horns didn't wake me until 7:00, so I was thankful.
***San Miguel is a part of Lima where there are too many people, and none of them white. Plenty to buy, but no money to buy it with. Plenty to see, and for me, not enough time to see it.
***But we saw plenty before we finally decided to part ways in the mid-afternoon.
***A very quick goodbye and all-of-a-sudden, I was on the bus.
***I know the drill, get on bus, give the guy some change, he'll give you a ticket, and then it's sit and see who gets on next. But for me, this time, it was different. The coin I gave him was 5 soles, my last coin which had been given to me buy a vendor of public phone service. He took it, felt it, and handed it back, "It's fake." It took me several minutes and a few bus stops to comprehend my situation. I was alone, without any money, somewhere in Lima. The guy was nice, but he couldn't just let me ride for free. So I got off.
***Nothing, not even the public phone booth, would take my coin. Apparently I was the only one fooled by it.
***So I called my friend and told him that unless he was already in a life-and-death situation, he needed to come help me.
***Half an hour later, with a funny little grin on his face he showed up with that hug that says "Of all the things that could've happened to you, this? But it's ok, I'm here now." We had to laugh.
***By that time it was too late to meet back up with Hazel for dinner, so we had a few more hours wandering the city, talking, making fun of each other, and trying not to lose each other in the crowd that is San Miguel on a Saturday night.
***The acoustics in the little cafe where we had some tea made my voice sound amazing, and he listened as I sang him some of my favorite tunes, including Whitney Houston, Marc Anthony, the Eagles, Kelly Clarkson, and Whitney again at his request.
***It's not every day you meet friends who make you feel like a star while simultaneously feeling like they embody home. They're worth traveling the globe to visit.
***This time my coin was just fine and I was safely on the bus across the city, back to Pueblo Libre. As often happens, someone got on trying to sell something. He was telling stories about the history of Miraflores and Lima, and collecting money for something related. I gathered most of what he was saying, but after 3 long days of speaking Spanish and 2 very short nights, I was zoning out completely. He walked down the rows asking for donations, got to mine, hesitated, and kept walking. Hmm.
***I wasn't too concerned about finding my way from the bus stop to Hazel's apartment, I'd been on and off the bus a few times already.
***But my adventures of the day were not over. I found the right stop. But by some trick of mind - probably mostly a trick of lack of sleep - I made a simple and important mistake. I thought we'd come from the east, but we'd come from the west. So the side of the street that I was thinking was the north side, where I would fine the landmarks I'd need, was actually the south side where everything was unfamiliar. Fortunately I speak Spanish, and I've spent an unrealistic amount of my life being lost, so after an hour wandering up and down trying to not look vulnerable, I finally discovered my error, and 10 minutes later I was safe.
***Thankfully I'm used to being lost and tired, so I enjoyed the humour in the situation.

-- Sunday, August 30 --
***I finally slept a bit later, because I wasn't near a window and honking horns.
***A trip to the gym. You know how long it's been since I've been to a gym? I actually think that was a first. 3 hours of Afro-Peruvian dancing, jogging, walking, cycling, ab-exercises, and relaxing in the sauna later, I felt amazing. Still not sore, and not sure what that means.
***Lunch with Hazel's sister, who was impressed by my Spanish, and my ability to dance (haha!), and the 11-year-old niece who is learning English, but a little too embarrassed to use it with me.
***Lovely trip to the mall. And that's not something you'll hear me saying very often. But it always amuses me to go places that are the same from country to country, as malls are. The same, but oh so very different.
***Sunday night consisted of talking, for hours, about the many topics that interest both Hazel and myself. We spoke of our pasts, our families, our theories of life and death, our hopes for the future, our fears and failures, our struggles and strengths, and any other topic that came up.
***Finally had the chance to talk for a few minutes with the home people including my "chico." He is always so sweet, patient, understanding, and supportive as a run around the globe doing my things. I am so lucky.

-- Monday, August 31 --
***I finally got to hear Hazel using English as we Skyped with my Uncle and Aunt for a couple hours. In many ways it was so strange - like several different worlds colliding, but in a pleasant and comfortable way.
***Discussion of teaching and learning English as a second language followed - quite interesting to me at the moment as a work on become a certified ESL teacher. Sometimes the students are the best teachers.
***Packing all my clothes, books, and accessories for 4 months into an impossibly small amount of baggage is always a fun challenge, and I always win.
***We decided, that as a parting gift to ourselves, we would go to another discrict in Lima - San Isidra - for Hazel's favorite Asian food. Hanzo is Japanese-Peruvian fusion food, and although that sounds suspicious, it was wonderful!
***The server was attentive and pleasant, which is unusual here, so I wonder if he was trained differently, or a bit enamored and creepy. Things I'll never know.
***It was late when we finally got home, and a glance at the clock assured us that the only thing we had time to think about was getting to the bus station.
***I'm not sure how many lanes the roads in Lima have, or how I could determine that. If I ever could see the lines painted there, it wouldn't help me anyway as the "lanes" are always changing. Sometimes I believe myself to be on an 8-lane highway that takes up the space of one of our 2-lane highways in the US. Crazy doesn't begin to describe it. But I thought I'd seen the worst of it as taxi drivers are always in a hurry - right? Wrong. Our taxi driver knew we were in a hurry, and somehow became even more aggressive than any I'd seen to date. There are no words to describe it.
***But we arrived on time.
***Hazel ran in to start the process of buying the ticket (this company doesn't do online reservations) as I unloaded my stuff. I started in to the wrong door, but the helpful people behind my quickly and laughingly corrected me. I must have been a funny sight!
***I made it with about 30 seconds to spare and within 5 minutes of leaving my taxi I was seated on the bus.
***I was extremely excited to take a road trip across Peru, and expectantly looked out my window, only to fine that mine, the front window, was frosted to (in my opinion) an unnecessary degree.
***Determined to not let this get me down, I looked for the positives...

-- Tuesday, September 1 --
***The radio that the drivers were listening to could usually be heard from my seat - a mix of Latin American pop, salsa, and north American 80s. Not bad.
***I could have been the person wretching the entire drive.
***I would have been too cold to sleep even a little if it hadn't been for the kindly lady next to me spreading her blanket over my legs unsolicited. I was very thankful as the only way I managed to survive the trip without getting carsick was dozing as much as possible.
***The windows on the other side of the bus were clear and allowed me to see some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever encountered. Enough beauty was revealed as the sun came up to make the long, cold, uncomfortable night totally worth it.
***We finally stopped around 8:00am for restrooms and breakfast, but I wasn't about to eat anything.
***After that stop time seemed to stand still. I dozed, watched the movies they were playing on and off, tried to look out my window, dozed some more, and listened to the people chatting around me.
***I'm not sure if it felt like 2 hours or twenty, but at 5:00pm, we finally arrived in Cusco.
***That trip cost me approximately $22.
***Finding a taxi was easy, traffic here in Cusco suddenly seems tame and the rides so cheap.
***My taxi driver somehow knew that this wasn't my first time in Cusco, but I was too tired to inquire how he knew.
***It was nice to see an old friend upon my arrival at the school.
***How can it have been 9 months since I was here last? It seems like it's just been a few weeks.
***I went out to change some money and get a quick dinner - water, tuna, crackers, and an orange fit the bill. As I sat finishing my dinner on a bench in the plaza, as often happens, I was approached by a chico trying to sell paintings. Well, actually, that's not exactly what happened. My cracker wrapper decided to blow away as he was about 10 feet away, so he picked it up for me, and then asked if I was interested in looking at his paintings. I told him I'd love to look, but I wasn't going to buy anything. He didn't seem too concerned with that, and we sat and talked for a while. Sometimes, if you just stop and smile at someone, you get a really creepy next few mintues, but this time it was a happy ending. You just never know when you'll meet someone new and lovely.
***I'd hoped to meet up with another friend for dinner, but he was busy, so we made plans to go out when I'd had a chance to sleep and rest some.
***Bed at 8:30 was wonderful.
***And the WiFi here is good enough to talk on the phone, send pictures and messages, and feel not quite so far away from my loved ones.

-- Wednesday, September 2 --
***And now here it is, I've written and talked the morning away, and it's lunch time. I can't wait. I'll go out with Marco later, and tomorrow at 8:30 start my internship. 

Beach Body

What comes to you mind when you hear that term - "beach body"?

If you're anything like me, and/or you grew up anywhere not near a beach, your mind probably conjures up some image of the "perfect" body: young, skinny, in shape, tan, smooth, hair-free skin, etc.

The difference between this picture, and what I saw in the mirror (soft-and-squishy, blindingly-white, really-doesn't-like-shaving 20-something) always caused me some consternation at the idea of going to the beach. When people would speak longingly of a week at the beach, my mind instantly responded with "Yeah, right - maybe if I lost 30lbs, sun-bathed for a year, trained for a marathon, and was into Brazilian waxing!"

This mindset carried over into many other areas of my life - I didn't like going swimming, or jogging, or really doing anything that might call attention to the fact that my body was anything but "perfect." Even after a long struggle with bulimia, and several years of learning to take care of my body and not be ashamed of it, the thought of going to the beach scared me. Now, no one ever said you have to wear swim suits to the beach, but even the thought of being around other people so amazingly attractive that they enjoyed showing off their bodies, intimidated me beyond words.

These ideas, the picture I had in my head of a perfect body, how far I was from it, and how much I thought I should have it, seemed to be common threads I saw in the people around me. Living in a small college town meant there was little variation - you had your sorority girls, and you had your redneck chicks, and your white trash b******, and then the rest of us. It was ok to be "overweight" - if you liked being stuck in the same town for the rest of your life. It was ok to not be tan - if you were sick, or goth, or just really weird. And it was ok to not shave - if you liked shopping for comfort food in your pajamas at Wal-Mart in the middle of the night. (Incidentally, I really like doing that, but that's a bit beside the point.)

In short, you were either attractive - you had the "perfect beach body" - or you were nothing. Less than nothing, you were white trash. (Because apparently white people are the only people who get to be anything in Cookeville, but that's another story for another day.)

Before coming down to Charleston for the summer, I'd spent a few weekends here, and we'd gone to the beach a few times. But I mostly felt really out-of-place, because I KNEW I didn't have a beach body. And of course, everyone else could see it too.

It wasn't until I'd been here for a few weeks, watched the people around me, and gone to the beach a few more times, that it dawned on me: EVERYONE IN CHARLESTON HAS A BEACH BODY!

How was I to feel about this?!

Where were the distinctions between "people who looked good at the beach" and "people who need to wear one-pieces"?

At first I was a bit baffled, and to be honest, a bit lost. But it only took a short time for me to realize and revel in the freedom this brought. Not only was it acceptable to go to the beach without being "perfect," it was normal - everyone was doing it.

There's an honesty here that I appreciate.

I love that people would rather be comfortable than listen to marketers scream at them that they are "too fat," "too old," "too white," to wear a swim suit, and go to the beach to cool off.

And it carries over into other areas of life. No, people don't wear swim suits to Wal-Mart, but dressing the way you like is far less likely to get you labeled as anything in a place where everyone has to realize that a "perfect beach body" simply doesn't exist.

My very first bus ride (in the USA)

...didn't actually happen.

I was all ready to go - I'd had the ticket in hand for several weeks. I was so excited - this trip would start the end of a year-long separation from a very special person. The bus was scheduled to leave Cookeville and head to Knoxville at 8:45pm, so I arrived with about 20 minutes to spare. There was a bus there already, but it was the bus to Nashville, the driver assured me, "The next bus is yours sweetie, it'll be here any minute."



So I waited.

You see, this wasn't just any old bus ride. I've been on bus rides before. Bus rides, train rides, plain rides, even boat rides - but this was the first in the US. I thought I'd give my country a chance before slamming it for having the worst public transit system in the world.

So I waited some more.

9:00. Maybe there was a wreck and they're running late.

9:30. Ok, this is weird, let me try calling someone. Wait, I don't have any internet connection.

9:45. After calling about 5 numbers, I finally got in touch with someone, who told me to call the Nashville station, and gave me a number.

10:00. Nashville operator: "You're saying the bus is over an hour late? Oh well honey, we don't have any tracking system in our buses - you'd have to contact the station it was going to... Here's a number."

10:10. Knoxville station: NOTHING. Not even an answering machine or call waiting.

10:20. Home office again: "Oh that's not the right number, thy this one."

10:30. Knoxville station (maybe?): Still nothing. Well, it was the right station, which was supposed to be manned 24/7, but nothing.

10:45. Home office. Again. "Nothing? Nothing?! So the bus just never showed up and no one is answering any phones?" Yeah, B****, that's what I've been saying for the last 2 hours.

I stopped waiting at that point, and jumped in my car. I woke up to this, so I can't complain too much.

But I'm now more convinced than ever that we have the worst public transit system in the world.

The Kings' Universal Appeal: "A bad boy, but not TOO bad"

We decided to go to Graceland somewhat hesitantly, it was just something we figured we should do, as TN residents for 15 years, it only seemed fitting. I figured it would be okay - I've seen my share of fancy houses, and I like old, rich, dead people's stuff as much as the next person, but it's not exactly a novelty anymore. So we went to Graceland, not sure what to expect, but not expecting too much. What we found blew us away.

In it's simplicity, it's homey elegance, it's livability, it's unique personality, and it's overwhelming color showed a man, and his family, who lived like normal people. A man who imprinted his personality into every room of his house, but without overwhelming it with elegance and needless luxury. It's a house that you can see someone living in, playing with his daughter, entertaining friends, watching the news, and cooking midnight snacks while watching the tine B&W tube.

Without further ado:

Even the sign is simple and to the point. 

From this view, it really looks like it could be anyone's house - well, not mine, but you get the idea.

Ok, so not many of us have stained glass in our family rooms, or grand pianos for that matter, but he was Elvis, and he had a super long couch and coffee table so that his whole family could sit and drink together, glass peacocks or no.

When his daughter, Lisa Marie, comes home, she stays in the house - the upstairs is closed to the public as it was during his lifetime - and she uses the kitchen, same as it was 50 years ago.

I don't care how much money I have in my life, I will never ever be able to pull this off.

There's a reason this room is so famous. It's crazy and colorful, but somehow calming. A fountain, a panda, a guitar, and the bright Memphis sun - just a normal day in the Jungle Room.

The pasture out back.

And the back yard.

This plaque, hardly modest, was made to honor the philanthropic work that Elvis did, giving away huge amounts of the money he made as he already had everything he wanted and kept his eyes open to all those around him who were struggling even to live. It's taller than I am.

Each of those checks is $1000, worth ~$10,000 in the 50s. This was barely the beginning.

Elvis' appeal was that he was "a bad boy" - who appealed to teens and young adults, but "not dangerous" - a fact that appealed to parents. 

This is the memorial garden. Yep, that's it. 

They included the tractor that the landscaper used to keep up the grounds around Graceland in the automobile museum because it was generally acknowledged that everyone played a part and no work was to be undervalued. So there's the tractor alongside the Ferraris and motorcycles.

Private jet - why not?

And finally, the man loved his sleep! Not only did the jet include several beds and couches, but even a bed that converted into a couch, just in case. A true hero.

Machu Picchu, Part 2: Another Side

I could've taken the same pictures that you see in postcards and the Peruvian government's website, but why? They wouldn't have been as perfect, and you can see them on Google anyway. So without further ado, here are some MP pictures that you won't see on a Google search or any other website - except this one.

We visited in the peak of summer/rainy season, which meant a lot of greenery highlighted by the intense clouds overhead.

Quite literally, the backside of Machu Picchu.

Another view, with heavy cloud cover and a slight view of the muddy river in the valley far, far below.

The paths are maintained with grids of heavy duty wiring, but all the rain that falls between October and March still erodes them.

This is a view that usually only ants get...

The perfect picnic spot - to the left (not pictured) all the rest of MP.

The mountain top is surrounded by other mountains that are less cultivated but equally beautiful.

Down in the valley and around the bend, just a few hundred yards away from one of the most iconic sites in the world, there's a huge industrialized park next to the muddy river. 

Some more wild, rainy season beauty.

That mountain is the "nose" in the silhouette behind MP, the rest is hidden around the corner. 

Certainly not a part of the original..

That guy standing out there by himself will have a picture to die for. The pictures of people you see at MP are usually taken from this rock. Friends and strangers take turns taking each others photos, and as everyone recognizes that this will likely be one of the most epic pictures they ever get of themselves, they unselfishly stand in line and excitedly snap the photo of their neighbor in front of them, in turn handing their camera to the person waiting behind them. I heard English, Chinese, Spanish, Portuguese, Korean, and some other European languages, but everyone knew exactly what everyone else was saying. One of the coolest moments of shared humanity I've gotten to witness.

It's in there somewhere.

This is the same thing you saw in the second picture, just from the other end.

"Work Zone." Yes, some people actually have a job here, maintaining, unearthing, keeping people off the structures, etc.

The playing field where they had nightly entertainment.

Building right next to the Sacred Rock, (Look it up, I couldn't a picture of it worth posting. It was to my right as I took this picture.) but I really have no idea what it was used for, or who used it.

The quick way down.

Machu Picchu, Part 1: We finally made it!

The day I visited my first of the 7 Wonders of the World will forever be remembered as one of the most mixed of experiences and emotions. 

Machu Picchu. 

A place full of magic, history, culture, and people, lots of people. An unforgetable place that can take hours to reach, hours to explore, and finally several more hours to leave. An incredible place that will require an incredible amount of savings to finance. And finally, a place of breath-taking magnitude, beauty, mystery, and masonry.

Our day started around 5. The goal was to reach Calle Pavitos and catch a combi down to Ollantaytambo, from there it was just a matter of finding a bus, or a train, or some means of reaching the little town of Machu Picchu a few thousand feet below the famous historical site of Machu Picchu. It all sounded simple enough when I looked at the Peruvian government's official site, it also seemed rather simple when I read the experiences of fellow travels of Trip Advisor and other such helpful sites. And it was simple. At first. 5:30 in the morning we reach Calle Patvitos - we know we're in the right place because we could hear the drivers calling out their destinations from three blocks away. Incidentally they are all going the same place, so we have some bargaining power. Our local friends told us not to pay more than 10 Soles each, so when we found a driver who was willing to give us that price we hopped in. His combi was fairly empty, so we know we've got a little while to wait - no one drives for two hours with an empty seat. No one. 

About 6:30 we finally get on the road. Surprise: Jo and I are the only foreigners in the van. We listen to the radio, bad news about a bus crash, but other than that the van is quiet, it's too early for talk. The drive into the Valle Sagrado between Cusco and Ollantaytambo is gorgeous. We are almost too tired to keep our eyes open, but we know that the scenery is too good to miss. High, snow-covered peaks; lush, green fields; the sun coming up over the mountains, sending the snow into a fury of glittering, dazzling, blinding beauty; young children beginning the days chores - minding the llamas, pigs, goats, and sheep tethered along the sides of the road; and here and there a lone shop-keeper or vendor beginning the days work early, hoping to catch the earliest-risers. Most of our fellow passengers are asleep. They take this trip every morning, making their way from the crowded Cusco to the smaller tourist towns in the Sacred Valley where they are more likely to have a steady stream of business. They have grown accustomed to the sights and sounds, the beauty of the Andes has lost its charm on this Monday morning. 

Upon arriving at the bus station in Ollantaytambo at around 8:20, we begin to question some local people about different routes to Machu Picchu. We get some strange looks, and two answers. Most point to the train ticketing booth and look at us like we must be stupid - everyone takes the train. Finally, however, I get the answer I am looking for, "Go back to the plaza and take a bus, it will get you about half way, you can walk the rest of the way." But the plaza was a long way away, so we opt to take the train on the way in, and the walking/bus route on the way out. With about 2 minutes to spare we run to catch the train. It was a nice train. They give us coffee, and a chocolate pastry. And a tangerine. That's nice too. But for $87 per one-way ticket, it better be nice! Again, the scenery is breathtaking. This time we wind around next to a tumultuous river which looks unsettlingly much like chocolate milk to two people who knew they wouldn't be eating much that day. 

When we finally reach Machu Picchu at around 10:30 we wander around a bit. The town is quiet, remote. The girl in the Mini Shop doesn't even know where the bus station to "el sitio historico de Machu Picchu" is. A friendly lady in a pharmacy from whom we bought tissues finally pointed us in the right direction. After stopping to buy some bread for lunch we reach the station and again, opt to take the bus up (only $10 per one way ticket this time), and walk back down. The bus is almost full, which means we'll be heading up soon. We are NOT too tired to be excited, not too excited to notice the young mother next to us traveling with three young children, and not too travel-weary to take note of their faces and recognize them the next day at the airport in Lima (it really is a small world!).

After half an hour of zig-zagging our way up the side of a mountain, we're there. Machu Picchu!

People stream out in front of us, all waiting for the little stamp, "usado" letting the world know that we have used our tickets to Machu Picchu - we made it! Once through the gate we move slowly up the slight incline and finally, FINALLY, spread out in front of us like a dream come true, is one of the most incredible and truly wonderful sights I have ever seen. 

...To be continued!