After the emotional cost of Clinic Day 5, I took a cat nap before dinner, looking forward to plans of an evening out with our host family. We loaded up in two vehicles with Mali, Jenny, and the crew to head up to Cristo Blanco; affectionately and literally translated to “White Jesus” by the Unemployed House ladies. We snapped some group photos and shared some giggles, our hosts concerned for our warmth on this chilly evening… it was 50⁰ with a breeze. I assured them I would be just fine, but appreciated their concern.
After a late night* meetup with the rest of the Making a Difference crew, I collapsed into a fitful sleep of sniffles and aches, waking from the denial that I might be sick.
*Late night: after 8 pm. I still aspire to be an old lady who does crosswords and yells at people walking on her lawn, but offers you home-baked goods if you’re on her good side.
I phoned home to chat with Mom to recognize her for her significant part in making today stand out on the calendar, squawking out a hello to find that the frog in my throat had finally been successful in stealing my voice. Later, ¡Feliz cumpleaños! rang out from the downstairs kitchen as I dined on sweet bread and cereal with my housemates.
The deep sleep of a post-breakfast nap while the others went souvenir shopping did wonders for my exhaustion, but nothing for my squeaker-toy voice. I was grateful I didn’t have any more clinics to speak through!
I packed my bags for our two-day trip to Machu Picchu, then wandered downstairs for lunch. I turned to my housemates for clarification of our departure time from Maria Elena’s, as I’d heard both 12:30 and 12:45 as meeting times.
“It’s 12:45. Definitely 12:45. Yep!” they chimed, a bit too enthusiastically.
“Okay,” I shrugged, turning back to my causa (mashed potato pie with chicken filling? Yes, please!).
We shouldered our bags and headed down the sidewalk to Maria Elena’s at 12:45, my housemates wandering a bit slowly for my taste in making our departure time. I walked into the house, setting my bag on the floor as a cacophony of whistles and squeals emanated from the dining room. Turning the corner, I spied the volunteer crew decked out with streamers, party favor whistles, and smiles against a backdrop of party decorations. Maria Elena cued the YouTube band for a rousing rendition of Cumpleaños Feliz, the group dancing along. Maria Elena wrapped me in streamers and a hug, and with some coercion I swapped my ball cap for a crown. Mali and Jenny had made their way to the house as well, and I spotted the much anticipated torta helada Mali had made the night before.
Minutes later, the cake was reduced to crumbs and my phone was a few photos heavier. I was honored by my new friends, and marked this birthday celebration as one to remember. Bidding a short-term farewell to our Cusco hosts, we hefted our bags – small and large – and walked to the street corner to meet the bus and our guide, Francisco.
The group of “my dear friends” – Francisco’s favorite name for the crew – enjoyed a pitstop at Chinchero to meet some alpacas and to learn about traditional dyeing and weaving techniques. Jaws dropped as the wool worker revealed the sources for various dyes: lemons, roots, leaves, and cactus bugs (cochineal insects). After procuring a few textile souvenirs, we were back on the bus, driving on to Ollantaytambo to catch our train.
The drive to Ollantaytambo took nearly as long as it did to say its name aloud. We pulled into the train station, grabbed our bags, waited for Francisco to hand out our tickets … and panicked slightly when we saw a departure time fewer than ten minutes away. We rushed onto the train, barely seated before the train began its two-hour journey toward Aguas Calientes. Whew.
One cultural act from costumed train employees and a game of Farkel later (they didn’t even let me win on my birthday – figures), we had arrived in Aguas Calientes. The passengers moved en masse through the souvenir market, wares arranged in a maze of aisles daring you to push further in. I assumed someone at the front of our group knew where they were headed, and allowed myself to fall in step with the herd. The streets opened up and we circled the wagons, our new guide Esmeralda introducing herself before pressing onward toward the hotel.
Our pattern of plentiful Peruvian feasts continued as we sat down to a 3-course meal at Toto’s House. I polished off an Andean soup of quinoa and veggies, half of my arroz chaufa, and a slice of cake … then heard a commotion as the restaurant staff came to sing their well wishes and offer me another slice of cake for my birthday. Who am I to turn down second dessert?
I stepped in a puddle. More accurately, I puddled my foot.
The hotel room was dark, save for the harsh shadows cast by the flashlight of my cellphone precariously perched on the bedside table. I was too tired last night to arrange my daypack for our trip to Machu Picchu, and the power was out this morning, so my attempts to squeeze tap water through my backpacking filter into my water bottle were slightly more challenging than usual.
Two hours and a few long queues later, I was on board a bus (with my daypack and filtered water!) navigating the 14 switchbacks up the mountainside to the entrance of Machu Picchu, the lost Incan city. I squeaked barely audible squeals of delight as the view opened up to enormous cliff faces, shrouded in greenery and mist. I stifled a giggle – as if it needed stifling – as I imagined myself Disney’s Ariel of the Andes, voice sold in exchange for a chance to meet Prince Charming. And those mountains had me swooning. 😍
Our group walked through the prescribed paths, Esmeralda offering delightful insights on the history and architecture of this modern wonder of the world. The city sprawled over a half-kilometer in length, and we moved at a pace governed by our awe; by my references, a speed of about 2 photographs per meter. We marveled at stones cut with such precision that they required no mortar, forming walls that have stood for over six centuries without toppling. I gawked at aqueducts that still spilled water at critical junctions within the city, and gazed at terraces turning the mountainside into an agricultural miracle of a dozen different “microclimates” in earthen platforms marvelously engineered to be held back from plunging into the valley below. But mostly, I stared at the Andes peaks with starstruck wonder.
When our group leaders questioned whether there were any persons interested in walking down to the hotel instead of taking the bus, I jumped to the front of the line. Ten of our group of eleven opted for the 2 km trek down the mountain on a well-worn path through the lush vegetation, and I giggled the whole way down. This thrilled my soul!
We were obliged to attend the buffet lunch delayed to accommodate our choice to skip the bus, so we dined at 3:30p before a free afternoon. I deferred a trip to Aguas Calientes’ eponymous thermal baths due to the still-healing abrasion on my leg from the sidewalk swallowing a week ago, so I joined the Heather-led excursion into the forest to find waterfalls. I delighted in the varied fauna that lined the uphill climb that led us to the two Cascadas Alcamayo, where we enjoyed rock-hopping and river wading before descending back into town.
Supper came faster than my appetite, matching the tone of the trip thus far. We headed to Inka Wasi for our final restaurant dinner of the trip, where I sat next to our guide, Esmeralda, and tried desperately to keep up small talk, thwarted in my attempts to raise my Muppet voice over the din of the restaurant. Mark peruanos one more positive point for their ability to feign interest when tablemates gesture wildly at them while lip syncing.
I stuffed myself to satisfaction with quinoa tabbouli and lomo saltado, topping it off with a house dessert before feeling a prickle on the back of my neck as I sensed another public disturbance. A crew of serving staff filed out from the kitchen with a candlelit cake, clapping and singing as they crowned me and my cheeks flushed. I’m still working on what to do with my hands when encircled by a crowd of mixed company singing at me, even after three surprise chances.
It’s been three weeks without surprise birthday songs, but I’m still looking over my shoulder.
What a memorable way to celebrate another trip around the sun!
Conversations on El Camino 