Machu Picchu Camino Inca Trail Cuzco Peru 1996
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A few moments later our group of twenty-three assembled, facing the main street of Aguas Calientes, along with several other tourist groups and locals. Aguas Calientes is like no other. From a distance it looks like a collection of washing lines attached to corrugated-iron shacks. The main street resembles the Wild West with its high pavements separating a fifteen yard trench of mud. Each side has its small bars, restaurants and catch-peso tourist shops. Down the centre run two narrow-gauge railway lines housed on rotting wooden sleepers. A melee of locals and back-packers crossed in between, picking their way through the muddy pools. In the middle, two Indian girls practised their volleyball skills while street sellers called out the day's bargains from colourful street-stands. Everything could be purchased: beads, necklaces and handbags, bananas, apples, and roasted cashew nuts. |
I sat opposite a portly middle-aged couple with two equally portly infants. Geoff stood above me in the gang-way obscuring the view of an extremely pretty woman in her early thirties. She was not a typical Peruana; her dress was modern and stylish, and she looked out of place on this bizarre train. With her sat two intelligent and well behaved children, a young boy and girl. Opposite them was an extraordinary looking woman with bright red hair and a roman nose. She spoke Spanish to the woman with the children, although she too was not typical of the region.
The profusion of feet and bags on the floor prevented me from sitting upright in my seat. The trunk of my body was straight, but my legs were twisted at an awkward angle pointing towards the gang-way. I felt cold and dirty, my clothes were covered in mud which preserved a crusty, cardboard quality. I wanted to shave and wash my hair in warm soapy water. I longed to brush my teeth and soak myself in a long hot bath. I wanted to wear clothes that smelt of lavender and not of a musty mountainside. I had a profound desire to feel human again.
Despite feelings of self-disgust, the journey through the Urubamba valley was most pleasant. We passed a collection of bedraggled villages set high on the stony landscape. On the distant hilltops sat solitary shacks, momentarily visible and then disappearing, engulfed in a veil of cloud. As the train strained towards Cuzco, I became less comfortable and I felt stiffer as my muscles locked in the penetrating cold of the carriage. Sleep was out of the question. My body showed all the signs of exhaustion, but my mind was racing with memories of the Inca Trail, and now with the beauty of the woman sitting across the gang-way.
Quite accidently, I made eye contact with the red-headed woman a number of times, and her eyes responded warmly to mine. Time passed at a leisurely pace before she asked me about the trip, and in affected Spanish, I gave her the details.
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