Main Street Aguas Calientes

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.

She was in her early fifties and was gripping a cardboard box filled to the brim with vegetables. She had been shopping with her daughter, Maricela, the pretty woman with the children. I had spoken with Maricela briefly when two Americans barged down the carriage and deposited themselves in the gang-way next to Geoff. Their arrival created a measure of rucksack reorganisation, and Maricela had unsuccessfully tried to position my rucksack under her seat, but my sleeping mat extension had created an obstruction which defeated her. Then one of the Americans assumed a preposterous proximity where his bottom was pushed full into my face. Not only was it uncomfortable, it had destroyed my conversation with Maricela's mother.After two minutes I could bear it no longer. I tapped Geoff on the shoulder and offered him my seat. He had been standing for three hours without complaint in that crowded carriage, he deserved a well earned rest.

I was now standing above Maricela who within moments of my positional change had initiated a friendly conversation. She introduced me to her daughter Pierena, and to my astonishment, her brother, Heyner, who was at least twenty years her junior.

I formally introduced myself by shaking hands with the elders, but Pierena would settle for nothing less than a kiss. They received me con mucho gusto and complimented me on my Spanish. Maricela's mother intervened whenever the conversation showed signs of drying up and Heyner too was not disinclined to interrupt whenever he required information. All four were extraordinarily kind towards me, despite my crinkly condition. They seemed acutely interested in my visit to Cuzco and curious as to when exactly I planned to leave. But there the discussion ended - the train pulled into Ollantaytambo and Salous with his usual authority ordered the group to disembark.

With reluctance I pulled my rucksack from beneath Maricela's seat and recited my well rehearsed farewell speech in Spanish. For the last time, I shook hands with them and suddenly regretted the time I had squandered earlier in the journey.

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