Machu Picchu Camino Inca Trail Cuzco Peru 1996
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One by one the gang arrived at a series of dilapidated walls. A number of the guys looked fit to drop, notably Melanie, and even Neil was beginning to show signs of attrition. His face was ashen and his usual lively demeanour had been replaced by a slouched weariness. The afternoon temperature had dropped several degrees and as I waited around for the stragglers, I too was affected by the cold; on went my trousers, the long-sleeved Berghaus and my fleece jacket. A group of Swedes arrived within the confines of the ruins, two women in their early thirties escorted by two proprietary males. They sat quietly in a corner, speaking seldom, the occasional few words of which sounded like turkeys cackling. |
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There were good photo opportunities and sufficient time for a little off-track exploration, but far away from the ruins and the rocky path, I sensed a damning impatience building steadily within me. I had been there almost two hours; two hours in a damp cold and still there was no sign of Rosy. Salous was not happy - in fact he was furious. He wanted to finish his talk and get the group moving forward again, but instead we moped around, rubbing our arms and shoulders, making cold bbrrrrhh-like noises. Finally, without a word of warning, Rosy materialised. Fag in hand, she made her usual dramatic entrance, "Hi everybody. Don't worry, I'm really fine. Everything's OK," she enthused. |
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