Post 4

I came upon a farmer leading a llama. He spoke but my Spanish wasn’t strong enough to understand. He seemed upset I was walking alone. Maybe I was on his land? I was still on the stone path. I hadn’t ventured off. Maybe he was worried about Covid? Neither of us were wearing masks. But there was distance between us.

I gestured back to my group to indicate there were others, but no-one else was in sight. How did I get so far ahead of them? Were they stopped for another ceremony? I shrugged my shoulders, shook my head, unable to explain. His face reddened with frustration until we both finally gave up and parted ways. 

A few moments later, Bryan caught up but this time, we were quiet. My mind kept playing out the strange interaction with the farmer. Had I done something wrong? It’d been several years since tourists walked these stones. Had I scared him? Angered him? Was it just weird to see me?

On the Amazon river, the kids ran out of their village to stare at the boat full of travelers who docked at their local floating gas station. The Covid lockdowns meant the littlest ones had never seen tourists at all. They stared at us, wide-eyed and silent, befuddled. One little boy touched my knee to see if I was real. I touched his back and he laughed. 

The teenage girls all stood in a corner, twirling their hair and gazing longingly at our shirtless “Thor,” a handsome, green-eyed, long-haired hippie from Maui who also happened to be built like a brick shit-house. Mayra and I laughed as the thin girls shifted from foot to foot and whispered about him. After two years of quarantines, I’m sure Thor seemed like Marvel manna from heaven. 

Everywhere we went, we were conspicuous and I didn’t like that feeling so much (and maybe that farmer didn’t like me so much) but I kept my worries to myself while Bryan and I walked past a herd of grazing alpaca. Now and then, Bryan took pictures of me. In some, I was uncomfortable, attempting to smile; in others, I was completely unaware. Just taking my steps. One foot in front of the other. 

We were the first to reach that technicolor dream-coat of a mountain, Palccoyo. Even with an overcast sky muting her saturation, she was still a showstopper. A ribboned slope of mineralization in warm hues, iron-oxide rusty red abutting indigo blending into turquoise sidled up to gold. Being in her presence was a humbling moment of awe. One of the rare gifts of global warming is that she’d been hiding under layers of ice and snow until the last five years. A bittersweet discovery. 

Bryan unloaded his drone and the robot took to the overcast skies with an angry buzz. It was an agitation, a modern disturbance in an ancient world. I was shaken from my reverence and looked behind to realize no one was even on our tails. Still? We were way, way ahead of the others so I allowed myself a rest and some water. 

Eventually, the group gathered, in dribs and drabs, revealing their struggles as they slumped to sit on the ground, pulling for breath. People were having problems. The altitude was kicking ass and taking names and we weren’t even close to done. Before us was an even steeper push to reach the top of the Rock Forest, where our final ceremony would take place. 

This time, there was a real incline that zig-zagged up the mountain to the giant shards of rock protruding like jagged glass. Our Peruvian guides began to whistle and skip, explaining it was important to approach the Rock Forest with a sense of gratitude, play and joyfulness. I knew better than to further exert myself. Every breath took effort. Every step took time. I held my pace and my tongue. Talking wasn’t an option, though when one of our guides passed me playing his flute, I had to laugh. Me in my North Face gear yet so ill equipped.

It was sloooooowwww going up that mountain but we all finally made it, some of us in better shape than others. Some of us unable to stand or speak. I drank deeply from my camelback, grateful for the water. It was cold at the top, with spectacular views of Ausangate, Mariposa and even Vinicunca. Our guides gathered our flowers and offered them to the rocks. We stood in a circle and spoke about our insecurities, our fears, our past. I chose not to speak. More people dropped to sit, struggling for air. We were there a long time. 

Then finally, it was time to descend. 

Kez walked ahead of me on the icy ridge. He and I’d bonded immediately, day one, when everyone else braved the pouring rain to shop and we opted instead to stay inside, curled up in dry, comfy chairs, reading. We ordered smoothies that more resembled swamp water and drank them through fits of hysterical laughter. Our first act of communion. The next was ayahuasca and by the end of our stay in the jungles, Kez and I were road-dawgz. Fam. Snoop & Martha take on the world.   

At 6’2, he towered over me, arms and legs akimbo, his career on the court still in his bones but it had been a minute since his retirement and only two weeks since he’d been asked to join the retreat. He hadn’t trained for this and he was hurting. 

I watched as his booted feet slid on the ice. He was dizzy, unbalanced and the path was narrow, dangerous. I placed my palm gently on his lower back, unable to actually carry him. “Just go slow. One step at a time. Bend to the earth. Hold it. Don’t stand up straight. If you’re dizzy, stop.” He knelt and grounded, held to the rocks beside him. 

In that moment, I knew if he fell, I wouldn’t be able to help him. 

I would not be able to save him. 

I would have to watch him die. 

And stand there, powerless.

Again.