Machu Picchu with Wayna Picchu in the background
I have feared telling this story, because after all of these years, I have some distress when speaking of the matter. However, if I can teach anyone out there, something about themselves in relationship to their environment, it’s worth feeling what I do. Quite often, our passions are caught only in a small fleeting period, when other times our lives are routine without much thought with us only responding to the society in which we live. In those small windows of opportunity, we can either act on our passion, living life in full ardor or ignore what we feel, behaving as prisoners to the programming we have learned from our cultural background, not ever knowing why we might be soulless.
Many years ago, I was traveling on my own on the western side of South America with a multiple destination plane ticket. My adventures were full of new experiences, but not emotionally charged until I came to Aguas Calientes, Peru. That’s when everything turned my vacation upside down, and I didn’t know how it quite happened. Isn’t that how life is? It seems to hit you in the face when you are least expecting it to do so. Because of a lack of adequate seating, I was standing in the exist area of the train that travels from Cuzco, Peru to Machu Picchu. It was crowded with hot, sticky bodies stuffed in a small grimy area with no place to move. I felt someone from behind fondling my breast, so I took my elbow and jabbed him, awkwardly moved out of the area, discovering that this fellow had used a razor blade for slitting my purse from below. Because I left, I was spared the agony of loosing any valuables, but remained very anxious and upset about the matter. I had never had a predator stalk me as though I was his prey, and it was a disconcerting situation to know this person was only a few bodies away. I was thinking that I should have chosen the alternative my new found British friends had offered, hiking the Inca Trail with them. We were more or less following one another around, instead of me hiking, we had decided to meet each other again back in Cuzco. I’ve never been one to like roughing it without a bath.
Finally, the train pulled into the station, I fervently poured off, since it had been a deplorable ride seeming to take much longer than it had, the only agreeable part of the trip being the low cost. I had another hurdle to tackle now, having no reservation to stay in the town, and it didn’t seem the place had a bundle of accommodations. I was very young, not so good at planning my trips at that time, so here I was with no place to stay. While I was walking down the train track in the middle of the verdantly green and humidly misty jungle, I observed several figures coming toward me in the opposite direction. There were some Peruvians, but strangely one lanky white guy was among the group. They came closer, and now I could see them perfectly.
Jim was speaking Spanish with the other guys, these men seeming to melt away into the landscape with my arrival, so perhaps that was planned. He was a very amusing sight to see, especially after the train fiasco with his 1950’s style hat, barefeet and thick chestnut colored straight hair hanging out from under the cap, well below his ears. His intelligent eyes were large, green and piercing, while his long khaki colored pants hung down loosely below his ankles. He began talking to me with a Southern American accent as though we had been acquainted, although I had no idea from where he came. His speech was refine and educated, and I decided he was probably my intellectual match. He walked next to me conversing about the usuals, finally asking me where I would be staying. I retorted, “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to see what I can find.” His grim answer was, “You won’t find anything here. It’s fully booked up.” He silenced me, and my eyes must have become like large startled marbles. Then, he said, “I’m staying with two friends, and if you have a sleeping bag, you can sleep on the floor in our room. It’s not that great, just a few bunk beds and a mattress.” I didn’t like the idea of staying with a stranger, but didn’t want to take the gamble that he was wrong about the accommodations, so I agreed to the arrangement.
Aguas Calientes
We moseyed over to his sparse accommodation upstairs in a typical Peruvian Highland building. I entered the room finding two guys not seeming as though they would be friends of his given their somber appearance and inability to crack smiles. Neither one of them seemed at all interested in me, other than to give me lip service, but apparently felt fine about my accommodation need. My presence didn’t concern them, I was obviously unimportant, but I could play the part of audience to their persistent southern-accented monologues, discourses about what each one knew of Peru. I didn’t want to create any animosity with these two information-divulging robots, since they could toss me out on my butt with no place to sleep. Under different circumstances, I would have told them I could read a book if I needed such information. Wouldn’t it be more fun to dialogue with each other instead, but maybe, they were incapable? Jim was perceptive enough to see the discomfort in my face, so asked if I wanted to have a drink in the town’s small bar, located in the train station. I left my bags in the room, knowing that the Texan robots wouldn’t even touch them, since anything of mine was surely beneath who they were.
Evening was now settling down, as we entered the canteen. We found a table in a private corner of the primitive thatched-roofed building using rustic wooden beams for support, illuminated only with lantern light, creating shifting shadows on the flat aged wooden deteriorating planks used as flooring. After receiving long needed drinks while enduring the humid heat for some time, we began to converse in a way that two strangers always do when getting to know each other. We had spoken about our trip, where we intended to go and our personal lives at home. He had only finished medical school in San Antonio, Texas a few months prior to now, and he learned that I had been teaching visual impaired students in Boston, having attained a master’s degree in counseling psychology in North Carolina the previous year. I would soon continue with my studies wanting to become a psychologist, expressing no set imminent plan. The conversation went on for hours, the words having marginal importance, but the energy level between both of us was electrifying with eye contact like two magnets sucking each other together. I found myself wildly attracted to a person who I had never met in my life, feeling perhaps it was the same for him. I was never afraid to express myself, what I may feel internally, but I had been encouraged to do that from childhood, and didn’t know what made a complete stranger tick. Even though his emotion was pointedly fervent, with my own perceptive abilities, I felt him pulling himself back from our hasty harmony. At one point, he temporarily chopped me off with the announcement of his bisexuality. I didn’t understand what that meant except that maybe he only liked girls sometimes. Within seconds, he could see that he had broken the flow, now returning to the same level of interest in our interaction, abandoning his recent surprising confession.
After some hours, we retreated to the makeshift hotel room. It was extremely late, past midnight, and both of us had plans to see Machu Picchu the following morning, the visit lasting all day. I had trepidation about returning to the room with the thoughts of discovering male lovers. After Jim’s announcement, I assumed all of them physically liked one another, and I was fearful of behaviors I had never encountered in my life. However, when we entered two logs laid in their beds, quietly slumbering away. He jumped in to his fairly wide cot, and I took up residence on the floor in my cozy sleeping bag. After he tossed around for some minutes, he asked me if I wanted more comfort in his bed. I thought for a few seconds, figuring he probably wouldn’t bother me if his current mood was an attraction for other men, specifically his roommates. I concurred with his request, wanting to sleep and could only do so if I was reasonably comfortable. There was just enough room for both of our bodies, and I soon fell asleep with no advance on his part.
The next morning I awoke to the sound of his associates clanking around in the room, packing up for the day’s walk to the ruins. Jim was only just waking up with the dabbled sunlight on his face streaming in from the speckless window panes. The three of them would soon go off to explore the site, while I was happy to venture out alone with my handy Machu Picchu guide, absorbing what I could about the place. I didn’t expect an invite, because after all, it was a planned guy’s outing. Besides, I wasn’t too keen on the company of the two mechanical men, always feeling that it’s better to go it alone, rather than waste time with those projecting negative behaviors, not making me feel particularly chipper. I waited for all of them to bail out of the room, then I showered, dressed and ventured out myself.
After climbing up the steep hillside, I finally arrived at the magnificent ruins. They were stunningly beautiful with their construction on the very apical of a lushly green mountain, vast with their intricate decaying building sites, ascending up the mountainside all around me. In the distance, I could clearly see other mountains jetting out from the landscape. There are many theories about why the Incas built Machu Picchu, but none of them can be validated. However, it is known that it was assembled around 1400 AD, about 100 years prior to the conquistador invasion. Luckily, the Spanish never found it, possibly due to the inhabitants’ deaths caused by small pox prior to their arrival, so many of the ruins have remained pristine for visitors to appreciate and admire. After spending a good portion of my day enjoying this beautiful monument to Inca past, I attempted another interesting challenge, climbing to the top of Wayna Picchu, a small mountain, acting as a backdrop to the ruins.
Ascending up the path required some courage on my part, since the trail was extremely narrow with not much room for mistakes. On one side, I had the mountain to brace me, on the other only shear drop off. I slowly ambled up the path, finally finding the top, discovering the climb had been well worthwhile. I was alone on the pinnacle of the world with a fairly narrow place to sit or stand, and if I turned in any direction, distant mountains loomed in the glorious sunlight. Could I speak with omnipotence in this hallowing, gorgeous place? I didn’t expect anyone else, so I took off my upper body clothes, baring my breasts to the warm sunlight. I don’t know how much time passed, though I felt paradise without the motivation to leave so expeditiously.
With the sun starting to droop down in the sky, I knew it was time to depart, although regrettably so. I would never forget this experience for all my years surviving on the planet, but began the sojourn down to the village. Predictably, the path to the ruins was hair raising, but I descended unscathed and then, easily continued down to the village.
When I arrived, I immediately saw Jim sitting on the side of the train station quay, seemingly relaxed in the last of the golden sun rays. Once he saw me, his demeanor completely changed, rising to greet me, then asking emphatically, “Where have you been? I was becoming concerned.” “Ole, I was in communion with nature up in the hills,” I exclaimed with a slight smile. He peered at me with a puzzled look, finally responding, “I was able to find some tasty food and wanted to know if you cared to share it with me.” I replied quite affectionately that I would love to join him. We found a nice grassy spot for consuming his treats, continuing the conversation we had the last evening. I couldn’t tell you about what we had spoken, but I knew that the connection once again was more than what we said. I presented my incredible tale about the climb to Wayna Picchu with him appearing somewhat interested. I then asked if they had made it up to the point, and he indicated that the sojourn was regrettably not part of their day, but they had encountered other fascinating sights. Finally, I stated that I needed to clean up, asking if there was anyone in the room. “Oh no, the guys went out for some drinks,” he remarked. “I’m going up to the hot pool to have a bath and wonder if you would like to join me after finishing?” I glanced at him and without a thought agreed to meet him at the springs.
After I was done in the room, I trekked up to the hot springs, by the rising moonlight. When I had left Jim a half hour earlier, it had been dusk, now nightfall was blanketing Aguas Calientes, so I had to use the celestial sky light for following the path, finally making it to my destination. At first I didn’t see anyone in the glistening, moonlit waters, so I called for Jim. He answered me quickly from the warmth of the soothing pool. I was eager to join him in these comfortable conditions, but when I rummaged around in my bag, I discovered that I had forgotten my swimsuit. I explained my frustration to him, thinking that I would have to run back to the room, but he told me that he didn’t have anything to wear, so why should I be bothered. He didn’t think anyone would show up there after sunset anyway, so I agreed to completely disrobe, sliding into the water’s abyss. I could see him clearly now coming closer to me with a satisfied look like a male bower bird, finally attracting a female to his self-constructed cache. It had been a relaxing, but tiring day for both of us, so we didn’t say much. He decided to put his arms around me, I was receptive to his affection having felt an emotional and social connection, and perhaps now it was time for a physical one. In foreign lands with intense stimulation, you can be deceived, believing that days have past within a twenty four hour period, and this described my interlude with Jim. He must have felt the same as me, but I never thought he would express it so hurriedly. If he hadn’t approached me, I probably would have been too shy to do the same. It was an intense encounter lasting for several hours, but finally we were becoming tired, deciding to return to the room to sleep. We dressed and traveled down the path with his arm around me.
Prior to arriving at the room, he asked me if I would like to return to Cuzco with him via bus the next day. His friends were staying in the village another day doing some more exploring of Machu Picchu. I thought that was a jolly good idea, since I hated the damn train, the vehicle with its insipid grimy robbers. We entered the room finding his friends sleeping soundly, and we did the same in the comfortable wide cot with its sparsely decorated surroundings. We both snuggled under the one thin sheet and sleeping bags forming a cozy union with arms around each other.
When we arose the next morning, we were alone, the others having ambitiously begun their exploration earlier in the morning. We both begrudgingly left the cot, packing up to begin our journey back to Cuzco. This was Jim’s expedition, taking full reign, since I wasn’t sure of the detailed agenda for the trip. When we departed from the room, he had all of the plans well under his control, anticipating that his friends would be staying there that evening and later paying the bill. On the only village road, we found a truck in which we would be traveling in the back to another mountain town where we would find a bus back to Cuzco. I didn’t relish the ride, knowing it would be dusty, having an aversion to soiled suitcases, clothes and hair, but it was still better than taking the train. I jumped in the back with Jim and a few other Peruvians, then we began the travel toward our destination. Jim mostly interacted in Spanish with the driver and our trip mates with me accepting it was to receive information about our sojourn. I remained quiet throughout the trip, uncomfortable with the mode of transport. It would have been fine without a dusty road, but better conditions were no where to be found. The truck stirred up clouds of the unwanted particles, and I endured the annoyance. Even with the irritating ride, I could view beautiful landscape, the Quechua people with their llamas and women working in their bowler style hats all around, so I came away from the experience forgetting about some of the discomfort.
We approached the intended village, hopped out and although I had offered to pay my share, Jim handled the modest bill. We were in the front of the bus station, so only had to linger until the correct one appeared. It was a small wait, so we sat on sturdy cartons that had been placed along side the building, our dust covered luggage close by. We continued to converse, but I felt Jim pushing me away as he did in the tavern during our first night’s encounter, not so much in his words but between them and with his eyes. Finally, a bus arrived that we could take making a connection to Cuzco, so we jumped on, sat next to each other in the smallish seats, our conversation continued, but his distancing did not stop. He was speaking at a more intellectual level again, not so intimately or affectionately with only occasional eye contact. Finally, as though he couldn’t wait to say his piece, he told me my personality was political. Well, since I’m not interested in politics very much or never was, I assumed he referred to my enthusiastic openness about living, experiencing life’s wonders. I have always said what I felt with little fear of doing so, and perhaps that bothered him. Did he want me to acquiesce to him, becoming more subdued, and if so, that wasn’t possible for me. I could never compromise my freedom to anyone’s self perceived power. Then he struck with words again announcing that we probably didn’t have much in common, his words making me think our entire companionship had become nothing more then a sordid extension of the “one night stand,” the hunter’s full intention of seducing, taking power and destroying, or perhaps I was an American commodity, tossed after it had served its purpose, but with his more profound depth, it would be bewildering if he was truly like that. His assaulting words sharply stabbed me, but I retorted with nothing other than minor annoyance, saucily remarking that I didn’t see what pursuits he had other than medicine, Peru and Spanish. He abashedly claimed that those subjects were his entire repertoire of focus. Although, I replied with silence, I was hoping that his recent exist from medical school was the rationale for his narrow interest range, but if not with no new growth occurring, how austere his life would become.
Our arrival in the connection point village came quickly, the place where we departed from the bus to wait for the next transport. We didn’t speak much, but I was in turmoil internally, feeling emotional churn, like a working cement mixer. I couldn’t tell you what he thought, if not anything at all consciously. Once again, our next transport arrived with us both quickly hopping on the rickety bus. When it was in full motion, descending down the mountain to Cuzco, I abruptly realized that I had left a small colorful bag full of souvenirs behind. I exclaimed to Jim what had happened with his responding not to worry, it was gone, there was nothing I could do, not demonstrating concern for my recent loss.
Cuzco at Night
We continued down the mountainside into Cuzco for about fifteen miles, finally arriving in the center of town. I was pleased to come back to town, the trip had been tiring, and Jim was continuing to distance himself from me. He wasn’t the first lover who had given me the jilt, surely wouldn’t be the last, yet it didn’t set well with me, and I wanted to return to my safe, comfortable hotel where I had left some of my luggage with the proprietor. I left Jim in the bus station, giving him the details of where I was staying if he happened to want to see me again. He obligingly took the information, but I wondered if we would meet another time after the laconic conversation on our trip.
After getting my room arranged with the kind, helpful senora at the front desk of the charming small hotel, I took time to drop my bags off, hurried back to the bus station, caught the first transport, returned to our final connection point where I left my bag prior to returning to town. It was a lonely trip back absent of Jim, but I wouldn’t allow myself to become melancholy. At present, I had a goal and knew that I would soon see my British guy friends, also free traveling around South America with adventures to tell of their own. After all, I couldn’t alter Jim’s psyche, having done nothing negative enough to merit his rejection. If he was to be my friend and lover, I deserved his kindness and respect, not dismissive, disregard, when I had been intimate with him less than twenty four hours earlier. I felt divided, one side missing our impassioned union, the other experiencing disappointment with the uncivil and undeserved behavior. I remained in consuming thought, not noticing we had come to the desired bus station. Finally, I was aroused by the driver announcing our arrival, so scurried off the bus with a handful of others and went inside the station, miraculously finding my beautiful bag where it had been left. I snatched it up with absolute delight, hoping that I now could return to Cuzco. I was rewarded with a bus trip back down the mountain.
As we approached the town, it was now evening, so I was able to view the twinkling lights of the streets, homes and businesses from the distant road where we were traveling. It was a delightful sight, alluring my senses with its warmth and charm, after I had sat in the dark for the last half hour. I departed from the bus with my bag in hand, strolled triumphantly toward the hotel, picked up a bit of food at the local tienda and lastly entered my room. I hadn’t noticed prior to leaving that the proprietor assigned me a very comfortable, colorful room where I revered in spending my time. It had pristine white washed walls, displaying colorfully Andean handwoven decorations and a rustic open wooden beamed ceiling with one interestingly adorned bed placed in the corner of the room, all which were softly illuminated. Other furnishings were spread around this fairly large, but cozy room. I ate my freshly bought food and immediately snuggled into the warm, cushy bed.
The light streamed through the open wooden shuttered windows as I awoke to the sound of knocking on my door the next morning with Steve’s voice calling to me. I quickly arose, opened the door to gaze at his glowing, effervescent face, framed by his longish blonde hair and wide blue eyes peeping at me. He immediately hugged me as though he hadn’t seen a long lost friend for a century, his slender body wrapped in comfortably worn jeans, green tee shirt with Jesus sandals for footwear. I gladly let him pass into my room, even though I was only in my night clothes, but he didn’t even seem to notice my general appearance. He and his friend Jerry had successfully hiked the Inca Trial with lots of vivacity. He sunk down in one of the agreeable chairs, conversing energetically about his and my adventures. I asked him where Jerry was, and he indicated with a woman they had met hiking. Evidently, the two had hit it off well, now going to breakfast together, leaving Steve to visit with me.
I had met Steve and Jerry at a tourist attraction in Lima prior to coming to Cuzco. We had made a plan to meet again here at the youth hostel where they were staying, it had worked perfectly, because before traveling to Aguas Calientes, we had spent some time together, and now they were both back at the hostel. After leaving his wife in Berkeley for travel on his own, Steve met Jerry during his tour in South America. He was married to a woman he had met in Kenya, doing civil engineering work, and she was studying linguistics. They had lived some time there, supposedly fell in love and were married. Steve followed Annie to Berkeley, but found that she mostly ignored him after they settled down with him feeling lost so far away from the United Kingdom. He had taken this trip to escape the boredom that he felt in California and confusion concerning the marriage. Ultimately, I guess we both knew what would happen in his case, but we didn’t need to approach the painful reality of his situation today.
As we sat conversing, Steve eventually wanted to know the details of my journey to Machu Picchu. I spoke in concrete terms about what I observed there, my hike up to the apex of Wayna Picchu and the danger involved. It took me awhile to recount my experience with Jim and our fervent, licentious interaction, but after I did, I also divulged the events of the previous day’s trip to Cuzco. Strangely, Steve asked me where Jim lived in the US, and I responded, “Texas”. With inspiration, Steve’s reply was, “Aren’t they kind of conservative there with the men playing the dominant role, and women being more reticent?” I thoughtfully acknowledged his ideas, reporting that I didn’t know, since I hadn’t ever been there. “If it’s true, Jen, you don’t fit that bill, since you’re kind of smart and free spirited, and if he likes you, he’s probably a bit confused. You aren’t exactly the stereotype with whom he’s been programmed to relate,” Steve asserted and continued with, “It’s bad enough we live in a competitive society, buy into it and then, can’t relate to one another, because we worry about whose better. When we attempt to form relationships, it causes angst if our mate is anywhere close to us in achievement level with that problem most likely being exacerbated for him given his background.” My only words were, “I only want to relate and love, not concern myself with the psychological games,” but Steve retorted with, “unfortunately, you have no choice in that matter, since they’re not your games. Jen, even if nothing comes out of your affair with him, you’ll only be chafed in the short run, but what will his life be like long term, when he’s bright with maybe having those beliefs.” I looked at Steve with consternation, since these concepts had never been presented to me. “I guess I should be more careful about falling for someone whose from a culture contrary to my own,” I murmured. “You think more like I do, like a European. Didn’t you live in Sweden some?” he inquired. “Yep, I sure did, and I guess I was influenced by life there with an inability to change my way now,” I acknowledged. We stopped that line of conversation, I got dressed, while he waited in the lobby, reading a newspaper, then we went to the market, grabbing some delicious food for breakfast. The streets were full of brightly dressed, indigenous Quechua people going about their daily chores, scurrying around red tiled, white faced Spanish style buildings with a backdrop of lightly vegetated hills. It was a bright, sunny cool day in Cuzco, perfect sweater weather, my favorite climate.
After we finished eating and meandering around town in morning sunlight, we made our way back to my room, plopping in comfy chairs, gabbing away. Finally, Steve told me Jerry and he would be leaving that evening on the bus, heading north with his final destination to California. He wanted to exchange contact information, details that would keep us in touch after our little adventure. I furnished him with the request, he did the same for me, then asked where I would be traveling next, and I divulged to Bolivia traveling around Lake Titicaca. “That should be great fun, Jen. I wish I was headed your way, but I have to make some decisions about my marriage,” he affirmed. I agreed about his responsibilities, but felt blue with his departure, anticipating our lack of camaraderie in the next day. It was good to have made a friend with whom I could share most of my thoughts, having him completely understand my point of view, even if in the short term.
It was getting on in time about 2 PM with Steve and I laughing about everything, when I heard a sharp knock at my door. I opened it finding Jim standing there, asking me how I was doing. I was shocked to see him after what had transpired the previous day. There was an uneasy silence for only a moment, then I quickly filled the gap by politely introducing him to Steve, the Brit about whom I had previously spoken, while we had been together in Aguas Calientes. We all spent a little time small talking with Steve breaking up the dialog, indicating that he must be going, since he had to pack, readying himself for the bus ride. We hugged heartedly, both Jim and I wishing him happy travels. He closed the door with his exit leaving me alone in my room with Jim.
After we were on our own with complete privacy, Jim put his arms around me giving me a kiss. I suppose that might have been his method of apologizing for the previous day’s events. I was compliant, wanting to be patient with him, hoping that perhaps our relationship would continue, because admittedly, I was completely enamored. We sat in physical contact with one another on the single bed chatting for sometime. What I was least expecting to hear finally surfaced with him telling me again that we had little in common. This time, I wasn’t silent with him, but blared out passionately, “Then, why did you come here? Do you like to torture me? What do you mean, we have nothing in common? Do I have to be the same as you?” He was thoroughly surprised at the vehemence of my words, saying nothing to me, looking down at the bed covers. He once again hugged me, letting the subject drop, continuing our conversation as though nothing had transpired. Given his discomfort, I let the episode pass, knowing full well there were unresolved issues in his affection for me.
Time passed quickly with both of us becoming hungry, deciding to venture out for a bite to eat. We found a small shop to sit, chat and consume whatever looked interesting on the menu. At that point, I confessed to Jim that I should probably leave the next day, traveling toward Lake Titicaca, and noticed that he encouraged me to do that, indicating that he and his friends were also departing for Iquitos, a town that sits on the Amazon River. It was difficult for me to hear the inevitable reality of splitting up, going in separate directions, but it was the only choice. I don’t think his goofy friends would have wanted me tagging along, and I didn’t have a desire to visit the Amazon River just yet in my life. Then, he asked me if he could spend the night, leaving when I checked out of the hotel the next day. I was happy to spend my last evening in Cuzco with him, as I was already used to sharing a single bed.
We returned to the room that night, spending our time enjoying each other physically, emotionally and mentally, falling asleep with no worries and very relaxed. When we awoke in the morning with the sun peaking through the crystal clear windows, it was comforting to be with each other. We spent some final time together prior to me checking out, heading for the bus station, but then the time came for our last farewells. He had taken all of my contact data, and I had his. Then, holding back tears, I gave him a final kiss and began walking to the station. It was a empy, dreary day for me, but somehow I was able to recover from that parting.
When I returned to the US, I never heard from Jim, and when I finally sent him a Christmas card from Colorado while studying in a psychology graduate program, he wrote informing me that he had married someone from Texas. Subsequently, I discovered that he later divorced the person. Maybe, there was some truth to what Steve had stated in my room, while we were in Cuzco. Jim might have been in conflict with his own cultural programming and the ability to accept who he likes, with me not fitting the image of what he thought he needed. Evidently, he returned to Texas accepting the social parameters of that society without any questions.
Jennifer Horton Chadwick
California Gypsy 