Perhaps, it was a chance to show off my Spanish, or knowledge of obscure South American liquors. Whichever, it was not a bright idea considering the rigors we were now experiencing. Ironically, most of the trip was a VW bus that wound up rocky roads for what seemed like hours. We were on a guided tour through the Andes to Machu Picchu. It was the I-am-not-the-typical-lazy-spoiled-American tour into Machu Picchu. Yet, it had a shrink-wrapped texture that spoke embarrassingly to our American consumer culture.
Twice before while on spiritual pilgrimages I anticipated encounters with wild cats. But, despite my track record, I cannot claim clairvoyance. I would naturally fantasize; indeed expect to have such an exciting encounter. That is why I claim no clairvoyance. That I sensed an encounter with a big cat while the mini-bus crawled up the mountain is natural.
I could not find sleep that first night. We had marched for ten hours that first day of the climb at leg wearing inclines. I concluded that it was either the hangover from the pisco we drank, I am sure a South American alternative to gasoline, or the whispery air at 14000 feet. Perhaps, I knew what I was doing really was waiting. I did not have to wait long.
Half-wild horses, left to graze freely at this altitude, along with cattle began to stampede through our campsite, which occupied the pass up the mountain. The stampede ran back and forth through our camp. Whatever was chasing them ran them through our closely placed tents. You could almost feel them by touching the vinyl.
I shot up anxious to get a look. My hand on the zipper, if I stepped outside it would be like meeting God herself. And that is when I came to my senses. As haggard as those horses and cattle appeared, I knew I was nowhere near as fast.
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