chapter 9 - taken aback but why should I be?

Got up early to go to the hot springs that give Aguas Calientes its name, a square pool cut into the mountain with a gravel floor and murky warm water. We were well advised to go in the morning after the daily cleaning: even at this early hour there was a thin layer of oil on the surface and hundreds of insect corpses. As we walked back into town we passed a windowless shack with a naked man out front, outstretched arms and one finger salutes. Tourism must foster mixed feelings all round. Later in the day we chatted with some of the other hostellers, five guys who had arrived the night before after a four-day trek along the Trail. They talked about the precariousness and the beauty, the moonlit mountains, extreme heights and repetitive meals.

“Potatoes and corn, potatoes and corn. Oh and bread. Stale flat bread, potatoes and corn.”

“Four days of what these people have all year,” I can’t help but add.

At little while later everyone else melted away, leaving Hamish and I alone together. He surprised me by announcing “Let’s do the Trail back to Cusco.”

“But what about all we said about litter and abuse?”

“I asked about all that. It’s not that bad. These guys talk a big thing but they are really okay, and said everyone is very responsible.”

“But you have to book up in advance don’t you?”

“They are heading back by train, they’re city boys really and found four nights roughing it was enough, so their places are empty. We’d get a good price if we wanted to go.”

“I..I…I don’t know.” I stammered. “Really? You really want to do this? Won’t it change our other plans, to Puno and Lake Titicaca?”

“We have time. And we can fly to Lima from Puno rather than go by land. We’ll be good.”

Well, what more could I say? I’ve always been the one to say opportunities that come along are to be treated as gifts. I haven’t really done enough of that myself lately, so I can’t begrudge him the chance.

In the late afternoon, we caught up with the “Trail Mix”, as I call them, again. Details were sorted, then bags were packed, and good-bye drinks were drunk. I cautioned Hamish about drinking alcohol before hitting altitude again, but he brushed me off. “Don’t worry so much. I feel fine.”

I bit my tougue. It’s true I nag him more than I should about things like this. Send him to the doctor when coughs don’t clear up after a week. Make sure he calls if he’s going to be later than expected. Forbid lozenges in bed in case he chokes. ‘At least I never take you for granted,’ I always say.