So I abandoned my friend and found Jesus...

Light... circumnavigating barely cracked lids, lashes, caked on sleep junk, arriving upon my retina.

I'm awake.

Slipping fingers between curtains and peeking cautiously outwards; I spy with my little eye blankets of green velvet smothering topographical inclinations rising to greet low-slung cloud. Mist crawling down slopes, across roads, intangible, whimsical.
British Columbia, is that you? For the first time in over a month, feels of familiarity bubble and stew within.
Nay, 'tis not BC.
My phone insists it's 6am, I peer about the bus and register my fellow travellers deep in slumber (or as deep as one can be on a 20 hr bus ride through winding mountain passes.) For a moment, I permit wonder at the dynamics of each bus-patrons existence: where are they going? what have they left behind? Does that man love his wife? Are those two sisters? cousins? Funerals, weddings, tragedy, comedy, business, glory, do these people enjoy life? Do they work too hard? Do they wonder about these things as well?
No se.

Small brick structures settle around us, multiplying as we enter Cusco.

The bus terminal is not exciting, the sky is grey, it's 9am and I have no desire to carry my backpack for any distance so we get a taxi.

9:30am, we arrive at "Let's Go Bananas" a restaurant/hostel recommended by a pair of magnificent nomads, only to espy: there is no room in the inn.
Shit.
We are given free coca tea and order breakfast whilst discussing the turn of events.

Fruit Salad all around!

Permission to store our bags whilst we scavenge accommodation is granted and we venture towards the Plaza. Bolstered by a pocket map, we navigate the winding cobblestone streets through this charming city. Recalling the grime and skyscrapers of Lima, it is nearly laughable to imagine my initial impression of Peru when faced with Cusco! My lips curve into a sly little smile "I like it here" we arrive in the plaza, my breath is hijacked by the architecture surrounding me; I have been plunked into some sort of Hispanic rendition of a Dickens novel. Starbucks is sighted and we bee-line, "quisiera una mocha blanco por favor?" the 'Mocha Blanco' part feels austere on my tongue, but I also don't give 2 fucks about 4 fucks at this point. 

Coffees finished, we are TODO BIEN and ready to hit the streets in search of 'Casa De La Gringa' our second choice hostel. As fate would have it the Casa is located in the neighbourhood of San Blas, the trendy/artsy/hip part of town. Think Kitsilano Van meets Kensington Calg, meets third world country, slender cobbled avenues leading up impossibly steep hillside and you have San Blas. Dreadlocks, crystals and dream catchers garnish doorways, vegetarian restaraunts and colourful folk whir. I am in love.

A gurgle strums notes of discord deep within my abdomen, something is afoot and I pause for a moment as pain swells and subsides. This hill is endless! Cait spots a colourful shawl draped over a hanger and halts to admire.

"HEY! LADY! YOU LIKE? YOU LIKE? YOU TRY ON! COME, COME TRY ON, I HAVE MIRROR!" Enthusiasm contradicts the woman's placid expression, but Cait is enchanted with the shawl. We enter the shop. Something inside me must have other plans as I am once again engulfed by a severe cramping sensation. My guts revolt and I double. What is happening? my belly appears to have tripled in size... The messiah has arrived and I am to birth him, if the lord almighty can impregnate a virgin, I'm sure he can dial a 9 month gestation period down to 1 hour. Straightening my spine renders agony, breathing is impossible as whatever grows inside me is bent on conquering my chest cavity via pressure from below.

"LADY YOU WANT TO BUY? HERE, YOU BUY THIS. IS NICE!" a small woman swarms and swaddles me with keychains, beads, shawls, sweaters.

"No gracias....." my voice is small and watery "mi etomache... no es bien....." navigating this sentence zaps my brain. Cait turns and observes my appearance, her brows furrow in concern and we are out, beating a hasty retreat.

At last, the Casa greets us and we are offered tea and a couch on which to sit. Forms are filled and we are now registered guests. One final surge of pain leads me to seek el bano whereupon I spot a strange potbellied green woman who appears to reside in the mirror before ridding myself of the demon within.

Here, I shall backtrack: 5 days previous to departure from Arequipa, I awoke at 4 am and could not reclaim sleep. As I emerged from my room, slip clinging to my oh-so-sweaty back, I noted Cait and her beau shooting pool in the bar and seated myself before the computer. While it was odd that I should be awake at such an hour, attribution was granted to the oddities of travelling in general. Feels? I felt vivacious! awake! sunlight slid into the courtyard. By noon I was feeling off kilter, opting to walk it off, Cait and I expedited ourselves in search of adventure. In the midst of a market, mist filled my head and everything around me blurred. Return to the hostel was favoured by both parties and as we walked my marbles poured from cranium to sidewalk. My cells expressed a disinterest in producing ATP and I was relieved to return to my bed. Some hours later I awoke to a beer belly that would defeat any I had previously known and staggered towards the bathroom. It had finally happened; I was sick.

The following 4 days were spent in a haze of white rice, pounding headaches, and fluids. Knowing I had to make it to Cusco, Cait administered medication and I was CURED... or so we thought....

Fortunately, our first day in Cusco was the final strike for illness, my health was restored! Yet all was not well... ooh no, a mighty storm was looming on the horizon. 

All the money we had... was gone.

Icy winds began to blow in the valley of friendship, accented by bouts of hale, cutting remarks, tears, and nasty sentiments. Words were brandished as spears, sharpened by innate knowledge of the foe. Conversation was a battlefield for a mind-game of mythic proportion ultimately silence ensued.

My mother once told me of an apartment she had called home. On a cold winter day, she had ventured from this place to run errands. Upon her return, my mother found the building which housed her apartment ablaze, the fire department set about their firemanly duties, spraying water upon the structure. Alas, the air was so cold, water froze before it hit flame. Fire entombed in ice.... I could relate to this building.

  Rage burned beneath frigid exteriors as we stomped from the hostel we could no longer afford. Each block cranked tension between us, at last the tether snapped; few words were magnanimously exchanged and the axe fell. She went North and I South, seething ire drove me back to the bananas or whatever the fuck it was called. Who needs a friend? certainly not I! nasty leeches they are! disrupting my peace of mind, my routine, my savings. Fuck Friends, I am destined for greater things! Unbridled wrath rarely punctures my carefully constructed sphere of tranquillity, and today would be no different! Negative elements always hold a positive note and I was going to seize it, I would meet new people, have MY OWN adventure!

 So triumphantly did I strut into "Let's Go Bananas." banners waved, doves flew, angels chorused, I had arrived. A smiling blond head popped up from behind the counter, ready to take my order... But what of my pack? Expressing my situation to my new friend, I watched as her smile deflated. My timing was poor and no bed unoccupied that eve. What to do?

Again, I set out, surely I could find something affordable in the neighbourhood? up the road, around the corner... Steep steps ascended beyond an open door, the sign above boasting "Yuri's House Hospedaje" In and up I went. Spanish was broken, but spoken nonetheless! My name was signed and Yuri showed me to the dorm in which I would sleep. "The Chiles" were my new dorm-mates... 6 Chilean dudes sprawled about burst into a frenzy of conversation as I walked to my bed and propped my bag at its foot. Happy as a clam I was as I googled hikes in the area, finding one suitable for my needs. Merrells laced, Patagonia zipped, MEC pod draped across my back, onward and upward!

There is a feeling I get when I gaze upon a hefty staircase, a sort of helpless panicked feeling... 

The first 50 steps were hardly any trouble, rain began to sprinkle lightly as I passed a woman with llama in tow. 

100 steps in, I was happily plodding at a decent pace, but I'd had to put my hood on lest the sprinkling soak my hair and spread to the sweater beneath. 

140something I was approached by a handsome Argentinian and invited to a party the next eve. 

200 Steps, the rain grew steady, 

300 it was downright pouring. 

400 God

430 is

460 taking

480 a

490 mighty

500 piss

at my attempts to better my day.

NO MATTER!

eventually, the top was reached and the second portion of the walk began. Up the road, around the corner, along the lane.... There he was, in all his glory.... 

Christo Blanco

The rain ceased and the lord did grin.

Not a drop on the descent either....

....To be continued.....