Capricious

21 - Tales from Peru

"We wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfilment."
- Hilaire Belloc

Why did I go? For some deep longing, of mentions in childhood fiction, of escaping all, of being truly independent. If I had to spend money on anything, why not memories?

The first days were an adaptation. To the world, to the culture, to the altitude. Testing, learning, leaping. Colours I knew not existed. I became lost in everything. Barely a relic existed from life before. The food, the time, the work, the play, the air, the heat, the who, the how, the why, the where, the what, everything changed. Born again, with only fabric and a looking glass to remind me of the nightmarish monotony of worlds ago.

It was brilliant chaos where risks meant little, oh so many I took. For many a day and many a night, I engaged and I explored. I got lost in that world in every way. I melted into the culture, the routine, the labour. We chilled and partied and lived every single day. I was so completely new.

Even that first day breaking rocks in the morning sun, metal cabs and concrete volleyball courts. We were never afraid. And everyone I came to know. Then spontaneous plans with those newly found. We went for drinks in the Irish pub and watched the parade from the balcony. There were the actresses, the frizzy-haired blonde and the girl just like me. I was mad.

She I followed in a fit of spontaneity, she who played those games with us. With her pierced lip and golden hair, joining each other's parties, curling up for warmth together, a tension unresolved, and me too young to know.

Diving straight in to it, work of a humbler kind, because I wanted to, because I could. Something different every day, from one place to the next, from one group to the next. Building walls, mixing cement, painting rooms, breaking concrete. Laying bricks, tearing planks, throwing rocks, cleaning pipes. We would always find a way. Then some playing around perhaps, snaps and volleyball, until the sun glared too strong.

Friends at first meet, my Panamanian roommate, dropped in together, both playing for a maturer world. As precocious as I, easily chilling or exploring or partying, we took it on together. Sampling shisha on couches discovered, moving up in the world, to nights out and days about, from our first day to his last night.

Rafting free down jungle rivers, rapids, through rushing, foaming torrents front and back. Ziplining across the gorge and back again, spreading my limbs out free to soar. Gliding off the mountain, flying across valleys and fields, the wind carrying me free, around and around for hours, an eagle above the rest. And the jump from the craning cage, the scared-shitless drop, adrenaline-soaked freedom, then held by my feet, the band coming taught, slowly bouncing up and down. The rush ever shortening, but ever intensifying.

The head of the pack, that garnered respect and admiration from all so easy, steering us that were new, just by acting so cool. Finding myself unconsciously becoming an imitation of him, from the jokes to the homage to the charm, that could bring us all together.

Their last night, that became known across the land, to Loki's we ventured, the whole house out and ready to rave. Blood bombs and cigarettes, till one by one we pass out. Journeying out for food, then back we came, such an irresponsible form of responsibility, all drunk to death.

My pomegranate wielding princess, that I had not thought to see, naive and bashful I was, to not even know it was flirting. Ken and Barbie we were known, hosting denial then drunkenly searching, making a fool of myself with chances lost, only realising I liked her too late.

A house of fun and welcoming arms, delicious meals shared amongst morning noon and night, up those endless stairs. Then further up the hill we climb into the undergrowth, a view so high among those that were high, for nights' ends and days beginning, an introduction to that life, not knowing what part it would play.

Random encounters again and again, coffee shop, pub or bar, finding so much in common every time. Two halves in blood we shared, our love to run and explore and live. Bright enough to blend in anywhere. She who ventures the world for all time, always somewhere amazing to be, reflections in awe do shine.

Then again, finding all in bits and pieces, from Loki's to Milhouse. On we played our games, drinking as we did, taking each other on, becoming beer pong champions of the night. The ensuing crazy drunken moves, lying in the road, roaming through the streets, then up the hill to get high. Such extravagant inebriation, foolish secrets spilled to all, then waking, the five of us spooned together, without ever knowing what happened in between.

The morning after, still high or drunk maybe, catapulting chickens into the air, we lounged amid the rubble, for crazy fun was the work that had fallen to us.

Throughout it all I changed, who I was, what I became, something more, maturing in mind and heart. I attracted respect by becoming so exciting, passion seeping through, all looking up to me without ever trying. It was a world where power transitioned from experience, and in time it fell to me, to deliver introductions to what I'd found, how to live in this world, simply sharing what had been passed to me. The simplest society, to rise, to rule, to reap. For having such knowledge made me so easily confident. Conversation came easy, few elements at play, true friends to guard my back, my immaturity barely showing through. It made me feel so brilliant, an importance within, that I could share with all. Rising and falling from hills back home, but there, I was on top of the mountain, I was completely awesome.

Days and nights, breaking rocks, drinking games, painting walls, climbing hills. Endless games of asshole wherever we went. The undisputed champion of bullshit. Singing of breezeblocks, staring at setting skies sprinkled so sublime. Drinking among the ruins. Red and blue llama sweaters. Camomile tea and coca leaves.

Then spending my remaining time on a trip of impulse and dare, with friends met here, to Titicaca we ventured. Jumping between floating islands, cusqueñas on top of the boat, climbing into sacred grounds. Another minor adventure, if only I hadn't become so ill, no matter, for then it was straight on the next.

The mountain climb, days hiking on and on, others groups with a stream of languages, disconnected, or had I taken on too much by then? Tents below the starry sky, stretching to the frosty summit, lying on the volcanic bed, Salkanthay stormed. Trekking on with my shell through the posts upon the ways. Dancing around the fire, riding on top the van through the jungle's net. The pleasure of the hot springs, treading bubbly in the bubbles. The final road then to our destination, wading through jungle and bridge and waterfall, to the chameleon town for a night. Jetting off in the dark, up the cliff steps till the sun did rise, over such wonder I wander through. The ancient ruins of my dreams, throughout and above, Machu Picchu.

Then leaving it all behind, the time of my life, carrying the blues and all I'd learned, until adventures new.