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The next day I woke up to the sun shining through my window. For breakfast the hostel served bread and jam with scrambled eggs and coca de mate. It was a fair breakfast. A young woman from Northern California joined me. Her name was Mimi and we spoke a bit about Peru and trekking into Machu Picchu.

After breakfast I went into the office to make some travel arrangements. A British ex-pat named Simon was at the desk. He helped me arrange a San Pedro healing for the following day. After that I would take a train to Agua Calientes and spend the night there. I would get up very early in the morning and hike into Machu Picchu where I would meet up with a guided tour. I would spend the morning exploring before catching a train at four which would bring me back to Cusco. I would spend my final night at Casa de la Gringa and then catch an afternoon flight back to Lima.

It was a little sad for me to have the rest of my trip planned out. I had done pretty well so far in avoiding planning too far in advance and allowing things to evolve spontaneously, and now I was back on a schedule. I had a week left in Peru, but suddenly I could feel the end of my trip approaching.

While I was sitting in the office, chatting with Simon a very pretty and disheveled looking young woman arrived at the door. She explained, in English with a Czech accent, that she was trying to find her friend Martina who she believed was staying at the hostel. Apparently, the two had meant to meet here, but as there were two Casa de la Gringas in Cusco and she had gone to the wrong one. Simon told her that her friend was here and that she could leave a note for her friend. This seemed to calm her a little. She left a note and went on her way. Simon and I exchanged a glance after she had left.

I then went to get cash to pay for my trip to Machu Picchu. It would cost me $250 US and included my transportation, a hotel, my ticket and guide to the site, and a couple meals. This was a very expensive price by Peruvian standards, but these were tourist prices.

After finding an ATM that would accept my card, I returned to the hostel and paid for my trip. I then sat down at the hostel’s computer and spent some time online. While I was blogging, the distraught young woman returned, looking for her friend who had not yet returned. She seemed to have a little better handle on things now, and she and I chatted for a bit. She then asked if I wanted to have lunch.

Her name was Misa, and as we walked over to the Plaza San Bles she told me a little bit about herself. She was a Czech living in London and working in commercial real estate appraisal. We stopped at Caverne del Orient–a vegetarian restaurant tucked into the corner of the plaza. They offered an excellent four-course menu for 10 sols. Conversation came easy as we sat outside in the sun enjoying our lunch.

After lunch we walked down to the market together, talking and site-seeing along the way. We spoke about our lives and our travels. She had a beautiful smile that came easily and twinkle in her eye. She was easy to be around in the ways that people who are very comfortable with who they are can be. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was a bit smitten.

When we returned to the hostel, Misa went to find Martina–whom she still had not connected with–while I struck up a conversation with a Californian named Kevin, who was on an extended trip though South America. Misa reported that she had found her friend and they were going out to dinner. I unabashedly invited myself along. Misa scurried off to get ready, and I spoke with Simon about my travel arrangements and booked a paragliding trip into the sacred valley. I had seen it advertised in some of the hostel’s literature and it sounded like an adventure. Then I went to meet Misa and Martina for dinner.

Misa and Martina shared a room across the street from where I was staying in Casa de la Gringa’s annex. Martina was a pretty young woman from Sweden who had actually only just met Misa the day before in Titicaca. Neither Martina or I had enough warm clothing. So we decided to go do some shopping. Fortunately for us, the region is known for its fine woven alpaca wool products. And it wasn’t long until both Martina and I had found nice warm sweaters in one of the nearby shops. The sweaters cost us 40 sols a piece.

Now that we were appropriately outfitted for the cool mountain twilight we returned to San Bles for dinner. A place called Km0 advertised Tai food and live music, both of which sounded good to the group, so we went in. As we were having dinner Kevin, the Californian from the hostel, came in joined us.

It was a lighthearted foursome. We shared stories and Martina told us about her experience earlier that day going to meet a little girl she had been sponsoring from home. It was a wonderful story. The whole village had welcomed her and the girl’s family had received her as an honored guest. I felt very lucky to be sitting there enjoying such a nice meal, in such a beautiful place, with such good company. A reggae band came on and played a great set of familiar music.

We returned to the hostel. Kevin went to bed and I sat up drinking tea with Misa and Martina. After talking for awhile Martina excused herself to go to bed. Misa and I sat talking for awhile. As it began to get late she rose to leave. I stood up as well, close to her and told her, “You don’t have to go,” and I kissed her. She was reluctant, but she kissed me back.

She looked me in the eye, “I have to go.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m not that kind of girl.” We kissed again, but she pulled back again, “I don’t have sex with someone I just met.”

I leaned in and kissed her again. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me back, but I could feel the ambivalence in her. There was a push and pull that I could feel in her body. A desire and a reserve. I didn’t want to pressure her, but I didn’t want her to leave either. I felt no ambivalence.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked.

This broke the tension. It was a way that we could continue to spend time together without pressure. She immediately agreed. We walked out into the cool Cusco night.

Cusco is a beautiful and romantic city in the dark. The city lights climb up the surrounding mountains in tendrils that follow the valleys. The narrow streets are lit with a soft yellow light that brings out the shadows and textures of the Incan stonework. There is very little traffic so it is very quiet.

We huddled together against the chill of the night and walked uphill where we found a small park with a few thin Cedar trees and a fantastic view of the city. We stood there for a long time. Misa was warm and soft in my arms. Her reserve had dissolved into the thin mountain air. She ran her hands across my back and pulled me close, pressing her body against me. We kissed deeply and passionately, our bodies tuned and responsive to each other. We lost ourselves in the moment, in the beauty of the night, and in the passion and lust we felt for each other.

After a long kiss we started walking again. The path was narrow with high walls that occasionally opened to expansive views of the city. We stopped here and there kissing and talking in hushed tones. Eventually we made our way back to the hostel and said goodnight. She asked if she should wait till I got in. She had a key to the annex, but I had to knock and be let in by hostel staff. It was fortunate that she waited because despite my pounding at the door I could not manage to arouse anyone to open the door for me. It seemed that the night watch was asleep on the job.

She checked with Martina and invited me to spend the night with her. “But we have to be respectful,” she smiled.

That was fine with me. I was legitimately tired and wanting to sleep after a long day. we climbed into bed. I lay for a while thinking when suddenly Martina’s voice awoke me, “Eddy, stop snoring!”

I hadn’t even realized I was asleep. I apologized and rolled over, glad that she had awakened me rather than letting my snoring intrude on her rest.

I spent the next two nights in Iquitos shoring up my travel arrangements and taking it easy on myself. Wil and Grazyna introduced me to Mariella, a lovely young woman who was opening a new office as a travel agent. She arranged a flight and accomidation for me in Cusco. I did some shoping near the city center. My mood improved dramatically as I quickly adjusted back to the pace of urban life and after hearf-felt good-bys to my new friends I left Iquitos in seach of another adventure.

The airport in Iquitos was small, but modern and effecient. I was, however, annoyed to discover that Peru charges an airport tax, paid on-sight, before you are allowed to go through security. The price was less than $5 US, but it had to be paid in cash, and I had not expected it. The airport ATM wouldn’t take my card and I had just barely enough cash on me to scrape together the fee and catch my plane.

That’s not my plane.

This is my plane…

The flight was comfortable and uneventful. I had a layover in Lima and I intended to spend my time on the ground blogging and catching up on my email. After collecting my bags from one flight checking in for the second flight I had to go through security again, which meant paying another airport fee. If this wasn’t bad enough after I found my gate I asked about internet access and was told that it was available, but only on the other side of the security checkpoint. I would have to pay another fee to come back through security. I tried to negotiate, but in the end I sucked it up and paid my third airport fee of the day so I could get a little computer time while I waited. The internet cafe at the airport chared 7 sols/hour as opposed to the 1-2 sols/hour that I had been paying everywhere else.

The flight to Cusco was plesant and the mountain scenery was beautiful. As we landed I looked down on a mosaic of red-tile roofs. It was a bright, clear day and everything seemed to me to be shocklingly dissimilar from the jungle.

I managed to haggle 10 sols off of my cab fare and got a ride to Plaza San Blas for 15 sols. My cab driver gave me a little tour along the way. The thin mountain air was crisp and clear, sharpening edges and giving everything a sparkle. The mediteranian architechture and the mountains gave the place the feel of wine country. There were tourists everywhere. I was not longer off the beaten path.

My hostal was very nice, if a little on the new age/hippie side. The rooms surround a partially covered courtyard. There is a kitchen, a dinning room, a patio, a rec room, and communal baths. It is decorated with paintings of goddesses and hanging dreamcatchers, shards of broken pottery and cacti growing through cracks in the floor.

For 42 sols I rented a small two-level room with a small sitting area and ladder up to a loft with a single bed. It had a small window that looked past the angular rooftops to the mountains beyond. It was pretty and tranquil and just what I needed to rest and recouperate from my time in the jungle.

Casa de la Gringa was very keyed into plant teachers. They had postings for both Ayahuasca and San Pedro rituals. This peaked my interest. I was curious to try Ayahuasca again with another shaman in another setting and see what the differences were. I was also interested in a tune up. I could feel that I still had my soul, but my strength and vitality had not returned. However, my first priority was a shower and a shave.

After being cautioned by the hostal staff about the altitude, “plenty of water and lots of coca tea,” I followed their directions down to find a place where I could get a shave. I brought a water bottle filled with coca de matte along.

I found coca leaf tea mild, but pleasant. It’s effect is no stronger than regular tea, and it’s taste is vaguely similar to a green tea, but naturally sweeter. It seemed to help with the alititude as well. Cusco is high, the elevation is about 3300 meters or about 11,000 feet. At that altitude walking up a steep grade or a flight of stairs was enough to get me winded. Being that the entire city clings to mountainsides, just walking around town would have been difficult without time to adjust to the altitude.

I walked down through Plaza de Armas. There was some kind of protest going on in the square, but I was on a mission. On a street just downhill of the plaza I found my barbar. Her name was Vanessa, and it would be more accurate to say that she found me. As I walked by the shop she looked at my scraggly beard and asked, “Shave?”

She trimmed my hair, shaved me close with a straight razor, and gave me a deep conditioning and hot oil treatment, two shampoos, and a scalp massage. I reveled in the decadence of it all. It cost me 60 sols and was worth every penny. Now I really did feel like a whole new man.

After returning to the hostel I went out to dinner at a little place just around the corner called Inca Panaka. It was a cozy place with pleasant ambiance and amazing food. I had mashed yucca balls stuffed with olives and fruit for a started and alpaca steak for an entrée. I had never eaten alpaca before, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was similar to pork but very tender and moist.

After a phenomenal meal I walked a few steps back to my hostel and tucked myself into bed under a thick layer of sheets and blankets.

I got a private room at the Hobo Hideout for my first night back in Iquitos. The room itself was dull with no exterior windows, but it would be dark and quiet. I showered in the communal shower and got the first layer of dirt and mud off, but I desperately wanted to wash my clothing. Everything I had with me was dirty. I decided to buy a new outfit so I could wash all my dirty clothing at once.

It took me about twenty minutes to walk to the market. On the way I ran into Wil and Grazyna. We stopped to talk for a minute and made plans to rendezvous for dinner.

The market was large and busy. It smelled like a stockyard. Stalls selling raw fruits and vegetables as well as unrefrigerated animal parts were intermingled with cheap electronics and cleaning products. There was a stall with live animals for sale as well. Tiny baby monkeys were tied to a pole next to turtles, caymans, a toucan, and an anteater.

The Behlen Market has two parts. The upper part is a pretty standard Peruvian street market: covered street stalls crowd the pavement between the permanent buildings housing smalls shops. But the lower part of the market is a “floating market.”

Lower Behlen is the Amazon’s take on Venice. Built on the river, canoes traverse the waterways between buildings and crude plank scaffolding takes the place of sidewalk. These walkways are narrow, often a single plank wide, and without railings making it harrowing to pass a pedestrian coming in the opposite direction. There were shops and vendors here, but there was housing as well, and clothing hung from lines stretched across the canals. It was charming and bohemian.

I stopped at a “T” intersection in the middle of a canal to take a photo. As I snapped the picture a teenage boy who had been walking a short distance behind me lept from over my left shoulder and grabbed my camera. He wrenched it from my hands and started to run down the path to my right. I pulled back on the wrist-strap and yanked the camera back into my possession. He continued to run down the path which went under a nearby building. I had the camera, but my adrenaline was pumping and I gave chase.

My ill advised attempt to apprehend the thief ended quickly and violently. My Peruvian nemesis was a head shorter than I and where he cleared the building without ducking, I ran headfirst into the lower edge of the concrete structure. I heard a pop and saw stars. I struggled to keep my balance on the narrow plank as my head swam and warm blood trickled down my face.

Nearby a family was sitting out and cooking their lunch. Obviously distressed at what they had witnessed they sat me down spoke to me in rapid Spanish I could not understand. One of the men went into the house and came out with a clean new towel that he offered to me. My head was clearing and I refused. I had some tissue in my back pocket and I used that to staunch the bleeding, not wanting to soil their new towel.

I was a little embarrassed and I wanted to get back to my hostel to assess the damage. One of the women walked me back through the lower market and up to the street where she hailed me a motorkart. I was fully capable of finding my own way back, but I appreciated the kind gesture.

Back at the hotel I examined my forehead. I had a deep crescent shaped gash about an inch wide in my forehead. It was deep and looked like it could take at least a few stitches. I washed and disinfected it with hand-sanitizer. I looked at it again. I did not want to go to the hospital. I travel with superglue finding that it provides a better barrier against infection than band-aides. It has the added benefit of disinfecting as it seals a wound. I had never used it on anything this large, but I decided to give it a shot. I held the gash closed with one hand and applied the superglue. I had to continue to hold my forehead for several minutes while the glue set, but once it was finished the wound stayed closed. It seemed to have worked fairly well. Pleased with my field surgery, I laid down to rest.