Riding out our last day in Sacred Valley

I was awakened this morning by banging on my door. It was Avishai. We were going horseback riding today, our last day in the Sacred Valley, and Avishai and Viviana were joining us. I didn't really want to go. The night before there had been a ritual gathering around a campfire by the full moon. Many people took the medicine provided and had stayed up all night meditating, singing, drumming, and waiting for the sun to rise. I didn't make it until sunrise, but I was still tired. But we were committed. No rest for the weary. So after a brief breakfast of lentil soup by the fire pit, where others were still stretched out sleeping, we were off.

We met the horses in Maras, a sleepy all brown town that is home to the families who own and tend the salt mines of Salineras. Salt has been captured from the ponds here since the days of the Incas. The families own, tend, and share the income from the ponds. This was yet another example of how many Peruvians live collaboratively sharing workload, profits, and ownership.

Horseback riding while traveling can be a very iffy thing. Frequently, horses are not well cared for and the trails are so well known by the horses, it can feel like the equivalent of a merry go round. But this was not the case with these horses. We were in for a treat.

The horses were beautiful and the owner, our guide, was extremely attentive to every detail. The horses were Peruvian Step horses, which means that they look a lot like dancers with their high prancing legs. What it also meant was that they were very fast. I was assigned an older mare named "Lucero". I figured that she would be a bit doddering--she looked so docile waiting for us to take off.

While leaving town, some young children ran alongside us shouting hello, their black eyes shining with excitement. The horses were all peppy. But Luciana turned out to be really peppy and Avishai and I quickly took up the lead, our horses playing out some kind of competitive race.

The landscape was astonishingly beautiful. We traveled along old Inca trails, through meadows and farmland, through a couple villages, and into our destination, a beautiful lake, where we had a healthy lunch.

The horses were all clamoring to be first and when the path was wide enough, we traveled in a pack. We all laughed about the imagery that it brought to mind as we rode together pressed in a clump with the clattering of their feet. It felt as if we were in a scene from a wild west movie, particularly when we returned to the desolate, dusty town of Maras.

Getting home from Maras was just an extension of our adventure. I've gotten used to catching a ride with lucky strangers who have cars and are willing to play taxi, or to piling into "combis", minivans that carry as many people as can fit. Inevitably someone in the crowd of patient and smiling faces will strike up a conversation with me. The conversation always goes the same way: where are you from?, how long are you in Peru?, and how do you like it here? My answer is always the same: "es hermosa". They always look at me knowingly. They may be from here, but they understand what they have. They will nod and laugh and say something in Quechua to the others in the van causing everyone to laugh and smile. And when my stop comes, I'll pry myself out of some contorted position and say to everyone, "hasta lluego", which means "until later". There are no goodbyes here--just happenstance encounters.

Horseback riding in the Sacred Valley: Apupacha Horse Adventure, www.apupachaadventures.com

Mountains, tears and baths of flowers

We decided to do a mini trek to some caves (and Incan cave paintings) behind the farm. The day was gorgeous and cool--perfect weather. I was distracted, and not in a good way. The evening before, I received a three week old message from the management of my storage facility back home. My storage unit, containing all my worldly possessions, had been left unlocked.

I was trying to put on a stoic face. But halfway through our morning meditation class and salute to the ten directions, I bailed out. Being present was totally escaping me. I get the whole concept of attachment and letting go, but enough is enough. I'm just not ready to be that untethered. And knowing that I had done something so stupid was making me feel really out of control.

I figured the hike would distract me from my distractions. So, we set off.

Initially, the walk was easy and quite beautiful. The Inca walls and paved stream beds are a marvel to contemplate. The rushing water was clear and the terraced landscape was lush with corn, potatoes, pumpkins, fruit trees, herbs, and flowers. Fernando was our capable and informed guide.

About 30 minutes into our ascent, the wind shifted, dark clouds appeared out of nowhere over the mountains, and we heard thunder. I could see bands of rain in every direction and I asked Fernando if they were headed our way. Yes, he seemed quite sure that our weather good luck had run out.

We decided to go for it. We had hiked up the mountain about halfway when the rain started. All I could think about was getting to the caves and escaping the now steady rain. The trail was steep and getting steeper. The assault forward was more like a hovering scramble as I grabbed rocks and strong plants to pull me up. I was determined to be the first one to the caves and out of the rain. Fernando was patiently herding the rest of our group, Barbara and David behind me.

All the while, I was distantly aware that if I looked over my right shoulder, I might not be able to make it. I put my fear of heights out of my mind and launched forward. Avishai had mentioned that the mountain would get a bit steep. Fernando was going to see us through the tough spots. Finally, I was confronted with a mountain face of rock. "where's the trail?" I asked Fernando. "aribba" he answered and motioned up. "You have got to be kidding" was my thought, but I kept silent.

There was just no way I was going to be beat by this mountain. I'm a survivor! All my possessions have been carted off from my storage unit! I'm unemployed! And homeless! I did the Inca Trail! I'm in Peru!

I carefully found toeholds and places for my hands and began hoisting myself upwards. The rain was now rushing down, I was soaked, my hands and feet were slipping, and the reality of the cliff-like views behind me were knocking on my mind's doors.

I reached a perfect straddle. I probably resembled something like a flattened fly against a rock, or maybe a frog thrown against a wall. I don't know. All I know is that that was the precise, exact moment when I suddenly did not feel much like a survivor, or a mind over matter master, or anything else. I was scared, I was sorry for myself and I was sure that there was no way I could do it. I was finished.

I don't remember if Fernando helped me down to the closest mud patch or if I got myself down. All I know is that I found my humble spot and sat there sobbing my heart out. There was no way I was going up. And in fact, there was no way I was going down either. This was the end of the road for me. I told the others to go on without me. I would wait in my puddle for them on the return. Maybe the sun would come out and dry everything up, maybe Fernando forgot to inform me of an Inca road superhighway just around the bend.

Barbara refused to go up. In solidarity, she was staying tight beside me. David had the good sense to leave us behind and in a matter of minutes he was in the cave, out of the rain and assuring us that we could do it.

I told Barbaran that if she made it up, I would too. I'm that competitive. Fernando was to the rescue and before long, Barbara was in the cave. He came to get me and I was still sobbing away. He instructed me back into my thrown frog position, but this time, I had a steady hand to pull me up and guide me across the steep mountain face and into the cave.

Once in the cave, we were out if the rain, it is true, but the damage had been done. I was soaked and shivering. I plastered myself against the rock face and asked David to explain to Fernando that I was crying over other things, not just the mountain. I vaguely heard David saying something about my mom having died (albeit a year and a half ago, but it helped explain the inexplicable). And then it was time to descend. Fernando had decided the weather would only worsen. I quickly snapped a shot of the cave drawing, which resembled something a child might have drawn as his or her first picture. Later, Barbara would describe it as scribble as we recounted our adventure to Avishai and Viviana. Fortunately, by that time, with plenty of relieved laughter.

Viviana is a shaman, a healer and an all around amazing, gentle person. Intuitively, she realized that my tears were of a broader nature--and she prescribed a bath of flowers.

The bath of flowers is a very special ritual. Each flower was hand picked by Viviana with a specific purpose in mind. I recognized roses, geraniums, daisies, hydrangeas, and the very smelly herb, "ruda", which is supposed to be great for energy cleansing.

The tub was set in the garden with an amazing view if snow capped mountains. Farm workers were instructed to steer clear of me bathing, and they did. I soaked for well over an hour taking it all in, using bath oils, honey, and a large aloe plant leaf as my soap. Afterwards, I took a restive nap. With the great news that my storage unit was secure and miraculously my things were untouched, I was able relax in to being present, fully aware of my attachments.

Food: a favored topic and occupation

Food has been a constant theme in the Sacred Valley. During the time of the Incas, much of the food that supported the people was grown here. Farmers are still using terraces to grow their food and the 5,000 year old irrigation systems that move the glacier water from the mountains to the fields during the dry months of the year. The hand hewn stone walls mark pathways through the mountains that we can use for our hikes. It never ceases to amaze me when I meet other people, and frequently a parked cow or donkey, on these rural highways.

On my very first full day here, I visited Moray. Moray is an Incan ruin that is believed to have been a sort of agricultural university where the Incas probably experimented with the use of circular terraces to create micro-climates in order to grow a wide diversity of food types. At Moray, I climbed down to the lowest (and hottest) terrace noting that they had varied the height, size, and even tilt of each wall to create the variances. At the bottom I tried to imagine each terrace covered in a different crop. Against the backdrop of the mountains, I felt humbled by the complexity of this great nation of people who had developed such a sustainable system for feeding a large populace.

Barbara and Avishai are both chefs and I count myself as a serious foodie, so conversations at the farm are frequently centered around food. I spilled the beans about Barbara's talents with a smokery. Avishai took us to a place high in the mountains where we could buy fresh trout from a fish farm. I've never seen so many beautiful, huge trouts in one place. A woman was frying up trout over an open fire and for a few dollars, she fried up two fish on the spot for us. Food never tasted so good as we huddled around sharing the fish and a few potatoes and a piece of corn.

That evening, Barbara brined the fish much the same way that she does the fish sold at Neopol. The next day, Fernando, the farm worker and occasional guide to us, built a makeshift smokery. I volunteered to tend the fire despite my total lack of experience with building a fire that is supposed to smolder for 2 plus hours. In the end it was a great group effort resulting in one our finest meals in Peru.

Paradise. Kinda sorta. If you Squint a little bit.

After our strenuous trek, I wanted a place to recover. And move into the retreat phase of the journey. We could not have found a better place to do that--in Sacred Valley, the beautiful valley between Cusco and Machu Picchu, along the Urubamba river. To be more specific: The Sacred Valley B&B.

Right away, I knew that things would be different here. After walking down a dirt path along a rushing stream, we came upon the small farm, which is located in the picturesque village of Yukay. In the front yard, pressing against the gate, was a cow, perhaps there to greet us, but more likely, simply parked there in between some task or another.

To stay at the B&B is more like staying at your favorite hippie cousin's farm than to stay in a hotel. The first rule of the game: shoes off in the house. After a brief tour of the home (shared bathrooms--and that means soap too!), an unlimited supply of hot herbal teas from the garden, and a quick download of when our family meals (mostly vegetarian) would be, we were set free to explore. The farm packs a lot in to it's urban-like footprint. There are a couple of cows, llamas, sheep, cats, dogs, ducks, chickens, and the prerequisite puppies. On the food side of the equation, there is corn, potatoes, and an abundance of other vegetables, herbs, and flowers--all of which are utilized for the preparation of our delicious, incredibly healthy meals.

Viviana and Avishai are our hosts. Viviana is a native of the village of Yukay. Avishai is Israel-born. They met in The United States. Both have had interesting, and even intense, careers in the past. They have landed here to live out their version of the dream, free of the rat race that has come to define much of the modern world's existence.

At first, I didn't know if I could handle it. This is not the sort of place where you can expect your bed to be made up daily and we were provided one towel upon arrival. "Hang it on the balcony to dry it." And that is not to even mention the suggestion that we use a bidet-like feature in the toilet in order to reduce the need for TP. Well, it's mentioned. Just not utilized at this point.

But these are minor issues when compared to the joys of shared, healthy meals conducted over candlelight, a steady stream of neighbors and visitors enlivening the house, the morning "class" of yoga or or some other similar instruction, and the simple pleasure of being folded into a home--something I can honestly say that I've never experienced before during travel.

I'm not sure that B&B appropriately describes this place. At least the B&B's I've met. Imagine doing your laundry in the yard (yes, by hand in a vast tub of cold water) and hanging it all, and I mean all, out there for anyone's viewing pleasure. But it all seems to work somehow. Life is just too short to get tangled up in your underwear.

More pics from the trail

Inca Trail: Racing French women, Pacha-mama, and unspeakable cliffs,

To hike the Inca Trail, one must hire a professional guide. We were a small group of 5 representing 5 nationalities--me from the USA, Barbara (originally) from Germany, Diego from Argentina, Ben from the UK and the captivating Elise, from France. To make it all happen for us, we also had in our group 2 guides, 1 cook, and 5 porters.

The Inca Trail served as a royal highway to the Incans. The trail itself in its original form spanned from Quito, Ecuador to Chile. We were hiking the 26 mile route that led to the lost city, Machu Picchu, whose "rediscovery" in 1911 has been credited to Hiram Bingham III, the great-grandfather of Baltimore's own Sloane Brown. Between that connection and the proliferation of UnderArmour-wear on the trail, I felt pretty special coming from Baltimore. But I digress.

Hiking the Inca Trail was an unparalleled experience for me. Right from the start the trail was challenging, dramatic, and awe inspiring. Over the 4 days, we climbed 6,000 feet walking on the hand cut stone pathway, frequently with stairs, moving from the cultivated valley at 7,500 feet to the grasslands at 15,000 feet (featuring grazing llamas) and ultimately to the jungle. The trail features dozens of Inca ruins, rare orchids, over 419 species of birds, llamas, alpacas, and even bears.

Once again, I was struck by the fact that the Peruvians do not coddle their tourists. Staying true to the design of the Incans, the royal highway followed mountain passes and ridges. One step to the right or left too far, one could easily plummet to death. In fact, this occurred on January 1st to a young American who was racing to the Sun Gate, the Incan's guard house, for sunrise. As someone who suffers from an acute fear of heights, I found myself cupping my hands around my eyes, much like the "blinders" you can see on some horses, in order to steady myself so that I could move forward.

I was unprepared for the emotional wallop that the trail packed for me. I was extremely fortunate to find myself hiking mostly alone. As I walked at my own comfortable pace, I found myself alone with the rushing streams, wide ranging biodiversity, soaring mountains, and proliferation of birds. My trek became a meditation and as I sat resting along the trail beside a rushing stream, I had the sense that the water was carrying my worries, grief and even desires away with it. Later, when I reached the top of the mountain at the trail's highest point, known as Dead Woman's Pass, I had a sense of leaving all of it behind me. As I descended, the landscape quickly became more lush, and despite the steady rain, I sensed the incredible abundance of the earth and felt as if I were somehow being held by mother earth, known as Pachamama to the Incans, herself.

Of course all was not glory throughout my 4 days. The lack of showers, on again and off again rain, penetrating clouds of mist leading to soaked clothing that I could not escape, plus the brutalizing walls of stairs had me questioning my sanity and considering abandoning my effort. But once again the Peruvians were circumspect in their outlook. There really was no way out unless on a stretcher. And I was not really serious about quitting anyway, I was just curious. I just couldn't figure out Elise. Each day she got more beautiful as the rest of us deteriorated. Plus she finished first.

Not that it was a race or anything.