There it is
again...Machu Picchu. This ancient place that once harbored a lost civilization
in the middle of Peru seems to be calling me from 33,000 miles away. I had never even heard of Machu
Picchu before eight months ago, but suddenly I was seeing and hearing it
everywhere. The first time was when I was at an Internet cafe by my apartment
in Queens. I was there to use a printer after I ran out of ink at home. While I
was waiting for the machine to finish spitting out paper, I looked up and
noticed this beautiful picture of the cafe owner with his wife. In the frame
the two of them stood proudly in the foreground while magnificent rolling green
mountains surrounded neat little rows of Inca pueblos splayed across a small
valley and carved into the downward sloping walls along the base of a ridge in
the background. I was amazed by this place and it certainly intrigued my
curiosity. I asked the owner where he took this picture and he told me it was
Machu Picchu. I forgot the place's strange name just as quickly as he told me,
but I managed to hold on to the fact that it was located somewhere in South
America.
The second time I came across
something concerning Machu Picchu was in a book. It came to me on the page,
printed in my most recent required book club reads, The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield. As I sat lazily on my
couch, listening to the hum of the air conditioner struggling to blow cool air
on me while I read the book, there it was again! The hero of the story was
bound for Machu Picchu to locate a lost manuscript he believed would be found
there. Still, I didn't realize that this was the same place I saw in the
picture at the Internet cafe eight months prior. I couldn't remember the name
of it off of the top of my head but I would have recognized it had I seen a
picture, but having seen the spelling of name, I now had a proper visual of the
name imprinted in my memory.
The third time I came across Machu
Picchu was back in the beginning of June when I was researching the Seven Wonders
of the World I hoped to visit. There it
is! The picture I saw in the Internet cafe! Machu Picchu. Smacking my
forehead, that's the name of it! The name
I read in the last book too! I instantly typed in that destination on my
list of places I had to visit, and there it was–the final four wonders I still
had to visit staring back at me with longing.
Apparently, just writing down the
name and making a mental point to visit this ancient place in the world wasn't
enough. Because, I was visited by a fourth sign, if you wish, in yet another
random book, a book I happened to own for quite some time but hadn't come
around to reading until recently. I came upon it one day earlier this spring as
I was perusing the shelves of the Strand for something I could escape into from
the pressures of daily life. I didn't know where the setting of the book took
place when I bought it. I just grabbed it aimlessly, committing the sin of
judging a book by its cover, or rather, its title. It was called, The Good Girl's Guide to Getting Lost by
Rachel Friedman. I had never heard of the author nor the book, but it called
out to me at a time when I was itching to travel and couldn't. So, I thought I
would live vicariously through someone else's journey to exotic places that I
couldn't go to just yet. When I say exotic, I mean–anywhere that I was not in
that moment. When I got home, however, I shelved the book to read when I had
more time, but it sat there collecting dust until a few weeks ago when the urge
to travel hit me again. Half way through the book I realized that not only was
the author about to head to South America but her final destination was Machu
Picchu. What the... I slammed the
book closed and threw it across the floor like it was possessed. What do you want from me Machu Picchu? I
was beginning to think the universe was trying to tell me something. Although I
had put it in my head to hopefully visit this place within the next ten months,
something was telling me that Machu Picchu should be bumped up to the front of
the list. I wasn't going to wait for another sign this time.
Over the last three days I've been
going back and forth with my travel agent in California, trying to work out an
itinerary while acquiring permits to enter the site in a time slot that works
for everyone. After doing some research and talking to a friend of mine who
grew up in Peru, I learned that the best time to travel there, it was decided,
would have to be either in October, before their summer starts and the heavy
rains begin, or at the end of spring when the land dries over again. The spring
might be too late for me, and I had plans for April and May, so October it was.
In fact, the only dates that worked, fell on the same week as Halloween this
year–during a full moon. Once I realized this, my imagination began to take on
a life of its own. I pictured crazy Peruvian's hiding around corners wanting to
throw unsuspecting American's off of mountain cliffs, werewolves howling at the
moon and the dead spirits of the Inca tribes looking for a long awaited
sacrifice. However, something stronger than my fears were pulling at me and so
I listened to the call. After agreeing on the six day visit, two of them in
Cusco and four of them trekking through the Andes mountains on the ancient Inca
trail to Machu Picchu, I slapped down a small fortune and the trip was booked.
Machu Picchu...here I come. Now will you
stop tormenting me?
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