Day seven...Dancing with the devil

            There is always one moment in your life when you're grateful you have two working legs, air in your lungs and a beating heart in your body. After a harrowing bus ride winding through the scanty mountainside roads to the small village of Aguas Calientes, the speeding death trap we were in finally spit us out by the train station down town. I was very grateful for those things then, and I nearly kissed the glorious ground I stepped on in appreciation. While our wide eyed little group stood on the street corner surveying the village like school children on a field trip, our ever so friendly tour guide, Gerson, made one last tempting offer for us to join him at the hot springs, which the village was known for. Twirling his tongue around in his mouth and licking his lips while trying to convince me to rent a suit and join him, only made the ceviche I ate earlier, want to come back up and send me running in the other direction. He ended up going alone and Erica, Alister and I stayed behind to explore the town on our own instead. We had a few hours before the train took us back to Cusco, but Erica and I were in the same boat. Exposing ourselves to Gerson and a flock of others in a bathing suit did not sound very appealing to either of us, and Alister chose to stick with the girls.

            The town reminded me of Cancun in some areas, only without the beaches and a Margaritaville around the corner. It was very modern and touristy, compared to the other parts of Peru that I've seen so far. Restaurants and shops lined the narrow streets and alleyways where stray dogs ran between the children playing by the rushing Urubamba River running down the center of town along the train tracks. The air was warm and windless like a lazy, mid-summer day due to the small town being set deep within a valley, nestled in the arms of the Andes Mountains. It was a pretty setting, but it catered and depended on its tourists, so it was a mask of what Peru was really like. However, it was nice to see a part of Peru that wasn't struggling so much to survive. On a walk down a cobble stone street I spotted a young golden retriever that reminded me of my dog Luke. He passed away two years ago and this little guy was the spitting image of his younger self. Having found a plastic bottle to chew on, he slid his shaggy self down to rest his little paws in the shade when a young boy of about three walked over to the poor pup and rammed his ribs with a swift kick out of nowhere. I was standing in the center of the street waiting for Erica to finish a purchase when I witnessed this disturbing turn of events and the little punk went in for another round of kicking. I couldn't believe my eyes. With three adults in the shops nearby no one stopped this three-year-old child from kicking this helpless dog. I ran over and grabbed the boy’s foot before he made contact with the dog’s ribs again.

"No bueno! No!"

The little boy went on to mumble something about the dog taking something from him and he deserved a kick. I wanted to toss the little heathen in the river but that wouldn't have been too smart, since I was a white foreigner very much out of her domain. The sweet dog just sat there while the boy struggled to kick him one more time and I did the best I could to protect his shaggy body. Erica and Alister were by my side at this point, attempting to veer the boy to stop and change his wicked ways until one of the shopkeepers saw that we were making a fuss over the dog and finally told the boy to get away. Once he was out of sight the pup jumped down from the sidewalk and began to follow me down the street. I rubbed his ears and hoped he would be all right on his own. If I had a space and the authority I would have taken the little guy home with me. It broke my heart to keep walking away while he continued to follow behind, but eventually he found another bottle to chew on, sat himself down on a shady corner of the street and forgot all about us.

            A few hours later we were just plain tired and found ourselves a table to park ourselves while we waited for Gerson to get back. We sat under an awning drinking our Peruvian beer and Pisco sours while the rain began to sprinkle down on tracks beside us. A little while later Gerson showed up, hair moist and eyes a bloodshot around the edges and we finished our round before boarding our train. Either Gerson was extremely tired or he was on something you don't easily find in the States, and he wouldn't admit it, but he was just a little too California laid back and thick on the flirtations then he normally was, after his hot springs experience.

            The Vistadome train was like no other train ride experience I've ever had before then. The train itself looked like an Amtrak on the outside, but the inside was like sitting in the cabin of a jet plane and everything called the attention of all the senses at once. Besides the large picturesque windows on each side of the train, on the far right and left side of the roof were windows that ran from one end of the car to the other and gave everyone a panoramic view of the mountains on either side of the train no matter where you sat. On the speakers overhead, the soft and pleasing sounds of nature filled the air and the sent of fresh clean air sifted through our lungs. The train was so nice and clean I was afraid the sit in the seats and messy it all up. After the passengers were settled, the luxurious locomotive took off and my face was plastered to the window watching the rushing river follow us through the mountains. Beside me was Gerson, who managed to switch seats with another passenger so he could sit next to me, which I wouldn't have minded if he wasn't laying on the flirtations so much, but I was tired and I just wanted sit on the train looking out at the mountains in my thoughts.

            Before the sun had set over the valley of Aguas Calientes, some unexpected entertainment surprised its passengers, in the form of a devil that looked much like the muppet Animal. A man dressed from head to toe danced around the car in time to the beats of house music overhead while passengers clapped their approval. Of course, I was one of those fools clapping like an idiot. However, when the man began to pull random people out of their seats for a dance I sat back down and lowered the octave of my clapping so that I could blend into the background. It didn't work. Sitting halfway down the isle in mid picture snapping, the devil made an appearance by my seat extending his hand out to me for a dance and Gerson pulled me out before I could nod my head in denial a second time. There I was, dancing with the devil on a late night train to Cusco, story of my life. That wasn't the last of our entertainment, however. Before the devil took off for the night, the cabin crew decided to put on a fashion show for the passengers. They walked up and down the center isle, modeled various local trends made of alpaca and other wools of the area while the passengers whistled for the men and cheered for the girls. It was our very own episode of Top Model.

            After the show was over and before I had a chance to escape the train, Gerson asked me if would want to go out on the town with him after dropping Erica and Alister off. He wanted to show me the parts of Cusco that most people don't get to see. If Gerson was someone else, who's intentions were solely to do just that, I would have loved to spend my last night in Cusco through the eyes of a native. However, it was Gerson, and the only thing on his mind was getting in my pants and that was the last place on earth where I wanted him to be. So I tried to be as polite as I could about it and gave him the excuse of being tired, needing rest and a shower. I think the word shower was the only thing that he heard and apparently it was some sort of magical word for him because then the flood gates of his libido came on as thick as molasses and he suddenly didn't understand the meaning of "no." After a few minutes of listening to him plead, I was fed up with hearing myself speak in a language he no longer understood. So, I just pretended to fall asleep in my window seat until the train hissed to a stop. Thank God.

            From the moment we had slid into the van back to our hotels I prayed that I would be the first drop off so I wouldn't have to be left to deal with Gerson alone. With Erica and Alister in our presence Gerson wouldn't have had the courage to put the moves on me again. However, just as we were a block away from my hotel I heard Gerson tell the driver something in regards to dropping the others off first. Crap. I know exactly where this was heading. I've dealt with enough Latin men to know how this was going to go and I was pissed that he was putting me in this position. I really liked Gerson as a friend and he had been an excellent guide throughout our entire journey, up until we left Machu Picchu. Then he became something else entirely. I just don't understand what it is about these guys. You could say "no" a hundred different ways and they just keep on pushing you until a girl either gives in or slams a door in their face. Note to self guys: if a girl really likes you and wants to be pursued, it only takes ONE TIME to ask her out and I promise, she will say yes. If, on the off chance she says "no," then it may either be that she really can't, or she's trying to play a little hard to get. If that's the case, then just ONE MORE try should do it. When I saw that the driver had passed the street going to my hotel, my assumption was confirmed. He was dropping the others off first and I would be trapped in a van with two men I hardly knew. Not only was I pissed, but now I was scared and uncomfortable. Gerson was a small guy and I could probably take him, but if the driver was under his control or in on some kind of kinky sex trade scheme, I was screwed. I didn't call Gerson out then because I didn't want blow things out of proportion if I was just being paranoid, or upset anyone, including Erica and Alister if they were in a hurry to go back to their hotel first. So, I just sat in the back seat, quietly cursing the fuzzy haired troll in front of me and working out in my head how I could get out of this situation.

            The minute Erica and Alister were dropped off and that van door closed shut, my stomach sank and I shriveled myself up as tightly as I could. Legs together, arms crossed and jacket zipped up as high to the neck as it would go. I looked like a pouting five-year-old trying to make herself invisible. Just when the van started to move, Gerson turned around and asked me for the eighth time that night if I would go out on the town with him. For the eighth time I said, "no, I'm tired, I'm disgusting and I have to wake up early tomorrow."

"Tonight's your last night, you should go out. Let me show you Cusco."

"If I had another night, I would definitely (not) take you up on that offer, but it's just not going to work out tonight."

"Come on."

"No."

"Come out with me."

"No."

At this point he placed his hand on my knee and I could feel my whole body stiffen and every nerve ending on high alert, zoned in to where he had positioned his slimy little hand.

"No. I'm sorry."

"Please."

I couldn't even look in his direction anymore. I just kept praying the stupid driver would hurry up because I was about to get nasty and ruin this entire trip. When I didn't answer his last plead he moved his hand towards mine, which was tucked securely under my armpit, and I just tightened up and moved back. I might have hurt his feelings because he turned back around in his seat. However, that didn't last very long because when he saw that we were just down the road from my hotel he turned around and asked me AGAIN.

"No, it's not going to happen."

I had enough. The driver finally stopped the car, came around the van and opened the door. I didn't say a word. I just climbed out from the back seat and jumped out of the van behind Gerson. The bellboy was waiting by the entrance when I said goodbye to the driver and followed him in. With a look back, I saw Gerson was standing the rain, his bag slung over his shoulder, still waiting for me to invite him up. But I just walked away and followed the bellboy to my room. The second he left, I closed and double locked the door behind him. For the next five minutes I stood by the window, peaking through a slit in the curtains hoping Gerson was not going to show up at my door. When I felt the coast was clear, I went about unpacking, still shaking with anger, fear and disappointment. Because of Gerson's sudden temperamental shift, this experience was nearly ruined entirely. I thought that I had gained a friend in Gerson, someone I could keep in touch with, exchange the stories of our lives or even share other adventures in the future. Instead he was someone who just took advantage of my friendly nature and discovered that he was just looking for a one-night stand with a gringa. A wonderful experience was nearly tarnished by his persistent sexual desire to satisfy his libido. Had he pushed any harder, or was an aggressive person, I could see myself not only hating the entire experience of the trip but being turned off by Peru all together. How sad would that have been? It just takes one moment like that to traumatize someone forever. Shame on you Gerson's of the world.

            The next morning I woke up an hour before I had to because I was still afraid Gerson would show up at my door, knowing I had plans with Erica and Alister that morning. I was packed up and checked out well before I needed to be and I decided to grab some coffee and walk around the city for a little while. I had two hours to kill before I had to be at the Inca museum around the corner, but I was glad to be on my own for a little while. It was a beautiful day to wake up to. The morning was cool, the sun was peaking through clouds and it was my two hours alone with Cusco. When I got to the Plaza Del Armas, the locals were bustling round, decorating the area for a festival that could have been Dia de los Muertos (All Souls Day) although it was actually on the 2nd of November, and this was the 4th. At one end of the plaza I came upon an Inca ceremony where a man with bushy long hair, dressed in the traditional Inca uniform, went about a prayer in what I believed was in Quechua. In front of a crowd, of mostly locals and a few tourists up as early as I was, the man stood before us holding a bowl of burning wood above his head chanting a prayer that sounded as though it was in regards to a political concern. He had the demeanor of someone with influence but still seemed approachable. Putting the fire down he picked up three coca leaves, spread them like a fan between his finders and continued to pray and blow against the leaves. He went through this process three more times, to each of the four winds of the earth, and kneeled on all fours, bowing to the ground. At the same time an army of soldiers came marching around the cathedral with their rifles in hand and barrels resting on their shoulders until the front half of the plaza was filled with them. At first I was afraid that I had caught myself in the middle of some sort of political raid but when I saw that the locals were not running for the hills I decided I was safe. It appeared to all be part of the festival and for the protection of the officials who would be making an appearance later.

            Before I knew it, it was five minutes to nine and I made my way to the Inca museum just in time to find Erica and Alister making their way down the narrow street. When we got to the museum, we found that it was closed for the festival and decided to visit the ruins where the Inca made their final stand against the Spanish at a mountaintop overlooking the city. The top looked much farther away than it actually was, but one last adventure sounded so good to me right then and I was feeling so fit after Machu Picchu that I was afraid to let myself go and return to my wimpy, out of shape self if I went more than a day without some sort of exercise. Our legs were still a little sore, but it was nearly no effort at all to get to the top and it was an amazing sight. From the top we could see the entire city resting at the bottom of the valley. Thousands of clay-topped buildings stretched the distance below us and the Plaza Del Armas sat right in the center. From where we were we could hear the echoes of the festival below. It was breathtaking and quite peaceful up there. We walked around the mountaintop admiring the Incas and imagining the war that went on there so many years before our time. Near a large white statue of Jesus overlooking the city, an aboriginal man played his little charango on a stool while we took in the views. He was very sweet and talkative. We took a picture with him before we went back down the mountain for some lunch and Alister bought one of his CD's. I think this was the first time I had ever seen Alister pull out his sols for a souvenir. He wasn't much for material things, from what I could tell, so this was quite an impression that this man made on him. If the charango player only knew.

            With an hour left before I had to get back to the airport, the three of us sat at a little Peruvian spot with a courtyard dining area. The air was still cool but we sat near a beautiful brick fire oven and ate our delicious ceviche and thin crust pizza. We exchanged our contact information before the end of our meals and promised to visit each other between Toronto and New York soon. As much as I hope this happens and make a point to make it so, I doubt it will. Many times we meet wonderful people on our journeys and want to make our experiences last forever, but life manages to get in the way. And before you know it, too much time has passed and you become strangers again. If I had more time and money I would have loved to join Erica and Alister another week traversing the jungles by the Amazon but while they will be there, I will be back in New York, braving the aftermath of hurricane Sandy. Which jungle is more dangerous right now, I don't know.

            I think sometimes about a friend of mine who told me about his own trip to visit Machu Picchu he had planned to do once. He said that when he was seriously considering the journey, someone warned him about the bandits that are known to prey on the tourists that travel the Inca trails. He ended up canceling the trip out of fear and never went. I can't help but feel sorry for him now. To know what he missed out on because he let fear steal him from an experience that, for me, will forever be ingrained in my memory as one of the greatest things I had ever done, is very sad. This trip wasn't a walk on the beach or a day at the spa, but it was never meant to be. This trip was a mission of discovery. To discover not only one of the known wonders of the world, but to discover what I was made of as a human being.  I live in a world of many others, like me, but not me, and I believe it was pure destiny that I came to be in Peru to understand this. Something was calling me to get on that last flight leaving New York City seven days ago and I managed to make it there and back in one piece. To return...a better piece.