I pulled out my notebook and tried to reproduce the map the driver had drawn on the back window. This was the first of several hand-drawn maps I used that day. In terms of utility, they ranged from utterly useless to incredibly misleading.
This was about 2 in the afternoon. I had started the day at 5:40 that morning, and it had taken every wool garment I owned just to make it to a taxistand. We had dropped some several thousand meters in altitude and now I had a ton of wool in my ever-heavying backpack, and I was sweltering in the mid-day sun.
I took the road less traveled, as it was the only option that made sense at that point. About a half-hour down that dusty road, a sign appeared pointing up a nearby mountain. "Inca Trail" it said. I knew it wasn't The Inca Trail, but at least it was an Inca trail. Close enough!
This particular Inca trail went more or less straight up, a slender path through mesquite, cactus, and about a hundred kinds of plant and tree that I couldn't recognize. About 40 minutes into the hike, I stumbled upon an adobe house, guarded by ducks, chickens and cats in equal measure. Grateful for the break, I sat on a bench outside the abode and talked to the ducks around my feet. Maybe they knew whether this was the right trail or not. The proprietress, a smiling old woman, came out of the house, supplied me with a Coca-cola and then laughed at my map.
She took pen to paper and drew an entirely different map, and she wrote "Casa de Monos" (monkey house) and "Perez hacienda" (Perez family ranch) at different junctures on the map. I was to follow the monkey, then find the ranch. I gathered that if I was faithful in my quest, the town of Santa Teresa would be revealed to me.
She pointed up the hill, and I was off on my search for a monkey house. I was wearing my Indiana Jones hat, I just wished I had the whip, too...
Within the hour, still ascending, sweating furiously, I stumbled on two houses set in the hillside, one slightly above the other. Ducks and chickens again, then a very old man sitting in front of the first house, who responded to my inquiries about monkeys by pointing me up toward the other house.
Indeed, there was a monkey sitting in a tree - actually attached to the tree - in front of the second house. I had found Casa de Mono"! A nice couple with a cute little boy ran this household, and they offered me sustenance and rest. I bragged to Lorenzo and Maria that I had made it up the steep hill without too much trouble - a lot of sweat, but no problem, pretty good for a 52-year-old. They thought that was nice, and had I by any chance run into Lorenzo's father at the other house? Who is 103 years old? And who could kick your lily-white American ass?
Well, that last part was implied, but I have no doubt he could...
Lorenzo looked at the maps I was carrying and after a good chuckle, drew me a new one, more of a topographical map. I saw that by his reckoning I was more than half-way up the trail, thank god, and upon reaching the top part, was going to go down, then across, then up some more, then way down, and I would find the road to Santa Teresa. Given the length of this new map, I began to worry about getting to Santa Teresa before dark.
Equipped now with three hand-drawn maps, each one supposedly better than the other, I departed - but not before taking a picture of these cutie pies, also members of Casa de Mono...
Well, up and down I went, seeking the Perez Hacienda and further validation that I was on the right trail. Then, I lost the trail. It was there, then it wasn't there. I backtracked down a very steep patch but couldn't figure out how to move forward. Then I saw a house in the distance, and made my way toward it, thinking it was the Perez Hacienda. I had seen no other evidence of human life since leaving the monkey house close to an hour ago.
The house was dilapidated, partly unfinished, maybe abandoned. Not much of a hacienda. As I studied the ruins, I heard a dog barking far off, and getting closer. I yelled "Ayudame!" (Help me!) and "Perdido!" (I'm lost!), hoping the dog understood Spanish, or he may have a master handy.
Sure enough, emerging from the thicket came a man, completely covered - gloves, hat, mask, and carrying a steel can, trailing this toxic bug-killing smoke. He asked if I had not yet gotten stung? At that exact moment, I felt this incredible pain in my shoulder, and I writhed in pain. He immediately doused me in the smoke, suggesting that I not breathe for a minute. He checked the sting location, and said I was lucky that the stinger was not lodged in my shoulder, as they were difficult to remove. I asked what kind of bug bit me, a bee, or what? But the name he gave was not bee or wasp (abeja or avispa) so I have no idea what the thing was. I asked if I was in trouble health-wise, and he said no. He said some people felt that this sting actually was good for your arthritis. Did I have arthritis, by any chance?
The insect-killer walked me to the proper trail, pointing out that I should stay on this two-foot-wide trail, and stay off that two-foot-wide trail. Easy as pie, no matter that they were completely indistinguishable, and that they crossed at times. He said he wasn't sure of the Perez Hacienda, not having been there himself. He said he kept to himself. You keep to yourself, do you? I thought, as I looked around me - no other person, road, house, or building of any kind for as far as the eye could see...
Buena suerte! (good luck!) he said, waving his smoking can. You're going to need it, he implied...
Stay tuned for Part III, the near-conclusion of Does Doug Even Make it to Machu Picchu, or Is He Eaten by a Puma?
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