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Published: March 5th 2012
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We lost the game and took a seat on the stone bleachers. Above the soccer court, a truck carrying fruit rushed by in the night. Weary passengers lay on top of mangos and bananas, staring up at the starry sky. Together they huddled under blankets and prepared for their journey over the snowy mountain pass. In five hours they would have passed through as many climates. Their faces were alien, of another world. They were headed home, back to their city in the jungle.
"We should camp in Quillabamba sometime," I said casually, almost under my breath. Bryan glanced at me to see if I was serious.
"In the jungle?" he said, cocking his eyebrow. "When?"
"I don't know, whenever, sometime this month."
He looked at me again, scanning my eyes for a molecule of insincerity. Finding none, he said, "Okay, lets go this week. Jon is from there, he could show us around."
Jon's team lost and we replaced them. After the game they switched off the lights. The three of us sat in the dark and discussed the idea. "I can go anytime before Monday," said Jon, "then classes start." I realized I was
booked for the weekend, which left us three days.
"Alright," I said, "lets leave on Wednesday then."
"Carrajo, it is Wednesday." Jon muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
I looked at my watch. 12:36. I looked back at the boys. They were smiling like mischevious little children.
"We leave today?" offered Bryan. Everyone was smiling now.
"Puta madre, somos locos!" Jon shouted.
"Meet here at ten?"
"Bueno, a las diez, nos vemos."
"Hasta manana," I managed through a grin. I felt like a giddy kid. What had started as a joke had materialized into an ambitious plan in minutes. A few hours later we were on our way into the jungle.
The bus lurched violently around switchbacks, laying on the horn as we took each bend. The blast of the horn woke me up every time I fell asleep. My ears popped and my head was beginning to spin. We climbed higher and higher. Looking out the window, I watched picturesque pastoral scenes pass by. The foundations of pre-Inca settlements crumbled in flowery fields. Llama and alpaca clung to steep slopes and craned their long necks to get a look at
us. We climbed higher and soon we were in the clouds.
The mountain top was eerie, strange. A rolling fog lurked past an old church with open doors and nobody inside. We stopped, but no passengers were exchanged. Eventually a little kid got out and relieved himself, shamelessly facing the bus' windows. Jon woke up and looked out the window. He laughed when he saw the boy. "We'll be there before dark," he said mechanicaly.
As we descended, the tall yellow grass of the mountains became the lush green trees of the jungle. The air was thick, it carried the musty herbal smell of dense vegetation. We passed small towns with enough lights to count. Beautiful women with busty frames strolled cooly through the hot and heavy air. Everything was different. I felt like I was a thousand miles from Ollanta.
Land slides were being cleared from the unpaved road every few miles. Tall cliffs hung over us like teetering towers of earth. Our bus hung to the edge so tight I'd lose sight of the road and feel like we were floating. Between the trees, I could see the dim glow of a city carved out
of the jungle.
Quillabamba was bustling with life. Motorcycle taxis endlessly raced from one side of town to the other, carrying beautiful women in tropical attire. The bass from discotecas thumped like the pulse of the city. Nineteen hours after uddering the wild idea, I found myself in the jungle with three Peruvian boys I'd met less than a week ago.
Jon's house reaked of poverty. He banged on a tin door between two little shops. "Abuelita!" he yelled. An old woman, about four feet tall, guided us through a dark and narrow path covered in filth and rubble. The center of the house had no roof and the floors were compacted dirt, unless they were so dirty I couldn't tell the difference. We went up a staircase and I ducked into a room with two barred windows and some dusty furniture. "We can sleep here tonight," Jon said, spreading two mattresses from his bed onto the floor.
We bought a bottle of Peruvian rum and headed into the city. We finished the bottle in a park across from the liquor store. The boys were trashed and I was feeling pretty groovy. After some typical drunken heart-to-hearts,
the boys called their girlfriends and decided we should go to a brothel. Unconvinced, I told them I'd walk them there before going to bed. The rum made me tired and I'd have rather passed out on a park bench then go slumming.
The shack was on the edge of town. A dim red light was shining in the center of dimly lit apartments. Most of the doors were closed, but those that were open glowed red, like a satantic inferno. Every one of my senses was on edge. Trouble and danger seemed to permeated the evil air. The boys went from room to room, looking in at the prostitutes like so much meat. I hung back in the middle of the complex, every instinct informing me I was in the wrong place. My friends saw I about to bail and pushed me into a hooker that pulled me into a room.
She was older, maybe in her forties. Her body was no longer firm and fat hung from her tight skirt. She smiled and winked, carressing my hand, awaiting eye contact. I looked around the room, desperate to leave, but also curious.
"Do you live here?"
"Yes."
I looked over at a photo of a little girl, and a pile of coloring books. "Do you have any family, kids?
"A two year old daughter."
I look at the toys scattered across the dirty floor. An emptiness grew inside me. It ate away at my emotions until I felt nothing at all. She must have seen the life drain right out of me, because she let go of my hand and took a step back. For a moment she looked human. Sad. Desperate. Inconsolable. Then, she returned to her profession and the humanity was gone. "So?" she asked. I looked into her eyes, searching for the sould she had long foresaken. There was nothing. I left without a word.
The boys slept with their shoes on. I woke up with the sun. I wanted nothing more to do with the city. I was disgusted with myself for even setting foot in the whore house. I looked at my bag and out the window towards the lush green mountains. The air was stale, and I felt like I could just hold my breath until we got into the jungle...
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