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Published: March 16th 2012
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My head tossed from side to side as I tried to sleep through the switchbacks. The bus rode the edge of the cliff as if it had the luxury of being connected by a rail. Jon and I sat, bags on laps, tiredly gazing out at the first morning light reach the highest mountain peaks. We were almost level with the snows before we began to descend.
It rained in Lares and it didn't stop. We were dropped in the bustling plaza, heads spinning like the tourists we were. Even Jon looked out of place this high in the mountains. About two-thirds of the market crowd wore the brilliant orange threads of Quechua people, the rest of the locals were certainly not so far removed from their indigenous colors.
Lares was famous for its hot springs. Like slow bubbling guisers, los banos termales gushed hot water to the earth's surface. The water is heated by its proximity to lava that has risen from deeper pockets. Come to think of it, I've probably never stood before a deeper hole in my life. The thermals were caged in by high adobe walls with glass shards glued to the top. The only
way in was with five soles. I payed the Peruvian price because Jon convinced them I was his adopted brother. We paid an extra six to camp.
We put our tent on a terrace overlooking all the pools. A cave that looked as if it were made of melted wax sheltered a fire pit. The sun burnt through the clouds and scorched my pasty skin. We sat in the shade of our cave and cracked open a few beers. Some gringos we had met in the plaza came up to join us on our perch.
Cara was a sporty girl in an over sized camo jacket. She had long brown hair and crystal blue eyes. Stephen was a hippie from another era. He wore a long gray braid and Native American jewelery over his hairy bare chest. He had an expression of total understanding or utter indifference. He didn't seem to participate in reality too often.
We all headed into the hot tubs. Cara and I talked about outdoor adventuring. She was from backwoods Colorado. In a country accent, she explained how she rode horses, camped, and hunted her own game in the Rockies. Steve didn't join
our conversation until we reached the subject of San Pedro, his passion and trade. I had never heard of the thing, but I was in for a lesson. The glaze over Steve's eyes receded as he described his drug of choice to me. He was excited and he wanted me to know why. San Pedro is apparently a herbal powder that can be mixed with water. The green drink supposedly purges the body of chemicals and “bad energy,” sending the mind for a minor trip. Steve had sold everything he owned in the U.S. to move to Cusco and live closer to Sr. Pedro. My two new friends seemed absolutely crazy, but too detached to care. They were pleasant to be around. They didn't demand my attention and I easily drifted in and out of their conversations.
Rising out of the hot tub, I let the fresh rain cool my hot, steaming skin. I searched for an equilibrium between the cool sky and the hot earth. I sat dangling my legs in the pool, occasionally pouring water over my back. I was hot and cold, but never warm. I could neither stay in nor out and the predicament seemed
one great metaphor for the comfort and freedom I've struggled to balance during this trip.
Fat and ugly Peruvians seemed to be on parade. They polluted the water that already smelled like boiled urin. I sat in a daze, as checked out as Steve. We cooked our bodies in the hot bubbling mineral water all afternoon. Unable to get a fire going in the rain, we went to bed early.
That night, we got wet. Rain came through the bottom zipper of the tent. My feet soon lay in a pool of cold rain water. My feet were soaked and I didn't sleep very well. The river below the hot springs raged with the rains. In the morning, we warmed our cold bodies in the warm pools until it was time to catch the bus home. I wanted a shower more than a nap, but had a busy day ahead. After attending to some Awamaki business, I finally crawled into my warm, dry bed.
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