Tracking the Ancients
I had dreamt feverishly the previous night. The scenes included precarious jungle domains, surveilling deadly predators, and lung-stifling humidity. All daunting possibilities, potentially awaiting us on our four-day horizon.
Relics of my dream returned, surely the influence of Jose:
Loud clanging of armor to armor, stood out from the rest. Or was it armor to sword?
Three Toledo steel-clad men ran hastily around rocks, through lush foliage, winding their way on a trail of muddy earth. In a large opening of cloud forest, the three men abruptly stopped.
From there, fog serenely floated through the forest of infinite trees, as the fierce chase took a brief pause. Though noticeably winded, the soldiers still searched from standing, frantically alert to the limitless obscurities and dangers of the exotic jungle thicket.
Speaking intelligibly in old Spanish, one said to the other two: "Mirad! Sería mejor si separamos (Look! It'd be better if we split up). Ellos no van a poder durar mucho tiempo más (They won't be able to last much longer)."
They efficiently split into three parts, a surefire way of finding their highly-sought prey, as the union of men recommenced their raging search.
The raucous awoke even the deepest of sleepers in one Tupac Amaru. He, for the first time in weeks, had dreamt to a sweat. He needed air, as he gasped for any that he could find in the immediate Vilcabamba jungle. As big decisions loomed large for the Sapa Inca, only concern marked his late-night stirrings. Could this close encounter with the Iberians be a sign of things to come for the Loyalists?
As I wiped the cold sweat from my brow, I was grateful that the dangers of my lucid Lima dream hadn't followed me into the physical. I did, however, still observe haunting thoughts pass gloomily through my head, like sticky shadows stuck to my mental aura. For some reason, I, too, felt concern for what I had just seen. Perhaps the vision, like it may have been for the Sapa Inca, was a sign of things to come along our journey to the ancient citadel.
Regardless, I had to get going. So, I desperately needed to pivot from downward to upward.
Hence, breathing and stretching, first. Preparation, next. Then, it'd be time to create the day, minus the dread.
During an absurdly early soup-session inside the restaurant portion of Uncle Juan's store, I observed the arrival of various locals. All were busy chatting, while some purchased products at what appeared to be the hippest shop in Huancacalle.
One customer in the store stood out. He was a mountain guide about to embark on the long southeasterly trail to Machu Picchu, in the direction opposite ours.
"A dónde vas, tú? (Where are you going?)" He asked. "A Vilcabamba (To Vilcabamba)" I answered.
"Bien. Bueno, lo vas a disfrutar. Es un lugar hermoso. (Good. Well, you're going to enjoy it. It's a beautiful place.)" He affirmed. I nodded with equal hopes.
Miky, or Miguel Angel Choque Delgado, was from Cuzco and was working for the Cuzco Regional Government in documenting the varying distances, elevations, and other characteristics of the ancient trails of the region.
As we talked, I could sense a solidness to his character. His presence was that of a real, self-assured mountain guide. He traveled independently, equipped with only a map and a limited-supplied backpack.
Albeit in a modern-day way, the thought that flooded my mind was Chaski, those timelessly-rooted Andean messengers who collectively crisscrossed and connected tambos (storage houses) to transport royal missives. And though I didn't bring this thought to Miky's attention, I'm sure in one way or another the comparison would've been an appreciated equivalence.
There was, however, something else that needed to be brought up. Having wanted to ask him earlier and throughout, I finally joked, "te llamas Miky, así como Mick Jaggar? (you call yourself Miky, like Mick Jaggar?)"
Miky smiled. He then, shockingly, went on to lift his jacket up, revealing a Rolling Stones' tongue t-shirt underneath. "Cómo lo sabías, amigo?! (How did you know, friend?!) Es mi grupo favorito, bro!" (It's my favorite band, bro!)"
