An Unexpected Adventure

Over four weeks have passed since my last entry, and I am afraid. So much has happened over the last month, and the sheer density of each and every experience has my mind revolting at the idea of trying to spin it all into words. Still, I’ve managed to get started now — in for a penny, in for a pound. I’ve a lot of catching up to do, and so my writing will be a touch behind for a while as I work to claw my way back to the present moment. Please be patient with me. 

My cyberknife treatment had come to a close, and residual effects necessitated a minimum of four weeks between the final session and the next lot of scans. One of these weeks was spent in recovery, allowing time for the fatigue to seep out of my bones. As my energy returned to me, Alessandra and I looked at the three week gap in our calendar, and we realised something: we had been given a gift. There, in front of us, was a 21-day block, wherein no medical appointments could drain our time and energy; no side-effects could drag us down. There may not be another opportunity down the track, but for this beautiful window of time, I could live free of the shackles of my medical reality, making full use of my present health and vitality. With this in mind, we made a decision. Sitting down at the iPad that very night, Alessandra and I bought tickets to Peru.

I had been to South America once before. It was December 2018, and I had arranged to attend an ayahuasca retreat, working with a group of shamans in the Amazon jungle for two weeks. It was a mere one week after booking my flights that I discovered a blind spot in my right eye, and another week from then that the cancer was diagnosed; the eye removed. I was due to leave seven days after the surgery and feared that I would not be cleared for travel, but the doctor allowed it. I had just been confronted with my mortality and fundamental vulnerability, yet this only strengthened my resolve to follow through with the trip — a decision that led to the most profound and beautiful experience of my life; and one that permanently changed my perspective of the world. 

Now, with the specter of death hanging over me once more, I could feel the jungle calling to me, urging me to return. Alessandra, ever the adventurer at heart, needed little convincing. We booked a week at the very same retreat I had attended all those years ago, and arranged for time in Cusco and the Sacred Valley before and after our time in the jungle. My older brother, Chris; his partner, Lisa; and their one-and-a-half-year-old baby, River, were staying in the Sacred Valley, and so we would have the opportunity to spend some quality time with family, too. Though the cost of it all was certainly intimidating, the cost of not going seemed higher still.

On our way

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We took an Uber to the airport around 9:00pm ahead of our midnight flight, and began the 35-hour slog from Perth to Sydney, to Santiago de Chile, to Lima, to Cusco. Well…it was meant to be 35 hours, but that was about to change. 

Perth to Sydney was over in a flash — just one uncomfortable sleep and we were coming in for a landing. We stumbled through the airport in a state of dazed detachment, and I gratefully fell into a chair as Alessandra hunted for a good place to wait for our next flight. She returned bearing both good and bad news. The good news? There were lots of coffee shops scattered about the terminal. The bad news? Our flight had been cancelled without notice, and the replacement itinerary had us travelling a completely new path. In one fell swoop, our travel time had changed from 35 hours to over three days, with almost 24 hours added, cumulatively, in various layovers. This simply wouldn’t work. With the desperate energy of a couple of cornered mice, we scrabbled over to a Qantas sales desk, where we explained the impossibility of our situation. The sales clerk took our plight as his own, making calls and shuffling through flight options until he ironed out a simple itinerary once more, the only difference from the original path being an overnight layover in Lima. We could handle that. 

We thanked the sales clerk from the bottom of our hearts and, in just a few hours, we were off once more. The flight to Santiago de Chile was a 14-hour snackathon, watching movie after movie as the attendants foisted food upon us in a concerted attempt to keep us docile and distracted. Perhaps as a result, the flight passed remarkably quickly — as did the subsequent flight to Lima. 

Far, far too much food…but that didn’t stop us

We arrived in Lima grubby, cranky and disheveled, waiting at the baggage carousel until it slowed to a stop and confirmed that our luggage had taken a vacation of its own. Swaying softly from side to side, we duly filled in a lost baggage claim, hoisted our backpacks up onto our shoulders, and walked thirty minutes through the bleak concrete jungle of Lima’s industrial area to a shabby hostel, the glare of the late afternoon sun beating down on our backs and sticking our shirts to our skin. The hostel owner was a cheerful old man, welcoming us through to a cheap but serviceable room before bidding us a good afternoon. When he left, we took turns in the shower, washing off the grime of travel. We had intended to go out after that, but our eyes drooped and our bodies sagged and, without dinner or ceremony, we both fell asleep.

…

Our final flight to Cusco was at 5:00am, so we were back on our feet and out the door by 2:00am, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Our minds had scarcely registered that we were in an aeroplane before the flight was over and we found ourselves in a taxi bound for a hostel in Cusco. When we arrived, we set down our packs and threw ourselves onto the communal couches. Alessandra messaged Chris and Lisa to arrange a breakfast catch-up, and we agreed to meet in the Plaza d’Armas later that morning. It was a joy to see them again. We spotted them by the central fountain, where the golden figure of an Incan emperor raises an arm as if in greeting. River has grown so much, yet he retains his cheeky smile and boundless curiosity. We set off for a lunch spot nearby, swapping stories of all that has unfolded in our lives since we last saw one another, River peeking out shyly at us as we walked. After lunch, we hopped in a taxi together, driving out into the Sacred Valley, where Chris and Lisa had been renting a house together. We had accepted their offer of a couch bed in the upstairs section, grateful and excited to spend a week with them before heading off into the jungle. It was a twisting, turning, bumpy ride, past dusty villages and Incan ruins, along cobbled and cracked roads flanked by grazing cows, horses and oxen; our passing watched by the street-savvy stray dogs that roam the countryside. 

The house, when we arrived, was as breathtaking as the rolling hills and craggy mountains that surround it. Green, fertile and well-cultivated gardens, thick with flowers, welcomed us into the courtyard, where a stream gurgled its way around the inner perimeter of the property. The thin air left us lightheaded and set our hearts racing as we climbed the stairs to set our bags down. We rested until late afternoon, by which time we were ready for a small adventure. Together, our small group took a collectivo — a sort of informal shuttle bus — to the nearby town of Urubamba, where we wandered the sprawling chaos of the markets. Brightly coloured stock choked the shelves of the storefronts and market stalls: sweaters, flutes, carved stone statues, alpaca dolls, wooden masks and assorted jewellery jostle for space as the vendors called us in to present their wares. With little energy left to spare, we continued to walk until our bellies compelled us to visit a nearby restaurant, where I was reunited at last with the savoury delight that is lomo soltado and the chilled creamy tang of a pisco sour cocktail. 

River wasn’t the only one dozing in the collectivo when we made our way back. Stumbling up the long path from the road to the residence, we fell into our beds shortly after arrival and were embraced fully by sleep.

The ultimate view

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The next morning, we woke at a reasonable hour, and were treated to a quiet morning of banana pancakes, fresh cacao, and the endless entertainment of River’s antics. It was late morning when we set out for Pisaq — another small town nestled in the valley. We visited a shamanic shop, where we browsed the medicinal herbs and tinctures, marvelling at the sheer number of plants and powders on offer. There were many shops selling all manner of arts and crafts, and we took more time to explore their contents — doing our best to resist the urgings and presentations of the hawk-eyed merchants, who would swoop in if we stopped for even a fraction of a second to examine some trinket more closely. Much of the afternoon passed in this way, including a stop at an enormous fresh food market for a fresh mango juice and some provisions. The collectivo home was cramped, and we spent the evening playing question games together until our eyes were swollen half-shut with fatigue. 

Controlled chaos

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The following day was spent largely at home. While Alessandra and Lisa entertained River, Chris and I had a window of time to catch up, just the two of us. We set up on the lawn and drank tall, thick glasses of wachuma — a native cactus with medicinal and psychedelic properties. A drawn-out period of nausea and physical discomfort was spent laying down by the stream, before something changed; the internal world shifting and opening. The clouds scudded across the bright blue sky, and we remained where we were, speaking of life and death; of politics and relationships; and of our feelings and experience of one another. Chris and I had little to connect us in the past, but I felt connected with him then, telling him just how proud I was to be his brother, and of the transformation I had witnessed in him since the birth of his son. Incan hieroglyphs covered the mountains as we spoke, and sky-dragons emerged from doors in the clouds as the sun climbed to its zenith and began its descent once more. Then it was evening, and Lisa, Alessandra and River returned from the market to find two very sunburned men, still talking in the kitchen nook. 

…

At long last, we received a message that our bags had caught up with us, and awaited us at the airport. We took advantage of the trip to drink in the city, jumping in an early collectivo as it roared down the long road that snaked its way back to Cusco. We began by sauntering down the side streets of the centro historico, stumbling across a little courtyard that housed two alpacas, munching grass quietly outside the small collection of shops. From there, we made our way to the town square, which was alive with colour and sound. There was a festival underway, and it filled the plaza with brightly-clad dancers in ceremonial dress, circling and calling to the lively music. We watched for a time, but hunger and altitude were wreaking havoc with my senses, and so we paused for some salty food at a local cafe before resuming our wanderings, heading to a nearby market. It was enormous. We entered through the butchers’ section, and the smell of warm, raw meat mingled with the blood on the floor and the stink of death in the air, turning our stomachs. We passed piles of cow mouths and stomachs and hooves, scurrying past as we tried not to breathe. The rest of the market was the typical fare — a cacophony of sights and sounds, stalls packed and piled high with figurines and clothes and musical instruments. By the time we got out, we were well and truly ready to call it a day. We took a cab to the airport, collected our luggage without further incident, and called a second taxi to begin the long drive home. 

…

For our final day with Chris, Lisa and River, we set our sights on Machu Picchu. We packed a bag with the essentials — sunscreen, water and the like — and leapt into a waiting taxi, bound for the town of Ollantaytambo. We arrived at the train station with minutes to spare, and had to run to board the train, which took us across the countryside and through the valley, ending at a small town, built by the raging rapids at the base of Machu Picchu itself. From there, we hopped on the bus, which took us up the precarious switchback that led to the ancient site. 

River was rather enjoying the train ride

As with my last visit, I was awed by the precision and quality of the stonework, built so high up as to form the tip of the mountain itself. Tiered walls cascaded down the lush green slope, with, here and there, clusters of roofless Incan halls and dwellings. Other, smaller structures could also be seen on surrounding peaks, carved into the sides and stubbornly clinging to the great spindles of rock. We made our way in a circuit through the maze of buildings and braved one of the narrow paths up one of the smaller spires — during which I cursed each and every item in my backpack, which was gouging ruts into my shoulders and dragging me backward with every step. The view that welcomed us at the top, however, was well worth the climb.

When we had seen all that we came to see, we began the steep climb down the mountain, favoring one of the hiking trails that hugged the side. It took nearly two full hours to reach the town once more, and we were all beyond exhaustion, nursing aching knees as we collapsed at the first cafe we saw. Sweat plastered our clothes to our bodies, and our legs shook — even when standing still. 

There was some time to kill before our train home, so we browsed the nearby market and had drinks at a restaurant overlooking the rapids below. The train back to Ollantaytambo was terrifying, hurtling across the tracks with a rickety instability that threw us left and right with abandon. We were pleased beyond measure when the lights of the town greeted us at last. 

View from the top

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It was the end of our first week in Peru, and we were off to Iquitos — a bustling hub of activity in the midst of the endless jungle. We were bundling our luggage into the pre-booked taxi by 5:45am, and whipped through the flight to Lima and the transfer to Iquitos without a hitch, save for the mild anxiety about whether or not our bags would be joining us.

Iquitos is far from the tourist hub that is Cusco, and it shows. Graffiti lines the walls of rundown houses, and shopfronts are dirty and neglected. The crumbling roads are cluttered with tuk-tuks, jostling in a chaotic frenzy for space; each constantly seeking to overtake the others. We hailed one of these and rode to the nearby market — a sprawling network of shabby stalls, hastily constructed awnings pushing their way into the streets. Some vendors went a step further, simply laying their wares out on tarps, stretched across the bare concrete. The air was heavy and oppressive as we walked through the market, saturated with the smell of exhaust fumes and alive with the roar of engines and the high-pitched blare of horns. It was enough to make the head spin and pound. Still, the city was teeming with life and activity, and we walked the length and breadth of the market before returning to the main square and settling into our downstairs room at La Casona Inn.

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There. After a clunky start, an exhausting follow-through, and multiple days of writing, we’ve reached the end of the entry for first week in Peru. I should probably note that this is the simplest week to write about. The next entry is going to get weird, but we’re all on this wild ride together, and I know that once I get started in the telling, it will all begin to flow. 

So, what can we take from week one of our spontaneous Peruvian adventure? 

1. Make the most of the freedom you are given. To have windows of free time — where obligations and commitments are at a minimum — is a rare gift, and should be recognised as such. Not everyone will be in a position to do as we have done, but everyone has the capacity to see these brief breaks as the precious moments that they are, and to embrace them as fully as possible. 

2. An addendum to the above: make the most of the gift of physical health and energy. We unconsciously assume that these will always be available to us, but every now and then, we are reminded that they can be taken away. Celebrate your ability to move and play, and the abundance of energy that allows you to do so much every single day. Try to feel gratitude for these things, knowing that they are gifts, and not givens. 

3. Get travel insurance for cancelled flights. We got lucky, finding people who were willing and able to help us with our flight-related issues, but it could easily have gone another way.

4. There is nothing quite like reuniting with family.

5. Children are the best teachers for living in the present with a curious mind.

6. Even the most broken and distant relationships can be healed with careful words of truth, if both parties have the courage to speak and to hear them.