The joys of imagination!

When I initially started this blog, almost a year ago, I did not want it to be a Mommy-Blog. You know the type, where moms chronicle the times and lives of their kids growing up. Or complain about the teachers or schools or post endless pictures of their kids. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Mommy-Blogs. It is a fantastic way to record the process of getting to terms with becoming a mother and a wonderful memoire of the joys of motherhood.

But the purpose of my blog was something else. For me this was a creative outlet and I wanted to share my joys, my passions, share funny stories about my life. Of course this would include stories about the stuff my kids do, but I did not want it to overshadow my blog.

I think I have achieved that. In fact, looking back, I think I shared less about my kids and their funny quirks and sayings than I thought I would.

So, when Anya recited a speech to me a few weeks ago, I couldn’t help thinking this is so her. Her beautiful imagination, her love for animals, her spontaneous nature. It was not an award winning speech, but it put a big smile on my face. And I am sure that it would put a smile on most adults’ faces out there as well.

I decided to share her speech. I have not changed anything, because in many years from now, I would like to look back and treasure even the spelling mistakes.

Enjoy!

 

The Magic will live on

I have been blinking back the tears a lot in the last couple of weeks. Ever since our dear Madiba was admitted to hospital, for a recurring lung infection, in the early morning hours on Sunday, 9 June 2013.

He is an old man now. On the 18th of July, he will be 95 years old. If he lives until that day. Last night the presidency issued a statement to say that his condition is critical. This, from the same source that told us he was doing better and responding well to treatment, a few days earlier.

He has clearly reached the end of the road. His long walk to freedom is a symbol of our democracy. Now that he has reached the end of the road, we don’t want to let him go. But he is an old man, who has lived a rich and full life. It is time to let him go.

But letting go, does not mean to forget. We need to remember the Madiba Magic. We need to celebrate this giant of a man, who has shown us the true meaning of reconciliation and love.

On my recent trip to Peru, I was seated next to one of our guides, Manuel, on the train trip back from Machu Picchu. Talking a bit about South Africa, Manuel asked me what the big deal with Mandela was. Why is he so popular?

For a moment I was speechless. Where to begin? How do you describe to someone the tension, the conflicting views, the fear in the country when it was clear that the Apartheid government was crumbling? How do you describe to someone the feeling of being cheated on and lied to by your own government; when you realised that the organisation you were led to believe was Communist, was in fact only fighting for their right to freedom?

As an Afrikaans speaking girl, I was surrounded by people who predicted a civil war. For so many years, we were being fed misinformation and our fears stoked by our own government. We were being warned about ‘die swart gevaar‘ (the black threat). So, even though we voted ‘YES’ for transformation in the 1992 referendum, for the end of Apartheid, we were scared. There was so much hatred and we feared for our future.

Until the great man, that is Nelson Mandela, came along. With his words of reconciliation he soothed a nation’s fears. He showed resilience and the true spirit of forgiveness. He reached out to the nation. Our first democratic elections in 1994 saw black, white and every other colour in between, standing patiently in queues for hours, to make our mark. Almost unprecedented in Africa.

In 1995, South Africa hosted the Rugby World Cup. For many years, rugby was seen as the sport of the oppressor. The game white boys played, while black kids played soccer. And all of the sudden the whole country was behind our Bokke. A primarily black newspaper dubbed the Springboks the Amabokoboko. Everyone sang Shosholoza and supported our team.

Despite being the underdogs, South Africa progressed to the finals and on 24 June 1995, we faced off against New Zealand (the mighty All Blacks), in the final. The team, led by Francois Pienaar, sang the new national anthem, which is a mix of the old anthem and a freedom song ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrica’, in front of a packed crowd of mainly white South Africans.

And then Nelson Mandela walked onto the field, dressed in the green and gold South African rugby shirt, with the number 6 on his back, the number of the South African team captain and shook hands with the team. The crowd erupted with cheers. It was a tough game, which was only decided in the final minutes, when the flyhalf, Joel Stransky kicked the drop goal that saw us winning the RWC of 1995. When Mandela handed over the cup to Francois Pienaar, still dressed in his Springbok captain jersey, there was not a dry eye in the crowd. In fact, I don’t think there was a dry eye in the country.

The Rainbow Nation was born. This man, who was locked in a cell for 27 years, and could have emerged to take revenge, managed to unite a nation, and with this gesture, climbed into the hearts of South Africans of all colours.

And that is the reason why Mandela is such a big deal.

We love you Tata Madiba. Our hearts will ache when you leave us and we will shed many tears, but we will never forget you. Thank you for everything you did for this country and for this nation.

 

Saving the peace…one date at a time

On Monday, my 15 year old daughter solved the question I have been asking over and over in the last few years. Well, in her mind she has solved it, and believe me, when you are 15, that is as close to prophesy as you can get.

She declared that she knows what the reason is why she and her 11 year old sister fight so much. Of course, this is not physical fighting, but as close as fighting with words can get. And I have been posing this same question for ages.

“Why can you two not speak to each other properly?”/”Do you have to argue about something so trivial? Who cares?”

I can carry on with the list of examples forever, but this post is about her answer…

“There is too much oestrogen in this house.”

Matter of factly. We are three women in the house and the live-in domestic worker, Anna, is also female. That makes four females, living in each other’s space. Her solution was simple. “Mom, you need to get yourself a boyfriend.” And then she added, hastely “A nice one.” A stab of guilt about my last choice…

We were driving back from a weekend away. The 16th of June is a public holiday in South Africa, and since the day fell on a Sunday, we got the Monday off as a bonus public holiday. And I have been meaning to get away with the girls. I felt a little guilty that we did not go away at all as a family in the April holidays, as I was climbing my mountain in Peru. So, the timing was perfect and I booked our little self-catering getaway in the northern Drakensberg region, next to the Sterkfontein dam. The unit was a 6 bed unit, and on an impulse, I said they could both take a friend along on the weekend. I know they often get bored with only me as company on holidays, and truth be told, sometimes it is nice to get some time to read a book, instead of having to keep them occupied the whole weekend.

The idea was not a bad one, and I certainly got my fair share of time to catch up on reading, but at the same time, I missed some company myself. I was tempted at times to pull the girls (and their friends) out of their rooms and force them to talk to me. But they were having fun, so instead, I read, drank wine, took the camera on strolls and made sure that the fire in the evening forced us all to sit around in the lounge, playing games, cards and building Jenga towers. The views over the Sterkfontein dam were spectacular, and all-in-all it was a lovely weekend. Lots of rest, lots of food, lots of reading. Exactly what I was looking for. Except, that I felt lonely in the crowd.

And then Bianca blurted this out.

If only it was that easy. I have been thinking recently that my life is actually pretty busy and that there is not a heck of a lot of time for a man in my life anyway. And, who wants someone who is going to be asking the whole time when I am going to be home. Someone who will occupy all my free time. When will I have time to read? When will I have time to write blog posts? Already, as it is, I am struggling to fit in two Pilates classes a week after work in the last few weeks. And, it really is great to cuddle up in front of the television in the evenings with my two girls (or at least one of them) and watch the latest episode of Masterchef, without a guilty conscience about forcing a man to watch it, or worst, to try and fit the episodes into slots of time where I don’t need to pretend to enjoy watching a soccer match or watch another television programme that I am not keen on!

A work colleague has told me straight out that he cannot see me getting into a relationship at this stage, because I am far too independent and sure of myself. But I keep thinking that if I found the right man, it would not matter. Surely?

But that is the problem, really. I have no idea where to fish out this right man, or even this right-now man. I have, without trying to be desperate, tried several avenues to meet men. I have tried the internet dating thing twice for periods of three and two months respectively. The last stint was ended prematurely, prior to the expiry of my subscription, when the zillionth gawky guy sent me a message in broken English, ‘intresting to hear more’. The only guys I had some longer conversations with were a video producer who, after exchanging emails for a few days, realised I was going to be overseas for two weeks (climbing my mountain…) and later that day, abruptly stopped emailing. Or the CEO of a union of some sorts who was travelling to and from Cape Town quite a lot, with whom I actually had a date set up, before he sent me a message to tell me he sprained his ankle and could we take a rain check. And that was it. I scare guys off, even before they get to meet me??

I have also joined a VIP dating club. This is a personalised matchmaking service, and (for a hefty fee), they promise to set you up with some professional people. I guess I should have smelled a rat when she told me that they will only sign me up for six months, at half the fee, because they didn’t have that many matches for me on their books. But (ever the optimist), I signed up, and then it turned out to be a low profiled internet dating site. They load you on their database, you post a picture, have to check in occasionally to see if there are any matches (their budget does not include email notifications). If they have allocated you an approved match, then you can ‘show interest’ in one of them. If the guy shows interest back, you can exchange details and go on a date, else he will vanish off your profile after a couple of weeks anyway. When I complained after a month that I showed interest in one of the four matches (I didn’t want to have to juggle more than one date at a time), but had no response whatsoever (neither positive nor negative) and that when I logged in the next time, all the approved matches were gone, I was told that maybe I need to upload a new picture. WTF? Needless to say, I have not been on a single date on this dating site through this matchmaking service, and I am just waiting for my six months to expire, so I can ask for my money back (it comes with a three date guarantee).

I have also joined another club last year (not a dating club per se), for which I get invites to at least two events a month, one of which is always on one of the two weekends a month when I have the kids, and the other one is normally in the week. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind going out during the week, but then I don’t want to go out by myself. Luckily, I can take someone with. But, on two occasions, by the time I actually managed to find a friend to go with (one time this was within a 24 hour period!), they were all sold out for the event. Now, honestly, for me to be able to line up one of my equally busy single friends within 24 hours was quite an achievement, and I get a “Sorry, maybe better luck next time”?

So, I give up.

Really???

Maybe I am giving off all the ‘wrong vibes’. Maybe Arielle Ford is right, and maybe my life is not ‘ready’ for my soulmate to enter. Maybe I should be making space in my closet for another person, because it would show my readiness to admit someone into my life. Maybe I should be creating a Soulmate Altar, to manifest my soulmate, because “where intention goes, energy flows”. Maybe I should stop watching Masterchef altogether, and start watching rugby and soccer in all earnest.

But then again, this year, I have ticked off at least three items on my bucket list. I went to Peru and took the Inca trail to Machu Picchu (two ticks). I bought myself a really nice camera in January, and I am enjoying playing around with it. I am thinking of booking for a proper camera course and maybe then I can start using all the foreign buttons on my camera. I am planning a trip to fulfil another dream in August (local this time around). And I am going to hike the Otter Trail next year.

Not sure what to do about the overflow of oestrogen in our house, though.

Any suggestions that does not include decorating my house in the style of a local rugby team, or giving up my wine for brandy-and-coke will be welcomed!

 

Winter in Jozi

The start of winter in Johannesburg is never a secret.

Every year it amazes me how the first cold front is announced on Facebook and other social network sites with comments like ‘Brrrr…’, ‘It is freezing outside’, ‘Who left the fridge door open’, etc.

The funny thing is that we have exceptionally mild winters in Johannesburg… Our daily average high temperature in winter is about 16°C. That is higher than the spring high temperature in many countries!

At the risk of boring my readers from Jozi, I venture a little geography lesson to understand the temps… Joburg is situated on the Highveld plateau, at an altitude of 1 753m (5 750ft) above sea level, which means that we have one of the best climates in the world. Summer temperatures are mild because of the elevation and the average daily high during summer is about 26°C. Of course we have days where the temperatures go above the 30°C mark, but then even we complain about the heat! We have a summer rainfall, but mostly this consists of short, sometimes spectacular, afternoon thunderstorms, often accompanied by lightening. Rarely does a day go by that we do not see the sun.

Winter, on the other hand, is our dry season and we very rarely have any rain in winter. Of course, this means that everything is dry, but we have the most gorgeous sunny days in winter. The sun goes under around 17:30 in winter and rises around 6:30 in the morning, so even at the height of winter, we have about 11 hours of sunshine a day. Not too shabby.

But the mornings and evenings do get very cold. The average minimum temperature is 4°C, but we often have sub zero temperatures in winter. This may not seem like much when you live in Canada or the UK or Europe, but the main difference is that our houses are not equipped to deal with these cold temperatures. Very few houses have central heating, or air conditioners and people use heaters or in the rural communities open fires, to keep warm. And this, in combination with the dry conditions, inevitably causes another common Jozi winter site, i.e. veldfires.

Due to a lack of rainfall in winter, we nearly never see snow in Jozi. Last year, in August, we had snow and pictures of people building mini snowmen out of small balls of snow that they had to send out a search party for to collect, went viral on the social networks. Mostly, we have frost in winter, and we know we are in the midst of winter when you see blankets of white frost on the lawns and can breathe smoke when you go outside in the mornings.

I have travelled to many places, and have experienced very cold and sometimes wet winters, and I have to admit, that winter in Joburg is really fantastic. Don’t get me wrong, I am not much of a winter person, and prefer the milder temperatures in spring and autumn, but we really have very little to complain about.

So, in order to remind myself, and everyone else out there, about the joys of winter (in Joburg), I have made a small list of some of the things I love most about winter!

1. Soup, soup and more soup

I love soup! Whenever the temperature starts dropping, I start making soup. I grew up with some hearty vegetable soups, kidney bean soup and pea and bacon soup, but I love anything soup. I prefer my soup to be a bit chunky and will often toss in something meaty like lamb knuckles, oxtail or just plain stewing beef into the soup. Not a lot, just to give it that yummy, meaty flavour.

Onion soup to die for!

Last year I tried out one of the Jamie Oliver soup recipes that I drooled over saw on Jamie at Home for a delicious onion soup, and although it takes a bit of time to make, it was moreish and sweet (the onions are caramelised first) and even though my breath probably smelled of onions for days, I couldn’t stop eating it!

And, the bonus is that it is such an easy way to get the kids to eat vegetables!

2.  Bootilicious!

I have particularly small feet (just under a size 3, which is sort of a UK size 35 ½. And I love buying shoes whenever I am overseas (except for Belgium, they don’t stock small shoes). And, maybe because I am often travelling in winter, or maybe because I just have a shoe fetish, I often buy boots! (Actually, I buy boots here as well, so ignore that whole shpiel about the overseas travelling…it is more likely just an excuse!)

I have so many pairs of boots in my cupboard…long boots, and short boots; boots with heels and flat boots; brown boots and black boots. And the other day I was thinking I need a new pair of long black boots.

3.  Another pretty scarf

A few scarves…

When other people travel, they buy ornaments, and T-shirts and other touristy things. I buy scarves. I love a beautiful scarf and I have two drawers full of scarves. The one is filled with thin scarves, some of which I can even wear in summer, and the other drawer is filled with winter warmer ones, many of them with matching hats. My collection includes scarves that I bought in Cairo, Perth (merino woollen ones, with a matching hat!), Dublin, Edinburgh, NYC and in Geneva.

And I use each and every opportunity that I get to wear my scarves! It is not uncommon for me to wear a scarf the whole day, as it was purposefully picked to be part of the outfit, baby! It is not like you take your necklace off in the middle of the day, is it?

4.  A house with a fireplace!

Last year, I moved into a new house, and even though it does not have a proper fireplace, it has a winter lounge with a gas fireplace. And I love it. My favourite thing in winter is to curl up in front of the television (we have a projector in the room, so it feels like a private movie theatre…), and watch a movie or cooking programme television show, with a glass of red wine and a soft blanket over my knees, whilst the fireplace is heating up the room.

Nothing like a fireplace…even if it is a gas one!

5. Red, red wine

I think I may have mentioned previously that I love a glass of wine… But, mostly because it is too hot in summer and I need something to cool me down, I don’t drink a lot of red wine in summer. I prefer to drink white wine (with a block of ice in it…even if I can see your eyebrows raised in question). Red wine is kept for special dinners or when the white wine is running low…:-)

But winter is red wine time. For me, red wine is my preferable drink in winter. There is nothing quite like a glass of red wine to warm you up from the inside on a cold winters day!

Of course, the one main attraction (for me) of winter in Joburg is that it is so short. By the end of August, we should start seeing the temperatures rising again to the mid twenties, so we literally have 3 months of cold weather and warm weather most of the rest of the year!

So, here’s to the beginning of our three cold months! Open a bottle of red wine, and chill, because very soon it will be a distant memory!

 

In the footsteps of the Incas – part 2

In my previous post, I started telling the story of the magical journey towards Machu Picchu, via the Inca Trail, or Camino Inka, as the locals call it. Initially, I wanted to tell it all in one go, but putting my experience down on paper (or the electronic equivalent of it), proved too much for one sitting (or reading for that matter).

Now that I have finished the rest of the story below, and am ready to press the button to publish the post, I am having a moment of reflection. Did I do the experience justice in retelling my story? So, please pardon me for the many pictures, when words cannot describe the beauty, and I sincerely hope that I have been able to capture a bit of the magic and that in reading this final post, you are also able to catch a glimpse of it!

Day 3

We were woken up again by the porters with the obligatory cup of coca tea, but this time a teeny bit earlier, at 5:30am, as we had a long day ahead of us. On the third day, a total distance of 16 kilometres is covered and on average it takes between 8 and 9 hours, so we had to get going at the crack of dawn. There is a fair amount of climbing to start off with from Pacaymayo, our overnight stop (approximately 400 meters in elevation), after which the trail starts descending towards the camp site for the final night, Wiñay Wayna (about 1 250m of descent).

But we were promised by Vladimir that it was an absolute ‘wow’ day. There are several Inca ruins along the way, and we were walking through the cloud forest, with promises of stunning views, and exotic orchids and flowers.

Getting out of the tent, I immediately realised that this was not going to be a stroll in the park though. My legs were stiff and we had a lot more climbing down stairs to do, and just the thought of my jello-legs the previous day, would have had me running for the hills, in normal circumstances that is…

Breakfast was scrambled eggs, and after filling our water bottles (and I filled an extra bottle of water, as I ran out of water the day before), we were on our way. About a kilometre into the climb, we reached the first Inca ruin, Runkurakay (pile of ruins), which overlooks the valley. Jesús, our assistant guide, told us that we know very little about the Incas, because they had no writing, unlike the Egyptian people. There are several myths about the origin of the Incas, the most popular of which is that Manco Cápac was born from the depths of Lake Titicaca. Manco Cápac was the founder of the Inca dynasty, and it is said that he decided to settle at Cuzco after his golden staff, given to him by the sun god, Inti, sank into the ground as was foretold.

The Incan ruins of Runkurakay – the site was most likely a checkpoint

From Runkurakay, the trail continues upwards for another approximately 45 minutes until the highest point of the second pass, Runkurakay pass, at 3 950m above sea level. By now, I was really suffering and the 45 minutes probably took me about an hour. The climb was steep and I was just thankful for cooler weather. But, the mist hanging over these magnificent Andes mountains made them look like pictures from a fairy tale.

Views of the Andes, shrouded in mist, from Runkurakay pass

Finally, about two hours into our trek for the day, we reached the summit of the pass and it was time to start the descent. I must have looked as scared as I was feeling, because as we were getting ready to start climbing down some few stairs, the assistant guide, Jesús, came to me and told me that he would like to help me, and asked me to give him some of the heavier items in my day pack to carry. Bless his soul. I handed over an extra bottle of water, my wallet (what is it with Peruvian coins??) and my emergency kit, and started walking again.

We now entered the cloud forest and the views were spectacular. I was snap happy and everywhere around me were exotic orchids, flowers, moss covered stone pathways, that just took my breath away, and made me (almost) forget the pain I was in.

Exotic orchids spotted in the cloud forest – amazing! The first one was called ‘princess shoes’

When we reached Sayacmarca, I was too tired to walk up the steps to the ruin, but the views were incredible.

The Inca ruin of Sayacmarca, ‘inaccessible town’. surrounded by cliffs on all sides

The ruins of Conchamarca, in the shadows of Sayacmarca

The first Inca tunnel

After our lunch break, we reached the ruins of Phuyupatamarca, which literally means ‘The town in the clouds’. This Inca site still has working aquaducts, most likely from pre-Inca days. Our guide, Vladimir shared the theory that the Incas probably conquered several tribes, and with it, gathered a lot of their joined knowledge of astrology, engineering and architecture,

Phuyupatamarca – the town in the clouds

Stone steps nestled between the agricultural terraces

Another view of Phuyupatamarca

From here onwards the path descended via an impressive staircase on the west down about a thousand steps (they knew better than to tell me this at the time…), through a second Inca tunnel, and magnificent views of the entire valley with the town of Aguas Calientes and the Urubamba River below.

Sitting on top of the world, with the Urubamba Valley below

At this stage, I was faced with another pain. From the constant descents, my big toenail kept pushing against the front of my hiking boot on the steep downhills and every time this happened, I was literally crying out in pain. When we tackled the last hour, Jesús offered to carry my day pack for the last stretch. When I protested, he told me that he used to be a porter and that he does not mind at all. It definitely did help, but when I (finally) reached the camp site, the first thing I did was to take off my hiking boots, to find that my whole toenail lifted and conjealed blood underneath the toenail turned black. This is when I really regretted not being able to pack alternative shoes, and was forced to walk around the camp site in my hiking socks.

Dinner the final evening was preceded by another game of cards and a game of murderer, with lots of fun and laughter. To our great surprise, we were presented by a fantastic cake at dinner time. A cake, baked without an oven, apparently steamed in a pot over boiling water. We were suitably impressed.

Freddie, our cook, in the middle, with Vladimir on his right. The cake was a steamed cake, prepared over a gas stove. Seriously impressive!! (Photo courtesy of Walid, a fellow hiker)

After dinner, we said our goodbyes to the porters and had an early night sleep, as we had to leave the camp site at 4:30am the next morning, for the final stretch towards Machu Picchu.

Day 4

Wake up time on the final morning was supposed to be 4:00am, as we were starting our final day at 4:30am, and we were warned that we mustn’t be late, as the porters do not carry on to Machu Picchu, but rather take another route towards the hydro-electrical power station to catch the train back to Ollantaytambo. However, at 3:30am, it was clear that there was going to be no sleeping in on this morning. The porters had already started packing up the camp and was eagerly waiting for us to wake up. I got up and managed to force a shoe over my bandaged foot and had a quick cup of tea before we were rushed off with a packed breakfast.

Just outside Wiñay Wayna, we settled for a half an hour wait to exit the gates and enter the reserve of Machu Picchu. There was a mixture of tiredness, excitement and wariness in the air. We were finally almost there. The aim is to leave the campsite in time to do the last hour and a half walk to make it to the Sun Gate and Machu Picchu in time for sunrise (around 6:30am).

We finally got going and once again, we were walking through the most magical cloud forest. The path followed the ancient stone steps with the mountain rising up on the left and steep slopes on the right. I was now trailing at the back of the trail with Nellie and taking it very slowly, but all along knowing we were getting closer to the end and that it was just a matter of a short walk before we reached our goal. After about an hour, we reached the ‘face rock’, a set of very steep steps everyone had to negotiate on all fours. Nellie told me at this stage that we had about another 20 minutes to go. Hallelujah!

A walk in the clouds

Finally, we reached the steep steps leading to the Sun Gate. I made it! I handed Nellie my camera and she took minute by minute pictures of me, finally walking up the steps towards the Sun Gate.

The steps leading up to the Sun Gate

My final steps captured by my personal photographer, Nellie

And then it was there. The view that I have been waiting to see all week. Machu Picchu in all its glory. And I was crying. It was so beautiful. Who cared about a sore toe and stiff legs. This was all worth it.

A group photo with the sunrise over Machu Picchu in the background

Another short walk (but nothing felt short anymore at this stage), took us from the Sun Gate to Machu Picchu. Here we rejoined the rest of the group who did not do the hike and had a guided tour of Machu Picchu. This site is just amazing and it is incredible that for many years, nobody knew of the existence of this site, until Hiram Bingham re-discovered it in 1911. You can only imagine how this city was hidden from the eyes of the beholder for hundreds of years, overgrown with shrubs and jungle.

Getting a hug from Vladimir on completion of the trail

Another group picture (did I say we had the most beautiful weather??)

The Sun Temple

A view over the Urubamba Valley from Machu Picchu. Note the perfect stone work on the sacred wall on the right. No cement or plaster. Solid white granite

Magical Machu Picchu

Rocks carved in the image of the mountains below, on the right Machu Picchu mountain and the left Huanya Picchu as seen in the previous picture

Today, Machu Picchu is one of the New 7 Wonders of the World and a World Heritage Centre, and all I can say is that if you ever get an opportunity, grab it in both hands, because this place really is magical.

A final view of Machu Picchu from the gates…

Finally it was time to make the return trip with the train, but not before we had a beautiful lunch (anything other than rice!) in the town of Aguas Calientes. Our main guide or CEO (Chief experience officer), Manuel, bought two guinea pigs for the table and we each got to taste this popular Peruvian dish.

Stuffed guinea pig, a very popular Andean dish, and even portrayed in a ‘local’ version of the Last Supper

The train trip back to Ollantaytambo was a quiet affair as everyone contemplated the adventure that we shared. All that was left over was a fairly long journey by train and bus back to Cuzco, and then one final dinner with the group. I was due to leave for the airport and the return trip early the next morning and it was with a sense of nostalgia that I was thinking of what I experienced in the last week and a bit.

Maybe it is goodbye, until we meet again, who knows…?

Tupananchikkama, Peru! (the Quechua phrase for ‘until we meet again’)