This is it. El grande. Tomorrow the trek to Machu Pichu begins. On a piece of paper, I am going to scribble a Neruda poem that is in a book I brought- an offering to the powers that be when I get to the ruinas. I had not know until after I bought it that Neruda wrote a series of poems on Machu Pichu. There is something magical about retracing these steps. Or so I like to think right now- we will see if I still feel that way after three days without a shower.
Hard to believe that so much time has passed. Yesterday I took a long walk, starting at the ruins of Tambomachay and ending at Sacsayhuaman, another set of ruins that are the most spectacular I have seen yet. The altitude is starting to feel natural, without the help of medication, but I still get winded on steps. Who am I kidding, I always get winded on steps. As we were walking around, SP made the best remark of the day- "Those Incans were no pussies." You see, poetry is everywhere.
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