From here-on-in it was becoming apparent that a town was trying to claim me. Some people are lucky to find a soul mate. I unearthed a soul-town. The folk I had befriended were intent on my remaining amongst them. For the rest of my allotted time in Peru, they tried every angle they could think of to persuade me that my life was intended to be played out amongst them.
My first suspicion was aroused following the conversation about the car parked outside the door of my hosts hotel. It was the car of the Peruvian gentleman whom I had accompanied to Casa De Anna the evening before. My friend Henry repeated, a number of times, the fact that it was good to have a car. I should take advantage of the man with the car it seemed. You can go far with a car for sure.
At first, I could be fooled to thinking that he had my touristic interests at heart. But he was whispering the words to me in such a way, as to convey, that there was a real opportunity to be made here. I began to wonder if the visit to Casa De Anna had in fact been a set up.
I was out of there on foot without the car. Perhaps I was imagining things but soon their plans for me were less disguised. Henry’s wife was certain that I should meet her brother, a solicitor. They had both already told me several times that I was family, so it would be fitting that I think about this proposal. I was reminded regularly until the day I left them. I had not revealed too much about my heart missions to Cuzco but they knew enough to draw conclusions that I was on the wrong track.
I wished there had been heart school instead of college. There was nowhere on this earth I could escape to make my dreadful mistakes without being noticed, particularly by women who had succeeded in earning respect of the men whose hearts they had secured.
I never knew how to win so I never played the heart game. For too long a time I persisted with this craziness, thinking I was sparing myself of torture. But there comes a time when you have to admit you might be wrong. Realising you are wrong on a grand scale is not a pretty party to attend. The torture was waiting for me, all lined up with its dickey-bow on and I wasn’t drinking cocktails by any means.
I didn’t argue with any ones suggestions even the woman who dared to cross the line to tell me I was asking for a lot of trouble if proceeded with my current quest. I just quietly accepted that she was more knowledgeable, having entered heart school much earlier in life and had succeeded well.
I listened to everyone’s suggestions but I certainly felt no magic for men with cars or ironed creases in their pants. I would hold out for another while and I would listen. Perhaps the wind of this Sacred Valley would provide the education that I sought. Perhaps it too would sail above me. Nonetheless, I would listen.
©Caroline Cunningham Author of Wild Star Landing (Blog)