My last days amongst the people of Ollantaytambo were pressing upon my mind. So conscious was I now of the sun stretching from its rise and peak to its descending point. I could not grasp the measure of how this place had attached itself to me.
I had spent some time in those last two weeks with a younger Peruvian woman who was visiting some relations in the town. She planned to return from Lima back to Ollantaytambo to find employment and eventually start a business. She encouraged me to think about returning also to consider my own venture. It was tempting. I wanted to live every possibility of my life. This was one possibility and I certainly felt at home in this culture.
My original quest awaited me in Ireland. A desirous one. I had sought an alternative goal when coming to Peru, appeasing a curiosity. In truth, I was being fearful of failure and disappointment. The Universe had answered loudly. Even Machu Picchu was in cahoots. Go back to Ireland and finish what you started.
I had bags that needed packing. I couldn’t face into it. Liz suggested a visit to Pinku Lluna. It is an uphill trail of loose terrain, leading to a number of Inca built structures, such as, a store house, for the purpose of storing grain. Higher still, the face of an Apu jutted from the rocks, keeping protective watch over all below. It was a useful place to visit now and then to gain a perspective on situations.
Looking down from above, the town neatly sprawled into the foothills of the dignified mountains. Beyond, the Fortaleza dramatised the scene fantastically. This was no ordinary town. While Machu Picchu reigned gloriously a short train journey away, this Sacred Valley town rested in the womb of world, served by silvery foaming rivers and guarded by mountains. Ollantaytambo was the location chosen before Machu Picchu as the first private royal residence of Inca Pachacuti in the mid-fourteen hundreds.
Perhaps I was charmed in the same way as those Inca Kings and Queens. Only one year ago, I had spent a night in this town. Whilst wrapped in blankets on the deck of a bar, I thought how lovely it would be to spend longer in this appealing town. I think the Inca’s had something to do with it. There could be no regrets. I had grown in many ways and the ground beneath my feet had become more solid like those towering rocks.
As I gazed upon the roof tops and scanned the stretch of buildings, I noted the ones in which I had made friendships and had been regarded as family. Some seeds are scattered poorly, deprived of the elements that provide growth. Some are smothered by thicker and more vigorous vegetation and some are trampled upon as they attempt to grow. That same seed could reach its potential given a different set of circumstances. And this is why some of us human beings need to remove ourselves from our original environment. It is the tragedy of life that some humans never realise that there could have been a different, possibly a better, outcome, if they had only dared to move.
One last look around and then back to the heart of the town and the packing.
© Caroline Cunningham Author Of Wild Star Landing (Blog)