They call out to Jesus, their señor over and over again; they call out to the virgin Mary for help. The calls from these people on the brink of the society made me think that the God does exist and that He was amongst all of us, singing, dancing, and praying. I was mad. If He were indeed with us, why isn’t Him doing anything. I felt better now thinking that maybe that is all He could do, just sitting on the floor with me, listening. Or maybe that the old lady, who put on her prettiest hat for me, whom wasn’t shy of asking me to dance with her over and over again think that the Senor sent me to her from a foreign land. These strong people have nothing so they do everything.

We made it, all four of us. We are tired, sweaty, sunburnt and smell funny. We took pictures and indulged in tourists´ activities as if we earned the privilege. I can´t hep but wonder in this place of such beauty how many footsteps must have gone before us and how many of those people must be dead by now. I had to lean my body forward and touch every stone step on the way of the vertical/90 degree climb. It is as if the Incans were mocking us. They are making us bow to their gods, and kiss their stone work all the way up the mountain… That´s exactly what I did when I charged to the top of the mountain. I bowed, I kissed and loved every inch of the dirt like a faithful pilgrim.