by Mark Green
We laughed as we walked, accompanied by intermittent flashes from Jonny’s torch. The ground underfoot was rutted and covered in loose stones. I guessed we were way off the beaten track, since there weren’t any city smells or pollution. The air was crisp and clean. I’d grown to trust Jonny by now and was happy not to question our route or his map.
We had to be the only couple who would never have an argument over directions or getting lost. It was one of the tough lessons I’d had to learn in the early days of going blind - to hand over a certain amount of control. For some things in my life, I simply had to rely on others. It was probably why in other areas, when I could have some input I occasionally came across as being stubborn and bloody-minded.
“What?” he said, reacting to my silence.
“Nothing. Just realising some of my character traits, that’s all.”
“Obstinate and a pain in the arse?”
“Yeah, you a mind reader?”
“Among my many talents KT2.”
“So when am I going to see the rest of them?”
“Whenever I tire of being plain old Clark Kent.”
“And turn into Super German?”
I heard him laugh. It was a daft conversation, especially as we were potentially lost.
“Yeah, but I don’t see a telephone box around here, so you’ll just have to wait.”
“How long?”
“Until it’s time.”
“When will that be?”
“If I told you that, it would spoil the surprise.”
Fair enough. I wasn’t sure how much I should read into our banter. Perhaps it was just bouncing silly stuff off each other to pass the time; the ‘come down’ from the adrenaline of having escaped. Or maybe we were both sounding each other out. Perhaps something was developing between us? Who was I kidding, there was definitely something going on…
* *
Me
Despite the jovial banter between us, I was concerned that we were miles away from ‘civilisation’ in the traditional sense. Although I’m not a fan of all those people jammed together, (a la Buenos Aires) there is a certain safety and familiarity there. Not to mention street lighting. Here there was none, and when the moon disappeared behind a cloud it was very, very dark.
I was doing my best to keep things light and cheerful between us. I’d come to realise that honesty was great, but sometimes KT2 was especially reliant on me. So I forced myself to appear confident and relaxed, whatever obstacles or potential dangers lay ahead.
Picking out buildings was particularly difficult, because although there was electricity in places, people here didn’t waste it like they did at home. Any illumination from within a house would typically be a dim glow from a single low energy light bulb. I flicked my torch down at Bob’s map again and guessed we probably had another mile to go.
Suddenly there was a movement ahead. I felt myself stiffen, my senses more alert. KT2 felt the tension through my hand and gently squeezed it, helping to calm my anxiety. I shone my torch up the path and illuminated two small children sitting by a house constructed out of mud bricks and a corrugated tin roof. As we got nearer the children stood and walked over to us, big toothy grins lighting up their faces.
“Buenos noches amigos,” said the taller of the two, a boy of about eight or nine years old. He was holding the hand of a girl, who looked to be about five. She had a shy inquisitive smile on her face.
“Bob said you come with us, yes?” said the boy, as he gently placed his hand in KT2’s, while his younger sister offered me her tiny hand.
Off we all went, talking as we walked in a mixture of our travel Spanish and the children’s wonderful English. They put us to shame. Bob’s kids were charming, as we knew they would be, having just spent four days with their father.
After twenty minutes we found ourselves amongst a mixture of mud brick houses and rough-faced concrete buildings, dotted around a small town square. In the centre was a stone statue. There was music playing from the depths of one of the houses and a rusty old pick-up truck was parked beside a larger building, probably a church or town hall. I could smell wood smoke mixed with faint cooking aromas.
I’d started to unwind as we walked with Bob’s children and now I felt my remaining concerns ebb away. There just seemed to be a relaxed feel about the village. We were led towards an open door where the most amazing smells drifted out on the night air.
“Is that Elton John?” said KT2.
I listened as we approached the door, grinning as Elton and Kiki Dee belted out Don’t go Breaking my Heart. They were accompanied by the unmistakable voice of Bob, singing along. The evening had the makings of a bizarre and intriguing mix of cultures.
“Get ready to duck,” I said to KT2 as we approached the doorway, much lower than we were used to back home. I had to grin as I remembered who we were running away from by seeking sanctuary in Bob’s family home. I realised that given the choice between five star luxury with the price tag of becoming a walking media theme park, and being here, about to have an adventure and enter a simpler life for a few days, we’d definitely made the right choice.
“Duck now,” I said to KT2. Bob was standing watching over a large pot of food bubbling away on the wood fuel stove, stirring it enthusiastically. His timing was perfect. As we stepped over the threshold, he spun round to greet us, open armed and singing along to the song’s lyrics, waving his spoon baton.
“…don’t go breaking my heart… I couldn’t if I tried…!” Bob sang, enthusiastically.
“Oh honey, if I get restless…” sung KT2, nudging me.
“Baby you’re not that kind.”
“Friends, welcome!… All!”
Bob grinned, using the wooden spoon to count us into the next verse.
“Don’t go breaking my heart… you take the weight off me…”
“Louder!”
“Oh honey when you knock on my door, Ooo I gave you my key…”
And that’s how we spent the next few minutes. Bob conducted, all of us sang along. The funny thing was, it should have seemed odd, but it didn’t. Bob was so welcoming and carefree we just went with it. I certainly wasn’t going to win any karaoke prizes, but KT2 had a pretty good voice and midway through the next verse Bob and I jumped on the Elton lyrics, leaving KT2 to mirror Kiki’s. By the end of the song we were all laughing as Bob shook our hands to welcome us to his home.
“Friends, thank you for coming. It’s exciting, yes? For me to be hiding runaways, like the French resistance. But where are my little freedom fighters?”
Bob made a show of hunting for his kids, who were hovering by the doorway, no doubt curious as to whom these strange westerners were. He gathered them both up in a bear hug and carried them into the room, setting them down on the bench by a wooden dining table. He chatted and laughed with them for a moment or two in an unusual language. I guessed it was Quechua, the local indigenous dialect. It wasn’t Spanish, that much I did know. I looked on and marvelled at how clever this man was, to be fluent in at least three different languages and ably guide a group of mixed nationality tourists on the Inca Trail. Bob put many of my own countrymen to shame, including me.
It seemed rude for me to describe Bob’s home aloud to KT2, so I glanced around and made a mental note, to relay to her later. The floor was a mosaic of stone blocks, grey and silver, in a random pattern. Beside the stove was a beautiful hand crafted wooden table for food preparation with knives and cutlery laid out neatly on a shelf under the table top. On the wall above the work surface, pots and pans hung from a precisely spaced row of nails. The walls had some kind of rough-faced plaster that had been painted a cream colour. A sturdy hand-made table and four chairs occupied another corner. There was a partition wall across the back of the room which I guessed must be the bedroom. A single low energy light bulb dangled from the wood beam ceiling. It was a very neat, minimalist, homely house.
My attention was drawn to the open doorway behind us. An attractive woman in
her mid-thirties, wearing a mix of local dress and western trekking clothes, was carrying the frame of a small double bed. It was an awkward load that she bumped on the door frame before attempting to set it down along the side wall. I squeezed KT2’s hand, our sign that I was going to leave her, then helped Bob’s wife to lift the bed frame clear of her shoulder and onto the floor.
“Hola Jonathan and Angel, I am Elizabeth,” she said, smiling warmly as she shook my hand. She then approached KT2, a mix of admiration and sympathy in her eyes.
Elizabeth placed her hands on KT2’s shoulders and leant forwards to kiss her gently on the cheek.
“Our home is your home.”
What a welcome! Here were people who had no cause to help us, but were showing such unconditional kindness. I swallowed hard, a lump in my throat.
“Please sit down, I will be a moment,” said Bob, who exchanged a few words with Elizabeth, handed over the spoon and then disappeared out the door.
“Would you like some coca tea?” Elizabeth asked, beckoning her children over and hugging them.
* *
KT2
I know Jonny had been a bit nervous about giving Justin and the TV crew the slip, but within seconds of arriving on Bob’s doorstep, it felt like everything would be okay. We weren’t fugitives here, we were amongst good people.
I found myself smiling a lot during our stay with Bob, Elizabeth, and their children. Their take on life was full of positive energy, despite not having much materially. But perhaps it was us who needed to understand how little was actually needed?
We sat at their table eating the most delicious stew and listening to Bob’s stories of his younger days on the Inca Trail. In those days porters hauled up to fifty kilos on their backs, before the government finally cracked down and regulated the load to half that. Many porters died from over exertion in the early days, one of the cruellest literal examples of survival of the fittest.
Bob told us how as a nineteen year old, he and a group of friends completed the Inca Trail in ten hours. A pretty amazing feat when you consider it’s forty three kilometres long, up and down steep stone steps with three high mountain passes and at altitude. Incredible is the only word that comes close to describing the fitness and strength of character of this inspiring man. Without any intention of doing so, Bob was gently knocking Jonny and I down a peg or two, whilst filling us with an infectious enthusiasm for the simpler things in life.
I felt as though we were amongst old friends. We heard from Elizabeth how she and Bob were from different villages. They met in his early days working as a cook, an important position on the trail, second only to the guide. Bob had been shopping for provisions and kept going back to the market stall where Elizabeth worked. He charmed her more on each visit until she asked him to show her Machu Picchu, which struck me as one hell of a first date.
With the dinner conversation so relaxed and friendly, it was only a matter of time before we were asked about our relationship.
“You won each other?” asked Bob, having picked up some of our story during snippets of conversation over the last few days.
“In a way,” Jonny said. He described how we met, the eBay auction and our first meeting at the airport hotel. I chipped in with my take on our unusual partnership and realised how entertaining it must have sounded. Bob and Elizabeth were howling with laughter and sheer disbelief as we told our story. I found myself looking back and realising how much amazing stuff we’d already done together. And we were only just approaching the halfway point.
By the time we all stopped chatting and headed to bed, it was the early hours of the morning and my face was aching from laughing so much.
“I suppose it is quite a story, the way we met. Seems like ages ago now though,” I said to Jonny just as we started to drift off to sleep.
“And it’s only just begun…” he said sleepily.
I waited for him to finish, but his deep breathing signalled that was it. I smiled and felt the stress of the last twenty-four hours slip away as I fell into a deep, happy sleep beside him.
Twenty Four
Me
We spent two wonderful days with Bob, Elizabeth and their children. We helped out on their small holding, taught the village kids English and generally relaxed after the trek. We also read through the Lonely Planet guide, trying to decide where we should head for next.
“Bolivia is beautiful and has even friendlier people,” Bob told us, whilst helping us map out a route to keep the TV crew off our tail.
And so after two amazing days it was time for us to move on. We were both getting itchy feet and didn’t want to outstay our welcome. I don’t know if the family trip into Cusco was planned, or whether it was a special journey just to drop us off, but Bob arranged with one of the other villagers to borrow his pick-up truck and ignoring our protests, we were helped aboard.
This really was living, I decided as we sat in the back of the pick up truck and trundled through remote villages, over rugged mountain passes and skirted around lush green Coca fields.
It had to beat my usual morning commute! As we sat there in the back of the truck, I wondered what we could give Bob and his family as a thank you present. I had already offered money for the fuel but this had been waved aside, accompanied by Bob’s standard grin.
“I’m struggling to think what we can leave as a gift,” I said to KT2.
“I know, I’ve been thinking the same thing and kicking myself for leaving most of our stuff behind.”
I tried to remember what I’d packed for both of us and mentally examined each item as a potential gift.
“What about your head torch?” said KT2, hitting on a brilliant idea.
And so when we drew to a stop on the outskirts of Cusco, well away from the central square and the tourist area, I’d already rummaged in my day pack and found my neat little LED head torch. Into the headband I’d tucked enough local currency to cover the fuel into town. As I shook Bob’s hand, I parted with our gift, insisting he accept it.
“Always remember. We stay positive and we can get through anything,” said Bob as he leaned out of the window of the truck. Bob’s kids and Elizabeth waved goodbye as he drove away, leaving us standing on the bustling pavement, as small taxis, trucks and scooters whizzed by in a cloud of two stroke and car exhaust fumes.
I felt excited and nervous that the next stage of our adventure was about to begin.
* *
We had an hour and a half to kill before our bus left, so we decided to stop by an internet café, well away from the centre of town. Being the gentleman I was quickly becoming, I sat beside KT2 and waited for her to log on first so I could read out her messages. This allowed her the time to get on with replying while I checked my own inbox.
“Okay, let’s see. The usual junk mail, two from Maria, and a chap called Pete. I glanced across at her. Was it my imagination, or had she gone slightly pale?
“Which do you want first?”
“Um, Maria. The first one, in date order I guess.”
I nodded and opened up the message, wondering who Pete was, but that question would have to wait. I scanned through Maria’s message before I started reading it aloud. It was a bit odd being privy to only one side of this delayed electronic conversation. I had to try and read between the lines to imagine what KT2 had written to Maria to prompt this reply. It also felt voyeuristic, and underhand, like I was reading a private diary.
“What does she say?” said KT2, reminding me that this was actually her message and I was supposed to be reading it aloud.
“Sorry. Here goes…”
* *
E-Mail From: Maria Stockton
To: Angel
Subject: Wet’n Wild!
* *
How goes it Babe? Or should I call you KT2? Have you been brainwashed?! I’m guessing the nickname refers to you being the second Kate Thornly, but don’t forget how unique you are! Loved the whitewater rafting photo, but as a fashion statement, the wetsuit isn’t
working for my people.
* *
You’re not wrong about the WHOLE WORLD knowing about Kate Thornly. Everyone is constantly asking how you’re getting on. We are all really proud of you. There has also been quite a bit of interest in the newspapers because of the eBay advert, but I’ve kept my mouth shut and it seems to have fizzled out.
You were pretty elusive in your message as to how well you’re getting on with the city slicker, so I’m going to embarrass you - is he good in bed? (Sorry Jonny, as I know you’ll be reading this out loud, but I’m sure you’ll both be past the first date nerves and embarrassment by now…)
* *
Nothing else to report, or ask, other than have you been wearing any of the new tee shirts I packed for you?!
* *
Write back soon with tales of tall dark handsome strangers and sordid all-night orgies!
Love ya
Mim
* *
To my credit, if I may be so bold, I read out Maria’s message word for word. We were indeed getting past that stage where we were easily embarrassed and I figured our friendship could handle it.
“Do you want some time to reply, or shall I read the next one?” I asked.
“The next one please, I’ll just respond to both. I guess we don’t have that much time…”
I nodded and pulled up the second message from Maria, the tone of which was very different.
* *
E-Mail From: Maria Stockton
To: Angel
Subject: Doctor Gadget Warning!
* *
I guess by now you’ve completed the Inca Trail. I hope you’re not in the pickle I think you might be. You’ll know from the title of this message that I’ve been pestered by you know who. I need to warn you that he’s been onto the press trying to find you. If you haven’t been ambushed yet, then please try to keep a low profile. I think the press have been twisting Jonny’s friend’s arm too. (Justin I think his name is. What a dish, in a dippy public schoolboy kind of way…)
* *
The problem is, everyone and I do mean EVERYONE over here is intrigued by the two of you. They want your story. Honestly, it’s been bonkers. Dr Gadget came back from holiday and must have been told about you buggering off on your South America adventure. He wants you back Angel. You know how I feel about him. He’s been even more of an arse than usual, camping out on my doorstep, going on about how he’s changed. I’ve said nothing, obviously, but it’s been in all the papers. It’s crazy, like you guys are fugitives or something.
