Peru, You Kicked Me Further Out of My Comfort Zone than I’ve Ever Been
I didn’t exactly conquer my fears, I simply ignored them
I have a fear of heights. Still have it, even though I recently climbed scores of ancient stone steps and looked down upon one of the Seven Wonders of the World from a dizzying vantage point.
When my daughter announced that she was running a yoga retreat in Peru that would include a tour of Machu Picchu, I immediately signed up. Not because the iconic ruins were on my bucket list. They weren’t. But because I knew it was someplace that I should go given the chance, and to experience it with my daughter would take the journey to the next level (so to speak).
Once I was committed, my fear of heights, and other generalized fears, started bubbling up. What if our bus went careening off a cliff during one of the switchbacks leading up to the site? What if I fell thousands of feet while hiking the steep, narrow Inca Trail? What if I experienced the altitude sickness everyone was warning me about? What if I got robbed, lost my passport, or drank the water and suddenly had “stomach issues?” What if…what if…what if?
Fortunately none of that happened. What did happen was that I had a transformative experience exploring a new country, being immersed in a culture vastly different from my own, and meeting people as warm and welcoming as any I’ve ever met. I only wish I had retained more of my high-school Spanish.
On the way down from Machu Picchu, I still avoided looking out the window as we negotiated each switchback, sometimes mere inches from a bus traveling the other way; otherwise I would feel the bottom drop out of my stomach. Clearly, I had not overcome my fear of heights by standing atop a majestic mountain in the Andes. I had simply brushed it off like an annoying fly so I could experience the most epic, breathtaking journey I’ve ever been on.
In planning the retreat, my daughter wanted a venue run by native Peruvians, not by a corporation or resort company. She managed to find Samadhi Sacred Valley, a wonderful retreat center owned by an extended family of indigenous people.
From the moment we arrived, we were greeted and treated like one of their own. Tio Horacio met me and my two friends at the airport in Cusco and drove us to Samadhi, stopping at two scenic overlooks along the way so we could snap some pics. His nephew Fernando, Samadhi’s visionary owner whose dream it was to build a retreat center in the Sacred Valley, called us “Family” when addressing us as a group. Fernando’s mom and two brothers also helped out, and couldn’t have been more warm and friendly.
For four days we indulged in a routine of breakfast, yoga, lunch, meditation, and dinner. In between there were opportunities to take a pottery or painting lesson (Fernando’s brother Eduardo is an artist whose work is displayed throughout the property), enjoy a massage, read, wander the grounds, or simply do as we pleased.
The food was exquisite. The setting peaceful. We were surrounded by the Andes Mountains, embraced by them. Here in the Sacred Valley, their height was comforting and protective.
When it was time to leave, we hugged everyone goodbye, including Fernando’s sweet puppy, Haku. I gazed out at the expansive vista one more time, taking it all in, and wistfully wondered if I would ever pass this way again. Perhaps. “Yet,” as poet Robert Frost wrote in The Road Not Taken, “knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.”
Onward to Ollantaytambo, where we would tour the Pumamarca Ruins, a revered archaelogical site of stone structures on a mountain peak that served as a residential community and ceremonial center for the Incans. Getting there required a series of switchbacks that our driver seemed to negotiate with ease. I, however, was not at ease. Rather than look out the window, I turned my back on the scenic precipice and chatted incessantly with my seatmate. We finally arrived at a point where the van could go no further and we’d have to continue to the top on foot.
Our guide, Valerio, was a gentle, spiritual soul who shared so much of his culture and belief system with us. As we walked up the steep trail to the site, he would stop and point out different plants that were used for medicinal purposes, offering us to taste them. I was grateful for the stops as they allowed me to recover my breath, lost somewhere between the altitude and uphill climb.
Valerio suggested we wander about the ruins barefoot in order to connect with Mother Earth, or Pachamama, as she is known in the native Quechuan language of the Peruvian Andes. Now we were looking down into a valley rather than up at the mountains from the valley. I was awestruck by the views, though not nauseous at the height; since the grounds were expansive there was no danger of falling. I’ve got you, Pachamama seemed to say.
After lunch in Ollantaytambo we caught the train to Aguas Calientes, the town from which we would travel to Machu Picchu. We chugged along the Urubamba River, which appeared to be racing us as its whitewater peaks churned rapidily over and between the rocks.
The next morning we arose at the crack of dawn to take the bus to Machu Picchu. By this time the eight of us had become quite the close-knit group, and we followed Valerio like a gaggle of goslings as he led us through the gates. (First stop el baño, as there would be no opportunity once we started our tour.)
Next the aforementioned scores of ancient stone steps, taking us above the ruins and toward a narrow, winding portion of the Inca Trail. I’d been on a steeper, narrower trail during my daughter’s yoga retreat last summer in Washington State’s Cascade Mountains, so by comparison this seemed doable. Still, I stayed on the inside edge, closest to the cliff.
As we walked this infinitely trodden trail that had been blazed by the prehistoric, pre-Incan people, I told myself, “Girl, if you go down, at least you go down LIVING.”
I’m still processing this once-in-a-lifetime trip. Still grateful to my daughter for planning such an adventure, and soooo happy that I ignored the “What if…” voice inside my head. It means me no harm, but nor does it encourage me to explore the world and broaden my horizons.
A good friend of mine told me a story a while back…his cousin had gone on a solo travel expedition to Asia, Australia, and India. Shortly after she returned, she was hit by a bus near her home and suffered a serious head injury. She’s okay now, but it took her a while to fully recover. I remember thinking how ironic that was. She had gone to all of these remote, unfamiliar places, but it wasn’t until she came home that fate chose to deal her a near-fatal blow.
Moral of the story: When you’re number’s up, it’s up. Till then, go anywhere and everywhere you can. As another dear friend of mine always says, Live while you’re alive!
Peru will forever hold a special place in my heart, as it helped me push the boundaries of my comfort zone beyond what I thought possible. Where to next? I’m working on it.
I enjoy writing about my yoga retreat travels, courtesy of my daughter. Here are a couple of recent ones:
