Camino Inca, Peru

The Incas were a hearty breed. They had spleens the size of watermelons and blood as red as Satan´s cape. They inhabited a landscape of improbable subsistence, and did so with glimmering exuberance with the vast quantities of precious metals they routinely bathed in. Without a written language, the arch, or the wheel, they managed to prosper in virtual isolation from the rest of the world. Then, the lowlanders arrived.

The conquistadores bravely marched through an inhospitable landscape, savagely drooling at the prospect of what Peru held. Sadly, they destroyed much of what they came upon, but what little remains is to be marvelled. Remnants of the masterfully engineered Incan bridges, roads, and temples scatter the route that currently traces the backbone of the Andes en route to Cuzco.

If Pizarro and his contingent could scour this terrain with 30 kilos of chainmail and weapons, the least I can do is follow in their footsteps with immense technological improvements carrying 30 kilos of survival gear and drawing paper. Fortunately, I´ve learned to have slightly more honorable intentions in the five-hundred years that separates us. Other than that, we´re one in the same: restless explorers that ignore the odds in pursuit of unknown treasure. What unites us is our common interest in Cuzco, but what separates us is hundreds of kilos of gold, of which I´ll fail to find. Hopefully, there will be rewards of a different sort in store.