It was approaching the end of the Millennium and my boyfriend (who resembled Mick Jagger in ways) thought the world was going to end, there’d be riots, food shortages, and crazy people roaming Los Angeles. He purchased a couple of guns and went on a gun training course to learn how to use them. He went on a CPR course to help the imaginary injured people everywhere, and spent around $10,000 stocking his house with large, sealed buckets of rice, lentils, dried beans of all kinds, herbs, onions, garlic, dried vegetables, dried fruit, massive blue containers of water, seasonings, candles, matches, batteries, flashlights… end of the world stuff. (Take note, this is all the stuff you need if it is the end of the world).
He then decided, at the beginning of a white tantric weekend workshop we were holding at the house, to end our relationship, just as many people were arriving. This to me was devastating, in so many ways. I went back to my house and cried all night, and a few days later my British roommate and I hatched a plan; we’d go to Machu Picchu for the New Year 1999 into 2000. We’d go to Peru to the energy center chakra of the planet, we’d leave everyone to stay behind and get crazy in Los Angeles. We’d go to Peru.
Cut to, three weeks later up through the Andes on an old train to Aguas Calientes, where we decided to stay after a few days in Cusco to acclimatize, drinking coca tea at random to deal with any altitude effects we may feel, the scenery stunning. Passing random hikers on the Inca trail. No time for that, we’re headed to the high mountains! Hot Springs guest houses steep stone pathways rice and beans.
I stomped up the mountain, still mad with my ex, no hill was too steep.
Machu Picchu ruins all morning emptying out into the afternoon. The President of Peru coming to land in the ruins via helicopter before midnight.
“Fantastic,” I said, “it’ll be like ET…we have to see this… let’s hide!”
We climbed up a small hillock amongst the hillocks among the hills and ducked down, spying on the scene below us in the world-famous ruins dating back to… a long time ago. We had a first-class view squatting in the grass. We could see the dispersed Peruvian military guys brandishing guns and clearing the ruins of tourists, of which there were surprisingly not that many, I thought, being as it was such a huge occasion — the end of the year plus the end of the Millennium.
We sat squatting in the grass, the ruins faintly being lit below. People setting up tables, covering them in the white drapes. “This’ll be amazing!!” I whispered to Chris, who was not having a good time, him seeing the reality of the situation plus the fact we’d have to wait there hiding for a few hours yet. And we only had one snack bar between us.
The military guys traveled in pairs in their fatigues, flitting like ants below to clear the area through the Incan ruins, then they started to climb the hills on the other side, and up towards us too, as the clouds started descending upon us.
Chris started to voice his concern and persistently started going on and on and I thought he was whining at me. “But this is an epic experience, the president’s going to come down like a UFO landing, it’ll be fantastic” I rebutted.
“I think we should climb down while we can”, he said. I knew he was probably right even though I thought it was a terrible and sad idea. OK, OK, I grumbled party pooper yet my angst was suddenly diverted as I slid down the grassy hill and came out of the bushes coming almost face to face with two Peruvian soldiers bearing long rifles.
Luckily I was wearing my red velvet bell bottoms from some MTV show, as it was after all New Year’s Eve 1999 which softened my appearance from a hardened criminal and therefore no threat, I hoped. Play the ditzy English hippie I thought and shoved a flower in my hair “Oh hello there” I said smiling beaming in my best English accent. please don’t kill us I’m thinking as I’m trying to recollect if I’d heard of any murders of foreigners of late in the Andes.
“Yes, how are you fine chaps?” I said knowing they didn’t understand me, and secretly terrified. “Mi dispues, non hablo Espanol” I engaged or tried to.
“Ah! We take a photo” I said clicking on an invisible camera. Wanting to look as unthreatening as possible… smiling and taking one of the men’s hats, which looking back was quite ballsy, but I was just hoping they thought we were stupid tourists and didn’t shoot us. After all, wouldn’t that be an international calamity?
The photo was taken by Chris …
Drinking at an altitude, as in a plane or on a very high mountain is extra intoxicating and it was. However, we did manage to get back into the ruins (by now plastered) for the stroke of midnight and the birth of a new millennium.
The President never came in his helicopter. I think the clouds were too low.