This post may have a very unhappy ending

This post may have a very unhappy ending. If you don´t want to hear about the possibility of misery and suffering, you should close this browser right now and pick up some of the lesser known Dr. Seuss classics: “Pop Goes the Hamster (and Other Great Microwave Games)” “Curious George and the Electric fence,” and “Daddy Drinks Because You Cry.” This is not one of those posts that ends with ¨happily ever after¨ and if that is what you are looking for, you are in the wrong place. Besides, this posting is long, almost interminable. You have been warned.

The bad news is that I may, in fact, may be dead by the time you read this post. Of course it is also possible that you may be dead by the time you read this post although that is highly unlikely as, although one’s fingernails and hair continue to grow for some time after one’s demise, one’s email correspondence tends to taper off rather dramatically. Even though we Americans generally to ignore it, at our own peril, death is an eventuality for us all and if we keep that in mind, we are more likely to live life while we have the time rather than simply going through lives of quiet desperation. So, since we’re not quite dead yet, we´ve still got the opportunity to get some living in at least before before we get to part of the blog that speculates on the rate of my impending demise.

Zak didn´t have any school on Thursday of Easter week (Semana Santa) so Mary and I decided to Zak on a trek along another of the fabled Braunwarth Inca Trails. Maya stayed at home with Miriam, the woman who meets the kids after school during the week because, unfortunately, she just wouldn´t be able to keep up. We started the hike near the ruins of Sacsaywaman above Cusco and headed North toward a place called Chacán (Bridge-Place) on the river Tica Tica. The name of the river changes to the name Saphi closer to town. It is quite common here for different sections of the same river to have different names and why not?; after all, we have all heard that you can never step in the same river twice. Near Chacán, we made the acquaintance of two local children, David and Jonathon, who eagerly accompanied us on our trek. Chacán consists of a large rock formation which straddles the river gorge while the river flows through a tunnel in the formation 100´ below. The rock formation features many carvings and, near the top, the Incas expanded a natural fissure to create a small cave with a balcony (the ¨Balcony of the Devil¨) that looks out over the river as it flows through the rock below. The tunnel through which the river flows is large enough to stand up in so I suggested that we indulge our inner children and walk through. Even though the river was not deep, it was fed by snow melt from the mountains above and was quite cold. Zak hopped in with his shoes on but Mary decided to indulge her inner adult and wait for us on dry land. Personally, I´m not sure how anyone could pass up the opportunity to wade through cold water in a long, cold, dark tunnel but, oh well, her loss. Anyway, after Zak and I completed our little slosh (it was actually a fascinating and novel experience), we headed upstream (further away from town) for about a kilometer or so, passing Inca terraces and rock work, until we came upon the small but beautiful ruins of Nustapacana. To get to the ruins we had to scramble down a slope through some pretty thick brush. By this time, Mary´s inner child had fled for the day as, perhaps not un-coincidentally, it began to rain. I was still pretty excited by the ruins and looked forward to visiting a couple of other carved rock ruins downstream on the way home. As we headed back, the rain let up and, even though it was not exactly clear what path we should take, we managed to find the Incan “waca” of Quispe Wara. Quispe Wara translates to Crystal Loincloth, the significance of which should be clear to you all. Zak and I scrambled around on the big carved rock in the river while Mary waited onshore. I was carrying the raincoats in my pack and it is possibly only another coincidence that two things occurred simultaneously. One, this was the only point during the day at which I was more than a few minutes away from Mary and two, it began to rain… again… much harder than it had before. By the time I got to Mary and we got our jackets on, sentiments were clearly in favor of heading back. Rather than taking the route over the hill as per my directions, we decided to head back along the leftward-curving river on the advice of some locals we met at the waca who warned us about large and vicious dogs that waited up hill. Hearing about vicious dogs did little to improve Mary´s opinion of this particular Braunwarth Inca trail but, as there was no helicopter coming to pick us up, we forged onward. We passed one campo (a small subsistence farm) which sported a brace of vicious looking barking dogs. Mary was unwilling to cross their paths with Zachary so I went on ahead and then returned to escort them through. Even though the dogs graciously stayed on their side of the property line and we stayed on ours, Mary complained that I took far too many risks. We continued on, with increasing trepidation on Mary’s part. At this point we found ourselves on a path leading slightly away from the river to the left but as the river was curving around in that direction, it looked as thought the path would cut the corner to town and when I saw the roofs of some buildings ahead I assumed that we were already on the outskirts of the city. However, from the direction of these buildings came the sound of barking dogs and, sure enough, one appeared from around the corner of what must have been some type of adobe mud brick shed and charged toward us. This dog was followed by two others and Mary and I picked up rocks and stood our ground which is normally more than enough to stem the enthusiasm of any local canine. Indeed simply bending over and pretending to pick up a rock is enough to send almost any dog cowering. I’ve actually wondered if this fear, reinforced over many generations, could, at some point, become ingrained. Well, not with these dogs. They kept coming until Mary threw her rock at which point the first dog, some kind of collie mix, whirled and headed back. I thought that was the end of the encounter but the dog immediately on the tail of the first, a massive rotweiller, had other ideas. He failed to follow the lead of his more sensible companion and kept coming. All I saw was a mass of smooth rippling muscles and looked like a cross between a Saint Bernard and a bear; he was on me so quick I didn’t even have time to throw my rock. I always thought that I would easily be able to defend myself from a dog attack but the next thing I knew I was looking at the sky and then at a considerable mouthful of teeth (canines?) clamped on my left knee. By this time the adrenaline had kicked in and I was able to disengage the dog from my leg and send him packing for home but not before he left with me with a pretty good puncture wound and some other lacerations. The owner of the dog ran up and was able to corral his charges and direct us toward the correct path to town. I asked if the dog was healthy but between the obvious concern on the part of my family and the campesino trying to control a pack of brutish beasts, I was unable to fully assuage my concerns. The dog certainly looked healthy, if that dog was infirm, I can’t imagine what kind of power if might have when it was in the pink.

In retrospect, the foreshadowing seemed so obvious. Mary was obviously attuned to the weird tension that had developed over the day. I could certainly feel it but I was also excited about the wonderful things that we had seen that day and my concerns were limited to wondering how I could put Mary more at ease but, she obviously had just cause for her concerns. Were all of events of the day merely coincidence? Mary getting pushed beyond her limits (it never happens); the warnings about the dogs; the dogs we had to pass; Mary’s comment about me taking too many risks; veering on the wrong path; etc. Were these little things prophetic or merely invested with significance because our minds strive to impose order on a world of coincidences? Probably the latter. But, perhaps all events are interconnected at some level that exists below our level of consciousness and these presentiments can only be recognized by those who are attuned to the nature of the world around them, while those who have fully bought into the world of the enlightenment suppress those ephemeral and mysterious sentiments that cannot be explained by our rational minds. Some people and many animals can supposedly sense earthquakes before they occur. Aboriginal people in Australia and the Arctic seem to communicate in a way that Western minds are unable to explain. Similar occurrences may have even happened to you.

I had no concern that the dog might have been rabid. In addition to the means, he had the motivation to attack. We were walking toward his house and he was protecting his turf. But, just to be sure, when we got back to town I googled rabies symptoms and found that the incubation period for rabies can be anywhere from a few days to a year and then once the symptoms appear, it’s too late. There is no cure. You will die and, apparently, it’s a pretty uncomfortable way to go. Unlike many Americans I have never denied the eventuality of death. Rather, I have tried to make a friend with death and remember that it is always with me and, if I look quickly over my left shoulder, I can often catch a glimpse of it. This is no morbid fascination with death but a means of maintaining the presence of my fascination with life. Would you have done the things you did today if this day was your last? Even though I’ve no regrets about which turnstiles I’ve gone through in this amusement park we call life and I would visit the same attractions again, that doesn’t mean that I want the rides to end now; I still have mountains to climb, grandchildren to spoil, and love to give.

I did what I could about the bite, I cleaned the wound well with an antibacterial wipe in the field and then with soap and water when I got back home and I was feeling very confident about my chances of survival from this particular experience. But… then I got sick. I was feeling a little queasy at dinner that night and, directly after reading about rabies on the internet, I just made it into the bathroom of the internet café before projectile vomiting into the toilet. The ensuing series of gut wrenching spasms throughout the night that gave me plenty of sleepless hours to contemplate my continued confidence that I would not, in the imminent future, die of seizures while my throat convulses at the mere sight of water. In the morning I solicited the opinions of four different authority sources: my wife (actually that opinion was unsolicited), a local teacher and friend, the police, and my neighbor the doctor. All agreed that while the dog probably was not rabid, I should get the anti-rabies injections as a precaution in order to minimize the maximum regret. Our subsequent visit to the best hospital in the area is a story in itself (think peeling purple paint and junked ambulances out back). The doctors thought that my stomach ailment was the result of something I ate and its timing was merely coincidental. They agreed that I should have the shots and went ahead and administered the first one. However, there is one very serious and major negative side effect to the treatment… while the shots are not as painful as I had heard they might be, I have to avoid alcohol for 24 hours after each of the three injections. Oh the prices we pay to give our spouses a little peace of mind.