We were scheduled to depart from Cuzco at 4 pm on Saturday June 4th, which is defined in my mind as a "travel day". Pat has been hoping that after five months of international touring I will loosen up a bit on this, but on the day of departure from someplace, I generally want to get to the airport or bus station early (ie three hours or more) and do nothing that might jeopardize a timely departure. So despite his hope otherwise, I resisted his idea to hire a taxi Saturday morning to take us through the Sacred Valley visiting historical sites and villages where Peruvian artisans dye alpaca yarns and create their beautiful rugs and clothing. "What if we get a flat tire?" I protested, but he was sure we had plenty of time.
So the taxi arrived, and Pat said "Como se llama?", and the guy answers "My name is Achilles". What? Are you kidding me, as in the weak ankled Achilles? Off we went, with me muttering "This is not good". We drove off of the highway, through farm roads more stone than dirt, and about an hour into the drive Achilles pulled over and said "It'll be just a minute while I change the flat tire."
Pat didn't bother to tell me that the spare was not in the best condition, and I didn't bother to ask what we would do if we got another flat.
Achilles got us through the Sacred Valley where we saw a natural salt farm and some of the most spectacular mountains, valleys and Incan ruins
of our trip. We made the bus in time ...
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