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By Root 384 0

and so left him in an orphanage in Cusco—he was nine—and went off to Lima with his siblings. The orphanage was run by a woman from California, whom Efrain called his “second mother.” This explained why even though he’d never been to the States, he spoke English like a guy from Orange County. Efrain had worked his way through school selling crafts, and later took a job as a porter to save money to earn a degree as a guide. (“On my first trip the load was so heavy that I cried,” he told me. “The other porters laughed.”) He was working at a luxury hotel when a guest asked if he knew the Inca Trail. Efrain lied and said yes. “At KM 82, I told the client that I’d be right back, went around the corner and started asking everyone, ‘Hey, do you know how to get to the Inca Trail?’” Now he was one of the most sought-after guides on the trail; he’d recently led a minor member of the British royal family on a trek, along with her bodyguards.

John, Efrain and I walked for two or three hours along a wellmarked trail, passing the occasional dry-goods mini mercado selling nuts and bottled water, or chicha stand, where teams of porters rehydrated. The midwinter landscape was arid and the air dry. Efrain had two little girls back home in Cusco, and his guiding style was more fatherly than John’s. He checked frequently to make sure I was carrying water and wearing sunscreen. He also asked some general probing questions to get an idea of what sort of client I was—a know-it-all norteamericano? A bucket-list tourist? A woo-woo spiritual seeker?—and filled in some more details of his life story. He’d made peace with his mother after the whole orphanage thing, and had started a foundation of his own to help send homeless kids to school.

“You’re not a Catholic, Mark, are you?” he asked.

“Well, yeah, technically, yes, I am.”

“Great! So you understand that everything happens for a reason.”

Near the end of the afternoon, we approached what appeared to be a slight ridge. “Okay,” Efrain said, then walked a few steps ahead, turned toward John and me and held his hands up. “You and John link arms.” I raised an eyebrow. I’m pretty sure John groaned. “Trust me,” Efrain said. “Now close your eyes and walk forward twenty paces. I said trust me.” We did as told. “Okay, about ten more paces. Don’t open your eyes or you’ll ruin the surprise. Now five more, slowly.” A gust of cool wind came up from somewhere and nearly blew my hat off. I heard the sound of rushing water.

“Okay, open your eyes. This is my way of saying, ‘Welcome to the Inca Trail.’”

Below us were the ruins of Patallacta, where Bingham’s men had excavated many of the skeletal remains found by the 1915 expedition. The site was immense. It looked as if someone had filled the Roman Colosseum with wet sand and dumped it onto the side of a mountain, and then built a small village on top of the new plateau. A river flowed in front of the ghost town like a moat.

When I signed up for this trip, John had told me that I had two choices—a four-day trip or a five-day one. He strongly recommended the longer (and far less popular) option. It didn’t make sense to fly thousands of miles to hike the Inca Trail, only to rush through it, but the vast majority of people preferred to hurry. Now here we were, at what Efrain called “the most important site between Ollantaytambo and Machu Picchu,” and there wasn’t a single other hiker in sight.

The day’s last sunlight was scratching the tops of the mountains, and John and I had just enough time to run down to the river in our bathing suits for a quick wash. I stood on a rock along the bank and splashed the frigid water on myself in the deepening blue light. John waded out into the current and sat down on a boulder. He removed his jacket and then to my great surprise his hat—the big reveal was that he was a little bald on top—and then doused himself with the glacial water. “Look at this, Mark!” he shouted, pointing to his chest. There was a red scar running down the center, about the size of a pocket comb, where the surgeon had cracked open his sternum. “I think