¿Maypitaq ukyana unuta tarerquyman?

After four hours of chewing Coca the lungs have opened up and he is scurrying
upwards on the path at 12,000 ft. altitude. There is no need to take those
pills, white people like those pills or any kind of pills for that matter.
Yes, he likes to uses that term regardless if his great grandpa is from
Middleton, OH whose hue is light as snow.

"Despacio Lobo!" bellows Mario who's pretty much had it on the 3rd day in the
Trail. Of course the guide, for insurance purposes is just worried that if
something happens, he will be held responsible. The spirits will not like that
one bit, especially that they know they're amidst one of their own. High on grass
and wearing just a vest at this point, there was no fear inside his body from the ledge that drops down about...I don't know, maybe 5,000 ft. No te preocupes, is
that right? Wait, they don't even speak Spanish here.

"¿Maypitaq ukyana unuta tarerquyman?"

Where can I find water to drink? Well, that phrase will get you far but after
awhile, you need to learn other phrases, especially when good clean water is
Cuzco gold.

This morning there was a rustling outside of his tent. Lars, his tent mate was
still whistling in his sleep so he decided to see what was up. As he unzipped
his plastic doorway, a shadow slowly appeared and caught him off guard. He
almost shrieked like the Kiwi in their group, but saw that that it was a gentler
sight. A llama, yes you heard right. A llama the color of mud came up towards him
and left a little sigh then nuzzled in his arms for a brief moment.

"Ruiro siki," it whispered into his left ear then scurried upwards to a hill
where a herd of other llamas stared down.