Free The Lost Girls by Jennifer Baggett Page B

send even the toughest Olympic athlete into a full-blown wheezing fit. Between the weight of our backpacks and the much thinner mountain air, Amanda, Holly, and I were short of breath before we’d barely broken in our new hiking shoes. Though we’d built in two weeks to acclimatize before attempting to brave the Inca Trail, at this point I now wasn’t sure if that was enough time.
    â€œDoes anyone kinda feel like they want to die?” I sputtered. “I mean, it’s been a couple weeks since I hit the gym, but this is ridiculous.”
    â€œDon’t worry, it’s not just you. I was running six miles a day before we left, and I can barely walk right now,” Holly replied.
    â€œYeah, Jen, where is this place? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” Amanda added.
    Just then we heard a low rumble and crunching gravel behind us. We managed to waddle to safety just as a rusty taxicab sped past us and fishtailed to a screeching halt fifty feet up the hill. From the thick cloud of road dust emerged a youthful gang of gringos who effortlessly hoisted their packs from the trunk and disappeared through a hidden doorway.
    â€œLadies, I think we’re on the right track,” I said, a newfound burst of energy propelling me toward the finish line.
    Though it’s always a bit of a risk to book a hostel sight unseen, luckily for us, Loki was truly a high-mountain oasis, boasting a TV room, bar, and huge common area that provided the warm welcome and fireplace the girls and I needed for the bargain-basement price of $8.50 per person per night. It was too early to claim our bunks, so we stowed our bags in a secure closet and headed back down the hill in pursuit of one of the cozy cafés we’d spotted earlier in the plaza. Overwhelmed by the barrage of ticket touts and vendors pushing menus, we quickly settled on a quaint wooden lodge advertising a warm fireplace and prix fixe menus for 12 soles. We could hardly fathom that a $4 meal would be remotely satisfying, but for less than the cost of a Starbucks latte, we feasted on thick vegetable soup, pollo a la plancha (grilled chicken) with rice and French fries, and frutas tropicales .
    Throughout the meal, we religiously sipped steamy mugs of mate de coca , local tea brewed with coca leaves and boiling waterthat our guidebook recommended as a natural herbal cure for altitude sickness. By the time the bill arrived, we felt surprisingly less dizzy and nauseated. At least, we did until Holly returned from the bathroom, passed off our shared roll of toilet paper and hand sanitizer, and announced that we were dealing with a “one-star” situation.
    During our brief stint in Lima, we’d developed our own unique restroom-rating system, defining a rare “four-star” establishment as one with running water, toilet paper, soap, and paper towels. Unfortunately, one to two stars seemed to be the standard so far, so we added a couple important commandments: (1) Thou shalt not leave the hostel without something to wipe thy ass and cleanse thy fingers and (2) Thou shalt wait until meal’s end to do thy business and/or refrain from announcing the star status so as not to spoil the appetite of anyone in the party.
    With visions of food poisoning dancing in our heads, we returned to the chaotic land of Cusco to log some sightseeing before our Loki check-in time. Although we couldn’t afford even one woolly mitten in the upscale retailers lining the plaza, there was no harm in playing tourist and window shopping. Craving an escape from the shockingly brisk Peruvian winter wind, we dipped into Werner & Ana, a cozy boutique filled with scarves, hats, and sweaters woven from the soft fur of Peru’s ubiquitous alpaca, an adorable animal that could be the downy-soft love child of a llama and a sheep.
    Determined to practice our Spanish, we bumbled through initial greetings and salutations with the petite store owner, Ana, and her friend