We left off when I entered Machu Picchu in 1974, in a weakened condition from my culinary adventure in Pisac. As I said, in 1974, Machu Picchu was quite remote and the only hotel rooms were in a small and relatively primitive lodge on site. I had a reservation.

During the day, I was a normal tourist. I followed the guide around, learned about the Incas, saw the terraced agricultural plots, the famous mountain and parts of the Inca trail. I remember I thought the guide very informative, but of course I have no idea what he said 50 years later. I was not alone with the guide, there was a group of us. And there were other groups with other guides, and some people roaming around by themselves. It was (for 1974) fairly crowded.

At the end of the day (maybe about 5 p.m.), everything changed. An announcement was made that the park was closing and that everyone needed to board their buses (the buses went to the train station) within something like 10 minutes). They did, and the buses pulled away.

Silence reigned. There were only about a dozen of us left (those staying the night) and a few staff members. Suddenly we were joined by a herd (flock? coven?) of goats, who seemed to have been hired to keep the grass short. And we were given free reign over the site ourselves. No restrictions. We could go anywhere. No longer any guides. Just us.

Because Machu Picchu is near the equator, the sun goes down every day about the same time, about 6:30. Even though we were permitted to roam the site in the dark, there seemed to be little reason to, and I think all of us went up to the lodge. Dinner was served (that was part of the deal); I don’t remember what the dinner was, or if it was good or if it was only mediocre. But at dinner, the few guests had an opportunity to talk to each other. I spent my time, as I recall, talking to a small group of Peruvians about my age, from Lima, who had come up as a group. I don’t really remember the details, or anything about them individually. But I don’t think they were “couples”, just a group of friends.

By now, I was used to this, so when I heard that the electricity would go off at 10 p.m., I was not surprised. Besides, we were all planning to get up very early, so we could climb the famous mountain (Inca steps go to the top) before sunrise. We did and watched the sun rise over the surrounding mountains from the top.

I left Machu Picchu the next morning on the same bus that brought the next group of tourists up. I was going back to Lima for a few days, and I had agreed to meet my now Peruvian friends that night (or was it the next?) to go out for pizza. They lived in a part of Lima called Miraflores, and I was given the address of one of the girls’ houses (her parents’ house – I don’t know if she lived there or not) to meet up with them. As grimy and unappealing as most of Lima seemed to be to me, that is how much I was impressed with Miraflores – attractive, well maintained, filled with fancy shops and fancy homes. In fact, the house where I rang the bell was one of the most luxurious I had ever seen anywhere. I had no idea I was traipsing around with the elite.

We went to a pizza house on one of the main commercial streets and I was surprised to see that each pizza was named for a different Italian-American gangster. I ordered a Lucky Luciano. My stomach was feeling almost fully recovered, and I thought nothing about ordering an overloaded and very spicy pizza.

Once again, big mistake. That night, alone in my hotel, my stomach struck back at me again, maybe even worse, although this time I had running water. I remember the next day (or was it two days) being too weak to get dressed, much less leave my room, and my only sustenance was room service coca-cola that I ordered one after another.

But I did survive, although I was not able to see anything else in Lima, and on the day I emerged, I flew out of Lima, changed planes in Panama City (where I bought a mola, which still hangs in our living room) to catch a flight home.

And, as someone said (I think), that was the day that was.