Machu Picchu

The bus back to Rio Urubamba from the summit of Machu Picchu carries about thirty people. The road switches back along the dusty 8km route maybe 15 times, plunging here, leveling there before dropping again. The trip takes approximately thirty minutes.
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We--Allie and I--arrived at Machu Picchu for sunrise. Our guide ushered us through the ruins and four hours later, after the tour and Allie´s summit of Huayna Picchu, we headed back down the mountain. I looked over my shoulder at the recedingg ruin and could not help but think that I would never see it again. Dark mood.
At the first switchback a group of young boys waved at us and hollered. We waved from our seats. They were dressed in bright orange capes, traditional-looking outfits, and shook their arms in the air. The bus ground on leaving them in a cloud of dust. They closed their eyes and covered their mouths. At the next switchback one reappeared, again shouting and waving his arms. I thought it curious. Then again he materialized, seven or eight minutes later at the next switchback--and again, appearing out of the forest, waving, shouting, then rushing downhill into the jungle, an orange blur. After maybe a dozen turns and untold vertical feet we came upon the bridge across the Urubamba. He darted out from the left racing against our flank and rushed in front of the bus, charging across the single-lane wooden bridge, arm extended as the bus roared on. Alas, on the other side, the driver stopped, the young boy jumped aboard, not even breathing hard, and shouted into the bus. He extended his purse; we all, so amazed at his feat of running down the mountain, chasing and beating us, dug into our pockets and dropped our coins into his hand. I held out a candy as well. He looked at me and smiled. His eyes were big and brown and he snatched the candy and moved on down the aisle. He sang goodbye and disappeared into the crowd at the station.