Andean Experience Ch

Jaguar stood along the rope at the exit from Customs and Immigration. A tall, rugged man, he held the sign to bring certain disembarking passengers at Lima International in his direction.

The Andean Experience: Jaguar

One by one, a few of his people began to assemble around the sign, meeting and chatting. He couldn't do much by way of introductions yet because he had to be sure that everybody saw him as they came out into the airport. Jaguar was watching for six people- two men and four women- and he couldn't afford to miss any of them.

This was always a nerve-wracking time. So easy to miss someone. So easy for somebody to get tied up in red tape that resulted in everybody having to wait. So many possible delays concerning passports, health documentation, restricted items in luggage, you name it. It was about the worst part of the business, the part Jaguar hated most. And there could be plenty to hate, depending upon who turned up.

How many of his little group were already with him? A quick sweep behind counted four, a young man and three women probably in their twenties and thirties. Two still missing.

"Please stay together until we have everyone. I'm expecting six. Are there four of you for The Andean Experience? OK. Have any others left for the toilets since you came? None? OK. Just two more now, a man and a woman."

"Hey, how much longer?" the young man demanded, annoying Jaguar, but he just smiled.

"Here, you hold the sign, so they don't miss it. I'll get the names of everyone here. OK? Great."

Then he started down his list:

"Bassingale, LeeAnn?"

"Here."

"Edwardson, Mike."

"Yes."

"Jankowski, Zesmina?"

"Me. It's Zezy."

"Lamoureau, Clothilde?"

"Yes. Chloe."

"Rasmussen, Marina?"

No reply.

"Rasmussen, Wayne?"

No reply.

"I'll make another sign, so we don't miss them. Keep yours up too, Mike."

Jaguar had a second blank sign and a thick black marker. When the two names were on it, he asked Zezy to hold it aloft, while he stepped back to check with his lone assistant for any messages from the Rasmussens. He knew they were arriving from Wisconsin and thought perhaps there might be some flight delay.

"Jaguar here. Got everybody except Marina and Wayne Rasmussen. Any messages from them? Check their airline to see if they boarded or if there are any flight delays, OK? Wait! Just a minute. Looks like they might be here. Hold on...."

"Marina and Wayne Rasmussen?" he called. "Great!"

"They're here. I'll check in with you later today. Thanks."

That was out of the way, and Jaguar had all six people accounted for. Now to keep them together through the crowded airport. He knew from experience that if he herded them all to a place where he always brought his people, there'd be toilets and fast service with some food and drink. It was worth the little bag of joy he passed to the owner on the way out.

In less than an hour everybody had been attended to. They were fed and watered, ready to thread their way through the scores of vehicles circling the airport. In the farthest parking lot stood a battered older mini-bus, brightly painted, and proudly named.

"Jag II" would be the daytime home to all seven, carrying them to far-flung corners of this ancient land. It would show them everything, and it would also conceal some dark secrets.

****

Jaguar was just a nickname- Jag to many- but he had carried it for so long that he hardly remembered his real one, Wesley Bruce Arundel. Jaguar suited him well, because his rough, sunburnt, outdoors look just didn't mesh with Wesley or Bruce.

He was more like a jaguar, lean and muscular, with tawny-brown hair and beard. He often wore camo clothing- hence the spots of the jaguar- and, like his namesake, he could be both stealthy and secretive.

Somewhere in his mid- forties, he had been knocking around Peru for almost half his life. Peruvian friends had taken to calling him Jaguar for two reasons: his appearance, of course, and his deep interest in the old Chavin culture, with its reverence for the beast.

He usually began his excursions through ancient Peruvian cultures with a visit to the jaguar-adorned temple complex at Chavin de Huantar, high in the mountains north of coastal Lima.

Jaguar had first come to Peru as an archeology and anthropology graduate from a prestigious American university, intent on unearthing the secrets of ancient Peruvian civilizations. While he'd found some of that, Arundel had learned more about himself than anything.

The country, its people, and their ways had taken a firm hold on him, such that he seldom returned home. He usually only did so when he needed to negotiate for further grant money, or later, to secure loans for the little excursion business he founded.

The Andean Experience was as much an excuse to stay in Peru as anything for Jag. Sure, he'd guide an in-depth jaunt through Peruvian archaeological sites five or six times every year. His six-person tours were always fully booked, such was his reputation among Andean afficionados.

They paid for his expenses to live on in this country that had a tight grip on his soul. At the same time, he could continue to immerse himself in the legends of its colourful past.

Jaguar had a strong Internet presence that drew his customers. He kept up a regular blog that mixed myth and legend with self-promotion, successfully projecting himself as the 'Indiana Jones' of Peruvian tourism.

Jag was a colourful figure who would take novice and professional alike into the deepest recesses of a mysterious past. He had thousands of followers, and his next tour was usually fully booked by the time the current one was leaving the airport.

However, The Andean Experience website offered only tailored glimpses of the man who ran much of the operation. He presented as engaging and personable, but very few ever saw his darker side. Some Peruvian friends knew that his encounters with ancient Peruvian art and culture had shaped him in some ways.

Like a jaguar, he could be very stealthy to get what he wanted. And like his namesake, he also could be quite dangerous, especially when he imbibed in too much local alcohol, or the hallucinogens to which he had easy access.

Before anyone boarded the mini-bus, Jaguar had each trip participant introduce themselves to the rest of the group. He knew it was important to build some connection between people right away. After all, they'd be cooped up in his little vehicle for a few weeks. Each person was to tell the others something by which they could be remembered, some association with their name.

That completed, with some laughter and fun, he asked them to suggest why he was called Jaguar. They quickly made the physical link between him and the beast, but then he asked for a cultural link. One of them, Mike Edwardson, knew there was some significance to the jaguar in ancient Peruvian culture.

"I was reading before I came. The jaguar was an important symbol, even a god, with some early Andean cultures. Maybe that's where your name came from since you guide tours to these places."

"You got it, man! If anybody needs background information on this trip, go to Mike here before you ask me. He's the man," Jag laughed. Mike didn't know if the guide was praising or mocking him. He was a hard man to read.

"You're going to learn a lot about the importance of the jaguar on this trip, and other mythical beasts, like snakes and komodo dragons. I've been learning this for half my life and only scratched the surface. Be careful. It's so rich in meaning and story that it might grab you by the throat and never let go. That's what happened to me. That's why I call it The Andean Experience."

As Jaguar looked around at his customers, he could see that they were already spellbound. His enthusiasm was still there, strong as ever. He hadn't lost it after so many of these intensive small-group tours. The image, the story, the land- it all kept people coming his way. He smiled as he waved them onto the bus.

"Nobody has a reserved seat here, OK? We're a team, so give everybody some time in the ones with the best view. If you're always grabbing the front seat, I'll send you to the back. That's how I run my tours. You're the paying customers, and I'll show you Peru like nobody else can. But it's my bus, so share those good seats."

Safe to say that Jag had made it clear that he was in charge of this excursion. When people began boarding as he stowed their packs in the hold outside of the bus, everyone filed toward the back, careful not to provoke him by claiming a front seat. In fact, Mike Edwardson boarded last, and found the front seat across from the driver was the only one open.

"Sorry Jaguar," he said apologetically, "This was the only seat left when I came on board."

"Enjoy it," the guide joked as he climbed in behind the steering wheel, "You'll have the best view of all the traffic until we finally clear it the other side of Lima!"

Everyone laughed, any tension in the air about Jaguar laying down the seating rule now evaporated. He fired up the old Mercedes minibus and rolled out of the airport. Reaching into the crammed glove box, he pulled out a CD of traditional music to get them into a Peruvian frame of mind, as he cleared the airport and headed north along the coast.

"Hey. That sounds like Simon and Garfunkel, 'El Condor Pasa.' I love it!" LeeAnn called from the back of the bus.

"Good. You are going to hear a lot more like that. But unless you know Spanish, you'll just have to hum along. Any Spanish here?"

"Me. It was my minor," Chloe spoke up, seated just behind Edwardson, but she was the only one.

"That's great. So do you speak and understand?" Jaguar asked in Spanish, looking across toward her.

"Si," she answered, smiling at him.

"You do! Chloe, sometimes I might need you to help with the group. You know, explaining menus, reading signs, things like that. OK with you?.... Good."

Then he said in Spanish, slowly enough that she would understand:

"I'll be sure to thank you regularly. Hey, do you ever smoke?" and Chloe indicated "No" with her pretty head.

"No, not cigarettes," Jag continued in Spanish. "Weed.... Great! I always have it with me. I'm glad you're helping me out with the language."

Chloe grinned back at him knowing that no-one else was in on their little secret.

The traffic around the airport was terrible, as always, cars and trucks belching exhaust into the air, visible like a ground-level cloud. Jaguar told them to close the bus windows, that he'd use the air conditioner until they got clear of this stuff.

"You're going to be roughing it enough on this trip, staying in authentic Peruvian guest places. No five- star hotels on this jaunt. No fours either. Real Andean accommodation, not something from New York or London." He continued.

"We'll even camp for a few nights when there aren't any hotels close to sites we're visiting. The least I can do for you is keep you alive with clean air until we get out of all this damn pollution!"

Jaguar had a way with his clients, a way to make them laugh when he was delivering news about staying in inferior rooms or sleeping in tents. He knew that timely jokes and little treats- like air conditioning in the bus- could make most people happy. Most people except Wayne Rasmussen that is.

"We didn't sign up for this thinking we'd be sleeping in tents!" Wayne called to him from the last seats at the back. "What the Hell!"

Jag stared long and hard into the rear-view mirror, both to get a look at the offending party, and to let him know that he didn't like the remark. But he knew public confrontation, especially at the beginning of a tour, would not be wise. There'd be enough conflict with and between travellers when the trip was in its final stages and people were tired. He held his tongue before continuing.

"This is no slick National Geographic tour, packaged with all your comforts in mind. Room service. Breakfast in bed. A spa and a masseuse," he said, deliberately poking fun at Rasmussen, who sat fuming. "No, this is authentic Peru, a country with a modest standard of living compared to what we're used to. This is The Andean Experience, so you're going to see what this country is really like."

"There better not be fleas in the bedding in those third-rate joints!" Rasmussen called, clearly not intimidated by the tour operator.

Jaguar decided to switch tactics.

"I assure you Wayne, that if you find bugs in your bedding, I'll trade rooms with you."

People snickered until Jaguar delivered his punchline, then they laughed loudly.

"Of course, you'd have to clear that with Mrs. Rasmussen first!" he grinned into the rear-view mirror.

Jag glanced at Marina's face in the mirror and saw her smiling back at him.

Rasmussen was angry now, blustering, "Are you saying you'll sleep with my wife?"

"Of course not. You'd have to ask her if she'd be willing to switch rooms. What else would I have meant?" Jaguar replied in an innocent voice, and even Marina joined in the laughter, as Rasmussen went quiet.

"Back to what I was saying. This tour is an experience where you'll see cool archaeological sites and ancient art. Maybe even more important will be the people you meet here. They're quiet people, and you'll appreciate their sincerity if you approach them as your equal.

Their lives have much to teach us, so some of you will be changed by these weeks in Peru. Maybe you'll come away a bit different as a person. I sure hope so, because that's what The Andean Experience is really all about."

After that, Wayne Rasmussen stayed quiet as the little bus finally cleared congested suburban Lima and headed toward Chavin de Huantar. There was plenty of ground to cover before stopping for the night.

****

The trip to the ancient Chavin temple was nine hours of driving from the airport, with at least another hour for supper along the way. Then there was the 'bladder stop' every three hours or so, adding more to the journey. The coastal highway was open road thirty kilometres or so beyond Lima, and the little bus barreled along, belching its black diesel smoke whenever Jaguar floored it to pass a slower vehicle

Jaguar usually stopped for the evening meal near Barranca, where the coastal highway gives access to the foothills. After supper, they'd travel uphill along a sometimes sharply curving highway for a couple more hours before stopping after dark. A few more hours next morning would bring them to their first destination by mid-day.

"This is it. We're staying here tonight," Jaguar said loudly as he pulled up to a non-descript single-storey adobe brick building. "We've got all the rooms they have- four. There are two single beds to a room, so that'd be the Rasmussens in one, any two women in another. Then we'd divide the other two rooms between the remaining woman, Mike Edwardson and me. I don't mind sharing, but Mike, I'll let you negotiate that with the third single woman," he joked.

"Listen Jaguar. We're supposed to have privacy, and now you're suggesting that one of these girls sleep with you?" Rasmussen questioned.

"No more than I would make your wife stay with me, Wayne. I'm letting Mike make the decision."

Marina Rasmussen stood smiling at Jag, amused by the situation, as were the others. Then, amid some nervous snickering, Edwardson smoothed the waters by suggesting he share a room with the guide. He was a bit in awe of Jaguar and didn't mind that arrangement at all.

"Great. Here are the keys. Every room is the same. We have breakfast tomorrow at 7:30 so we get an early start through the mountains to Chavin de Huantar. See you in the morning in that building over there for food and coffee. This place isn't the Ritz, but it's two-stars and quite comfortable. It gets cold at night, so get the extra blankets out of the box in the closet. See you in the morning."

Thus ended their first day. Everyone was dead asleep in no time, everyone except Jaguar and Mike Edwardson.

"That guy must be getting on your nerves, eh Jaguar," Mike offered.

"Yeah. Unfortunately, every so often one like him shows up on a tour. He'll be annoying. I can see that."

"What will happen? I mean we're passing back through Lima in a few days. Can't you just leave him there? Kick him off the trip?" Mike suggested.

"There are other ways to deal with a pain-in-the-ass like him," Jaguar said quietly and left it at that.

Mike was quiet, wondering what he meant.

Later that night he awoke briefly from his sleep to hear soft chanting of some sort coming from Jaguar's side of the small room. It seemed like mumbled words, maybe in Spanish and made no sense as its cadence rose and fell. Perhaps the tour leader was meditating? Or dreaming? Mike listened for a bit longer before he fell back to sleep.

****

Next morning the bleary-eyed travellers assembled outside the little cantina for breakfast. All except the Rasmussens, that is. They arrived late, just as steaming cups of coffee were being placed on the large table the group was sharing.

A plate with a stack of fried bread of some sort came next, along with a bowl of dark-coloured cooked beans, and slices of what looked to be a fruit which no-one except Jaguar recognized. Seven small plates and spoons completed the table setting.

"What the Hell is this? No eggs or meat? No orange juice? You call this breakfast?" Wayne complained.

"You missed it Wayne," Jaguar grinned. "That stuff was all served and eaten before you got here, late. This is all that's left for you."

This brought plenty of laughter which only made Wayne more angry.

"This is the worst damn trip I've ever taken!" he spluttered, and his wife, Marina gave him a long, disgusted stare before speaking.

"Stop your complaining before you ruin the trip for more people than just me," his wife rebuked him, and everyone turned to stare as Rasmussen went quiet.

As everyone continued eating in silence, Jaguar outlined the plans for the day.

"We'll leave as soon as we can after this so we can get to Chavin de Huantar before noon. There's a wide valley between mountain ranges and we'll follow it a couple of hours or so before we cross through a gap and continue uphill to the temple. Have your cameras out for good mountain shots. I'll stop part way there for a mid-morning break."

By 8:30 they were back in the bus and on their way. Wayne came last and claimed the best seat, right across from the driver. They glared at one another as Jaguar sat down and started the Mercedes. Nothing was said, but it was already quite clear that they did not like each other at all.

Driving up the wide valley in the bright morning sun lifted everybody's spirits. The air was dry and clear- every window in the bus was open to take it in. Jaguar put in another CD of Andean music and he could hear his Spanish translator, Chloe, singing along. He turned a bit and spoke to her in their private language for this tour.

"How did you sleep last night, Chloe? Any bugs in your bed?" and he laughed at the mocking reference to Wayne's complaint yesterday.

"No. He is really something, isn't he? Maybe he'll go home when we go back through Lima after this."

"Believe me, it can be arranged. We'd be better off without him here."

"You can say that again!"

"We'd be better off without him here," he repeated, and they both laughed at Jag's little repetition joke.

Lunch along the way was a simple picnic box for seven sent along with them from the cantina where they'd stayed. It wasn't much different from breakfast, but this time included a couple of big bottles of cola, a staple beverage throughout Latin America. It was basic and filling, but it wasn't up to Wayne Rasmussen's standards, so he started complaining once more.

"This food is crap. How can you expect us to eat more of this garbage?" he complained loudly.