My lungs exploded, my armpits drenched and sour smelling, my head pounding. I climbed and climbed and climbed. “Just a couple switchbacks,” our guide James called back to us as we ascended to the moment our eyes would sparkle and our brains would take it all in. With each step, my thighs trembled and thoughts of, “you’ll never make it to the top, might as well stop now,” swirling around in my mind. Arms swinging, feet aching, lungs burning, I pushed on. As I approached the final step, my heart lightened with the sense of relief and gratitude. Grateful that my legs and my lungs were able to carry me to the top. What I thought was the best moment of this endeavor, happened to be nothing compared to what my eyes were about to behold. I walked over to the edge of the precipice, which overlooked the ancient city of Machu Picchu, bathed in light from the mid-morning sun. I was surrounded by tourists from all over speaking excited words to their travel companions in their native tongue, but my ears drowned out the sound and all I heard was the knocking of tools, the laughter of children, the clinking of utensils on dishes, the chatter of families, all from times past in this ancient city. I could see and hear it all so clearly, this stunning, living piece of history, vastly sprawling in front of my very eyes.

How minuscule we are in this life we live, but how magnificent the legacies we leave behind.

I was inspired by my inability to travel in 2020 to reminisce on some of my very favorite travel memories. I found myself writing a few short stories based on these memories and this is the first one of my collection, the moment I saw the magnificent Machu Picchu for the first time. It is everything you think it will be, and more and the ascension, grueling for me at that altitude, was overwhelmingly worth it.