“Master of puppets I’m pulling your strings…” Sound bites from the previous night’s Metallica concert in Lima, Peru stream from the radio in the background as we ascend Machu Picchu Mountain by bus to the entrance of its ancient world heritage site.
It is early and the sun has only recently risen and begun to expose the tips of the green Andean mountaintops. In an effort to retain their mystic quality, the mountain peaks coyly keep themselves covered with the heavy mist of lingering clouds. They are not quite sure they want to expose themselves yet to all of us gawking tourists.
We disembark from the bus like all the other tourists, just another lump of legs, eyes, hiking boots, and cameras, but that is all about to change. Overhead we hear the “thith thith thith thith” sound of helicopter blades circling above and we watch as the helicopter slowly sets down on a flat platform near the entrance of the park.
Like an encore to last night’s concert, the band Metallica steps out of the helicopter with bodyguards and family in tow. All five us stand there stunned and starstruck, reverting to our teenage selves. Our friend Matt remembers the Metallica poster that used to hang in his room and all the surrounding hoards of tourists simply fade to black.
I'm Jaime. My husband is Tom. Suburbanites, backpackers, and expats...we've been them all!