I was angry. Angry, grumpy and tired. There was no question about it.

I'd made one of the most careless decisions in my life and I had no one else to blame. I'd landed in Cusco around 6 am, spent a flipping thirty minutes arriving and checking into my hotel, spent another half an hour packing essentials for the hike, rode in a taxi to Arcopata and wasted the rest of the time roaming the streets to inquire from a reasonable source the quickest way to Mollepata.

After being picky about who I should or shouldn't ask, for some inexplicable reason, I'd settled on making my way into a particular building by the street after spotting a tourist-looking foreign couple exit the property. Within, a Peruvian lady - a woman well beyond her forties - was willing to offer her services.

But upon hearing my request - and once she'd got a really good look at me - it appeared as if she couldn't decide if I was serious or just inept.

Of course, this only added to my ire.

"So," she asked for the umpteenth time in English, "you want to hike the Salkantay trek alone, is that correct?"

I drummed my fingers continuously on my left thigh, impatiently waiting for a response to my initial question which she hadn't even answered yet. As soon as I'd asked how I could transport myself to Mollepata to begin my sole-trekking journey to Machu Picchu, she'd taken a second look at my outfit, the load I carried, and proceeded to stare me up and down, confused for whatever reason.

Although, if I were honest with myself, I couldn't exactly blame her for hesitating. I had, after all, worn the hippiest and most uncanny outfit I could find. A long-sleeved leafy blouse with a long, brownish flowered skirt that covered all the way to my ankles. I'd also slid on a pair of black and white stripped socks and buckle-on blue sandals that did nothing to match the rest of my dressing.

I looked ridiculous, I knew, but I was in a foreign country, so I figured no one would think twice about approaching me if they saw how awful I looked and the deep scowl I kept brandished across my face.

"Yes," I gritted out in response to her question as "politely" as I could, raising my chin. "I'm travelling on my own and I only want directions to take transport to Mollepata. If you don't mind, I'm in a hurry."

I actually wasn't, but I felt uncomfortable standing in her establishment. It was a small room, resembling a mini-reception, with peeling white paint off the walls and sketchy grey ground tiles that looked like they needed a good scrub.

I couldn't even bear to look at the ceiling as I was a hundred percent certain that the sight would make my skin crawl into itself.

Paula, you fool, why did you have to come here? You could have asked literally anyone! I thought to myself in annoyance while standing a good metre away from the lady's likely insect-ridden desk.

But I managed to keep my cool, pulled out two soles from one of my side pockets - oh yes, I had four pockets in my skirt - and carefully placed it onto the desk.

After all, she wanted the money, right?

The lady took the coin without question, proving my point, and still eyeing me from head to toe, said reluctantly, "You can take a bus or a taxi just across the road."

Bus or a taxi? Hmm, fairly easy decision to make. The bus, of course, was naturally out of the question, but the taxi also sounded too good to be true.

"Excuse me," I waved to grab her attention away from my feet - again, "will I be sharing the taxi with other people?"

"Yes."

Drat. "Is there a private car I can hire for the ride by any chance?"

The woman tilted her head before quickly dashing my hopes, her pink-painted lips pursed in irritation, "You can take the bus, or you can take the taxi."

I frowned. So much for two soles.

"I see. Well, thank you for your time," I said, failing to accompany my words with sincerity.

Almost two hours in Cusco and I was already regretting it.

The lady didn't say anything after that - no "thank you for the money" or "you're welcome" - so I stood there aimlessly for the length of a heartbeat before turning to leave the establishment. Frustration and weariness made my body so rigid and unfocused that I lost my balance when a large figure suddenly walked into the room at the same moment I was about to leave and roughly nudged me aside like I was some random piece of wood.

All the exhaustion I felt immediately vanished.

I bumped against the doorframe with a loud thud, bruising my right shoulder, but even then the stranger - a man - just passed by as if nothing had happened. Not even one bloody hint of hesitation tainted his stride as he entered the building.

Glaring at his back, I rubbed the sore spot and waited for him to turn back and at least throw me an apologetic look.

I stood unfulfilled for a full minute.

The stranger, seeming to forget his manners, leaned against the lady's front desk and struck up a conversation with her. My cheeks began to burn when I realised that he was never going to show remorse for shoving me aside so hastily, let alone acknowledge my presence.

I felt so foolish standing there. But no more! I was going to string out an apology one way or the other. I deserved it. I flipping deserved it.

So, rolling up my sleeves for no apparent reason, I marched over to where he'd perched and shoved him with all my might across the desk.

Unfortunately, it was then that I realised just how weak I was. Backpack or not, I was appalled by the sudden exertion that overcame my muscles at one single push.

Adding to that, it was as if he'd been expecting an attack, because with a reflex I'd never seen before, he'd held fast to the edge of the desk, barely moving an inch, and applying more stress to my debility.

I eventually ended up sliding past him and tripping, almost colliding with the wall. Gathering my posture and wits fast enough to avoid making an utter fool of myself, I bundled up my pride and aimed for his other shoulder, intent on making my point by inflicting as much discomfort as possible and not apologising whether he demanded it or not.

Petty, I knew. But I always reigned when it came to such situations.

This time, however, I had a distinct feeling that my strategy wasn't going to work in my favour, because for the second time in a row I ended up slipping past him and unceremoniously bumping my head painfully against the desk.

Oh for fudge's sake!

"Bloody hell," I hissed before I touched my forehead, wincing when my fingers caressed the tender flesh.

Stupid trip, stupid hike, stupid everything!

Even though I was boiling inside, I took a deep breath and faced the lady and the stranger with as much dignity and poise as I could muster.

Those mannerisms, however, didn't last. The moment I locked eyes with the queer black pair that were dotted with confusion at my antics, I immediately felt self-conscious.

It was the type of gaze that held you in place without even trying to, and funny thing, he wasn't even looking directly at me. His eyes were affixed on my footwear, and I couldn't even begin to imagine where he thought I'd got the idea to dress the way I did for a hike.

But it didn't matter. I wasn't going to find out soon enough nor did I care to. And besides, it wasn't like he'd adorned anything fancier. He wore a simple grey linen T-shirt over a pair of beige-coloured trousers. A large dark green backpack was draped over both his shoulders, matching the colour of his thick boots.

He appeared more of a native than a foreigner, his olive skin of a shade darker than mine. But the lighting in the little reception was a joke, so I didn't waste my time trying to decipher if my eyes were deceiving me or not.

"Well? I'm waiting?" I demanded, placing a hand on my hip and trying to dispel the embarrassment I felt at my failed attempt to teach him a lesson.

The stranger still didn't say anything, only watched me with a curious look on his face. And as if the lady behind the desk could read his thoughts, she leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

I couldn't hear what it was, but whatever she'd said caused a tiny smile to light up the left corner of his lips, displaying the subtle image of a dimple.

If I thought my face was hot from embarrassment before, it was a bloody furnace now.

I cleared my throat again and stuck my nose in the air, refusing to be humiliated by two rude persons that did not respect common courtesy.

"Fine, don't apologise for knocking me over like some...some..." I thought of a reasonable insult, "some rat."

The lady gasped, but the stranger merely raised an eyebrow at my choice of words. Not in one instant did he appear offended, which only served to irk me to the maximum.

Funny enough, it had occurred to me that he might not have understood English to even begin with, but I was too riled up to care.

So glaring as hard as I could manage, I unrolled my sleeves, made a swift ninety degree turn and marched out of the establishment with my head held high.

I praised my legs for being geniuses, because even though I could feel their gazes boring into my back, I managed to stomp in the right direction towards the hawking taxi drivers, as the lady had pointed out, who were right across the street.

The rising of the sun was eminent as I trudged across the road and blindly boarded an empty car among the hustle of obtaining passengers. Not even checking to see what state the seats were in, I instructed the driver to start the journey. When he argued that it was colectivo and not solo, in all my anger and tiredness, I dug deep into my left pocket and pulled a €20 bill.

That sealed it.

So for the next two or so hours, I dozed on and off in the backseat of a car probably infested with vermin, wishing that I didn't have to stoop so low to prove a point to myself.

•~•

Thanks for reading!

TBK.