The bridge over the Urubamba inspires me this morning. A claptrap of boards and rickety iron rails crosses a torrent of latte colored water and huge boulders and begins the switchbacks that climb the mountain to Machu Picchu. On the Aguas Caliente side is a small grotto with a statute of the Virgin Mary surrounded by bouquets of varying degrees of decay. When the bus crosses the boards clatter and jump. The water is terrifyingly close. One would not survive long, torn down the current into the rocks.
Are all transitions to the monumental so precarious?
It seems that most do not recognize this bridge as anything of note. My family did not even notice the grotto. Chided me for worrying about spilling into the river. Ahead lay the real attraction. Later, when we returned, we got the cheap thrill of hanging out over in the river in the last row of the bus as it did it's turnaround for yet another trip to the citadel, but we were always safe. Hanging for our moment above the rushing water we could feel the thrill just beyond our reach.
It strikes me that one should pay more note to the process of getting somewhere. This is what an explorer might have done, noting landmarks for the safe return. Nowadays, the hard parts are done for us, and the bus follows its well worn path. But that bridge, those monuments, the offerings to the lords of our fate, are to remind us:
Pay attention to the path.
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