Looking for Peter Pan's Wendy

Hope everyone is recovering from their respective 4th of July parties.

I am recovering from hiking many kilometers along the Inca trail to the Machu Picchu ruins. I remember being weary of my group at the onset of the trip, thinking it was full of duds, feminist vegetarians, and old people who would slow us down.. Happily, I can now admit that I judged a Peruvian book by its cover, and I was completely wrong. Our group was an assemblance of some of the most inadvertently entertaining characters I would hope to meet. (partially because the feminist vegetarians were switched to a different group, and mostly because we were allowed to drink on the hike).

The cast of characters were highlighted by a 19-year old Canadian whose voice was a duplicate of Napoleon Dynamite and was constantly eating, a 55-year old Dutch fellow who was gearing up for the gay Olympics in Montreal and had a discernible crush on said 19-year old Canadian boy, and WENDY, the 60 year old Australian woman with the mouth of a sailor.

At first glance, you would think Wendy was a sweet grandmother ready to flash a picture of her grandchild and gush over that child's rosy cheeks and breastfeeding capabilities. However, upon further review, there was much more to Wendy than initially detected.

First, I must give Wendy props for completing the 4-day Inka Trail trail, as it is a rigorous 32-mile hike (up hill and down hill) at elevations upward of 14,000 feet. Secondly, I must thank Wendy for being a sport and urging us to drink at any given moment.

Wendy had a sense of fashion that manifested itself in her donning an orange fleece, orange pants and an orange baseball hat with a perfectly horizontal brim at all moments of the trip. I wore a orange shirt for most of the trip, which smelled like hell at the end of the hike. Ironically, Wendy's tent mate relayed the same sentiments about Wendy's personal space.

It wasn't until the second day that Wendy's true colors (a blend of orange and... orange) started to show. That day, we finished a tough hike that saw us climb 3,600 feet in elevation to Dead Woman's Pass (basically a pass with a big mound at the top that looks like a boob of a woman lying down.. I have no idea why she has to be dead) and then descend another 2,000 feet to camp. When we made it to our campsite, we sat down for a well prepared meal and enjoyed some afternoon tea. After the meal, Everyone had left the lunch table except for me, two others and Wendy, who was sitting at the end of the table by herself. I felt compelled to check in on Wendy, so I asked her how she was feeling. After a short pause and a muscle cringing turn in our general direction, she answered "I'm COMPLETELY Fucked", followed by; "I can't move".

Luckily for us, she managed to move, and the next day she was back on the trail declaring that she could NOT WAIT for happy hour, and that someone should really get the dead woman (on the mountain) a blanket as her nipples appeared to be erect. She was the soundbite machine.. When pressed about her family life, she said she had two sons, adding "my 2nd son is an asshole, and if he was my first born child, I would have never have had a second... I tell this to his face. Often."

Other than dropping f-bombs and s-words like a second grader who just learned to swear, Wendy's specialty was afternoon cocktails. On the last night, we all enjoyed some local beers, wines and spirits, and while most of drank about 3 or 4 bottles of beer, Wendy opted for 3 or 4 bottles of wine. Soon after, she was performing the Tango in the middle of a room that has probably never been Tangoed or danced in. When she came back to her wine (and the table) after shaking it on the non-dance floor, she leaned over to me and my friend, and whispered with a laugh; "you know the worst thing about it.. My pants are on backwards." And sure enough, the back pockets of her orange pants were front pockets. Later that night, she and the 55-year old man training for the Montreal Olympics, were both kicked out of the bar.

The next day, she was chipper and unaffected by the previous nights escapades. When we were saying our goodbyes, we realized we would both be in Bolivia in the weeks ahead, and I suggested we should meet up and get crazy (alcohol wise) like the previous night. In the most convincing response I have ever heard, she replied "Crazy?? (laugh) Last night was nothing." I have never been more certain that a person was telling the truth. I can't wait for Bolivia Smivia.