Mountains bring out the philosopher in you. It can't be helped. It's something to do with fundamental consciousness, the presence of eternity, the freighted Zen of the earth's natural monuments, the closeness of the transient sky. So, at 4,414 metres up in the Huchuy Qosqo Pass in Peru's Sacred Valley, when I should have been contemplating the legacy of Pachacutec, Atahualpa, and other Inca rulers, why was the prospect of a hot Jacuzzi, a cold beer, and an emerging blister on my left foot the only stuff on my mind?
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