From the road there was little to see but a snow peaked volcano, patchy verdant fields and the mostly brown terrain. As the road continued upwards toward the still unseen Putre, the high altitude drained my breath and the sun’s rays pounded my skin. My hat, sunglasses and shirt offered little relief as I carried and pulled my bags behind me. The before sunrise wake-up and long bus ride contributed to my fatigue. I was not enjoying this unexpected trek.

A police truck soon headed toward us, coming from Putre. I waved for it to stop and asked if I could get a ride back into town. The occupants had synchronized smiles while the driver said no. Are there any taxis? I asked. Again a no was given with a smile. I’m not sure if they were amused by my request or if they were just being friendly. Either way I continued walking uphill in the hot sun and thin air while Jose pushed his bicycle and caddy along side of me. I was grateful for his offer to accompany me.

A minivan passed by a short time later and I called out, “Por favor,” The van slowed to a halt and I asked the driver if he would give me a ride into town, he eyed Jose with his bicycle. I quickly added that the ride was just for me.  The driver agreed. Jose was undoubtedly pleased at the prospect of riding his bicycle the rest of the way. A woman got out and helped me with my things. I thanked them. Baskets of woven goods filled the van as I squeezed into a free space on the seat. As we drove toward Putre, I noted the long walk I’d been spared.