Let me talk about someone who can make or break your tour: the tour guide. I have had more tour guides than I can count, but only two stand out: the good one and the bad one. Both of whom… are crazy. Today, I will discuss the bad tour guide.
The bad tour guide was equally entertaining as the good one. His name was Milton. He claimed to be born and raised in Peru, but his accent was a hybrid of Australian and… pig latin? I believe it was entirely fictitious. He stood about 5’2″, round like many Peruvians, and medium skin.
Our fearless leader led us wandering through the Peruvian jungle and mountains. Sometimes he would break into a downright run, and we had to huff to keep up with him and not get left behind on the mountain. You would expect his favorite topics to include, oh maybe, Peruvian history, topography, or weather. Not Milton. His favorite topics were anything awkward, “Are you afraid of cows?” “Did you know that if you eat chicken you will be gay?” WHAT? You may ask. No joke, these were typical Milton conversations.
I remember several days waiting until about 4p.m. for lunch. Which might be fine, if you weren’t hiking the Andes for 16 or 17 miles per day. On a particularly eventful night, Milton got belligerently drunk and insisted on climbing into a tent with a sweet, unassuming Welsh boy. Thankfully, he knew better than to let a stranger into his tent. Did we learn anything about Macchu Pichu, you ask? Well, he insisted we sit for our “included guided tour”. That included an hour of me looking at llamas and hoping the fog would roll away.