How many roads must a man walk . . .

When I was young (e.g. two months ago), I believed that the Lares trek would turn me into a real woman. I've never wrestled with gender identity, but I have aspired to be a woman of substance, a woman of fortitude, a woman who scales mountains without whining about blisters. At the very least, I hoped the obstacles faced on the trek would entitle me to assume a knowing air amongst those less traveled.

How foolish are the aspirations of a city girl!

A good deal of the Lares trek was uphill, certainly. We were forced to contend with the challenges of altitude. Most harsh of all, I wasn't allowed to pet the dogs (or sneak them scraps of food) because of the threat of rabies. [I wasn't even supposed to pet a cat, even if its name was Tina and it didn't froth at the mouth and it lived in an idyllic home with guinea pigs in the kitchen and sheep in the backyard.]

But the truth of the matter is, we were pampered. At the beginning of our journey, for instance, our cook (seen in the photo with our guide and porter) served us each a steaming bowl of soup. "Good," we thought. "What a nice bowl of soup. Now we will walk." Little did we know that the soup was the first dish in an elaborate four-course meal!

It gets worse. Each morning we received a wake-up call that consisted of a steaming cup of coca tea served through the flap of the tent. Outside, a basin of warm water and a towel awaited each person. After breakfast (steaming porridge, pancakes, sausages, omelets, etc.), the cook and porter took down the breakfast tent and our tents as we began the day's hike.

Within an hour or so, the cook, porter, horses, and llamas passed us on the trail (the llamas spewing obscenities, of course). By the time our bag 'lunches' had been consumed, we arrived at a tent set up in the middle of nowhere for our enjoyment. A hot lunch was served: we sat at a table with lawn chairs and used nearby a washroom tent when the need arose.

Then the cook and porter would clean our dishes, pack the tents, herd the angry llamas (who would hurl abuse, of course), pass us on the trail, and proceed to set up camp for the night. Frankly, it was unbelievable.

What was perhaps most surprising was, when we said our good byes, the cook thanked us. He was relieved, he said, that we had finished the trek--that he didn't have to carry us. He spoke, sadly, from experience.

So, although I didn't whine about blisters even though my hiking boots were new, I have many a road to walk before I'm truly a woman.