10. My Machu Picchu

I had no strength to outrun him, no magic words to escape him, no jet-pack to whisk me away. My promise to return to the Sun Gate served only to infuriate the guard. Clenching his fists, he insisted that he knew that I was planning to sleep in the ruins. No, I said, as a lover of archaeology, I had no such intention. Abajo! he shouted, pointing to the Rio Urubamba, 1000 feet below us. Arriba, I said, turning to retrace my steps. He blocked my path, pulled a machete from behind his back, and held it to my throat. (100)