29. My Machu Picchu

All morning I whistled, watched, and waited for someone to look my way. No one heard me. No one looked up. The Plaza, Royal Palace, and Sun Temple were all far to the right of the entrance. I was far to the left in the terra incognita. Whistling grew harder. I grew weaker. Morning became afternoon. The ocean of visitors dwindled to a downstream trickle—all, that is, but four, who, against the tide, started walking my way. I whistled. They paused. Ears cupped, heads cocked. I whistled again. They turned, looked around, and waved their arms in the air. (100)