Time opens up; you're everywhere and nowhere in the day.

... .. .

The combis and buses weaving through Peru's Sacred Valley became some of my favorite places to be. They were everywhere - pulling over every few minutes, squeezing in one more passenger, somehow always finding room. I remember the excitement of seeing the next village appear around sharp curves, mixed with the quiet anxiety of missing my stop or fumbling through my limited Spanish when I stepped off.

Memory is fragile. I don't remember every route or the reason we were in various places anymore, but I remember the feeling. The smell of diesel hanging in the air. Rain tapping against the windows while the glass fogged. Huaynos crackling through tinny speakers. Searching smiles of strangers.

Somewhere along the way, you stop thinking so much about where you're going and let the ride itself become the experience.