The Gold Miner



Nothing like a first-hand account from the principals. - nc


This is a story of coincidences. You know the way sometimes things just happen as if they were scripted in advance and everything simply falls into place? Or, is it that destiny is foretold by the people involved? Whatever, this tale is part of a larger story; a love story of considerable romantic consequence; an adventure spanning three continents (so far!)...

Lima: 9 June 1998. Bored, looking for a way to pass an afternoon in Lima; awaiting my flight to the States after a month working at the gold mine near Huaráz. Alan and I decide to visit the Museo del Oro. Dennis, looks similarly bored, is invited. We plan our departure but are delayed by Alan's disagreeable encounter with some Peruvian parasite - an event of some syncronistic significance - and Alan decides to stay in. Not really knowing Dennis, and looking forward more to some time with Alan than a visit to some dank and dusty museum, I also start to cancel and leave Dennis to his own accord. Faced with hours alone in an hotel or the opportunity to gawk at some Inca artifacts, historical perspective wins out and Dennis and I hire a cab to the museum, departing 30 minutes later than originally planned.

Lima was pissing me off by now. I was 45 minutes late and then Nancy had to put up with me ranting and raving about crappy cabbies. Then she started to laugh at the thought of me arriving at the Ministry for the Interior, and finding a nice man in a not-too-scary uniform with not-too-many-more guns than he should have, to reset me on my way to the Museo del Oro. As we moved along the rows of display cases in the museum, the complete lack of interpretation in any language became irrelevant as we gazed at ever more risque erotic pottery. What imaginations these people had (unless evolution gave the Incas something we had yet to discover)!

Row after row of exhumed artifacts: gold, silver, cloth and other materials. After an hour I was numb and looking for a graceful way to get through the remaining half of the exhibits in five minutes or less. Normally quiet, solemn places, Peruvian museums are designed for serious adults; people looking to learn, or at least put on a pretense of learning, about the past. But those two women didn't seem to care much for all that! Giggling, laughing out loud and making less-then-serious comments about the Inca, I was thankful for the distraction. She's very pretty, I thought, noticing the tall brunette with the Limey accent. No, you're leaving the continent tomorrow. This isn't what you need! I ignored them; or, more accurately, tried to ignore them while they tried to ignore the Inca erotica.

We had no idea we were being watched until an American accent stated that we seemed to be having much more fun than most people have in museums. Not true, I thought, remembering the Barbican, but turning 'round I saw a rather distinguished yet hunky, apparently friendly man with a definite twinkle in his eye.

California: 13 July 1998. In a definite funk, still tired from the long journey from Peru to California, trying to catch up on my bills and getting ready to move; generally in a foul mood. Checking my email over lunch - expecting some bad news from the job in Peru - I'm left speachless by the message from Rachel. Now I know her last name and email address, I think to myself!

"It was nice to meet you in Lima. I'm enjoying Miami and plan to be in Tucson tomorrow. Hope our paths will cross again sometime. Rachel"
She wrote! I responded: "I'm planning to be in Tucson next week too." (I lied!) "How about some sightseeing?"


Rachel and the gold miner (a.k.a. Mark) at Lake Tahoe, CA.

To be continued...


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