Distance

My friend and I walk into a jewellery shop in the middle of Cusco. As a tourist trying to blend in, the last thing I want is jewellery, but the sign has ‘magic’ written on it, so curiously, we walk in.

Before I get to look at any jewellery, the store owner starts reading my friend. The colour of his aura, the way he needs to let go of things and how he holds too much tension in his shoulders. The owner tells us he is a Shaman and happens to have the perfect healing crystal for these traits. It costs more than $300. I raise an eyebrow and wonder if the owner can see the skepticism bleeding through my aura.

Despite the sales pitch, I'm jealous I haven’t heard anything about me, so I ask for a reading. It's exciting to hear a complete stranger tell you about the person you know best. ‘You have healing hands’. Interesting. I also have a whet appetite to have my future told by a Shaman.

On a private tour around Incan ruins, by my request, our guide takes us to see a Shaman. In a dusty road of a shanty town, children stare at us strangely and stray dogs move past us. This scene has become familiar during this trip across South America. We walk into the backyard of the Shaman's home. I see a toilet with filth smeared inside the bowl. I hope this isn’t a symbol of my future.

The Shaman inside only speaks Quechuan, a native South American language, so our guide translates. My guess is that the reading will be somewhat light-hearted, but I’m still conscious that my friend will hear everything as I do.

I put my payment on top of some Coca leaves. The Shaman starts his reading. I look into his eyes and feel an urge to nod as I listen, but I have no idea what he is saying.

The tour guide translates. ‘You’re going to have three kids and the first will be a girl’.
Kids? Three? Gosh.

‘You’re going to marry one of two friends’.
Friends? As I think through my male friends I can’t fathom the idea.

He tells me more about my future. ‘You are a very lucky person. Healthy and well off’ he says. I'm guessing he’s inferred this because I'm from an English-speaking country and on a private tour. Regardless, it was true and I had rarely appreciated it.

In the car back to town I remember a woman in Bolivia who cried as she begged for money. I thought of the Peruvian community that sold clothing and split the revenue to allow the children to go to school. How different my life is. Ironically, the best part of my reading was the one I already knew. I'll never forget this.