📸 Photo

Five o'clock that afternoon I spotted Marcus crossing the road to the university. As always he wore his coarse, black-brown cotton shirt and his wire-rimmed John Lennon glasses. He was beaming as he told me about the day spent with Annick. She loved him, he declared ecstatically. He asked me about the San Pedro cactus trip. I told him what had happened, and he listened attentively. And what had I decided? Was I going to go on with him into the countryside? I started elaborating upon the reasons why I wouldn't be travelling around Bolivia with him.

'The answer is no, I take it,' he cut me off, disappointed.

'Hold on a minute,' I answered. 'You haven't heard the best,' and I told him about the Austrian geologist.

Marcus wasn't as excited as I was, but he promised to come with me to meet him the next day.

After the concert I walked back to the old-folks' home. I told my friends there about the expedition. A few were enthusiastic, but others didn't take the plan seriously. Only Itzik voiced any genuine interest in the details and asked to come along to the meeting. I was very pleased. Everyone liked Itzik. At thirty-four he was the oldest of the mochileros and was often asked to represent our collective interests. He had a terrific sense of humour and an infectious enthusiasm, and he was helpful and good-natured.

The next day he and I marched off in the