I was never interested in going to Peru. I had a friend who lived down there and for five years she begged me to visit but it never appealed to me. “Why would I want to go to Peru?” I thought.

I was browsing the Web one night. Well, let me confess, I browse the Web most every night. But this particular night I was looking for a yoga class. I figured with all the sitting in front of a computer I do, my posture is getting bad, my eyesight is getting bad and my blood is having no help from me traveling its way around my 5 foot 11 inch frame.

I went to a yoga teacher's website that a friend recommended. It was the standard site with dates, times, locations and prices, but then something at the bottom of the page caught my eye. It said 'Yoga Trips To Peru.' “Well, I'm not going to Peru,” I thought again. But it wouldn't hurt to look. I double-clicked my mouse and there was a full screen picture. In the lower right hand corner was the yoga teacher doing some posture that I'll never be able to twist my body into in a million years. But dwarfing her in the background, looming in full vibrant color was Machu Picchu and the mountain Wayna Picchu. It was magnificent! I had seen pictures of Machu Picchu before but I never felt the depth of emotion that rushed through me then. My heart leaped and tears rolled down my face. What was going on? There were other pictures on the site. I sniffled and wiped away tears as I looked at them all. “Hmm, Peru.” I thought. “Peru?”

In the next two weeks, every place I went people were talking about Peru. I'd be introduced to a new person and they would be from Peru. I'd be standing in line at the grocery store and the people in back of me would be talking about Peru. I was watching a silly TV sitcom and the characters even mentioned Peru. Why was I hearing so much about Peru? Was I just attuned to it now, or was Peru calling me? I went home, ran to my waiting computer, clicked on the yoga teacher's website and signed up.

I arrived in Lima at ten o'clock at night, a little buzzed from the two mini-bottles of wine I had with my dinner on the plane. I was met by a driver, who immediately got into a fender bender in the parking lot. Both drivers got out, exchanged concern over the other's well being, looked at the negligible damage, shook hands and we were on our way. “That was different,” I thought. In the States there would've been yelling, “It's your fault!” “No, it's your fault.” All that followed by exchanging insurance information and driving off in a huff.

Lima is a big city, but it felt different from the hustle and bustle of most big American cities. It was easy going and people were nice. I'm sure there are some not so nice people in Lima, but they didn't come looking for me. Someone told me Peruvians are told to be nice to Americans because of the tourism, but I felt no phony friendliness. I saw lots of smiles and was patiently helped by salespeople in stores after using the few badly mispronounced words of Spanish that I knew.

But God forbid you step off the curb at the wrong time. You're a goner. In Lima they've mastered the art of raceway driving and dutifully show their skills on every city street. As I stood at a corner waiting for the right moment to cross, I clumsily stepped on my heel the wrong way and fell into a woman standing next to me, pushing her into the street. A car whizzed by and barely missed her. I was so apologetic. I almost got her killed. She smiled and insisted she was fine and asked if I was okay. Or at least that's what I think she said.

I flew with my yoga group to Cusco. There we were greeted by photographers snapping pictures of us like anxious paparazzi. Women, dressed in colorful skirts and ponchos, sold us Cocoa leaves to chew for the altitude. I chewed and swallow and chewed, like a cow chewing her cud, my mouth numbing and tingling from the chemicals in the leaves.

The first thing I really noticed as we traveled to our Peruvian home in Urubamba was the sky. I've never seen a more beautiful sky. Peru has the most clear, deep blue skies and clouds so white and fluffy you feel you could grab one and feel its softness.

As we drove outside of Cusco, the area became less developed. Mangy dogs trotted through the streets happily. They had places to go and were busy getting there. Small one roomed huts stretched along the roadside. It was at this point I had to throw out my Americanized judgment about their standard of living. While this was not what I was used to, this was by no means poverty. Not of spirit. Not of love. I saw no unhappy begging faces. Families worked together farming corn in yards. Mothers sat on stoops with their beautiful, fat-cheeked babies wrapped in colorful blankets on their backs. Children played as they herded sheep through fields under that heavenly blue sky. Snow capped glaciers stood mightily in the distance. This was Peru.

During my time in Peru, I traveled to many sacred sites around Cusco. The beauty of the land, the people, the history and the energy was intoxicating. I tried all the local foods, except the guinea pig. I ate a million different types of potatoes and developed a craving for Pisco Sours and Inca Cola. At Machu Picchu, I climbed to the top of Wayna Picchu, the mountain that had first beckoned me there. As I sat at the top, watching clouds pass by below me, I felt such unparalleled happiness and bliss. How could I have waited so long to come here?

Peru. I felt the energy of the land envelope me. I saw peace and contentment reflected in the smiles of the people. I saw the wisdom and connection to Source shining in the babies' eyes. It is a mystical country of great heart, where you stand between Pachamama: Mother Earth and Pachatata: Father Sky and know that their love flows through you and that you are never alone. Now, if anyone asks me, I never hesitate to tell them: when Peru calls, it´s in your best interest to answer!