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The best stories are always born from the unplanned. I had been drinking at a local bar in Samaipata, Santa Cruz, Bolivia, and the morning after, I was struggling to appal the hangover. As I started to feel a hard banging on my head while waking up, I began hearing a banging on the door. It was my friend Jan. -"Hey Julian, let's go climb the mountain of the Inca, the one you mentioned the other day". I smiled at the absurdity of agreeing to such a proposal in such a preposterous state. -"oh, I don't really feel like it Jan, maybe another day"- I tried to apologise. -"Come on man, it's not that tall, it will be fun". He insisted. -"I don't have money for the bus, or for food for that matter" I continued giving him honest reasons why I shouldn't to go. "I'll pay for it, don't worry, I have food, let's go". I don't know what he said but I got my mind around accompanying him even if it seemed like the worse idea ever, and the reason why it wasn't, and you'll agree, I came to understand later on. We hopped on a local bus and rode for an hour to the foothills of this curious pyramid-shaped mountain that overlooks the road between Samaipata and Santa Cruz. We had no map, no idea of how to climb it, if it would be possible, and you don't expect to find trails or indications in remote places in Bolivia. No houses or villages or anyone was around to ask either. Jan took the lead on what seemed like a trail that entered the tropical forest that flanked the stone peak. The trail ended trying to reach a large cave in one of the sides of the mountain. We had no machete and after several attempts getting there without it was impossible. The list on my head of "why this was a bad idea" started to grow, and I planned to bill Jan with it later on. We hiked back on the trail and was then my turn to lead. I put my aches aside to think straight and consulted my experience as a mountaineer and rainforest explorer. I scanned the mountain and figured the most probable route. Climbing it would require use of both hands and feet, and began through a field of thick grasses with high probability of rattlesnakes than then led to steep rock. At this point, the sacred spirit -of which I am a fan- sent his first message: Two large hawks began circling right above us as we begun the dangerous climb. One hour later, we were at the top. The outstanding view as far as the eye can see was only surpassed by the relief that the task was over, and that we would soon come back down and go home to rest. But then, the adventure had just begun. We ate lunch and soon after I pulled out my quena flute and played a couple of tunes. In the far distance, above the mountain range in the horizon, two dark spots appeared. It was two male condors that had heard the flute and started flying towards us. Jan thought it was a couple of vultures, but I knew better. I was ready for the even more dangerous descent over the same route, but Jan pulled out his convincing skills once more. -"let's go down that way, see" Jan pointed to what in plain sight seemed like a soft descent into the forest below over the mountain shoulder. But parts of the way were out of sight, and I knew better. My preventive bad humour diminished as beauty took over in what was an indescribable stone pathway laid with flowering ground orchids. Soon, the pathway got narrower as we advanced. First, two feet couldn't fit but in front of each other and further ahead, crawling was necessary; a leg and an arm on one side of the rock overhanging a 1000 foot precipice and the other leg and arm over the other precipice. At that exact moment, the condors arrived, announcing eminent death. Here, we arrived to the edge.