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The mountains of Peru rose higher above than any I had seen before. Light green grass and pebbles wove together up the hills breaking way for short scraggly trees. Everything was beaten up from the harshness of the environment but surviving. Absolutely beautiful. Our guide, a middle-aged Andean man named Rudy, captivated all of us from day one. On the first night of our three-day-trek, he and I started – and couldn’t stop— talking. At eighteen, though I was technically an adult, he saw me as a child. At nighttime tea, Rudy would tell stories about his past tourists. When he would tell particularly inappropriate tales of promiscuous lovers, he would walk up behind me and cover my ears. My fun-sized body means I am often mistaken for a younger age, yet with Rudy it was more than that. The child he used to be and the kids he knows from his home in the Andes are so independent they are like mini adults. They care for all their siblings. And, we occasionally saw them run for miles over thin paths to get to us so Rudy could give them treats. They had more responsibility and freedom than most young adults in North American society. Despite our dichotomy, Rudy recognized our similar connection to the mountains. Maybe it was this that made him decide to instruct me on how to guide. He would teach me the importance of a nearby like or sight and then gather everyone we travelled with around so I could explain it to them. Additionally, when he had to stay back to walk with struggling trekkers, he would get me to lead the group. One time, I was leading us down the mountain when I stumbled face to face with a few donkeys. They were being led up the hill to help another group carry their packs. Rudy ran up to me and taught me the importance of looking around as I led to avoid confrontation on the mountain. “As a leader, you always have to be aware. Part of you is looking at the path and part of you is looking around and ahead for any obstacles.” He saw everything. When we walked through the rocky and grassy trails, he saw so much more than the nature around us. With his stories and knowledge, he helped us see what he saw. The history of people who had lived there for thousands of years, his people, was woven into the land. Small huts were so high on hills and made of such natural materials that they were invisible to us until he pointed them out. Even then, they usually took awhile to see. He had fought a war to keep those people able to stay in the mountains and to provide them the right to vote in Peruvian elections. Near the end we walked into a scene from a fairy-tale land. A gentle stream bubbled over small pebbles. Trees shaded us, but the sun glinted through. A sense of peace came over me. Rudy and I were talking again. I asked him if the water was safe to drink. He laughed and told me “For me, yes. For you, no.” I got distracted staring at it for a moment. When I caught him watching me, I offered an explanation. “I love watching water. Do you?” He nodded. He told me he loved rivers and lakes. I couldn’t quite comprehend it when he told me he’d never seen the ocean. “You’ve been to Lima though. Haven’t you?” The capital of Peru was not that far from where we were. “Yes, of course. I’ve gone and visited my brother there.” “The ocean is right there. How have you not seen it?” I had seen it many times in the few days we had spent there. “I’ve just never tried.” He saw the mountains he’d grown up in so deeply and yet hadn’t seen anything away from home.