Peru - This is where the story really starts

My travel wishes never seemed to be the same as other people's. They always seemed to want to go south and lay on a beach getting sunburn, whereas I always fancied going north. They liked crowded beaches in summer, while I preferred deserted wind-swept beaches in winter. I was curious to see remote places, nature in it's wild state rather than tamed by man. Eventually this line of thought coalesced into one or two specific places I would like to visit. Foremost among them was Peru.

But first I had to earn a living and raise a family. I had responsibilities and, having been useless at education, precious little in the way of recognised skillls to offer any prospective employers. This came home to me like a sock of sand later in life, but more of that elsewhere in my blog, maybe.

Peru remained at the back of my mind, never mentioned, hidden.

This brings me, dear reader, to one dark night in the supposedly haunted Charney Manor, deep in the Vale of the White Horse.

I was self-employed until I was in my late thirties. We had a thriving business in the beautiful little town of Burford, by the River Windrush in Oxfordshire. It was a craft shop selling hand-made British items made by individual crafts men and women. We thrived for twenty years, having a wonderful time meeting fascinating people, but then recession struck the country and our business bit the dust.

I was suddenly faced with the task of getting a job. I had no discernible skills. No bits of 'official' paper, nothing to show the job centre people. Consequently they didn't want to know me. Shot any shred of confidence I had to shreds. 

I began scanning the job ads in local newspapers. After some weeks, with the situation growing desperate, a glimmer of a possibility came to light. Oxfam wanted someone to answer queries from the public. I had been answering questions from the public for years as a Tourist Information Officer and thought that at least I might get an interview. In short, I did. I got the job, and that is what brought me to Charney Manor.

I  had gone there one dingy winter afternnon with Oxfam's Training Officer, Howard, a great chap and a good friend. The Manor was, and at time f writing still is, used as a small conference and training centre, and we were there to set it up for a course we were running the next day. We arrived about teatime and met the caretaker. She showed us where everything was, and because we were staying the night she had prepared a light meal for us. 'And in case you get hungry in the night", she said, 'this is where we keep the chocolate digestive biscuits and the drinking chocolate.' She knew Howard well and that these were his favourites.

At that she bade us good night and went home.

This left just Howard and I in the 'haunted' Manor.

We finished setting up the conference room and had our supper, after which we relaxed in the leather chairs of the loungs with our wine by the glowing fire.We chatted about this and that, about the programme for the coming day, and somehow the conversation turned to where we each liked to go on our holidays. He liked India and I liked Norway, and then he said, 'Oh, I saw your name on a staff tour sheet the other day Pat, and singed it off as approved.'

'Did you? Mine? Are you sure?'

'Yes, he said casually, ' You're being sent to Peru.'

I didn't speak for several, long seconds.

I was stunned.

'Me? Peru? Are you sure? How do you know?'

'I saw your name on a list of Oxfam travellers I signed off last week. Your name was against Peru, with another chap from the Newcastle office.'

The rest of the evening was spent in large leather arm chairs in front of a glowing fire, talking about staff field tours. To be honest, I don't remember much about it. I was so excited.

I won't bore you further, but the two day meeting dragged by. My mind was already flying to Peru. 

Haunted Manor? Oh yes, did I mention that? 

Well, people had told me that Charney Manor had a haunted bedroom. When we went up to our rooms I asked Howard which room was supposed to be haunted. 

"Yours", he said.

"Oh, thanks very much!", I replied.

But do you know what? I couldn't have cared less. I was going to Peru. No ghost was going to rain on my parade. I drifted off to sleep counting llamas.

I've lots more to tell you about my time in Peru, but enough for now. 

If you're not bored with it already, you will be.