Dreams Drowned in Wine

The Inca Trail, Peru, 2000 My chest was hurting. Each breath laboured heavily as my heart pounded its painful rhythm into my ribs. One step. Breathe. One step. Breathe. One step. Breathe. Misty puffs of air dissolved after each heavy exhalation as I struggled up the steep incline. The ancient stone steps worn smooth by thousands of pilgrims led me forward; I trudged my way along the Inca Trail towards Machu Picchu. Soft sunshine filtered through my eyelashes, blurring my vision of the peak at Dead Woman’s Pass. This was day two of the trek, and I was feeling challenged. Walking a thousand metres vertical in one day, at an altitude of two and a half thousand metres, required both mental and physical strength. I definitely had mental strength. I’m very determined and don’t give up easily. It was the physical that might let me down. The uphill climbing was relentless. How many steps have I done? How many more to go? Will I make it to through the pass? Will my lungs explode? My legs were tired. Very tired. Brand-new hiking boots rubbed hard on my shins while my toes and fingers slowly began to thaw. I continued up and up, at a snail’s pace. This was a goal I couldn’t rush. I couldn’t race to this finish line as I have raced to all the others I’ve set for myself. I stopped to catch my breath, drink some water, and take in the epic view. Café del Mar: Aria was playing in my headphones. The inspiring soundtrack of soaring strings, opera melodies, and chilled beats merged with the mystical mountain peaks and hidden valleys before me. I felt alive for the first time in a very long time. Back in Sydney my staff and dancers were looking after my business, Joanna’s Burlesque Restaurant. Joanna’s was at the peak of success and ran smoothly without me, so I had the freedom to slip away on holidays and adventures. I had it all it seemed. The million-dollar business, the Rose Bay apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour, the latest BMW convertible, heaps of cash to splash around on champagne and cocaine, and a gorgeous man who would party with me all weekend. I was riding the wave of success and excess. I didn’t know at the time I was headed for a nervous breakdown followed by rehab, but I knew I was suffering some kind of problem that I couldn’t put a name to. I didn’t want to do anything anymore, other than go to lunch, drink, and take drugs to make me feel better. Feel better from what? I had it all, didn’t I? But I was always tired and cried a lot for no reason. Dark, distressing dreams disturbed me. Anxiety clutched at my chest. I went to the doctor, and he said I needed antidepressants. I got the prescription and read the precautions: Do not take this medication with alcohol. Outrageous! How can I not drink? I chucked the pills in the bin and opened a bottle of wine instead. This will fix me up. But it didn’t and there was a whisper that I needed to stop drinking and partying. An inner voice was telling me I needed to make a change, or I might die. But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I was having way too much fun. Addiction had its claws in me and wouldn’t let go. Looking up at the steep trail winding its way through the mountains, I knew Machu Picchu was on the other side of the pass. I was called here for a reason. Called to make this arduous journey that would initiate some kind of change in my life. Before I booked this trip, I kept seeing this mountain. Distinctive and alluring. One minute it appeared in a magazine, then in the window of a travel agency or on a TV documentary. So many times the vision of Machu Picchu was shown to me, and I felt it was important. So I heeded the call and there I was. I screwed the cap back on my water bottle, changed the CD to Café del Mar: Latin Chill, and continued on. One step. Breathe. One step. Breathe. One step. Breathe. The lilting rhythms, my breath, and my steps fell into harmony together. Following the other trekkers, I slowly made progress, one step at a time. I had a red wine cask bladder in my backpack, and it was sloshing away with each step—a reminder that I had a reward at the end of this gruelling day. I couldn’t wait to have a drink! By late afternoon, I was nearly there. My chest was screaming. Short, sharp breaths came fast and hard as I made one last mammoth push up the steep steps and over the rocky rise. Oh my! I made it! Standing on the precipice, absorbing the grandeur, I felt elated. My mind had found a rare, quiet peace. Dead Woman’s Pass lay below, ancient, patient, and wise. She had welcomed me, and in my reverie, I received three clear inner messages. Do life one step at a time. Don’t race to the top. Sell your restaurant.