The stones are real enough. You can take a bus to La Capilla, from the back of the market in Mala, next to the kiosk selling cakes. You may find Wilma sitting beside you, heading to her chacra, her brothers and her mother. Looking out of the window you will see the broad river winding through farmland. The hill sides above are bare and rocky, but look closely and you may see traces of the narrow old track clinging to the cliffs.
Get off the bus at the corner before the bridge, and buy some bottled water from the old woman sitting on the balcony. Striding up the valley you can watch the farmers breaking the soil with their ploughs drawn by mules. Listen to the rippling water in the high irrigation canals, and the calls of the hawks circling overhead.
The llama femurs will still jut out like coat pegs in the empty rooms of the deserted villages you pass along the road.
And after two hours, three if you stop to explore some of the ruins, you will reach the stones.
If you are lucky the water will be low, green and slow-moving, in a deep pool. You can wade across, placing your feet between the slippery round boulders. The old man may be planting cassava, or cleaning the shallow grooves through which rivulets of water trickle between the apple trees.
And then you will see the stones.