It wasn´t until Javier´s (and now my) friend Pepe handed me a black ribbon bracelet with the words “Fallen Angel” on it that I really looked at the poster for the Saturday night party called “Fetish.” It had an anime-like, white, hot, cartoon chick on it, who wore tight, red, busty, skimpy leather, had shock of upwards-spiked, long, blue hair, and donned a black eye mask. I nodded my head eagerly and immediately earlier in the night when asked if I´d like to go to a cool electronic music party at a gay club, Fallen Angel, despite the fact that I didn´t really catch every word Pepe had said. The poster had been in Javier´s bar, Nafiz, where I had been hanging out a lot in Cusco, and I also spotted one in a little restaurant near the cathedral at some point during my two weeks. “I can get us in for free,” Pepe had said. “Cool.”
What I had initially missed during his verbal invitation was the phrase “you have to dress in the theme of a sex fetish to get in the door.” This eventually sunk in, as the guys began to speculate what I could be, and what they came up with was the idea of a princess (loosely related to a latino reggae song “Mi Princesa,” which was my anthem for some nights). Great idea, I thought, but how the hell will I make a princess out of sneakers, jeans, long sleeve shirts, and nothing feminine? It was bargain shopping time at the flea market. For about 20 soles (~$7) I bought a gaudy blue frilly shirt, matching blue earrings, necklace, and crown-like head band, and a pretty frilly scarf to wrap around my jeans like a belt but more. A make-shift princess was born. But I didn´t feel fetishy enough. I mean, a princess was a stretch to begin with. So with the added touch of a miniature neuse around my wrist, which was hanging on the wall of Nafiz, I had achieved bondage and dubbed myself Princess Sex Slave, o La Princesa Esclava de Sexo. Oh, mama, aren´t you proud?
We had a great time. I danced for five hours straight. Saw the sunrise for probably the fifth time in Cusco. It was all house music, which is not mi favorito estilo de musica electronica, but I had no problem grooving to it. My other friends wore little clothing and bunny ears, so it was Princess Sex Slave and her rabbits (hale to Hef´s playboy bunnies) all night. A perfect way to spend my second to last night in Cusco. And I never thought I´d see drag queens in Peru. Work it, girl!
October 28th, 2007
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I spent the majority of the last week in Cusco hanging with friends, y un buen amigo en particular, but I also managed to be a bit of a tourist. Cusco has something called a “boleto turistico,” or a tourist ticket, that gives you access to at least 12 points of interest, including ruins, museums, and cultural centers. It costs 70 soles or ~$24, and I hear, like the price of Machu Picchu, it gets more expensive every year. It´s a pretty good deal for the city, as I found the museums to be pretty blah but the ruins on the outskirts of town are totally worth it, and you can´t get into them without the boleto turistico (and, therefore, the blah museums get some attention). Then the transportation and tourist industires make money, because you pay for the buses and/or taxis, the tour guides at each site (if you want them), and the souvenirs and snacks from independent local vendors. All that cheap-Jessica talk aside, again, it was worth it.
I saw the ruins of Pisac, Tambomachay, Puca Pucara, Q´uenco, and Saqsaywaman. There were about four other sites I didn´t get to due to poor planning and too much partying, but I´m not sad at all, because I mean it when I say, “I´ll be back.” Pisac was a large Incan settlement, with two main large agricultural spanses of terraces, each with houses and important cultural structures at the top. There are three plateaus that jut out a bit among the levels of land and domiciles that acted as a gate/entrance or lookout posts. From the lookout posts (my technical term;) the Incas would communicate across the valley from mountain-top to mountain-top dwellings using gold to reflect light or, when there was no sun, using flutes/instruments or fire/smoke. I had a guide on this trek who led me along an ancient trail through a natural tunnel, which is part of a cliff, that is pre-Incan and probably 1,000 years old. Holey stone! That path led to the holy area of Pisac, where we saw their Intihuantana, which was my favorite thing at Machu Picchu, and, as a reminder, is a little rock pillar carved from the larger rock underneath and is used to predict solstices, which helped Incan agricultural methods. These rocks are believed to have spiritual energy–one can often see tour guides enticing people to hold their hands near the rock to feel the energy. The day I visited Pisac, I did feel a sense of peace standing there near that Intihuantana, moreso than at Machu Picchu, where there were too many people. The gray skies, strong winds, and occasional drizzle kept the crowds away from Pisac when I visited.
I followed up this trip with another gray and partially rainy day trip, taking the bus (for less than $1) out to Tambomachay, walking to nearby Puca Pucara, then hitching a combi (a smaller and cheaper mini-bus) to Q´uenco, walking from there to Saqsaywaman, and ending my guideless tour with a short hike up to nearby Cristo Blanco before walking down a small mountain back to Cusco´s Plaza de Armas, only a ten minute walk from the last two stops. In a nutshell, Tambomachay held sacred baths that made use of gravity and the still-exising natural springs; Puca Pucara was a lookout fortress of sorts, which has a long clear view of what could be coming through its part of the valley; Q´uenco is a series of weathered holy and holey rocks, with two cool carved out and natural caves, that had astronomical purposes; and Saqsaywaman is a massive fortress with its back facing Cusco (the seat of the Incan empire) and its powerful frontside, made up of stacked giant stones, facing towards the sacred valley. At some point (I think in the 1900s), a giant statue of Christ, like the more famous one in Rio de Janeiro, was erected not far from Saqsaywaman. You can see it from the Plaza de Armas illuminated at night looking over Cusco and condeming you in the morning as you roll out of a club at daybreak. This excursion took about five hours or so and was the perfect compliment to Machu Picchu.
October 26th, 2007
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I visited Machu Picchu today and hiked up the overlooking smaller mountain, Huayna Picchu (”little mountain”). Here´s my journal entry from my highest point….
Sitting on a rock on the peak of Huayna Picchu at 2,400 m, looking down at the Machu Picchu ruins and across at Machu Picchu mountain. Took me just over an hour to climb the 400 m steep and winding crude rock stairs up from the mid-point base at Machu Picchu´s sacred rock, huffing and puffing all the way. I wasn´t alone. You sign in at the entrance, and they only allow 400 people up at a time. It is one of the two best views of the ruins; the other I will not attempt, as its stairs are steeper and, at times, are ladders, which I think will upset my already strangely aching wrist (I blame it on mild carpel tunnel). The view is amazing and almost dizzying, and I hope the pictures and videos will do the cascading terraces, stone-walled and roofless structures, lawns, plazas, and temples more justice than any words could.
I am up here with people from all different countries, who are speaking Castellano, English, French, German, Russian, Japanese, and a few more languages I didn´t recognize. There are lizards, bee-like insects, housefly-like insects (but both these and the bee ones are thinner and longer), butterflies, moths, little birds, hawks, worms, and all sorts of jungle- and mountain-like plants and trees. This is as much hiking as I will do here, as I am sure I´ll need a day of rest tomorrow.
I think this is the highest I´ve ever been in the world, besides being in a plane. And I have to thank my parents for it. They raised me so well that I was able to make it this far up in life. I found a rock for my mom along the way, with little chips of quartz, which she likes. And while crouching to take a close-up of a lizard, I happened to notice a piece of brown weathered glass. I picked it up and felt it´s edges, no longer sharp from its time atop this mountain. I nearly fell over when I saw it, because that it was weathered as if by the sea. And the one thing my dad loved to do at the beach was walk and collect sea glass. So this worn piece of glass is for him.
This is like nothing in the States, though VT, NH, WA, and CA are beautiful in similar green sort of way (but, of course, contain no centruries-old ruins). It is truly a wonder of the world, preserved ever since it´s discovery in the early 1900s. The Spaniards didn´t find this city and, therefore, could not wreck it as they did virtually all other Incan traces, because they deemed them pagans. I have to admit, I now resent less the tourist-only serving town of Aguas Calientes that is located 8 km from the ruins and sprung up to accomodate travelers like me. My initail feeling, while stepping off the train among craft peddleers and hostal pushers, was “que fea” (”how ugly”). I hate sticking out like a sore thumb and feeling like a dollar sign covers my face in the eyes of the people who live here (population 2,000 or so). But I understand the town now more and am thankful that it´s there to help us out-of-towners while we tour the ruins–even though everything, including the ruins, is expensive.
I´ve met some people along the way on this climb, usually while pausing to take breaths, having clips of conversations: “high enough for ya?” and “how much further” and “no, go ahead, I need the rest” and “I know I´m young, but the asthma slows me down.” I´ve made a resolution up here to stop being a dipshit to my body, not follow the stubborn health patterns of my relatives, and start taking preventative care of myself. I will suck it up (literally) and start taking the daily prescription inhaler that was recommended years ago. Could it be that I want to live life to the fullest for as long as I possibly can? I think so. I want to see more of these beautiful sites in the world. And I´ve always wanted to do everything, and this time away from home has actually helped me think I really can do everything. Now I´m going do my best to conquer it all–how´s that for stubborn?!
It´s almost noon, and I´ve been wanderng the ruins since 6:30 am. They are well-kempt, and with the $40 entrance fee they should be. I saw the Hut of the Funerary, the agricultural terraces, the cascading sacred baths, the three windows temple, the major plaza, Intihuana (explained later), the sacred rock, tres portadas and morteros (not totally clear about what these were, but they have some religious significance, I think), Temple of the Condor, Temple of the Sun, casa of the Incan priests, the Incan trail from afar, and this here (big) little mountain Huayna Picchu, which has a fort at the top.
My favorite places were the Intihuana and the Temple of the Condor. The Intihuana has a pillar that helped the Incas with agriculture by aiding in the prediction of the solstices. At the Temple of the Condor, the Incas sacrificed animals to the gods, and there is a cave beneath one of the natural wing-shaped rocks that is inaccessible now, but part of it is still open and is dank and mysterious. The Temple of the Sun was neat, with its snake-like stonework, which was a functional more than a decorative design having something to do with hanging things from the holes; but it is also inaccessible, so not as fun as wandering through the old houses of the urban sector or the cells of the prison or priests´quarters, even though their stonework was not as intricate as the temples´.
The sun has been showing through in patches all day, and there was some cool eery mist in the morning. A colder breeze is coming in now, and I thought I felt a drop of rain. Time to descend, but I could stay up here all day. I wonder how many steps I climbed? Someone said they lost count after 880. We decided we´d multiply that by ten. Imagine doing that trek with no shoes on? Go Incas.
October 23rd, 2007
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I had a dream last night that was so real, and I was freaking out in it. So vain, but here goes…I dreamed that hair was growing on my face like a cat´s face or a werewolf: all high up on the cheek bones under my eyes and whiskery. I was worried that a new boyfriend would stop loving me because of it. But my mom was there and just seemed to think it was yet another mild difference between us, as if in her family, someone was bound to have this kind of hair pattern down the line, it just skips a gerenation or so. It was nice that she accepted my face hair, but still no comfort or solution. I really truly thought I was screwed. Then I woke up.
…to the sound of what I thought was a woman having excellent, if not kind of violent, orgasms, here in Aguas Calientes at 4:15 in the morning. After blinking a bit more and gathering my wits, I realized that my alarm had woken me up, the face hair was just a dream, and that was no woman enjoying herself…it was a rooster.
October 22nd, 2007
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- en route, 7 am PeruRail train from Cusco to Machu Picchu Pueblo, 4 hour duration, observations towards the tale end of the journey…
Green mountains creased, crowded tight, smashed into each other, hovering, watching, keeping cross.armed guard over the river valley below. Brown, tan, gray patches and lines of rocks, with light green grass and tiny shrubs sometimes sparse, sometimes blanketing the mountains. Trees hug the banks, with occasional flowers flashing red through the green. The mountains stand up around us another 1,000m (I think) from where we are on the train, already at 2,500m (I think)–never have been good at gauging distance, but I know that Cusco is at 3,400m and we´re on our way down to Machu Picchu at 2,400m. Occasioal snow-capped peaks pierce the clouds, whose shadows turn the spring green to a dark piney green in U-shaped patterns like reflections of the ridges. Humped-backed mountains, leprachaun camels, are steep and looming and hold random naked bolders that I imagine are starting to teeter and fall. Any minute we´ll be crushed, our train car like an aluminum can. But, of course, they hold steady, the valley looking more plush, sturdy, and fertile as we slowly, unnoticingly, decend further towards Machu Picchu Pueblo, known as ”Aguas Calientes.”
Red and orange hues now in patches along bolder faces. This river below, the Urubamba River (also known as the Vicanota or the Wilcamayu River in different parts of this Sacred Vally), feeds into the Amazon River eventually. Foliage beginning to get thick like jungle now. Insects and butterfiles, not seen in Cusco, flutter by the windows. The pinched folds of mountain faces look ready to burst, and the ever-so-often out-of-place silver power towers of our modern times seem like acupuncture needles placed to relieve the stress. Yellow-green frond plants, with red-brown tips, on the high cliffsides hold up their solitary ten-fingered hand as if to say hi to us tourists in the train far below. The land is naturally divided by the river here, and we are creeping along on a thin rail line, sharing the space, with our intrusive gaudy metallic blue train cars and the well-timed warning whistles. The Incas walked the trails twisting above, and backpackers were just left off at trail marker 104 km in the middle of nowhere near a narrow pedestrian wood and rope bridge passing over the river. I will hike a bit, but not brave the altitudes that must be accended before finally going down to one of the wonders of the world, Machu Picchu. I will go by bus from Aguas Calientes tomorrow, and hike up to the higher Waynu Picchu for part of the day. Whistle blows, we have just pulled into the station.
Interesting note about the train ride, not always stated clearly in guidebooks, but well said here by Wikipedia:
- The Cuzco to Machu Picchu route boasts a series of 5 switchbacks called locally ‘El Zig-Zag’, which enable the train to climb up the steep incline out of Cuzco before it can begin its descent to the Sacred Valley and then continue on down to Machu Picchu. ‘El Zig-Zag’ allows stunning views over all of Cuzco right down into the Plaza de Armas and this view is particularly spectacular at night when the whole city is illuminated, as seen on the return journey from Machu Picchu.
Looking forward to the evening journey home on Tuesday.
October 21st, 2007
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- written on Thursday night (technically Friday morning), 12:30 am
I am in the back patio area of my little hostal in Cusco. I say “patio,” but it is more of a back area with a little wooden deck with stairs that lead down to a clothes washing and drying area (one sink and lines for drying). I am outside, although there is only a sliver of the sky visible between the surrounding overhanging roofs, and enjoying the 50 degree F weather alone, with my pen and notebook (jacket and hat). Everyone else has gone to bed in this dorm-like hostal, and I am charged with turning off the kitchen and hallway lights before I go to sleep, down the hall in my room, not numbered, but named “Quilla” or “Moon” in Quechua. (Quechua is the indigenous old language in these parts, and I like that “quilla” could sound like “killa” in English…cuz I’m so tough. ha ha.)
The dogs of Cusco are barking in the distance now, just like they did in Arequipa. How can anyone sleep out there in those neighborhoods? I know I did, though, eventually fall asleep among the sounds of barking dogs in my first hostal in Arequipa (of which I had three). But still, those motherfuckers need to be tamed. They walk around free will in these outlying cities of Peru, poopin´ and peein´ where they please. Not an owner in sight, although they probably belong to someone, nonetheless. I guess there´s something to be said for scoop-your-pet´s-poop laws and training classes, but, as much as this rant may say otherwise, I kinda like seeing the random pooch, which have so far been friendly, and I have to accept the barking and mess if I wanna enjoy seeing them live so free.
Random whistles, too, bellow in the distance, of traffic cops, existing out there at this time only to maintain their jobs, it seems. I can´t imagine why they are needed to direct the midnight traffic of taxis carrying tourists from bar to bar or bar to hostal, unless the taxistas are as barracho (drunk) as their passengers. But everything here has its own reason, as it does in every city. And it is only the observing eye of one who is unfamiliar to note that any of these sounds of the night are strange or nonsensical. Sure enough, any Cuzquenian who would stay for a short period of time in one of my cities would think that the constant wailing of a nearby firetruck (Washington, DC) or the deafening silence of nature (Bethany, CT) are sounds just as strange as the distant wailing dogs or unneeded traffic whistles are to me.
This world is all the same. I am as convinced now as I´ve always been when suspecting that we are all just a bundle of similarities, separated by simple labels of race, place, and generation. Sure, I say these lables are simple, when I damn well know they are not. And “place” can mean several things…physical location in the world, financial status or class, and stage of life. It´s just that we choose to make our labels matter. Some of us choose to let them separate us, and some of us choose to let them enlighten us. As I find myself continuing to grow, while trying to understand our cultural differences, I am overjoyed to know that the same passion that could drive me within my own native borders flourishes even more among the tests of unfamiliar grounds.
October 19th, 2007
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Yes, folks, that´s right. Just like DC, Cusco has Wednesday night reggae too. And like the DC scene, the band is smack up against the crowd, they occasionally let someone from the crowd sing with them (I´ll try again next week to get on the mic), and the whole gang meets up there. Yup, I said it, “the whole gang.” I guess I was wrong about meeting Peruvians in Cusco, because I´ve met some great people and have been hangin´with them more than seeing the sights. I´ve needed the time to adjust to the altitude anyway, so hangin´ has worked out beautifully.
Honestly, I’m having a bit of a hard time with the altitude. I´ve decided to scrap my plans of two days at Lake Titicaca next week because of it. It lies at a higher altitude, and since I’m already having occasional trouble breathing here, I think it´s a good call. I think I feel the soroche (altitude sickness) worse because of my asthma. But I´m drinking coca tea, chewing on coca leaves, taking a daily soroche pill, and I have my inhaler, so I’m all good. I hear you need at least a month to adjust to this, and I only have 2 weeks. Oh well.
Back to the reggae. The band kicks ass. It is made up of an Argentinian, a Chilean, and 3 guys from Lima, Peru. They do some covers of Bob Marley but mainly a lot of good South American reggae, as well as some of their own stuff. The song that has been stuck in my head for a few days goes, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no quiero ir a la guerra. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, porque la guerra nos da pena.” Translated: “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, I don´t want to go to war. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, because war gives us pain.” Sounds much better in castellano.
I feel inspired. I want to translate my songs into castellano. I feel so lucky again to have met such welcoming people here in Cusco. I seem to get the cold shoulder a bit from foreigners, but maybe I’m giving out the same vibe. Or maybe it´s just the chicks who are giving me this vibe. This culture is full of passion, and I can feel it more distinctly in the air between me and other people than I can in the States. But, just as I suspected, there are so many similarities among all cultures, and last night´s reggae was just another obvious example.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no quiero ir a los estados unidos. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, quizas tengo suerte agui con mis amigos.” –I´ll let you translate that for yourself.
October 18th, 2007
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Well, my last night in Areqipa and first night in Cusco were so festive that I’m actually drinking coffee on this here Monday afternoon, which I never do. Had a blast on Saturday night until 5 am with my Arequipan friends, Juanita and Pablo. They wanted me to stay, and, you know what?, so did I. Woke up after only an hour of sleep to catch a plane to Cusco. Slept a couple more hours after I checked into my hotel, then went wandering.
Cusco is beautiful and has a different feel than Arequipa. It´s houses and buildings spread out and up the surrounding hills. The weather is a bit colder than Arequipa’s climate (kind of like Lima´s–in the 50s-60s F) and rain is likely, as it is the beginning of the rainy season here. I am in a great little upstairs cafe on an off-the-beaten track road while writing this. I’m staying in an awesome hostal for $8 a night further away from the main plaza, and, as opposed to where I stayed in Arequipa, I like being in a more remote location. There are a bunch of British gals staying there too, and the market and bus station are just across the street.
Cusco is a city for tourists. It thrives on the influx of foreigners and is a bit more expensive than Arequipa. I am searching out all the cheap places to eat and trying to steer clear of those too close to the main plaza, Plaza de Armas. The bars and clubs around the plaza, however, are where it’s at. I met only other tourists, drank, and danced last night until not too late, but late enough to greatly add to the exhaustion I already felt. Met a cool gal from the States, who has been traveling abroad, with very little foreign language skills, for the last 8 years. Divorced, single mom, in her early 40s (I think), and an inspiration. After a couple weeks of traveling on my own, I feel terrific about traveling. All those years of fears seem a bit silly now, but I guess I needed them to prepare for this. So, no regrets, just more plans forming in my mind. I’ve got a mini-goal to travel as much as possible in the next 5-10 years. If anybody has job ideas for me, I´m all ears.
My new friend and I were treated to drinks by a couple of Australian guys, then we all went dancing. I think it may be difficult to meet a ton of Peruanos here. I can sense a bit of a distance between us, kind of like I am always the client and they are always the vendors. I guess it makes sense, since this is such a touristy city, it must be tiring to meet and befriend people who constantly leave. This is only my second day, though, so perhaps my analysis is premature. Despite my suspicion of the Cuzqueño attitude toward extraneros, they are friendly and welcoming people. I talked to the owner/chef of a little lunch place yesterday, who has one of those interesting Peruvian heritages of a Chinese father and a Peruvian mother. We talked about food and culture. He said the history of Peru is a sad one, but you can never look back–we always have to press on, accepting what has been and making the best of the moment and what is to come, he said. This, in general, seems to be the Peruvian attitiude. With a history of lost wars, colonial domination, and dsevastating earthquakes, Peruvians have a love for the underdog (thus, the mixed feelings for Fujimori, the last and corrupt president) and, it seems to me, persistant optimism. The latter I feel is beginning to rub off on me, and I welcome it open arms.
October 15th, 2007
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I’m sitting on the rooftop terrace of my hotel, which overlooks the main plaza, La Plaza de Armas, in Arequipa. The sun has set, and the colors that remian are turning from hot pink and orange to pale orange underlined by the brown that sits on top of the mountains, and above this brilliance hovers horizontal gray whispy clouds against the light to dark blue sky. A sliver of the moon is showing just above the colors, where the blue of the sky is darker. Church bells ring in the distance above sounds of moving and beeping cars and the occasional yelling vendor rising from below. Orange and fluorescent lights begin to glisten individually, spreading out all around and from the plaza to the surrounding mountains. There is a slight breeze…enough that you feel perfect in jeans and a sweater, with a steamy mug of mate de coca (coca leaf tea) to warm your throat. The dry air and sun has been good for me here. The people are open an friendly. I find myself saying, me encanta Arequipa (I love Arequipa).
This is my third hostal here, and the best. A friend helped me get a good price for a room here…even these prices are negotiable. One of the benefits of knowing the language, of course, is being able to negotiate. I’m good at it 50% of the time. As I relax more in a city, it gets easier. These six extra days I have had here in Arequipa have been great. I went out ’til 5 am last night, dancing to salsa and electronic music at Deja Vu. My friend Juanita is muy chevre (very cool). I’ve made a couple more friends here too–Cesar, Jordy, Jonny, Pablo– and will be salsa dancing even more tonight.
This terrace is kind of a hot spot for tourists, because of the view. Right now I hear English, French, German, Italian, Dutch, and very little Spanish being spoken. And it’s more correct to call Spanish “Castellano,” which I have to get in the habit of doing. I like speaking in castellano, and I suppose when I talk I sound the same as these other people around me when they struggle with the language to order food. No matter. The intermediate class I took this week helped a great deal. I plan on continuing my studies in Cusco for the next two weeks, and then afterwards on my own. In general, I’m only making friends with Peruanos (Peruvians). I’ve met a couple other cool extraneros (foreigners), but I call and hang with the Peruanos. Always practicing my skills and learning about the culture, but, simply, I’ve had luck in meeting cool Peruanos, and we have a lot in common. Es lo maximo.
I saw the Monasterio de Santa Cantalina yesterday, a mini-city within a city that is a monastary for nuns. It is about 400 years old (I think) and the pride and joy of the city. It was closed off only for nuns in the beginning, when well-to-do Spanish families sent their second-born daughter to live, learn, and become a nun in the monastary–the tradition back then. They were sent with a dowry, and not only their education, but the education of their siblings (until puberty), cost money. After earthquakes and a volcanic eruption leveled the monastary (and the city) a couple times in the 1700s (I think), the government and a private company helped rebuild, making the nuns open part of the complex to tourism as a payment for the work. I took lots of picutres and walked among the monastary streets that are lined by red-walled buildings and decorated with flowers. The cells of older nuns are preserved in their original state and many are colored blue. Their lives were simple, but privaleged–each nun had up to four servants, who lived their lives like the nuns, but only for food and shelter. Today the nuns live their lives more or less in the same way, but with modern amenities, no servants, and some updated rules. You don’t see them walking around when you’re there, but they’re inside their closed-to-the-public quarters, and they rarely go outside of the monastary. I wondered if they were watching from behind those locked doors and windows.
You can see the church tops of the giant monastary from this hostal roof. Arabic language and culture has much influence on Spanish culture. You can see it in words that start with “al-” and some of the domed-top church architecture. Yesterday, I stood on the roof of that domed-top church in the monastary and took pictures in the direction of where I’m sitting now. The views are far and wide in this city, due to the necessary low-level buildings in this earthquake- and tremor-prone region. Now the sky is completely black. City lights drown any chance of seeing the stars. A two-person band has begun to play traditional music, with a guitar, a drum, and a pan flute…those slightly-mysterious sounding and rhythmic songs that make you tap your feet; danceable with simple light steps forward and back. They make me feel happy and like wandering the streets and countryside. And one of those songs has been stuck in my head the whole time I’ve been here. It was recorded this evening on my voice recorder at #36, 2.5 minutes. Hope to share it and these picutres with you soon.
October 12th, 2007
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This is a llama. It is one of the animals in the camelid family, along with alpacas and vacunas. And, no, I did not eat llama.
October 10th, 2007
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During my trip to the mountains and Chivay, I not only saw alpacas, but I ate them too. Tastes like beef or veal. Mmm…innocent, grazing, sheep-like alpaca…drool…
October 9th, 2007
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…living in the mountains, go back to the mountains, turn the world around…
- remember that Harry Belafonte song? It was on the Muppet Show once. Anyway…
Had a great time experiencing a bit of the beautiful mountain range and life outside of Arequipa. Arequipa is about 2,000 something meters high, and I have had to drink more water and use sunblock constantly to keep up with the consequences of being at a higher altitude. I started drinking coca tea and sucking on coca candy while on my trip to Chivay and Colca Canyon over the weekend. At the highest point of the tour, after viewing alpacas, llamas, and random foul along the way, we were snapping pictures of snow-capped mountains in the distance at 4,000 something meters. Definitely felt a little winded and slightly headachey, thank goodness not nauseous–another common altitude sickness symptom. We then drove on to Chivay, an even smaller mountain town that sits at about 3,500 meters.
In Chivay, we went to the hot spring baths and relaxed with nearly 200 other people in indoor and outdoor pools. It was nice to sit back and watch the stars after a day on a little bus on bumpy dirt-packed and gravelly roads. Later in the night, we had dinner at a tradicional-cuisine restaurant and watched some traditional dancing. I, of course, had to check out the night life, and when two others suggested going out with our guide later, I said, why not. We went to the hottest little bar in tiny Chivay and danced for a couple hours to salsa. I only drank water (and perhaps this was the problem when I found out that I need a lot more help with my salsa)… something to fix back in Arequipa.
After only 4 or so hours of sleep, I saw the famous Flight of the Condors over the Colca Canyon. They are beautiful birds with wingspans of 3 meters across. There are no words (and even my pictures don’t do it justice) to desribe the breathtaking beauty of the Colca canyon. In hindsight, I probably should have paid the extra money for the extra day to actually trek down into it, but at the time that I booked my excursion I wasn’t feeling up to it. This canyon is miles deep, and the condors take off every morning floating on the wind to find carcases to eat in the mountains.
We learned all about the pre-Incan, Incan, and post-Incan/colonial way of life. The fields of the farmland are terraces, using the best manipulation of the terrain and weather to optimize food production. Did you know that potatoes come from here and there are thousands of varieties? Carbs are definitely a big part of the Peruvian diet. It’s amazing what the Incans and their predessors were able to do with these mountains. They also sacrificed people to their gods, even children. And somewhere in those mountains archeologists found several 400-500 year old tombs of frozen sacrificed children. I saw once them, Juanita, that they are still keeping on ice in a museum in Arequipa. It’s pretty crazy to think about the antiquity surrounding me everyday here.
Turn the world around.
October 8th, 2007
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I got sick again. The first night I was wandering around Arequipa, my throat started to feel a little scratchy. Arequipa is a quaint little city with a lot of hustle and bustle at all times of the day. The streets are narrow and ordinary buildings alternate with colonial-times structures and churches. As you walk along the streets, you catch glimpses of the mountains El Misti and Chanchani. There are miradors (viewing points) spread throughout the city where you can catch a better view of the surrounding beauty. The other thing you see a lot here are tiny, little, diesal-spewing (usually yellow) taxis. And, I assumed, it was from the fumes of these, and all the other cars that try to run you over when you cross the street, that I started to have an irritated throat.
The throat got worse. It was accompanied by a fever and exhaustion. So I took a trip to Clinica Arequipa, a hospital in a pretty part of town on the other side of the Rio Chile from the center of town where I’m staying. I demanded a throat culture, to be sure it was something for real and to avoid the instant antibiotics that are usually doled out when anyone has any kind of problem. But later that night, when all the over the counter solutions did nothing, I called a pharmacy and had them deliver self-prescribed amoxocillan (later I found out it was in fact strep throat). That’s right, you can call the pharmacy at 3 am here, and they’ll deliver anything, as long as it comes to 20 soles (about $6.5). The amoxocillan only cost $4.
Despite the sickness, I went out yesterday afternoon, and I’m so glad I did! I just had to see some sites to make up for the nearly three days delirious and in bed. I went to a museum, which was very cool, and I made some friends. Today these friends convinced me to stay in Arequipa for another week and really see what it’s like. So I changed my ticket to Cusco for $24 and booked my weekend trip to the mountains to view one of the largest canyons in the world. Can’t quite take in the night life yet, but I think I can finally start enjoying this beautiful region.
October 5th, 2007
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From the plane…
Flying south from Lima between the coast and the Andes. Desert-like peaks and valleys below out my window (looking east), with higher mountain peaks and valleys in the distance. Areas where snow has melted lead to drainage rivers. Greenery is sparse and only around rivers. Rock strata of the mountains visible. Some of the mountains and hills may have green on them, but hard to tell. Colors are mostly reddish-brown, drak brown-green, black. Four to five tall peaks rise high as we near Arequipa. Odd circular pattern on the ground in one area, probably ruins. Huge peak down mounain now visible sittin glike a king on a throne above the city–must be El Misti; it looks misty. Large city of 750,000 (according to my book) in the valley among eroded or naturally cut-out mini canyons or valleys–the largest most green of all must be flanking the Rio Chili. City spread out andneighborhoods on plateaus. Mountain surrounding. And touch down…safe landing.
October 2nd, 2007
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