Cuzco – ancient city

There was an old rusty thumbtack in my peanuts! Ack! I bought a whole load of them, and just scooped a handful from the bottom of the barrel only to crunch down on sharp metal. Once again, glad for the tetanus shot!

I have to say that Cuzco, Peru is by far the most beautiful city in South America (at least that I have seen thus far). It almost beats San Fransisco, my all-time favorite metropolis! It’s built in a tiny valley, almost small enough to earn the canyon appellation. It’s also the oldest continuously occupied city on the continent! A very small area (ten city blocks at the most) constitutes the bottom of the bowl before narrow city streets begin to climb steeply up towards the rim of the valley. The old cobblestone passageways are much too small for cars meaning that the geographical demographic distribution is the opposite of what you’d find in the states. When everyone has to walk home, a view from the top is not at all desirable! The result: as you climb up the stones slick with years of wear and tear, houses give way to worn and tattered buildings which eventually give way to huts made of mud-bricks at the height of the city limits. It’s incredible! The main plaza at the bottom of the bowl is one of the most beautiful, surrounded by cathedrals built over the top of buildings from the Inca era. The Incan architecture was so advanced and meticulous (see photo) that their foundations, unaltered, are effortlessly holding up modern buildings several stories high!

Arriving in Cuzco was amazing. When I got on the bus in Ica, I traded my seat partner for the window seat, so I had an ideal view. The man I sat next to was really nice, and kept me well informed about names of places and landforms we were passing. The ride was supposed to be 15 hours long, most of it sleeping in the dark, but I woke up at sunrise with five hours to go and couldn’t bear to miss seeing the beautiful hills, valleys, terraces, mountains, and rivers out my window. About an hour outside Cuzco, the construction  villain  struck again. A bridge was being built, and the road was only open for twenty minutes at a time every few hours. We had just missed the last time slot by about 20 minutes, so we sat in the humid heat for two hours waiting for the track hoe and crew to work their magic. When we finally arrived in Cuzco, we were four hours later than had been promised, and the sun was already heading for the western horizon.

My first order of business was to head directly to the train station to buy my tickets to Machu Picchu. You have to go by rail to get there, tickets are available only at the station, and they sell like ice cream on the hottest summer day. I was hoping I’d get tickets for the next day, but I couldn’t be so lucky. The taxi, correctly assuming that I would have no idea how far the train station was from the bus depot, overcharged me. (jerk!) I walked into the itty bitty rail office, took a number (they really do that here!) and found myself among a crowd of some thirty individuals waiting expectantly on benches. A young couple from Alaska arrived about the same time I did, so we struck up a conversation while we watched the folks behind the help desks stand around chatting. I could only stand being ignored for about 10 minutes before I excused myself to ask what the hell was going on. A very nice young woman explained to me that the office staff was out to lunch, would return in forty minutes, and tickets could be purchased at that time. Fifty minutes later, $65 dollar train tickets in hand (!!!), Heidi, Dimitri, and I shared a taxi back into town. It was Friday, and Sunday had been the earliest departure available. That left me with a day to burn in Cuzco, but after I laid eyes on the plaza, I wasn’t complaining!

Heidi and Dimitri (the couple from Alaska) had found a place to stay in the bottom of the bowl (no trekking up to your hostel every evening) for $8 a night. That’s awfully pricey for my budget, but I decided to stay there, at least for that night, so I’d have people to eat dinner with. The Alaskans took off shopping while I partook in a long-awaited shower (lukewarm! agua caliente my arse!) and then set off to climb one of the city streets in search of an early evening snack. I had some of the best home-made chips and guacamole along with a Cusqueña (the local beer). To my surprise, partly because I’m a light-weight and mostly because of the elevation (11,000ft.), I was borderline borracha (drunk) as I left the restaurant. The Alaskans had Sunday tickets for Machu Picchu as well, so we had agreed to check out the club scene together that evening. I rubbed my pocket-full of change, anticipating a very cheap night of drinking and dancing.

Because we hadn’t set a time to meet up, I hung around the hotel courtyard for awhile hoping to bump into Heidi and Dimitri before the dinner hour. By 7:30, I was bored of my book and my stomach was roaring, so I headed for a pub that promised television and probably other solo tourists. I ordered up some fries and beer (the dark version this time) and asked two fellows occupying opposite ends of a table for six if I could join the crew. Both had their noses buried in books, and had no problem sharing the space. John, a forty-something accountant from Canada (originally London) and captain of the nerd squad, eagerly introduced himself and explained that he was in Cuzco on business. He was a head field accountant for a mining company, so we talked mines for awhile before he awkwardly challenged me to a game of pool. This guy was hilarious! I felt bad for him, because he seemed so radically uncomfortable the whole time, but it was endless amusement for me! He had even less luck and talent than I do when it comes to billiards, so our game drug on for near thirty minutes. He walked me back to my side of the plaza after our game, said a strange goodbye, and then promptly face planted as I turned to walk away. I stifled my laughter at his classic move, and helped him dust himself off before we headed our separate ways.

No sign of Heidi and Dimitri back at the hotel, combined with the liter of beer in my system made me feel more like turning in for the night than heading to the clubs. I discovered there was no lamp in my room, and couldn’t bear to read myself to sleep via the pasty flourescent tube, so I made the executive “lights out” decision. Ten minutes later, the Alaskans came knocking and were relieved to find that I also didn’t really feel like going out anymore. They were prepared to endure a drink or two, but had survived a long day and were also looking forward to bedtime. I set my alarm to get up an hour before check out to go in search of cheaper lodgings and snuggled into my comfy bed.

The following morning, just as the sun was rising over the lip of the bowl and gracing the city streets with its presence, I went from hotel to hotel finding nothing cheaper than $25. I realized what a deal I was getting from my current lodging and felt guilty for trying to save $1 when most people here can’t even afford to stay in a cheap hotel.

Dimitri was at the breakfast table when I got back. The cafetería was located immediately outside my door, making my room seem entirely out of place and more likely to be a pantry. We chatted over breakfast and agreed to dinner out together that night. The shower water hadn’t gotten any warmer, so I opted out and headed for an internet café. This trip has been a blessing as far as being able to communicate with people. When I have an entire day to kill and no money to go sightseeing, the next best thing is to spend all day journaling, e-mailing, and reading in plazas. After sending off some long-awaited e-mails, I doubled back to a little park full of fountains I had passed on my way to the cafe. I sat reading in the sunshine for a few hours until a post-card selling kid wouldn’t quit pestering me. Usually a “no gracias” will fend off most vendors. However, the persistent ones, usually kids age 10-15, introduce themselves, ask you questions about yourself, and keep asking you to buy. This particular boy kept touching my clothes and pawing my pockets, even after I told him to keep his hands off. Eventually, I had to get up and walk away.

I had planned on hiking up a hill that overlooked the city, and so continued up the steep street until I found myself at a beautiful cathedral overlooking the city with a cute view of the plaza. I decided to get a few more chapters under my belt before heading for the top. The street curving away from the church’s courtyard and up the hill led me to the base of a set of stairs where a ticket office made sure you had paid your $15 tourist ticket. I later found out a set of ruins made its home on top of the ridge. I opted to walk the road that wound around the hill instead of paying for the straight-up ascent. After enduring more cat calls and horn beeps than I thought I could stand (I was the only pedestrian on the road), I came across two women and a herd of llamas also headed for the top. To my chagrin, another ticket checking office awaited at the toe of the final ascent, so I tried to follow the llama herd up a path that cut left into the scrub a few hundred feet before the office. To no avail, a woman from the office spotted me and came running down the road to tell me I couldn’t go that way. Shut down. Damn! I had come all this way, and now my inability/unwillingness to submit to the pricey ticket was going to send me away empty handed. Ack!

I trudged all the way back down the road enduring more cat calls and horn blasts, mulling over my misfortune. I broke out my map of the town when I got back to the church courtyard and found a book exchange where I might be able to trade off the novel I had finished and been packing around for the past few days. It was several blocks out of my way, but would be worth having some new reading material. After descending almost to the bottom of the bowl and then climbing halfway back out of it, I found the front door to the establishment. I walked upstairs and inquired about the book exchange where the woman at the desk curtly informed me that it was for customers only. Well! Jeez! Strike number two. If she hadn’t been so snobby, I might have indulged in a coffee and swapped my book, but I wasn’t about to do her any favors. With rejection trying to settle itself into my bones, I headed back towards my hotel to work out plans for an onward ticket to Bolivia after I get back from Machu Picchu tomorrow.

I checked with ticket agencies on the way home, all offering hugely inflated prices on bus tickets for my next destination. I finally decided it would just be cheaper to take a taxi to the bus station and back and buy directly from the agency. I got a pretty good deal and arrived back at the hotel just as Heidi and Dimitri did. We walked up the local “gringo alley” in search of dinner where waiters and waitresses hassle you incessantly trying to acquire your patronage. We decided on a place where the sidewalk caller was a little less persistent and had offered us two free glasses of wine each if we ate there. I learned over a dinner of garlic bread, avacado salad, and beef cubes over rice, that Heidi and Dimitri are both pilots for a small airline company in Anchorage, and enjoy several vacations a year as a result of their free flight benefits. Awesome! Heidi had been at it since she was 17, and Dimitri had just gotten licensed three years previous, shortly before they met.

After dinner, we went in search of a free pool table at one of the pubs where the 2 for 1 happy hour was well under way. I couldn’t resist my coveted gin and tonic, and was soon well on my way. We played several games on a rickety, un-level, old table, enjoyed some greasy fries and burgers, and I traded my novel for a new one over the course of our hours spent there. By the time we made it back to the hotel, we weren’t looking forward to our 5:45 a.m. Machu Picchu train departure.