Cuzco and Lima

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Hello friends! Let us fill you in on the last month…inspiration may be lacking because of the heat and the fact that Peru is no longer fresh in our minds…anyway, we met up in Cuzco, quite the emotional reunion as we’d been apart for a week and a half, breaking many hearts along the way. We arrived in ‘Peru’s historic capital’ to witness the frenzied culmination of a week-long fiesta called ‘Inti Raymi’ (festival of the sun…del Inka), the streets ablaze with fireworks, dancing, parades, indigenous costumes, and fire eaters, accompanied by constant thumpin’ music and food vendors roastin’ up some alpaca meat on a stick with papas (potatoes) along with various other local delicacies (like guinea pig). The street parties went on from about 10 AM to after midnight, with crap clubs open til 6 AM, and everywhere we went we had to squeeze and elbow our way through throngs of people – pickpockets were a concern but more often than not we were stopped by kindly locals to warn us against thieves. However there were a couple of incidents – “Laura, is that your hand in my pocket?” “No!” and while waiting for a bus, a man talking to us suddenly started fumbling for Laura’s breast pocket, as if she wouldn’t notice, then it turns out he was totally wrong about bus times…so lying, sexual harassment and attempted robbery, all in one go! The journey itself was to the foot of a sacred hill del Inka called ‘Sacsaywaman’ (pronounced ‘Sexy Woman’) which we climbed on Sunday 24 June, the final day of Inti Raymi, along with hoardes of other tourists and cusqueños. Opting against the gringobus, we went in a combi (like a minibus) for 1 sol apiece (15 cents) and it was so packed that we had to play ‘Asses of Fire’ sitting on the hot motor. Despite the fact that there were people hanging out of the side of the vehicle and there was no room to breathe, we kept stopping every few minutes to pick up another family carrying sacks of food, wood and a tiny dog who was sitting next to us looking like he was suffocating.

parade in Cusco
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We made it up the hill and settled down to watch the festivities from a decent vantage point. There was nothing going down for the first couple of hours but it was by no means boring as the people-watching was in many ways even better than the spectacle itself, and we bumped into loads of travel buddies/randoms we’d met over the previous month. And the amazing Mrs Merino, our A-Level Spanish teacher from school, who had been in Cuzco for the past 5 weeks volunteering in a nursery school and a boys’ orphanage.

sunhat
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The Sexy Woman celebrations were more of the same, but with a military contingent who didn’t really do their job as guards as they didn’t seem to care when everyone pushed past them and flooded the arena while the performers were still trying to do their thing. The party broke up in the early evening and we went back to our hostel (Mirador del Inka) to rest up, having had zero sleep the night before. Other than sleeping/partying, our nights in Cuzco were spent frequenting fine food establishments, such as an arty place called ‘Fallen Angel’ where we drank chocolate martinis and ate at a table that was actually a fish tank in a bath! One day we went to the school where Mrs Merino volunteers – unfortunately she couldn’t join us as she was ill – to help out with the kids, aged 3-5, and at first the classroom seemed chaotic, with 20 or so children, some messing around, some of them eating (I saw one or two kids drinking mustard on its own out of sachets), others colouring in or filling in workbooks, others running outside to play. However after a couple of hours there I could see that Bertha, the teacher, seemed to have things under control, tending to the needs of each individual rather than giving them all a task to complete at the same time. Her patience was incredible!

been there seen it done that
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Other Cuzcotime highlights included the main cathedral’s uniquely Peruvian depiction of the Last Supper, with Jesus and his disciples dining on guinea pig (cuy), a local speciality that we were too squeamish to try, having both owned guinea pigs as pets. We also visited some ruins at Qoricancha (pronounced with ample phlegm) where there were some interesting religious paintings and a picture explaining the andean understanding of the constellations - they see shapes in the black gaps between the stars of the Milky Way, as opposed to forming pictures with the stars themselves. Apart from the Inti Raymi revelry, one of the biggest highlights of our time there, and the reason why most people travel to Cuzco in the first place, was Machu Picchu. We took the horribly overpriced tourist train to Aguas Calientes, aka Machu Picchu Town, and after checking in at a hostel we hotfooted it by bus to the ruins where we climbed uphill to the Sun Gate and were rewarded by a purdy view of Machu Picchu ruinas and felt slightly ashamed as we met a number of people who had just done the Inca trail to get there. It’s not that we aren’t hardcore – the Inca trail was booked up until September and we had neither time nor money nor inclination for one of the ‘alternative’ treks. We stayed at Machu Picchu til closing time at 6, wandering around trying to get our bearings after our guide mysteriously disappeared. My very first impression of Machu Picchu was anticlimactic, but this was only because we arrived there at midday when it was packed with fanny-pack-toting loud obese tourists (guess where they were from) so that the view from above was more akin to a massive rock swarming with colourful insects than the grand site of the lost civilization of the Incas, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, that I had heard so much about. However by 5.00 the other visitors had almost all dispersed and we had the ruins practically to ourselves…and a rock rabbit and a pack of llamas, who, we later discovered, had been brought there solely for the benefit of the tourists. We dutifully snapped away as a mother milked a baby llama (llamita), meanwhile we were surrounded by some of the world’s greatest ruins, almost deserted, bathed in beautiful near-fading light.

El Inka Gigante
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We bussed it back to Aguas Cal at 6 and had a makeshift dinner on the floor of our hostel room with a flimsy penknife to open the tuna and ate the avocado with our fingers. Did I mention we’re on a budget? The next morn, middle of the night really, we awoke at 4 and were the first eager tourists to arrive at the bus stop at quarter to 5, the first bus to Machu Picchu being at 5.30 but we feared massive queues. We weren’t wrong to take the bus (right Laura?!) as we overtook a few groups of defeated-looking people on foot who’d left even earlier than us, thinking they would reach the ruins before everyone else. I was in fact the very first visitor that day because the ticket collector from the previous day had messed up and stamped both of mine. Our dreams of watching the sunrise over Machu Picchu weren’t realized as it was too misty to see further than about a 3 metre radius. Regardless, it was nice to be there about 15 minutes before the hordes surged in (round about the time the mist started to clear). We then embarked upon an arduous ascent of Huayna Picchu, the mountain that looms in the background of most Machu Picchu pictures. It was steep as hell and saw us clambering over slippery boulders, up vertical ladders and through a narrow tunnel or two, with no respite except at the summit where I discovered the sole of my shoe had come off. Amazingly a man up there just so happened to be carrying tape with him so I could stick the sole back on! We also encountered a Scottish lad who was doing the whole climb in a KILT – what a dude, and that old traveling WWF Belgian family. The spectacular view, adrenaline, and sense of achievement made the climb totally worthwhile, and we were reluctant to descend but we’d arranged to meet our tourguide and didn’t want to lose this one as well.

dancing in the street
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The tour was very informative as a contrast to the previous day’s aimless but pleasant amblings. Let’s see what I remember one month on…in Quecha, the language del Inka, Machu Picchu means ‘old mountain’ and Huayna Picchu means ‘young mountain.’ The site of the ruins was discovered by an American called Hiram Bingham in the early 20th century, never found by the Spanish because the Incas deliberately made their sacred city difficult to reach up in the mountains – we would have found out for ourselves just how difficult had we done the Inca trail. To obtain food, apart from what they could grow at high altitude, the Incas had a transport system with the more jungly lowlands. Aside from the intricacies of the city’s construction, complete with water drainage system, all carefully crafted from rock that was already there without destroying the four surrounding montañas, what fascinated me most were the religious beliefs…del Inka. The Sun God, Viracocha, controlled not only their waking and sleeping but their whole way of life, which was evident in many of the structures there – temples located to face the sun, a huge sun dial, and shallow pools to observe the reflected stars at night. After soaking up the beauty of the ruins for the last time, we headed down on foot to Aguas Calientes, stopping by at the museo displaying Machu Picchu artefacts, almost missing our 4.00 train back to Cuzco. A few days on, our last night in Cuzco was not spent doing anything much as we had to get up at estupido’clock for our flight to Lima.

plaza mayor
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After the brief 1h vuelo, we landed in Peru’s capital…a potbellied taxi driver vying for our business clasped my hand in his clammy paw and drooled with an oily smile ‘mmm, que linda eres, bienvenida a Lima’and wouldn’t let go of my hand. It was an apt welcome to what we would soon realize is not just the capital, but also the sleaze capital of Peru. It was impossible to walk one block without at least a dozen men making lewd comments, regardless of whether they were with wives and children, figures of authority eg. policemen being the worst offenders. Despite what I’d been led to believe, the rest of South America, or our experience at least, was not like that.

Line, ready for a night out
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Lima is also a sunless city for 8 months a year as it is choked with a foul smog – this coupled with the utter soullessness of the place with its huge commercial shopping centres and Starbuckses, McDonalds and Burger Kings on every corner made for a pretty negative impression of the capital. It didn’t help that we were staying in a hostel that was a semi-converted warehouse/prison with steel cots for beds (we were going to switch to another guesthouse that was aesthetically opposite – full of paintings, sculptures, chandeliers and terraces – but after a brief conversation with the lecherous, touchy feely owner, we decided against it).

Christophe, in a hood, in a club
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We enjoyed a little jaunt around the Plaza Principal where we were delighted to stumble across a fleet of cavalrymen trussed up in their finery, clip-clopping along to trumpet choonz! This marked the commencement of the changing of the guard, which takes place at noon every day, and was a most uplifting spectacle. There were even TANKS stationed on either side of the plaza by the palacio where this event was happening, and armed policemen just in case anyone got too excited by all the uniforms and guns and started rioting. Some camp choreographer must have had a lot of fun as the changing of the guard was more like a cabaret musical than anything else and went on for a good hour. I then spent the afternoon throwing up (probs as a reaction to the general grossness of the ciudad) while Laura worked on her travel writing assignment.

Sacsaywaman
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The subsequent day we visited the barrio of Miraflores, the chichi area of Lima, and found ourselves stuck in an expensive maze of a mall called Larcomar overlooking the sea, with hang gliders whizzing past overhead. It was an incredible place – commercialization to the max – and we felt compelled to lunch on lobster in a pricey restaurant, then did some window shopping and chilled in Starbucks. The most genuine latin experience yet. Full to bursting with the temptation to spend spend spend on clothes we could not afford, we made our way to a bargain basement where we picked up some great $1 T-shirts (Laura got one with a picture of a hamster saying ‘I heart my hamster. RIGHT BACK ATCHA!’) We then stumbled upon a party in the plaza with a huge group of old folks dancing – some of them quite saucily! Who says passion has to end at 70? We bussed it to another barrio called Barranco to clock Lima’s ‘bohemian’ side. There was a food fayre going on, so we weren’t disappointed, and we drank in an establishment that was actually an old English train so they played Beatles songs the whole time.

Inti Raymi with SRA MERINO!
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Hoping to bid Lima a hasty farewell, we rolled up at the airport the following morn, but we weren’t to leave the city straightaway. One piece of advice to anyone traveling around South America: NEVER FLY TACA AIRLINES. They did a royal job of screwing up our flight plan, probably because we’d made the mistake of booking it back in December. After 2 hours STANDING at the check-in desk being passed from one incompetent dollface to another, we were issued new tickets, this time via El Salvador rather than Costa Rica as planned. But we made it to La Ceiba, Honduras, with luggage intact, which is quite the miracle given the swiftness of each hop (literally running through transit lounges from plane to plane) and the stories we’ve heard from other people who have flown Taca and never seen their bags again. The city of La Ceiba was asleep as it was 10pm but eventually we got a marijuana-infused taxi to take us to a hostel where we spent the night, taking the morning ferry to Utila, one of the Bay Islands, for a few days of scuba diving. Or so we thought…