This is the last about Peru. Seriously. Andrew and I touched down today just after noon. Within three hours of being back on our native soil, things were back to normal...and by that I mean that yet another gay man hit on me (perhaps the facial hair counts as baiting?). At least I didn't have to worry about that particular danger in Peru.
Setting- Border's Book/Movie/Music store; I'm browsing the DVDs
Dude: Seen any good movies lately?
Me (thinking perhaps he's just friendly): Um... Batman?
Dude: How was it?
Me (concerned at how friendly he's becoming...I don't look at him, but continue to browse): Better than a kick in the groin; that's for sure.
Dude (laughing a bit too hard at my rather hostile joke, then going in for the kill): You from around here?
Me (just hitting "not again mode"): No.
Dude: Oh, so you're around here visiting, huh?
Me: No, I just got in from Peru.
Dude: That's great.
Me: Yeah. (I walk away towards a different section, only to glance up and see him glaring at me)
General Observations of Peru/ Random Occurences/ Deleted Scenes
1. Andrew and I are walking down one of the alleys of Cusco, having just come back from the llama slaughtering.
Vagrant (to me): You want smoking grass?
Me: No.
Vagrant: Cocaine.
Me: No; I don't do that.
Vagrant: Oh...Oh!!! I'm sorry! (runs away, as though I might shoot him)
Me (to Andrew): Did you hear that?
Different Vagrant (again to me): You want smoking grass?
Me (annoyed): No.
Same different Vagrant: Cocaine?
Me (terse): No!
What the hell? Why me? The only thing I can figure is that, with the hideous scruff on my face at that point (as I refused to shave or even touch it up), I looked like the other moronic American guys my age (or perhaps much younger, since guys my age generally are able to grow much more facial hair). Andrew's beard, which was full at that point though he'd only been growing it for two weeks, lent him a more dignified air I suppose.
2. As Andrew and I observed when we were sitting, uncomfortably, on the side of the hill waiting for the heart to be wrenched from the llama, there are certain responsibilities that observers of a dispute or fight are required to fulfill. They are:
a. If sitting, stand up and gawk at the disputants.
b. If standing, lean in the direction of the dispute/fight and gawk. Pointing is optional, though highly encouraged.
c. If you are sure that neither of the disputants will see you, or if you are sure that they can't get to you even if they do see you because there are too many people in the way, throw food at them.
d. When throwing food, the preferred foodstuffs are rinds/skins/peels of fruits, though most partially eaten foods are apparently acceptable. There are points for hitting the disputants in the head and thus escalating the dispute.
e. When the police come to break up the dispute (and only then), yell "Policia" loudly, and point at the disputants. That way the police would never think that perhaps you had been throwing food and exascerbating the problem.
3. To make tea in Peru is extraordinarily simple, especially if you are doing so for gringoes:
a. Merely boil hot water and pour it in cups for said gringoes.
b. Break off a twig with a few small leaves and put it, whole, in the water. That or chuck some big leaves in the water.
c. Serve.
d. Tell gringoes that it will make them feel better in the altitude.
e. Give them sugar for the "tea" when they grimace at the taste.
f. Repeat steps a-e eight times per gringo, per meal.
4. Child/ Llama/ Laundry Care
a. Be a beaten-down-by-life-to-the-point-that-you-look-thirty-years-older-than-you-are, hunched over Peruvian woman with a silly hat.
b. Take a good- sized blanket (big enough for a single bed) and fold in half longways.
c. Drape the center of the blanket over your back so that the fold is down.
d. Tie the ends in a knot at your chest so that there's a make-shift pocket from how you draped the blanket on your back.
e. Insert Child/Llama/Laundry into the pocket of the blanket on your back.
f. It is not necessary for the Child/Llama/Laundry to be visible to anyone else. Make sure that whatever you stuff into your Peruvian papoose looks like it could be any of the three options.
g. Make sure to bang into tourists with the papoose as often as possible, even if a living creature is inside.
5. The advertisement on Pucyura water, which was more than enough to convince us to buy a bottle:
"Natural, and refreshing Pucyura that comes from rains and thaw dilutes of you walk them, packed in its own source to 3500m high, guaranteeing its purity and pleasant flavor. The components of water Pucyura, dilutes of the Peruvian Inca, it offers him a healthy life, besides taking care of its figure and young skin.."
That's it. Done. No mas
Saturday, July 2, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Titicaca (Day 2): June 29th, 2005
We got up at about seven, having been blessed with what I considered our best night of sleep on the trip so far. Ice had formed on the jug of water outside of the kitchen as we sat inside and ate Florenzia's pancakes. Soon after, she took us down to the boat and we parted ways.
We took an hour rideto the island of Tequile, during which many of our tour mates remarked on my being "Mr Popular" and "the belle of the ball." On Tequile, we were marched up to the main town where we were enjoined to buy the famous woven wares (which neither Andrew nor I did...no one's gonna tell me when to spend money) and then sat down to eat at a restaurant, while a local boy sang Beatles' songs in the local dialect in an effort to get us to help him pay his way through college.
All of that was all well and good, but I was looking forward to my dip in the lake. Michael, an Oregonian bow hunter, and I had been talking about taking a swim since the day before. Fortunately, the hike back down to the boat after the meal took up the thirty minutes that mothers insist children should wait to swim after eating, and I changed into my swimsuit in the outhouse by the moored boat.
I have to admit that I was concerned about the cold, especially after Almogenes, the guide, warned us that the lake was 10 degrees Celsius. Fifty degree water, for those that don't know, is very cold. So cold that there's a risk of immediate cramping, or of gasping when you hit the water and thus drowning. While the possibility of either of those things happening were not likely, it still gave me pause. Nonetheless, I was going in; after all, being able to say that I swam Lake Titikaka (in winter) was well worth the risk, and I'd already told the group I was going to, so there was no backing down.
Michael and I climbed up to the top deck of the boat, about ten feet above the water, stepped over the railing and held on to it as we prepared ourselves. Michael had had a bad experience jumping into Crater Lake before, so he made sure to throw a couple of life preservers into the water in case we cramped. I just focused on how crystal clear, yet deep blue the water was.
We agreed to jump to the count of three and a yelled, "Lake Titikaka!" as our fellow tour mates lined up along the side of the boat with their cameras. Upon our bellowing, we both lept; Michael swan- dove; I, appropriately for a former Artilleryman, did a cannonball. I had threatened to soak the boat but ultimately I was kind and did not.
Great Googly- Moogly! That water was cold! I surfaced, grabbed my life preserver, and booked it as quickly as I could over to the take out point forty feet away. Unlike Michael I did not take the opportunity to have a leisure swim.
After all of that, we headed back into Puno. Andrew and I were thrilled to discover that we had a nice hotel (for there...it was about like a motel 8 in the states) and that we had a real shower with real hot water (not the deadly showerhead like everywhere else). We met up with the group at a bar/ restaurant where we proceeded to tie one on. After that we went over to a bar that claimed "This is the best pub on town with the best music in the planet." I will not relate the myriad events that occured therein, but shall simply say that when we stumbled out of the bar at 2am, the town was dead. We were kings of Puno. As Andrew later said, "That night might be the hardest I've ever partied on a Monday."
We got a nice power nap before we got to the bus station this morning. The bus ride was different, though equally as miserable, as the first one, as we were severely hung over (or still drunk, at first... we couldn't quite tell), sporadic blasts of Peruvian pop melted our heads, and the smell of all of us baking in the bus helped add to our nausea. We poured ourselves off the bus here in Cusco, thankful that Titikaka was well behind us. We're ready to get home.
We took an hour rideto the island of Tequile, during which many of our tour mates remarked on my being "Mr Popular" and "the belle of the ball." On Tequile, we were marched up to the main town where we were enjoined to buy the famous woven wares (which neither Andrew nor I did...no one's gonna tell me when to spend money) and then sat down to eat at a restaurant, while a local boy sang Beatles' songs in the local dialect in an effort to get us to help him pay his way through college.
All of that was all well and good, but I was looking forward to my dip in the lake. Michael, an Oregonian bow hunter, and I had been talking about taking a swim since the day before. Fortunately, the hike back down to the boat after the meal took up the thirty minutes that mothers insist children should wait to swim after eating, and I changed into my swimsuit in the outhouse by the moored boat.
I have to admit that I was concerned about the cold, especially after Almogenes, the guide, warned us that the lake was 10 degrees Celsius. Fifty degree water, for those that don't know, is very cold. So cold that there's a risk of immediate cramping, or of gasping when you hit the water and thus drowning. While the possibility of either of those things happening were not likely, it still gave me pause. Nonetheless, I was going in; after all, being able to say that I swam Lake Titikaka (in winter) was well worth the risk, and I'd already told the group I was going to, so there was no backing down.
Michael and I climbed up to the top deck of the boat, about ten feet above the water, stepped over the railing and held on to it as we prepared ourselves. Michael had had a bad experience jumping into Crater Lake before, so he made sure to throw a couple of life preservers into the water in case we cramped. I just focused on how crystal clear, yet deep blue the water was.
We agreed to jump to the count of three and a yelled, "Lake Titikaka!" as our fellow tour mates lined up along the side of the boat with their cameras. Upon our bellowing, we both lept; Michael swan- dove; I, appropriately for a former Artilleryman, did a cannonball. I had threatened to soak the boat but ultimately I was kind and did not.
Great Googly- Moogly! That water was cold! I surfaced, grabbed my life preserver, and booked it as quickly as I could over to the take out point forty feet away. Unlike Michael I did not take the opportunity to have a leisure swim.
After all of that, we headed back into Puno. Andrew and I were thrilled to discover that we had a nice hotel (for there...it was about like a motel 8 in the states) and that we had a real shower with real hot water (not the deadly showerhead like everywhere else). We met up with the group at a bar/ restaurant where we proceeded to tie one on. After that we went over to a bar that claimed "This is the best pub on town with the best music in the planet." I will not relate the myriad events that occured therein, but shall simply say that when we stumbled out of the bar at 2am, the town was dead. We were kings of Puno. As Andrew later said, "That night might be the hardest I've ever partied on a Monday."
We got a nice power nap before we got to the bus station this morning. The bus ride was different, though equally as miserable, as the first one, as we were severely hung over (or still drunk, at first... we couldn't quite tell), sporadic blasts of Peruvian pop melted our heads, and the smell of all of us baking in the bus helped add to our nausea. We poured ourselves off the bus here in Cusco, thankful that Titikaka was well behind us. We're ready to get home.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Titicaca (Day 1): June 28th
Andrew and I had latched on with a group of Oregonians from Medford and a Scottish family. After a short ride on the boat, during which we rammed another tour boat that tried to pass us, we got to our first floating island of the day. Almogenes, our guide, walked us to the center of the 100' by 70' island and sat us down on reed logs while he explained the various curiosities of the floating islands and their peoples (how they were constructed, how the people cooked food, etc).
Walking on the island felt like walking on a bed, what with it giving way before the surrounding tension kept us from sinking down any further. After Almogenes had finished his spiel and we had been kept there long enough to bilk money out of the Oregonians for the natives' various woven wares, we took a ride on a reed boat.
Unlike the island, the boat was surprisingly firm. It had no sail; it was propelled by the native on the aft two- handed till. My respect for Venetian gondoleers evaporated as our pilot deftly maneuvered us along, while sometimes training his son on the family trade, at a moderate pace.
When we'd finished our fun on the islands, we were taken on a three or four hour ride around the lake. As I was exhausted from the bus ride the night before, I slept a blissful, drooling sleep. Andrew, the social butterfly, spent the majority of the ride on the back deck, regaling the Scots with his tales.
At length, we arrived at Amantini, the island which we were staying on for the night. We scrambled off the boat and were immediately paired up with our host families, at whose homes we would be eating and sleeping. Andrew and I drew Florenzia, a tiny, hunched over woman who appeared to be about seventy and was more likely forty. She led us up the island, which was two big hills (230m above the lake) and a connecting ridgeline, to her home.
Much of the home appeared to be built on faith, what whith everything (walls, bannisters, etc) canted at a perilous angle. We weren't much concerned, other than when Andrew's head knocked off the rain gutter. Our room, with its hobbit-sized door, was everything we could have hoped for, in that it had marvelously soft, warm beds. Andrew particularly liked the room because it was "Andrew- sized", meaning that when he stood up his head perfectly wedged him under the canvas ceiling.
The thing about Lake Titikaka is that, at the end of the day, it doesn't have a Nessie, nor is it made of wine; it's just a lake. As such, Andrew and I weren't particularly riveted by the sights, though we were treated to a spectacular sunset on the top of one of the wind swept hills, but, rather, we were most interested in the culture. Our two meals were, in my mind at least, fantastic. Lunch was a fabulous soup and then a sort of fried omelet souffle on top of potatoes; supper was a different, though equally wonderful, soup and then rice and vegetable sauce.
The highlight of our time there, however, was most definitely the dance. When Almogenes had mentioned there would be a dance that night for the tourists to dance with the locals, Andrew and I were taken aback; it simply seemed exploitative and too manufactured. Thus, when Florenzia woke us after our post- supper siesta, neither of us were particularly excited to go. She offered us ponchos, which we thought was because it was cold, but we didn't accept them because I already had the poncho I'd bought in Cusco days before and Andrew had a jacket.
When we stepped outside, our jaws dropped. As there was no electricity on the island, and thus no light pollution, we could see more stars than we'd ever seen and the glow of the Milky Way was brighter as well. We both had a hard time following Florenzia on the rocky paths because our attention was diverted.
Florenzia, in our minds, had broken the cardinal rule by bringing us to the party early. We sat there, as though we were back in junior high, and chatted while the band warmed up. Three local women entered, all in the island's traditional garb (black embroidered blanket draped over their heads, white blouses with black open sweaters, and gaily embroidered turqoise colored calf length skirts), when I noticed that two of them were wearing pants underneath the skirts. They were two of the Oregonians. We quickly discovered, as more of the group showed up, that we all were supposed to be in native garb, which was the real reason Florenzia had offered us the ponchos. Fortunately for us, as it was chilly, we had worn the woolen Peruvian caps that everyone else had on.
Everyone had arrived and we were all sitting on the benches that lined the walls. I jokingly explained to the couple next to me that I would let them all have a go first because I was such an amazingly good dancer that I didn't want to steal all of the attention by being the party star off the bat. That blew up in my face when Florenzia waddled over, took me by the hand, and we started the dance. I was a bit self- conscious, but I threw that off and went for it.
Now, as I've mentioned before, ordinarily a bit of the sauce is required for a true Andre dance experience. Perhaps not having enough oxygen flowing to the old noggin put me in a similar state, or maybe it was that I had been blessed by my kinsman Wirracocha, the white- skinned Peruvian god of creation; whatever was causing it, the fact remains that I tore up that dance floor. We danced alone on the floor for a minute or so, as gringoes and Peruvians alike clapped, cheered, or sat dazed in overawed stupefaction. Finally, the Peruvians grabbed gringoes and we all boogied down.
Though I was undoubtedly the Peruvian dance god, the altitude still did a number on me. Unfortunately, I wasn't given a chance to rest as Peruvian woman after Peruvian woman sought me out to dance; however, this was where Andrew shone yet again. As, not just me, but the other gringoes flagged, he kept the party going, bouncing all over the dance floor with his partners and starting the congo line. Even with his prodigious stamina, we were both worn out after an hour and, I think to Florenzia's dismay, we made our way back to our room, where we collapsed into an exhausted slumber.
Walking on the island felt like walking on a bed, what with it giving way before the surrounding tension kept us from sinking down any further. After Almogenes had finished his spiel and we had been kept there long enough to bilk money out of the Oregonians for the natives' various woven wares, we took a ride on a reed boat.
Unlike the island, the boat was surprisingly firm. It had no sail; it was propelled by the native on the aft two- handed till. My respect for Venetian gondoleers evaporated as our pilot deftly maneuvered us along, while sometimes training his son on the family trade, at a moderate pace.
When we'd finished our fun on the islands, we were taken on a three or four hour ride around the lake. As I was exhausted from the bus ride the night before, I slept a blissful, drooling sleep. Andrew, the social butterfly, spent the majority of the ride on the back deck, regaling the Scots with his tales.
At length, we arrived at Amantini, the island which we were staying on for the night. We scrambled off the boat and were immediately paired up with our host families, at whose homes we would be eating and sleeping. Andrew and I drew Florenzia, a tiny, hunched over woman who appeared to be about seventy and was more likely forty. She led us up the island, which was two big hills (230m above the lake) and a connecting ridgeline, to her home.
Much of the home appeared to be built on faith, what whith everything (walls, bannisters, etc) canted at a perilous angle. We weren't much concerned, other than when Andrew's head knocked off the rain gutter. Our room, with its hobbit-sized door, was everything we could have hoped for, in that it had marvelously soft, warm beds. Andrew particularly liked the room because it was "Andrew- sized", meaning that when he stood up his head perfectly wedged him under the canvas ceiling.
The thing about Lake Titikaka is that, at the end of the day, it doesn't have a Nessie, nor is it made of wine; it's just a lake. As such, Andrew and I weren't particularly riveted by the sights, though we were treated to a spectacular sunset on the top of one of the wind swept hills, but, rather, we were most interested in the culture. Our two meals were, in my mind at least, fantastic. Lunch was a fabulous soup and then a sort of fried omelet souffle on top of potatoes; supper was a different, though equally wonderful, soup and then rice and vegetable sauce.
The highlight of our time there, however, was most definitely the dance. When Almogenes had mentioned there would be a dance that night for the tourists to dance with the locals, Andrew and I were taken aback; it simply seemed exploitative and too manufactured. Thus, when Florenzia woke us after our post- supper siesta, neither of us were particularly excited to go. She offered us ponchos, which we thought was because it was cold, but we didn't accept them because I already had the poncho I'd bought in Cusco days before and Andrew had a jacket.
When we stepped outside, our jaws dropped. As there was no electricity on the island, and thus no light pollution, we could see more stars than we'd ever seen and the glow of the Milky Way was brighter as well. We both had a hard time following Florenzia on the rocky paths because our attention was diverted.
Florenzia, in our minds, had broken the cardinal rule by bringing us to the party early. We sat there, as though we were back in junior high, and chatted while the band warmed up. Three local women entered, all in the island's traditional garb (black embroidered blanket draped over their heads, white blouses with black open sweaters, and gaily embroidered turqoise colored calf length skirts), when I noticed that two of them were wearing pants underneath the skirts. They were two of the Oregonians. We quickly discovered, as more of the group showed up, that we all were supposed to be in native garb, which was the real reason Florenzia had offered us the ponchos. Fortunately for us, as it was chilly, we had worn the woolen Peruvian caps that everyone else had on.
Everyone had arrived and we were all sitting on the benches that lined the walls. I jokingly explained to the couple next to me that I would let them all have a go first because I was such an amazingly good dancer that I didn't want to steal all of the attention by being the party star off the bat. That blew up in my face when Florenzia waddled over, took me by the hand, and we started the dance. I was a bit self- conscious, but I threw that off and went for it.
Now, as I've mentioned before, ordinarily a bit of the sauce is required for a true Andre dance experience. Perhaps not having enough oxygen flowing to the old noggin put me in a similar state, or maybe it was that I had been blessed by my kinsman Wirracocha, the white- skinned Peruvian god of creation; whatever was causing it, the fact remains that I tore up that dance floor. We danced alone on the floor for a minute or so, as gringoes and Peruvians alike clapped, cheered, or sat dazed in overawed stupefaction. Finally, the Peruvians grabbed gringoes and we all boogied down.
Though I was undoubtedly the Peruvian dance god, the altitude still did a number on me. Unfortunately, I wasn't given a chance to rest as Peruvian woman after Peruvian woman sought me out to dance; however, this was where Andrew shone yet again. As, not just me, but the other gringoes flagged, he kept the party going, bouncing all over the dance floor with his partners and starting the congo line. Even with his prodigious stamina, we were both worn out after an hour and, I think to Florenzia's dismay, we made our way back to our room, where we collapsed into an exhausted slumber.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Miserable Again...Woohoo!: June 27th, 2005
Andrew and I made a happy pair, him with his upset stomach, me with my sinus infection/ strep throat/ black death, as we barreled along in the bus to Puno. We had long decided that we were going to see Lake Hoohoopoo...I mean, Titicaca, and, with the festival in Cusco finally over, it was time to get going.
Why Lake Titicaca? In all honesty, I'm pretty sure it was solely the fact that it has a funny name. Is that a valid reason to visit somewhere? Do other people do that? Do y'all do that? (If so, I might recommend the Spanish town of Peñiscola, just north of Barcelona.)
At any rate, armed with our initial impetus to see such a place, we attempted to disguise our shameful reasoning by learning what we could about the lake so that we could b.s. our way through explaining our motivations to our fellow, more cultured, travelers. What we came up with, courtesy of the guidebook, is that the lake is the highest navigable lake on earth, there are man-made floating reed islands, and that it is the birthplace of civilization according to the Incas.
Armed with that abundance of knowledge, we set up a proper tour with a tour agency in Cusco. Unfortunately, to be able to "do" Titicaca, one must have four days available; we only had three. As two of the days were travel days though, we were able to work things out by taking an overnight bus and then launching into the tour immediately. Andrew and I were sold on all of this by the tour operator's assurance, counter to the holy guidebook, that the bus would be comfortable. "Two levels...big, bed seats."
If we have time when we get back to Cusco, before we have to catch our flight to Lima, I'm going to kick that guy flush. There were two levels to the bus; tis true, but the big bed seats were nothing more than economy airline seats with bizarre wedge headrests and nonexistent leg room. Perhaps the tour operator thought the fact they reclined made them bed seats? When I lowered mine it put me at that perfect angle where I felt that I was neither lying down in a position where I could sleep, nor was I sitting in a proper sitting position to sleep either. When the grimy, 20 y.o. German sitting in front of me lowered his, he crushed my knees and thus wedged my lower body into one position for the duration. My comfort, or discomfort rather, was nothing compared to Andrew's, however, as, since he sat on the aisle, he was knocked in the head by the marching horde of Peruvian women with massive bags of laundry strapped to their backs.
We'd gotten on our way at about 9:30pm. The bus, packed to the gills, was without air conditioning and was so hot that all the windows were covered with condensation. In an effort to save us from the stifling heat, I slid the window next to me open. We fell asleep, miraculously.
When we woke up at 3:30am, the bus having stopped for a moment to give the bag ladies a chance to smack Andrew senseless, I couldn't move my head from the crick in my neck, my throat was on fire, and it was freezing in the bus. I didn't want to move; I merely wanted to experience such an exquisite ordeal. Andrew took the opportunity to use the facilities downstairs. When he came up, he informed me that the bathroom door lock didn't work and there was no light. As that seemed like my sort of adventure, I made a run for it.
I pulled on the door, but it WAS locked. I stood there, in the entranceway to the bus, shivering because the bus door was open and watched tricycle taxis in whatever little town pick up the bag ladies. The bus started rolling, with the hydraulic door next to me still open, and whoever was in the bathroom still hadn't come out. I knocked on the door and heard a muffled whimper. I continued to hold on for dear life for a minute or so before the driver remembered to press the button and close the door.
About that time, a hottie in the lower compartment, which had its own door, made her way over to stand in line with me. The only problem was that, while the bus driver didn't remember to shut the main door for so long, he had remembered to lock the lower compartment, by hand, when he'd walked by during the stop in the little town. I attempted to play the part of the white knight but to no avail. No matter which way I turned the lock, I couldn't get the door open. Finally, in a fit of frustration masked as bravado for the looker, I put a shoulder into the door and it opened.
We stood there in the hallway as I explained that the bathroom was occupied. As she had no confidence in me after my flailing at the door, she asked if I were sure. I knocked, yet, again, but there was no response.
As the annoyed woman standing next to me was very attractive and I had no idea what the woman I might offend looked like, I played the odds and gave the bathroom door a considerable yank. It flew open to reveal no one inside. Sheepishly, I entered.
As Andrew had said, there were no lights. The bus was playing pothole slalom and I felt as though what I were about to attempt was as difficultly similar as mid- air refueling. There was no way the hottie wouldn't know it was me who destroyed the bathroom. Coward that I am, I buckled back up, stepped out, and informed her she would probably appreciate going before my impending debacle. Though taken aback, she accepted my offer nonetheless.
Fortunately for all readers, I need not go on in my usual manner, but, rather, I shall blithely say that I took care of business with an agility and determination that I scarcely thought possible.
After that, Andrew and I only had an hour on the bus, though the hour did feature a screaming child, before we were deposited in Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca. As we had three hours to wait until the tour guide picked us up, we attempted to find somewhere in the terminal to sleep. The deliciously biting cold that comes from being at 3800m (12500ft), the peddlers hassling us, and the blaring Lifetime movie (starring Keri Russell, no doubt titled something to the effect of "Not Without My Child, The INSERT NAME HERE Story") conspired to keep us cranky, miserable and without sleep.
Why Lake Titicaca? In all honesty, I'm pretty sure it was solely the fact that it has a funny name. Is that a valid reason to visit somewhere? Do other people do that? Do y'all do that? (If so, I might recommend the Spanish town of Peñiscola, just north of Barcelona.)
At any rate, armed with our initial impetus to see such a place, we attempted to disguise our shameful reasoning by learning what we could about the lake so that we could b.s. our way through explaining our motivations to our fellow, more cultured, travelers. What we came up with, courtesy of the guidebook, is that the lake is the highest navigable lake on earth, there are man-made floating reed islands, and that it is the birthplace of civilization according to the Incas.
Armed with that abundance of knowledge, we set up a proper tour with a tour agency in Cusco. Unfortunately, to be able to "do" Titicaca, one must have four days available; we only had three. As two of the days were travel days though, we were able to work things out by taking an overnight bus and then launching into the tour immediately. Andrew and I were sold on all of this by the tour operator's assurance, counter to the holy guidebook, that the bus would be comfortable. "Two levels...big, bed seats."
If we have time when we get back to Cusco, before we have to catch our flight to Lima, I'm going to kick that guy flush. There were two levels to the bus; tis true, but the big bed seats were nothing more than economy airline seats with bizarre wedge headrests and nonexistent leg room. Perhaps the tour operator thought the fact they reclined made them bed seats? When I lowered mine it put me at that perfect angle where I felt that I was neither lying down in a position where I could sleep, nor was I sitting in a proper sitting position to sleep either. When the grimy, 20 y.o. German sitting in front of me lowered his, he crushed my knees and thus wedged my lower body into one position for the duration. My comfort, or discomfort rather, was nothing compared to Andrew's, however, as, since he sat on the aisle, he was knocked in the head by the marching horde of Peruvian women with massive bags of laundry strapped to their backs.
We'd gotten on our way at about 9:30pm. The bus, packed to the gills, was without air conditioning and was so hot that all the windows were covered with condensation. In an effort to save us from the stifling heat, I slid the window next to me open. We fell asleep, miraculously.
When we woke up at 3:30am, the bus having stopped for a moment to give the bag ladies a chance to smack Andrew senseless, I couldn't move my head from the crick in my neck, my throat was on fire, and it was freezing in the bus. I didn't want to move; I merely wanted to experience such an exquisite ordeal. Andrew took the opportunity to use the facilities downstairs. When he came up, he informed me that the bathroom door lock didn't work and there was no light. As that seemed like my sort of adventure, I made a run for it.
I pulled on the door, but it WAS locked. I stood there, in the entranceway to the bus, shivering because the bus door was open and watched tricycle taxis in whatever little town pick up the bag ladies. The bus started rolling, with the hydraulic door next to me still open, and whoever was in the bathroom still hadn't come out. I knocked on the door and heard a muffled whimper. I continued to hold on for dear life for a minute or so before the driver remembered to press the button and close the door.
About that time, a hottie in the lower compartment, which had its own door, made her way over to stand in line with me. The only problem was that, while the bus driver didn't remember to shut the main door for so long, he had remembered to lock the lower compartment, by hand, when he'd walked by during the stop in the little town. I attempted to play the part of the white knight but to no avail. No matter which way I turned the lock, I couldn't get the door open. Finally, in a fit of frustration masked as bravado for the looker, I put a shoulder into the door and it opened.
We stood there in the hallway as I explained that the bathroom was occupied. As she had no confidence in me after my flailing at the door, she asked if I were sure. I knocked, yet, again, but there was no response.
As the annoyed woman standing next to me was very attractive and I had no idea what the woman I might offend looked like, I played the odds and gave the bathroom door a considerable yank. It flew open to reveal no one inside. Sheepishly, I entered.
As Andrew had said, there were no lights. The bus was playing pothole slalom and I felt as though what I were about to attempt was as difficultly similar as mid- air refueling. There was no way the hottie wouldn't know it was me who destroyed the bathroom. Coward that I am, I buckled back up, stepped out, and informed her she would probably appreciate going before my impending debacle. Though taken aback, she accepted my offer nonetheless.
Fortunately for all readers, I need not go on in my usual manner, but, rather, I shall blithely say that I took care of business with an agility and determination that I scarcely thought possible.
After that, Andrew and I only had an hour on the bus, though the hour did feature a screaming child, before we were deposited in Puno, on the shores of Lake Titicaca. As we had three hours to wait until the tour guide picked us up, we attempted to find somewhere in the terminal to sleep. The deliciously biting cold that comes from being at 3800m (12500ft), the peddlers hassling us, and the blaring Lifetime movie (starring Keri Russell, no doubt titled something to the effect of "Not Without My Child, The INSERT NAME HERE Story") conspired to keep us cranky, miserable and without sleep.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Inti Raymi: June 24th, 2005
We didn't really know what the festival of Inti Raymi (The Incan god was Inti), was going to include. For the last two days there has been a nearly perpetual parade around the main square, the Plaza de Armas. Different companies, government agencies, clubs, small towns, etc (basically any group of more than four people) participated. Most of the groups had a dance routine as they went around the square, though some just walked. All wore colorful native festive garb. Most of the time each group would have a few members with instruments (flutes and drums) who would play the same song as everyone else. Sometimes they dressed like cowboys, sometimes like Incans. One group we saw dressed up as monkeys. Our favorite though, were the multiple groups who dressed like cowboys and did a drunken stumble dance while they pretended to chug beer and then offer the bottle to a friend.
Today, we got to the plaza expecting more of the same, but that was not the case. The streets were empty. We asked some other gringoes what was going to happen and they didn't know. Whatever was going to happen, the police had cordoned off the inside of the plaza for it. At about ten or eleven, we figured out it was to be the ancient Incan ritual for the holiday when an Incan high priest led a procession of four Incan conch players to the middle of the square. Then came a band of flute players and drummers. Next came four groups of warriors. The two bookend groups (one wearing orange robes, the other grey) carried shields and weapons which I can only describe as flat stones on two foot sticks. The two middle groups carried shields and one had stone hatchets while the other had pikes with stone blades. Behind them came the Inca's (Inca was actually only the name of the king...calling them Incas is like calling all UKers Windsors) concubines and the virgins of the sun, who were all carrying bowls with food in them, which I supposed were to represent the bounty of the empire. The queen was brought out on a silver litter and she wore silver (Silver represents the moon, which is considered the bride of the Sun).
The last group before the Inca came out was a small group of what I can only describe as jungle indians, because they wore thongish garb with shell flaps covering the bits (the women wore shell bikini tops, the men wore cross leather straps). The lead indian held a python out before her. The women wore feather headdresses that looked like a peacock's splayed tail.
Finally, the Inca was brought out in his golden litter being hoisted by about twenty men. He had the most ornate robe, which had gold woven into it, and carried his great scepter, which was topped by a golden axe blade and corn husk. As he dismounted, all of the participants bowed and the other priest followed him as he walked up to the center of the plaza; a lackey held the train of his robe.
As for the ceremony, the Inca stood silently, arms out, basking in the sun for a time and then he delivered his speech in Quecha, the still- used Incan language. The jungle indians then did a highly erotic dance (how did the women not pop out of those outfits shaking like that?) that centered around the python, and, when they had finished, runners brought out colored beads to present to the Inca, which, since the Incas didn't have writing, functioned as the record of the produce of the Empire (I think).
The ceremony finished with the Inca speaking some more and then getting back on his litter. The participants rearranged themselves into a procession and made their way out of the plaza. The spectators poured into the plaza so that they could get as close to the Inca as possible.
At that point, Andrew and I headed up to Sacsayhuayman (Pronounced "sexy woman"), the site of Incan ruins just above the city, where we were told that they were going to sacrifice a llama. Suffice it to say that with entertainment like that, Sacsayhuayman was packed. Andrew and I found very uncomfortable "seats" on the side of a hill where we could see most of the platform where the sacrifice was to take place. We baked in the sun while the Peruvians blew their one o' clock start time. Finally, the Incan procession made it to their positions and the ceremony started. Without going into the nitnoid details, I'll simply condense it enough to say that they all got in their positions, the Inca spoke A LOT, they set fire to some bales of hay, the llama was finally hoisted up onto the altar an hour into the ceremony, a priest stabbed it and then cut out its heart and presented it for everyone to see, and Andrew and I got the hell out of there since that was what we'd waited two hours for.
As far as holidays go, it was pretty entertaining.
Today, we got to the plaza expecting more of the same, but that was not the case. The streets were empty. We asked some other gringoes what was going to happen and they didn't know. Whatever was going to happen, the police had cordoned off the inside of the plaza for it. At about ten or eleven, we figured out it was to be the ancient Incan ritual for the holiday when an Incan high priest led a procession of four Incan conch players to the middle of the square. Then came a band of flute players and drummers. Next came four groups of warriors. The two bookend groups (one wearing orange robes, the other grey) carried shields and weapons which I can only describe as flat stones on two foot sticks. The two middle groups carried shields and one had stone hatchets while the other had pikes with stone blades. Behind them came the Inca's (Inca was actually only the name of the king...calling them Incas is like calling all UKers Windsors) concubines and the virgins of the sun, who were all carrying bowls with food in them, which I supposed were to represent the bounty of the empire. The queen was brought out on a silver litter and she wore silver (Silver represents the moon, which is considered the bride of the Sun).
The last group before the Inca came out was a small group of what I can only describe as jungle indians, because they wore thongish garb with shell flaps covering the bits (the women wore shell bikini tops, the men wore cross leather straps). The lead indian held a python out before her. The women wore feather headdresses that looked like a peacock's splayed tail.
Finally, the Inca was brought out in his golden litter being hoisted by about twenty men. He had the most ornate robe, which had gold woven into it, and carried his great scepter, which was topped by a golden axe blade and corn husk. As he dismounted, all of the participants bowed and the other priest followed him as he walked up to the center of the plaza; a lackey held the train of his robe.
As for the ceremony, the Inca stood silently, arms out, basking in the sun for a time and then he delivered his speech in Quecha, the still- used Incan language. The jungle indians then did a highly erotic dance (how did the women not pop out of those outfits shaking like that?) that centered around the python, and, when they had finished, runners brought out colored beads to present to the Inca, which, since the Incas didn't have writing, functioned as the record of the produce of the Empire (I think).
The ceremony finished with the Inca speaking some more and then getting back on his litter. The participants rearranged themselves into a procession and made their way out of the plaza. The spectators poured into the plaza so that they could get as close to the Inca as possible.
At that point, Andrew and I headed up to Sacsayhuayman (Pronounced "sexy woman"), the site of Incan ruins just above the city, where we were told that they were going to sacrifice a llama. Suffice it to say that with entertainment like that, Sacsayhuayman was packed. Andrew and I found very uncomfortable "seats" on the side of a hill where we could see most of the platform where the sacrifice was to take place. We baked in the sun while the Peruvians blew their one o' clock start time. Finally, the Incan procession made it to their positions and the ceremony started. Without going into the nitnoid details, I'll simply condense it enough to say that they all got in their positions, the Inca spoke A LOT, they set fire to some bales of hay, the llama was finally hoisted up onto the altar an hour into the ceremony, a priest stabbed it and then cut out its heart and presented it for everyone to see, and Andrew and I got the hell out of there since that was what we'd waited two hours for.
As far as holidays go, it was pretty entertaining.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
World Wearied: June 23rd, 2005
We found a sports bar that carried the NBA game and on the way there we ran into Niels, who had finally bathed, thankfully. After the game, Niels took us around to the various dance clubs here in Cusco where he was trying to meet up with the other teaching volunteers. Andrew and I shook our "groove thang" mightily, which, as some of you are well aware, meant that I had been pouring down my fair share of the sauce ("my fair share" = way more than decency allows).
After having gone to (and conquered, in my opinion) about five clubs, we finally found the volunteers. Niels was right to have gone to so much trouble to find them. Most of them were girls and they were smokin'. Unfortunately, they were all also nineteen. It was/is sad. I'm twenty- six; is there something wrong with me when I'm not willing to put up with what comes out of a nineteen- year- old's mouth just because she's hot? Hell, even when they didn't say anything, they just exuded their... well, whatever that was so annoying about their youth. At any rate, the fact that we were all shaking it to songs that came out before they were born and I remembered from my childhood quite vividly didn't help my carmudgeonly instincts. After about thirty minutes of having the nineteen year old guys try to cut in and having to toss them, Andrew and I, like proper old men, decided that was too much of that silliness and went back to the hostel to crash.
After having gone to (and conquered, in my opinion) about five clubs, we finally found the volunteers. Niels was right to have gone to so much trouble to find them. Most of them were girls and they were smokin'. Unfortunately, they were all also nineteen. It was/is sad. I'm twenty- six; is there something wrong with me when I'm not willing to put up with what comes out of a nineteen- year- old's mouth just because she's hot? Hell, even when they didn't say anything, they just exuded their... well, whatever that was so annoying about their youth. At any rate, the fact that we were all shaking it to songs that came out before they were born and I remembered from my childhood quite vividly didn't help my carmudgeonly instincts. After about thirty minutes of having the nineteen year old guys try to cut in and having to toss them, Andrew and I, like proper old men, decided that was too much of that silliness and went back to the hostel to crash.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Machu Picchu: June 21st, 2005
We woke up groggily at 4:30am and, yet again, we could hear the "#$!ing roosters. We got up so early because we wanted to make sure that we beat the hordes who were flocking to Machu Picchu (which in the native language of quecha means "old mountain") for the sunrise on the solstice, which is the time to be there. I got really frustrated because Jose Luis hadn't bought the bus tickets up to Machu Picchu the night before like he said he would. There we were standing around waiting for him to get through the ticket line as bus after bus filled with tourists and left; it was already growing light.
Fortunately, we got the Evel Knievel of tourist bus drivers and he raced up the mountain. Ordinarily I would have been terrified by his passing another bus on a small straightaway on a tiny dirt road, but I wanted to make sure we didn't miss that sunrise. We got up there in plenty of time, but all the tourists that had gotten there had already staked out the best spots to witness the "phenomenon", as Jose Luis put it. In Machu Picchu the solstice is special because, the sun temple there was built so that on the 21st, the light breaks over the mountain and goes perfectly through the one window facing that side (it also has a special window for the december solstice, but that one isn't as important) onto the altar. June 21st was the Inca New Year and the largest celebration of the year since the sun was their main god. In fact, the big festival, Inti Raymi, that we're going to in Cusco on the 24th was originally on the 21st, but the Roman Catholics made the natives switch the date (on a side note, they still sacrifice a llama at the festival and the Incan flag flies above the churches).
Fortunately, while we didn't have the best positions, we were taller than most of the tourists and so we got to see the "phenomenon". Actually, it wasn't life changing (no map showing where the treasure was hidden like Raiders of the Lost Ark)
Jose Luis took us around and showed us the various temples (to Water, the Earth, the Condor, and the mountains) and the various neat aspects of the town. We were fortunate in that the train from Cusco hadn't arrived yet, so there weren't the scads of tourists that there ordinarily are. After we wandered on our own a bit we bid farewell to Machu Picchu and made our way back to Cusco, where the preparations for Inti Raymi were well underway.
During the course of the trip, Andrew has been taking pictures of all of our various activities, and when he has the opportunity, he\'ll upload them on the web. I really can't do Machu Picchu justice with words.
Fortunately, we got the Evel Knievel of tourist bus drivers and he raced up the mountain. Ordinarily I would have been terrified by his passing another bus on a small straightaway on a tiny dirt road, but I wanted to make sure we didn't miss that sunrise. We got up there in plenty of time, but all the tourists that had gotten there had already staked out the best spots to witness the "phenomenon", as Jose Luis put it. In Machu Picchu the solstice is special because, the sun temple there was built so that on the 21st, the light breaks over the mountain and goes perfectly through the one window facing that side (it also has a special window for the december solstice, but that one isn't as important) onto the altar. June 21st was the Inca New Year and the largest celebration of the year since the sun was their main god. In fact, the big festival, Inti Raymi, that we're going to in Cusco on the 24th was originally on the 21st, but the Roman Catholics made the natives switch the date (on a side note, they still sacrifice a llama at the festival and the Incan flag flies above the churches).
Fortunately, while we didn't have the best positions, we were taller than most of the tourists and so we got to see the "phenomenon". Actually, it wasn't life changing (no map showing where the treasure was hidden like Raiders of the Lost Ark)
Jose Luis took us around and showed us the various temples (to Water, the Earth, the Condor, and the mountains) and the various neat aspects of the town. We were fortunate in that the train from Cusco hadn't arrived yet, so there weren't the scads of tourists that there ordinarily are. After we wandered on our own a bit we bid farewell to Machu Picchu and made our way back to Cusco, where the preparations for Inti Raymi were well underway.
During the course of the trip, Andrew has been taking pictures of all of our various activities, and when he has the opportunity, he\'ll upload them on the web. I really can't do Machu Picchu justice with words.
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