Markets and Ruins.... Win-Win, no?

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Hey all!
I had an amazing weekend and I thought I´d share a little bit of it with you.
In Qosqo, all Saturday long I went on a ¨market walk¨. A ¨market walk¨is what happens who one leaves the house of one´s host family with the intention of reaching Mercado San Pedro (a centralized maket in Qosqo), and runs into a market on nearly every block en route! Being a curious person, of course I had to at least stroll around these amazing places, which bumb up there presence all over Qosqo on Saturdays. The markets here are part dream-come true (fruits, vegetables, and cereals in bulk, herbs, loose-leaf teas, local plants, traditional medicines, etc.) and part nightmare (how many little plastic trinkets, or plastic-wrapped items do folks seriously need? That goes for you too, Americans!). However, it is a delightful experience visiting local markets as I often never see another Westerner and I practice my Spanish (little by little, I´m improving at the tactful and polite art of bargaining with vendors). I pick up local vocabulary, customs, and day-to-day lifestyle more at the mercados than anywhere.
So, after many hours and a wonderful meal for 3 soles (about a dollar), I made it to San Pedro, or nearby. Before I went inside, I met a chap named Javier, perhaps the first peruano who engaged me on subjects other than my femininity or his ability to sell me something. Javier and I walked around in the market, I bought some teas and Peruvian chocolate (indescribably delicious, and also the very first time I have eaten locally-produced chocolate) (by the way, did you know that the Incas were the first to grow and produce cacao in South America? I certainly did not, until Saturday!), and other such beautiful things in the market. Javier asked if I wanted to go to Pisaq the next day, and, as I very much wanted to, we agreed to meet there the next day.
Well, as I walked home, I made shorter visits to each mercado, and, lo and behold, I ran into Javier again. He told me more about Lima (as I completely shut it out of my reality on my hour-or-two long visit there), his life and friends, etc. I realized that I trusted him enough to go on a day-trip together, and say chau for the evening. When I got home, my host mother Gladys did what she is very talented at: acting the part of the mother, or, fawning if you will. She told me that she was glad I didn´t get sick from the street food (I felt and still feel totally fine), and to take care if I went to Pisaq the next day with Javier.
Apparently, it is not uncommon for locals to befriend tourists only to take them somewhere desolate and be very, very mean to them in some way. So, if you ever fancy visiting South America, word up. This is the same as folks slitting your day-pack to rob you in a bus or collectivo taxi, or in a market. Awarness of these possibilities is important, but as my soccer coach in elementary school put it, ¨the best defense is offense¨, or maybe the other way around. It´s been a while. Anyway, what I mean to say is never under-estimate the power of logic. For example: I have much more sensitivity in my skin than in my purse, so why not put large bills in my bra? At least, then I´ll know if someone is taking them, right? Or, hmmmmm, what do I have of value to an average Peruvian? Not much, maybe my camera. So, it is important to reflect, ¨is carrying this camera necessary? It is actually serving me all day long, all week long, all year long in my cross-cultural exploration? Or, rather, is it a caputalistic tool for ´othering´those in my host-country, and to be carried and used conscientiously rather than uniformly thoughout my travels?¨Ok, that may seem overboard, but so far no one had stolen or percievably tired to steal anything from me, and folks seem grateful and happy when I talk in Spanish. Enough said: there is more to Peruvian culture than tourist culture.
Anyway, Sunday was also incredibly fun. Javier and I met up (of course, about half an hour later than we agreed), and decided to take a collective taxi to Pisaq. It was wonderful to get out of the city (although Qosqo is not gigantic, it is still pretty frenetic and, I´m gonna say it again, the exhaust gets to me), to see the mountains (a very light grey color in the dry season), all of the ¨faldas¨of the terrain (I beleive a combination of terracting by the Incas or geological formations that give the lanscape a layered, rippling look). We arrived, and witnessed Pisq in it´s full-Sunday Glory. It kind of reminds me of the Tonasket Barter fair: stalls everywhere, in all of the tiny, narrow streets, except everything is either handmade in Peru or from a factory in Peru. Anyway, it´s the kind of market that is slightly overwhelming.
Javier and I got some snacks (yummy empanadas), and decided to walk up to the incredible ruins atop the mountains around Pisaq. There is a price for Peruvians and for tourist, however, Javier was not content that either one of us should have to pay the full price. While I sat aside near the gate, he used his native Spanish skills and inherent capacity to bargain to get us both in for a Peruvian price (convincing the officials that I was a peruana from Arequipa), and bartering a watch for the price of both of us. Needless to say, none of that would have happened on an organized tour, but I probably woulnd´t have gotten to hang out, practice Spanish, and get and insider´s view of tourist attractions if I wasn´t there with a Peruvian friend.
So, after getting in to the trail, it was pretty much a straight hike up, with many switchbacked paths over terraces and stone-enforced trails. Comp'letely beautiful, but as javier says, the Incas are ´loco´for their intense construction projects. We hiked and hiked, communing with the native eucalyptus trees and the sherly immense spirits of the mountains, called Apus. We talked about faeries, spirituality, politics, pop-culture, all sorts of things, and in Spanish! It was pretty fun, and I´m glad to have a friend.
Javier is from a family of southern-European immigrants, and often get mis-identified as a gringo when, in fact, he has only ever lived in Peru and spoken Spanish. Racism, or race-awarness, is alive and well in Peru. After a long while hiking but not reaching the top of the ruins, we decided to go back down. I will be living in or near Pisaq in the future, and would rather summitting the ruins be a process and not a daytrip.
My weekend was full of experiences with locals, practicing Spanish, and the beauty of place and people in Peru. I hope you all also are having a marvelous time!
Chau!

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