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Published: October 16th 2008
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Cuzco scene
Narrows from San Blas to Armas, woman and child ¿Qué país? "What country?" Shorthand for where are you from? That's a common question here, and the question calls for a simple answer. "El Medio Oeste de los Estados Unidos." But the answer is also the beginning of a new experience. One's home is never the same after going somewhere else. El Medio is a different middle than it was before.
Eight months ago, I didn't know that Cuzco was in southeastern Peru. I'd never heard of Ollaytantambo, Quechua, Pisac, la Chicana, Chincero, Arequipa, Colca Canyon, Winay Wayna, Wayna Picchu, Intipata, Andagua, Cirani, Choco, Chachacoma, and a dozen other places. I'd never met Edison, Mario, nor had shishkabab in Arequipa, nor cuy, or cebiche, or ricotto rellena. Lima was a bean, and quinoa was something that sounded as if it should be in a cereal, which it is. Los Ninos would have meant to me, "the children" and not a hotel in Cuzco that, as it turns out, serves indigent children in the Cuzco area.
A few months before the trip, I wanted to read a Peruvian novelist. Mario Vargas Llosa is the writer who comes up most in a search. My first find in the local library, the
Back at Armas
Sun shaded, folding into Cuzco selection was slim, was a novel called Death In The Andes. My wife's comment was "Are you sure you want to read about that?" Sure enough, in the first 20 pages a French couple, touring the Andes in the 1980s, and riding an overnight bus, is murdered by a band of Sendero Luminoso, the Shining Path. I put the book down. A month later, when it comes time to book my travel from Cuzco to Arequipa, I decide on an airplane and not the night bus. The winged trasport proves to be the wise choice from a time standpoint, but the pilgrim traveler in me (not of the Mayflower pilgrims) wanted to log the nightbus experience. As it turns out, I got the bus trip by way of the the trek to Andagua with my trusted guide Edison on that nine hour ride over the spine of Corupuna and down to Arequipa.
Thousands by the way take the buses with minimal travail, but even the tour books from Lonely Planet to Footprints prudently warn of the occasional highjackings on the night buses.
Lan Peru flight 115 has landed us safely in Cuzco at 9:30 a.m. I'm back at
At Thupaq Amaru
Street scene near the train station. Los Ninos I by 10:15, and my room is open. I really like this hotel. It's a humble two star, with a peaceful sense to it. Nothing fancy here, but they conduct busines and treat guests with the highest respect. It's in their business culture. Behind the business model is the social entrepreneur Jolanda van den Berg, formerly of The Hague. Net profits of the hotel enterprise go toward the support of children ages 6-12 in Cuzco who are in at risk situations. Most of them are in single parent households or from families that have moved to Cuzco from the highlands. Many people migrate into Cuzco and other large cities for the few jobs.
The Peruvian public school system runs for half a day, leaving many kids to their own devices or to fend for themselves in unstructured settings. My own experience working with at risk kids through the RAGBRAI's Dream Tream program has given me a greater understanding of what many kids are up against. Many of us have had it pretty darn good, but most, thinking world-wide, have not.
It was the Register's Annual Bike Ride Across Iowa that came to mind as my state's
At the school
Street scene at the school of sciences, Cuzco claim to fame when my fellow Inca Trail trekers from Yorkshire asked me about Iowa. But if a local asked, and in a country such as Peru, I didn't think RAGBRAI would make any sense. Why would 10,000 people ride across a state? Here's a nomad experience, but nomadism separated from any purpose other than to eat and drink, and log some good miles on the bike. At least that might be the way it would seem to Peruvians. I've always enjoyed the event and found it a way to connect to my state and to the people in it. The difference in perspective is between that of a developed and a developing country.
Peru is a place where the majority of people don't own a bicycle for transport, let alone for recreation. True: they may not have need of wheels; feet or hooves work just fine, or a the bus. If you have a vehicle, chances are you are a taxi driver. (It could be that the Peruvians think bikes are for wimps.) Lima and Arequipa are a bit better off, but the numbers are relative to the population: almost 9 million in Lima and 1 million in
Narrow way
In San Blas, Cuzco Arequipa. The monetary challenge is simply more concentrated.
So back in Cuzco after the trek in the Andes to Andagua. No problem with the altitude now. I walk through the cityscape after depositing my gear at Los Ninos. Taxis stream by, and dozens of small buses, known as collectivos and combis, that serve as civil transport.
I have no luck finding a sweater or good gifts (whatever those are), so I wander though the narrow streets of San Blas, back through the Plaza Nazarenes and around the corner, if memory serves to walk by El Monasterio hotel and the Museo des Incas. Then on around to Ave. del Sol and from there a circle back on side streets to the plaza, and off to the west to a district of clothing shops, butcher shops, and then on to the train station, an area not be in at night.
At 5 p.m. I meet a Los Ninos representative who will give a tour of the project. I join a young Dutch couple interested in learning more about the founder. Is Titus still with Jolanda? We walk through narrow Cuzco streets to nearby Los Ninos 2, where there's a
Props on
Calle Teatro gym and a dining room. The project funds a physician and dental work as well. It's clear that the project founders have administrative and marketing know-how. Recently, a facility has opened in Huasao village, next door to Los Ninos Hacienda.
Time for a quick sandwich, a Dutch sandwich of cheese and tomato in the Los Ninos cafe, and I'm off to get my Inca Trail briefing. That's done--it's cursory for such a seasoned treker as I--and so back to the hotel.
Tonight I finish a novel called The Story Teller, by Mario Vargas Llosa. The setting is the lower Urubamba district, where a tribe called the Machiguenga live. Portions of the book are told in the viewpoint of this pre-industrial, pre-scientific tribe, almost pre-historical tribe. But history has come to them, and a refugee from the bigger world joins them. The narrator, now in Italy, reflects back on his college days his troubled Peru. He is struck by evidence in Italy through a photography exhibit that his friend, who has a debilitating facial birthmark, joined the Machiguenga tribe as a story teller. It's a story about this story teller, of the upper Amazon basin, of the Machiguenga, and of Peru's troubled march into the modern era. But no Death in the Andes. This is a decent substitute for traveling to the jungle.
I slip down to the cafe for one more piece of the Torte Chocolate.
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