Trip Bellybutton

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Cusco was one of the definite flag-on-the-map destinations for my trip. Visiting Machu Picchu via the Inca Trail was the entire basis for this South American adventure so it was a good feeling to be so close after more than 12 months of planning.

After reading that it was a 12-15 hour trip from Puno to Cusco, we thought we had stumbled on a real find when a company offered a 6 hour service (in fact the roads and service have been improved). We happily jumped aboard and settled in to stare out at the impressive mountain country that we were entering.
Not too far into the journey we ran into some sort of traffic jam and an odd French-Canadian girl wandered up to the ´cockpit' to find out what was going on. On her return she informed the bus that we had run into a bit of civil unrest in the form of a bloqueado, a road-block demonstration to protest unhappiness with a certain Snr. Ochoa. Every vehicle had “muerte a Ochoa” scrawled on the windscreen by grinning teenagers. At leat I assume it is a person... I suppose Ochoa could be animal, vegetable or mineral. Not sure.

We all piled out of the bus to see that the road had been well and truly blocked by large boulders pried-loose and rolled down from the surrounding hills. Little children eagerly added to the mayhem with hundreds of smaller rocks and stood around burning tyres. All of the demonstrators had odd grins on their face as if they had created some sort of excellent circus which they were truly enjoying.

For the most part, the bus-group was not overly annoyed. There was lot´s of fair-play commenting from our privileged lot along the lines of “It´s their right to demonstrate” and “it is only a small inconvenience to us and they are living in such poverty...” etc. After a couple of hours and what seemed like some intervention by a little Peruvian negotiation team from the rear of our bus, we were underway again. Carefully driving over the hundreds of small sharp rocks still on the road, with running children trying hard to throw more under the wheels.

There were plenty of relieved looks and comments about “new experiences” until we shuddered to a halt around the bend where the next little town was doing exactly the same thing. All of that understanding and sympathising with their cause evaporated pretty quickly over the next few hours.

My journal makes quite funny reading during this period as I was convinced that we were free and clear every time we made it through another crowd. I think I might have been jinxing us with my writing. The combination of all of these little staring, grinning groups set us back six hours and we rolled into Cusco after dark. Still, we weren´t really put out that badly. Just a bit peckish.


Cusco is tourist central. If you aren´t sure if you are wearing your huge bum-bag properly, this is the place to come and compare notes. In Cusco you are either a tourist or you are chasing tourist dollars. It seems that there is no other category. This would normally be a negative but the place is just so beautiful that it fades into insignificance. The Plaza de Armas was far prettier than any of the photos I had seen and the surrounding architecture takes hours to absorb properly.
While you are in the bounds of that square, you are fair game to literally hundreds of aggressive hawkers who are routinely and lethargically chased away by tourist police. You are bombarded by smart little kids flogging finger puppets and rattling off well-rehearsed lines designed for maximum cuteness and sympathy. I was genuinely surprised at how good they were at getting me to talk to them. Hours and hours of practice.
Going out to dinner is an exercise in patience as spruikers from each of the hundreds of restaurants flock and squawk around you like seagulls after a hot chip. Roxy was manhandled a couple of times in the crush and the only consolation is that, once you are safely ensconced in a little balcony with your food, you can watch it happening to other people from above.

All of this inconvenience goes with the territory though, with the average Inca Trail tour running to USD250 and jungle trips over USD400, there are millions of tourist dollars washing along the streets and everyone is out to scoop up their share. A good example was Roxy´s shopping trip to a jewellery store near the square. She asked for a price on a ring that she liked and was told USD50. When she put it back the girl quickly said: “OK, twelve! Because I like you”. Sold for ten.
Obviously a lot of people buy at the first price and the vendors just see what they can get away with...

(Incidentally the postcard sellers carry written lists to double check their prices and they feature one price for North American Tourists and another price for "all other tourists").

Cusco was only intended as a means to an end for me and it was not long before I was handing over a fat wad of cash at an Inca Trail agency that I had selected months ago on two personal recommendations. However, the exchange didn´t take place until I spent a good 40 minutes figuring out how to avoid a USD15 fee that seemed to be worked into every method of payment. The guy grinned at me when I figured it out and avoided paying the chump-tax.
Cheeky b*ggers.

What I found truly bizarre was that I was sitting in the office ready to head off on the trail on 15th and I was told that I couldn´t go with this particular agency until the 22nd.
Why is this bizarre?
On my very first travel itenery, sketched out at my desk over six months earlier, I had scribbled “Inca Trail 22/04/2005” as a guess, purely because it was roughly the centre of my three months. Spooky.
With so much riding on the weather pattern for the four day trek, I decided that it was fate and that this could only mean perfect conditions awaited my group.


Did someone say HORSES?!
Still buzzing from gallivanting around the Bolivian Pampas on trusty Octurro, I suggested that Roxy and I should explore the Sacred Valley on horseback rather than being bussed around in a minivan.
Tally Ho!

Man, those were some sad horses. It all seemed a bit ominous when we arrived at the stables and two of the twenty steeds immediately made a run for it. Of course, those were our two.
Mine seemed to have been pumped full of gas right before we arrived and he stumbled and farted his way along the road to such a point that I was about to get off him and get out the white screen.
True to form, I had again been given a proper horse while Roxy got her standard-issue poxy mule. However, she seemed quite happy with the arrangement - not too much danger of being thrown when your feet are dragging on the ground.

We trotted our way around four interesting Inca sites with our little horse-wrangler running alongside. Apparently the amount that I negotiated for the tour didn´t allow for him to have a horse. This made us feel a bit weird but he seemed happy and we later tipped him enough to at least put a deposit on my gassy one.

Our sedate ride took us through Q'enko, Puca Pucarra, Tambomachay and Sacsayhuaman (See photos). Any attempts by me to show off some of my newly discovered (imaginary) horsemanship were met with stiff resistance from my poorly beast. It felt a bit like being on one of those lame car rides at amusement parks where you are actually on rails. Still, I think I was missing the point of the tour.

Of the sites, Sacsayhuaman was by far the most impressive - a massive Inca fort that proved a costly prize for the Spanish after a prolonged seige. The engineering involved in the construction is truly dumbfounding. One of the ´bricks´ in the outer wall weighs more than 300 tonnes. (“Actually, no guys, I think it looks better over there...”).

I was full of glee running around the ramparts, nodding my approval and conceding that this was indeed better than any of the forts that I had managed to build out of the family lounge.

Back in town I backed out of a pact with myself to eat some guinea pig (local delicacy) when I noted the presentation-style. They seemed to be simply skewered top to tail and put under a blow torch. The toothy death-grimace wasn´t doing it for me. Some of them looked like they could have even survived and were faking it, waiting for the right moment to make a run for it and find a quiet corner to pull out the skewer.

Pisco Sours?
Bzzzt.
Not a fan. I tried, really I did but the egg-white froth got to me.

Massive local corn-on-the-cob?
Bow bowww!
Eww. Chewy. Starchy. Make it stop.

I must have hit a bad run of places to try these things as others have raved about how good they are (except the guinea pig which a friend described as “like eating shoes with bones in them”).

All of that childishness out of the way, I did eat some of the best food of my trip in Cusco and, with the amazing lighting of the plaza and it´s surrounds, the food is almost secondary.


Even after making plans to meet up here, it was still a surprise when different friends from earlier adventures descended on Cusco simultaneously to meet up and re-live whatever it was that we lived through together the first time. Lina and Karin - the classic Swedes from Uyuni, and Duncan and Grif - the Geezers from Buenos Aires - all arrived at once and there were mighty plans to go out and tear up the clubs. Unfortunately I was suddenly struck down with food poisoning and it was up to Roxy to fly the flag while I writhed around in bed with stomach aliens.

Despite being miserable and uncomfortable, I wasn´t overly surprised or annoyed. It is virtually impossible to travel this continent without getting sick and a cushy hostel in Cusco was the best place that I could ask for to ride it out.

That being said, there wasn´t much improvement after two days and I was still sick when I got up at 5am on the 22nd to hut-hut-hut with my pack towards the meeting point for the Inca Trail group. Things were looking ominous...

- - -
Roxy had run out of time and was off on a shorter version of the Inca Trail so that she could get back in time for her flight to Lima and onwards to Europe. It was a sad and hurried farewell in the pre-dawn outside the hostel. A most excellent travelling companion who added a whole different dimension to my trip.

- Came to the jungle despite being terrified of ALL creatures great and small.
- Waxed lyrical about the simple pleasure of coming all the way over here to do nothing for days on end.
- Made some of the most peculiar comments that I have ever heard.
- Hunted ice-cream out of every corner with steely determination.
- Made me hurt my stomach laughing in Plaza de Armas. (I thought I tore something).

Good luck in Europe Rox. Try and get out and see some stuff :-)
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Photos

If it wasn´t for that cage...
Untamed pillows. Not your domestic variety.

Moooore horses!
Flying along on these wild horses above Cusco

Tough life in Cusco
Gringo hat: Check.

Riot squad
Severely underfunded

Comments

[anonymous]

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your writing is, that is. I have just printed off up to here excluding the photos on the bottom of each which i can do if you like. I though i should take them to anna i am not sure if mum is reading them to her, and also so you can have them whe you get back on paper. Keep them comming - Phil