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| View from the bus window |
Despite my bus journey being “first class”
it was the most restless I'd had on my travels so far. Nevertheless
the scenery was spectacular, especially as the road rose above the
clouds in the valleys and our bus wound its way through the
mountains. Our stop for breakfast was a nice juxtaposition with the
relative luxury of the bus, since the only food available was chunks of
meat and potatoes being cooked up by a woman in a massive pot
outside. It wasn't the breakfast of champions but was a lot more
exciting than the aeroplane-esque food we'd got on the bus the night
before.
Travelling around by bus in South America is
subject to numerous uncontrollable factors so I'd given up asking
about arrival times. As a result I was pleasantly surprised when we
arrived in Cuzco after a mere 22 hours! I headed to a hostel that had
been recommended by the owners of the hostel in Lima (the one where
I'd slept in the cement room) so my expectations were fairly low.
Again, pleasant surprise was the order of the day when I was shown to
a 5 bedroom dorm which had double beds and no-one else in it. Result.
The altitude quickly hit me as I went on a
sleep deprived exploration of Cuzco. Nothing makes you stand out more
like a recently arrived tourist than puffing and wheezing up an
incline while the locals saunter casually past you. The other thing
which is instantly noticeable and inescapable is the quantity of
tourists. Cuzco's main industry is tourism due to its proximity to
Machu Pichu which is a blessing and curse. It undeniably brings money
into the region but on the other hand walking around the main square
is a bit of a chore. On every step you are pestered by people
offering tours, massages, shoe shines, paintings, drugs or alpaca
clothes and the presence of both McDonald's, KFC and Starbucks is a
sad reminder of tourism's homogenising impact.
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| Policeman on a segway! |
I paid a visit to the offices of the company
with whom I would be trekking the Inca Trail and received a garish
yellow “I survived the Inca Trail” t-shirt which seemed a bit
presumptuous. I briefly flirted with the idea of hiring hiking boots
and a heavy-duty rain jacket but then decided that if I survived
Roraima with no extras, I would do so again.
The next day I started my usual wanderings to
get to know Cuzco. Arriving at one of the cathedrals in the main
square I was told tourists weren't allowed in since mass was about to
start. Tentatively I asked if I could go to mass and, despite eyeing
me with steely scepticism and restating that I would have to sit
through the WHOLE service, the woman stepped aside and let me in.
Inside, the cathedral was pretty spectacular and although I'm not a
believer the setting undoubtedly adds gravity to the ceremony. I'd
never actually been to a catholic mass before (nevermind one in
Spanish) but I think I got the gist of the sermon, or at least
convinced myself that I did. The frail looking priest was
surprisingly animated as he asserted that the church wasn't about
cathedrals or grandiose ideas but about everyday life and the
relationships between ordinary people. I didn't feel like converting
afterwards but it was definitely an experience.
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| They might look cheerful but they definitely want your money |
For lunch I headed to San Pedro market a few
minutes from the main square, which, although fairly small, sold
everything from garish alpaca jumpers to hallucinogenic cacti.
Settling down at one of the many stalls selling food I decided to try
a “combination” plate which involved essentially a pile of rice,
sausage, egg, tomato and plantain - probably the sort of meal I'd
make if I lived in Peru (horrible to look at and really bad for you
yet delicious and filling). Wandering a few streets away from the
main plaza I entered an area where the tourist sheen vanished, the
streets became dirtier, the food became cheaper and the place began
to feel more real, despite the occasional offers of hats and jumpers.
Walking in the opposite direction away from the
central plaza, tourism took hold once again. A mesh of narrow streets
climb out of the valley along which hostels, laundries, art shops and
eateries entice you in to take a break from your huffing and puffing.
The restaurant I ended up in for dinner was one such place – I
wanted to try alpaca and the internet said go here. So I did. As I
awaited my alpaca I struck up a conversation with 2 English ex-pats
who knew the owner, one an English teacher and the other currently
looking for work in Cuzco. The English teacher complained about the
laziness of his Peruvian students while the other guy, who'd been
travelling, seemingly, all his life, told me a bunch of places that I
had to visit before heading back to the UK. Somewhere along the way
Osho (the Indian mystic) and Richard Dawkins got discussed and after
my plate of alpaca (which was delicious) the owner of the restaurant
briefly joined us and told me about an Asian restaurant I had to
check out in La Paz (Bolivia) to which he only had vague directions
and the name of which he couldn't remember (he made me promise I'd
message him the name once I got there). Should be an adventure. I
ended the night listening to a Doors cover band in a bar nearby and
talking to a bunch of Cuzquenians (people who are actually from Cuzco
as opposed to the hundreds travellers which saturate Cuzcos
nightlife) who all seemed to be either studying or working in tourism
but none of whom tried to sell me anything. How refreshing.
With only two days left before the start of the
Inca Trail I decided to make some, in retrospect token, attempts to
acclimatise and build a bit of fitness. A brisk hike to Saksaywaman,
a large Incan site on a hill a couple of kilometres from the central
plaza, was my first challenge. Although reaching the top of the hill
probably didn't warrant a Rocky-eque air punch, I felt pretty good
about myself and the view of Cuzco spreading out below made it all
the more worthwhile.
Feeling galvanized I took in the Pre-Colombian
Art Museum which unfortunately housed more or less the same stuff as
the Larco museum in Lima minus the erotic pottery and the only thing
that drew my attention was the wonderfully flowery language in the
descriptions (see photo). Another startling thing I learned was that
the Inca Empire only existed for just under 100 years (1438-1533).
Previously I had been a little confused about why people got excited
about the Inca empire but the knowledge that they achieved all they
did in such a short time period got me pretty interested as well.
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| Chill out, its only a jug |
Suitably cultured up I went to the horribly
named “Korma Sutra” - an Indian restaurant recommended by the
guys I'd met on the previous night. According to them this was one of
the only places in Cuzco which did good alpaca (the other being the
place I was at last night) so I promptly ordered the alpaca special
which didn't disappoint. I also noticed that the menu had “Cuzco –
Manchester – London” written on the back! I couldn't believe that
I'd never heard of Korma Sutra in Manchester but when I asked the
owner about this it became apparent why. Manchester and London were
only written on the menu as speculative future ventures, about which
the owner didn't at the present time seem very hopeful. I told him
that he might face a bit more competition in Manchester than in Cuzco
(where there is virtually none) but wished him best of luck.
In a tiny bar nearby I tried my first “Pisco
Sour” the traditional drink of Peru made from the alcohol Pisco (a
grape brandy), lemon juice and egg-white while a group of
hippie-looking musicians played some folk music. The rustic set-up
and use of sellotape to keep the microphones in position reminded me
of some of our own band practices back in the day.
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| Mural along Av El Sol |
The last day before the trek I caved in and
decided to buy some alpaca clothes. I absolutely love haggling and
today was really good fun. I look at it almost as a form of
improvised theatre albeit with a slightly narrow range of themes and
potential outcomes. I don't think my drama GCSE went to waste – I'd
incredulously quote other (fictitious) offers I'd been made, I'd
narrow my eyes whilst pretending to carefully study the quality of
the produce (which I had no idea about) and if the shopkeeper
wouldn't come down to my price I'd pretended to walk away knowing
they'd call me back and accept the price. There's nothing quite like
the feeling of walking away knowing you've gotten a good deal whilst
dozens of stupid tourists are getting ripped off around you. I just
have to make sure I get it out of my system before I get back to the
UK – sadly you can't haggle with a barcode.
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| Plaza de las Armas by night |
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