Been away so long I hardly knew the place

Tuesday was my last full day in Peru before I flew home on Wednesday. I went from Cusco to my doorstep in Bethesda in less than 24 hours, which was disorienting, to say the least.

On Monday we met up with John Danello and Rebecca Crabb, friends of ours from UNC and fellow Morehead scholars. They had been traveling in Peru this summer as well, teaching in rural areas as well as in Lima. It was fun to swap tips on avoiding sticky hands and surviving P.E.

We went to dinner Monday night at Ciccolino, a seriously nice restaurant in Cusco. I had a delicious green(!) salad and something called oso buscu. It tasted like a very tender steak, but slightly gamey. It also had a very large bone in the middle. I’m totally unsure what kind of animal I ate, but it was tasty.

On Tuesday morning we slept late in our lovely hotel. It was built by the Spanish conquistadors in the 16th century and had absolutely gorgeous carved wooden doors, hot showers, and English t.v. For $33 a night. What more could you possibly ask for? I love the exchange rate.

We’d taken several day trips to Cusco while we were living in Ollantaytambo, and it was always during the middle of the day, when it’s sunny and in the high 70’s. But sleeping in Cusco was another matter altogether. The city sits at 11,000 feet, and sleeping at that altitude was difficult. I was awake for several hours during the night trying to catch my breath, and I could hear my roomates periodically wake up gasping for air. Altitude does weird things to people.

But on Tuesday, after enjoying the hotel breakfast of the best scrambled eggs I’d had in Peru, we took John and Rebecca to the San Pedro market to buy our favorite wheel of Andino cheese, get some Choco Soda cookies, and see the requisite dead pigs before hailing a taxi and heading to Sacsayhuamán.

These ruins, which are best pronounced by saying “sexy woman” really fast with Spanish accent, sit several hundred feet above Cusco, halfway up the mountains which form a bowl around the city below. For those of you who took my recommendation and read the White Rock, you’ll know that Sacsayhuamán was the site of a big battle between the Spanish and the Incas, where the outnumbered Spanish somehow defeated the Incas in the terrifying fortress.

It’s easy to see why it would have been terrifying. After convincing the woman at the gate to let us in for only half the exorbitant rate, we entered the site to find ourselves standing on a huge flat plain of grass, with stones walls on either side.

To the left, toward the mountains, were huge slabs of stone that looked like whipped egg whites made by giants. And on the right was a huge retaining wall of sorts, holding back dirt that creates and ledge overlooking the city.

The wall was particularly interesting, not only because of its immense size, but because it sits in a jigsaw pattern. If the Spanish had tried to climb any of the walls, they would have been easily flanked by the Incas standing above. Wikipedia has a cool panorama of the wall that you can clink on here.

We ate our cheese and bread in a prohibited section of the ruins, trying to look nonchalant. Then we rejoined the law-abiding tourists at the lookout, where we took silly pictures of ourselves. Or made Jarrard take them of us.

When deciding what to do next, John suggested that we “hike to Jesus.” This was not some veiled religious metaphor. There actually is a huge Jesus statue perched on top of a mountain abutting Cusco. But after laughing at his suggestion, we vetoed the idea, and instead went to McDonalds for McFlurries. Because ice cream should always win out.

The McDonalds was awesome. The prices were about the same as they would have been in the States, and my compadres said the McFlurries were nothing more than ice cream with stuff on top. But the decor was fabulous and there was free WiFi, as the boys with their iPhones discovered. There was even cheesy American music and the strong smell of things being fried in vats of oil. We were very pleased.

To continue in the vein of behaving in an American manner, we then went shopping. Shopping for real clothes isn’t easy, as teens and young adults favor the kind of clothes you see on MTV but would never actually wear. Or at least I wouldn’t. I’m not so fond of  jeans with “Angel” written on the rear end or hoodies embroidered with skulls. But maybe that’s just me. Or maybe I felt I was whistled at enough in Peru already.

But in Cusco we discovered a store that sold reasonably normal clothing for dirt-cheap prices. Sounds good, right? It was even better. The store was called TopiTop, which when said out loud, provides endless entertainment.

After spending about $40 on an entirely new wardrobe, we watched English television in our hotel and laughed at the Spanish subtitles, before dinner at Jack’s. Jack’s is a delightful gringo establishment where one can order a “big juicy hamburger” or a veggie burger with “lashings of guacamole.” These were not written by someone who speaks poor English. This was someone excited about food.

Then suddenly, time started to fly. I was packing and checking email and trying to figure out if I’d miss my connecting flights the following day before I realized that I would be leaving Kelsey and Jarrard for good, or at least until school started.

We’d spent eight weeks together and it was weird to think that I wouldn’t again watch Kelsey spill jelly all over the breakfast table or ask Jarrard to take a picture of something. The three of us got really close this summer, and I honestly believe that we accomplished more as a team than any of us could have done on our own. Future travelers, take note. Two scholars are better than one. Three is perfect. And five is a party.

The usual. Dead piggies go to market.

John in front of Peruvian flags.

An archway in Cusco.

The gang, walking through a smaller Plaza in Cusco.

The courtyard in our hotel.

The frog in the fountain. The Spanish had a sense of humor.

Up to the ruins.

Kelsey on the ruins.

Cheese!

Looking out over the city.

The girls at the lookout.

The Incas never figured out the arch, making doorways narrow at the top.

Kelsey kissing the rocks. She’s tall. You can get a sense of the scale.

The main grassy area below the wall.

Clearly the reconstructed part at the top wasn’t done too well.

Let’s hike to Jesus!

The wall from the other side.

Curvy rocks. Do not know if the Incas made them this way, but they’re cool. So probably.

More rocks.

The ruins, with the city behind.

The Peruvian kids slid down the smooth rocks like they were jungle gyms.

For some reason, they insisted on doing handstands. Because standing on your feet isn’t good enough?

Independence day in Cusco.

McDonalds!

The decor in McDonalds was lovely. There were tribal masks and pottery on the walls.

Rebecca and Kelsey with their McFlurries.

The tables in McDonalds had a drawing of the Inca Trail.

The Plaza de Armas looking pretty.

The sky over the city.

One of the smaller plazas, near our hotel.

A street near TopiTop. Peruvians love that shade of blue. I do too.

An abby that houses nuns.

TopiTop. The coolest name of anything, ever.

Cathedrals. There are many.

There was a dog with a steel muzzle. They went to pet it. End of story.

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On the way home…

I have officially left Ollantaytambo and am embarking on my journey home. We arrived in Cusco at our gorgeous hotel this morning, and will spend three days here before I fly home on Wednesday and Kelsey and Jarrard head off to Arequipa and the Amazon.

It´s really too close to everything to have any clear thoughts about leaving, but last night we had a great send-off. We started with a despedida, or goodbye party, at our friend´s house. There was chocolate cake like you can´t even imagine. It was delicious. We ended the party in the Plaza, hanging out and telling stories with the police on duty. It was quite spectacular.

I went to Cusco last week and bought paint and canvases and got a chance to finish one painting and start another before a five-day monsoon started and we had to leave. Below are some photos of the paintings. Even though I bought a lot of beautiful things as mementos of my trip, I have a feeling that my 16 sole canvas might be my favorite thing crowding my suitcase.

We met up with Jacob for lunch at Jacks, a popular gringo establishement that serves such items as ¨big juicy hamburgers.¨

My painting of the valley looking down towards Ollantaytambo.

My unfinished sketch of the train tracks going toward Machu Picchu.

Me and Kelsey with our host family. They gave us gorgeous flowers with an unpronounceable name.

Our first farewell party, hosted by our host family.

The calendar we had band-aided to our wall for eight weeks.

At the party hosted by Awamaki volunteers.

Me and Jen giggling in the rain.

There´s not a lot to do in Ollanta on a Sunday night but take silly pictures of yourself.

This guy was hilarious. He kept asking Ann Marie if she was from laska. I mocked him in two languages.

Cheesing for the photo with the Ollanta police. They loved us.

A Morehead reunion in Cusco for lunch at Jack´s.

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One more Jarrard

There is really nothing I could make up that could possibly improve in any way the following story I have to tell.

Jarrard was walking home last night when he ran into one of our fifth-graders, Esmeralda, with her mother.

Kids here get really excited to see us around town, and because Jarrard lives so far away, he often walks home from school with them. This is pretty common.

Esmeralda and her mother walked with him for a while and seemed very intent on having him spell his entire name for them. Also not too unusual, considering the number of names the average Peruvian possesses far outnumber those that the average American possesses.

But as impressively as Jarrard has picked up on Spanish in the last eight weeks, I guess he couldn´t spell his name sufficiently for them, so they invited him into their house to write it down. They live right near his host family´s house, so once again, not too weird.

So he went into their house and wrote down his name. Then they asked him to write down my full name and Kelsey´s full name. Okay. That´s a little weird.

Then they brought out a baby that Jarrard estimated to be about two or three months old, and gave him the baby to hold. Jarrard asked the baby´s name. Well, it was Raul, he was told. But no longer. The baby would now be named Geoffrey Jarrard Cole.

Yes, this is correct. A random Peruvian family decided to rename their baby after Jarrard. Apparently if they have any more girl babies, there could be a little Eliza Simpson Kern or Kelsey Rushing Farson running around Ollantaytambo.

Never mind the fact that this family cannot actually pronounce Jarrard´s name, or that the baby has had the name Raul for the first three months of his life. Apparently these facts are irrelevant.

The best part is that Jarrard was entirely freaked out by this family naming their baby after him. I believe his words were, ¨I just wanted to go home and eat my dinner.¨ 

I told him he had to blog about the incident and he refused. He said it was an uncomfortable experience. Kelsey and I think it´s hilarious. But one thing is for sure, we all have to come back to Ollantaytambo in a few years to meet our namesakes.

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Jarrard´s photos, Part 2

The rest of Jarrard´s pictures of the three of us. Check out more festival photos at http://jarrardcole.wordpress.com/.

Looking cute.

Hiram Bingham pose.

The girls.

Jacob laughing, with Mount Veronica in the background.

UNC! We really like doing this.

Jacob on the solstice hike.

The three of us at the solstice hike.

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Jarrard´s photos

Below are some of Jarrard´s pictures of us from this summer. You can see more of his beautiful work on his photoblog, http://jarrardcole.wordpress.com/.

 

Kelsey being awesome.

Kelsey doing a split on Machu Picchu.

UNC!

Looking cool on Machu Picchu.

Kelsey working on her pot.

Trying to look stern.

Me, teaching.

The happy drummer.

Jacob, the not-so-little little drummer boy.

Jacob taking a picture at basket-weaving.

Jacob in the middle.

Favorite. Dancing on Pumamarka.

Technically, I took this picture of Kelsey and Jarrard being giants.

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Machu Picchu

This weekend we finally bit the bullet and did it: we made the trek to Machu Picchu. Living in Ollantaytambo, we see people passing through either on their way to, or from, the sacred site all the time. ¨When are you going to Machu Picchu?¨ is almost an acceptable introduction when you meet someone here. We wanted to wait until close to the end of our trip to make the journey.

We left Saturday afternoon, taking the Vistadome Valley train from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes, the town that sits at the base of Machu Picchu. Peru Rail, the company with the monopoly on the train line through the Sacred Valley, runs trains from Cusco to Aguas Calientes for as little as $60 USD round-trip for the budget ¨backpacker¨ train, to $500 for the ridiculous ¨Hiram Bingham¨ train.

We boarded the train in the afternoon, stopping first at The Albergue for cookies. Neither Jarrard nor Kelsey have ridden many trains, and were disproportionately excited about the thing, in my opinion. The ride was pretty cool though. It took about 90 minutes to reach Aguas Calientes, dropping at least 2,000 feet in elevation and heading into what starts to feel like the jungle.

Strangely enough, when you´re at Machu Picchu, you feel as though you´re up in the clouds. And you are. Sort of. The site is only about 8,000 feet above sea level, lower than Ollantaytambo at 9,000 feet and much lower than Cusco at 11,000. So we had to adjust to warmer, more humid weather.

We arrived in Aguas Calientes after dark, and all I can say is that it reminded me of that town in Pirates of the Caribbean, where it´s kind of creepy and horrible and people are leering at you and you just want to run really far away. I did not like Aguas Calientes. I decided I would rather be the garbage collector man in Ollanta than the wealthiest man in Aguas Calientes.

We met up with our two friends, who took buses and hiked from Ollantaytambo. They probably saved about $90 USD, but they had to stand for a six-hour bus ride and then hike on railroad tracks for a few hours, hoping the train would not come. Needless to say, I think it was $90 well-spent for the train.

But we all arrived around dinnertime on Saturday, and bought our bus tickets up to Machu Picchu and our actual tickets to get into the site. $14 USD and $40 USD, respectively. If I hadn´t idiotically left my UNC OneCard at home, I could have been admitted to Machu Picchu for only $20. I tried to use my Maryland driver´s license. It didn´t work, and I wasn´t too surprised.

We had dinner in Aguas Calientes, a really gross experience. The town has experienced urban sprawl to the extreme, and should be an example of how not to construct a tourist town. We ate in a grossly-overpriced restaurant because the person at the door told us we could havefree nachos and drinks. Well. The ¨nachos¨ consisted of about five plain tortilla chips sitting on a plate, and we discovered that only pisco sours and wine were free- water you´d have to pay $3 USD for. We were not pleased.

Then we headed to our hostel. Dear lord. Lonely Planet describes it:

Well, it ain’t much to look at. But this ramshackle multistory guesthouse overlooking the noisiest part of town along the west end of the train tracks just couldn’t be cheaper. It’s for penny-pinchers, or anyone else who finds themselves stuck without a room.

This description was kind. Another book described it as ¨decrepit but classic.¨ Let me just say, there was nothing classic about this structure masquerading as a hostel.

It was 15 soles, or about $5 per person, per night. That was its only redeeming quality. Less redeeming was the horror-film-haunted-house ambiance, the padlock used to keep the door shut, or the fleas we discovered later. The sad excuse for a building was conveniently situated next to the train tracks, so it felt as though we were experiencing an earthquake every time one went by. It was lovely.

So we were only two pleased to wake up at 4 a.m. the next morning and leave our mildewed room as fast as humanly possible. We stumbled down the street to the bus line by 5 a.m., where people were lined up in the dark to board the first buses up to the ruins.

So, here´s the thing. We´d wanted to climb Huayna Picchu, the huge mountain looming in the back of every postcard picture of Machu Picchu. We´d heard it was a killer hike straight up, with some stomach-turning cliffs next to the stairs, but totally worth it for the gorgeous views at the top.

But they only let 400 people up there every day, so you need to be on one of the first buses up there to run and get your name on the list if you want to hike. Thus the getting up at 4 a.m. We got on maybe the twelfth bus of the morning up to the ruins, and we were thinking this wasn´t bad. Jacob went last weekend, hadn´t even woken up till 5:30, and still hiked Huaynu Picchu. We assumed we were fine.

Our bus arrived at the top of the mountain as it was starting to get light out, and we easily passed through the gate and ran toward the Huaynu Picchu check-in. I even elbowed a few people out of the way. As we were running, someone saw my UNC hat, and yelled ¨Go Heels,¨ to which I responded in kind. Nothing like some good Tar Heel spirit on the top of a mountain in South America to put you in a good mood.

But much to our dismay, we were numbers 406, 407, and 408 in line. We missed the hike by five people. It was a bummer. But the upside was, we were in Machu Picchuto see the sun rise, before the massive arrival of tourists began. After we finished haggling with the man guarding the line, I turned around and all of the sudden, realized where I was. It was breathtaking.

Machu Picchu is draped across the saddle of two mountains and covers several acres. The entire area protected by UNESCO covers 80,000 acres, and it´s magnificent. While many people think it was a religious temple or military complex for the Incas, current academic theory is that it served as a winter retreat for the leaders who needed a break from the chillier Cusco. It was certainly built by slaves or conscripted labor, and would have brought food up from lower climates to support the people living there.

We stayed in the park for about 10 hours, until leaving when it closed at 5 p.m. From about 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., it was horrendously packed with tourists, streaming through every crack and crevice through which people are permitted to walk. During that time, when it was also pretty hot, we hiked up to a neighboring mountain from which we had a great view of the ruins. Easier to hike and more peaceful than Huayna Picchu, it had equally good views, according to a hiker who´d been to both.

In the afternoon, we started to drag a bit. We obviously hadn´t slept much the night before, and it had been a long day. At one ponit, we went and sat on a cool set of stairs between two stone walls and took a lot of pictures of ourselves. It was very mature. We then decided it was time to take a break.

We left the site briefly and gulped ice tea (which I haven´t seen anywhere else in Peru) and frozen yogurt at the hideously overpriced cafe by the gate.

When we headed back in to the ruins around 3 pm., almost everyone had disapeared, and the experience became much more pleasant. We took our picture on the classic spot overlooking the ruins where everyone else takes pictures, wearing UNC paraphernalia. At one point, we were taking a picture while spelling out ¨UNC¨with our arms. ¨It´s not the freaking YMCA!¨ some man yelled at us. Thanks buddy. Thanks a lot.

We spent the last hour in the park sitting on terraces overlooking the entire ruins as the sun started to set behind the mountains. It was perhaps the most peaceful experience I´ve had in Peru. As I fell asleep on the train home listening to Paul Simon and watching the scenery pass, I decided I would come back to Machu Picchu again at some point in my life. Although maybe next time I´ll spring for a hotel sans fleas.

Kelsey was super excited about the train.

I was not super excited about our hostel room.

Dinner in Aguas Calientes. Where water cost more than a pisco sour.

Lunch on top of the mountain.

Waiting in line for the bus at 5 a.m.

Me in a doorway.

Hanging out on an Inca wall.

Looking good on top of Machu Picchu. You know.

Anyone (mom?) know what flower this is? It´s everywhere.

I´m chilling, Jarrard´s looking at his camera. Typical.

Kelsey´s glamour shot.

Making unhappy faces. For no particular reason.

Trying to set the self-timer.

The three of us in a stairwell. Figuring out the self-timer.

The three of us with the funerary rock.

Annoyed at Jarrard, who was making his guess his favorite photo he took.

We entertained ourselves by taking pictures.

Me by the Huaynu Picchu sign-in.

Kelsey doing a split.

Pre-trip cookies at the Albergue.

Train station, and our train.

The three of us have an unnatural adoration for Mount Veronica. Isn´t she gorgeous?

Kelsey was also displeased with our room.

Being told we could have free nachos and drinks with dinner. Lies.

¨Nachos¨

A sign in Aguas Calientes. Escape? Yes please.

Wandering around Aguas Calientes.

Fake Starbucks

We look really tired waiting in line.

The line for the first bus up.

The lucky folks who got into Huaynu Picchu. And the mountain behind.

Jarrard taking pictures in the ruins.

The three windows.

The vista.

Jarrard leading the way.

Looking out.

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Woodcarving with Julio

Today we spent the afternoon learning the fine art of woodcarving from master wood carver, Julio. As with all of our artisan workshops, I found the exercise thrilling, Jarrard quickly abandoned the project to take pictures, and Kelsey spent a lot of time proclaiming herself not to be an artist and in need of dire help to save her creation. At least we´re predictable.

Julio was a wonderful man, shorter than me, with a slight potbelly and sporting a Peruvian military camo tshirt. The jury´s out on whether he actually served in the military, but he sure can carve wood.

He explained to us that he learned the art of woodcarving from his grandmother, and that all of his brothers are either carpenters or artisans in Peru. He mostly carves picture frames and sculptures of animals such as the condor or llama, but is most well-known in Ollantaytambo for crafting store signs. Almost every piece of signage in Ollanta passed through Julio´s shop.

We explained that we only had two hours, but wanted to mess around with some wood and see what he does in his workshop. He set us up with small pieces of wood, less than four inches wide and two inches deep, and let us go to town.

I must preface this by saying I have done a lot of work with wood before, although not in this type of setting. My father is a perfectionist who loves tools and fixing up our house. This is never a good combination, as far as my sister and I are concerned.

He has installed all of the crown molding in the entire house, not to mention an infamous sliding door, an excessively elaborate tree house, swinging garage doors, and a ¨quick¨ set of walls in the basement. I´ve become adept at taking precise measurements, using a chop saw, differentiating between a flat and philips head screwdriver, and knowing when it´s time for safety goggles. I´ve beveled edges, primed boards, and learned to sand with the grain. And I know that 2x4s are not actually 2 inches by 4 inches.

But as familiar as I am with all things related to wood, stepping into Julio´s workshop was not as comforting as it should have been. It was just a darkish room, with a high table to one side covered in wood shavings and chisels. Besides some finished picture frames hanging on the cement walls, that was it. Some corrugated metal in the corner. A chicken pecking at the door. Some oil drums clustered together.

No circular saw. No table saw. No electric sander. Heck, I don´t even think he had an electrical outlet.

But it turns out, Julio doesn´t need much more than his chisels and thin pieces of wood. He took a long strip of ceder, and used a lathe to shave off thin shavings on each side. Then he used a hack saw to cut it into smaller pieces for us to play with.

He had at least thirty chisels of different sizes and shapes piled on the workbench, and he instructed us in the beginning pattern created by piercing a series of half-moons into the wood, and then using chisels to gouge out the space behind each moon.

It was surprisingly relaxing, and reminded me of painting or drawing, where you get into a rhythm of working with your hands and forget about the bigger picture, no pun intended. Both Kelsey and Jarrard, both of whom usually dislike manually artistic tasks such as pottery or basket-weaving, admitted it was restful. And the chisels were fun.

So after carving what could be really faulty doorstops or large keyrings, we set down our implements and bid Julio farewell, two hours after entering his shop. Hey Dad, how about doing some chiseling when I get home?

Watching Julio.

Finished pieces, soon to be fit together into picture frames.

Carving away.

Working on my tiny pieces of wood while Julio actually made things.

My finished product.

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