Perfect day, perfect book

Today I had an entire Saturday to myself in Ollantaytambo. Jarrard and Kelsey are off on individual adventures, so I took advantage of an entire free day to do exactly what I pleased. And that was read a book.

Today I read, from start to finish, Hugh Thomson´s ¨The White Rock.¨ I started it over post-breakfast coffee in a cafe in town, and finished it by candlelight after the electricity went out in our hostel. Aside from dinner, when my host sister and I watched a horrible dubbed version of The Bride of Chucky and painted our nails, I read for most of the day. And it was great.

Jarrard had been reading the book for most of our trip here and regaling us with some of the better anecdotes, piquing my interest in the story of the Incas and exploration in the area. And when I sat down to dig into the book, it didn´t disappoint.

Even if you have little interest in the history of the Incas or archaeology, which I didn´t particularly, Thomson´s mixture of personal accounts of exploration with Peruvian history is a great read.

The documentary filmmaker and adventurer describes his explorations in the Sacred Valley of Peru in the 1980´s and again in the mid 1990´s, seeking out lost or forgotten Inca ruins with the help of local guides, archaeologists, intellectuals, and wizened adventurers from an earlier era. 

Thomson´s penchant for adventure and sense of humor make the book an enjoyable read, even if you´ve never set foot on Peruvian soil. For me, it was interesting to read about the historical significance of sights I´ve seen. I also delighted in reading Thomson´s descriptions of the quirks of Andean culture, seeking comfort in the knowledge that someone else out there thinks grenadinas are kind of gross and the abundance of potatoes in the Peruvian diet a little sickening.

Thomson´s succinct description of the history of the Inca rulers and potential significance of Inca architecture make me feel like I finally have a handle on the history of my surroundings, and I believe I´ll start to see things with fresh eyes. Or at least after I´ve gotten some sleep.

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Learning from Lucho

Yesterday we spent the morning with a master potter named Lucho, learning to craft hand-built clay pots. As with our basket-weaving escapades, we realized that you can´t learn a craft in one morning when people devote their lives to perfecting the art. But we had a good time getting our hands dirty, and learned a lot more from Lucho than we´d expected.

We arrived at 9 a.m., wearing dirty clothes and ready to make some pots. Lucho met us in his workshop, which is an open-air structure with a roof under which he completes every step of the production process, from washing dirty mountain clay to selling finished works of art.

Before we even looked at raw clay, we admired Lucho´s finished pots, gleaming in rows on shelves in the shop, where they retail for a couple hundred dollars. They came in all different colors and shapes, although most were smaller than a basketball, as he caters to tourists passing through on their way to Macchu Picchu. They were all beautiful.

It was an intimidating way to start, but Lucho quickly put us at ease, handing us hunks of gooey, wet clay to play with. He explained that he dislikes throwing pottery on a wheel: he thinks hand-building is simpler to teach and more authentic in the Peruvian pottery tradition.

It wasn´t exactly simple. Kelsey´s pot almost fell over a few times, and Lucho had to do some major ¨surgery,¨as he called it. But with his help, we created fairly decent-looking vases that we plan to return to later in the week to finish. 

When we made baskets with Pancho, he spoke very little English, so we spent a lot of time laughing at ourselves and our pathetic baskets. But learning ceramics from Lucho was very different. He speaks English almost as well as we do, and he spent several hours talking to us about every aspect of his craft, as well as his own relationship with ceramics over the years.

Probably in his fifties or sixties, he was born in Peru and taught himself the basics of ceramics at age ten. He moved to the United States in the 1980´s, where he lived briefly in San Francisco and for many years in Santa Fe. There he learned from Native American traditions still in use on reservations. He produced pottery for museums and private ownership, before returning to Peru shortly after 9/11.

He was determined that we learn more than just how to coil a pot, and learn we did.

He got out a pen and paper to diagram the chemistry of clay, which he learned while studying at Berkeley for a short while. He talked about the impact of tourism on his trade and the degree to which Ollantaytambo has changed in recent years. He talked about the difficulty of making a living in the United States as an artist. He explained that by using local, cheap products, he can create his works of art for almost no cost and make a decent profit. He showed us an original Inca pot and explained that the Incas were more focused on stone than clay, as evidenced by their relatively rudimentary pottery. He explained the difference between earthenware and porcelain. He described the evolution of pottery throughout world history, and regional differences in technique.

In short, it was an education in the art, history, and science of ceramics as much as a lesson in the technical process of creating a pot. Which is just as a lesson from a good teacher should be. 

Kelsey and me chatting with Lucho´s apprentice.

Lucho´s pot is looking good, even in the early stages.

Jarrard made a mushroom before abandoning clay for his camera.

Jarrard chilling next to my pot.

I made a face out of clay. It was fun, but turned out creepy.

Kelsey working on her pot, as Lucho spins away in the background.

The finished pots in Lucho´s shop that are for sale.

Toiling away in Lucho´s workshop.

Lucho kindly fixes Kelsey´s pot.

My pot from above.

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A view of Ollantaytambo

This is a video clip I took while sitting on the ruins at the edge of town. It starts looking down the valley towards Urubumba and Cusco, and pans through town. You can see the Plaza in the center and the ruins for which Ollanta is famous on the mountain jutting out, opposite from where I´m sitting. You can also see my hand shading the camera from the sun. It´s not quite professional quality, but you get the idea. Click on the link to watch the video on Vimeo.

Overlooking Ollanta from Eliza Kern on Vimeo.

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Why Peru makes no sense

The electricity just came back on in the Sacred Valley. It´s been out since we woke up this morning, which meant no internet, no electric showers, no lights. All of which is okay. In fact, we didn´t notice until after lunch today.

When we realized that there was no power, Kelsey asked why the electricity would be shut off. Jarrard and I just looked at her in a kind of disbelief. The question is, why does anything that happens here happen at all? Things making sense is more the exception to the rule in Peru.

The water in Jarrard´s house is frequently shut off in the mornings, meaning no showerfor Mr. Model of Cleanliness. No one seems to think to fill buckets at night to prepare for this daily occurrence which has no explanation.

On Tuesday the transportation workers in the area went on strike, or ¨parro,¨ protesting high gasoline prices. No one could leave town to go to work or school. One elementary school in town was closed for the day. Ours stayed open.

There are holidays and festivals and teacher´s professional days when school is closed. But there´s no central calendar. The only way to find out if there´s school is to show up and knock on the door.

The municipality of Ollantaytambo has decided to rip up the cobblestones of the main Plaza and replace them with new ones. They dug large holes in the center of town, and then carted in dirt for festivals and as needed.

 People eat quinoa and papaya juice. Enough said.

Jarrard´s family butchered a pig, or chancho, and it hung from the ceiling in their living room for a few days.  

So we´ve learned to be flexible and adapt to whatever Peru throws at us. Any time things get frustrating, I look up and see the Andes soaring up around town and the 500 year-old Inca ruins peering down at me. All of these oddities are what make Peru quirky and interesting, and Jarrard said the chancho produced some of the best pork he´s ever had. And we have a gas shower. Party!

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Running into the sun

Yesterday I did something really brave: I went for a run.

I haven´t gone for a run in the month I´ve been here, for several reasons. It´s not acceptable for girls to wear shorts here. I feel nervous carrying my iPod around. Peruvians do not seem to exercise. We´re reasonably active in our daily lives.

But our diet of rice, potatoes, pasta, creamy soup, french fries, and bread is really starting to gross me out. Plus the Peruvians serve mayonnaise as a condiment with almost everything. Yesterday I ate what I´m fairly sure was liver just so I didn´t have to face another plate of pasta. I never finish all the food they give me here, but it´s hard not to worry about my health a little bit.

So the combination of the lack of nutritional meals and feeling of going stir-crazy led me to head out to the roads of Ollanta. And boy, did it feel good.

I didn´t wear shorts, nor did I attempt to run through the construction zone going on in the Plaza. But I did wear my iPod, if only to drown out the occasional whistle from men with nothing better to do than stand on street corners and loiter. And I ignored all the looks from Peruvians who were clearly wondering where the fire was.

The hardest part was running on cobblestones. All the streets in town are crafted from flat rocks with cement between the cracks, but it´s pretty bumpy going and I had to focus hard not to trip or twist an ankle. I thought of the rocks as my hurdles.

I headed through town and down the long road toward Jarrard´s house and the bridge crossing the river. Once I crossed the bridge and hit the dirt road outside town, it was absolutely peaceful and easier to run on than the cobblestones.

I only made it about twenty minutes outside of town before I felt completely exhuasted. The sun was beating down and breathing hard at 10,000 feet is no picnic. But it felt good to sweat and make some tracks.

It was probably the most idyllic run I´ve ever been on. Starting with my jaunt through picturesque Ollanta, I found myself rocking out to Beyonce as I ran on cobblestones, stretching on a 500 year-old Inca bridge, and waving to the train heading to Macchu Picchu as I passed entire families harvesting corn. Kind of beats a regular old track.

I´d forgotten how restorative a run can be, and I hope to make this part of my routine from now on. Maybe I´ll even stop and work on the Single Ladies dance on the Inca bridge next time. Who knows.

Jarrard´s picture of the road outside his house where I ran.

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Pumamarka

Today was another myserious festival day where we had no school, so we spent the morning at Pumamarka, an Inca citadel about 7 kilometers north of Ollantaytambo.

Granted, we haven´t been to Macchu Picchu yet, but these were by far the most spectacular ruins I´ve seen so far. Pumamarka overlooks the Rio Patacancha in the middle of a valley surrounded by massive mountains.

We wanted to be back in Ollanta by a decent hour, aka lunch, so we decided to take pay a taxi driver to take us to Pumamarka and then hike the two-hour trip back to Ollanta afterwards. We´d been told the route was pretty flat, and it was, but there were definitely some steep parts on the way up that our driver was none too happy about and I felt guilty, but pleased, to be skipping.

The drive up through the valley was gorgeous, and we stopped several times to coax livestock out of our path. Our driver finally dropped us off about a 100 meters below the fortress. I´m pretty sure he´d had enough of potholes and cows and was ready to be done with us.

The view was breathtaking, the sun was shining, and the ruins were empty save a lonely-looking guard who let us in a wooden gate. We had the place entirely to ourselves for about two hours, during which we took innumerable silly pictures of each other, ate some avocados and cheese, and sang way too loudly than was actually necessary. We tipped the guard on our way out, mostly as an apology for our atrocious renditions of songs from the Sound of Music. But I swear, the hills were alive.

The walk back down through the valley was beautiful, and we saw every type of livestock in existance. We saw baby goats and sheep, and learned that cows have horns as well as the torros. Who knew.

We arrived back in Ollanta almost five hours after we´d left, with some catalog-worthy pictures of ourselves and a nice range of sunburns. Mission success.

(I´m trying out a new format for uploading pictures that´s way faster. You can click on any of the thumbnail images to expand them. Let me know what you think!)

The view of Pumamarka as we approached.

The Incas were awesome at building walls.

Kelsey looked very photogenic on this rock.

Hanging out in the ruins.

This room looked vaguely religious. Either that or they accidentally built a column in the middle.

The proportions weren´t exactly right here. Jarrard´s arms are too long. Or I´m too short.

Looking at Kelsey´s hand, or synchronized dancing?

We made fools of ourselves.

There was dancing too.

Looking down on the valley from Pumamarka.

Jarrard and me looking cool.

Queen of the world! Or the Urubumba Valley. Whichever.

Jarrard trying to get some catalog-worthy pictures.

Eating lunch. Avacado sandwiches rock my world.

Mama cows have horns too. Who knew.

Heading back down the valley.

The valley.

Me on the way home.

Jarrard on the way home.

El Rio Patacancha.

More cows.

Burro hanging out in the road.

Walking home.

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Here Comes the Sun

I´m of the belief that you should only get up before 6 am for one of three reasons: medical emergency, natural disaster, or pure insanity. I guess that would make this morning the third option, but it was the closest I´ve ever come to understanding why anyone would want to be an early-riser.

We got up at 3:15 this morning. Yes, that would be a good 165 minutes before 6 a.m., meaning that on the crazy scale, we were high up there. We met in the Plaza at 4 a.m. to hike halfway up a nearby mountain to see the sun rise over Ollanta on the southern hemistphere´s winter solstice.

Someone on the trip pointed out that most of us have seen plenty of sunsets in our lives, but most people haven´t seen too many sunrises. This one was pretty spectacular. It might even beat out the ones I saw on my hiking trip in Wyoming last summer.

The Incas designed Ollantaytambo so that on the solstice, the sun would cut between the mountains to illuminate the outer edges of a ¨pyramid¨ on the ground, actually an optical illusion created with the construction of the stone walls between fields and homes in the town.

I was expecting an instant illumination of the pyramid, a la Indiana Jones. I think I also expected the sun to unlock a hidden tomb or make pigs fly. So in this sense it was disappointing. But it was the most magnificent sunrise I´ve ever seen, and from a beautiful vantage point. Plus the Incan roads did illuminate in a fairly impressive way, considering they were built over 500 years ago by people who lacked the wheel or written word.

We arrived at our vantage point a little before 5 a.m., and didn´t leave until 9 a.m. By this point most of the other people who had crowded the area at sunrise had left, and we had the space all to ourselves. There were some Peruvians performing a ritual sun worship, complete with flutes and dancing, which surely added some ambiance. As did our wheel of cheese from Cusco, which was quite tasty.

We want to go back up for another sunrise so Jarrard can do a timelapse of the gorgeous snow-peaked Mount Veronica. Maybe we can arrage for another wheel of cheese and flute player. That might just make the early start slightly less insane.

Kelsey and me with our new friends. It was mighty early.

Three amigos before the sun rose. Mount Veronica in the backround.

This shaft of light emerged from between the mountains to illuminate the pyramid.

There were a ton of people watching with us.

Watching the sun rise.

We were excited to see the sun. And warm up.

Greeting the sun.

Kelsey and me with our new friend. We were rocking the hats.

Hanging out. Meditating. You know.

   

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