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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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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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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¨I Don´t Think I Connect With This World¨

I´m fairly certain that I could live quite happily here in Ollanta for a long time, with only a few necessary modifications, and no, it´s not because they have cheap avocados in the market. I could live with the instant coffee and the weird Spanish keyboard and the dusty cobblestone streets. I could adjust to reading American newspapers entirely online. Maybe. I could even get used to carrying around my own toilet paper. (Who knew that there are people in the world who don´t consider it a bathroom essential?)

But I digress. I think the hardest thing about living here, for me anyways, would be the language barrier. I´m starting to understand other people most of the time, and I can usually make out what I want to say. But my concoctions are usually pretty ugly, and I´ve been frustrated by my limited vocabulary.

I love words. I like learning new words and looking them up and finding out where they come from. I like trying them out on people and figuring out how to pronounce them. As my sister Julia would say, words are my jam.

So to come to a country where my descriptive abilities are limited to ¨pretty,¨ ¨funny,¨ ¨clean,¨ and ¨magnificent,¨ give or take a few words, is frustrating. I like telling long stories and sarcastic jokes, both of which are hard on a limited repertoire. Every time I learn a new word, I try to repeat it and fix it in my brain so it doesn´t leave, but usually it does. It has taken me a lifetime to build my English vocabulary, so I guess it´ll take more than eight weeks to build a functional one in Spanish. I think I´ll have to start by finding another synonym for ¨bonita.¨

And bonita just didn´t cut it for our experiences today. None of us are quite used to living at 9,000 feet yet, and we get out of breath walking up stairs. (Which I actually fell down this morning. Ironic that my first mishap was so mundane.) But we wanted to check out the amazing ruins surrounding Ollanta and not feel quite as lazy as usual. So we went up about ten minutes to the free ruins at the edge of town. Wow.

This town is situated in the Sacred Valley, but it feels like you´re in a bowl of mountains. The Incans used Ollanta as a defensive fort, building terraces from the river up to the town and on the hills of the surrounding mountains as defenses against the conquistadors. They held off the Spanish for a very long time, and it´s easy to see why. It´s freaking hard to climb those terraces. And we aren´t even carrying armor.

But the view from the ruins was magnificent. From where we were, we had a view of the entire town and surrounding hills. It was so beautiful, in fact, I was at a loss for words. In either language.

Exploring the Incan fortress. Building with stone was clearly their jam.

Looking out over the town, and the more well-known ruins on the other side.

¡Hola Ollanta!

Climbing around.

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