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.

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.

More photos!

I swore I wouldn´t just upload pictures of myself, so I´m keeping my promise. Here are some lovely pictures of my compadres at school and in their homestays. Gracias for the photos, Denise!

Jacob and his students.

Students.

Students raising hands.

Listening.

Two kids in Jacob´s class.

Jacob helping a kid.

A student during volleyball.

Serving.

Bump.

Ciao niños!

Yesterday was our last official day of school with the lovely niños at our elementary school in Ollantaytambo, Peru. We´ve spent seven weeks teaching them English and P.E., and it´s been quite a ride.

I don´t really know how much English or physical education they´ve actually learned, but I do think we´ve made some sort of difference in their lives, even if it´s small. Most of them just want to be hugged and tossed around and listened to more than anything else. And these things we did.

It wasn´t easy. Discipline in Peruvian schools stems from the whip or the belt, not from much genuine respect. This is how most of the kids are disciplined at home and at school, so coming in and trying to institute time-outs and stern lectures was rough.

Most of them didn´treally want to sit and write things, but they were highly motivated by stickers and words of approval, which they don´t get too often at home or from their teachers.

They´re also motivated by government-issue bread and milk, but we couldn´t give that out as a prize.

But as tough as it was to keep them engaged and unhurt for 90 minutes, working with children was incredibly rewarding. I can´t walk through the Plaza on an afternoon without having a small child shyly come up to me. ¨Hola Eliza, professora. Donde son tus amigos? Cuando vas a enseñarme Ingles?¨ I´ve had parents come up to me in the street, towing a bashful child and thanking me for teaching him English.

There was a group of American high school students doing construction at our school while we were teaching, moving rocks and painting and such. Sometimes, when the kids were going wild, we´d look longingly at the rock-movers and wish we could switch jobs. But alas, rocks can´t give hugs and kisses quite like children can. Even if they are well-behaved.

When I enter the first grade class to teach, the kids cheer and jump out of their seats to hug me. They ask to be carried and swung around my head and tickled. I´ve never encountered such rambunctious and adorable six-year-olds in my life. During duck duck goose in P.E., my favorite, Dilmar, snuggles in my lap and pretends to fall asleep. I asked him if I could take him home to the U.S. with me. He said yes, if there were stickers there. 

So even though I had days where I was tempted to borrow the belt from the teacher, I was sad to say goodbye to them. All schools in Peru are closing until August 3rd to prevent the spread of swine flu, so this is it for formal schooling for a while. 

We´re going to hold morning English classes for interested students next week in the mornings, along with our usual frisbee games and art classes in the afternoon. When the kids learned there would be singing and stickers and cookies at English class, there were many interested faces.

The nicest goodbye was when I bid farewell to the second grade teacher. He has to be at least seventy years old, and Jarrard and I tried to teach his class P.E. and English. He was awesome.

He profusely thanked us for our efforts after each attempt to teach his hellions anything, explaining to his children that they were incompetent fools who needed to learn English because soon ¨todo el mundo,¨or the whole world, would speak English. He told stories of his childhood and education while his kids made faces behind his back. He once invited us to have a drink with him, and we would have complied if he´d given us a time and place. We think he´s a little forgetful.

When I bid him farwell, he actually bowed to me so low that his hat fell off. He asked for my name and address so he could send me a letter, and I asked for his in return. Then I asked to take a picture with him. I´m definitely sending him a copy.

Hanging out at recess with the second graders.

As usual, I´m telling the kids to be quiet and follow directions: thumbs up.

The hellions are waving.

They are fascinated by the camera.

My first graders and I, posing for a class picture.

Two friends.

Posing with Grimaldo, the second-grade teacher, on the last day. I feel tall.

Hands-down favorite kid, Dilmar, formerly known as bucket boy.

Wendy, one of my first-graders.

 

 

Pictures from Denise

Denise McCarthy, another Awamaki volunteer, came to school with us last week and took pictures of us teaching, playing volleyball, and clowning around with the kids. Below are some of her photos. There are more of Kelsey and Jarrard and Jacob, but the internet is slow, and the pictures of me downloaded first. I swear I´m not totally egocentric. I´ll try to download the rest later. Thanks for the photos, Denise!

Looking at the camera, not at his paper. Great.

Explaining the colors.

When you finish, you get a sticker and a circle drawn on your paper.

Writing an example for them.

Listening to me? Maybe. Maybe not.

Toiling away, in hopes of getting a sticker.

No, that´s not quite right. Yellow is not blue.

This is so typical. The kids are cute and I am annoyed.

Trying not to let the sixth graders show him up.

Volleyball, getting intense.

Dance Photos (1 day at a time)

I now have a replacement thumb drive, which means I can finally post more pictures. Eliza wrote about Ollanta Raymi and had some excellent photographs and video. I have edited and selected some of my favorite photos from the dances after the show, and I am posting them (one per day) here:
http://jarrardcole.wordpress.com/
The first one went up a few minutes ago.

When I get a little more time, I will try to upload all of my best recent photos to the flickr account. Thanks again to everyone for looking at the pictures, reading this blog, and commenting!

-Jarrard

I swear I´m not a tourist

I spend a lot of time here trying not to be a tourist. I never assume people speak English. I don´t take rude pictures of locals out doing their shopping, even if they are dressed equisitely or their baby is really cute. I avoid touristy locales and politely say ¨no gracias,¨ when asked to buy something.

But today I caved and went to the market at Pisac, embracing my inner American, my inner shopper, my inner commercialist. It feel guilty for saying so, but it was fun.

The market at Pisac on Sundays was originally a place for Peruvians to bring their crops to town in exchange for goods such as sugar or oil. And to some extent, it still serves this purpose.

But it has grown to fame for its market aimed at tourists, larger and more spectacular than any I´ve seen so far in Peru. The Pisac market made San Pedro look tiny in comparison. There were street after street of vendors, selling any kind of trinket or souvenir a person could want.

There were a lot of things I didn´t want. Alpaca sweaters in garish colors, which Hugh Thomson so accurately described as making the wearer appear to be a molting hamster. CDs of the horrific ¨huayno¨ music, pronounced ¨whine-o,¨ and sounding even worse than their name suggests. Textiles created on machines using distinctly not-natural dyes. Coca leaves, which are gross and illegal to bring home to the states. Ugly pottery. Keychains displaying an image of Machu Picchu. Ponchos.

But there were a lot of things I did want, once I dug past the initial layer of tourist trinkets. I bought a beautiful carved wooden Inca mask for $7. A pair of earrings made from a brilliant red seed which supposedly brings the wearer good luck for $1. Silver and turquoise earrings for $3. A long wool skirt with a woven design at the bottom for $12. A carved wooden soup spoon for $2 (because why the heck not).

It was a success, and my Spanish has finally gotten good enough to make jokes and small talk with vendors, extremely helpful in the bargaining process. And when someone tries to sell me hand-woven textiles of natural dyes, I explain that I work with weavers in Patacancha and have no need for more scarves or blankets.

It´s fun to see the look of shock on the faces of vendors, who are used to someone who A. speaks no Spanish and B. has no idea what a hand-woven textile looks like. The guy today looked shocked that the silly gringa even knew what Patacancha or a backstrap loom was. Heck, I´m not even sure he knew.

But after about two hours of shopping, I got tired of being approached by people trying to sell me things and saying no or feigning interest. So we ate some tamales and ally called it quits. But not before making a vow to bring Kelsey and Jarrard back, to maybe buy another pair of earrings.

Things for sale.

A little further from the main Plaza.

One of the many street selling stuff.