Slowly, we wended through the narrow streets of Cusco. Right now I can´t upload photos, but I am extremely impressed with the drivers in this city making such tight turns through the most narrow streets I have ever seen. I think Dad could probably lay down across the Street and touch the buildings on either side! We stopped for many photo ops along the way, because our B&B is set up higher on the hillside, and the view at different plazas on the way down is beyond words. My favorite thing from our walk down was seeing these two hillsides opposite the city. One on hill, you can read the inscription ¨Viva la Peru¨(Long live Peru) and on the other, there is the image of what I believe is a god from the Incan pantheon. It struck me as incredible that people went to such work to make these images visible from across the city, or I´m guessing, maybe even from an airplane. I would also like to know what is needed to maintain this!
We slowly made our way to the Plaza de las Armas (it seems like every city has a plaza by this name here, and it´s usually the principal gathering place, especially on a day like today. It´s Palm Sunday, and people were streaming out of the myriad churches in the área with beautiful handmade palm bouquets in hand. There were a few stands in the Street where you could see older women and children working together to créate the bouquets for the next mass.
By the point that Erin and I had arrived in the plaza, we were seriously in need of rest, food, and wáter. We walked into the first restaurant we came to, because we realized that in having similarly overachiever personalities, we probably won´t know our own limits with tolerating the altitude until we´ve already crossed to the wrong side. While nothing worse happened to me all day that feeling pressure in my head, some dizziness at times, or shortness of breath when going up a large hill, it´s an uncomfortable experience to have the mind willing and the flesh unable.
After a long and enjoyable pizza lunch, we were determined to get some choclo con queso, which is a corn cob smothered in sauce and accompanied by a hunk of cheese. We couldn´t find a vendor, but we found something possibly better- a chocolate museum! The cultivation of cacao happens in 10 of the departments (states) here, and so it's a fairly important industry. In the museum, we were able to see the history of cacao cultivation (it started with the Mayans, was taken over by the Aztecs, and then Hernando Cortes brought it back to Spain. From there, the rest is history. Fun story about the name of chocolate: while the origin is unknown, one theory is that the Aztec word for it was cacahuatl, or caca for short. However, because caca is a word that the Spaniards did NOT want to associate with food, they changed it to Chocolate.
After Reading up on the beans of this delicious food, it was time to eat some. Erin and I each got a "make your own hot chocolate" and a "personal fondue". The fondue came with kebabs of fruit balancing over an individualized ladle of chocolate and was delicious (especially the banana). Making my own chocolate was a fun experience: you begin by putting a very think and semi-bitter chocolate paste in the bottom of your cup, then adding other spices and flavorings (I tried a cinnmon and clove versión as well as the chili pepper and honey versión which is how it was originally consumed in the Americas). After these ingredients are in the cup, you have your stirring spoon in one hand and the heated milk in the other, and you slowly pour in the milk as you stir it into the chocolate. Amazing!
We decided to start walking home. Unfortunately, the most direct route for us was straight up a hill. While we felt greatly improved from 3 hours before, but we knew that the hill would be tough. Fortunately, the way home was lined with shops as well as artists selling their goods. I may have bought the best hat in the word, and I am NOT a hat person. The good news from the climb was that even on the longer stretches that were steeper or full of stairs, we were able to do it with much less discomfort than earlier.
After a nap, some Gabriel Garcia Marquez Reading, and a much-needed shower, we went to a local restaurant called Pacha Papa (Earth Father in Incan- mother and father nature were much revered by the people). Both Erin and I decided to try the chicharrones. When the name of another meat (like chicken) doesn´t follow the word Chicharron, you know it´s friend pork pieces- crackling. Well, I had no idea what crackling was, but I was hellbent on trying what is said to be a Cusco specialty. I´m glad I tried it, but I probably wouldn´t again. There were three pieces of chicharron, and between the bone and the fat it was hard to find meat. Now, the fat is supposed to be eaten, but sometimes you come across a piece you can´t chew, and where do you go from there? It was served with 3-4 pieces of fried sweet potato (basically like sweet potato chips, mm), an onion salad which did go well with the pork, and Chulpi corn. This is the corn of the región (HUGE kernels), and it is then roasted until hard and crunchy. It was almost like eating popcorn kernels, only they don´t get stuck in your teeth.
Food done, we ended up moving tables and sitting with two guys from New York who had also just gotten into Cusco for the day. We spent maybe an hour hanging out with them, exchanging Peruvian and other international experiences, and then headed home. It was such a fun experience for me because our other accommodation in Lima was a hotel with no socializing between strangers, and while there are people in and our of our B&B, people do not seem particularly inclined to sit and talk. That was far away my favorite thing about Colombia, the discovery of how hostel life can introduce you to so many new and wonderful people, who themselves lead you on to great experiences. I have the feeling that we might get to have this experience with our trek group; it seems almost imposible to me that we will be hiking, camping, and finally arriving at a sacred space together and remain aloof.
Erin and I returned to our place around 11 PM, had a philosophical discussion on healthcare, financial literacy, and personal motivation before falling asleep. I slept well and woke up around 5:45. The Cusco horizons were royal blue and getting lighter by the minute, so I grabbed my camera and stood on our tiny balcony. While the rooftops obscured the sunrise, I was able to watch the lights in the hillside shacks slowly winking out as people got up for the day. Cusquenos were already up and moving in my neighborhood and passed shuffling under my perch, yawning and looking as though a few more hours of sleep would be the greatest boon in life.
Erin is still sleeping, so I came to write this, and instead made a new friend. His name is Jon and he the night shift three days a week at the hostel while he is also studying to be a pharmacist. We discussed Cusco, the US, special education and people with disabilites, and somehow I can never avoid these conversations, but God. Latin America is a fairly Catholic place, and people always seem a bit surprised when I confess my lack of affiliation to anything greater than my own personal truth: people should do right by each other. However, since Latin America is also a place where kindness seems inherent, the idea of treating others with graciousness falls well on ears here. Something regarding my own beliefs: I read that cultivating a sense of gratitude can improve their lives greatly. When I think on the things that I am greatful for, I don´t say out loud: I am grateful for my family, my job, my apartment, this trip, whatever. It´s an internal expression of thanks- I think ¨thank you for...¨. Who am I saying thanks to, whence comes this subconscious sense of relationship to another power? Just a thought.
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