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I first saw them in Cusco’s cavernous San Pedro Market. They appeared well cared for, but wandered aimlessly, the boy steered protectively about by his older sister. I guessed them to be 4 and 6 years old and wondered how they came to be so independently mobile at such a tender age.
We were taking a morning walk--our guide Miguel, two other travelers and I. Earlier, the four of us had participated in a shaman’s “healing ceremony.” Now, having come to Cusco's busy center, we were sampling the produce in the market, shelves laden with fresh fruit and vegetables, fresh unrefrigerated meat on display, preserved (Miguel told us) by the cilantro placed around it. (Who knew?) Leaving the marketplace, we headed towards a large city cemetery and an introduction to Peruvian burial customs. Outside the gates, flower vendors manned profuse displays. We stopped to admire them. As we turned to move on, I noticed the same children I’d seen earlier in the market. Miguel spoke to them, handed the boy a colorful bunch of flowers and told us, “The kids are going to come along and help us in the cemetery.” ... All right, I told myself…but help us do what? I soon found out. The cemetery consisted entirely of mausoleums, small crypts for those whose remains were cremated, larger ones for others. Each was fronted by a small display of objects representing the life story of the deceased. Some also contained flowers, fresh at one time, but many now long past their “use by” date. Walking into the grounds, Miguel explained that the two children were the offspring of one of the flower vendors we had passed. “I’ll pick out a couple of displays that need attention and pay the kids to clean and freshen them up,” he said. The boy, he added, was 6; the girl, 8. They were small; my guess had been off by two years. The photos tell the story. |
The children clean the exterior of a crypt ...
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...put fresh flowers in a vase at the sink nearby ...
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... and carefully open the door of another chamber.
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Lunch Time
The kids walked us out of the cemetery gates, where we parted--we, to another world, lunch at an upscale restaurant; they, to the search for the next paying customer. As we walked on, Miguel said matter-of-factly, “This is how they help their family survive.” I couldn’t help thinking about how my own children spent their time at the ages of 6 and 8—Little League, soccer, swimming parties, summer vacations in a motor home. Life is unfair. Whatever the poverty rate—and relevant statistics are hard to come by since countries and organizations vary widely in the yardsticks they use for determining that—much of Peru seems desperately poor. Women eke out a few soles (the Peruvian currency) selling hot cereal from carts on street corners; cobblers set up stands on the streets, hoping to do quick repairs on footwear of the passersby. Adding to the appearance of poverty is the fact that in many areas, nearly all structures remain unfinished. Peruvian law dictates that property taxes may not be assessed until a building is complete; thus, it’s to the homeowner’s advantage to leave some part of the house obviously undone. |
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Mall atop a cliff overlooking the beach where we ate lunch on our first day in Lima.
Plaza overlooking the mall and beach below.
An officer checks his cell phone while standing guard.
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Touring Lima
On a cheerier note, we had come to Peru to visit some of the highlights of this land and take in the diversity of its terrain, climate, people, language, and customs. The seven of us who had planned the trip together had the first few hours to ourselves to explore Lima on our own. Lunch at a restaurant on a cliff overlooking the beach, followed by a shower, relaxation, email, and dinner at a nearby restaurant got the tour off to an unhurried start. The following morning, we met our tour guide Miguel and six other travelers, all from the States, who were joining us on the tour. During a bus ride through the city, we were joined by a local guide who, while pointing out major landmarks, filled us in on cogent facts about Lima, population 10 million, and Peru in general with a population 30 million strong. We learned . . .
Strikers Peaceful When we were in Lima, the miners were striking and many police were in evidence, though they seemed none too busy. The highlight of the morning tour was a stop at the San Francisco Church and Monastery, the building of which spanned the years from 1546 to 1774. Unfortunately for us shutterbugs, no photos were permitted inside. This restriction was difficult enough to honor when we visited the upper choir loft with its intricately carved seating for 150 singers and, later, the underground catacombs filled with the bones of countless souls. But when we entered the medieval library with its oversized, crumbling leather-bound texts, long reading tables, and circular stairs to a loft housing yet more volumes, I felt as though I had stepped into the middle ages and . . . well, I could barely restrain myself. But I did. Hence, no photographs, but oh, how I was tempted! |
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The morning tour over, our group was deciding where to go for lunch when a parade passed by. We followed it, of course, and were soon at the entrance to the Inca Market where clothing, tablecloths, and all manner of locally made items were for sale. After lunch, we checked out the wares, but not before taking advantage of a photo op with a few of my Peruvian boyfriends who insisted I get in the picture after taking several shots of them. (I don't know the significance of the costumes, but they were eye catching, as you can see.)
The following day was a travel day. We flew into Cusco, where we boarded a bus for the trip to Ollantaytambo and the Sacred Valley, stopping enroute in Chinchero to visit local craftswomen and their market and in Urubamba to see the work of a local ceramicist. On both stops, these creative people demonstrated how they make their wares. |
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A ceramicist in Urubamba demonstrates how he works with the clay which he makes himself.
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Women in Chinchero demonstrate how they dye the material they weave into fabric.
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One of the weavers helps a traveler make a selection from the many items on display in the Chinchero market. The women do much of the work on site and demonstrated how they prepare the dye and weave the yarn into cloth. They also served us a meal featuring a local delicacy--guinea pig.
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Visiting Ollantaytambo
Primarily, of course, we were eagerly making our way to Machu Picchu, the site that drew us all here to begin. But first we had something of a preview. Before stopping at our Sacred Valley hotel, we went to Ollantaytambo where terraces built by the Incas remain. While we had passed by smaller ruins enroute, this was the most impressive so far. Later, we backtracked to get to our hotel, off the main highway on a rutted dirt road. We passed tiny adobe homes jammed together barely set back from the road, and I assumed we would be staying in modest lodgings that night. Silly me! We soon turned into a walled and gated compound as well-groomed as any resort the world around. Once more, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere on this site, this was, to a certain extent, travel in a bubble. The following day, however, some of us took advantage of an opportunity to to visit a local home. Again, with Donna and Merlene, the friends with whom I'd shared the cemetery experience, I went with Miguel to a “home-hosted dinner.” Many tour companies offer these, often the only opportunity to visit a private home. The four of us took off (somewhat ludicrously, it seemed) in the bus, our only means of transportation, and continued down our bumpy road away from the main highway. Eventually, we stopped and Miguel announced the bus driver wouldn’t be able to turn the bus around if we went any farther so we’d have “a bit of a walk from here.” Bringing flashlights, one for each of us on this pitch dark, moonless night, our hostess greeted us and led the way to her home. We trudged along for 10 minutes or so to a chorus of unseen dogs, fortunately fenced, all the while being reminded to avoid the animal feces along the path. The house was surprisingly large, but simple. Our hostess explained it had been in the family for several generations. After a dinner of chicken, rice, and a thick soup of corn and beans, she offered to show us around. Again, the photos tell the story. |
The Inca terraces at Ollentaytambo
Steps between the terraces at Ollantaytambo
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Our hostess and her mother
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The entrance to their home
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The kitchen cupboard
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Constantly running water from a mountain stream
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The Vistadome arrives at Ollantaytambo
We begin our journey
Aguas Calientes, gateway to Machu Picchu
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On to Machu Picchu
And now…the main event. We rose before 5, had an early breakfast, and took the bus to the Perurail station in Ollantaytambo. There we climbed aboard the Vistadome for the 90-minute ride to Aguas Calientes, the tiny mountain town that's the gateway to Machu Picchu. The views on the train ride were spectacular, the rushing rapids of the Urubamba River in the foreground, towering Andean peaks beyond. And the weather couldn’t have been better. Traveling towards the end of the rainy season, we had been warned to come prepared for rain, but the gods smiled; the day was sunny, warm, and inviting. Disembarking at Aguas Calientes, we boarded buses to go on up the mountain. What followed was a nail biter—a twisting, gravel road, often edged by nothingness along steep cliff-hanging stretches—until at last we were greeted by the sign we’d all been waiting for: Machu Picchu. Built by the Incas in the 1500’s, the site is truly a wonder. How (and why?—a question still unanswered) did the Incas create such a masterpiece of engineering in such forbidding terrain with no mortar, primitive tools and bare hands? How did they ascertain exactly where to place certain structures so that at the time of the winter solstice, the sun’s rays strike precisely the most significant point in their creations every year? How did they bring in (or rather, bring up) all the material needed to create the terraces where they grew their crops? Each terrace, we were told, consists of layers of gravel topped by layers of sand and soil, all hauled in from elsewhere. And all this in civilization whose dominance spanned little more than a century! There’s an intangible something about being in a place so ancient and historic that leaves me sort of … I don’t know … untethered? disoriented? time warped? I’ve had this experience before—at the Coliseum in Rome, the Sistine Chapel, the Great Wall of China. I think it comes from trying to imagine what life was like in those dust-covered times while I’m surrounded by people in visors and tennies with cameras slung around their necks. I want to put myself in the past and I can’t, distracted as I am by the present. |
Approaching the ruins
In mid-afternoon the clouds rolled in and Machu Picchu took on a brooding air after the bright sunny morning.
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We Move On
While Machu Picchu was what had brought most of us to Peru, our trip was not yet over—and, in fact, a couple of days hence, a special experience awaited. First, however, upon our descent from Machu Picchu, we took the train back to Ollantaytambo, then boarded the bus for Cusco, where we spent the following day, taking in the sites of that metropolis which claims to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the Americas. Leaving Cusco, we spent a long day on the bus enroute to Puno on the banks of Lake Titicaca. The journey was broken up by two stops, the first at an elementary school where we visited with students and faculty and dropped off school supplies. They seemed to welcome the interruption in their usual activities and eagerly invited us join them in a dance, view the ceramic work they’d done, and peek inside their classrooms. Our other stop was at the ruins of the Temple of Wiracocha, the largest Inca temple yet discovered. Built of stone and adobe, it had been about 300 feet long by 80 feet wide. Now, only portions of the central wall and some of the pillars which helped support the enormous roof remain. |
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We're escorted to the island that's open to visitors for the day by a Uros speedboat.
We step onto the squishy reeds a big gingerly.
A group of island women work on projects which they'll offer for sale to visitors. The sale of their crafts is an important source of income.
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A Unique Way of Life: The Uros People
The next day, having spent the night at a lakeside hotel in Puno, we boarded a boat for a visit to the Uros people on the floating islands of Lake Titicaca. At an altitude of 12,500 feet, Titicaca is reputed to be the highest navigable lake in the world. Twenty-five rivers flow into it from glaciers in the mountains above; only one river flows out. Before paved roads were built, the lake was the principal route between Peru and Bolivia. The floating islands, home to about 1600 people, are fashioned from reeds harvested from the lake. The dense roots of the reeds form a natural base for the layers of cut reeds the Uros add several times a year, and the islands are anchored in place with ropes attached to portions of tree trunks driven into the lake bed. Walking on the islands is a unique experience. There’s a considerable amount of squishy “give” under your feet and it takes some getting used to. I’m told it’s akin to walking on a waterbed—but never having walked on a waterbed, I wouldn’t know. A Simple Life--Mostly When the Spaniards came across the Uros during the 1500’s, the latter hadn’t yet discovered fire and ate everything raw. While life on the islands remains simple, the Uros are not averse to technology. Solar panels top many of the one-room reed structures they call home and, though they lack many modern conveniences, TV’s are much in evidence. The Uros support themselves by fishing and tourism, though many of the men now commute to work on the mainland while the women do craft work, greet the tourists and manage the sale of the items they create. We were told that in the Uros language (Aymara), there is no word for “thank you.” Instead, reciprocity is expected, and if you help someone out, both you and they know it will soon be their turn to help you. The community has three elementary schools and two churches—one Mormon and the other, Seventh Day Adventist. Uros children go to school by boat, and when they’re old enough to go alone, their parents monitor their progress from watch towers on their islands. At the high-school level, students board on the mainland, and as might be expected, parents are finding few of the young people then want to return to island life. I struck up a conversation with one young woman eager to try out her English—she spoke it very well—but we had to cut short the conversation as she dashed off to snatch her two-year-old running towards the water. The day after visiting the Uros, we flew to Lima, where we did last-minute shopping, caught up on email, packed up in preparation for our flight home the following day, and went out for a farewell dinner. Once again, as on previous tours, it felt like leaving long-time friends as we went our separate ways. |
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This trip was taken with Gate 1 Travel. Travel arrangements were made by Yolanda's Vacations.
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This trip was taken with Gate 1 Travel. Travel arrangements were made by Yolanda's Vacations.
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