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| Am I on Earth? |
Because
I have accumulated so many stories over the past month and a half, it
would be nearly impossible to share them all without writing a short
novel, so instead I'm going to choose a few of the most enjoyable. Ill
begin with one particularly adventurous day in the "shabby town of
Maras," as the guidebook described it. On our way to find the bus
station in Cusco, we were stopped by a man across the street who offered
us a ride in a private van for only a few soles more, including a stop
at the nearby "salineras," or salt mines. After being slowly convinced,
we climbed in the van and headed up the side of the valley. Because the
previous night had been unusually frigid, some unique cloud formations
embraced the freshly snow-covered peaks. At the lower elevations it had
been warm enough for the snow to turn to rain, and the green grass
sparkled with fresh dew under the morning sun, almost glowing like a
traffic light, and encouraging us to continue on the voyage we had
undertaken. As we neared Maras, we veered right onto a narrow dirt road,
which stretched out across a small plateau before disappearing into the
valley below. Once at the edge, we zig-zagged down a steep hill and the
salt mines became visible on the opposite side of the narrow ravine.
Cut into the side of the hill, thousands of pools reflected the
sunlight, resembling some sort of earthen sponge with a giant light
shoved inside. After stopping to admire the view from above, we headed
across the small river and down to the mines, where a minor fee enabled
us to enter and explore the area. Inside we discovered an almost Martian
landscape, where red dirt snaked between seemingly endless pools of
shallow, salty water.
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| Las Salineras |
The mine operated by the force of gravity, the
water cascading down through the pools and evaporating, leaving behind
walls of salt that look very much like the wind-crusted snow of
Colorado. Despite the fact that we were visiting during the low season
of salt production, there was still enough under each pool to provide
the average household with salt for well over a year.
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| What a beaut! |
After traversing
the maze of dirt paths used by the workers, we returned to the van and
headed back up the steep hill and back to the plateau, on which we found
the town of Maras. We hopped off in the main plaza, and after getting
an extremely vague tip from the driver, began our search for Moray, the
local ruins that had inspired the trip in the first place. Not knowing
for sure which direction to go, and not having an appropriate map, we
started to wander around town looking for some sort of helpful hint. It
didn't take long to confirm the guidebook's description of "shabby", as
the old adobe buildings and empty streets invoked the feeling of being
in an old western film. Eventually, a local woman saw us and we must
have looked lost, because she immediately approached us and gave us some
proper directions. A quick stop at a corner store provided us with some
refreshment for after the hike, and we were ready to begin the ten
kilometer walk to the ruins.
About a kilometer outside of town we came
to the crest of the first hill, and couldn't help but stop and take in
the view. Vast fields of vibrant purple and yellow flowers spotted the
luscious green landscape, which was humbled by the massive snow-capped
peaks that surrounded us in every direction. Amazingly, we had gone from
"Tombstone" to "The Sound of Music" in only a matter of minutes. The
next six kilometers or so wound across a plateau that offered
continuously breathtaking scenery. It was so profoundly beautiful that
it was impossible to walk for five minutes without stopping to snap a
photo. We were so enthralled with our surroundings that we didn't even
notice that we had taken a wrong turn until we ended up in a tiny
village that had obviously not encountered many "gringos". I approached
one of the local boys, who was staring at me like I was some sort of
strange insect he had never seen before, and asked him the way to Moray.
He pointed us across a small pasture and over a hill, ensuring us it
was just on the other side. After a long debate of whether or not to
trust him, we decided to take a chance, and took off across the pasture.
We found a path and hiked over to the other side of the hill, and sure
enough, the ruins sat at the base of the long descent below. Figuring we
had no other way, we blazed a trail down the hill until we came to a
meadow where some sheep were enjoying the lush grass directly above the
ruins. Once there, we enjoyed the view with lunch, some frisbee, and the
beers that had delayed our departure from town. It was the perfect spot
on a perfect afternoon.  |
| Nice spot for a picnic |
Because we had no desire to pay, and because we
found ourselves in a unique location, we took advantage of the
opportunity for free admission, making our way down some sheep paths and
into the ruins. Moray is basically a giant, terraced bowl in the earth,
which the Incas used as a sort of agricultural laboratory. It was
fascinating to see the impressive terrace work and the ingenious hydro
engineering that enabled maximum production for the Incas. When we went
to leave, we encountered a complete absence of taxis to take us back to
town, and with the impending rain the situation started to seem a bit
desperate. Just as we left the parking lot to begin the long walk back, a
white car drove up beside us and the kind man inside offered us a ride.
While there was six of us and only four seats available in the small
hatchback, my friend, John, and I figured that we could handle riding in
the trunk for the nine kilometers back to Maras. We squeezed in just as
it began to rain, and I have never been more thankful to be crammed in a
trunk, even if it meant sitting on a spare tire. With town coming into
view, our driver informed us that because it was Saturday afternoon, it
was unlikely that we could find a bus back to Cusco, and offered to
drive us all the way there. Compared to standing in the rain for hours
on end, we decided it was a better bet to take the offer, and we rode
all the way home curled up in the trunk, watching the sun dip below the
peaks. It was truly a fantastic day.
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| John in Moray |
Another
memory that sticks in my mind is the following weekend, during a
celebration of the Catholic holiday Carnivale. While most of the group
headed to the town of Puno, known to be the central location of the
festivities, I was unable to accompany them due to the current state of
my bank account. Instead, I opted to stay in Cusco alone and see what
fun I could pull together without my buddies around to aide. To start
off the weekend I had breakfast with a couple of my comrades before we
headed to the bus terminal and departed ways. From there, I headed up a
near flight of stairs towards a giant statue that stood on the hill,
which had caught my eye the day we arrived. After what seemed to be
fifty flights, I finally came to the foot of a massive Incan man, who
stood proudly on a giant concrete platform, with a combined height of
about sixty feet. A short exploration of the structure proved that while
the statue was beautiful, a plethora of graffiti tainted the lower,
more reachable parts, and the platform was dirty and incomplete. I
quickly rested and moved on upwards, towards a small structure I had
noticed on the top of the hill above. The words, "Viva El Peru" were
carved in giant letters in the hillside, and made the small hut at top
look like no more than a small Lego brick. Soon the trail began to
dissipate, and I had to make my way up a steep, rocky ridge. As I
ascended, the city below seemed to stretch further and further with the
horizon, until the expanse of colorful structures blanketed the entire
valley floor. Finally the mall, white gazebo came into view, and it
stood behind a white cross that marked the crest of the hill. Coming
closer I realized that the structure was a sort of shrine, and in the
back center there was a small rock case containing flowers, money, and
various trinkets that appeared to be offerings to a saint. I caught my
breath and had some water before cracking open a cool Cusquena, turning
on some Bob Marley, and playing hacky sack in what turned out to be a
perfect, covered space. Alone, I kicked that bag for at least two hours,
taking breaks only to have a sip of beer and exercise some dance moves.
I must say that there is something extremely liberating about dancing
like a fool to an entire city of people, knowing that any one of those
hundreds of thousands may look up and get infected with the pure
enthusiasm for life that I felt. I liked to imagine Cusco suddenly
overcome with a dancing epidemic that resulted from the contagiousness
of my far-superior moves. Once I decided that wasn't going to happen, I
headed back down the hill to the bus terminal where I had left my
friends. I had a short debate over catching a cab, but quickly decided
to walk home instead, given the fact that the sun was finally peeking
through the clouds. Another couple miles walk home certainly deemed me
worthy of a shower, and after getting cleaned up, I walked another
couple miles to the town square, where I found the true spirit of
Carnivale. People of all ages ran through the streets in a chaotic scene
of water fights and silly string. A large stage was set up on one side
of the plaza, directly in front of the largest cathedral, and loud
Peruvian music emanated from speakers positioned throughout the crowd.
Peruvians dressed in their traditional, colorful clothing, made the sea
of people look like the rainbow sprinkles of a giant, square cake.
Because I was without my comrades, I walked around and felt lonely until
I encountered a group of locals who offered me a can of the foam spray
and told me to join them. The rest of the afternoon we ran around like
hooligans, spraying foam and throwing water balloons at any person we
came across, and they would usually respond in a similar manner. My new
friends also gave me a tour of the "locals" bars, where I enjoyed the
atmosphere of being the only white, English-speaking person in the room.
A long night would ensue to top off a Carnivale experience I will not
soon forget.
Yet
another great memory is the final day of the teacher training program.
It was tough to see the end of such a wonderful six weeks, in which I
had a lovely class of thirteen amazing teachers, all very eager to learn
the English language. While it was a challenging test of my limited
Spanish skills, they were immeasurably improved by the end of my time
there, and I now feel confident in communication with the locals. In the
final week of the program, we had the task of preparing a presentation
that demonstrated what the class had learned over the duration of the
course. Our class, the most basic of all, chose to do a dialogue about a
family at a birthday party. It was really entertaining to see a bunch
of adults collaborating in a skit as if they were children at summer
camp. After much indecision and rough translation, we put together a
five minute dialogue that included the singing of "Happy Birthday" and a
jolly dance. I was truly proud to see the class apply what I had tried
so hard to teach them, and it was rewarding to see that my efforts were
not completely in vein. On that Thursday- Valentine's Day- we met at the
Ministry of Education headquarters for the entire region of Cusco. Once
everyone had arrived, the presentation began about an hour late, not
surprising once you're used to "Peruvian time". My class was the fifth
to present, and even though the acoustics were terrible, they did an
excellent job. After finishing they proceeded to thank me in front of
the entire audience and present me with a gift and lots of hugs and
handshakes. Before we returned to our seats, we escaped to the hallway
where we had a small party with ritz crackers and inca cola. I opened
the gift they had given me, which turned out to be a beautiful bag and a
hat, and we took so many pictures that my smiling muscles grew tired.
After finally re-entering the auditorium, we took our seats just in time
to accept certificates from the Ministry of Education acknowledging our
accomplishments. The following celebration would cause the entire next
day to be dedicated to rest. On Saturday, our last day in Cusco for a
while, we headed to the plaza for another Carnivale experience, this one
even better than the last, due to the fact that the rest of the group
was around.
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| Life among the clouds |
The
following Monday we packed up and departed Cusco early that morning.
The sun was shining as we traversed the road to Urubamba and then headed
up an unbelievably long and curvy pass that took us all the way up to
about thirteen thousand feet. By the time we reached the top, we were
amongst the clouds, which ran up the side of the hill like steam
shooting from a boiling kettle. The descent would turn out to be equally
curvy yet much more nerve-racking, as many of the hairpin turns exposed
drops of several hundreds of feet to the river below. Driving out of
the bottom of the clouds like an airplane on the descent, the vegetation
outside the window rapidly became thicker and thicker, and soon we were
in a full fledged cloud forest. Unfortunately, the same copious
precipitation that made all that vegetation possible had also caused a
massive landslide that blocked the road. When we pulled up to the giant
slab of earth, which was about eighty feet wide, trees were still
breaking free from their roots at the top and tumbling down the steep,
unstable ground below. Their giant trunks looked like no more than twigs
and they rolled down the rocks and snapped into multiple pieces. As
they reached the river, which was at least a hundred feet below, we
noticed a small, blue pile at the bottom of the slide. Upon closer
examination, we realized that the seemingly innocent pile was actually
the down jacket of a man who was clearly dead from a violent fall. It
turned out that he had been clearing some rocks from the road the
previous night, before the major slide had happened, and after being
startled by a car, fell down a nearly vertical slope for about sixty or
seventy feet, before making contact with the flat river bed. His body
was twisted and mangled, and as rain once again began to fall, the
situation was truly ominous. Because of another landslide further down
the road, no machines were able to access the slide for repair, so we
decided to turn around and head back to Cusco, which meant nearly four
hours of backtracking.
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| El Establo |
The next day we waited, and passed the time
washing windows and serving lunch at a local senior community. On
Wednesday, we tried again, and were lucky enough to make it through to
the small town of Huyro, where the Projects Abroad Inca Project is
located. Based out of an old stable, the property, known as "El Establo"
is about seventeen hectares of land, complete with a corn field, coffee
plantation, various fruit trees, and a soccer pitch. The stable was a
large, open shed which had been equipped with a couple of bunk-bed
filled rooms, as well as two bathrooms, one for boys and one for girls.
Other than that there was a sitting area and a dining area, which were
only separated by the old concrete troughs and a waste high wall. The
project there was an inspiring model of a community based, sustainable
lifestyle. The daily routine often consisted of peeling corn for chicken
feed, cutting overgrowth with machetes, and relaxing over a creek in
hammocks, all while trying to avoid being eaten alive by sand flies.
Also, we got to participate in the archaeological aspect of the project,
which involved marking artifacts found at local ruins, drawing them,
and trying to fit the thousands of small shards of ceramics together to
form a pot or vase. The latter task was basically an extremely
difficult, 3D jigsaw puzzle, in which the pieces have all been scrambled
from other boxes and half are still buried deep in the ground
somewhere. Of course, to find the artifacts, the volunteers there help
clear and excavate newly discovered archaeological sights in the region,
and we participated in a few hikes up to some of those sights. The team
there includes two professional archaeologists and they are even
looking for a new, undiscovered Incan path to the nearby Machu Pichu,
which they believe exists based on the information they have so far. It
was fascinating to learn about the extremely involved process of
discovering, documenting, excavating, and restoring the many sites of
the area, and I wish we would have had more time to spend there. When we
left yesterday, we once again were turned back by yet another
landslide. When we arrived originally, there was a machine working and
we were told it wouldn't be long before we could pass. However, shortly
thereafter, we got news that the machine had been hit by a falling rock,
which knocked out its fuel pump, so we decided to head back to Huyro
for one more night. We left early this morning and were able to make it
back to Cusco, just in time for an early departure for the Inca
Trail tomorrow morning.
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| Out for a morning stroll |
I
apologize again for the delay of this post, and hopefully the next few
will be much more punctual. Look for one next week on the Machu Pichu
experience, and after that, I'll be posting from the spectacular
Himalayas of Nepal! I will leave you now with a quote, thanks for
reading!
"The
pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are
permitted to remain children our whole lives" -Albert Einstein
