So today we are leaving the jungle. And we are leaving dirty and grimy and Stinking. Everything we brought is wet, even if we didn’t wear it. The heat is indescribable- it’s like breathing underwater.
As we leave, we take advantage of one last breakfest here. Were old hat at this point. We have our own table and I’m surprised there are not cold beers waiting for us at 5:30am. And as we eat, we see the newbies come in-fresh off the boat the little dears. All dressed cute and felt clean in their short sleeves and shorts. Good luck with that. They’ll learn.
We check out and give back the key. Which are basically immunity idols, huge (about 6 inches long) in the shape of sloths with your key attached to the end. We all take a vote and it looks like Gary is out. He was hoarding food.
We leave the same way we came via boat and then bus to the tiny airport in the jungle.
We are now flying to Cusco, farther north west, and much much higher. We have been a sea level since arriving obviously (and for about 47-69 years before that). Now we are arriving through the mountains and it doesn’t seem like we can land, because we’re still at altitude… Cusco is almost 11,000 feet above sea level. Picture that- cruising altitude in a plane is typically 30,000? So we are 1/3 the way to that when we land between the Andes. It’s epically beautiful nestled here in the green peaks. And it should be noted that I continuous call these the Alps. I know the difference. But, I keep saying it. And Nicole keeps making fun of me. Kind of like the time I said I wanted to go to Japan because I wanted to see Pearl Harbor. I can’t be the smart one AND the pretty one. (Yeah I know. I really lost the lottery on this one.)
Anyway.
As we land and walk out of the plane I stumble a few times. Realizing that I’m super dizzy I ask how the others are and Nicole is definitely out of breath. Chris and Gary are definitely a little worse – looking a little paler and complaining of headaches and chest heaviness. We realize all at once that we are suffering from altitude effects.
As we meet our pick up person, Jackie, the first thing she asks is if we are okay and hands out coca candies. These are made from the leaves that cocaine comes from, but without being processed in the same way, they give a little rush like an espresso and the Peruvians chew the leaves and make tea and these candies out of them, as a way to battle elevation issues.
So we take them immediately.
She continues to ask us if we are okay every few minutes as we board the private transfer and drive towards the sacred valley. Clearly she is used to people having some side effects.
As we progress in our journey we are all having varying degrees of effects- Chris seaming the most affected- breathless and heavy chested. I’m getting a headache- something I never have. Nicole too- which always gives me the shivers- when she says she has a headache.
Driving through Cusco we ask to stop at a market so we can pick up wine for tonight and snacks for the drive. Jackie is happy to oblige, driver pulling over on the busy street to let the Canadians out for “essentials”.
We will be driving approximately 2 hours to get to the sacred valley, our next stop for two nights. It is lower than Cusco- we will descend about 1000 feet. That might give some relief to the effects? They do the tours this way to try and acclimate you, get you used to the altitude a little bit at a time. You will still be at 9500-10,000 feet in the valley, but that actually makes a difference.
Our drive is absolutely stunning. After Jackie asks where we are from she tells us some of the history of Cusco and the surrounding area. Mostly she talks about the people and how they live here.
As we drive we see SO MANY dogs! She says they are not all strays. Most are owned and just wander. But some are stray and beg-all are friendly. They must be part mountain goat to live here with this thin air.
She speaks about the guinea pigs and how people raise them here, for food. Yup. You read right. They raise them for meat. Chris and I have discussed and said that we would try some if the opportunity presented. Nicole is very firm in her “we don’t eat our friends” stance on this particular issue.
Jackie says that she won’t eat it. She said that when she was a child her grandmother had about a hundred. They live in the house with them, sometimes in a cage under their fire fueled stoves for cooking to keep them warm.
She said that everyday after school she would come and feed them grass. They make and noise that sounds like “qu-eeee qu-eeee qu-eee” and so that’s what they are called here- spelled “Cuy”.
So she would feed them and hear their cuy cuy cuy as they all came running for their dinner.
One day there was a big celebration at her grandmothers. It was the celebration of the southern cross in June that marks the beginning of their winter. When she arrived for the celebration, she saw that all the guinea pigs had been killed and roasted— and she was horrified. All her little pets gone 🙁 Now she can’t bare to eat them, although her entire family does every chance they get. It’s expensive here to eat them, but they love them. Kind of like we have pens full of lobster at our grocery stores. We watch them and then pick which ones we’d like to kill and eat. And they are expensive. Same same. Just not as cute.
We drive on through the mountains and start to descend into the valley. We’re about 2 hours driving and the further we get out of the city the more the landscape gets rugged and lush. We start to drive between the mountains and see some snowcaps and fields of couscous, Barley, and wheat. The mountains get more and more colorful as we move along entire fields, dedicated to agriculture, distinctly different color, red, green, blue, and yellow.
I should mention something about our driver. If you read the Nepal blog, you’ll remember Hurry. The James Bond of Nepal in a suit with a handsome face and mischievous, eyes. His name was actually Harry, but he drove like a bat straight out of hell to the twist and turns in the mountains of the Nepali countryside. We joked that he preferred his white people shaken not stirred. Well we’ve met his Peruvian brother – Vamous. This dude is driving like we just stole this van. I’m waiting to hear the sirens behind us. I swear we take a couple of these turns on two wheels. It’s like we are guinea pigs and it’s the southern cross ceremony and we gettin outa here. We have all pisco soured our pants within the first few minutes.
Anyway, back to the view.
This is far beyond what I had expected-I’m not sure why-I was fully aware we were heading into the Andes. But we’re seeing people in traditional garb women in black skirts with red trim, tall black hats, long sleeve, sweaters, and ponchos, black tights and bright tassels hanging from every part of their clothing. We see mountains that as hard as we try craning our necks, we can’t see the tops of through the window of the van, their cap in possibly high.
Our ears are popping, and our headaches are intensifying. But I don’t think anyone cares.
Finally, the valley comes into view, high mountains on both sides in a colorful valley floor. As we descend into it, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that the valley isnt at sea level- the mountains are so high on each side that surely we must be. But Jackie assures us we are still about 9500 feet above that, even here at the valley floor.
We head to our hotel. It’s a converted monastery and every bit as epic as you’d expect. Wood structure with elaborate courtyards. Beautifully decorated.
Our rooms are on the top floor- with balconies that over look the valley and its mountain walls. But on our way to our rooms we see that our hotel has 2 amenities we hadn’t expected. In the garden, where the doors to our particular building are sit two alpacas. They can’t begin to fathom what they were about to face. I kind of feel bad for them. My voice and Nicole’s voice go up at least 17 octaves- “BABIES!!! SWEET LITTLE BABIES!! WHOS A GOOD ALPACA????”. I see Gary starting to clear out his knapsack and get an acme style trap. ready to get one of these to walk in for the trip home.
They are looking at us like we’re nuts , honestly, ears pulled back and little moans. We are all over these poor little things. Well, everyone but Chris. Chris is in the corner, preparing disinfectant and hand sanitizer so he can clean me.
So after we unsuccessfully try to ride the alpacas a few times we continue up to our rooms.
Dumping off the luggage we head to Nicole and Gary for the Muppet mountain bar. We have a great view of the valley walls- and a good bottle of wine from the stop earlier. The mountains seem to almost have a wave to them-a ripple- so lush and green. High up on the tops we can see crosses that will no doubt be lit up at night. As the sun goes down we see them glow green.
We head to one of the restaurants on the property, which is an Italian spot- and it’s decent, good pizza, and pastas.
Back up to our rooms for my first hard nights sleep. I wake up every 35 minutes or so checking the clock each time, thinking it’s time to wake up. In the morning, I look up altitude, sickness, and insomnia, is one of the biggest problems. That’s certainly what’s affecting me the most. But as We all get together for breakfast before heading out on our tour of the valley, I find out Chris and Gary have been sick in the night. Cold symptoms. Hard breathing. Definitely the altitude is affecting us. Nicole and I have very mild symptoms-usually firmly taking our position as the two weakest link in the group. Go figure.
We meet Paul in the lobby right on time for our tour of this sacred valley. It’s raining when we pull out and get in the van for a tour, a good downpour, which I’m thrilled about- I love seeing a spot in the rain- it makes all the colors more vibrant and there’s something about fog that makes me feel introspective and romantic. 80s kids huh?
But paul is chipper and he tells us not to worry this will be gone soon and as he’s midsentence, the rain dries up. He says we will be visiting some of his favorite spots today- he is from the area- and has played in these mountains.
But
As he says mountains, we hear something in his accent. He very clearly calls them “meow-tains”. Nicole and I are THRILLED. When we noticed in China that mouth was pronounced mouse- we adopted it. Please don’t think we were making fun- we LOVED IT. We used it so much in that trip that ever since- I find myself in everyday conversation using it. It’s a concerted effort for me to say mouth now.
And I think this whole meowtain thing may turn out the same. We. Are. Delighted.
As we drive along the meowtains (I’ll stop I promise- but only if you agree to say it on your head everytime I spell I correctly…) we are doing the usual F1 style driving. In and out of the passing lane, speeding is one of the 3 main religions here along with catholic and Protestant.
As we speed along we are met with rock slides that have happened overnight from the rain, taking a wide birth around many turns to avoid the large trash can sized rocks that have fallen overnight. This seems like it is normal to them so I’m trying not to freak out to bad.
We make it to the next town – or as Paul refers to it-city. We are set to go to a local home here and see how they prepare and dye the alpaca wool that they prize here in Peru. Nicole and I talk nicely to our visas for a few kk ties and explain to them that they will probably feel very used after this little stop. But it’s okay. We’ll be very gentle. Mostly.
The only people here- we walk into a dirt floor room and see that there is a fire on and three lovely women smiling at us, dressed in the local garb. Under the fire (not in the fire- under the hearth) are three guinea pigs cuy cuy cuy-ing. Toasty warm on this damp chilly morning- eating grass.
We are motioned to have a seat and one of the woman goes to work making us Coca tea on the stove. Then she hands it out like we’re friends who have come over for a break. Then goes to work showing us the wool process.
She starts with the freshly shorn wool- she calls it stinky in her broken English and sniffs it, making a poooo face. Then she says she needs shampoo to wash it and motions to the clear quartz looking rocks along side her. As she scrubs away and adds water to the rock and wool it starts to foam and she giggles and says “Peruvian shampoo!”
She shows us the dirty water that comes out and then moves along to the next step. Now we are watching her take the fluff of wool and using a spinner type contraption she creates the long strands of wool as we know it. She jokes that Peruvian woman can do this step while doing anything. She says they are “multi tasking women” and then says “doing anything” really drawn out again and winks at us. Shes adorable.
We see the natural wool colors from the actual colors of the alpacas- white, grey, black and brown.
Then she starts the dyeing process. She shows that they only use natural things to dye the wool, and then demonstrates to us the different ways they get the bright pink (the hibiscus seeds she pushes around the palm of her hand creating a fuchsia substance), then uses that same pink liquid and adds lime juice, magically creating orange as we watch, and then rubs the quartz like salt in it- creating a light purple. From there we move to the purple corn, that creates a beautiful deep dark purple, mixes that with more lime and salt and creates turquoise. I always thought the bright colors of the garments here were just a preference, but I’m realizing now that these are the colors they create and therefore use. Either way they are stunning and vibrant, and I can feel my visa getting hot in my pocket; Nicole getting that wild look in her eyes she got the time we bought all the silk in China.
Then they bring us to the weaver in the center of the room. She is using a long white stick to make her pattern with the wools on her loom, and they are excited to tell us this stick is human bone. It’s working well, even if it does make me feel a little weird watching. She is weaving a large table runner and it is so special! All the colors we’ve been shown making a pattern of lamas and triangles, lines and squares.
Then we are released to explore their wares! They have tons and tons of sweaters, hats and gloves, scarves and head bands- all hand knit or loomed. All natural baby and adult alpaca. The bright colors we now feel like we can recognize
We’re going to be a while.
We pick through just about every price they have on offer. We pick out hats and mittens. We get a little sweater for our granddaughter – Chris getting that look he gets when price doesn’t matter because it’s for her- his Sophie.
As I’m picking out the sweater Nicole is at another table of scarfs, she has dove in- I can just see the top of her head over the pile she is sorting through. So I proudly bring my Sophie sweater to Gary to show him.
“See what we’re getting for Sophie?! Isn’t it sweet????”
He pauses.
He’s really looking the sweater over.
Giving me a strange look.
“How much is it?”
I tell him. It’s a lot. But, “it’s Baby alpaca! And it’s Sophie!”
He looks horrified.
Then I realize what he’s searching it for.
Leg holes.
They have a pup named Sophia.
Our granddaughter is Sophie.
He thinks I’m buying this for his dog.
Sigh.
“For my granddaughter you NUT. NOT YOUR DOG!”
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Okay. I need my sister. I need to make fun of muppet number one STAT.
That takes a few minutes. The poor women must think we’re crazy, laughing until we are crying and crossing our legs so we dont pee.
Eventually we move on and get back to the task at hand. Buying the crap outa the sacred valley.
We dicker a little with the ladies, but not too much. All of these items are hard work and take a lot of time. They deserve what they’re asking.
Back to the van and back to the tour.
Next we are heading to some Inca ruins. To do so we have to drive further up into the mountains (are you doing it?). As we round one of the intense corners on these mountain roads, the Andes appear in front of us. The clear mountain line opening up and we are surrounded by the tallest snow capped peaks I’ve ever seen. As our guide is telling us about the Inkas history and what things grow best in this area, he sees the mountains at the same time we do, and he stops.
He says he needs to take a minute. He is emotional. And I think for a second that this is a well rehearsed show. But then I see he is actually tearing up. And he says that he hasn’t seen snow on those mountains since he was a boy. The snow caps have mostly melted, but today we have a rarity. The snow is very visible, and the rain we had earlier has frozen as it’s fallen, making everything we are seeing look like a Bob Ross painting. He says it makes him think of his father who has passed and how he would have reached out to him if he were alive- excitedly told him what he was seeing.
Maybe it’s having recently lost my grandmother. Maybe it’s the air up here. Maybe it’s just my age becoming more and more of a reality. But there is a connection here between families and the living and the dead that is palpable, and I can feel it FOR him. I’m getting misty eyed for the pain of a man I’ve just met, sharing in his regret of not being able to do what he so desperately would love to.
He gets it back together, coughs a little and sits up straight. And tells us we are very lucky- this is a special day, and we’re now officially Peruvian! Yay!
We make a stop at a look off area and get to see the mountains without the glare of the windows in the van. And you can feel them. You can hear them. I can understand why the Incas and the many many tribes before them thought they found god here. It’s hard not to feel their presence. And I can understand why the Spanish wanted it so badly, even if I can’t wrap my head around how they felt they could take it, anymore then I can feel proud of how Canada was formed.
We take the pictures.
And ask Paul if he’s good. He says “oh yes, but thank you for letting me do a private tour with you today. That would have been tough with a large group.”
Back in the van.
And we climb.
He says we are now even higher than Cusco. And we can all feel it. Arriving at the next stop we find Even getting out of the van causes us to be out of breath, huffing and puffing. We are handing out Advil and Tylenol to help with the pesky headaches.
getting out of the van we don’t see anything special and wonder why we are stopping. Let me re-phrase. The view is ASTONISHING. The mountains all around us, the purples and greens and blues that mountains get as they fade away behind each other. It’s warm and the clouds are coming and going, still threatening to rain.
As we walk we have to go through a booth and Paul has to present tickets, so there must be something pretty interesting here. As we walk we realize we are at Moray. Moray is one of the famous Inca ruins here in the mountains of the sacred valley. The earth opens in front of us and we can see now what all the fuss is about. This site is composed of three groups of circular ….divots? I guess divots ….that descend 490 feet (150 meters) from the highest landing to the lowest. Each has 12 levels. Surrounded by the towering Andes mountains, looking into the depths of these man-made craters will fill you with awe and wonder.
They are a mixture of natural and man made. Paul describes what the archeologists now say happened- asteroids came and collided with these mountains. You can very very clearly see where the asteroids came on an angle and buried themselves deep in the earth- their trajectory is so easily seen.
When the Incas found the deep divots, they turned them into? Well, no one really knows what the purpose of what they did is. They took the holes and made rings, each smaller than the other, until it is finally one large landing. Look it up to see what I mean- it’s hard to describe for sure.
With the Incas having no written language, the purpose has been wildly debated, but four popular theories persist.
First theory- they Incas used it as and experimental farm. Remember this was over 500 years ago. They could have been trying to see what would grow here – it was hard to survive this high up.
Second theory- a center for ceremony. Locals from the nearby communities tell stories that date back to Inca times of celebrations and ceremonies being held at Moray.
Third- it could have been a pit mine.
This theory suggests that After the mine had been depleted, it was then covered by these terraces and repurposed for Incan farmingand ceremonial uses.
And lastly- there’s always one of these- it has been actually very seriously debated that it could have been an alien landing site. Something like crop circles, or marks left behind by aliens from a UFO landing. That one makes Paul roll his eyes.
Funny thing is that he said when Christianity and the evangelical Catholics came with the Spanish- they forbid anyone from visiting this place. And actually any Inca place. They felt it would detract from their message of one god and one religion.
But Paul says his late grandmother used to come here years before it was “found” as an archaeological site and have celebrations.
As we are walking and it is spitting a little rain, I see Paul blow three times at the sky, and then sign the cross on his chest. He sees us looking at him and says that although he is catholic, or was raised as such, he is also a native Peruvian. And therefore comes with Inca beliefs also. Or at least Inca rituals (he hesitates before saying superstitions). He says he is blowing three times to send some of his soul up- and get rid of the rain. And then he is crossing himself, just in case. What a confusing life religion brought to these people- struggling to accept what they had no choice to- or else face death, and yet having hundreds of years of ancestral history telling them a different belief system.
Anyway- by the time we hear the entire history or Moray and are back in the van from the walk around ,he says we are now VIPs. Very Inca people.
And we could move here apparently. He says that most of the houses we see as we decend the mountain are occupied by squatters. If you find a piece of land and no one kicks you off for 3 years, it’s yours. It’s a bit of a hassle to get the deed with the local authorities, but well worth it.
I’ve decided I’m mountain people.
I love the ocean. And my Newfoundland blood tells me the sea is my home, but I never feel the rush of emotion there that I feel in the mountains. I find them fascinating. I love feeling small and protected, and the ocean certainly doesn’t make me feel that. These beasts of mountains do.
But writing now I guess All my favorite places are a mixture of both. Amalfi. Santorini. Gros Morne. Cape Town. Towns built on the face of huge cliffs bursting out of The sea.
From here we are taken back down the valley side to a little town that reminds me of Kathmandu on a lot of ways. Ollantaytambo. This is the town that many of the guides who oversee the hiking path to Machu Picchu live, or at least start the journey. There are huge groups of hikers, all packing up to start the 4 day journey. We will start our journey there tomorrow- but by train. The station is here in this town also.
Paul takes us to another local home where we see how they live. One room home with a bathroom on the side- and outdoor walk to get to it. Dirt floor. We are greeted by 2 traditionally dressed women, and hundreds of guinea pigs roaming around when we walk in-
Their little squeaks peaking as we step over the threshold and disturb them.
Paul shows us the things they keep on their walls. A huge dead vulture that’s been passed down from generation to generation- a prized possession. Seen as a positive omen.
There are the skulls of their ancestors- they don’t believe in reincarnation, but rather that their loved ones are still with them. He says his grandmother had her family skulls in her home also. He saw them everyday.
More idols and dead animals on the walls. All very precious.
We buy a few things from them- they have some wares on display and Paul says they are very kind for letting us inside their home. We agree.
We walk back to the van and are more than satisfied with our day in the valley. The view alone was worth the visit, the history was surprising and fascinating.
We go to a buffet lunch and score glasses with our favorite beer logo on them. Cusqueña! The one we drank them out of in the jungle!
They sell us 4 🙂 and we are happy muppets.
After lunch we head home. About a 1/2 drive and now we’re full of beer and food so it’s a pretty quiet drive. At one point I see Paul start to speak, no doubt to do what he is paid to do- tell us more about our surroundings. But as he looks around and sees almost all of us passed out he stops. And giggles. Job done.
Home to change and then the muppet lounge is open. We have drinks and serious discussions about non-serious things. Drama lamas.
Then dinner at the Italian restaurant again- there is some sort of celebration here tonight. As our guide says – Peruvians will celebrate anything. But June is the most precious of their celebrations. The southern cross celebration of the winter solstice on June 21st. So this is likely about that. The lamas are brought out and we irritate them for a few minutes. Then abba plays and we are all excited. It doesn’t take much.
Then bed.
Tomorrow is the beginning of the track to Machu Picchu and Nicole and Gary’s anniversary <3
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