Hippies are people too, theoretically...

February 2nd: Massages, Markets, and Mysticism

On 02/02, Boy, lots to be said. I got another 1.5-hour deep tissue massage [+/-$45, I mean, who wouldn't?!], which was highly needed, then started uphill back home to go to the mercado and grab a quick bite. On the way there, a festival was happening at the church in my neighborhood. Band, food stalls, people... Food = Erich's tummy happy. I found a place that offered traditional dishes for this Christian event: seaweed, fish eggs, fried corn kernels, fried Peruvian tortilla, chicken, homemade sausage, salt-cured alpaca, Cui (guinea pig), and chicha (a homemade fermented corn liquor, not always alcoholic). This event lasts for days; check out the crazy videos I attached. It's a wonderful time to be here. Lots of cheer, food, drinking, processions... wild! These people love themselves some processions.

The author grinning in a wet ball cap, digging into a basket of festival food under a market tent

Masked festival dancer draped with animal pelts performing beside an accordion player and brass band in a Cusco plaza

Tilted view under a beer-tent canopy of masked dancers in fur-trimmed costumes parading past food stalls and onlookers

The author leaning in open-mouthed over a street-stall platter of roasted guinea pig and golden chickens

Vendor in a hairnet and white apron carving roast cuy and chicken at her San Blas festival stall

Shamanic Encounters in Cusco

In larger cities, I usually opt for the "Free Walking Tours" offered by many online vendors (tips are expected). It's a relatively cheap way to get the lay of the land and to pick up interesting tidbits you wouldn't otherwise find out. The guide didn't kill me with his touring skills, BUT, he did turn the group on to his family at the end of the tour. Come to find out, the mother was a true Shaman. Oh boy, oh boy!!! Her table was set with various talismans: crystals, ointments, potions, botanicals, a condor's head... I find this kinda stuff enchanting. I couldn't help myself, so I nibbled. The next day, I came over for a Shamanic Energy Cleansing: Clearing negative, dense, or stagnant energy from a person's body or environment, often using tools like smoke (smudging), feathers, rattles, crystals, or sound. Needless to say, I'm still not perfect, but now I'm finally on the righteous path. If, after all these updates, you think there is any truth to this 'perfect' commentary, shame on you! They also offered much more significant options, such as a San Pedro or Ayahuasca journey with spiritual guides. Some day!

                Her table was set with various talismans: crystals, ointments, potions, botanicals, a condor's head... I find this kinda stuff enchanting.
            

Dried condor head and talon talismans tied with pink ribbon, laid out on a rainbow-striped woven cloth

The author seated with eyes closed while the shaman works above his head, surrounded by shells, gourds and crystals

The shaman in a tasseled hat drapes woven textiles over a young woman with closed eyes during a cleansing

The author flat on his back on rainbow foam mats, eyes shut, scattered herbs marking the ceremony

The author in a woven poncho posing beside the shaman at her table of talismans, crystals and figurines

February 3rd: Sacred Valley Tour and Fred's Wild Ride

02/03 I signed up for an all-day "Sacred Valley" tour (6:30 am-6:30 pm). Stopped in 5 archeological places all in/around the Andes Mountains, a Peruvian buffet, driver, and tour guide = $30! There were only 11 of us cruisin' in a Mercedes Sprinter van. Our beady-eyed driver, "Fred", drove like he was practising for a Dubai desert rally, and looked a little like El Chappo. Seriously, who's named 'Fred' in these parts!? He was a man of few words, but on a mission nonetheless. As if scoring points on a video game, he zoomed past other tourist vans left/right with reckless abandon. At least we beat the crowds to the stops. There was one dirt road carved into the side of the mountain going to the salt mines, no guard rails, of course, but that didn't slow Fred's roll down! Good god. Yet, this was nuthin' compared to that chicken bus driver in Guatemala. THAT was ridicuously outta control, and scary how fast that chico was flyin'; as if the bus’s center of gravity belied the laws of physics on every corner. Even though we are in the off-season, there were lots of vans and people all up in the same route. I can't imagine how they fit all the humans into all the places along the way during the season (rhetorical question)?!

Captivating Inca History and Spanish Atrocities

Anyway, WOW, what a beautiful day driving through the mountains, seeing Inca ruins, salt mines, textile area where this is ground-zero for crafting beautiful alpaca/sheep/llama clothing, and hearing historical accounts of the Inca people. Captivating! Thanks to the Spaniard Christians, they wiped out the people, buildings, and culture of the people. This is not their first rodeo in a non-Christian culture, creating death and mayhem all in the name of Jesus; they got the rhythm down. "What would Jesus do?" => not that, I'd venture. Sad to think of not only these atrocities, but those all over the world throughout time where history, engineering feats, smart minds, art, and architectural marvels... get lost to the turmoil of a past. We can now only imagine how it would have been. Counting my blessings today, I feel so fortunate to witness this beauty firsthand. I'll pop in a few pix, but it'll never convey the majesty of the moments.

                Sad to think of not only these atrocities, but those all over the world throughout time where history, engineering feats, smart minds, art, and architectural marvels... get lost to the turmoil of a past.
            

Another angle of the author mock-chomping toward the roasted cuy and chickens stacked at the festival stall

Floor-to-ceiling gilded altar inside a Cusco church, saints and paintings framed in a riot of carved gold

Terraced salt ponds of Maras spilling down the hillside below green pastures and a moody Andean sky

Patchwork of tan and white salt pans at Maras, hemmed in by red-brown canyon walls and wooden railings

The author in cap and sunglasses leaning on the wooden rail above the muddy salt ponds at Maras

A tabby cat posing on yellow rocks above the Maras salt terraces, eyeing the tourist traffic

Storm clouds stacking up over the mountains beyond a scrubby green plain in the Sacred Valley

The concentric circular Inca terraces of Moray, ringed like a green amphitheater into the hillside

Stone terraces of Ollantaytambo climbing toward cliff-side granaries, photographed from the base of the ruins

White llamas grazing on the lower terraces at Ollantaytambo beneath a granary perched high on the cliff

The craggy stone face of Wiracocha peering out of the cliff at Ollantaytambo, brow and nose unmistakable

A costumed Inca sun-god figure in a gilded headdress standing between a red mototaxi and a white tour van

Transparent sky-lodge sleeping capsules bolted to a sheer cliff face high above the Sacred Valley

The hilltop citadel of Pisaq, stone walls and thatched shelters crowning steep terraced green slopes

The author posing at the Pisaq overlook, Sacred Valley terraces and cloud-wrapped peaks rolling out behind him

Pisaq and the Perennial Hippie Question

Our last stop was in Pisaq, deserving of a paragraph on its own. Lo and behold, we stumbled upon and witnessed, to my weary and unbelieving eyes, clusters of 'Hippies'. Dirty, shameless little creatures who pro-create lil hippies- a cycle that quite possibly may never be broken. As I sit here pondering the subject, I sense that even a meteorite couldn't doom their kind. I've seen them before, and it makes sense they are here, in the 'Sacred Valley'. These miscreants descend upon and congregate at mystical sites throughout the world. Wearing dazed looks upon their dirty little faces, sporting hairstyles that’d shame a street dog, mismatched clothing, unshaven (herein I refer to the female variety), and tattooed & pierced body parts—spots most of society doesn’t even know exist—one more hideous than the next (it’s an unstated competition, btw). This sort exists underground or in mangers, living off the land (and others, of course), they’re a puzzle to most of mankind. We dared not look in the review mirror as we scurried off, as if zombies marching after us- thanks, Fred! As an aside, I'm praying daily for my NY artist friend Lisa, cc'd herein. I trust in my jaded heart, Lisa, that you, too, will come to your senses someday in realization that the hippy way is a futile and lonely one. Yet, as I sit here in this moment of introspection, I, too, may have to face my truth as I peer into the proverbial mirror. I have been looking quite grubby and disheveled as of late. One could surmise, through casual observation based on dress, unshaven, general unkemptness, and dare I admit, dirty appearances, certain circles may dub me a nascent hippy. One who is quite possibly in an apprenticeship. The implications of such cognizance shake me to my core. Well, stay tuned for this reveal. Without proper counsel, I dare not peer longer into the mirror of truths on my own volition.

                The implications of such cognizance shake me to my core. Well, stay tuned for this reveal. Without proper counsel, I dare not peer longer into the mirror of truths on my own volition.
            

Two poncho-clad travelers fussing over a woolly white alpaca on a Pisaq sidewalk while its handler looks on

Blurry window view of the Urubamba river snaking through the flat green floor of the Sacred Valley

February 4th: Cusco Cathedral and Culinary Delights

Wednesday the 4th, I toured the Cusco Cathedral [disgustingly beautiful- adorned with more carved wood than I've ever seen, and lots of silver- Peru is a huge miner of Silver/gold/copper], the Bishops Museum of religious art housed on the foundation of an Incan royal home [Of course, I'm sure the Spaniards demolished it], a splurge dinner of Sambocco Alpaca with an aguaymanto sauce on mashed potatoes (a scrumptiously plated $10 dish, and 2 pisco sours- I had to, it was happy hour pricing), then a $16 hour long massage, and went home. Mission accomplished! These massage girls on the street are pushy. Some of them have that 'happy ending, amigo?' look in their eyes. This fish didn't bite, fyi.

Elegantly plated alpaca over mashed potatoes with sauce swirls and cherry tomatoes, Cusco rooftops beyond the balcony

Departure from Cusco

Thursday, I closed the door to yet another hotel and city. Thankfully, the Uber took me one last time through the city square en route to the aeropuerto to catch my flight to Lima. I will miss the beauty, history, and interesting vibe. The atmosphere reminded me of many unexpected places I experienced in Guatemala and Mexico. Where you had these pockets of coolness, great restaurants, fun music, high-end boutiques, and cafes... all wrapped up in a developing nation with reasonable price points. Had it not been for the damp, bone-chilling cold, I would have stayed longer. Sitting in the square and watching the scene play itself out is unexplainable. It gives me chills thinking about it.

                Sitting in the square and watching the scene play itself out is unexplainable. It gives me chills thinking about it.
            

Pizza loaded with red peppers, onions and mushrooms beside dipping sauces and a half-eaten calzone

Plaza de Armas under a deep blue sky, the cathedral at left and crowds crossing the cobblestones

Wide view across the plaza gardens toward arcaded buildings, hillside neighborhoods climbing behind the city

The cathedral and the Jesuit church flanking the plaza, vendors and strollers scattered across the stone pavers

Looking over the small San Blas plaza with its fountain and bell tower toward the house-covered hills of Cusco

Guinea pigs snuggled into their adobe hutches beneath a straw roof, food bowls at the ready

Plaza de Armas panorama with a lone lamp post, crosswalk stripes and a street sweeper working the cobblestones

Cathedral-side view of the plaza with green benches, a vendor hauling bundles of souvenirs, and the fountain

A rainbow lineup of mototaxis parked at the authorized Pisac paradero, red, blue and yellow noses in a row

Sweeping view of the plaza flower beds and arcades, tourists and a sweeper dotting the cobblestones

A woman in a sun hat leads a small alpaca up a long stone staircase in the steep back streets of Cusco

Women and girls in brilliantly embroidered skirts and fringed hats pose with a brown alpaca on a cobbled lane

A guide in red talking travelers through the giant polygonal stones of an Inca wall in Cusco

Close-up of massive hand-fitted Inca wall stones, no mortar and barely a seam between them

Final Observations

Peruvian drivers are pure chaos on the streets.

Cui can be good. I think my friend Cynthia is now jealous that I write this outloud. My first experience was with her in Ecuador, many moons ago. A disgusting visual and taste stuck with me all these years. I had to try it a second time just to be sure, and I'm glad I did. The stigma no longer haunts me. Sorry, Cynthia, I cheated on you with a Peruvian Cui!

2nd time I test my theory of not paying for carry-on baggage. Again, if you have a QR code on your phone, no one asks! I'm on the battle lines for you, readers, about this. Someday it may not work, and years later you'll find me in some type of baggage-claim lock-up, paying society for my ill-conceived proclivities, saving a buck. UPDATE: I was writing the first part while literally waiting for my plane to board when the baggage nazi's came out hard over the PA system. The propaganda machine belted out in search of evildoers like me to fess up our indiscretions and settle up, or else... Concurrently, the Gestapo literally began searching passenger bags as they waited. Shit, shit, SHIT. My scheme to beat the man again was falling apart before my eyes in a costly way. Some dude was singled out and ended up gettin' nicked for $70! The flight didn't cost too much more, for phux sake. I was sweatin'. I knew it, off to the gulag for me. I sat elsewhere from my luggage, as if it wasn't mine, but eventually I had to board where that little luggage-sizing contraption sat. I trudged forward, readying myself for an international kerfuffle. As I finally reached the agent, whilst somehow none of the sentinels pulled me out of line, he scanned my phone, and told me my seat is 1D, not 13A {this means I'm upgraded prime beef, and paws off to the gatekeepers}. Curious, but I'll take the win. Then I remembered I bid $19 for an upgrade a week ago, and it kicked in just in time!!! Lesson learned with that carrier! The boarding gods fended off the baggage Oberführers. My rejoicing is tempered for the moment, yet my crusade lives on for another battle, another day.

A narrow stone alley glowing amber under a streetlight at night, steps climbing into the dark

The office for the day: a laptop on a windowsill overlooking the tin-and-tile rooftops of Cusco under brooding clouds

A shaggy street dog snoozing flat on its back on the paving stones, paws in the air

A round-cheeked toddler in a puffy gray vest and blue sleeves, caught mid-wander and unimpressed

A little girl in a hot-pink hat feeding a flock of eager pigeons on the plaza steps

A magnificent fluffy gray cat perched on top of stacked egg trays, ruling its market stall

A long-haired calico cat sitting neatly on mossy stone steps, tail curled around its feet

A little girl in a knit beanie hamming it up for the camera on a striped orange couch

Museum case of elongated Inca skulls, several showing neat trephination holes, with explanatory cards

A basket of festival food front and center, with the San Blas stall crew and clock-tower scaffolding behind

The San Blas vendor again, carving roast cuy and golden chickens at her festival stall

Two beaming women, one clutching a paper-wrapped flower bouquet, at juice stand 52 in the covered market

...at the next dance...

- Are Tuk-Tuks the transportation of the future?! - Leaving tears in the rearview mirror. - $16 massage + $10.50 room = what could go wrong!? - What if the Easter Bunny and St Patrick swapped holidays?