Cusco and Machu Picchu, Peru
On the ancient Inca Tr… Oh, never mind!
Both of us woke up today feeling a bit down. I was feeling annoyed with life on the road (but it’s been less than 2 weeks!) while N. was uncharacteristically not his chipper self, worried about the pain in his knee and his elbow. But needs must, so we packed our bags, had breakfast, and called a taxi.
We were mostly in the San Isidro district, so the taxi ride to the airport gave us a taste of what some of the other parts of Lima looked like: dusty roads chockfull of cars, bikes, and street vendors, dilapidated buildings dotted with “se vende” signs and graffiti, people busy to-and-fro with the business of life. There was one enterprising fellow at the red light selling umbrellas and individual rolls of toilet papers — bizarre inventory.
The Lima airport was a zoo. Instead of encouraging calm and order with clear signs for information and lines, most people walked around with looks of mild panic about where they had to be in order to make it to their flight on time. The check-in area of the airline was staffed by people who could not communicate in English clearly (I know, I know, I should really work on my Spanish), the checking of IDs and security seemed theatrically ineffective, and at the last possible minute, the gate was deleted from the informational board without the new gate number. By the panicked look on people’s faces, we knew exactly who was scheduled to be on Flight 2063.
As soon as the gate announcement was made, a crowd of bodies moved like a school of sardines, running down stairs.
We were surprised by how large Cusco seemed — according to our taxi driver, it had about half a million residents in the city center, and about one million overall.
We got to our little hotel in the historic center — a cute little bed & breakfast in a building from the 17th century, our host said — and were feeling OK, even he cautioned us about altitude sickness (we were now at 3,400meters/11,152 feet). Tips for the first days in high altitude: drink lots of tea made with coca leaves, avoid meat or heavy foods, walk slowly.
By the time we settled into our room and walked to a restaurant close by — an Italian place — we were feeling the effects of coming into such high altitude directly from sea level: we were gulping for air, feeling like we were never getting enough oxygen. Each step took a couple of seconds, and we couldn’t have walked faster if we had wanted to.
***
Our little room in this old UNESCO building was charming, but we learned overnight that old walls do not necessarily good insulation make. All through the night, we could hear the front bell ringing, people slamming doors, walking up and down the stairs, talking loudly. If that were not enough, around 4 am, we heard people leaving the B&B, and the lady in the kitchen — which happens to be next to our room — opening and closing cabinets and the fridge, clinking plates and cups, using the blender. How can doors that are in recessed cases more than three feet thick let all sounds through?
After breakfast, we walked to the Plaza de Armas de Cusco — where there was a carnival parade to celebrate the season before Lent — turned into Calle Triunfo, and found our trekking company’s office…
… where we received the news that we had timed, with exquisite precision, the worst possible time for our hike in the Salkantay Trail to Macchu Picchu. Rains that usually ended by the beginning of March had continued relentlessly.
Several landslides had cut off the trail before Humantay Lake, one of the highlights of the trek. Some trekkers on the way had been cut off altogether and had been stranded for days before being rescued. Later, we saw that even the US Embassy in Peru had put out a warning about the landslides in the area and recommended postponing or cancelling trips altogether.
We had planned to stay in Cusco for ten days — both to acclimatize and to trek. Now what?
We started to think, though, that maybe there was a silver lining in all of this.
***
Both of us struggled to sleep — what between the weird noises in the hotel and our own insomnia, probably altitude related.
After some semblance of breakfast, N. was able to take a shower and, feeling a bit better, went with me downtown, so we could deal with this cancelled trek business.
It was Sunday, so lots of people were in the Plaza des Armas — families, young couples, and tourists. Some municipal workers were making some progress in sweeping up the detritus from all the people loitering about, from yesterday’s festivities and parade.
When we got to the trekking office, 3 groups were in front of us, and soon another 3 groups joined behind us. There was only one person dealing, most likely, with all the refunds. Still, we were happy that they didn’t make a fuss when we told them that we wanted to cancel our trek — no alternatives for us — and said they would wire us our deposit.
The one thing we did in town is walk up the stairs to Mirador de San Cristobal. The air was clear today, so we could see all the little brown houses going up the hills across the mirador. Still, N. was feeling a bit down because of how lousy he felt with just a short incline hike.
We got back to our hotel and got to work on plans for our alternate destination…
Adios, Cusco!