PERU 2000 – CLOSE TO THE END OF AN EPIC ADVENTURE – PART IV

Finally, we are coming to the end of our year 2000 tour of Peru, that we made, with our long time friends. Sitting here, writing this mass of memories, makes me appreciate, just how much we experienced in our time together. I write these memories down so that, one day when my mind is failing, I can bring them out, and relive a tiny piece of what we did and saw. The hours I spend, writing of our experiences, are some of my happiest times. I become fully immersed in the memory, as I dredge up visions of the past. Please forgive my endless babbling. Just put it down to an old man trying to relive his days of glory.

This piece is about the final phase of our trip. It took us from Puno and Lake Titicaca to Cusco and Machu Picchu. It would be hard to say which was my favorite part of the trip, however this piece would be hard to beat. It all started in Puno, where we packed our clothes, once again, and prepared to seek adventure in the land of the Inca. To get there, we boarded a tourist bus in Puno. Each bus in Peru is named after a Saint, mother figure, sacred animal or someone’s child. The one we boarded, I am sure was named “The Bus From Hell”. No one would have disputed the name. However, we had tickets, so no choice but to climb onboard.

The bus trip started pleasantly enough, on nice, flat paved roads. But not long after we left Puno, we also left the paved highway behind. We were now climbing, once again, up through a high mountain pass. The road turned to gravel and dirt, along with 500 potholes, every kilometre. The bus itself, was pleasant enough, with only one real issue. Right smack dead in the centre of the bus, was a major hole in the floor boards! The dust kicked up by this behemoth poured right thru this hole and right into Deysi’s hair. She had just freshly done her hair and makeup, this dirt shower really, got her pissed. Anyone that knows Deysi, well knows that one thing she won’t tolerate is dirt on her or her clothes. Of course it was probably my fault.

Within the space of about one hour, each and everyone of us was covered in a grey layer of dirt. It reminded me somewhat of a Sahara sand storm inside our bus. There was no respite until about 7 hours later, when we hit pavement again, just out of Cusco. By this time Deysi was not safe to talk to. You could just make out her angry red eyes, glaring from under her “dust mask”. Right away you knew better than to ask her if she enjoyed her trip. I wasn’t sticking my head in that Puma’s mouth.

I must say though, that about 3 hours in, they stopped and let us all out for a little tourist shopping and leg stretching. The place we stopped was called La Raya Pass and was about 14,100 feet above sea level. Just the mention of the altitude sent C scrambling for his stock of coca leaves. No more soroche for him. Anyway, we all disembarked to see what treasures we could find. Rosco was the first to strike gold. He found an Ukulele made from an Armadillo shell. It was beautiful. It quickly became his prized possession as he strummed away on it, to our delight. Not. When Rosco tried to leave Peru with it, they took it away from him at the airport. These little tourist “magnets”, were prohibited from leaving Peru.

Well that was just great. I am 100% positive that the border agents in Lima, were in cahoots with the trinket sellers in the Andes. They would sell, their, over priced ukuleles to the gringo. Next the gringo would attempt to take his prized possession home. And then the border agents would take it away from him at the airport. I am sure that everything they confiscated, they would send back up into the Andes, to be sold once again, “seized” again, and sent back up. This was the Peruvian form of recycling! One, shed off, Armadillo shell, probably made hundreds of round trips, from the Andes to Lima and back again. Everyone profited a bit.

Now after all of that, we have finally completed an 8 hour bus trip from hell, and are in Cusco. One of the first things we did on arrival was contact Deysi’s cousin P. At the time he was stationed in the Andes. Specifically on the base in Cusco. P was a career military man and had served assignments in all parts of Peru, in England and in Washington D.C. The last time we had seen him was about the time of our wedding in the late 1970’s. P was now in command of the base at Cusco as well as the Department (province) of Cusco. He was extremely happy to hear from Deysi, and immediately invited all of us, to his home on the base, for dinner.

Sure enough, come the appointed time, and there was a military van waiting for us outside of our hotel. P and wife Joni were gracious hosts. Their army chef was very good and we had a great time. Dinner was delicious. P and Joni told us all about Cusco and the area, we got caught up on family history, and we had many good laughs. Of course the inevitable “toasts” of Pisco were mandatory. The Pisco sours, made by our hosts’ barman, were exquisite. At the same time, Joni had a nephew visiting from Los Angeles, with a son a little younger than Rosco. It was a great diversion for all of us. I believe the Kiwi and C were happy to have someone else, too listen to, besides me.

One of my memories is of P who spoke Spanish throughout the course of the evening. This, even though he could speak English fluently, having lived so many years abroad. I believe his point was that he spoke English while overseas, so perhaps we should all speak Spanish when in Peru. His decision meant that he had to listen to me speaking “Spanglish”, much like a toddler. P was ok with that, it was the effort that counted for him. Joni was a very happy person. She was raised in a military family, and spent a great amount of her life in the Andes, following her dad from posting to posting. For her, life on a military base was normal. She and P also raised their two children in a military setting.

As I mentioned, P was a gracious host, he offered us any assistance, he and his command could provide, for our stay in Cusco. I must say, having him and Joni that close was a huge sightseeing advantage for us. In addition to them they had an adult daughter who lived and ran a business in Cusco. I will call her “Little P”. She owned and operated an Internet cafe in Cusco. When we paid her a visit she was so happy to see her cousin Deysi. Little P showered us with hospitality and made our visit very welcoming. One thing to note; because of her dad’s position, Little P and her business were under constant observation and protection of the military. It was a comforting feeling for me.

After a day of wandering thru Cusco and the surrounding area, we were off, to once again, discover the mystery of Machu Picchu. It had now been 16 years since our last visit here and much had changed! The train ride, still took over 3 hours, however, there were now various options for travel. They ranged from the local train, with stops at every village, to a tourist class and from there to 1st class, with food and drink service. Sitting on this train, my memory went back to our first ride, 20 years before, when I had an ample Peruvian lady ride with her butt in my face for 3 hours. On this train ride, my stomach was full of butterflies. I had told every one so much about this place, that I now hoped it all lived up to the hype.

At this point an editor’s note: I suppose many of you are thinking, what about Ron? With you guys flitting around the world like “blue ass flies”, was she forgotten and left to her own devices? My response, “Hell No”, to her I’m sure it felt as if we had never left home. Her mom called her, at least daily, and sometimes from locations so remote, that it didn’t seem possible she could get a connection. This was another of Deysi’s talents. She could make a phone call from places, where people had seldom been! Although, we were away, it may not have seemed like it, for Ron. Poor thing, hardly had time too throw a good party!

We finally arrived at Aguas Calientes, the last train stop before Machu Picchu. Things had, indeed, changed. I now see hotels, standing where none had existed 21 years earlier. There were people milling around, not just tourists, but tour guides, souvenir sellers, food vendors bus drivers, all shrieking out the advantage of their own product. Compared to times previous, it was bedlam. But, thru all of this, Deysi once again sorted out our transportation, up the mountain.

I must say, my first look after arriving at the ruins was no different to any other time we had been there. It literally took my breath away. Nothing, that anyone says, can prepare you for what you see when you round the corner and are hit with that first sight of these magnificent ruins. There are a great many places in this world, that contain wondrous sights, and this one at Machu Picchu must be among the most spectacular. No pictures or stories can begin to describe your first sight of this place. My limited vocabulary does not even begin to do justice to this place. And to think, if the dreaded Conquistadors had found it, nothing would now remain of the Inca and his secluded city, on the edge of the Amazon.

To get from the end of the train line, up to the ruins you had to take a 30 passenger shuttle bus. The bus climbed, what seemed like straight up on a road that could truly be called “a snakes back”. There must be 20, 270 degree turns, each one looking straight down into the Urubamba, or Quechua Willkamayu (sacred) River gorge. Each bus was accompanied by a local Quechua boy of about 13 years, who ran thru the jungle up the mountain and met your bus at each hairpin turn. This trip was no exception. I think the same kid was still there, as the one that ran for Deysi and I on our honeymoon 22 years before. I do not know how many times he ran up and down each day, but these kids, had to be in some kind of ‘shape”. You think?

At the top, we paid our fee and then spent the next few hours wandering around this incredible example of Inca architecture. The agricultural genius, and use of the existing rock formations, was amazing. Being JimboRed, I harangued our friends with legend and Lore of the Inca. Deysi and Ange had been in this rodeo before, so kept a safe distance from my never ending monologues. Up and down we climbed, the cameras were shooting like machine guns. Every turn brought us to new and wondrous sights. I do remember being at peace, and very content tramping around these ruins. I let my imagination run wild, and dreamt that I was the Inca, overlooking my domain. Of course, soon Deysi would appear, to “pop my bubble”, and bring me back to earth.

We went from looking down over the farming terraces into the Urubamba River; to crossing over the top and gazing down into the Amazon Jungle. We climbed endless stone stairways, C and I discussed how it was possible to get water up to these terraces, hundreds of feet above the river. We then read that the water came from a mountain peak at the entrance to the ruins, at a place called the Inti Punku. Well maybe, but it must have even been more difficult getting the water up and over this peak. Again, as I learned many years earlier, never say never, when it comes to the Ancient Peruvians. They performed engineering miracles that would be difficult to reproduce today! Legend says, that the Inca would arrive from Cusco thru this same pass. it would have been heavily guarded in those times.

I can picture strong, stout “weather” beaten Quechua Guards armed with spears just waiting to “skewer” the ass, of any trespassers. Our visit took place in the off-season, for the tourist trade, so the site was not crowded with tourists. Still there were hundreds of visitors wandering around the ruins. We spent our hours exploring, learning, photographing and recording our adventure. I do hope, that our guests found it as fascinating as I did. Sometimes what JimboRed thinks is amazing, or interesting, might not necessarily, be as others think. I know you might find this hard to believe, but it could be, right? Our time passed, and all too soon, it was time to go back down to the bottom, and await our tourist train back to Cusco. I could have stayed there, forever. Deysi and the girls could have been my subjects!

We said goodbye to Machu Picchu, boarded a shuttle and accompanied by our runner, made our way back down the precarious road to the train stop. We were early for our train. “What’s new” Ron would snort. That meant, we had some time to kill, snooping around the small town that had now sprouted, at the base of Machu Picchu. There was even a hotel now, with a huge terrace offering food and drink to weary explorers. We found a table, overlooking the Urubama River, just as it passed thru town and disappeared into the Amazon Jungle. “Oh how I longed to catch a boat and float away into the heart of the jungle. However, lunch was ready, so my dreams had to be put on hold. Sitting in this wildly beautiful place with a glass of beer was a perfect end to a great day.

I have often spoken of the train ride from Machu Picchu and I will again. The train from Cusco to the site of the ruins, follows along the raging torrent of the Urubamba River. For our visit in the year 2000, much had changed, both in Cusco and down at the ruins. On this trip, there were now options for the mode of travel to the ruins. A first class train was now available. It left first and returned first, allowing tourists to beat the crowds at both ends, for a little extra money. A traditional meal was offered to help break the monotony of the trip. Tourist class offered assigned seating with some limited legroom for a bit of comfort. The local train was a free-for-all, and was, very much, survival of the fittest. You needed to claim your space and defend it. The ride was slow and torturous.

I know that I had promised to finish with this trip to Peru, with this one last post. However, I must beg you to allow me, one tiny last piece. The reason for this, is that, when I completed the last phase of our journey, I found that it had taken 4500 words. I know a normal writer, with minimal skills could have done it with half of the words. But you must understand, that I am far from normal, and in no way a writer. I just copy down the words that come spilling out of my brain and the result is completely random. This time, I vomited out far too many words for one post, so I must split it into two pieces. Please bear with me, the end is in sight.