Machu Picchu: Why Do We Travel?

Why do we travel?  To see interesting places and have new experiences outside of our normal routine.  The great waterfalls and mountaintops, the luscious jungles and pleasant, sunny beaches titillate our senses and remind us how big, how diverse and how amazing our natural world is. 

But even more captivating than the sights and sounds of exotic plants and animals are those of the people who live and travel in these foreign places.  However intriguing a hairy llama, or a rabbit-like rodent peering at us from atop a crumbling rock wall, the llama’s owner, dressed in colorful garb to attract the attention of camera-loving tourists, or the ancient indentured builder who created those now half-fallen walls, draw us in on a deeper level.  While it may be the natural features that attract our attention in the first place, it is the human element in each new environment that links us to it and makes it meaningful.  The majesty of the Manchu Picchu site, surrounded by towering rocks that jut vertically on every side, is awe-inspiring and beautiful in and of itself.  Add the amazing ancient development, human-conceived and human-built, and the scary switch backs of the modern road that brings us to it, and our minds reach for more than just a simple appreciation of the greenery amongst the impressive rocks.  It is the people, past and present that make traveling to this place special. 

During both the planning of our trip and our visit to Manchu Picchu, we interacted with a wide variety of people.  The professional tour guide, who sold us the expensive tickets for both the train ride and entrance to the site, works in Cusco, the largest city in the region.  She wears what we would call business casual, sitting behind a desk on the main tourist drag in the main tourist city.  She speaks English and seems every bit the modern city woman, with neat, shiny, black hair that hangs down to her shoulders and rosy, polished nails.

Some of our fellow hostel dwellers, new age hippie types, wear patterned, gauzy harem pants with the inseam hanging down below knee level.  They look as if they have come straight from smoking a hookah at a middle eastern bazaar.  Others wear patchwork pants and unapologetic, multi-patterned clothes that hide stains easily:  the traveling garb of professional wanderers.  These people speak in eloquent terms of the healing power and the spiritual aura of Manchu Picchu.  They come to commune with other like-minded searchers in an ancient and powerful place full of historic profundity.  They burn incense in their rooms and leave their dirty dishes forgotten in the community kitchen.

Along the way to the famous archeological site, we moved through the now familiar Castellano hustle and bustle of taxi drivers and food hawkers in the modern cities of Urubamba and Ollantaytambo.  But, as we stepped onto the only means of transport to Manchu Picchu, the tourist train, it was like falling into a suburban American outpost, hidden within the narrow walls of the sterile, light-infused train compartment.  English was spoken – loud and clear.  People all of a sudden were three shades lighter and thirty pounds heavier.  Seating was assigned, but it seemed the ticketing agents used a random selection method for every group.  A game of musical chairs ensued until families were seated together and friends sat near friends.  Almost as soon as we had all settled and the train jerked into motion, the family across the aisle from us whipped out a grocery bag full of junk food and spread it across their table.  Among the delicacies that we didn’t know you could purchase in Peru were Ritz crackers, cookies, an aluminum squeeze container of mixed peanut butter and jelly, fruit, soda pop and other typical, big city foodstuff.  

Upon arrival at Aguas Caliente - the city that serves Machu Picchu’s tourist needs, such as $5 hostel beds and $5 pizzas - we witnessed an architectural style reminiscent of the Mercado (the open air market).  Buildings squeezed up against one another in a very busy, cacophonous, vertical design.  Restaurant owners stood outside their establishments vocally advertising their specials (all of the specials are the same in Aguas Caliente – competition for tourist dollars is strong).  The town rises up steeply from a muddy, raging river within the confines of a small footprint of buildable space.  The main road winds up about 5 city blocks to the top of the town.  There is situated the famous hot springs for which the town is named.  You know you are drawing near when the vendors’ capitalistic mating call changes from “pizza – 25 soles” to “towels for rent – 5 soles”.

The people here hawk hard.  There seems to be a quiet desperation beneath their calm and sunny faces.  The entire town of Aguas Caliente depends solely on tourist dollars.  There are no bakeries or butcher shops here; no services for the residents themselves.  This town exists only for us – the rich Americans coming to see one of the world’s most famous archeological sites.  There is a rumor that UNESCO, the governing body of funding for special sites like Machu Picchu, wants to close it to tourism to halt the heavy toll of so much human use.  If the rumor becomes a reality, entire segments of Peru’s population would become unemployed overnight.  Aguas Caliente would cease to exist.  Peru itself would fall into an economic depression unheard of since the drying up of jungle resources in the last century.  Desperation would rise exponentially.

Our family spent the night in a flea-bag hostel (literally – I have the bites to prove it) with windows in the rooms that looked into the interior corridor.  They did not lock and walls smelled of moldy plaster.  Sleeping was a moist, noisy and uncomfortable affair.  We got up early the next morning and took a bus up a long, winding road, listening along the way to a variety of Japanese, French, Spanish and English tour guides educating their clients.

When we finally reached the ancient Machu Picchu, the fog shrouded it all so thickly that we could barely see 20 feet in front of us.  But the day improved with time.  By 10 am, we had covered the entire site from within our veil of moist mist (we had arrived quite early).  Matt and the girls decided to hike up an amazing pinnacle of rock connected to Machu Picchu by a thin saddle of land, called Huayna Picchu.  They set off in the fog and were rewarded at the top with a sudden reversal of weather.  Sunny skies blessed them with the best view of Machu Picchu and the Urubamba river that surrounds it like a snake encircling its prey.

The rest of the day was hot and sunny.  We retraced our steps and re-visited the entire site again, touching the huge rocks carved with 32 angles to fit perfectly within the walls of an important religious building, and wondering at the Intihuatana, an erect stylus of stone believed to have been used to measure time and track celestial patterns.  Katie, Georgia and I added on a trip to the perilous Incan Bridge.  The bridge itself is only a few large planks of wood laid across a gap in the path – thus forming a rudimentary bridge.  However, the real majesty of the site is the path itself, carved literally out of the face of a sheer granite cliff.  This path was the most impressive part of Manchu Picchu that I witnessed, both in its engineering and its apparent lack of concern for loss of life of the workers who built it.  Obviously, the indentured workers took great risks to create it.  The vertical drop from where they carved out the width of the path - barely as wide as my shoulders – was thousands of feet, straight down the majestic, smooth cliff.

The people who made this amazing place were amazing themselves, kings and commoners alike.  They built in a remote and jaw-dropping location, barely accessible and truly astounding in its natural and topographical beauty, not because it was close to resources – it wasn’t – but because these people thrilled at the sense of doing amazing things, living close to god in amazing places and doing the impossible.  Andean people to this day seek out high points for a sense of accomplishment and celebration, running impossibly straight up to the top of the highest hill in long lines of dancing revelers during important ceremonies. 

Andean people built Machu Picchu because they could.  And that is what makes traveling to this incredible historic site more than just a photographer’s dream.  It truly makes the visitor stop and consider why he himself exists, what she hopes to do with her life.  Although our legacies won’t be 5-miles wide and built from stone, this site reminds us that we can set our sites higher; we can do the impossible.  We should do it; because we can.

Cathy

My Birthday

I know that my birthday was a few weeks ago, March 27th, but I haven't gotten around to updating the blog until today.

We eventually decided to invite five families: the family that lives here, and four friends' families. Georgia and I spent all week making the piñata, which we modeled after the face of the hospedaje dog, Luca. The day of the party, which was also the day that we got back from Machu Picchu, I spent the morning making streamers, and the rest of the day decorating with them and setting up in various other ways.

The hospedaje family got here first, of course, because they live here. Next to arrive were the Canadians that my family is working with--Tarn, the daughter, is in my class. Tika, another girl in my class, and her family were next to arrive, and finally Urpi got there, right before we were about to start the piñata. Before that we mostly ate and talked a little. My final guest, a girl in my class that always asks me if I want to play with her at recess, never showed up.

A little way into the second round of piñata-whacking, the piñata fell, cracked but still mostly intact, and I got to finish bashing it open. Everyone dived for the candy, as with every piñata, and one boy from the hospedaje seized half of the broken dog head to put his booty in.

After everyone gathered and ate candy for a few minutes, we had cake and presents. My mom had baked the cake at the colonial oven, where everyone takes their food to be baked, because many people don't have ovens of their own, including us. It was chocolate with chocolate frosting and delicious. I saved the presents to open later and we organized a game of tag.

Although everyone had arrived late, they all left on time. When they were gone, we cleaned up and went out for dinner. After we got home, I opened the presents in my parents room and the next day, I wrote thank-you notes and passed them out. From my friends I got a pencil pouch, two little change purses, a friendship bracelet, a stone frog on a lily pad, a necklace, a hat, a metal bracelet, some big wooden crayons, and a soft, floppy doll. From my family, I received a small shoulder bag, a stuffed animal llama, a soft, gray sweater/shirt, a picture of the mountain that we see from the hospedaje balcony every day, and brown, fuzzy slippers.

Overall, it was a pretty good party, even though I wasn't looking forward to having my birthday in Peru.

By Katie

School at Kusi Kawsay

      Kusi Kawsay (pronounced like Koosy Cow-sigh) is the school that Katie and I are going to during our stay in Peru. It's a good school, but their way of doing things is very different than in the States. Everyone have to arrive at 8:20. Then at 8:30 they ring the bell and all the kids line up at the door.  Before entering the classroom, one by one, everyone says good morning to the teacher. When you get to your seats, you sit down and the teacher says: "very good mornig dear students." and you answer back: "very good morning dear teacher."

      For classes, they have the same scheduale every week. One class for two hours (which changes every month), then a half an hour recess, then a one hour class, then a twenty minute recess and finally another one hour class. For example, on Mondays I have art and lecture, Tuesdays reading and painting, Wednesdays math and Quechua, Thursdays gym and art and Fridays communication and english. This month my two hour class is fractions.  Last month my two-hour class was local history. I learned about the celebrations of Pisac and the rural communities up in the mountains. I also learned about constalations.

     The classrooms are seprate buildings that you enter from an outside walkway. The playground is a small field with a couple of boulders in the middle. The main game that people play at recess is tag.  Here is a picture of the school from near the entrance gate.

    Before leaving at the end of the day, one by one the kids say to the teacher: "see you tomorrow" and then the teacher says it.

    So, that's basically what this school is like.


       Georgia

Blog Updates

We know we haven't done much posting lately but are trying to remedy that.  I've added some links to a couple of great organizations we're affiliated with here - read more in the sidebar to the right and check out the links there.  Georgia and Katie will be posting articles soon (within the next week or so).  And we continue to add photos from our journeys (also on the sidebar to the right).  A few other quick updates:

- School continues to go well for the girls (even though Katie reported having the worst school day of the year earlier this week) and both Katie and Georgia are constantly improving their spanish speaking skills (frequently correcting Cathy and I when needed).

- Cathy was bitten by a dog this week but after multiple visits to the doctor and the dog's owner (who claims it was some other dog that bit Cathy), we think everything is going to be fine.  Cathy finishes teaching her ceramics class this week but has also started teaching English at the girls' school and is giving lessons to several residents of Pisac in her spare time.

- I continue my work helping to build biosand water filters - mostly pouring concrete filter containers, helping refine the design for a new PVC biosand filter and exercising my math skills to do calculations for the new filter, and going on the occasional field trip to the communities where DESEA will be providing filters later this year.

- Our next family trip will be to the town of Puno and Lake Titicaca in southern Peru.  From everything we've heard, we can expect a beautiful and fascinating trip, including visits to several islands within the lake and an overnight stay with a family on one of those islands.

That's all for now.  More to come soon from Katie and Georgia.

Matt

Communing with the Stone Workers

Last week, I spent several days helping some local workers who have been building a wall at Katie and Georgia’s school.  Since I don't know how to cut stone and consistent with one of the universal laws of manual labor (or probably any other job), I was given the work nobody else wanted (or that they were too skilled to do).  That consisted of pulling the biggest stones from a huge pile of rocks and carrying or rolling them from one place to another.  Given that my usual job mostly entails sitting at a computer or going to meetings, I generally was generally fairly exhausted after about 4-6 hours of this work and typically went home early (I'm a little embarrassed to say).

On the days that I volunteered, the other workers were kind enough to share their food with me, which we all ate community style.  Food generally consisted of some type of starch – one day it was a blanket or towel full of corn/beans mixture, bread another day and potatoes on the third day – along with a bowl of spicy sauce (sort of similar to guacamole).  We ate the food with our hands and a single spoon that we all shared.  One day somebody forgot the communal spoon but found a fork-shaped stick on the ground (or maybe on a tree) and that became our utensil of the day. 

The beverage of choice each day was “chicha” of which we drank copious amounts.  Chicha is an indigenous local “beer” made from corn.  It is somehow fermented but not carbonated and has a very sour taste and relatively thick consistency.  It is like no other beer I have ever tasted.  I am told that it provides a lot of nutrients and is a good source of energy, hence the custom of drinking it during all workday breaks. 

The chicha came in a big container similar to a 5-gallon gas can.  It was poured into a pitcher and passed among us with the single cup that we all drank from.  During each morning's break everybody had about 5 cupfuls.  They basically chugged the first three (don’t want to keep the next guy waiting too long) and slowed down a bit on the last couple.  I generally limited myself to 3 1/2 cups as I don't think my stomach has the same tolerance for chicha as the locals.  To round out the afternoon break, everyone was given some coca leaves to chew (for “la fuerte”).

I haven’t returned to my stone moving work this week (have been focusing on other needed errands, etc.) but I have seen my co-workers on several occasions.  Each time they have graciously made sure I’ve gotten a couple of cups of chicha (more at the fiestas, of which there have been many this week).  It’s been quite the interesting introduction to yet another aspect of the local culture.

Matt

Carnival in Pisac

This weekend was a big deal in Pisac, our new chosen home away from home for the next four months.  Of course, at first blush, it was hard to tell the difference between this Saturday morning and every other Saturday, Tuesday and Thursday, when all of the wooden tables are set out along the little street that dead-ends right past our house, and long, straight poles are fastened together to form the framework for plastic-tarp-roofs covering what will soon blossom into a cacophony of orange, yellow and red fabrics, dolls, masks, and clothing for sale.

This Saturday morning promised a familiar experience as I walked from our hospedaje, or hostel, to the colonial oven a few blocks away.  I go there daily to buy five small bread rolls for one sol (about 35 cents).  I passed between young and old Peruvians bustling about their daily routines, building the same portable tiendas (shops) that they put up and break down 6 to 14 times a week.  A baby lay, wrapped snugly in his colorful swaddling blanket, balanced atop a mound of similar blankets yet to be unfolded and put on display.  Silent, still and wide-eyed, he was barely distinguishable as a life form amongst the chaos of preparation.  A tiny, sun-leathered woman in the traditional women’s costume – brightly patterned red skirt, white top hat with blue ribbon, and strong, dark, bare legs in salt-water-sandals - looked as if she could be the child’s great-grandmother.  She hefted a bundle of thirty tent-poles three times her height from her back onto the steep incline of the narrow, stone-paved road. 

To her right, a man that could be her son, her grandson or just a neighbor and competitor, had finished his plastic tent construction and was busily installing the goods, hanging first the large colorful tapestries and tablecloths from the main horizontal poles, then carefully stacking variations on that theme to the left and right, and placing the most eye-catching colors and patterns, by the hundreds, atop his two tables.  Soon, the grey, aged wood, the poles shackled together with bits of rubber and plastic, the dirt patch upon which the tent was built, were hidden from view.  The effect was dazzling.  Vibrant and high-contrast colors, hand-stitched into outlines of Incan apu – representatives of the spirit world and of nature itself - caught my eye and inspired a secret lust to buy.

Dogs of all shapes and sizes, most looking at least moderately well-cared for, ran underfoot, hoping to find scraps forgotten from the night before.  Vendors cried out to me even before their set up was complete, the women calling, “Amiga, buen precios for tu amiga,” the men seducing with their low, sultry voices, “Cui, alpaca, calendario incaica, hecho a mano…”

Three days a week, I see this same scene as I go to fetch our morning pan (bread).  The other four days of the week, the stalls fill the main square, but do not venture up the hill towards our hospedaje.  Today, however, I noticed that the tiendas had branched to the right, populating the usually-empty bus station off to one side of the road, but they went no further than the bottom of the hill where  Calle Intihuatana hits the main Plaza de Armas.  In fact, as the plaza came into view, its emptiness was shocking in its solid barenakedness.  I saw acres of flat, grey surface.  And an enormous, moss-covered tree had mysteriously sprung overnight from the stones in the middle of the square.  “How did that get there?” I silently exclaimed, looking up into ancient branches reaching the width of a good-sized house. 

The plaza was motionless, dull and dusty; not the bustling sea of orange, red and yellow that I was used to.  I stopped to marvel at the transformation and imagined a Pisac before the Mercado (Market), when the Plaza de Armas was actually used for military maneuvers.  Perhaps the soldiers performing the drills were colonials, the red tassels on their uniforms the only splash of color against the dry, dusty cobbles and the earth toned, work-worn clothing of the campesinos (farmers) gathered to gape at them.  The sun actually shone all around me, no longer impeded by ten-foot-tall tarps.

Yesterday, “La Bellisima Pisac” contest took place.  We were too late to get into City Hall, where the event was full to capacity, but I imagine this contest for the most beautiful woman in Pisac involved a few crusty old men – I mean town officials – and resembled something like a high-school popularity contest.  I don’t know, as I wasn’t there, but with a town so small, how could it not?

Today – Saturday - with its queen chosen, Pisac got ready for Carnival.  Workers cleaned the square and set up a stage near the big tree.  It turned out to be a beautiful, hot, blue-skied day - lucky for the young people in Pisac because Carnival involves lots of traditional water balloon throwing and shaving cream spraying, especially between teenagers who have crushes on each other.  Herds of boys, from 5 to 19 years old, roamed the streets of town in small gangs, armed with buckets filled with water and plump water-balloons.  They hunted the other gangs along the small grid-pattern of the town, which wasn’t hard because there are only four or five streets in each direction. 

Katie and Georgia got in on the action, but in a safe, controlled environment.  Here at our hospedaje, there are two grandkids, Eros and Marcelo, ages 6 and 13.  The girls bought some globos (water balloons) and used a bowl from the kitchen for their own little arsenal.  Once the rules of the ‘war’ were decided and the two sides took their positions, it was clear that Marcelo had done this before.  With a strong throwing arm, he launched his globos from far away and aimed for the adobe wall directly behind the girls.  Even if his aim were off, the splash from the balloons hitting the wall usually got them wet.  And him aim wasn’t off often.  Eros was more manageable, being 6, but his energy and enthusiasm were unequaled by the other three combined.  At one point, no one was left to play with, so he asked me to pour water on his head from the balcony.  Or maybe I suggested it - and he accepted gladly!

The day concluded, or should I say the party started - from 5 to about 11 pm, with more formal, adult activities.  People started to line the sides of the street around the square late in the afternoon.  Two 15-foot tall trees were ‘planted’ in the street and decorated with streamers and balloons.  Strangely, two sequined and tiared Senoritas Bellisimas Pisacs – maybe one was runner up - paraded throughout the town on pedestals fixed to the beds of two pickup trucks.  Each had a young handmaid dressed in customary Peruvian garb. 

Hundreds of dancers wove throughout the city and circled the main square a number of times.  The women wore the traditional, knee-length skirts that reached to the horizon when they spun (modern modesty has introduced shorts underneath because, frankly, most of these women were old enough to be grandmothers; some, great grandmothers or better).  The typical dance is a shuffling ‘step-ball-change’ by the men, with handkerchiefed gestures to their female partners.  The women do a similar step, but include a spin of some sort to get the most out of the circumference of their skirts.  They too hold a handkerchief and wave it at the men.  The men wore brown ponchos draped with paper streamers, black felt hats and black pants and shoes.  It was interesting to compare shoes and pants between dancers and try to guess their age and place in the social hierarchy of the town based on these articles of clothing.  Some men had shoes that obviously did not fit well, others had shiny dress shoes appropriate for an office job in Cusco.  Some men wore tight black jeans, other saggy trousers. 

Although the uniforms were at first glance uniform, upon closer examination, they were each quite unique and specific to their owner.  The women followed a theme, but each had her own style, like the Sisters Sledge: one blouse was off the shoulder, another a halter top, and a third with a large cut-out to show off her cleavage.  These dancers weren’t so brazen.  They wore petticoats, colorful skirts, blouses and sashes across their chests.  Most wore top hats of white or black, brightened with colorful glued-on sashes.  All had extraordinarily long black braids.  The braids of the older women were fashioned from their own hair, but many middle aged women wore hair extensions made from black yarn. 

The parade circled us in the square for an hour, mas o menus.  Senorita Bellisima Pisac and Senorita Vice-Bellisima Pisac, in their strapless gowns, donned wool coats as they shivered on their mobile daises.  The coats also served to protect their expensive dresses from the revelers, who didn’t hold back, not even for royalty, with their spray cans of foam.  The less stalwart of the dancers broke away from the line as rain started to fall, retreating to a covered area a few blocks away.  But other dancers kept right on dancing through the short-lived rain, after the parade turned into a dance demonstration in the street, and after that, when it turned into a party, also in the street, accompanied by live, amplified music that kept right on going until long after my customary bedtime.  Their feet must have been sore on Sunday!

We stayed for the first hour, but returned to our home when the music and the dancing didn’t stop – or change for that matter.  The musicians maintained the same song for hours; the dancers the same steps.  It was mesmerizing, and might have been hypnotic for the dancers as they repeated the same motions to the same beat with the same tune over and over and over again.  We checked back in on the party to see if anything new was happening (we live two minutes away).  At one point, some men chopped down the two little trees that were erected in the street – not sure what the symbolism was there.  The auto-repeat song finally ended at about 7:30 pm, but music was still flowing over the airwaves in the tiny town of Pisac at 11 pm, when I fell asleep.  And this was only the preparatory day. 

Carnival took place on Sunday.  Everything that we witnessed on Saturday was repeated Sunday, but with more gusto.  The festivities started earlier in the day, the music lasted later into the night, and everything took on an even more exaggerated tone.  Boys with balloons and foam canisters stalked and attacked girls and tourists with more viciousness, chasing, cornering and incapacitating their victims by aiming for the eyes.  Street venders offered a huge, mouth-watering array of snacking and lunching options, from picarones (deep-fried pumpkin dough donuts) to pollo a la ceviche (vinegar stewed chicken and vegetables).  We spent the entire day in the plaza eating, watching the stealthy antics of mischievous boys (and feeling their wrath at one point) and passing time talking to random Pisaquians.  For the second night in a row, we grew weary before the locals did.  We went home after 8 hours in the sun, but the party kept on going until 4 am (and on a school night!).

Cathy

A Quick Update

Greetings to our family and friends,

Since we haven't posted anything for a while I wanted to give you all a quick update on our travels.  Cathy will be posting a more detailed message soon but we didn't want to go too long without an update.

We are generally settled into our new home in Pisac, Peru.  We are living at the Hospedaje Beho and will be here for the next four months.  The Hospedaje is essentially an inn where we have our own rooms and share the bathroom(s) with other guests.  We also share a kitchen but so far we are the only ones who use it so it is generally like having one of our own.  Meals here are extremely cheap (for a basic lunch or dinner at a non-touristy restaurant) so we expect to eat out somewhat regularly too.  Below are pictures of our courtyard and one of the bedrooms.

Today is the girls' first day of school so we will see soon how that has gone in an hour or two and I expect they may post some reports on it in the next week or two.

I will start volunteer work in earnest next week.  My boss here is currently in Canada so I am just doing some Internet research this week before starting in earnest on building water filters next week.

This week Cathy is discussing options for volunteering at the girls' school so we'll see what happens there.

Finally, we updated the blog a bit to provide more access to some of our photos and will be posting more as we have time and as we take them. 

Again, more to come later.  We hope you are all well.  Feel free to send us e-mails at our gmail or comcast addresses if you want to check in further.

Matt