The Sacred Valley

I had heard so much about the Sacred Valley that I just had to take this tour. Every travel agent offers a tour here to visit this nearby valley. I guess it is obligatory when you visit Cuzco. We followed the crowds, became total tourists and the way this is organized is interesting.
We had an early pick up at 8 AM at our hotel. A runner, usually a girl with a cell phone, makes sure we are ready. She then waits with us at the hotel entrance for her collection bus to show. This bus comes rather quickly once she calls them on her cell phone. We hop on the bus and off we go. The runner will then run ahead thru shortcuts to the next hotel. But this was not the sightseeing bus. This was just the collection bus. This collection bus moves from one hotel to another and collects people. Then, after this smallish bus is full we are transferred to a full size, larger bus. Only when everybody is collected in all of Cuzco does the tour begin. The whole process takes about a half hour and I felt like I was being processed, rather than given a tour. I felt like I was in a herd of cattle on a farm, all they had to do is put a tag on me and scan me on and off the bus to make it more efficient and to make sure I attended all stops. This was not a personal tour; it was like a cookie cutter presentation no matter how much you paid for the tour.
We had the same guide as yesterday on the city tour. He was a likable chap, albeit prejudiced in favor of the Quechuan. The bus ride was long, it took nearly 2 hours before our first stop because we had to take a detour around a mountain and then cross the river Urubamba over a bridge that survived the latest rain storms. There was a shorter way but the bridge on this short route was destroyed and had not been fixed yet.
Our first view of the Sacred Valley was from way up high, an overlook on a mountain top, naturally occupied by folks trying desperately to sell you something, anything. In traditional dress with a Llama next to them to make it picturesque they charge you one soles if you want to take a picture of them. Anything was done to make money. Little girls with lambs on their arms, really cute, had the same set up. The mother nearby made sure you paid first before you took a picture.
The view of the valley was startling. Deep in a crevice I could make out a town. The fields around the town, the fields climbing up the mountains were lush and green and had many different crops growing on them; naturally, mainly potatoes or maize. Other items such as barley, onions or other vegetables were trained to grow at this high altitude, too.
The guide pointed out that an agricultural research station, sponsored by the government, hybridizes common vegetables to grow here. Sometimes, it takes decades to find the right combination to have a certain vegetable grow at this altitude. The research is an ongoing agricultural project.
Climbing back on the bus, still being followed by the sellers of junk, we departed for the town we had seen below. The Sacred Valley is at about 2900 Meters above sea level, substantially lower than Cuzco, plants grow better down here and are more sheltered from winds and get more water from the river Urubamba and the many springs that feed the river. Along this valley are towns with long, Quechuan names and all the towns live exclusively off agriculture. Near or in some of those towns are ruins of former Inca strongholds, or temples or installations of Inca waterworks that use the natural springs to feed the many fields. Those Inca irrigation systems are a marvel of civil engineering and are superb in every way. After all this time of neglect they still work perfectly. Yes, some channels are no longer productive due to earthquakes in the past but the main channels still produce water for the many fields. Other astounding sights in the Sacred Valley are the many terraced fields. In order to maximize the yield of arable land and to make working the land easier, the Inca terraced the hillsides. Exquisite stone work holds the fields in place. The production of each hill is increased many fold and the work is a lot easier to perform on terraced fields than on steep hillsides. Inca priests in years gone by, needed to watch the sky and the stars. They needed to watch the sun, when is it highest, lowest, when will it come back, etc. Astrology and Astronomy were the basis for the priests’ knowledge. And in order to get a good look at the stars and the sun, temples and observatories had to be built. Those ruins are still present in the Sacred Valley today and are stops along the way for any tourist bus.
There were many temples built here, dedicated to the sun, or the moon, or the water, or whatever deity affected the yield or production of the fields. Food was all important, it was sacred. The Inca did not have a monetary system. Their system relied on labor, trade and on relationships. It was important to know a lot of people because each favor done for any of those people guaranteed a favor back. Careful records were kept as to what favors were owed. The more people one knew, the more favors they owned. The man who was owed the most favors was called a rich man. The poor man was the man nobody knew, who knew nobody and who had nobody to take care of him when he needed a favor. The Inca King, by birthright, was given 30% of the common man’s labor during his life time. This system worked for the Quechua, it was a system without money but food was important, was essential to all. Food was stored for times of famine by the priests. Food was planted when the priests said the time was right to plant. Food was limited at this high altitude and the stored food needed to be protected from invaders. Food, like I said, was sacred.
The valley that grew the best or most food near Cuzco, the seat of the Inca King, was called the Sacred Valley. Yes, this valley was fortified with forts to protect it and its storage facilities. Yes, water was needed when it did not rain in the summer. Yes, prayers needed to be given to the gods when it did not rain in the normal rainy season. And each god had his or her own temple. The sacred valley was protected, was prayed over, fussed over and contains many artifacts of the former Inca.
We visited a few of the old sites. Long names I cannot remember were given to each particular spot but the gist of the trip was the production, the protection and the distribution of food. This was done long ago and is even done now. The valley is large and beautiful in an agricultural sense. The people living there are farmers. Some others specialized in weaving, some in tool making or some other things, like having a restaurant, but the base of all of this is and was food; the sacred source of life for all.
The tour given to the Sacred Valley concentrated on old, looted cemeteries, on fortified installations that not only served as military training centers but contained a sun temple, too. There was even a bath set up on top of a hill supposedly for a princess or queen. Of course we visited specialty shops of weavers who tied to sell ‘hand’ woven and naturally dyed woolens. We also saw a church, again built on an old Inca foundation with very baroque and very ornate, over the top decorations, gilded and so full of gold and silver that it is more disturbing than nice.
Many details were given that nobody will remember and names dropped nobody can pronounce. The tour is interesting enough yet I prefer the general overview I gave above, it makes the most sense to me in the long run. What I certainly could have done without were the many vendors and/or beggars that were like locusts clustering around, being obnoxious and in my face. It was hard for me to keep my composure and not slap some of them. What I could have done without were the artificially inflated prices of everything just because we were foreigners. The consensus seems to be to charge at least double if not four times the regular price any Peruvian would have to pay. The Sacred Valley tour is must, if only it would be more elegantly done.

Bus ride from Puno to Cuzco

This time we did not take Cruz del Sol but the local agent in Puno recommended taking the Bus line ‘First Class’ for the few hours it takes to drive to Cuzco. This bus line stops at different sites along the way while also getting to Cuzco in one day.
Our first stop was a breakfast stop for the guide on the bus. While he disappeared into the back of a local souvenir shop, I saw him sitting in the kitchen and the woman of the place served him bacon and eggs, we were left prey for the locals to sell us something, anything, really, as long as we buy. Yes, there was a bathroom but it was 6 doors down the block and not easy to find, a pig sty in Vermont looks better that that house with the only bathroom. I believe the guide stops here because he gets free breakfast served in exchange for bringing a busload of potential customers.
After this 15 minute stop it got serious, we visited a museum of a Pre-Inca culture that lived in the Highlands of Peru from about 500 BC until 400 AD and then disappeared, leaving behind many strange objects. A huge 3 stepped stone Pyramid that is now closed to visitors but which is the source for this archeological treasure trove is represented in this museum. The culture known as Pukara was around during the Persian Empire, before the Romans build the Coliseum in Rome. Not many objects survived since the building stones were used in local houses and the art sold to international art dealers. I learned that the Pukara were a powerful tribe who beheaded their enemies and displayed the heads as trophies. Some believe the Pukara were ceremonious cannibals, too. Surviving statues show their cannibalistic and beheading traits. Prehistoric tribes just lived differently than we do today. I was shocked to learn that cultures I called the ancients were around when the Persians were in their glory, before the Romans were on the world map. Peru has an old history.
Our next stop was a short one, but we got off the bus just to breathe the air at 4335 meters above sea level. We felt better than I anticipated as we had been in Puno (3,800 meters) for so long we felt ok. No signs of altitude sickness. I bought a pair of Alpaca socks for 10 Soles.
Our next stop was a lunch stop. Yes, lunch was included in this bus trip. A buffet style lunch was served at the Inka Cafe; a local band with a guitar, a pan flute and a drum played for us and wanted a tip also. They had CD’s for sale but if the CD was as bad as their playing, then who needs it. You can eat all you want, but you have to pay for any cold drink, hot tea is served free of charge.
Not long after this lunch stop we visited the church of Saint Pedro; the church was built on a former Inca site, evidenced by the stone work left as the foundation. San Pedro Church is known as the Sistine Chapel of Peru. The ceiling is fully painted and decorated with small flowers and symbolic paintings. Local artists spend years painting every beam, every surface of the chapel, just like the famous Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. No pictures were allowed inside of this church. The ornamentation, the gold and silver gilding of every surface of the baroque style church is too much for my mind. There are so many details that it is confusing to my mind. I only see senseless spending of money; I see opulence and grand-standing. Churches do not appeal to me yet I know they are always part of a tour. Especially Spanish style churches are way over the top for my taste.
Back on the bus for about 2 more hours and then we arrived at an Inca temple and the town of Raqchi. Not on many tourist programs this site is a wonderful example of what it was like in Inca times. The town of Raqchi today lives off tourism, yes, but also off agriculture. Like in olden times, the many small fields are planted by locals with maize, potatoes and local specialties. The temple of the Creator of the Universe, a long Quechuan name, was the origin of this town. Some walls of the temple were recreated; ruins of houses for the priests and the general layout of an Inca town are clearly visible. Storage bins for produce are present. These round building served as storage for times of famine and were stocked by the priesthood. We were told that there was enough food in those silos to last 90 years when the town was ransacked by the Spanish invasion. Naturally the temple was destroyed in 1534 and yet, the feeling of the town, the Inca spirit is palpable until today. The famous Inca Trail, used by runners to bring news from one end of the empire to the next passes through this town. We sat on the side of this Inca Trail and drank in the feeling of being in a special place. I felt pleasure walking along the edges of the fields. I felt amazement of the sheer size of this town. I was, once more, astonished to see the layout of this town with the main street oriented east to west so that on June 21, the summer solace, the sun would shine along the length of the street for the entire day. The town planning was excellent. The bathing facilities for the Incas are still in working order. An artificial pond and lake were created to clean the water after use. This town is amazing. The world temple in Raqchi is worth a visit. We had too little time for this stop I would have liked to explore Raqchi a bit more but then it started to rain.
We did not make the planned next stop at a local open air market because of the heavy rain but went straight to Cuzco. On the way in to Cuzco the devastation left by the last rain fall 3 weeks ago is still very much in evidence. Houses totally destroyed on the side of the roads. Crops ruined. One thousand people are living in makeshift tents, hoping to find housing soon or rebuild. None of the concrete or brick buildings suffered a lot of damage but the adobe houses suffered the most. Most affected are the poor since they build houses just for shelter, mostly just one room shacks. They build in bad locations close to rivers that overflow during rainy season and they felt the brunt of the latest rains. I understand why they build cheaply, it is ok for the short run but in the long term these disasters will occur again and they will be hurt and left homeless again. The local government promised help on the provision that new houses are built far from the river. But there are so many homeless people now, that these promises, like many promises before, may not be honored.
Our bus drove past all the rubble and dirt and we arrived at the bus terminal in no time. Angel, the agent arranged by Francis was waiting for us in Cuzco.

Cuzco, Cusco, Cosco

We are now at the capital of the Inca Empire which was ransacked and occupied by the Spanish Empire in 1534, maltreated by the Spanish Inquisition but never conquered. The spirit of the Inca is still here today. Many examples are present that show the outside world that the population adopted the way of the Spanish yet hidden in all the rituals of the Catholic faith, for example, are the Inca rituals. The food, even today, is not Spanish here but Quechuan or Inca. Again, the Inca was the king of the Quechuan. The people themselves are the Quechua.
The city is large; a total population of nearly 400,000 inhabitants lives 3500 meters (11500 feet) above sea level. The air has 30% less oxygen in Cuzco.
Many people still dress, especially the woman, like they did 100 years ago. Their shoes are sandals. Their legs are bow legged. The people are short, usually around 5 feet tall, and the women even less. Dark skinned, with distinctive facial features. Most of the population today is of a mixed race but the Inca (Quechuan) features are predominant. I am told the purest blooded Incas live not in the city but deep in the mountains. Life for them has not been affected by the modern age. They still live, like they did years ago, like the Quechuans of old.
But I am in Cusco, or Cosco or whatever spelling you want to give it. The confusion comes from the way the city name is pronounced in the local language. The main language here is Quechuan. Not Spanish. Spanish is the official language of Peru but here, people speak Quechuan. During our city tour our guide was proud to be able to speak Quechuan fluently. He was a Mestizo, a man of mixed races or mixed blood. He was proud of it, too. Our guide considered himself Quechuan, not Peruvian. According to him, many people feel like he feels. His estimate is that 90% of the population of Cuzco feels this way. While not teaming with hatred for the Spanish I could feel his frustration with the present Peruvian State. His belief was that had Spain accepted the Incan Empire and not tried to conquer it, the world would have been better off today. We, today’s inhabitants of mother earth, would have been astonished at the things we could have learned from the Incas.
So much has been lost forever due to religious intolerance and pure greed of the Spanish that it still hurts the Quechuan today. Temples, the center for the Quechuan religious life, were destroyed and churches build on top of the same foundations just to demonstrate that Spain and the Catholic Church now rules. The Churches were built to show that the Inca Empire was subdued and forever gone. Exquisite buildings were mindlessly destroyed forever. The city of Cusco has too many churches, not because they were all needed but because the Inca Empire had so many temples for their many gods and the Spanish demonstrated their superiority by building a church over each temple. The old gods are gone forever; there is now only one God, the Christian God of the Spanish, the Catholic God. Or so the Spanish thought. People were forced to attend church services, they were forced to pray. And now comes the peculiar twist, the people prayed but in their Quechuan language and they asked their Inca god for help. They knew that this was originally an Inca Temple, even knew to which Quechuan god the spot was dedicated. So they prayed, asking their local deity for help. They prayed in the name of Jesus just to conform to the wishes of the Church but in their hearts they were and always will be Quechuan. It is further evident in the woodcarvings they were forced to make for the Spanish and the Catholic Church. Our guide pointed out that Jesus has Inca facial features, that he is bow legged, that his skin is dark, that next him in the ornamentation are local flowers or hidden symbols of the Quechuan belief system. The Spanish never conquered the Inca they invaded them but could not force the Inca spirit to follow the Christian Faith. Today only about 10% of the population even attends church services, yet many more participate in every festival that celebrates an old Incan ritual. The Incan Empire still exists in Cuzco or as it was pointed out to me, Cosco, since Cuzco in Quechuan is a small barking dog.
The obligatory city tour consisted of the Plaza de Armas, the main Cathedral with its elaborate solid silver altar and gilded to the hilt with 18 Carat gold. Way too much pomp for me yet a must see, naturally.
We next visited a cloister or monastery called Qorikancha, whose walls and some rooms are still pure Inca. These rooms were used as storage rooms by the Spanish but were originally part of the Temple of the Sun God. One room still had an Incan sacrificial stone in its center.
One can still see the traces of the pure gold decorations once present. Originally there were 12 large solid gold plates but 11 of these were melted to decorate the Churches. The gold plate we saw had symbols for the sun, stars, the Milky Way, east/west/north/south directions, a rainbow, a man and a woman, and many others hammered into it.

The masonry work for this Sun temple is of such quality and the carvings so complicated that it defies today’s engineers. The workmanship just cannot be reproduced today. Even with modern equipment. Remember the Inca did not use hammer and chisel like we know them. The Inca pounded rock against rock to form the seamless joints of each stone. I tried to stick a sheet of paper between many joints on the walls, never was I able to penetrate the space between the stones with my paper test. All the stone work is done without any kind of mortar. One stone just sits on top of the next. The walls are almost earthquake proof. Very, very solid and the best masonry work I ever saw. How it was done, nobody knows, the Spanish killed the knowledgeable.
A further stop on the city tour was an archeological site, 2 Km north of Cuzco, called Sacsayhuaman, which translates roughly into city of stone. Construction, ordered by the Inca ruler, Pachacutec, began in 1440 and it took 20,000 workers to build this amazing site. Stones, huge, massive, some weighing in at 361 tons, were used from a location 5 km away. How those huge stones were transported, sometimes up hill is unknown. Yet here the complex stands, evidently the impossible was accomplished. Only 20% of the original complex stands today, the rest of the stones were used as a quarry by the Spanish to build their Churches. Not only were these huge blocks of stone stacked on top of each other but hidden among the many stones are the symbols of their gods. I saw clearly the rabbit and the snake inside this huge, zigzag stone wall. The purpose of this extremely large building site is still under debate. Was it a temple? Was it a fort? Was it a palace? A so-called Inca throne, the Suchuna, is still present today and the site is still used by the Quechua each June 24th for the most famous of Cuzco’s festivals, the Raymi, the festival of the sun, commemorating the winter solstice of the Andean Calendar. The whole area of Cuzco needs time to explore. Carol and I just visited and the few days we had, we used to familiarize ourselves with the most basic knowledge. There is a whole lot more to see if you are deeply interested in the Spanish Conquest, the ill fated Inquisition of the Catholic Church, the way of the Inca or Quechuan or the social aspect of today’s Peru. We just scratched the surface with our short visit and in no way do I assume I am correct in some of my assumptions. I just know too little about any of the facts but I base my comments on feelings and insights I obtained while being here. Yet, I like to point out that I usually have a good sense for what is going on when visiting a country or city. Or more bluntly said, I feel I am right in believing that Cuzco, Cusco is still the heart of the Inca Empire; even though it belongs to Peru.

Peru Images

Puno City Tour

We took the advertized city tour but the name is a misnomer; we never saw the city of Puno, we only saw the small neighborhood around the Plaza de Armas.
We hopped on the tour bus none the less and arrived 40 minutes later at Muralla, a burial and ceremonial center of the Inca and the Pre-Inca peoples. This cemetery was a sacred place for hundreds of years and the tombs, both, Inca and Pre-Inca, were built like round silos and were the actual burial sites for the higher society at the time. Each burial silo was built to contain 4 or 5 people. The dead elite were buried in niches built along the inner sidewalls of each silo. Small motifs of their religious beliefs, in bas relief albeit very weathered, were visible on the outside walls of the structures. The symbol of a snake, the god of the underworld, was on one silo. Another had faint remains of the Puma in the stone work. The Puma represents the here and now. Symbolism abounded at this sacred site; we saw 12 continuous lines built around the entrance indicating some powerful magic associated with astrology and the Andean calendar.
This Muralla cemetery was for the well off and intellectuals only. The stone work, the location around a sacred lake; the position of each silo was not for the ordinary people. The entrance to the whole complex was guarded by a so-called powerful stone. A guide showed us that this stone. Even today, this huge rock will screw up the pointing magnetism of a simple compass. Skeptic that I am, I touched the stone and did it with my left hand, only to find that the hands and the digital display on my expensive watch are no longer in sync. I took the watch afterwards to a jeweller here in Cuzco but they just shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads. “Too bad“, they said, but the authorized Tissot dealer could not fix it. My watch has to be send to Switzerland to be fixed. It’s a Tissot, with a touch screen for a compass, temperature, altimeter, etc. My watch is working, although not perfectly. Something weird is happening around these areas in Peru. The huge magnetic stone certainly screwed up my Tissot.
I am starting to wonder what this all means. I have seen skulls of people with cone-shaped heads, lines in the sand that can only be seen from the air, and motifs of astronauts carved in the hillside that can only be seen from the air, big boulders laying about that effect a compass and certainly screwed up my modern watch which worked perfectly before I touched the stone with it. What is going on?
In the dirt, using a stick, our guide explained some of the ancient mysteries of the Andean Cross. It seems like a simple Cross yet it is more complicated than it seems. The area around Puno, the sacred Lake Titicaca, the burial site with its elite burial chambers are in the center of a the Andean Cross, using a 3 stepped pyramid, the mathematical calculations of points on this Andean Cross add up to 12 and represent the months of the year. A year, even in the old Inca calendar had 12 months. Each month in the Inca Calendar had 30 days with a few additional days remaining each year, which were the adjustment days for the year. The 5 or so days were used to celebrate or pray or offer sacrifices to the gods. The leap year was not calculated so I believe the calendar might be off a bit but it was always adjusted since the New Year began at the summer solace, determined by the position of the sun in June. I have to read up on it yet. The Andean, some say Mayan Calendar was spot on. Also, as part of the Andean Cross, the number 3 (3 parts to their pyramids) indicates the three worlds of the ancient beliefs. The upper world indicates the spiritual platform and in which dwells the condor, master of the sky. The middle part, the Puma, shows the fight for the here and now, using cunning and stealth to survive. The bottom or lower part is the underworld where snakes live in holes below ground, always slithering about, never leaving the ground, never reaching out for anything but living mostly on or below the surface. Strangely, the snake is not a mean thing, like in Christian beliefs, but a sign of high intelligence. The Andean Cross divided also shows the split of the main language groups, Quechuan (language of the Incas) to the north and Aymara to the South. Both language groups meet around Lake Titicaca. The groups, even today, hold the area around Lake Titicaca sacred yet they do not mix well. Peru is Quechuan, Bolivia is Aymaran. Their languages are very different; their belief system is the same. The cemetery we visited on our Puno City tour is Inca and Pre-Inca, and it was shocking to me that my watch broke from exposing it to a stone. When I looked at the area I saw nothing special, yet I can vouch for the effects this strange visit had on me and my watch.
After we left the old Muralla Cemetery, we had the chance to visit and enter a ‘modern’ Quechuan house. A family lives there with a daughter and a son and their main activity seems to be the weaving of wool blankets. I saw 5 looms set up, primitive looms for making rugs. We had a sampling of the food they eat everyday and as you can imagine, each meal contained potatoes. I am told there are over 215 different kinds of potatoes in Peru. The other staple is corn or maize as they call it here. Again, Peru has about 200 different types of corn. Each meal is enhanced with local spices and herbs and I cannot tell you what I ate. One creamy adage to the potatoes was a mix of clay and green something. Yes, I ate it. Why not, if they can eat it and live, I can at least taste it. It tasted like mud but it is supposed to cure stomach problems. Behind the house was a guinea pig farm. Guinea pigs were raised by the Incas for thousands of years and are not pets but a food source. Like we raise pigs, they raise guinea pigs for protein. No, I did not eat it. The small animal looked at me and I considered it a pet, I could not eat it. The corn has so many different uses and tastes that nobody can describe each taste. I tried a big kernel corn, that everybody seemed to rave about but to me the taste was bland and starchy, not like the sweet corn on the cob in the U.S. I did drink Chicha Morrada; a drink made from purple corn and loved it. Now that would be a drink the U.S. should adopt, very tasty and not too sweet. Chicha Morrada looks like dark red wine but has no alcohol content. We saw the family’s bed room and the beds are just platforms of stone, covered with straw and raw wool for softness. As a cover a heavy wool blanket is used. The temperature in June, the winter month here in Peru, can drop to minus 20 or 25 Celsius at night. The rooms are small, no electric lights, and no window. The roof is a covering of grasses that needs to be redone every 4 or 5 years. I would say the people are dirt poor; the floor in each room is dirt. The gardening tools are very primitive and basic and heavy. The ground at 3800 meters does not yield much produce. Corn, Potatoes is about all that grows well. Herbs from wild plants is collected in the warm season, November to April and then hung up to dry for future use. Medicine is herbal and administered by Shamans. I saw a small snake pickled in an old Coca Cola bottle and I was told it is good medicine. The visit was an eye opener to the inside living conditions of the people we see on the road, constantly begging for handouts.
Begging is a curse for Peru. Everywhere one goes, people of all ages beg you for money or want to sell you something totally worthless. The first 50 beggars of the day are ok, but then I begin to lose my composure, I need to walk away to some isolated spot because I am liable to yell at them to stop. The begging gets on my nerves, yet I can see why they do it, most folks around here are poor, I have seen it with my own eyes.
Yet, when I went to a bank to change Dollars to Soles I had to wait for a lady in front of me who took money out of her account. She looked exactly like the local Incan women, many skirts, petticoats, hat, frumpy looking stockings, bowlegged and all. She did not look rich, yet the stack of money she took out of her account was a staggering $5000 U.S. Dollars. So much for dirt poor, I thought to myself. I just don’t know the true story; I am a visitor and just write down what I see and feel at the time. Come and see for yourself, your experiences might be different, yet I liked the small city tour of Puno, even though we never saw the city itself.

Island of Taquille in Lake Titicaca

Our departure from Amantani this morning was with happy memories, I know I will always remember Rosalia and her family. Yet as life goes on so does our boat and it chugged along toward another Island in this huge Lake Titicaca.
We were told about a staircase with 534 steps and I was leery. First we had to climb a long path winding its way towards the village of Taquille, on top of a mountain. Carol needed time to update her log book and took the time to write sitting in the back of the boat, she said that this Island was not as nice as Amantani and she was right. I, of course, had to explore. Huffing and puffing I walked up this long winding path along the side of the mountain towards the main village, only to find a touristy place with little to show. Naturally young girls and old men and old woman were holding out their hand for any kind of spare money one was willing to give. Some sold useless water balloons or pieces of braided colorful strings. A large but not impressive center plaza served as the general meeting point for other groups climbing the path. This Island was not as tranquil or impressive as my last experience and it was a place I could have done without.
Fortunately we were promised a lunch on this tour and the lake trout we were served was worth the climb. Fortunate too, that it started to pour just as we sat down for lunch. The rain was heavy but did not last long; it stopped just as we were ready to leave the restaurant.
Just a few meters away from the restaurant were the famous stairs. I have descended and climbed crooked stairs before in the Orient but these were far worse. Each tread was not of the same width and the height for each step was different. All steps and each tread were made out of stone carved by hand; the whole staircase was truly put together without a master plan. Imagine that 100 people build a staircase side by side and yes, they use the general layout but each one builds his own staircase. Nothing was smooth, nothing was even, and nothing was predictable. Descending each step was a matter of calculating the best route to the following step. Sometimes I stepped down a step that was 30 cm deep, the next step was 10 cm and the next 22 cm. But with luck, I found instead of the 30 cm step, right next to it, another stone a bit higher and then the step down would only be 28 cm. All was a calculated risk in descending. All was done subconsciously. I was mostly alone on the way down. I left the lunch group early and it was good this way. I eased my way down, always aware that one misstep would mean disaster or at least a broken bone or serious abrasion.
Surprise, here came a bunch of locals who used this staircase all the time and as you can guess, they ran down the stairs. I was gaping at them open mouthed. No way! Yes way, they ran down the stairs, just ran right past me. I watched undignified as little children did it. What was wrong with me? Such sure footedness I have not seen before. Women with packs on their backs passed me. No, nobody from my group passed me but all the locals must laugh at all the foreigners. I was cautious, they were carefree. I was calculating, they knew. I was slow, they were fast. Two worlds collided. Towards the end I even came upon men carrying about 50 lb heavy bundles up those same stairs, not even sweating. It was incredible. Here I was trying to get down and these fellows were coming up. I was in awe. We were at 3800 meters and nothing seemed to bother them. The people here carried heavy loads on their backs, wrapped in blankets like you carry a small knapsack. Children ran up and down stairs as if it were flat ground. Uneven stairs, made so precarious that it defies description, seemed the norm for them. Women were carrying babies in their arms, hurrying down those same stairs. And here I was, carefully stepping down each step, each step seeming like a death trap to me. Each step built long ago, never repaired, never really planned well, and never really built well. 534 steps of hell and I was going down them the best I could. By the end my legs were shaking, I was very happy to be off the staircase and told Carol so. We both watched from the back of the anchored boat as our group halfway down the stairs descended. I was not alone in going slowly, carefully and measured. I was not alone in being glad to be off the stairs at the end. While the Island of Taquille has not much to offer, this staircase is something else. I am glad to be down the mountain in one piece without having been hurt.
Adios Taquille.

The Community of Colquecachi on Lake Titicaca

After the Uros visit we took a 3 hour boat ride and our destination was the community of Colquecachi on the Island of Amantani. Remote from the activities of modern life, 4 hours from Puno, this community lives in a time bubble. What we take for granted or understand almost instinctively is not part of this community’s life. The language spoken here is Quechuan, the language of the Inca. In fact, the people living on this Island are Quechuan. The term Inca is a misnomer, like calling all British people Victorians because there once was a Queen Victoria. Inca is the title of the King of the Quechuans. The folk themselves are the Quechuans, not the Incas. Spanish is their 2nd language and they are taught Spanish in school but among themselves speak the old native tongue, Quechuan.
We spent one night and 2 days living with an Island Family in the community of Colquecachi. After arriving at the Island our group stepped off the boat and we were greeted by about a dozen Island women in traditional dress. From a list prepared by the travel agency we were divvied up so that each Island woman would take people to her house. Carol and I were given to Rosalia, a woman about 35 with a healthy and stout figure. Used to walking on her Island she led the way quickly through agricultural fields along a dirt path and up a steep hill towards her house. Constantly climbing and already being at 3800 meters, Carol and I gasped for air. We felt old and physically unfit. We had to stop here and there just to catch our breath. I felt a little better when I saw some of the other people in our group, mostly young people in their 20s, stop and rest a bit, too.
We finally managed to get to Rosalia’s house to meet Bautista, her husband and her son Wilder, a 12 year old. We were shown our room to stay in and were pleasantly surprised to see it had a light bulb, albeit no heat. A chamber pot was stuck under the bed.
Yet, as we learned later, there was a flushing toilet with running cold water just down the steep steps, on the ground floor. I felt a bit awkward invading someone’s home this way yet it was part of the education I received here. We were made to understand that lunch will be ready in about 30 minutes and then Carol and I were left sitting in our room, looking out the window at the pastoral setting all around us. We were living with the Quechuans now, the Incas.
The surrounding area was breathtaking, literally, too. Sitting on the side of an ever climbing hillside were terraced plots of mostly potatoes, corn of different types and plantings I don’t know about. We were in farmland. Downhill was a view of the edge of the land and Lake Titicaca, which is the biggest and highest navigatable lake in the world. The feeling of strangeness is palatable. We did not bring much for the 2 days so unpacking was unnecessary. Carol thought of bringing some gift for the family but what do you bring? We didn’t know what was appropriate but asking around on land we were told to bring a small bag of rice.
So the 30 minutes elapsed and we eased ourselves down the rickety stairway and we found the kitchen. No, this was not a kitchen you have seen before except maybe in the movies or in museums about primitive cultures. On one wall was an earthen clay contraption with an open flame below, clay pots sat above the flames in an opening made specifically for each pot. The whole ‘fireplace’ is full of sod but it felt homey and cozy. The source for the fire was wood which was used sparingly and was handfed into the flames a little bit at a time as needed. A long table sat opposite the cooking wall along with 4 assorted chairs; the table had a brightly colored table cloth. All utensils and plates and cups and supplies for the kitchen sat on an open shelf with a curtain in front, yet the sides were open. It was plain to see there was not much there. Rosalia had the table set with 2 spoons and a paper napkin and she squatted in front of her fireplace ladling a steaming hot soup into our bowls.
Carol and I sat down and since her son, Wilder, was present I made small talk about what grade he attended in school, whether he liked soccer, how old he was, etc. We ate. Rosalia and Wilder watched us. Smiling all the time I can see they were as curious about us as we were about them. Since it was close to 4 PM and we had group meeting at the football field in 10 minutes just up the hill, we excused ourselves after thanking Rosalia for her indeed delicious lunch. I asked her in Spanish not to cook too much for dinner and that a soup again would be just fine with me and she understood. Communication was ok, actually. I used a piece of paper and with a pen and some funny signs and writing words we could ‘talk’ fairly well. We started to establish a rapport.
The meeting at 4 on the football field turned out to be the start of a long hike to the very top of the mountain of this Island to have a bird’s eye view. Carol and I declined. We sat at the side line of the football field, the only communal meeting place of the village and watched the little activities that made daily life for Colquecachi. To our right were 3 strapping young fellows watching the young children play soccer with a rubber ball. Amazingly, the 12 year olds accepted the 6 year old boys into their game. They really enjoyed the soccer and observed all the rules. No fighting but lots of smiles and having fun. I bought each or the strapping men a bottle of beer from the local bodega and made instant friends. To our left were about 8 women and girls in traditional dress, talking and knitting and congregating like they did every day. The football field was the center of town, Carol and I just sat and watched. It seemed very peaceful and tranquil. When a girl left the women’s group she made sure to pass the strapping guys close enough to be noticed by them.
After some time we got up and meandered some distance to the right. Nobody paid that much attention to us. Each one of the locals had chores to do and did them. An “Ola” was given with a smile. Woman carried their loads strapped in a blanket tied to their backs up and down the mountain we now lived on. Men, young and old, worked in the fields. When we saw them use the path leading up or down the mountain we were amazed at their swift, secure way of using their feet and legs. It seemed they climbed without effort. While Carol and I strained and huffed and puffed along, with frequent stops to catch our breath and to take a rest, the locals passed us. We were visitors, yes, but also made welcome among them. At no time did I feel not wanted. We were free to observe and while I am sure we were observed too, it was not obvious.
We made arrangements with Rosalia that 7 PM would be dinner. Close to this time we went back, thankfully downhill, and again we met in the kitchen. We noticed another, elderly looking woman squatting in a corner near the cooking fire and were introduced to Rosalia’s mom, who only speaks Quechuan. We said hello to this woman in Spanish but I could tell that nothing was communicated. She was a Quechuan, and Inca woman. Before we attended this dinner, I decided on some additional gifts, a small pocket knife for Wilder, the son and in addition to the rice for Rosalia, 30 Soles for Bautista, and her husband. Now, entering the kitchen, meeting Rosalia’s mom we had a dilemma, having no gift for her. Quick thinking on my part reduced Bautista’s gift to 20 Soles and 10 went to Rosalia’s mom. The gift giving was over and the pocket knife, small as it was, with scissors, toothpick and tweezers built in was a true hit. Bautista almost wanted it more but relinquished it to his son never-the-less. We ate our soups; the son asked for a second serving but was told that there was no more. Rosalia only ate half a bowl full, giving the other half to her mom; everybody examined the pocket knife.
I cannot recall exactly how, but somehow I made them understand I could not hear well and showed them one of my hearing aids. Well, what a surprise, they had never seen one. First they did not understand what it was but after I pantomimed its use, the questions came by the truck load. What else was in this far away land called Canada we know nothing about? What could we bring to our Island to make it better? The questions came fast and I had to really listen fast and answer slowly. The life the people lead here in this community of Colquecachi is unique and to tell them too much would not do them any good.
I explained to them that TV is not that great and that you can add more solar power panel to the one panel they have and store the power in a battery. They liked that. I told them that a computer for the community would be a good thing, that they could communicate via computer and also use it to teach their children things they would need to know in the future. I told them to learn English in addition to the Spanish they struggle with, because it seems to be the most used language besides the daily Spanish spoken on the main land. But otherwise I just let them talk and ask. When Bautista asked about prices I told them what I know to be true, knowing that the numbers were astronomical for them. We had a good exchange, a good talk, a mutual get together of the minds. It was an experience neither Carol nor I will ever forget, it was great.
The community of Colquecachi, in our honor, had arranged for a small get together after supper and we all had to dress in traditional Peruvian, Inca (Quechuan) regalia. I did not really want to do it but with a lot of pleading I gave in. Carol was helped in getting dressed by Rosalia. Wilder, being small, jumped up unsuccessfully to get the poncho over my head and the giggles and laughter about it all was heartwarming.
After another climb back up to the communal meeting hall, we had a dance with music provided by a local band playing Andean music. Again, there was the separation of sexes among the locals but the foreigners, not being so inhibited mixed, danced, line danced, took pictures, laughed and had a ball.
I danced traditional local dances with Rosalia, Bautista danced with Carol. The dances contained a lot of twirling around so that the petticoats of the girls swirl. Up to 7 layers of skirts are worn traditionally. The sash worn indicates weather a woman is married, engaged or otherwise, the way the men wear their caps, the colors of the ear-flopped caps all have a meaning only the initiated is fully aware of.
After about an hour of dancing, no drinking or eating, we walked back downhill and dropped like dead into our beds. Since it gets cold at night and the rooms do not have any heat the bed covers are very heavy wool blankets. In fact, I had 2 of them and both laying on me felt heavy so I had to find a way to make them not touch my body by building a kind of tunnel to sleep in. The weight of the blankets was such that I felt someone was pressing on my chest. I guess one gets used to it but it felt heavy to me. I was not cold and slept well. The room, the world outside turned very black and dark after I turned off the one light bulb. I was out like a light until I woke up to use the bathroom. Well, there is a bathroom, of course, but it’s outside in the cold, mountain air, down a steep, creaky set of stairs, that, should I use the stairs, would wake everybody up. I remembered the handled chamber pot under my bed and then I slept soundly until morning.
Breakfast was one pancake covered lightly with jam at 7 AM the next day. A hot tea of matte de coca was our drink and we had to say good bye because our boat left at 8 AM. I felt the sadness creep in. We had made new friends but were forced to leave each other. They asked me once more to show my hearing aid and shook their heads. We shook each other’s hands and then Carol and I marched downhill, guided by Bautista to the dock. For a while Bautista excused himself but we found our way along, following a path along a river that ended at the Lake. It was pastoral, it was wholesome. The whole Island felt right. It was a unique experience Carol and I had and I am so glad we took the time and the chance to learn something new about this culture. I lived among the Inca, the Quechuan; I lived and experienced life close to the way life was before the Spanish conquered. It was wonderful!

The Floating Uros Islands on Lake Titicaca

Getting back to Arequipa after the condor experience, getting on the bus the next day to travel to Puno is a bit of a blur. We did it and again, thanks to Francis, arrangements for us worked out well. This was our last leg on the Cruz del Sur bus line and I need to emphasize one more time, that Cruz del Sur is a well run company. None like that exists in the U.S. or anyplace else I know of. Run very professionally, similar to an airline, it works and it works well. I highly recommend it to anybody, I am impressed.
We arrived at Puno and while we had to call our contact via telephone, he was there is no time and gave us a choice of hotels; we picked the median priced one for $ 40/night. Price was arranged by Francis, normally it is $70/night. Hotel Qalasaya is near the Plaza de Armas is centrally located and while expensive for Peru it is a first class, 4-star hotel. After we checked in and just unpacked, we received a phone call from Lizbeth in the lobby. Again, Francis had arranged some trips for us. Lizbeth gave us a rundown of our itinerary while in Puno and here is what we did.
The next morning we repacked for an overnighter on Lake Titicaca. We stored the main stuff of our luggage at the hotel Qalasaya. Early, at 7 am we took a boat ride on Lake Titicaca to visit the floating Uros Islands. So this part of my blog will only cover the Uros Islands.
Eons ago, way before there were any known tribes that made history in Peru, there were the Uros. A friendly, peaceful people that felt threatened by other, more inhospitable tribes in the area. The Uros devised a way to live in peace, even among each other. They moved and lived and slept and ate literally on Lake Titicaca. Using all the natural materials the lake has to offer, they have survived living this way even today. Powers came and went, Tribes ruled and Kings thought highly of themselves. Even the mighty Conquerors under the Spanish crown had little effect on them.
The way of the Uros people is simple, yet very effective. Using the reeds that grow naturally in the shallow parts of Lake Titicaca, the Uros built floating Islands. They built an Island large enough for just one extended family. Each Island is movable by pulling up the stone anchors and if the neighbor is not friendly, the Island is just moved to another, more peaceful spot. In the center of the Island is a fishing pond. On top of each Island are huts, each hut made for a specific purpose, a bedroom, a meeting room, a storage room, etc. Common chores are done in the open, like weaving, cooking, cleaning fish etc. Each Island can be enlarged but the ones I saw were as large as half a football field.
Food is taken from the lake or birds might be shot or fish is traded with people on land. I saw a small raised vegetable garden sitting right on top of the Island; the plants grew well, having plenty of water and sun and no critters that can destroy them. It is a simple but wholesome, life. They obtain needed supplies by barter, money does not exist. Wool for weaving, grains, roots and some spices like salt and pepper, etc are traded for fish and fowl. This system of living works, you will not get rich but you will enjoy what nature has to offer. Nations are formed, Powers change hands, the way of the Uros survives.
Today, it is being ruined by tourism, at least the Islands we visited. Boatloads of tourists arrive, being greeted by the Islanders with big hello’s and an open hand for handouts. Souvenirs are being sold that have little use to anybody. The men take you on a boat ride in their reed boats for a fee, Coca-Cola is being sold and TV is watched using Solar panels that are perched on poles mounted on each Island. It seems that the new century has arrived and taken over, yet…. I am not so sure. The Uros still speak their own language, still sing when they work, still cook food that is traditional to them, still eat the soft part of their reeds, still use a hole cut in the reeds at the end of the Island as their bathroom and still wear their traditional clothing. I am told that Islands farther away still run in the old traditional ways. Just those near the shoreline, near Puno are pray to tourists. Whatever the truth, the Uros live a unique way and their way of life has survived any invader and who knows, they might even survive the new power, the tourist, with their need for entertainment and news via electronic devices.