Cuzco, Peru

Saturday, December 18, 2004:

After meandering around town for a few hours, sucking air as I adjusted to the altitude, I decided to go ahead and sign up for a tour of some of the key sites around the city. I would not, of course, be using my good friend Juan, who had wasted my time the day before and who was, for all I could tell, stalking me around town.

I had dozens of tour agencies to choose from. They all looked the same, so I chose one slightly further away from the bustle of Plaza de Armas. I figured that maybe a less centralized place would give me a better deal. The woman in the office was friendly and quoted me a price of $10 for the tour. There would be six stops in all, over approximately 4 hours. I was to come back in one hour to begin promptly at 2 PM. The bus would pick me up at that time.

Sure enough, a sizeable tour bus pulled up and I boarded with my voucher. The guide introduced himself in Spanish and fluent English and told us that our first stop would be the colonial church Iglesia de Santo Domingo, built by the Spaniards on the remnants of the Inca site of Coricancha (remnants, because the Spanish tore the temple down for its stones and massive quantities of gold). We pulled up to the enormous structure, much of its exterior falling into disrepair --- the result of numerous earthquakes that had left only the Inca parts of the building unscathed. Our group was far from the only bunch of tourists present and swarms of vendors surrounded us, trying to pitch us every manner of souvenir imaginable (and some that weren`t --- swarms of little girls in traditional dresses flocked about us holding their own flocks of baby lambs and llamas and demanding to have their photos taken... for a fee, of course).

It was in the line to enter that I discovered my tour agency had lied to me. The entrance to the church and the entrance to the cathedral (our next stop) were not included in the price of my tour. Other members of the group had paid $15 for their tours to other agencies, and this included everything. Basically, I was quoted a low rate to suck me in. The tour operator was a company separate from the agency I had booked with. They were sympathetic and claimed that the practice used by the agency was unethical --- but I would still have to pay.

I have to admit that I did not handle the situation graciously. "This is utter bullshit," I told the guide`s assistant, whose sole job seemed to be ushering us into lines and calling the bus driver on her walkie talkie to tell him when to come get us. She was apologetic, but couldn`t do anything. If I wanted to go in, I would need to shell out the few extra bucks for a ticket. Its not a lot of money, I was just upset on principle --- something i will have to get over if I want to make it through the trip without a coronary, it seems.

As my group (most of which had their admission covered) entered past the ticket attendant, I deliberated over whether to pay for admission, sit the site out, or demand a refund and march back to the travel agency. I decided, finally and grudgingly that it would be stupid not to pay the money. I would take the issue up with the tour company later (not that I expected them to do anything --- its completely caveat emptor down here and once they have your money, fuggetaboutit).

I bought a ticket at the booth and turned around. The line in was now mobbed with at least 3 additional groups that had just arrived. I was stuck behind 60 or more people and the line was moving slowly. I couldn´t see my group anymore. I spun around and handed my ticket back for a refund. Gratefully, it was granted to me.

I went outside to sit and wait for the group. Vendors flocked around me. A man was selling batteries; a boy was selling postcards; an old woman was selling sweaters. A little girl with a lamb wandered up. "No, gracias," I said. "No, gracias."

And again: "No, gracias," to an old woman with woven wallets and purses; "No, gracias," to a man with a portfolio of sketches; "No, gracias," to a shoeshine boy who failed to notice the fact that my shoes were sparkling due to the fact that I already had had a shoeshine several hours before. "Maybe tomorrow?" he said. "No," I said.

I sat down on the steps near the church, trying to keep to the side and out of the way of the vendors (useless). A Kiwi guy I had met back at the Secret Garden Hostel in Quito suddenly appeared and plonked down next to me. I remembered him for his strong accent and continuous smiling. "No, gracias," he said to the shoeshine boy, who had spotted him and run over.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: "Hey, how's it going?" ("No, gracias" to boy selling Inca finger-puppets.)

Smiley Kiwi: "Good, yeah, right (can`t understand a damned word) Secret Garden, right?" ("No, gracias" to woman with embroidered Alpaca scarves.)

Me: "Umm, yeah, yeah, sure, so how long you been here in Cuzco?" ("No, gracias," to same boy as before with postcards.)

Smiley Kiwi: "Good, yeah, right, 10 days (can`t understand a damned word) Machu Picchu."

Boy with Postcards: "Please? Please? Cheap."

Me: ("No!") "Well, I think I´m going to go tomorrow if I can." ("No, gracias" to girl shoving baby llama at me.)

This kept up for a while. Finally, Smiley Kiwi bid me farewell (or maybe he affably told me to go screw myself, I really don`t know), leaving me to the mercy of the vendors.

A man in his 20s sat down next to me. "Hey, Amigo, where are you from?" He smiled, but not with his eyes. I saw the folder of postcards or drawings in his hand.

At this point I was finally getting fed-up. I could more-or-less deal with the straight-forward solicitations to buy things but I cannot stand the whole "Hey, Amigo, I don`t really give a damn about you but I`m going to rope you into a long, drawn-out and utterly fake conversation so I can try to guilt you into buying something after five minutes of tortured, shallow banter about where you´re from and how long you will be in Cuzco establishes us as fun, fast friends" routine. Sounds cynical? Its true and if you let yourself be subjected to this sort of thing, you will waste hours each day in Cuzco.

"China," I told him.

"Really?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Where you from? De que pais?" he tried again.

"Mongolia," I said, wishing I was in Mongolia for the moment.

"Really?" he asked.

"No," I said.

He looked at me. I looked distractedly at the ground. He got up and headed for a different gringo, portfolio waving about in his hands.

After a full half hour, my group came out. I had cooled off a bit from my initial frustration, or at least managed to redirect it at the "Hey, Amigo" guy. We boarded the bus and headed to the main cathedral in the Plaza de Armas. This time I bought my ticket immediately and was first in the line through.

The guide led us through a series of three separate churches that were built at different times and joined together, with the largest church --- the cathedral itself --- standing in the center. We started in the Iglesia de Jesus Maria, completed in 1733. It included extremely ornate carvings and depictions of Jesus in gold, copying the styles prevalent in Europe at the time (extraordinarily gaudy and overdone, with no free space anywhere, every surface was decorated in some manner --- it was overwhelming to the eyes).

We spent most of our time in the cathedral, the largest structure, completed in 1536 but rebuilt several times, most recently in the 1700s, after earthquakes destroyed it (the remaining Inca pillars on which the church stands remained intact throughout and following the quakes). The cathedral is decked out in various artworks depicting different aspects of Catholicism. The catch is that the artists who created these works were converted (or in-the-process-of-being-converted) natives of Inca/Quechua descent. As a result, certain Inca beliefs have been subtly and not-so-subtly incorporated into the works. For example:

1) Depictions of Mary show her body draped in a robe that curves down in an upside-down "U" shape from her neck. The Incas worshipped mountains and, as a result, Mary´s body is consistently shaped like a mountain. ("Do I look fat in this dress?" "You betcha.")

2) Depictions of Mary also show a serpent in her lap. The Incas also worshipped serpents. Think about what a serpent represents in the Judeo-Christian tradition.

3) A painting from approximately 1690 showing the Spaniards battling the Moors depicts the Spaniards fighting on horse-back and the Moors battling from on top of... llamas. The artist clearly sympathized with the Moors, which is why he placed them on animals used by the Incas.

4) Depictions of Christ show him with darker skin and several show him with a more muscular physique. In particular, the ribcage is larger, consistent with a Christ whose lungs developed at an altitude of 3300 meters.

5) Most famously, a depiction of The Last Supper by Marcos Zapata shows Christ and the disciples gathered around a roast guinea pig --- a traditional Andean delicacy.

When we were finished exploring the Cathedral, we briefly viewed the small, connected Iglesia de El Triunfo, the oldest church in Cuzco (completed in 1536).

Fighting our way through vendors, we made our way back to the bus and headed out of town and up hill to view the immense Inca ruin of Sacsayhuaman (many tourists remember the name by the mnemonic, "sexy woman," although I have heard far, far, far too many tourists pronounce the name of the site "sexy woman"; the name means "satisfied falcon," according to Lonely Planet). Overlooking Cuzco, the walls stretch wide and far in a zig-zag formation and consist of large blocks of stone that weigh up to 300 tons each. The stones are carefully fitted together without mortar, so tightly that nothing can pass through them. Even though the site is gigantic, only 20% of the original work remains. The Spaniards used the rest to build Churches and other structures after they conquered Cuzco.

We saw several other Inca ruins as well, before stopping at the obligatory llama and alpaca wool store that the guide (who otherwise did an excellent job, though perhaps I am biased because of the University of Michigan blue and maize jacket he was wearing) was obviously somehow affiliated with.

I had dinner at the worst Chinese restaurant in Peru and called it a night shortly thereafter.