Under the Sun God

We've reached Cusco, Peru, historic capital of the great Inca Empire. Although 450 years of Christian dominance following the Spanish conquest have made it a very Catholic city, the traditional rainbow flag of the Incas flies from many a window.

The majestic cathedral in the main plaza is cavernous, rivaling the great basilicas of Europe, and full of incredibly elaborate altars made of 18 carat gold and pure silver. There are also triptychs, intricately carved out of native cedar wood, with Renaissance-era paintings of holy scenes infused with local flavor (my personal favorite was a large painting of the Last Supper in which Jesus was shown to be eating fried cuy, or guinea pig). There are also dozens of additional churches, monestaries, and convents around the city, all of which are in the shadow of both an enormous cross and equally-impressive figure of Christ protecting Cusco's red-tiled rooftops from atop two of the many mountaintops between which this city is settled.

This city is over 3300 meters above sea level, which is over 1000 meters higher than our last city, Arequipa. This has resulted in some noticeable effects for both of us, mainly a temporary, yet very heavy fatigue that sets in whenever we exert ourselves. That has made climbing the many stairs and steep inclines of the impossibly narrow stone roads a bit more difficult than it should be. Even though our muscles don't feel tired, our lungs can't quite handle anything more than just walking around on flat ground without requiring heavy breathing. Our hostel is at the very top of one of the aforementioned hills, which affords us pretty stellar views of the city as we eat our breakfast (best coffee ever, incidentally), though it also means that we feel like we've just finished a marathon every time we come back.

We've had some pretty great meals along this trip, but none quite like the lunch we had today at the central market. The market is essentially a huge warehouse, for lack of a better word, full of artesian goods, apparel, fresh produce, meats, breads, sweets, and rows upon rows of stalls serving a range of food. These stalls range from tourist-oriented restaurants with signs and tables and comparatively extensive menus to tiny little nooks with little more than a 6-foot counter and bench serving three or four traditional dishes. As we walked through the market, we stood out. I saw only three other gringos in the whole place. We were hawked at constantly in a fashion reminiscent of Santiago, which was the site of our last central market exploration. The difference between Cusco and Santiago is that in Santiago the people are loud and the goods expensive while in Cusco, many people are rather quiet, demure even, and the prices are low low low. Although wandering around the food stalls, the old women cooking behind the counters would point at us, shout their menu to us, and point down to open spots at the counter, almost commanding us to sit.

Dylan decided he wanted ceviche, the so-called national dish of Peru (though it's not really as prevalent as you might think with that description), while I decided I wanted what all the locals seemed to be eating, which was some chicken and rice concoction that looked good. So naturally, instead of just picking one, we found two adjacent stalls - one selling ceviche and one that seemed to be selling what I wanted. Dylan loved his ceviche, and loved the fact that it cost only five soles, or $1.67, even more. I was not so lucky. I was served a half-full bowl of broth and noodles, and then another bowl overflowing thanks to a mountain of vegetables, at the heart of which was a big chicken leg. I assumed I was supposed to mix them together (though I didn't understand why it wouldn't have come pre-mixed). But when I tried to confirm my suspicion, I was informed by the chef, who looked at me as though I had suggested dumping the whole lot on the floor, that mixing them would be considered, in a word, a faux pas. So I struggled. I grew very frustrated, as the food wasn't really good enough to justify the enormous effort I was exerting, every minute of which Dylan seemed to relish. After I paid my tab of eight soles, I waited until the lady turned her back for a minute, then ran away having barely eaten a quarter of my meal.

Still hungry, I asked that we try again somewhere else. Dylan, speaking more out of joy at spending less than two dollars on a full meal, readily agreed. So we had a second lunch, this time saddling up on a wooden bench in the midst of a series of hardscrabble locals. Luckily, this was a wholly straightforward combination of thick vegetable soup and a fried pork chop on top of a bed of lettuce and rice and french fries, prepared for us by an elderly woman who split her time between cooking the food, calling out to passersby, and shouting instructions to her diminutive husband, who was permanently on dish-washing duty. All told, we spent a combined total of around eight dollars on four lunches, including drinks.

Completely stuffed, we started wandering around the other stalls, looking for a small bag to replace the cheap backpack we picked up in Tigre, Argentina to carry our books and things while out during the day. We found one easily enough for five bucks, which Dylan covered all of in exchange for me agreeing to let him use it exclusively upon our return to the States (not a hard sell). It was then that I saw an entire row of stalls manned by women armed with hordes of fruit and blenders. Faithful readers know how much we've both come to love banana shakes. How could we not try one at such incredible prices? We entered the row cautiously, and the woman at the end of the aisle wasted no time in trying to get our attention. I kept strolling through, looking at the prices, only to turn around to see Dylan frozen in place, too overwhelmed by the cacophany of voices, now numbering at least six, to move. Finally going to the first woman that had talked to us, we got the best shakes yet - mine banana and Dylan's papaya. And when we thought we had finished, it turned out that the woman had prepared a full pitcher for each of us! What a treat.

Four meals and two pitchers of fruit milkshake is honestly too much lunch for two people, so it's been a quiet late afternoon. I'm pretty ecstatic about going to Machu Picchu on Thursday, and we should see some pretty awesome ruins along the way tomorrow as well. We also booked our flight to the jungle yesterday, meaning that the rest of the trip is pretty much set at this point. It definitely feels like we've been here a while and we're both a little bit homesick, but it's still hard to believe that in just two weeks, I'll be eating dinner in New Jersey again.