No Soap, Radio (by Lawrs)

Well all the jolly talk about the copious quantities of rain falling on the sanctified city of Cusco turned out be no joke at all. In the aftermath of three days of continuous rain, much of the sacred valley lies in ruins, entire towns downstream from Cusco have simply been erased from the map, and the train tracks  to the citadel of Machu Picchu (the only access) are blocked by tens of landslides. The collapsed sidewalk in front of our house is nothing in comparison to those who have lost their homes, their belongings, their crops, and their means of egress from their rural villages.

Meanwhile in Aguas Calientes, the tourist mecca at the base of Machu Picchu, over two thousand tourists were stranded for nearly a week as military helicopters shuttled them back to Cusco during spells of clear weather. The current estimate is that the train tracks will be out of service for over 8 weeks. That translates into around $100,000,000 of tourist revenue lost. The city of Cusco is the launching point for visits to Machu Picchu, and it is empty around here. A lot of cab drivers have their seats at full recline and are passing the time napping in their parking spaces for the lack of passengers.

I have gone on two bike rides since the deluge and I am amazed at the amount of destruction. It isn't post apocalyptic here in the city, but there are lots of little things that will take a while to fix. The trail that links the city to the hamlet of Yuncaypata (where I bike) is blocked by five landslides. Adobe retaining walls have crumbled all over the place. The steep dirt margins along roads are continuing to collapse
and cover the pavement.  Some pavement has collapsed.  There is a lot of work to be done.

Happily, the weather seems to have calmed down a bit. It is still raining, but not for very long each time it rains. We all have our fingers crossed that we have seen the worst of it, although February is typically the rainiest month of the year, and March is no slouch either. I guess we'll all just have to wait and see.

 

In the meantime, there is a lot to be thankful for.  We miss our dear super-poodle Oliver, but when in a pinch there is always the neighborhood alpaca to spend some quality time with.

Sophia and I passed this handsome gent at the start of our hike up to the temple of the monkey.  It was a gorgeous day and this time we found the monkey!  There were many of them actually, carved right into the bedrock, but this one was the clearest.

It turns out the Templo de Mono is a perfect place to play hide-and-seek, so we  tucked ourselves into caves and darted around corners for a while.  In one of the caves we found this offering, a basket of flower buds with a picture of a smiling couple rolled up on top of it.

I have gotten out on some positively epic mountain bike rides.  The rain has only improved the rockier trails, and the light in the morning is ethereal.  

Isabel is so happy to be back  at her ballet class.  Her teacher, Katia, is a really wonderful person.  Her 12 year old granddaughter is enrolled at the national school of ballet in Lima, but during summer vacation is here in Cusco and sitting in on some classes.  It's a treat to see Esther and Isabel dancing together.  The classes are held in a ramshackle backroom of the Alianza Francesa, the French Cultural center in Cusco.  That warm glow emanating from the austere courtyard is the cafe that is affiliated with the Alianza.  My word, is their food good!  It's great to be able to sit in the bustling space sipping a coffee and reading the paper in between classes.

 

It's late here and my feet feel like they belong on a cadaver.  Houses made of concrete and glass are less than cozy once the sun goes down.  Tomorrow will hopefully be a nice dia de descanso (day of rest), as Sundays should be.  I bought some lovely avocados from the market today and I am already looking forward to eating them in a nice salad for lunch tomorrow. 

Haute Couture and Landslides (by Lawrs)

It's summer vacation here in Peru, and the kids (especially the one who attends school) were getting pretty bored with chronic viewings of "Little Bear" and "Sponge Bob" on the laptop.  Our friends Dougie and Edilma told us about a class that their Sophia was attending to learn traditional dance and, um, modeling.  I am not talking about the creepy "Southern Belle Pageant," kind of thing, more the creepy "America's Next Top Model" kind of thing.  "What the heck!" said we, and off she went Monday morning to a drab yellow office building just off the main drag, halfway down the valley. Sophia was immediately thrust into the front row for a dance routine she had never seen before.  She is NOT a shy child.  After a couple of mornings she had it down and did a great job in both the dance performance and the runway fashion show.  We bought her new shoes with little heels (as requested by the teacher) which hurt her  feet.  This made her walk a bit like Frankenstein down the red carpet, but she powered through with big smiles to boot.

 One of the girls' favorite treats here in Cuzco are Picarones, sweet potato donuts fried in a vat of boiling oil right before your eyes, and we decided to celebrate with a plateful of them.  We had only been to eat them once before, and it was a memorable experience.  We were invited to join a family from California there one evening, and Sophia was exhausted.  When it comes to anything sweet though, the girl can rally.  We all watched in amazement as she fell asleep with a picaron in her hand, and continued to eat in a trance state, chewing like a recently disinterred zombie.   We placed friendly wagers on whether she would finish her order and those who had faith in the steadfastness of her sweet tooth won.

The light-up sign in the Picaroneria has a design inspired by the theories of Dr. Sigmund Freud, although some might argue that sometimes a Picaron is just a Picaron...

I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but it is raining a little bit here.  Actually, it is raining a lot a bit.  It has been pouring every single day, but when there is a rare moment of sunshine we try to capitalize on it.  I got out for a bike ride on Saturday morning and arrived home looking like this.

This after a trip on what is considered to be a "dry" ride during the rainy season.  Not so!  I was hub-deep in creeks and in a controlled skid on mud for much of the descent.  I will say that the rain does make for some amazing scenery though.  The mountains are a brilliant green and there are flowers everywhere.  Sadly, many of the crops that were planted in December are rotting in the ground due to the surplus of rain.  Also notable is the fact that there have been a few sizable landslides along roads and the sidewalk in front of our house has gone mobile.

 

What began as a teachable moment for Isabel on the effects of erosion has turned into a bit of a hazard

as the thin crack has widened and half the dirt that was once a sidewalk has sunk 8 feet as of now.  I am sure it will disappear completely before the end of the rainy season. 

So it looks like we will be making a left turn out the front door for the foreseeable future.  We are all a bit freaked out by the possibility of our house succumbing to a similar fate as the sidewalk, but all the land that is built on here was once terraced by the Inca.  Remember that their agricultural terraces had three distinct layers to encourage excellent drainage, so, at least we've got that going for us.

As I walked over to a friend's house this morning to pick up Isabel after a sleepover(!), I caught a market vendor carrying some fresh goods to her stall.  Her pink plastic poncho and her long pause looking out over the cloud covered ridges of the valley seemed to say it all.  "¡Ya basta con la lluvia!"

 

"Enough with the rain already."

Life in the Wet Lane (by Lawr)

La Temporada de Lluvia (the season of rain) is here, and there's no denying it.  We have seen it all -- deafening hail storms that clog the gutters with ice; water coursing under the front door and filling our kitchen; hundred pound manhole covers being lifted off the ground by fountains of murky storm runoff.  The storms here have been extreme, and in contrast to sunny Sucre, the weather here is kind of a downer.  The upside is that the surrounding countryside when not obscured by clouds or torrential downpours is turning a lovely shade of green.  An unexpected downside can be seen below.  We found five or six of these fellows in the house after leaving it vacant for three weeks.  Yes, they are as big as they look in this photo.

 

Despite the arachnid inhabitation, Isabel and Sophia slept like angels once we got home from our long trip to Bolivia.  

 

 

On Sunday morning Isabel and I went for a hike right from our house.  The sun was shining for the first time in days and we hopped right to it.  The streets and walkways in our neighborhood are hundreds of years old and as I often joke with taxi drivers, were made neither for cars nor horses.  They are incredibly narrow, cobbled paths that navigate the steep terrain of Cuzco with equal amounts of grace and purpose.  It's easy to imagine trains of llamas, laden with hand-woven mantas,  marching up and down these "roads" on their way to the city or the jungle to trade goods.  The Inca road that we were taking this day is the road that connects Cuzco to the Jungle, or "Antis."  It is called the "Antisuyu," jungle region in Quechua.

 

 

 

 

Our objective was to get up to the plateau above the city and visit the Templo del Mono (Temple of the Monkey) and Templo de la Luna (Temple of the Moon).  Walking along the Inca road was, well, lovely.  It's the Wimbledon of sidewalks, covered with lush manicured grass and bordered by stone walls on both sides.  The path leads past the Templo del Mono first, and as you can see, it is not a temple in the same sense as, say, the Parthenon or the Taj Mahal.   

These "temples" were already in place as natural landforms.  Their shape and position gave them significance.  They were not so much built as molded and carved by the Inca.  Below is the Temple of the Moon from the Antisuyu.

It looks like your garden variety rock outcropping until you get close to it and begin to notice the intricate carvings on all sides.

 

 

 

Isabel pointed out to me that the women of the Inca empire were heavily involved with astronomy, and so this temple must have had great significance for all things celestial.  As we made our way around the back of the temple we found two deep clefts in the surface of the rock.  One of them went clear through the temple and the other, pictured below, stopped after a hundred feet or so.  The photograph is taken from halfway in, looking out at Isabel who dared not venture further than the entrance.

 

We could see the clouds building as we headed back down the Inca road to our house.  We had enjoyed an uncharacteristic two hours without precipitation and our time was apparently up.  We ran between the hailstones to our front door and got inside just in time to gain shelter from the deafening projectiles cascading off the sheets of corrugated plastic roofing all around us.  So it is in this time of rain in Cuzco. 

I purchased my official Peruvian Traffic Police Rain Poncho yesterday and have already worn it twice.  I am pretty sure that before long we will all have one. 

Chataquila (by Lawr)

 

What a treat we had a few days after Christmas in Sucre.  Antero's friend and colleague, Saul, has a great Toyota SUV and was willing to join us (and thereby, transport us) for a hike to the mountains of Chataquila.  The day was sunny with huge cottony cumulus clouds, but not too hot with the perfect amount of breeze. 

Antero had hauled me to Chataquila once before, on the back of his Yamaha 180 cc dirt bike.  We had come to climb a pronounced promentory on the skyline called El Dedo (The Finger).  As I recall we made it up about one pitch before retreating due to marginal protection and shaky nerves.  All told, the hardest part of that day was holding onto Antero for dear life on the back of that motorcycle *NOT* made for two.

This day our objective was a two mile walk across the ridges of Chataquila, and then descending to an Inca ruin replete with a cave and cave paintings.  The terrain along the ridge is otherworldly with rock formations that look they were made of splashing lava that was frozen in mid-slosh. 

 I was mystified as to why I hadn't spent more time at this place when I lived in Sucre in 1995.  I guess for starters I didn't have a car or motorcycle (the ridge is an hour drive from Sucre).  Antero also reminded me that I was busy playing music with a bunch of groups back then and didn't have a lot of spare time.  Too bad really, because I think the beauty of this place trumps the quality of any of the music I was making in those days.

I estimate a person could spend a solid month camped on the slopes of Chataquila and climb something new every day.  The rock appears to be relatively young sandstone for the most part, but it is pretty solid.  I couldn't help but boulder a bit on a slightly overhanging face filled with ledges and pockets.  Saul's son and nephew clambered up the back of the pillar for a great view from their perch.

Even though Chataquila is a very dry place, there were some beautiful water loving plants all around.  The Inca, satisfying their predisposition for lofty locations with unlikely springs had done it again.  Here we were walking along the crest of a ridge, the last place you might expect to find water, but there it was, trickling in braided channels here and there, feeding the thirsty ferns, lupine and mystery plant seen below.

  

We had to descend around 700 feet from the ridge to access the large cave and its paintings.  They were different than anything I have seen in Peru, and in this setting their significance was amplified.  As I have said previously, Sucre is a hard place to get to.  It's a bit like Maine in that way.  And for this same reason it's an easier place to find solitude.  On this glorious hike we did not see another soul the entire day, except Paulo, the Quechua guard of the site. 

 

We sat inside the mouth of the cave and gobbled up two roast chickens, boiled potatoes and llaqwa (Andean hot sauce) in the shade.  There were serene pools in the spring fed streams on either side of the cave.  I could easily imagine sleeping in the comfortable shelter of the opening, big enough for tens of people to lie here.  Once again all the important Inca criteria were met:  shelter, water, food (there are spring-fed fields nearby), and a defensive perch with a commanding view of the valley below.

 

 

The walk was a tad arduous for some of the members of our party, but nobody faltered.  Poor Angie, Antero's niece, took a digger just 30 minutes into the walk.  With a few bruises and scrapes she marched on, bravely wiping the tears from her cheeks.  Even though I have hiked a lot and seen many places, this is a day I won't soon forget.  If I ever get back to Sucre I will find a way to come back to Chataquila.  (Saul, estas escuchando...?).

First Impressions (by Lawr)

Boarding the bus from Cusco to La Paz was a bit of a slap in the face for me.  It was my first time riding a Bolivian bus in 14 years, and I was immediately overcome with memories, some unpleasant, some funny, some wonderful, but each indelibly etched into my mind.  The rules of the road on Trans-Littoral Bus Lines are markedly less defined than those of the Peruvian bus companies.  Our bags were chucked indiscriminately under the chrome belly of the aged bus and the interior of the cabin had seen better days to be sure.  What was advertised as a luxury bus with folding bed-seats turned out to be a 1980s sub-Greyhound terrestrial behemoth.  Add to this scene the kids smoking cigarettes as soon as the lights went out and the "extra" passenger, laying prone in the pitch black aisle, over whose body I sprawled on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and, well, it felt a bit like I was back in Bolivia again.

Our Sleeping Quarters

There is no denying that Bolivia is Peru's poorer cousin.  It's a place that feels rougher around the edges, less modern and less regulated.   Because of this though, Bolivia also feels more open and full of possibility.  There is no Machu Picchu here, no Pacific coast,  and not many paved roads.  It is a difficult country to travel through.  The runway at the Sucre airport, for example, is cleverly squeezed onto the only mesa in the mountainous terrain long enough to accommodate small jets landing--and it is barely long enough for those jets to come to a stop before pitching over the cliff at its terminus.  You won't easily find the first-world comfort foods here that are available in abundance on every street in downtown Cusco.  But aside from its lack of refinement, or perhaps because of it, Bolivia is an amazingly charming  country. 

Lake Titicaca farmland at dawn

Resplendent rickshaw at the border

The public restroom at the Peru/Bolivia border

A lack of imagination and a desire for a bit of tranquility after an all-night bus ride led us to stay the night at the very American Radisson hotel in the center of La Paz.  The view from our room of Illimani, one of the many 6000 meter peaks in the Cordillera Real, was stunning.

Because of the tight margins of the Sucre Airport, it is closed to air traffic if there is any rain at all.  Since we were traveling during the rainy season it should have come as no surprise that our flight the next morning was delayed and then eventually canceled.  So there we were, all packed up and nowhere to go.  We slumped back to La Paz, a bit deflated and bought bus tickets for the next day, just in case our flight was canceled again.  Thankfully, the clouds parted, we boarded, and arrived in sunny Sucre on December 21st. 

We hadn't been able to reach Antero and Martha from La Paz, and they were mystified when we didn't arrive on the 20th.  We were equally mystified when we knocked on their door, surrounded by our suitcases on the sidewalk, and there was no answer.  There was also no answer when we called their phone.  Perhaps they were still in Finland?  Maybe there was some mishap and we wouldn't meet in Sucre after all...  We found a lovely hotel to spend the night in and went back to their house to drop off a note.  Happily we were met at the door by Yolanda, their housekeeper, who explained that they were just out for the day.  Antero came to the hotel that night to welcome us and we moved into their house the next morning. 

Thus began what has been a wonderful reconnection with dear friends, all of us now with children,  houses,  jobs, and a few more wrinkles.  Even though we haven't seen each other in years, we get along as easily as we ever did and find a lot of common joy in getting to know each others' new family members. 

 

 

 

While we all really missed spending the holidays in Kansas, it was very special to be a part of the Bolivian/Finnish Christmas tradition.  We danced, we ate, we put together the tree, we talked about Finnish Christmas trolls and Santa delivering stockings and gifts, and helped set up the altar of the glass-enclosed baby Jesus.  

 

Sophia dressed as the Tontu, the gift-delivering troll

  

Antero and Martha schooling us in Bolivian Christmas dancing  

Picana, a traditional Christmas meal from Santa Cruz, prepared with love by Zoila (Martha's Mom) and Martha

I have literally just scratched the surface of our visit here in Sucre, but my fingers are starting to rebel and I am not accustomed to sitting still for so long.   The sun is shining and I am going to go out and enjoy my last, delicious Sucrense afternoon before we go.