07/01/09

My need to work was inevitable and finally my first day at Excell school, Cusco came. I've never been the worlds greatest at remembering names and this isn't helped by unusually pronounced Peruvian names. I was therefore relived and humored to find out that the four men in one class were called Willy, Eric, Ludvig and best of all . . . . Elvis!

The students are fantastic (all around 20-30 years old) and seem to put up with me. I've been taken out to dinner by one class, who kept the sangria flowing and refused to take my money.One student who's a fellow climber even gave up his Sunday to take me two hours out of Cusco to a towering rock-face where we tackled it in 40 meter sections (that happened to be at the same time as an army of biting ants decided to do the same).

Most of my free time has been spent exploring 'the sacred valley', which has enough activities to keep a recession hit bee busy. I prepared to go horse ridding by donning my fastest cowboy shirt and my meanest cowboy expression to press hard against the racing wind. I found however that my horse had not watched the same westerns as me and was more concerned with eating grass and sniffing other horses bottoms!

White water rafting was somewhat more exhilarating. Being flushed down river Chuquicahuana, buffeting every rock and rapid whilst swallowing more water than a family of thirsty elephants at an oasis, was one of my personal highlights so far.

Opportunities for trekking are almost endless. Aiden, Mattais (another guy from the hostel) and I set out for Urabamba to try to tackle the snow-capped mountain 'Checon' whilst at the same time fulfilling a promise to Paula (a woman we'd met a few weeks ago, who owns a sandwich shop in Urabamba). I'd suggested that I fix a few of the shops plumbing problems in exchange for free sandwiches. On arrival the promised tools from a neighbour weren't there and it was clear I could only do so much with head scratching, tutting and bare hands alone. After a bit of bodging, I'd done enough to earn us all discounted sandwiches and wine for the evening. Suddenly a red 4x4 screeched up outside. It was pulsating due to 'Pink Floyd' being played at full blast from it's over-sized speakers. Over the loud hum, Pauler declared it was her friend who'd come to drive us into town, we accepted and went off in the red rock concert on wheels. We landed in Pauler's Uncle's bar where we were treated to more discounted drinks.

The night didn't exactly put us in the best shape for our steep ascent. We took a taxi to the end of a dirt track, near the foot of the mountain. With only the taxi drivers guidance and friendly warnings, we headed for the clouds. Soon we came to a fast flowing river but after walking a way up the bank, we discovered an old wooden bridge. As the visible paths ran out, we persevered up sharp, steep bush-covered mountainside. Gradually the trees and bushes ebbed away and were replaced by dramatic scenery. The huge snow table cloth that was draped over the mountain top came into view and the vast valley stretched out behind us in its wake. The climbing was kept rapid and continuous, pausing for necessary re-fuels and to briefly admire our surroundings. However we soon realised how ridiculous our goal of reaching the top of a mountain (around 6000 meters above sea level) in one day was. As we would inevitably run out of light, we made the decision to turn back. Snow was agonisingly close but with the clouds of defeat beginning to blanket the sky, we could waste no more time. Due to the dimming light, we went back a slightly different way and whereupon reaching the river, we were unable to find the bridge. With time of the essence, we opted to climb a tree that helpfully leaned across towards another tree on the other side. After some near disastrous slips and casual swearing, we all made it across. We were now hit by the realisation that the great distance, covered by the taxi in the morning would now have to be done on foot, with darkness looming around the corner. We cut straight down to main road through fields and over fences. Exhausted, we were now faced with the 6km stretch to Urabamba.

Suddenly in the twilight, a fast moving car made a familiar screech to a halt after it flew past. As the screech dispersed from our ears, it was replaced by the also familiar sound of shakingly loud 'Pink Floyd'. Paula's friend had somehow recognised us in the dusky road and in an instant, towards Urabamba we sped as the victorious mountain blurred and disappeared into the darkness.

The owner of the hostel in Cusco is a young Peruvian called Miguel. Being around the same age, very laid back and having a wicked sense of humour, he's become a good friend. Being that he also used to be a tour guide, he's a useful companion when visiting the many Inca sights in and around Cusco. An impressive one that overlooks the city is named Saqsaywaman and I've derived much immature mirth from pronouncing it 'Sexy woman' to the locals.

31/01/09

Another site, which is larger than Machu Picchu and only an hour bus ride away, is Pisac. When Miguel explained that the inflated entrance fee exploits the indigenous people, who've had to give up their land to the national park, we decided to sneak in past the eagle eyed security. A good way to do this is to arrive before 7 (when the national park opens) and head up the smaller, lesser known path at the other side of the park (which covers a small mountain, which the ruins sit on top).

Miguel, Aiden, Simon (a Swed who'd been at the hostel for a couple of weeks) and I made the early attempt. The plan was going well until yells from a distant dot were heard. As the distant dot came closer, it became a small man in a wardens jacket. This particular small man was suffering from the nasty condition known as 'small-man's syndrome' and showed added sighns of 'jobs-worthness'. Upon reaching us, almost foaming at the mouth and steaming from the ears, he began to give Miguel the 3rd degree. Miguel was quick to respond (making me think that this wasn't the first time he'd been in this situation). He promptly switched to the ancient tongue of Quechuan (the Inca language) and explained we were walking to a certain small village in the hills that could be reached by one of the paths in the park. The small man, also adopting Quechuan, continued stamping his feet in defiance. This war of words went on for a while as I blankly looked on. Finally Miguel gave me the 'all clear' look and off we went with beady eyes fixated on us. As soon as we were adequately out of sight on our new, longer detour, we cut back up and headed for the ruins.

They were well worth the trouble. Unlike the pristinly kept Machu Picchu, Pisac is overgrown, with a more rustic and real effect. This allows you to imagine you're discovering it rather than it being presented to you. All the water features the Inca's made from harnessing the spring water (such as washing fountains) still function as they would have 500 years ago.

Aside from sneaking into various places, Miguel also organises weekly games of football where he and his friends take on me and whoever's staying at the hostel (this usually favours me as a lot of Brazilians and Argentineans tend to stay). This has also helped me feel more at home and not so mush of a tourist.

After just a month in Excell school, I decided that the hours that were being offered weren't enough to keep me there. As Cusco is a great launching pad to see places but really geared towards tourists rather than residents, I felt my time in the Inca city had come to an end.

05/02/09

It all happened so quickly after I made my disision and before I knew it, I'd booked a bus ticket South. The idea being that I'd work my way down seeing more of Peru, then through Bolivia and finish up in Chile (where I'd heard a lot about good teaching opportunities).

My last few hours at the hostel I'd called home for the past two and a half months were quite. Miguel and his partner had gone to Lima. Aiden and Simon had were doing a boarder run to re-new visas. Ciara amongst others had left a couple of weeks ago and a large group of Brazilians had moved out the night before. This allowed me a last quiet look over Cusco, then I was off. The buzz of travel returned, running up and down my spine as I boarded the bus for Arequipa (Peru's second largest city). I was a night bus but I knew I would get little sleep as new surroundings awaited. . . . . . . . . . . .

Note: I have had to omit details of people and places due to being slightly behind with posts