Temple of Merced in Plaza de Armas in Qusqo
Once I come out of
the Cathedral in Cuzco, Temple of Merced to the south of the plaza is inviting me. But I feel, I had enough of Christian temples for one day, I decide to go to the Inca
Museum to learn more about Incas. I climb up the steep block northeast of the Plaza de
Armas. I pass
smilingly as I enter it, two middle aged women with a girl, all donned in
Chechua style, they must be waiting for customers to ask them for a picture
together to make some money. I will see many of these women as I travel through the Urubamba Valley in the Andeans in the next week. They are colorful, sweet, and smart entrepreneur women!
Andean women dressed up to pose for photos
The building itself is among Cuzco’s
finest colonial houses, resting on Inca foundations. The entrance is telling: I am
entering a different world, a different era. As I walk around, mesmerized, I start appreciating that this is a very fine collection of metal- and gold-work, jewelry, pottery, textiles, mummies, models. I learn from Lonely Planet that the collection of queros (ceremonial Inca wooden drinking vessels) is the world’s largest! There are artifacts from each of the subcultures under the Inka Empire, the Nascas, the Mochicas, the Huaris, and the Chancay Chimus.
A proud Inka at the entrance of Inka Museum
After I have visually devoured all the ancient beauty created by the Inkas, I head to my last destination
of the day: San Pedro Market, which should be frequented mostly by locals, this is their main market place. But I do see
some tourists, especially in the restaurant/food court areas of the market. This would be a good place to associate with locals a bit. I start cruising around; it is indeed
impressive and inviting. A huge bazaar like those I see in all big cities in
Turkey. Fruits, vegetables, meats, cheese, olives, nuts, grains, any food items
you can imagine in addition to a big food court serving anything Peruvian, I
assume; aromas are all too inviting, but...
Entrance to San Pedro Market where locals are abound...
As I walk around, I see all kinds of meat (chicken, beef, pork...) on stands with no refrigeration, out in the open: Each meat slab is like an airport for a variety of flies landing and taking off in whichever direction! It turns my stomach a bit. How can I go in and eat at one of the food court stands
when I know the meat they will serve was probably visited by hundreds
of flies before landing on my plate? I remember my Colombian friend Isabel’s
order: “Don’t you drink tap water! You can get dysentery or worse cholera in
Peru, only bottled water.” "OK, mama, I will do that", she loves to be referred to as "Colombian mama", I walk away from the food
court.
Angelica the fruit juice lady that served me at San Pedro Market
But how can one
resist the variety of juga de frutas in Colombia or Peru? I push Isabel's voice to the depths of my mind, sit
at a fruit stand. Where Angelica prepares the fruit juices is blocked from our view by
huge papayas, pineapples and a variety of other fruits. She has a cover over her hair at least. I hopefully wonder if there are at least basic hygienic measures imposed upon the food preparers at least, here. I ask her to prepare a
nice mixture of her preference for me. She does: Mmmm, delicioso a drink, I still don’t know what
was in it. I swallow the contents of my glass and hand it back to my juice
lady.
Textile, vegetables, roots, and fruit all sold by the same vendor!
She hands it back to me, full! Apparently, the juicer-full is included in
the price like our refill! What a treat… With every meal, I drink at least one
glass of fruit juice throughout the two weeks I spend in Colombia and Peru. I
am so lucky that I haven’t had any diarrhea when some of my poor trekking
friends couldn’t do the trekking with two ending up at the hospital with
amoebic diarrhea and dehydration! I start chatting with the other customers sitting by the stand with me. Thye are a young couple from Bolivia, a day care teacher and a technician, vacationing in Cusco. Very sweet but shy people, the conversation doesn't go too far somewhat because my Spanish is not good, and their English is non-existent. I learn from Angelica that she is from Cusco and has three children. Another sweet Andean women among many I will encounter in the next week.
Inka founders of Qusqo displayed in the center of Plaza Limacpampca
Once I am done with San Pedro Market, I walk up Collacalle toward my hotel to meet my fellow hikers and our tour guide at 6 pm. I
wait until 6:30, since I have read in Peru, time is a flexible concept! Still
nobody showing up, I ask Maria whether she knows anything about the meeting.
She tells me somebody left a duffle bag for me in the morning. I don’t know what
it is for, but that is a sign that I am on somebody’s list. However, why
doesn’t anybody else show up? Am I the only one doing this trek of Quarry
Trail? Around 6:45, I ask Maria, whether she could call the local Intrepid
office, which is an Australia based travel agency.
Narrow streets may be surprisingly ornamented with an unexpected historic wonder in Qusqo
She learns that somebody
will be here soon. It isn’t until 7:15 that my tour-guide-to-be does arrive.
Apparently, he had just completed another tour and that was the reason why he was late: Truth or excuse for his tardiness, your guess is as good as mine. I stay in the moment and feel grateful that he is here. It turns out I am the only one that is staying in this hotel, but tomorrow
there will be nine of us. Good, a group of reasonable size. After receiving all the logistic information, comes the question that was wiggling in the back of my mind, more so today! The answer to my question is that the age range in the group is between 20s and 40s. That means with age 58, I will
be the oldest of the group. With my ongoing headache and bouts of shortness of
breath on exertion, a bit of worry rises up in my mind again. With these young people, who will be bullets on the trail, will I have a chance to preserve my hiking dignity?
A beautiful entrance to a raised courtyard
Taking conscious, mindful
breaths helps; I will rest tonight and hope by tomorrow, 36 hours after my arrival
in Cuzco, I will show some signs of adjustment. But now, I’d like to find a
place to have good Peruvian food. Maria recommends me Nuna Raymi Restaurant very close to La Plaza de Armas. I have a lovely soup
and salad. My headache is still on. I have to take something to see if it will go away: If it doesn't, that may mean, brain edema due to more severe altitude sickness. On the way back to the hotel, I find a drugstore and buy Ibuprofen to test this claim. It does help, I am free of headache before going to bed. However, when I
wake up the next morning, the headache is back and furthermore, even exertion in bed requires an effort and gives me
mild palpitation and I feel tired. Of course it is 5 am,
but the day will start at 5:45! Positive thinking Resmiye, back to mindful breathing, I feel better. I go down to breakfast, prepare a lovely
sandwich for myself with cheese, avocado, toasted whole grain bread, and down a
glass of papaya juice with the first ibuprofen dose of the day. I feel even better.
Every hotel serves coca leaves in a basket along with other teas: Mate de coca
When it comes to tea,
I do not hesitate to have a cup of coca tea! My resistance to it lasted less than 36 hours. Not only tea, in Ollantaytambe, I will pack some coca cookies thinking
“When in Rome, do as Romans do!” I am still resistant to chewing coca leaves,
but take a few with me, just in case: There must be some wisdom to this tradition
that has been part of this land for millennia, perhaps. As soon as we start
hiking, little do I know that I will also suck on coca candies that Nickie,
another hiker from Canada will offer me. I smile to my short-lived resistance to coca.
Coca paraphernalia, all over the place...
I don’t know what it does or if it does anything to me. Since I
continue taking ibuprofen at least twice a day, I will never know whether coca
takes care of my altitude sickness, or ibuprofen takes care of the headache, or
if I simply start acclimating, perhaps a combination of all… Two weeks after my
return, when my daughter finally sees my pictures from Peru, she will exclaim
looking at a picture from the second and most difficult day of hiking “Mom,
your face is swollen in this picture, you must have really had that altitude
sickness…” I look at the picture, indeed, I have a swollen face with puffed up
eyes and cheeks. No wonder the first several days were difficult up on the mountains.
We are barely at 3700 m altitude from 3400m, and have still climbing to do up to 4500 m: No wonder I was exhausted...
At 5:45 am, I get on the
bus, the chief guide introduces me to the assistant guide, to our driver, to
the chef cook, and the su-chef, all indigenous people from the Urubamba Valley,
except for the chief guide who is not an Inca descent. They are all sweet
looking men, a bit shy except for the chief guide, who is in full control.
However, there are no other hikers! I keep silent for a while considering we
will pick them up from another hotel in town. However, as we start leaving the
city behind us on a winding road clearly heading up to the mountains around, I start getting a bit concerned. How our limbic system plays horror games with our minds all the time... What if this is all a
conspiracy, how would I fight against five men all by myself? Luckily, my prefrontal cortex takes over quickly and I compassionately
and smilingly calm myself down.
Urubamba Valley at the Machu Picchu end of the Qusqo region
The question that comes out of my mouth is very benign and calm... “Where are we going to pick up the
other trekkers?” The answer is so
simple, I feel embarrassed with my previous conspiracy theory: They have been staying at a hotel in Ollantaytambe since they had done
the Sacred Valley tour for the last two days. Now I am happy, free of fear, can
focus around and watch the countryside as the first rays of the sun start
shining over the mountaintops. It is clear that communication style here is
different. Language also may be a barrier. Since they talk amongst themselves
sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in Quechua, they may easily think, I am aware
of all the conversation when I don’t understand a word of it most of the time.
Ollantaytambe sprawling at the lowest point of the Urubamba Valley
It takes over an hour
and a half to get to Ollantay (short for this lovely town around here). We stop
in front of a restaurant and the guide tells me the other travelers are having
breakfast upstairs and that I can also buy energy bars, etc for the hike. I go
upstairs, but there is no one there. In addition, the smells tell me that the
food there is not that good. I had a very healthy breakfast anyway. I buy some
high calorie, easy-to-eat snacks, devour another glass of fruit juice at a café
across the square and take a walk around the square as I wait for the bus to
return, not knowing even where they went. In my stroll, I bump into a small
farmer’s market with perhaps a dozen peasants selling their produce on canvas
spreads.
Locals selling their produce on spreads on the street right around the corner from a small market place in Ollantaytambe
Finally, they pick me
up and we drive to a hotel out of town, in front of which there are many buses
like hours and a crowd consisting of hikers, clearly from other countries. At
last, I feel like our fellow hikers may be here. I meet Chris and Rachel first,
both from Australia, husband and wife in their mid-20s I will find out soon.
Rachel’s mom and Dad are there, too, I am glad to see that there are some people my age in the group: Short lived pleasure, the parents will take the train to Machu
Picchu and meet us at Agua Caliente the day before the visit to Machu Picchu, just like any level-headed people of my age would do!
Rachel and Chris , Australian couple, at the highest point at 4500 m on the Quarry Trail
Rachel’s
mom Linda is having a severe altitude sickness I hear. I tell myself, worse
comes to worst, I will take the train to Machu Picchu and skip the trekking. Having an option calms down my mini-anxiety. I
think of my late partner Bill again and send him my love for being my best teacher in dealing with difficulties of life: Think of the worst outcome, prepare for it, and move on with what you have in the moment. It works, I highly recommend it to deal with anxiety-provoking events. Then I meet Yen and
Scott, who are also married and look like they are in their early thirties. As
we are getting loaded to the bus, I meet Mercedes. At some point, Becky gets on
the bus, but it doesn’t look like she is in the mood to talk. I leave her alone
as I notice there is a young man in the front, whose name I will learn is John.
Finally, after some waiting, Nickie rushes into the bus with a spunky mood, completing
the team to nine, with half of her sandwich in her hand. This one must be a
late riser… They all look like sweet young people.
I don’t see anybody in this group that looks like in their 40s. All of
them look like in their mid-20s to mid-30s max. This may be a difficult 3 days
for me, if I can’t keep up with them. “Stay in the moment Resmiye, right now
you don’t have any headaches and the first day’s hike is only 6 kms.” I will take it one step at a time, breathing in and breathing out, repeating the phrases recommended by Thich Nhat Hahn "Breath in and repeat silently, I breath in; breath out and repeat I am alive". Whatever
the difficulty rate of the trail may be, with a positive attitude and focusing on my breathing, I trust, I will make it.
 |
| Scott in blue shirt and Nickie in light gray shirt among the rest of us, who completed the hike after losing Becky and John to severe dysentery, who had to be admitted to the hospital: beware of food and water sanitation in Peru! |
 |
| Our chief guide and his assistant squatting in the background with Nickie with her beautiful braided hair in the front |
No comments:
Post a Comment