Last Days Magic
I’ve been “home” for a few days now and started life stateside once again. Still, the magic of Peru hasn’t left me and the enchanting chance encounter I had meeting Colin McEwan, the Curator of the Latin American collections at The British Museum, on a flight neither of us was supposed to take, baffles me still.
That he told me I had a good eye and seemed impressed by what I managed to see on my own with no real direction — I can’t even be eloquent about that because whoa, right?
I was blessed to spend another two evenings with C, the French neurologist, and we shared a leisurely dinner in Lima where I peppered him with questions, the answers to which flew so far over my head I couldn’t even see them. I smiled and nodded with faux understanding as I could feel the gears in my brain grinding, trying to start up and follow the threads of biological responses and social constructs.
Fortune favored me in my time in South America and I’m longing to return. But, there are many miles to go before I head back. The world is opening up and I am willing.
I’m not sure I recommend traveling with no real agenda and no plethora of information on where you’re going, but not knowing does mean you’ll find wonderful surprises absent of pre-conceived notions and that is pretty gd cool.
See you on the road to Los Angeles.
Cuzco. The people and their amazing faces. You can’t help but be charmed by the traditional dress and the fact that there are lambs walking down the sidewalk, but it’s tough to balance the desire to document what you’re seeing vs the hope that you’re not exploiting anyone in doing so. I spoke to Dr. McEwan about it, and he said they’re bothered more by photography in the rural areas and that you can always ask, but I’m too shy and my Spanish is nonexistent so I settled for pretending I was aiming at something else. I doubt I fooled anyone.
Cuzco Food Market. Some of the most severe things I’ve ever seen but at least the meat is fresh? And they’re, err, using all of the animal? Storefronts dot one short street, and there’s an underground section where you can eat amongst the buzzing flies, putrid smells, animal heads and lifeless eyes. The fruit and veg look really good, though, so there’s, you know, that.
Muchos Perros. It’s quite insane, the number of dogs wandering around Cuzco. I spent a fair bit of time sitting in the courtyard of my hotel and all you could hear was barking in the hills. It’s hard to see as they are literally everywhere, running the streets. The last shot in this set, I caught those two in flagrante delicto right on the sidewalk before they trotted off to parts unknown. Unreal.
Almudena Cemetery, Cuzco. In celebration of Mother’s Day a lot of people had come to pay their respects and leave cards in the memoriam picture windows of the crypts. All the cards were the kind where you open it and it plays a song, and everyone chooses the same song, “Für Elise.” (If someone can explain to me why, I’d love to know as googling turned up nothing.) The dissonant sounds of the tinny music floating out of sync all over the grounds became unnerving after a while.
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1. Storybook. 2. Into the deep. 3. Segregated children. 4. Friendly face. 5. The custom is to leave a favorite drink, and there were cups of Coke and Inca Kola all over the place attracting ants in honor of loved ones passed. 6. Heartbreaking Wolverine.
Catholic art… something I’m never going to quite understand. Loads of Jesus in a miniskirt paintings going around Peru.
Cuzco. Museo Arqueologico Peruano. The Pre-Columbian Art Museum is a lovely collection built on the site of an Inca ceremonial court. The artifacts date from 1250 BC to 1532 AD but you know, as one American tourist said, “They strung some seashells together. What’s the big deal?”
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1. Weapons of club destruction. 2. Yes, deer. 3. Serpent knife. 4. Chakana 5. Skullbinding at the Museo Inka.
From Almudena Cemetery, Cuzco. I am back in the States and really none too pleased about it, I admit, as my life these last two weeks was lived under a lucky star. Full report coming and then it’s on to Los Angeles for a month.
Farewell Cuzco. I have loads of pictures to post but zero time as I must head back to Lima for the evening. More soon.
Sondtracking: “Rainbow Connection” by Kermit.
What’s so amazing that keeps us star gazing and what do we think we might see?
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
All of us under its spell, we know that it’s probably magic.
Machu Picchu: Only My Memories
If you’d told me three months ago that on Monday, May 14th I would…
1. Ride on the Orient Express.
2. Meet a French neurologist, a Department of Defense employee and a retired English investment banker and his wife on said train.
3. Oh, and this train is taking me to Machu Picchu.
4. Where I will hear all about how my birthday (June 21) was important to the Incas.
5. And pet a llama.
…I would have laughed and said, “Only in my dreams.” And that is what it felt like. The most surreal incredible dream that I somehow managed to be awake for.
The Hiram Bingham consists of one dining, one bar and one observation car. I think it only allows for 50 passengers and wasn’t sold out so I had a table to myself. However, I spent the majority of the first leg of the trip at the end of the observation car taking in the scenery and waving at Peruvian farmers like a deranged beauty queen on a parade float.
As I was walking back I was told they’d seated a passenger opposite me, and I had a momentary feeling of fear and panic as I simultaneously wondered if this was going to be completely awkward and what if this person is horrible.
That being said, I’ve resigned myself to bravery when it comes to talking to strangers because I’ve traveled too much alone where I’ve spent my time in silence. So, resolutely I approached the table feeling a bit self-conscious that whoever was there probably wouldn’t be expecting a woman with nine tattoos wearing a $5 H&M tank top.
And down I sat across from C (the French neurologist), who smiled politely but said nothing. After some stilted opening bids I asked about France’s new president and we were off, discussing politics, economics, public health care, and travel for the next hour.
This sort of thing never happens to me. Ever.
The bus ride to the top of the mountain was full of Mike Scott’s voice singing to me, “All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise… all your life you were only waiting for this moment to be free.” Tears and a lot of looking at the Andes with a giant fucking grin on my face.
Machu Picchu was, of course, beautiful and amazing and, we were told, full of feminine energy. It’s truly remarkable to see the engineering at work centuries ago. My favorite part? The two stone circles in the ground filled with water that were used as mirrors to see the nighttime sky.
The tour was well done and the only shame is that I didn’t have any time to wander around on my own. Everyone was taking boatloads of photos, save C, and I finally asked him if he had a camera and he pointed at his eyes and said, “Only my memories.” Incredible… and lovely.
After afternoon tea it was back down the mountain where I talked to the D.O.D. employee about his time living in Seoul and his travels around Asia. The return train to Poroy was spent with the English couple, but more on them in a later post.
I’m only getting four hours of sleep up here. I’ve been awake since 4.30 and it’s not even 8. But it’s breakfast time and today is my last full day in Cuzco so I’m going to Almudena. What’s that, you ask? The cemetery, of course.
Machu Picchu 3/3. 1. Every time I see these masks I think Guy Fawkes. 2. Whenever the train slows down people run up with things to sell. 3. Inked. 4. Traditional dances at the station. (As per usual, if you want to see larger versions of the photox you can just, you know, click on them.)
