Author: peregrine

Long ago, I had made a promise to visit an old friend who had relocated to Chicago. As chance would have it, I finally made good on the promise after man years and spent a few days in the Windy City.

With rare exception, again I make the yearly pilgrimage to pay homage to Manhattan, the cosmopolitan capital of the world, and showcase highlight of modern civilization at its ostensible zenith: The massive edifices stand imposingly glistening in the sun, the masses in fine couture and accessories roam the streets; where, by day, multi-billion dollar commerce is transacted in split-second, and by night, myriad lights ignite the skyline in suffused halos. Having just returned from the Third World, this unapologetic show of wealth is in grand contrast to, say, the El Alto district in La Paz, Bolivia. Yet most of the middle and upper class in First World societies as represented by 5th Ave. of New York are largely oblivious to the suffering of the vast majority of the earth. For all the charitable hearts amongst the people here, sadly there are also many who feel a sense of superiority and entitlement over their fellow citizens of this earth merely due to disparity in material advantage. Surely, this is against the natural order of things, and I suspect, as history has proven time and again, the poor shall revolt one day. Somewhere in the distance, ever assuredly, the tocsin tolls of impending decline, presaging an ineluctable end to this conspicuous consumption to excess. Seemingly, the foundations of the entire institutionalized system seems to be trembling at the foundation.

However, cynicism aside, this is a beautiful city with infinite charms. To a mind at ease there seems New York should just be enjoyed for what it is: a lot of things going on, but nothing is happening. All the beautiful and the ugly of humanity can be found in one small little place, a mere dot on the map bulging with massive foot traffic.

Unable to settle in one place for long, again I’ve been beckoned by the splendid city by the bay. The pass few days I’ve wandered the cities that dot the Bay Area in visit of friends, and mostly just to absorb the vibe and allure of its environs simply because I miss San Francisco (which has ever ranked first in my estimation among US cities). There is no more simple pleasure than roaming her hilly streets, sipping scented coffee and random cafes, and watching the spring blooms sway with the bay breezes. Such are the small pleasures that balance the confusion of this world.

Six days in the Bay afford a chance to visit and re-connect with some people. A friend, who had moved here a few years back, showed me her favorite secret haunts around the city. Though SF is no more “home” to me than any other city, all the same I cherish its unique charms.

All morning yesterday whilst wondering the small neighborhoods in the city, the words famously celebrated in song by Simon and Garfunkel came to mind:

I’ve got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you

With the burden of the rat-race lifted, one tends to view the world from a more refreshing perspective. Having no schedule to meet, life flows at peace more when the politics and posturing of the world at large are forgotten. Freed from worldly worries for now, I wander with the spring petals blown in the wind and all is at peace for nothing is happening (in the most profound sense).

The remaining few days were spent picnicking with friends in the park, lounging at cafes to catch up on the news, and here and there, capturing a photo of the city’s steady pulse of life happening. Being neither a stranger to the town, nor a local resident, I come and go unnoticed by the tourists and residents alike. So it’s said, “Wherever you go, there you are!”… might as well enjoy it.

For a much of the journey thus far in Latin America, I’ve heard that Lima not much more than a megalopolis where one wouldn’t want to linger long. True, from the surface, much of Lima does appear to be a bee hive of random humanity in a rush about nowhere. However, much to my delight, there are subtleties to the city and life here that merits mention, even given the little time I’ve been here. There is much more here than meets the eye; and … given that this trip is nearing its interim conclusion in 3 days, I’d rather enjoy myself with little attention and fanfare wandering among the Limeños, lost along with the 8 million locals here.

Yesterday was largely consumed with less touristy affair and rather more the lazy Friday routine amongst the locals: beach, civiche, Monestario Francisco, dinner, cinema

After spending almost two months wandering at such forbidding heights of the Andes, the time is nigh to venture on. So it is with sweet farewell that I bid my last adieus to fabled Cusco after wandering her bustling and scented alleyways one last time. Yesterday was mostly spent wandering aimlessly, people-watching the strange mixture and commotion of locals and tourists, then wandering the artisan markets to imbibe the traditional colors and crafts.

Walking the outskirts of town, it is not difficult to notice the disparity from the more touristed main plazas. Here and there the chaotic traffic honks, the air chokes, vendors ply their goods on streets, the indigent lay listless begging, the scent of food cooking waft through the air, here and there abandoned tires litter by the train tracks; all in all, it is a strange mixture of good and bad. Some how, despite or because of it all, Cusco has endeared itself to this wanderer.

After one last meal at the artisan market, I taxied to the central terminal and secured a 23 hour, over-night bus ticket bound for Lima. Though the bus was mostly modern and well-equipped, I did have some misgivings about the journey – and debated flying for better part of the day – as it would entail winding down from over 10,000 ft in the Andes down to sea level at Lima, all over circuitous mountains paths. Perhaps it would have been better to fly as it would have taken only about an hour; but, in the end I did save some money. And so with the sites and scenes imprinted in memory, I stared pensively at the passing streets of Cusco as it slowly faded behind in the road.

It is always a stark contrast of sorts changing locales suddenly. Lima seems a far removed world from Cusco. It is a bustling modern metropolis of 8.5 million, complete with all the trappings of any large city, including global corporate storefronts dotting the boulevards. In a way, Lima is almost an oasis in a barren landscape; as the road leading up to Lima evinced nothing but vast stretches of desiccating landscapes with nary a brush growing on some of the driest stretches anywhere on earth.

After soem 23.5 hours, the bus slowly approached the near suburbs of Lima. Curiously, the remote areas of town are dotted with urban slums and shacks. By comparison to La Paz, Bolivia, which is entirely built on unstable sandstone and pebbles, Lima’s vicinity seems to be built on top of pure dry sand. Yet, amid this vast dry stretch along the southern Pacific coast, a vast capitol pulses to the beat of each human footstep. The city buzzes, the people chatter, the lights flash. This city will show her character in the few days I have remaining on this trip. I yet have time enough to explore a bit.

As the final few days scheduled in Cusco pass, much of the time has been spent idling about the plaza, people-watching with a cup of juice at hand to while the time. Despite the frenzied happenings of tourist traffic here, the locals removed from the main industry seem to enjoy a more idyllic life. There is a certain envy in their slow approach; and mindful of this, I teased out the remainder of my time here with a day trip to the Moray ruins. Nestled a few miles away from the town of Maras some short distance from Cusco, this idyllic countryside ruin holds much mystery yet.

The trip on the outbound bus traversed, again, through some high ridges looking down on brilliantly pied spring valleys. The verdant hills unfolded into the distance, the glaciers clung to the high mountains, cattle and goats grazed alone the pastures. Dotting the landscape were local farmers out tending their stock, their vestments glistening iridescently in the incident sunlight. For all its color and variety, poverty and wealth… for sure this nation’s natural beauty is what will stay with my mind most.

The Incans seemed to built this vast complex at Moray as a proto-agriculture laboratory. The concentric pits descend more than some 35 meters down, causing a temperature gradient as much as 15 C. The entire complex has a intricate irrigation system that can flood each terrace. Apparently, this was used by the Incans to experiment with ideal conditions for different crops and to hybridize strains of crops. It’s a marvel to gaze and reflect on genius of the Incans and how advance this civilization was before the Spanish invasion. They were indeed, in some ways, so much ahead of their time.

The myth and mystery that is Machu Picchu will be forever concealed under the lost footprints of its Incan past. The splendid relics that do remain is simply awe-inspiring, as much for its magnificent architecture and jaw-dropping locale as for the sheer audacity of the Incans to even consider building a city here, let alone actually accomplishing the impossible feat. It remains where the Incan architects laid their plans, 8,000 feet high in the thin air of the Andes, yet surrounded by tropical jungle. After nearly 500 years, it survives alone as the only site unblemished by the Spanish greed and spoliation (because they never founded); standing solemnly to echo the tale of the ancient Incans.

After the previous evening tortuously dangerous hike, the intrepid/insane group arose at 4:30 in the morning to queue up for tickets to Machu Picchu before the crack of dawn. Despite not having eaten a proper meal in some 30 hours, a few of us decided to head straight for Wayna Picchu peak perched behind the ruins in the classic iconic photo of Machu Picchu. The climb is extremely steep well over a thousand feet above the ruins themselves. After an hour of difficult climb we were treat to a most glorious view of the entire region as the fog drift to and fro, covering and uncovering the monuments below.

I remained atop Wayna Picchu for well over two hours to explore its subtle cracks and crevices, impressive architecture, and spectacular panaramic views. It is said that the Incan high priest resided here, and would ritually descend to Machu Picchu in the pre-dawn darkness to ceremoneously usher in the Sun God each day. One can imagine the perilous journey down in the clouded darkness.

Around 10 am, the fog finally broke sufficient to explore the remainder of Wayna Picchu — itself littered with classic Incan stone work, houses, terrace farms, temples, etc. I eventually descended back to the main site below to explore in detail. The aura and atmosphere of Machu Picchu is unmatched. Though, Angkor Wat as a whole has more impressive architecture, the indescribable location and terrain of Machu Picchu is utterly unique. The technical excellence and intricacy of the limestone dovetail each other with surgical precision; so much so that modern technology cannot duplicate their precision. The vast majority of the joints will not permit even a thin paper to penetrate.

From the main plaza, I then ascended the southewestern terraces where the Incan grew a vast variety of crops to support this mysterous citadel. To date, no one is sure what Machu Picchu was really built for, though there are numerous competing theories. What is known is that it became a bastion and refuge for the Incans after the Spanish conquest; though this refuge didn´t last long and soon after Machu Pichhu was abandon to time and forgotten memory until being ¨rediscovered¨ in 1911.

This is a tale of daring and determination. Part and parcel of the perils of the path

d

The last two days have had heavy rain in the Cusco region. Seeing as the uncertainty of Machu Picchu was still present, I opted to see all the major ruins within the vicinity of the city. A short taxi ride took me to Tambomachay some 10 km outside the city, from which I descended the hilly terrain back towards the city, stopping to see Pukapukara, Qenqo, and finally the impressive fortress of Saqsayhuaman immediately outside of town. The weather turned as soon as I arrived at Tambomachay and rained the remainder of the day, drenching me the entire trek back to the city.

The days pass steadily and as March nears its end the ancient city of Cusco is readying for festivities in spring. The few people with whom I was traveling briefly have dispersed about their way leaving me a day to reflect and wander about through this most romantic of cities. The bulk of the day was visited by constant drizzle, which, leaving a wet glisten over the cobblestones only added to its charming beauty. Having spent noon times consuming a most delicious meal with to British girls, I parted with them to enjoy some quiet time to people watch along Plaza de Armas. The slow procession of life here is as all other places on earth; the local culture has its distinctive curiosities, but the clash of cultures between the tourists and the locals is unavoidable. Some how, it all adds to the color that is now Cusco… so far removed from its ancient roots when it was ruled by Incas.

Into the evening, to avoid all the Gringo revelers, I wander the lit corridors of the city for some reflection and to marvel at the architecture of the city. Walls upon walls from ancient times still stand, though their original purpose and splendor is long lost. The Spanish colonialist razed all but a few of the Incan palaces and temples in order to build their own churches in their conquest. What remains only hint at what incredible culture must have flourished here; but sadly, the extinguished pass cannot be revisited.

For a few hours I randomly wound through the dimly lit streets pass children still playing, restaurant windows with rich tourists inside enjoying fine dining, poor locals trying to sell souvenirs, police, taxi drivers, etc. in a city quietly winding down the night. Despite the chaos in the world, the peace we find is always our own – no matter where and what the circumstances.

I ended up in front of the main cathedral in appreciation of all that dazzled my eyes today. In a few days, massive throngs of people will be out in celebration of Easter in this now Catholic country; it’s a pity I will miss the scene as, having been delayed here longer than expected, I must venture on.

I’ve found myself unexpectedly delayed in Cusco while the chaotic coordination (or not thereof) of the re-opening of Machu Picchu is being sorted out by the Peruvian government and tourist agencies. A couple months  ago torrential rains and landslides caused massive damage to trails, rail, and roadways leading to Machu Picchu; what’s more, a few people died and thousands were left stranded on the mountain. As the situation is developing, no one really knows when it will re-open, but we can be sure there is a backlog of thousands waiting around Cusco ready to march en mass to the mountain.

Luckily, this ancient bastion of the Inca rulers is literally packed with sites of interests to keep one busy. Yesterday I followed one of the many tour operators day trips and visited the ancient Sacred Valley of the Incan Empire and visited the ruins of ancient royal estate and citadel temples at Ollantaytambo and Pisac (both altitude about 10,000 ft) before visiting the town Chinchero. Again, the temple ruins were most impressive, if not for their architecture then definitely for the magnificent location and vistas that they command. It’s a wonder that they didn’t make use of the wheel even in the late stages of their civilization before the Spanish conquest; yet, they were able to transport 50 ton monolith granite blocks up to incredible heights over steep terrain and fit them with surgical precision. The construction and astronomical importance of these temples are truly stunning.

Though Ollantaytambo was used as fortress stronghold during civil wars and as a based during the Spanish resistance, its main function was for religious purposes. The massive fitted rocks are simply awe-inspiring even though the Temple of the Sun atop the terrace complex was never finished. Even after centuries of exposure and natural destruction, these ruins stand in testament to the once mighty civilization ingenious enough to dream them into existence.

En route hiking to Pisac, the weather suddenly turned and rained briefly over the lush, emerald valley. This sudden blessing resulted in a rare site of a double rainbow over the entire valley! Further, we arrived at the peak of spring with all the flowers blooming along the trail.

After a day and a half of rest and feasting some of the finest foods in Arequipa, I awoke at 2:45 in the morning to prepare for a 2 day and 1 night tour down Colca Canyon, the “world’s deepest canyon”, … or rather, formerly the world’s deepest canyon at 3191 m (10469 ft) deep. By recent measurements, this title has been ceded over to neighboring Cotahuasi Canyon at some 3340+ meters. Both canyons are more than twice as deep as the famed Grand Canyon. The collectivo bus picked a small group of us up at 3:30 in the morning for a 5 hour drive to the famed perch of Cruz del Condor; a location high above the canyon floor renowned for the splendid views of scenery and wild Andean condors.

As with much of the views over the Andean peaks, it is impossible to capture a picture, even with a panoramic camera. The vistas simply stretch from horizon to distant horizon, and down the dim depths of the canyon.  The hazing clouds drift midway up the canyon floor from peak to peak, casting shadows that slowly flicker across the sloping cliff sides.

It took a full days hiking (9 hours total) to descend all the way down to the river and then partially up the opposite canyon wall before reaching the “oasis” where we would shelter for the night. These centuries-old paths wound and zigzag through many a geologic marvel. Though the volcanic formations are relatively recent, they are home to hundreds of species of fauna and flora that carpet the canyon during the latter stages of the wet season. The most famed of all species here is, of course, the Andean condor that soars high above the canyon floor on the thermal updrafts without so much as flapping their wings once. It is truly a site to behold standing on the cliff edges at Cruz del Condor as these rulers of the high heavens swoop by with nary a sound.

The remainder of the hike down was difficult, but shy of grueling. Even with full acclimatization, it took us over 8 hours of walking; what’s more, we’re told that the locals can do this hike in 3 hours. Sure enough, as the tourists march down drenched in sweat, the local people pass us with not so much a heave or a sigh, wearing three layers of clothing, with heaven burdens on their backs. One can’t help but be amazed by their strength and stoutness.