Journey Man

Well, the cab driver showed up on time, we made it to the airport with time to spare, and I made it through check-in with no problema.  I even found a place where I could get a sandwich and a strawberry smoothie.  After taking a bus to the plane, I boarded and, taking my seat, I noticed that someone had removed the seat in front of me.  Exit row I guess.  Looks like today was going to be my day…..Flying over the Andes and coming into Cusco was better than expected.  I suppose however, when you expect little, you are rarely disappointed.  I crack open the window shade in time to capture some snow covered peak poking through the clouds and welcoming me to the Andean city of Cusco.

So, as I was saying, I drop into Cusco cautiously optimistic that I would not only fall in love with this place but that great things would happen.  After all, so far so good and flying over the Andes was magnificent.

I exit the airport and am greeted by warm weather.  The sun shining brightly and reminding me that not only had I packed sunglasses but that I was sunburned from yesterday in Lima even though I never saw the sun.

Navigating the horde of taxidrivers with varying sales techniques, any of which may have worked had I known what they were saying or what to tell them.  As it turns out, accepting an offer from one of these road warriors may have saved me hours of walking and exploration but I may have missed some of what I consider to be extraordinary experiences.  Some that will surely sound made up, but let me get to that.

Plugging Antawara Hostel into my GPS, I see that it is a mere 3.6 km away from my current location.  So naturally, I start walking.  I want to get there and get my bearings before setting out to explore.  First order of business, sunscreen.

I notice right away that while the architecture is much the same, the air smells fresh.  Absent that familiar urine smell that I have grown used to.  The elevation change is palpable. Even a stroll along this level ground becomes slightly difficult.  I guess more different than difficult.  Plenty of dogs as usual.

Interesting story about the sunscreen.  I pop my head into a shop that looks like it might sell such a product.  Not surprised by my incredible deductive skills, it turns out I was right.  After the usual, “I don’t know what you are saying, what do you want, speak english, how much, etc.”, I arrive at a decision.  What transpired next was an impressive display of cunning and math, neither of which was provided by me.  The suncreen was 25 Soles.  Now, I typically get around 3 to 3.25 Soles per US dollar.  So I’m expecting it to cost right around $8 dollars US so I transfer a ten dollar US bill from my hand to hers.  She takes out the standard calculator and looks me in the eye and says, “2.5 Sole per US?”.  I say ok.  She types that into her calculator and joilà, it comes out to $10 US dollars.

Back to the walk. Unlike the bustling city of Lima, where the cars battle eachother constantly for supremacy, I find that the drivers here are more docile and cooperative.  In Lima, each of these wheeled machines makes their way through the streets haphazardly and yet effectively.  Each beast showing the scars of battle and yet they continue the grind fearlessly.  They know every inch of their machine and just how much space is between them and any given obstacle.  While they are certainly not required to have working turn signals, they absolutely MUST have a working horn.  It is a magnificent and mildly terrifying dance I witnessed as I walked those streets.  Cusco, in the historic district, shows some evidence that they too like to dance in the streets.

Back to the walk.  As I approach what Google Maps is assuring me is my destination, things are not looking good for me.  Quite frankly, I am concerned.  I walk along and over roads of dirt and broken concrete next to auto shops and machine shops.  No restaurants, no hostels.  “You have arrived”, makes its way from the phone in my pocket to my ears.  That feeling of being let down by Google again, creeps into my head.  Ever the challenger, I am up to this.  I walk around the block many times searching.  Always arriving.  Never arriving.  I am very hungry.  It is time to settle down and regroup.

I find a restaurant and wander inside with absolutely no notion other than to eat whatever they will give me.  I am seated by a young man with no English skills of course, but then a miracle happens.  He opens a menu and points to Ceviche Classico.  I say yes.  Flipping the menu over, I point to the dark cervesa I like.  Away he goes.  Meanwhile, I catch up with work and download Google Translate.  I ask how to find my hostel and no one knows.  The beer and food arrive and to my delight, I have found what I have been searching for.  I ate and drank as a king.  Through Google, I locate a promising lead.  Could it be that a mere hour and twenty minute walk from here to historic Cusco would be where I would find my hostel?  What the hell else was I going to do, so I start walking.

Here is where it gets fun and maybe, at times, fantastical.  I am walking along through neighborhoods with children in school and playing.  I come across a park with a huge slide. The kind you see at a fair and you slide down on a potato sack.  No potato sacks, just kids sliding down and releasing the laughter they probably held in all day in school.  I decide to make my way to an area of even more familiarity.  A group of men playing soccer on a concrete field with concrete walls and steel goals.  I take off my super heavy backback that I forgot to mention I have been carrying for miles and plan to rest.  Not long after, I am invited to join.  Seriously?  Hell yeah!  Just like playing with the Latinos back on Hilton Head.  I fit in like I expected to and had one of the best times in the sport since playing in the Amazon.  The day was starting to shape up.  I bid the gentlemen adios, and started walking.  As I walked, I wondered what so many men were doing gathered in that spot.  Didn’t they have work?

So, I am walking.  Thinking.  Walking.  Thinking more.  Some good.  Some not so.  I see a young man throwing bigs bags of onions on his back from the truck I just walked by and disappear into a building.  I had seen this yesterday in Lima and wanted to help but thought it an imposition or rude.  This was my moment.  I tossed my backpack into the back of the truck and took on one of those massive bags.  I shouldered it through the door, past the counter where more unrecognizable food was being prepared and into the back where the young man gently lowered his bag to the concrete and leaned it against the wall.  Turning, I think he was startled to see me.  True to form however, no smile or thank you, just a curious look of acceptance that I was there to help until the job was done.  As if I had arrived here with him in that truck and jumped out to unload.  Sadly, there were only three bags remaining.  He got one, I got one, he got the last one.  A small nod of the head and that was it.  I climbed into my backpack.  I started walking.

Following the GPS, I am entrusting Google once again to bring me in for a landing.  Was I wrong in trusting such incredible technology with satellite imagery?  Would I be wrong to assume that a website like Travelocity would know if they booked me into a hostel that no longer exists?  I think I was wrong guys.  I arrive at a street that should house a hostel by the name Antawara, and Calle Nueve Baja 464 is the address.  Well, once again I find nothing as it should be.  I circle the block a few times.  “You have arrived”.  Shut the heck up, dammit.  I think I would know if I have arrived.  So, I calm down and ask for help.  Insert laugh right here.  I move to the other side of the street and study the building across the street for any clue.  I see it!  A small “464”.  I cross the street for a closer look at this bright blue door that is only about four feet high and could not possibly be the place.  Upon further examination, I see a doorbell with several businesses and names listed.  I will be damned, one is Antawara.  I press the button which emits the sound of a gym coaches whistle.  This happens several times until I get buzzed in only to meet a gentleman who, get this, doesn’t speak English.  He directs me to another lady even though behind him I see what I saw in the pictures when I booked.  The lady sends me away saying something about Air BnB.  I find the man again as I stand literally where the photos for the marketing of this hostel were taken.  I show the man my phone indicating my reservation.  He speaks broken English saying simply, “Closed”.

Wow!  So, long story short, I sat on the curb searching for a nearby hostel and I found Atawkama.  Definitely a downgrade from the last place but it has a bed.  This place is cold and I am shivering as I type this.  I will plant myself in one of the bars I passed in my journey and make it a great night.

Side note, the crossing guards here are all women dressed like this and full make up.

Later y’all…….