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Well, its time for another installment of my journey into a foreign land. Today is day that started out gloriously and has not yet faltered. This entry will be soul-baring and perhaps offensive to some, but it is my blog and it is as much for my memories, my diary of sorts, as it is for your enjoyment. So, if you are easily offended, look away. I will also be including a photo montage against my better judgement since I know full well that photos never do the background justice and they certainly do not place you in the moment to smell the smells, hear the sounds, feel the energy, or choke up with awe! Nevertheless, they will be included below. The last bit of housekeeping is me apologizing to those who may dread the length of such a blog as I present. Again, it is mine to do.
The day greeted me with a beautiful sunrise. For those of you who know me personally, you know how I love a sunrise. Today the sun crested the peaks at around 0515. Unaware of this early showing, I did not make it into town until about 0530. To start the day, I brushed my teeth using mouthwash since I lost my toothpaste. I stood in the shower ever hopeful that soon the water would warm up and I could release an “Ahhhhh” that I desperately long to do these days. Instead, I took the kind of shower that just covers the basics. Dressed in my forever pants, fresh t-shirt (meaning I have only worn it twice), new socks and underpants, and the same pullover, I headed into town.
I don’t know what it is about today in this city of Cusco, but I feel so alive! Plenty of Buenos Dias handed out, none received. It’s a shame that my personal itinerary included coffee each morning and I envisioned having that in a charming cafe, but no such thing exists. It is too early for continental breakfast at the hostel and besides, the gal at the front desk is all snuggled up in her bed next to the front counter.
The morning is brisk and the sky is clear with wisps of clouds lightly brushed on a beautiful blue canvas. Once the sun reaches a higher elevation I will be able to feel the sun on my face.
Reaching the central square, the sun indeed begins to caress my face and penetrate my pullover to begin the warming process. It is at this moment that I am overtaken by the beauty that surrounds me. Cusco is waking up all around me and I feel blessed to be waking up with her. I wanted to fall in love with this city and I came in with high expectations. As I stand in the square, I open my heart to Cusco and I accept the love she gives me. I allow myself to fall in love with the city.
The sound of religion emenates from a cathedral, organ music and voices singing. Statues of bronze glisten in this first light. Imagine the way the light plays on the buildings, bringing out soft hues of gold and orange, casting shadows not only on the ground but on each architectural detail of each edifice. A bell sounds in the distance. I am completely overcome with emotion and can hardly see at this point. Everything is a blur.
The source of the music is a nearby basilica and I am drawn to it. Entering this magnificent structure, I find a place in the back. I can no longer withhold my emotions. Overcome by the scent of incense, the haunting yet comforting sound of singing, I open myself and succumb to the moment. This moment was profound for me and spritual and I will say no more about it because it was also very personal. I can only expect those who have experienced something like this to truly understand. Being completely enveloped by the beautiful sounds of an organ played behind a harmonious collection of ametuer voices in worship within an accoustical and holy masterpeice makes me feel so small and insignificant in this world. Humble for the moment. Say what you will about organized religion but I know my Savior and He knows me.
The Spanish Colonial architure abounds in Cusco. The balconies and stonework are soothing to the eye. Lavish Baroque facades present themselves to the squares and narrow stone and brick streets and alleyways. White stucco walls atop perfectly fitted Incan stones with beautifully carved wooden balconies are everywhere.
I am on a quest to find a potentially overlooked feature called, “The 12 Angled Stone”. I walk the narrow streets, cars passing, children presumably headed to class, each wearing the uniforms of their shool, running about, dogs lining the sides of the road. As I pass the many adults, some in a hurry, some appearing as they have nowhere to be, I wonder to myself, “Are they aware of their surroundings and do they appreciate their home as I have come to?” I find an alley or road different than the rest.
This road gives way to a detailed showing of the fitted stones that continue amaze not only me but scientists for centuries. How did such an uncivilized people create such walls with exacting angles and intricacy that not even a piece of paper can be inserted into the space between.
I find the 12 angled stone.
Leaving the avenue of these fitted stones and still marvelling at their impossible construction, wouldn’t you know it but a prototypical Peruvian woman comes around the corner with her llama. Of course I try to snap a few pics without intruding on her dignity, when she poses for me and offers to allow me to capture her and her pet for my memories. Somewhat disappointedly afterward I believe she wanted money so I transferred from my pocket to her hand all the change in my pocket. About $2 US.
I am back to walking and exploring and I can’t help but wonder as I watch people, young and old, walk these ancient streets, eating strange foods, drinking cloudy juice from a plastic bag with a straw, do they or can they appreciate this. I am but a visitor and I know nothing really about their culture or history. I didn’t do much research. Can’t speak the language. But I know that I appreciate the beauty of my surroundings back home. While we may lack the history that a place like this exudes, it is up to us whether we want to explore and become familiar with our own surroundings and love and appreciate them and if that is not possible, then move on. Find YOUR place. Find yourself in the places you explore. Find yourself in the place you live.
Starting my descent and coming in for a landing, I will share a few more experiences.
I walk into another of what would become no less than four church services. Keep in mind it is barely 0700. Again, the smell of insence envelopes me and takes hold of me as I breath in deeply. I watch a man place his hands in the holy water and wet his entire hair with his scoops of water. Intrigued and wondering if this act made him feel protected by God’s grace as he entered the world this morning, I did the same. I am familiar with holy water from my upbringing as a Catholic, where you dip a finger or two into the water and annoint yourself while performing the sign of the cross. With a wet head, I exit the cathedral.
The Temple of Santa Clara is different than any Cathedral or Basilica I have been in today and can be described as gaudy. The walls are almost entirely adorned with a mosaic of mirrors and gold and figures. A service was being administered. What I found fascinating was the source of the music and singing voices I heard. Moving to the back of the temple I find an intricate and ornate lattice behind which I see nuns from the adjoining convent kneeling and singing with a beautiful tone. Certainly none classically trained, their voices came together to create a beautiful sound.
Exiting the Temple, I continued to find myself amazed at my surrundings. I realized that I could not adequately capture the scene and so I relinguished my perceived responsibilty to share what I am witnessing and decided that the rest was for me. That rather than stand with a phone in front of my face I would stand and visually explore the details that each craftsman, to a man, toiled to create. Each artist, each mason who dreamt of and created with their own hands the buildings and streets and squares that I have the absolute privilege to love.
Tonight will be brief as I have already typed this once on my tablet and lost it all. Now I am in the lounge using the computer. The other reason for brevity is that not much exciting happened today.
My plan for the afternoon was to locate the intersection where I would catch my collectivo (shared van ride) to Ollantaytambo in the morning. As I headed that direction I noticed something familiar to me that has always intrigued me over the years . If you have ever visited places like New Orleans, Savannah, or Charleston and have seen those doors that lead to what appear to be courtyards or interior living spaces, then you know what I am referring to when I say I have seen the same here. When I see a door slightly ajar and revealing a glimpse into an inner world that I know nothing about my mind begins to wonder. I believe there is magic behind those doors. So much life. I walk along the street and all I see are shops and doors and stucco and the fact that perhaps ten feet behind these doors lies a world where I would be a complete stranger creates wonder in my mind. I see behind the doors in Cusco what appears to be ancient living spaces. Arches supported by pillars. People dining. Children playing and learning. The schools are housed behind these doors. Enough contemplation. I walk on.
Leaving the historic district behind, I begin my descent, both literally and figuratively, into chaos. This day continues my love and hate relationship with Cusco. My high from this morning gives way to noise, crowded streets, and utter chaos. Shops, street vendors, and people are everywhere. I don’t know what people do for a living here other than sell things and walk around. I walk the streets with purpose and confidence, weaving my way through traffic, people, and vendors. Perhaps the reason for the complete lack of kindness and hospitality from the people in this city is because they know for me, this is just a pass-through city. Perhaps they do value and treasure their culture and are offended by the gringo that walks through on his way to Machu Picchu.
Once I got the lay of land, so to speak, regarding tomorrows exodus, I made my way back through the chaos to the historic district and the Plaza shopping area. The shopping area is a large complex under a metal roof, housing vendors selling everything from meat, to cheeses and butter, to vegetables and fruit, electronics, and clothing. People crammed into spaces perhaps four feet by four feet surrounded by their wares. I find some things I want, negotiating with the help of Google Translate, and find myself once again debating mathematics with an elderly lady, who again, prevailed and astounded me with her skills.
I had a quick lunch and made my way back to the hostel for more sunscreen and a rest in the hammock, which ultimately turned into a nap. Waking to thunder and ice cold raindrops, I retired to my quarters to seek out a ceviche restaurant. Acquiring that information, I headed back into town.
I was seated at a window overlooking the square that elicited so much emotion just over twelve hours earlier. I enjoyed my ceviche while taking in the beginning of sunset over the square. Finishing dinner, I found a spot in the square to take in a marginal sunset alongside so many others hoping for a glorious sendoff.
Satisfied with my unsatisfaction, I walked back to my place to hang, chill, catch up with my book, and write this entry.
Adventure awaits tomorrow and I am ready.
Post Script
I have been wondering about the dogs that I see sleeping on the street all day long only to hear them barking incessantly through the night. I have wondered as I saw these dogs, do they have owners? Does somebody feed these animals? I have come to multiple conclusions. One, they sleep all day and then at night time they attack each other until they find a weak one and they feed off of the carcass of the loser of the death match. Two, I don’t see any rodents because they are on the hunt. Ever vigilant to rid the city of vermin. Perhaps there are animals that I’m on unaware of that they hunt in the night. Third, and more likely, perhaps they are vampire dogs who sleep all day only to feed on the blood of innocent victims who stay out too late at night. Just a thought and an observation.
My name is Mark Kombrink and I dream of travel constantly, alone or with a companion. I am not fortunate enough to travel exclusively, so I work and I make two lengthy trips a year somewhere in the world and fit a few local adventures in the rest of the year. Looking to the day when my full time job is “wanderer”.
Journey Man 