T-shirts, cocaine, and kindness in Cusco

Cusco, Peru

Brushing past a horde of scurrying schoolchildren, I passed through the narrow archway. In an instant, I had gone from blending in, to the obvious foreigner. As I moved upstream through the crowd, the wind whipped against my skin and it became clear - I was the only idiot wearing a t-shirt.

---

All the travelers go to Cusco. Why? Because it’s the staging ground for Machu Picchu, and why else would you visit Peru? Well it turns out there are plenty of reasons, and Cusco itself is one of them. This modestly sized city in the Sacred Valley has tripled in size to around 350,000 in just the last 20 years, no doubt because of the massive influx of tourists stopping through on their way to the ancient Incan city in the clouds.

(image courtesy of Cacophony)

At first glance, it’s almost too perfect. Beautiful, hilly cobblestone streets in every direction. Artistic nighttime lighting and shadows straight from a Hollywood set. A group of children doing group aerobics in a public square.

However, if you confine your visit to the main streets surrounding the Plaza de Armas, Cusco can feel like a Disneyland of shameless sales pitches. Every establishment within a 2 block radius (amounting to…hundreds?) has someone stationed out front just dying to sell you a meal, tour guiding services, international calls, or even cocaine. [Aside: While feigning shock and disgust, I was secretly flattered to be “cool enough” to have received the offer]. The annoyances are easily ignored (I suggest: “Ya comi”. Translation: “I already ate”) but there are a few areas in particular where you’ll find it hard to carry on a conversation uninterrupted.

Wander just a few blocks in any direction, and traveling abroad will feel like just you always imagined it. Get lost in a local market selling food you’d be afraid to eat. Peer through ancient doorways into secret courtyards and twisting hallways. Run your fingertips along an Incan wall, centuries old, and gaze up at the modern structure built atop it.

(image from Wikipedia photo gallery of Cusco)

And of course, just when you think someone is trying to sell you something, remember that Peruvians can be downright over-the-top accommodating and helpful. Which brings us back to me in my t-shirt, at night, at 10,000 feet. In the middle of winter.

Aware of my own condition, suddenly, I was my own hero. Yeah, that’s right. I was born and raised in a little place called Wisconsin. Ever heard of it?

Inner monologues don’t make public heroes out of idiot tourists.

I would survive the arduous trek back up to my hostel, where, despite the promises made, my laundry was 30 minutes late. With barely enough time to adequately clothe myself, my wife and I hurried down to the travel agency to pick up our bus tickets.

And again, despite the promises made, no tickets.

(image courtesy of orignal)

With less than 25 minutes to spare, the woman at the agency grabbed us and ran out the door. Here we were, two comparatively giant white people with enormous backpacks, being dragged through the streets of Cusco by a woman just barely over four feet tall.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I kept losing her in the crowd: a passing loud and colorful street parade of children, cruelly of identical body proportions to our scurrying hostess.

Figuring she was driving us to the bus station herself, I was surprised when she hailed a cab. Figuring she was making sure we would be driven to the right place, I was surprised to see her in the back seat, pinned beneath a pack several times her size. She didn’t drop us off at the bus station either, or let us pay for the cab. Figuring she was simply showing us which gate to head towards, I was surprised to see her paying the departure tax for our tickets. Then, after a hasty and bewildered goodbye from Janet and I, she shoved us off through our gate, and disappeared into the crowd.

(image courtesy of Kaldoon)