Wednesday September 4, 2019

Cusco, Peru

Deuteronomy 12:1-14 

v. 2-4  Destroy completely all the places on the high mountains, on the hills and under every spreading tree, where the nations you are dispossessing worship their gods.  Break down their altars, smash their sacred stones and burn their Asherah poles in the fire; cut down the idols of their gods and wipe out their names from those places.  You must not worship the Lord your God in their way.  Destruction of these high Inca places in the mountains around here is pretty much what has happened.  Shrines are ruined, buildings are smashed and idols are forgotten.  Some of it was done by the Spanish conquistadors, likely acting through misunderstood tradition rather than true faith in God.  The rest of it happened through the neglect of time and persistence of weather.  It will be amazing to see what is left of these ancient places in beautiful settings; that’s why people are coming and overcrowding Peru’s most famous ruin.  I hope we can still see the wonder of Machu Picchu among the many visitors.  But here’s the warning to me:  God is not now and never was worshiped in the way of the Incas; he is worshipped through the Spirit and truth revealed in his Word.  His people are not to be drawn to whatever spiritual aura lingers at Inca sites, or is imagined or brought in.  We “must not worship the Lord [our] God in their way.”  Lord God, may I see your glory beyond all the majesty of the mountains and creative work of the Incas.  May I give you praise for all the wonders you have made in the earth and inspired among her peoples.

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Maurice seems to be having a bit of trouble breathing; I am OK (so far), as long as we’re not going steeply uphill.  Coca leaves, an Andean favorite, are supposed to help your body adjust to the altitude.  Our hotel lobby not only has the urn of coca tea but also a bowl of dried coca leaves one can take for chewing.  I am not persuaded.

We started out late in the cool morning air and walked to the main square on the truly dangerous narrow streets—smooth stones, about twelve-inch sidewalks before a very shallow but enough-to-turn-your-ankle drop into the street, generally unnoticeable because of all the mottled tan coloring, and then another dropped trough in the center of the street.  We tended to fall off the narrow sidewalks, and we couldn’t pass people and stay on the walks, but we had to watch out for taxis in the streets.  We passed Peruvian ladies decked out in traditional garb carrying baby llamas and alpacas, heading to favorite spots to pose for tourists.

Shops were bursting with colorful textiles.  Vendors approached selling all sorts of wares.  Everywhere we went we almost stumbled over dogs—the street dogs, too many of them.  Most minded their own business, some tried to be friendly and some slept unperturbed in the middle of a plaza or sidewalk.  They didn’t look underfed, and I hope for the best for them.

I decided to visit a museum while Maurice found a place to draw.  I wandered through rooms around the elegant cloister of the Convento de la Merced. No pictures were allowed inside, which is really too bad, as there were some beautifully carved wooden ceilings and an entire carved wooden library. 

There were also paintings, miscellaneous trinkets and a display of elaborately embroidered chasubles, one of which had a picture of Jesus with a llama behind him.  I was charmed by a small contemporary Pietà in one of the rooms, made of some kind of sculpture and cloth.  Peruvian Mary cradled a dead Peruvian Jesus, his head fallen backward from her arms.  Jesus was wearing a colorful wool hat of the type worn by the local indigenous people for thousands of years, a chullo, with earflaps for warmth and an extra long crown for carrying coca leaves.  I went back to look at the Pietà several times.  Should have snuck a picture.

When I came out of the museum a group of red-Peruvian-outfitted dancers was assembling to draw attention to a cancer fundraiser. 

Maurice wanted lunch.  Right across the narrow plaza was a building housing a cafe with a raised porch and a perfect view of the dancers, so we adjourned there and got a seat right in the middle.  The chairs had blankets against the chill, and the porch came with its own cultural event—two guys with guitar and pan pipes—so we were well entertained.  We got quiche that wasn’t really quiche, and I got a tall glass of thick papaya juice (now where else can you get fresh papaya juice, and for only about $3?)

We watched and listened and ate and it was all so pleasant that we even bought two small original watercolors from Luis, a talented and persistent artist who had approached us once before and must have figured our “no” really meant, “oh, you’re a great guy, come back and hustle us later when we’re eating and can’t get away so easily.”

We went back across the main square and up the hill (gasping) to the Inca Museum in the Almirante Palace, which I picked because it had Inca mummies.  Many of the museum’s displays were old, dark and lacking English descriptions, but I found it all fascinating: the pre-Inca pottery with beautiful frog, snake and feline forms, some lovely textiles, models of nearby Inca sites, dioramas of life in the Andes, huge jars, old photos by Hiram Bingham, a whole room dedicated to coca leaves with not a word of English, and finally at last the mummies.  They were crouched in niches, baskets and big pots in a red-lit room behind a wall with peepholes; I was disappointed I couldn’t get up close and personal with them like I could with my Egyptian buddies in childhood visits to the Walters.  Once again no pictures were allowed.  This museum had a comment book, though, and in case someone actually reads visitors’ suggestions, I wrote a plea for the growing worldwide museum practice of allowing photographs.

I met up with Maurice on the main plaza.  Vendors continued to approach us, a constant source of irritation.  You’re eating lunch, or taking a picture, or consulting a map, so of course there’s nothing you’d like more at that very moment than to buy a change purse, or a pair of earrings, or an original painting, or a massage.