Thursday September 5, 2019

Cusco, Peru

Deuteronomy 33 

v. 27, 29  “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms….Blessed are you, Israel!  Who is like you, a people saved by the Lord?  He is your shield and helper and your glorious sword.  Your enemies will cower before you, and you will tread on their heights.”  It’s the final verses of Moses’ blessing of the Israelites that strike me.  God spoke verse 27 to me once before, when I was terrified as a glider on a winch shot up into the sky with me in it.  Now he faithfully speaks it to us, part of the new Israel, as we go up into the high Andes:  “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”  Blessed are we indeed!  Who is like us, sinners by our own choice who have become “a people saved by the Lord?”  Holy God, may we tread on the heights this next week secure with you.  Be our shield against danger and our helper when muscles weaken.  Holy Spirit, please fill our lungs with your breath.

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We finished drying our laundry by laying it on the plug-in heater, repacked and were out by ten in a taxi to our next hotel, the nicer (read “more expensive”) one that came with our REI adventure.  The room is fine, if with a somewhat odd bathroom arrangement, but aside from the basket with three pieces of fruit, it isn’t appreciably better than the one we left.  The public areas are lovely, though, including a comfortable patio filled with chairs and tables for daytime and firepits and blankets to tame the night air. 

But there was not much time to indulge in amenities.  After a quick lunch we met our group:  Monica from Vermont who, in spite of her fitness and energy, had already suffered through such severe altitude sickness that a doctor had to be called (she was fine now); Adrienne from Arizona; the sisters Kim and Cheryl from Western states; Gil from San Francisco and his college senior daughter Eleanor; Tony and Mary from Boston; us; and Juan, our experienced and extremely knowledgeable Peruvian guide.  Our quiet group hopped into the van for our introductory outing, through crazy traffic, past all Cusco’s half-built structures sprouting tall rebar bouquets with flowers of overturned plastic jugs.

Our first stop was at an aqueduct built by the Wari people almost a thousand years ago for a city that was never finished.  A few hundred years later the Incas repurposed the site to control access to the valley.  The Inca stone blocks stand out from the rougher masonry of the Wari.  Though the Incas rough-cut their stones at the quarry, amazingly they set them by trial and error:  dropping a stone into place, lifting it again to file it down where needed, then dropping it again, as many times as needed.  When the position was right, the protrusions that had been used for lifting were filed off (unless they hadn’t gotten around to that part—some are still visible).

The unfinished Wari city, its original name unknown, was disparagingly called Pikillaqta (“flea town”) hundreds of years after its abandonment.  Crossed by straight streets and surrounded by a high red stone wall, Pikillaqta was supposed to be a city for about 10,000 but only its builders lived in the adobe houses.

Our final visit was to Tipon, guinea pig capital of the world.  “Don’t bring one home for the kids,” texted Eric when we told him where we were.  Not a problem.  It’s the guinea pig capital because they eat them here.  Restaurant after restaurant lined the main drag, welcoming customers in with signs of smiling guinea pigs apparently not knowing what you’re here for. 

But we had come to see Cancha Inca, the broad agricultural terraces the Incas built, each with a microclimate temperature one to two degrees different from the next, to develop crops for the empire.  The ground in each terrace had been built up in three different layers to absorb rainwater and prevent flooding.  Controlled water channels for irrigation were fed by mountain springs.  A few simple houses for workers were perched at the top of the site, which a sign said was at 3400 meters.  That’s 11,154 feet, about the same as Cusco.  After the climb we were still breathing, if gasping.

Back at the hotel Juan gave us a detailed briefing on the next day’s two options.  He talked about altitude sickness, encouraging us to drink two liters of water per day (right!) and mentioning two symptions I hadn’t heard of—a metallic taste in your mouth and tingly fingers.    We had a fine dinner.  My itching continues to subside and I have no new bites.  I’ve quit the heavy-duty oral meds and just use the cream now.  Surely this high-class hotel will let us flush our TP, I thought, until I saw the admonitory sign, right in front of my face at eye level when I used the facility.  As we went to bed at a reasonable hour to be rested for the next day’s first real hike, my fingers were tingling.