Friday September 6, 2019

Cusco to Chinchero to Urquillos to Lamay, Peru

1 Kings 18 

v. 38  Then the fire of the Lord fell and burned up the sacrifice, the wood, the stones and the soil, and also licked up the water in the trench.  Amazing things have happened on mountains.  On Mount Carmel the Lord showed himself to be the true God when he sent fire to Elijah’s sacrifice, leaving the prophets of Baal shouting in vain.  On the Andes, today between Chinchero and Urquillos, the fire was in my lungs, burning up what little air I could suck in.  It was a break-in mostly downhill hike, and I’m not at all sure how much uphill I will be able to do on the real hike at even higher altitude tomorrow.  But the Lord does amazing things, which is why the people watching the spectacle on Mount Carmel cried out, “The Lord—he is God!  The Lord—he is God!”  I declare that truth with them, and beg him to send the Breath of Heaven to fill my lungs and the lungs of all of our little group of adventurers!

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At breakfast I crushed coca leaves and put them in my hot chocolate.  Maybe the coca really will help with the altitude.  We were out at eight, hopping into the second van with our assistant guide Saul.  He pointed out ladies selling breakfast at sidewalk stands—quinoa porridge, papaya juice, and cheese or avocado sandwiches. 

We asked Saul about all the half-finished buildings.  People just want to be able to build a good foundation, Saul said.  When and if they have more money they will build more.  They might even leave it to their children to construct the next floor.

In the tiny village of Chinchero we went to a weaving demonstration in the yard of one of the local families, set up to accommodate visitors.  Three ladies were in traditional dress, but I don’t think that was just for us because I saw other ladies around the village who looked similar.  One of our ladies was spinning wool, one was weaving on a lap-held loom, and the other explained things to us in English, passing around baskets of lambswool, alpaca wool, and baby alpaca wool (aaah!). 

She showed us how to wash the wool, and passed around bowls of natural flowers and leaves that made different colored dyes, all rich and earthy, describing how long various colors had to soak.  An intriguing dye was made from dried cochinilla, a parasitic insect that lives on cactus leaves; our wool worker crushed it to show its rich purple color, then squeezed lime juice over the purple to make flaming orange.  Of course our Peruvian ladies had a whole display of beautiful, authentic, intricately woven textiles that we could buy if we wanted.  Hmmm.  I bought a winter alpaca hat and a baby alpaca shawl—a special deal if I bought both!

Our next stop in Chinchero was a church built by the Spanish when they knocked down the Inca building they didn’t like on that site.  The church had a lovely painted wood ceiling and all sorts of wonders but of course no pictures were allowed.

Maurice went off with our guide Saul’s cultural group for the rest of the day.  They visited the Maras salt production site, a mountainside carved into hundreds of ponds for the evaporation of salt from a salty stream flowing constantly out of the mountain. 

After lunch Maurice’s group explored the stunning and somewhat mysterious Moray site, where the reason for the beautiful curving and concentric terraces is unknown.

During their hundred-year empire the Incas built 50,000 miles of trails, with four main ones starting from Cusco.  The group I was with for the day, led by Juan, was following one of the trails, starting at about 3500 meters (11,500 feet), down to a valley—a break-in hike.  Our descent began along Inca terraces. 

Down into woodlands we wound, along a stream, past fields crammed in between steep mountainsides, needing to watch our footing but stopping occasionally to look at the soaring green walls ahead.  After an hour we paused to remove some layers where the trail came into the open, facing a high mountain ridge. 

“Are you guys adventurous?” Juan asked.  “That’s why we came,” said Monica from Vermont.  “I’m going to take you to see a beautiful waterfall,” Juan told us.  We continued down the slope and soon turned right onto a steeper trail downward. 

“You’re not scared of narrow places, are you?” Juan asked—meaning a narrow path where one side is straight down.  Who, us?  Down and down we went, leaning on our poles, the sound of rushing water growing louder until, rounding a bend, there was Pocpoc Falls tumbling down in two ribbons from the mountainside high above. 

Great side trip!—except then we had to go back up.  Just when I couldn’t get any more oxygen into my lungs, Juan turned again and we were back on the trail and heading down to the valley floor.  Stands of wild geraniums punctuated the wild growth along the Urquillos River.  We crossed little rias that spilled over into clearings.  

A eucalyptus forest around a grassy bank of the river provided our lunch spot. 

After an hour Juan got us moving again, uphill a little to a narrow track along a channelized irrigation canal. 

I had thought we were near the bottom of the valley but suddenly glimpses through the jungle to our right gave views to the cultivated valley floor far below.  “It’s corn for Europe,” Juan told us. 

We had a few more ups and downs with the final downhill slope especially hard on my knees.  Then we turned into the dusty red town of Urquillos. 

Juan gave his uneaten lunch sandwich to a little boy hanging out with his mama and the family chickens. 

The REI van appeared.  We bounced along the road in the Sacred Vally to Lamay Lodge, our home for the next two nights, where the back door of each room opens onto the garden with the giant fire pit, jacuzzi and llamas. 

Shower, laundry, tea time, pisco sour demonstration and tasting with Juan, and a fine dinner, and we were all well done for the night.