Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 63 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
Sherrill, Cuzco Airport "Where's the train?"
"Does anybody even know?"
Sherrill and I were in the little station at Aguas Calientes, Peru, the one nearest the Machu Picchu temples high in the Andes. We'd already checked out of our hotel up at the site, had bused down terrifying hairpin turns to the station, and were waiting to board a train that, it seemed, wasn't coming and if it did come wasn't going anywhere, anyway. We kept hearing fragments of gossip.
"Somebody said an avalanche buried the tracks."
"And the train?"
A shrug: "Maybe still in Cuzco."
"Maybe buried, too, for all we know."
"Does anybody even know?"
Sherrill and I were in the little station at Aguas Calientes, Peru, the one nearest the Machu Picchu temples high in the Andes. We'd already checked out of our hotel up at the site, had bused down terrifying hairpin turns to the station, and were waiting to board a train that, it seemed, wasn't coming and if it did come wasn't going anywhere, anyway. We kept hearing fragments of gossip.
"Somebody said an avalanche buried the tracks."
"And the train?"
A shrug: "Maybe still in Cuzco."
"Maybe buried, too, for all we know."
Waiting for bus after Machu Picchu landslide The station, tracks, and street were filling with people hoping to get down the mountain.
"Trapped at Machu Picchu—that'll be a story to tell folks."
"If we ever get out of here."
Jose, our energetic young local guide, confirmed after scurrying around talking with people that melting snow on a nearby peak had washed down tons of mud and rock, covering a section of the only track down the mountain to Cuzco. No train was on the track at the time, although a year and a half before, six people had been killed by mudslides in the same area.
Jose collected the dozen members of our group and took us to a school yard where we joined others from different groups also waiting to leave. During the next hours, he monitored the situation and made sure that we were one of the first groups to get onto the bus convoy that zigzagged down the mountain, around the buried rail tracks, to a station where a local train from Cuzco could fetch us. The situation reminded Sherrill and me of a time in China when a bus nearly went over the side of a crumbling mountain road and we had to walk the rest of the way to the Yangtze.
"Trapped at Machu Picchu—that'll be a story to tell folks."
"If we ever get out of here."
Jose, our energetic young local guide, confirmed after scurrying around talking with people that melting snow on a nearby peak had washed down tons of mud and rock, covering a section of the only track down the mountain to Cuzco. No train was on the track at the time, although a year and a half before, six people had been killed by mudslides in the same area.
Jose collected the dozen members of our group and took us to a school yard where we joined others from different groups also waiting to leave. During the next hours, he monitored the situation and made sure that we were one of the first groups to get onto the bus convoy that zigzagged down the mountain, around the buried rail tracks, to a station where a local train from Cuzco could fetch us. The situation reminded Sherrill and me of a time in China when a bus nearly went over the side of a crumbling mountain road and we had to walk the rest of the way to the Yangtze.
Sherrill on Pacific coast, near Lima * * *
The two of us had arrived a few days earlier in Lima, Peru's capital, hoping for an eye-opening look at the country and some of its best known places. That evening, however, we didn't see much of the city, but were hustled off by Victor, our elderly tour director, to our hotel, a sprawling historic building in its own grounds. The hotel was comfortable and the service good, but we would've preferred one centrally located in the old part of the city. Sherrill and I liked to explore on our own whenever we had a chance.
The next morning, we met the rest of our group and were off and running, first to what was called a "local Indian crafts market." It was huge, with a vast array of booths selling handmade wares ranging from toy llamas to silver and gold jewelry to knitted socks and clothes to chess sets of Incas vs. Spaniards. Not our kind of place, Sherrill and I agreed, but then she discovered the one item that she had to have: a hand-sewn wall-hanging about 2 feet by 1 1/2 feet with miniature stuffed cloth figures of a village market in front of mountain peaks, tile-roofed houses, and farmyards, each individual sheep, llama, and human being, each tiny vegetable and piece of fruit, sewn and stuffed and then stitched onto the background to create a surprisingly lifelike scene—a remarkable piece of craftsmanship.
"Can you imagine anybody actually sitting down and making this?" she asked me.
"You could. If you wanted to."
She shook her head, but didn't argue.
The two of us had arrived a few days earlier in Lima, Peru's capital, hoping for an eye-opening look at the country and some of its best known places. That evening, however, we didn't see much of the city, but were hustled off by Victor, our elderly tour director, to our hotel, a sprawling historic building in its own grounds. The hotel was comfortable and the service good, but we would've preferred one centrally located in the old part of the city. Sherrill and I liked to explore on our own whenever we had a chance.
The next morning, we met the rest of our group and were off and running, first to what was called a "local Indian crafts market." It was huge, with a vast array of booths selling handmade wares ranging from toy llamas to silver and gold jewelry to knitted socks and clothes to chess sets of Incas vs. Spaniards. Not our kind of place, Sherrill and I agreed, but then she discovered the one item that she had to have: a hand-sewn wall-hanging about 2 feet by 1 1/2 feet with miniature stuffed cloth figures of a village market in front of mountain peaks, tile-roofed houses, and farmyards, each individual sheep, llama, and human being, each tiny vegetable and piece of fruit, sewn and stuffed and then stitched onto the background to create a surprisingly lifelike scene—a remarkable piece of craftsmanship.
"Can you imagine anybody actually sitting down and making this?" she asked me.
"You could. If you wanted to."
She shook her head, but didn't argue.
Colonial buildings, Cuzco Before lunch at a ranch on the outskirts of Lima, we visited a couple of gardens and watched some impressive horsemanship with Peruvian Paso horses, a unique protected breed considered part of the country's cultural heritage. Then we continued on to Lima's Gold Museum that displayed artifacts from several centuries of Peruvian history, especially pre-Inca gold ornaments: filigree figures of men, birds, monkeys, and lizards, bracelets and funerary masks, and gold balls and pendants, some inlaid with precious stones. Back in California, a few weeks later, we read that an expert had called some of those gold pieces fakes, but we recalled a similar controversy about some of the Mycenae gold in Greece.
Then Victor took us to do a little sight-seeing on the way back to our hotel, but every time I opened a window on the bus to take a photograph, he rushed over to close it and when I started to wander away from the group when we stopped to visit Lima's cathedral he told me to stay with the others.
"Dangerous!" he told me. "Somebody snatch your camera! Hurt you!"
As far as Sherrill and I could figure out, he seemed to think that his job was to stand between us and contact with local people, which was not our idea of seeing the world.
Then Victor took us to do a little sight-seeing on the way back to our hotel, but every time I opened a window on the bus to take a photograph, he rushed over to close it and when I started to wander away from the group when we stopped to visit Lima's cathedral he told me to stay with the others.
"Dangerous!" he told me. "Somebody snatch your camera! Hurt you!"
As far as Sherrill and I could figure out, he seemed to think that his job was to stand between us and contact with local people, which was not our idea of seeing the world.
A day later, we flew past tall pointed peaks graffitied by weather and time to the mountain city of Cuzco. We'd see more of Lima when we returned and, I hoped, have a chance to decide for ourselves if it was as dangerous a place as Victor wanted us to think.
Our Cuzco hotel, in an old monastery, was perfectly located, in the heart of the colonial city. From there, it was a short walk to the great Plaza de Armas and other places of interest. In fact, we were almost next door to the local archeological museum, but when I asked others in our group if they'd join Sherrill and me exploring it, since it was not part of the tour, everyone begged off. They were too tired.
"Maybe it's the altitude," Sherrill suggested.
We'd already started taking our pills to prevent altitude sickness, so the 10,000 foot height of the city didn't seem to be affecting us much. Since dinner that night wasn't included, I wandered around a bit and found a traditional restaurant several blocks away where Sherrill and I had a fine meal of ceviche, stuffed peppers, and rice and roast chicken. The next day, we discovered that everyone else had either used room service or gone to the hotel dining room. Why come, we wondered, if you weren't curious about the place around you?
The city was worth exploring, despite the altitude and steep cobblestone streets. Many of the buildings lining those narrow streets rose on top of the giant mortarless stones of the Incas, over which another floor of smaller stones had been added by the Spanish, and finally modern bricks. Most of the Spanish-built colonial buildings were fronted with ornate balconies above long covered arcades—well designed to cope with outside weather, whatever it might be.
"Dueling cathedrals," Sherrill quipped when we walked into the vast Plaza de las Armas in the center of old Cuzco.
Our Cuzco hotel, in an old monastery, was perfectly located, in the heart of the colonial city. From there, it was a short walk to the great Plaza de Armas and other places of interest. In fact, we were almost next door to the local archeological museum, but when I asked others in our group if they'd join Sherrill and me exploring it, since it was not part of the tour, everyone begged off. They were too tired.
"Maybe it's the altitude," Sherrill suggested.
We'd already started taking our pills to prevent altitude sickness, so the 10,000 foot height of the city didn't seem to be affecting us much. Since dinner that night wasn't included, I wandered around a bit and found a traditional restaurant several blocks away where Sherrill and I had a fine meal of ceviche, stuffed peppers, and rice and roast chicken. The next day, we discovered that everyone else had either used room service or gone to the hotel dining room. Why come, we wondered, if you weren't curious about the place around you?
The city was worth exploring, despite the altitude and steep cobblestone streets. Many of the buildings lining those narrow streets rose on top of the giant mortarless stones of the Incas, over which another floor of smaller stones had been added by the Spanish, and finally modern bricks. Most of the Spanish-built colonial buildings were fronted with ornate balconies above long covered arcades—well designed to cope with outside weather, whatever it might be.
"Dueling cathedrals," Sherrill quipped when we walked into the vast Plaza de las Armas in the center of old Cuzco.
Cuzco, Plaza & Iglesia de la Compania de Jesus
On one side of the square, the huge plateresque-style cathedral grandly asserted its age and splendor, but the even larger, more ornate, Iglesia de la Compania de Jesus built by the rival Jesuits across the plaza challenged it with its own magnificent bulk. We decided, though, that the original cathedral won because of the large painting inside of Jesus and the apostles feasting at the Last Supper on roasted guinea pig—apparently the national dish since colonial times.
 Inca Walls, Sacsayhuaman, near Cuzco |  |
Day after day, as we explored the area, we were astonished by the architectural feats of the Incas. The great fortresses of Sacsayhuaman and Puca Pucara were almost beyond belief. How could humans without modern technology get stones that size into place and keep them there without mortar? These had to be among the greatest structural accomplishments in history. When we weren't climbing among these gigantic stones, we visited farms at which alpacas, vicunas, and llamas were raised for their wool and stopped at villages where the wool was woven into fabric.
"It kicked me!" Sherrill exclaimed, pointing to one of the vicunas. "I didn't do a thing and it kicked me."
She wasn't hurt, just annoyed. Why had it kicked her when there were other, better targets around?
"It kicked me!" Sherrill exclaimed, pointing to one of the vicunas. "I didn't do a thing and it kicked me."
She wasn't hurt, just annoyed. Why had it kicked her when there were other, better targets around?
 Sherrill and Llamas in the Andes |  Local woman, alpaca & baby |
Our bus stopped at the side of the road in a small mountain town while Victor, Jose, and the driver attended to some business, a good opportunity, I decided, to get out and explore a little. Just a block away, I discovered an authentic Indian market. Local people from the area had come into town with their produce and wares and set them out directly on the street, where they were buying and selling. Most of them were wearing their traditional outfits, including the large felt hats for the women. Excited, I ran back to the bus to tell Sherrill and the others about my discovery. Not one went back with Sherrill and me. They preferred to sit on the bus until the guides and driver returned. Had they been so intimidated by Victor's warnings that they were afraid to mingle with local people? How could they pay so much money to go there and not want to experience everything possible?
 Indian market, Urubamba mountain town |  Vicuna & local weaver, Andes |
The next morning, we boarded the Vistadome train for the four hour trip through the mountains from Cuzco to Aguas Calientes, from which we took a bus up the steep, switch-back road to Machu Picchu. Our luggage went into the Sanctuary Hotel next to the archeological site's entrance and, at last, we confronted the grandeur of Machu Picchu. Despite the photographs we'd seen, nothing had prepared us for the spectacle when we walked through stone entrance gate.
We felt as if we were in an extraordinary, magical place, maybe more than at anywhere else we'd been. Nearly every inch of the steep mountainsides seemed to be covered with flight after flight of stone terraces, stone houses, and massive stone temples, some of which looked as if they might have been used for astronomical observations. Oddly enough, we encountered few other visitors.
We felt as if we were in an extraordinary, magical place, maybe more than at anywhere else we'd been. Nearly every inch of the steep mountainsides seemed to be covered with flight after flight of stone terraces, stone houses, and massive stone temples, some of which looked as if they might have been used for astronomical observations. Oddly enough, we encountered few other visitors.
 |  Machu Picchu city, terraces, & llamas |
After lunch at the lodge, we continued exploring the mountain site with Jose. He explained that, although no records from the Incas had been found, archaeologists had identified baths, tombs, a prison, a palace, and places for sacred, possibly bloody, ceremonies. Since we were staying next to the site, we were able to explore more on our own that afternoon and evening and even the next morning. The heavy stones used in the construction were of varying sizes, yet they fit together perfectly without mortar. And all around us stretched the vast, surreal, panorama of green and gray peaks that rose to astonishing heights, fragments of cloud drifting around their rugged sides, sometimes obscuring the view, other times parting to reveal a sudden glimpse of another world.
 Andes village weavers |  |
"Sherrill!" I cried from the bathroom that evening before dinner.
A tarantula of hideous size and color had made a home in the shower.
"Baby," she said, when she saw the hairy reddish monster standing on tiptoe by the drain. She fetched a rod from the closet, lifted the spider with the end, hurled it out the window, then turned back to me. "Remember, they don't bother you...."
"...If I don't bother them! I know. But I wanted to take a shower."
A tarantula of hideous size and color had made a home in the shower.
"Baby," she said, when she saw the hairy reddish monster standing on tiptoe by the drain. She fetched a rod from the closet, lifted the spider with the end, hurled it out the window, then turned back to me. "Remember, they don't bother you...."
"...If I don't bother them! I know. But I wanted to take a shower."
Chinchilla, Machu Piccchu After another day exploring Machu Picchu, we made our way back down to Aguas Calientes. That was when we discovered that the Vistadome train that we'd expected to ride back to Cuzco couldn't reach us because of the landslide. Thanks to the efforts of Jose, our resourceful guide, we managed to get onto a crowded bus that took us to another train station further down the mountain where we squeezed onto a local train—no Vistadome, but it got us to Cuzco, although we had to stand part of the way. That evening, back at the Hotel Monasterio, we cleaned up, relaxed, ate dinner, and at last had time and energy to ponder the experiences of the past two days.
Local women, Inca village, Pisac The next morning, we drove to the monumental ruins at Pisac, a huge complex that guarded the Sacred Valley of the Incas stretching just beyond. We carefully made our way along the different levels, down steep stone paths and terraces, past buildings of many sizes, including one labeled the Temple of the Sun because of its position on the hillside, through some of the most impressive stonework we'd seen yet, all perfectly cut from local granite. Pizarro and the Spanish had destroyed much of the Inca city of Pisac in the 1530s, hoping to eliminate the local culture and religion. The Spanish used many of the stones for their own colonial city—just as the Romans used Greek stones and the Moslems used Roman buildings as quarries.
Local villagers trading at Inca terraces, Pisac On the way back to Cuzco, we stopped at modern Pisac's crafts market and a local ceramic gallery where, of course, we had opportunities to spend money. That evening, at a Cuzco restaurant, we watched masked performers go through routines and dances that supposedly were based on traditional rituals and dances. It all was colorful and lively, and the musicians were skillful, but we wondered how authentic the show actually was. Sometimes, it seemed pretty campy to us.
After flying back to Lima the next day, we had a couple of days to see more of the city, although once again Victor kept trying to protect us. Maybe he was afraid that he'd lose his job if something bad happened to one of us. Since the new Lima archaeological museum wasn't included in the tour, Sherrill and I got the hotel to order us a taxi to take us, drop us off, and return a couple of hours later. The driver actually did return exactly when he promised. The museum was crowded with splendid artifacts, but most of them were unlabeled, not even in Spanish. Once again, we saw few other foreign visitors.
After flying back to Lima the next day, we had a couple of days to see more of the city, although once again Victor kept trying to protect us. Maybe he was afraid that he'd lose his job if something bad happened to one of us. Since the new Lima archaeological museum wasn't included in the tour, Sherrill and I got the hotel to order us a taxi to take us, drop us off, and return a couple of hours later. The driver actually did return exactly when he promised. The museum was crowded with splendid artifacts, but most of them were unlabeled, not even in Spanish. Once again, we saw few other foreign visitors.
Plaza Mayor, Lima All in all, Sherrill and I enjoyed Peru and its people and found the country and its long history fascinating, but the travel experience wasn't one of our best. The tour company was considered upscale, but that seemed to mean protecting its clients from everything local and native, including the people. The great advantage of traveling on our own—even if it was more work—was that we could decide how long to linger in a place and whether or not a risk was worth taking, plus we usually had more opportunities to meet and get to know local people. In the future, Sherrill and I decided, we'd either travel with friends or on our own. In the long run, it would be less stressful. Fortunately, we had good friends who agreed with us about how to explore the world.
We hoped to return to Peru for a more complete experience of the country, but we never did. As it turned out, however, some of the best, most exciting, travel experiences of our lives were ahead of us.
To be continued....
To be continued....
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