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21 23 de diciembre Modo: Avión y Taxi
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29 30 31 Distancia: 623 kilómetros
Arequipa a Cusco, Perú

Edgar picked us up on Calle Jerusalén in front of the Nuñez promptly

at 5:00 for a twenty-minute ride to the airport. Despite having shuttled
locals and tourists around town all night, he greeted us with the same
cheerful disposition that had drawn us to his taxi last night. The morning
drive gave us the opportunity to see la segunda ciudad más importante
del Perú in broad daylight. Not wanting us to leave his hometown without
some sense of La Ciudad Blanca’s history or beauty, Edgar drove past
several historical sites and explained their significance. In the
distance, we could see the sun rising above
the peaks of three volcanoes: the Chachani,
the Pichu Picchu and the Misti.
Edgar explained that the Spaniards
founded Arequipa in the 1540s and that many
of her colonial buildings were built using piedra de sillar from the
surrounding volcanoes. Some of the temples, especially the Iglesia de la
Compañia and the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, were as impressive as
they were old.
We arrived at the airport minutes later and were the first two people
in line at the AeroPeru counter, strictly adhering to that airline’s policy
that passengers arrive two hours ahead of their scheduled departure time.
The wait was another long one as the six-man AeroPeru tripulación didn’t
shuffle in until around 7:00. After check-in, we hit the lone concourse
gift shop in hopes of a little breakfast and perhaps an I Survived A Night
in Arequipa T-shirt. Unfortunately, they were fresh out of souvenir threads
and the morning fare did not look overly appetizing. Ditto for the
warm beverages in the drink cooler: Inka
Kola, Coca-Cola and jugo de naranja.
Finding a refrigerated beverage in Perú, or
just ice for that matter, is a tall order due
to the country’s sky-high utility rates and
low per capita incomes.
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 After an hour’s wait in the salón de
desembarque, we boarded the flight to
Cusco. On the way out to the tarmac, we
caught a glimpse of a large blue sign bidding
Feliz Viaje to all departing passengers. The
Spanish farewell lost a little something in
the English translation, but we still
appreciated the send-off sentiment.
During the course of the flight, we went from Arequipa’s arid terrain
at 2,300 meters above sea level to more rolling, rocky terrain enshrouded
in fog at 3,500 meters. The requisite AeroPeru lemon drop gave us a full
day’s supply of vitamin C, but the citrus zing would not begin to prepare
us for the sudden change in altitude. Our elevated status would become
evident the second that we emerged from the cozy confines of the
pressurized cabin.
Changes in Altitude
Altitude
2, 30 0 met
met ers
eters 3,0
3,000 0 met
met ers
eters 3,50
3,5000 met
met ers
eters

Leaving Arequipa Apurimac Valley Cusco International

Standing on the gusty tarmac of Cusco’s Aeropuerto Velasco Astete,

! we both looked and felt totally como las huevas. In fact, the last time that
I could remember feeling this D.O.A. (Drained On Arrival) was on the
train platform last Thursday morning in Santiago.
Inside the Cusco terminal, the tourist hustlers were kept at bay thanks
to a city ordinance that requires them to stand behind counters: a practice
that should be adopted in tourist traps worldwide. Andy went to one of
sentir como las huevas: to feel horrible. the counters to ask about a place
mate de coca: Strong tea brewed with coca
leaves from the Peruvian highlands. This to stay while I was drawn to the
beverage can be easily prepared using small sweet aroma wafting from a
tea bags that are sold in most Peruvian
kioskos and supermercados. Mate de Coca stand. Though I
residencia: boarding house, residence, lodge was already familiar with the

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magical properties of yerba mate, the mate de coca elixir
was new to me. I quickly deciphered the large,
cardboard placard on the mate bar which had
been penned to assuage the minds and stomachs
of gringos like me. “GOOD TO THE
ALTITUD(sic)! ” was written in large block letters.
Without hesitation, I ordered up a tall herby one
and chugged it on the spot. Andy did the same and,
miraculously, we both felt like a hundred pesos.
Brains and veins fortified with warm mate, we walked outside and
hailed a cab into town for ten nuevos soles. The
driver was going to take us to three spots, but
we were instantly sold on the second joint
upon arrival. The Residencia Los Marqueses was
an enclosed two-story stone fortress with a beautiful courtyard, brick
archways and hand-carved wood railings. The second-story railings were
adorned with potted plants and a
smattering of silver and gold Christmas
decorations.
We checked in at 8:30. The owner
was a robust, matronly type named Lida.
After giving us our key, she served us a
Residencia full breakfast. She was a lovely woman
who told us that the hostel, with its two-
meter thick walls, dated back to the
sixteenth century. Señora Lida runs the
hostel with the aid of her twenty-one
adopted children: sixteen boys and five
girls. The dining room was right next
Los door to our bedroom, so the breakfast-
to- bed commute was a short one. The
room had old hardwood floors and was
simply decorated with two beds, night
stands, and a wicker rocking chair. The
beds were softer than Amazon
quicksand, and we both slept soundly
Marqueses until noon.

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 At 13:00, we made our first trip into the heart of the action: the
sprawling open-air marketplace madness that is Cusco. Having left our
few valuables with María, one of Lida’s daughters in the Marqueses’ safe,
manta: blanket we could breathe a little easier as we dove into the
especia: spice
hierba: herb
labyrinth of vendors located in the Plaza Don
sopa: soup Francisco. We wandered aimlessly among pairs of
gallina: chicken
a la parrilla: grilled
Peruvian mothers and daughters all wrapped in
mozo: waiter colorful mantas. Seated on overlapping tarps, they
armas: weapons
arriba: up, above
peddled their wares including suéters, mantas,
nariz: nose especias y hierbas, incienso, sopas, gallinas, vegetales
a la parrilla and nativity scenes. Most of the items were offered for barter
or outright sale.
After about twenty minutes of browsing, we were ready for lunch.
$ A personable streetside mozo coaxed us into his establishment, La Estancia
Imperial, where we enjoyed a real Peruvian delicacy: pizza. Next stop
was the Plaza de Armas, the city center of Cusco, for a tour of the
cathedrals. We had both forgotten our student ID’s which would entitle
us to a student discount. Short on pesos, we opted to walk back to the
hostel and pick them up so we could purchase the requisite CuscoWorld
multi-attraction pass at half price. Cusco’s answer to the Disney Multi-
day Pass is a Multi-day Cathedral/Inca Ruin Pass which

grants visitors entry to fourteen of the most famous

surrounding landmarks. Most of the relics are downtown cathedrals which

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seemed to be closed all day, save for fifteen minutes in the afternoon
when the locals attend Mass. The remaining sites are mostly Inca ruins
situated miles away from downtown Cusco. Since practically no tourists
have rental cars, the locals are cognizant that you will be forced to fork
over some pesos to their friends and relatives for full-day guided tours of
the nearby ruins which pale in comparison to Machu Picchu.
A one-hour tour of the cathedral gave us enough time to see the
dozens of altars housed inside the dark, four-hundred year-old Baroque
church. La Compañia next door was closed until 18:00, so we strolled
up Avenida San Blas for a look at the hilltop market that our pocket
travel guide had recommended. We must have hit the market on an off-
day, because the place was deserted. We then struck out at the next
cathedral which was also closed until 18:00. With close to an hour to
fill, we sat on a park bench overlooking the Plaza de San Francisco and
enjoyed the scenery.
A young Cusconian, Andrés, offered to shine our hiking boots for
one sol apiece. We politely explained that we liked our boots dirty, but
the lad was not convinced. Andrés was very persistent (a smoother
salesman than the two of us combined) but we were gradually able to get
him out of street vendor mode. We started asking him questions about
his friends and family and he immediately opened up. He told us that
he was thirteen and the youngest of ten children. His father and two of
his siblings had already died, but Andrés took comfort in the knowledge
that his departed family members were in Heaven, or as he said, “Arriba.”
On a lighter note, we watched in amusement as the shoeshine boy
worked the groups of tourists passing by. He seemed to waffle between
polite customer solicitation and serious teasing and name calling with
one of his friends and fellow shoeshiners who called Andrés flojo for
relaxing and rapping with the gringos. In retaliation, Andrés pelted his
friend with a chorus of “Nariz, nariz, nariz” accentuating the other boy’s
most prominent facial feature. He told us that on a good day he would
earn about eight nuevos soles; the majority of which he gave to his mother
for food and clothes. He also boasted about fighting at least once a
week, explaining in Spanish that “You’ve got to fight to live in Cusco.” I
imagined that this gritty kid had bloodied a nariz or two. We gave
Andrés four soles for keeping us entertained, said good-bye and walked
up to a nearby cathedral where Mass was just beginning at 18:00.

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 At 18:30, when the evening services were finished, we were ready to
cap off our sightseeing with a chilly mug of Cusqueña. We settled on
dinner at a dive on Avenida Sunturwasi that we had spotted earlier in the
day. The food was good, but neither of us was entirely sold on
the grilled cuy which is a local delicacy. With
fresh guinea pig breath, we walked back to the
hostel via the Plaza de Armas which had been
transformed into a bustling nighttime marketplace.
The same cast of hard-working females from the afternoon
had returned to have a second go at selling their handmade designs in the
sprawling, often intimidating, plaza. Resisting a strong urge to purchase
one of the many colorful alpaca sweaters, Andy and I wandered up Avenida
Plateros in the direction of the Marqueses.
Back in the hostel, the only sign of life was the slow blinking of red
and yellow Christmas lights strung around the courtyard passageways.
On the way upstairs, we had a conversation with two of Lida’s youngest
adopted children, Alejandra and Miguel. They were both excited about
the holidays and were contemplating putting up even more decorations
in the hotel courtyard. We told them “good night” and continued upstairs
to our room. Without the temptation of an honor bar or Pay-Per-View-
Perú, we turned in promptly at 22:00. Tomorrow will be spent touring
the ruins around Cusco and getting ready for the much anticipated
Christmas Day trip to Machu Picchu.

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