Hiking the Ruins in Cusco

I awoke to find the hot water in the hostel was very hot indeed, and enjoyed a fantastic shower before heading upstairs for a scrumptious breakfast with tea, coffee, and papaya juice. The breakfast room at the Hostel Q'Awarina has an even better view than my room, and I looked over the city as I planned my day.

My first stop was the Sacsayhuaman fortress, where Marco Inca lost the decisive battle against the Conquistadors, and sealed the fate of the Incan empire. Eighty percent of the grand fortress was either destroyed by the Spaniards or recycled into the architecture of nearby Cusco. Still, what remains is massive, with three levels of zig-zagging battlements which serve the dual purpose of forcing divisions within advancing forces to better slaughter them from above, and representing the teeth of a giant puma (the plaza in Cusco forms the body, the main avenue the legs, the river the spine, and the original and complete fortress formed the head).

I was approached by a local Quechua man, who asked if he could show me his art. He brought out several small sculptures of Incan iconography and explained the meaning of each one. He complained about the tourist shops in Cusco selling replica pieces for three times the price, and I could tell that his were hand carved from Machu Picchu rock, where the tourist shops sell impossibly clean and smooth versions made of clay for 3-5 times the price. I was particularly enamored by a piece representing an essential Incan mythology which describes the forces of the world as a serpent, a puma, and a condor. The serpent represents mother earth and the low forces, the puma represents fierceness and war (the realm of man), and the condor represents the forces of the sky and tranquility.

The man introduced himself in both Spanish and Quechua (his Spanish name is Armando Quispe), pointed out his house on the hill overlooking the fortress, and his family's ranch. After I gave him $10 for the sculpture, he offered to be my guide around the ruins. I refused, intending to rent a mountain bike and see the ruins by myself. He graciously accepted my refusal, but proceeded to tell me all about Sacsayhuaman without pressuring me further. I soon realized that he knew more about the area and the people than the professional guides, so I asked him to accompany me to Quenco (and the Temple of the Moon) and he began telling me things that can't be found in any guidebook. I was a little bit concerned about walking to all the ruins, but he said that his sister could rent us horses if I got tired, and he had plenty of coca leaves in his backpack if I wished to chew them to fight altitude and fatigue. As it turned out, I required neither, and the hiking became easier with someone to follow.

As we walked, Armando pointed out which plants were good to chew to fight the altitude, and which were poisonous. I chewed and enjoyed "Incan Mint" (Muvio?), which freshened my breath and lifted my spirits. As we continued our journey, he made me stop and appreciate the care with which the Incans had placed the Incan Trail, which leads from Cusco, through the sacred temples, and is located among peaks and valleys for maximal views and reverance.

We traversed ancient Incan roadways and aquaducts, open fields, and beautiful singletrack trails as we gained altitude.

Armando made sure to point out what all the plants were, and pointed out many useful and mystical plants, many of which have healing and spiritual properties when used by the shamen that still practice the arts today. Some plants are good for fighting fatigue and altitude sickness, some are used for rubbing on sore muscles or cuts, and some plants--unlike anything I've seen outside of a Dr. Suess book--produce visions if prepared into a tea. I can't remember the names of any of these plants, but I remember the unique visage and smell of each of them.

We walked together for many miles (8-12 in all), and I was pleased to be able to keep up with my native guide, and although he was breathing as hard as I was, I gulped water while he had not even a sip.

After seeing several ceremonial ruins, we stopped at Tambomachay, the site of a grand Incan aquaduct and fountain, where water still flows endlessly from precisely set stone outlets. Armando encouraged me to hop the rope and drink from the fountains. I asked him incredulously if it was safe for me to drink. He replied that this water was pure and natural ice runoff. He also said (in Spanish) "Why do you think I have been walking for two hours without water? The bottled water might make me sick, but this is safe." I drank from the font and filled one of my bottles, and it was some of the best water I have ever drank.

I asked Armando about chicha (a traditional brew made of fermented corn), and he replied "let's drink", and took me to a small mud-brick hut where Quechua women were preparing the frothy brew. I paid a single sole (about $0.30c US) for a large pitcher, and both of us drank three small glasses from the pitcher in the hut while women and their husbands drank copious quantities of the concoction. The men sat half asleep in their chairs, with their chins against their clavicals, while the women complained about how the men did nothing all day. Dozens of guinnea pigs roamed free about the shack, while pigs, chickens, and donkeys grazed free and casually outside.

I soon realized why the women were so animated and awake despite their alcohol intake when the coca leaves were passed around. Although not strong enough to produce a high, the chewing of coca leaves staves of hunger, fatigue, and drunkenness. Chicha is fairly low in alcohol content (it is only fermented for 3 nights and 2 days), but it is high in fructose and vegetable content, and both Armando and I felt energized after drinking. We chatted about his life, and he took me to his house and introduced me to his wife and son. They live in a tiny adobe hut, with smaller adjoining huts for animals, storage, and guests. Armando was proud of his humble abode, and after seeing the huts of some of his neighbors I can see why.

Armando offered me what food he had available, and I accepted a mandarin and enjoyed it immensly after our four hour hike. I bid farewell to Armando and his family, and walked back down the steep hill past Sacsayhuaman and down to Cusco.