The Incas Built a Lot of Steps

(Disclaimer: This is a long one with no pictures, yet.)

I've started this blog post on the train from Aguas Calientes to Cusco, where we are sitting across from certainly the most fantastic Spaniards I have ever seen, if not the most fanstastic Spaniards who have ever existed.  The man is wearing red jeans and is in possession of a leather cowboy hat that I believe he wears totally non-ironically, with various imprinted designs along the brim and a large fur section along the back.  This hat is phenomenal.  I do get to be on the river side of the train ride this time, and I'm glad, because it really is a sight.  Additionally, Emily's friend with the camera from yesterday is sitting across the aisle from us, which caused us to crack up super-hard and sort of awkwardly when he arrived.  He's reviewing his photos right now.

Speaking of coincidences: Emily and I found a nice outdoor bench to wait at the train station, at which we arrived rather early.  While we were there, a French woman asked (in English, obviously) if we would mind making room for her to sit, as she was quite tired, and she and her husband and the rest of their tour group were milling about the same area, waiting for the same train.  I'd been noticing throughout the day how very many of the tourists around town and in Macchu Picchu were French (particularly on the Arduous Hike part, for whatever reason). I thus struck up a conversation with the woman, in French, which French people always love, primarily to remark upon the large French tourist population at Macchu Picchu.

(she agreed, saying she was also surprised, that she had expected their group to be the only ones but, indeed, no, it's all French people, all the time.  A suprising number of Europeans all around, actually, many Americans, a fair number of Japanese and Chinese, and virtually no one from the subcontinent at all, which I find kind of bizarre, especially given the contrast with Engleberg).

Anyway that's not the insane part.  This is the insane part:

Usually, in these sorts of conversations, French people start by asking me, "why do you speak French?" and I say "Oh, my parents are French."  "Where are they from?"  "Metz, in Lorraine."  At which point French people normally say "Oh yes, OK, near Nancy/Strasbourg/Germany/whatever."  This woman said, "oh really, WE ARE ALSO FROM METZ." I was like "...really? No one's ever from Metz." But yes, really (they live in Thionville, technically, but WHATTHEFUCKEVER). Additionally, SHE'S A COMPUTER SCIENCE PHD, she STUDIED VULNERABILITY DETECTION IN DISTRIBUTED WEB SYSTEMS and I am not making this up.  In point of fact, she's a professor at the business school in Nancy.

It was totally wild.  We had a very pleasant conversation and I will web-stalk her when I have internet.  Somehow their itinerary involves significantly less sleep than ours, though I'm not sure why - they keep getting up at like 3 am for whatever reason.  I assume it's the standard French vacation masochism, a well-understood phenomenon.  See also: The Arduous Hike.

Anyway, Macchu Picchu:

With help from Emily, I finally remembered the circumstances of the book report I wrote in the 5th grade that triggered my fascination with Peru.  Mr. Fry had us do "travel brochures" on a random country, and mine happened to be Peru.  I remember virtually nothing about this assignment (Emily apparently still has hers, written 4 years later, on Chile), except that it was the first time I learned about Macchu Picchu.  Granted this would have been in 94-95, when the tourist situation left much to be desired, but fortunately the political situation has improved dramatically since then and today, I finally got to see the Lost City of the Incas.

We went to bed early last night, having set the alarm for 4:45 in the freaking morning which is a horrific hour.  Fact.  The hotels all set out breakfast for the tourists starting at around 5 am, so we trundled down, filled up (having actually been warned by Raul for once that lunch wouldn't be until quite late), and set out (with Raul) to take the bus up the crazy switchbacked hill.

Observation: when you wake up at 4:45 am, the day seems *really long*.

The busses start running at 5:30.  We got to the bus line around 5:40; it had already wrapped around the block.  The wait was short, however, and fruitful, as I acquired a handy around-the-neck-water-bottle- holder for 5 soles.  We were thus up at the top and entering the site around 6:10.

Weather at MP this time of year is either magnificent or magnificently rainy.  I admit I was slightly concerned as we arrived, as the low-hanging clouds turned into fog up at the ruins, substantially limiting visibility.

However, I'm actually quite happy for the fog, because it was beautiful as it moved around and it burned off into a hot and sunny day, revealing the view in stages; it was a very pleasant introuction to the ruins.  Which are, indeed, magnificent.

(We entered the site slowly, and actually both Em and I later remarked that we thought Raul was being a bit more leisurely than usual, but this was primarily because he was secretly gearing us up for the Arduous Hike.)

I of course took about 9000000000 pictures, none of which I have reviewed and none of which will do it justice, which is a shame.  Needless to say, it's not a UNESCO world heritage site and South America's biggest tourist attraction for nothing.  Again, I have to credit Raul for his scheduling.  4:45 sucks, but as the guidebooks substantiated, many visitors come to MP on day tours from Cusco (they also have to get up outrageously early, by the by, for the 3 hour train ride), arriving around 11. I don't understand this approach, by the way, since it leaves you only a couple of hours to explore; we spent 7, and felt that it was the appropriate amount. While there were quite a few people there with us at 6 am (I said to Raul, "this is the slow time?"  He said "Wait, and look again at noon."), it was completely comfortable.  By the time the rush arrived, we had: taken the long way around to see all the different sections of the ruins; admired the alpacas that graze on the terraces and that I assume are there for the tourists' benefit; gotten some excellent close-ups of an animal high up in one of the rock walls (noticed by Raul, hooray for guides!) that I at first thought was a particularly fat rabbit but on second glance turned out to be an INCREDIBLY ENORMOUS SQUIRREL; and were ready to commence the Arduous Hike to Inkipunta, the Inca gate that led down to the city in Inca times.

For those considering MP, I actually really recommend the Arduous Hike to Inkipunta, just bear in mind it's a little Arduous.  Also, consider going to MP/the Sacred Valley in general before your knees get bad because OMGSTAIRS.  On the way back down from InkiPuntu we passed (yet another) French couple who were really almost there, and I overheard the wife telling her husband "I think we're almost there," and he said "no, I don't think so," so I interrupted to reassure them that yes, they really were almost at the top, it was just around the corner and they shouldn't fret.  The man said "that's the best news I've heard all day."  But anyway I feel weak and useless, primarily because of the group of older Southern ladies who were also up at the top, looking fit and not terribly exhuasted (though they apparently abandoned one of their members along the way - "Oh look, here comes Rose!"), but also because of the young couple that came up not long after us, each carrying one of their children on their backs. Basically everyone who was up at the top already looked at each other and said "hot damn, we are all so collectively impressed by this profound feat of parenting and human strength/endurance that despite the fact that we are strangers who don't all speak the same language, we are able to share in this awe simultaneously."

What else?  A man outside the entrance offered to trade 6 postcards for Emily's (wal-mart) watch.  She declined.  Raul left us around noon, though his son will meet us in Cusco to take us to our hotel; we meet up with Raul again when we return from the jungle for an afternoon tour of the city.  We lunched (finally!) at a restaurant we remembered from the guide book, tucked down an alley and up (OMGMOARSTEPS) a bunch of steps.  It was pleasant and relatively high-end, though I chickened out, skipping the grilled alpaca in favor of pork ribs (whatever, the choice rocked).  We sat near an older Australian couple who heard of our plans to go to the jungle, recounted several stories of treacherous jungle-based animal encounters (I blame this on them being Australian) and asked if we've had rabies shots (no?), before asking if Mitt Romney had selected a VP candidate yet, thus launching a fairly lengthy conversation about American politics.

And then, the Train Station of Bizarre Coincidences and the Fantastic Spaniards, and the story has come full circle.  I'm hoping to get pictures up tonight as well, as we probably won't have internet again until the 18th.  Tomorrow we head to the jungle!  We will have electricity a couple of hours a day (permitting the Charging of Things), so we will keep track of our activities for retroactive blogging.  Even Raul has said "the jungle is an amazing experience, totally amazing and otherwordly," and I feel like if Raul thinks that, living among the Andes and in the Sacred Valley, it has got to be cool.  Except for the part where it's super hot and humid, I mean. 

Postscript: have arrived in Cusco, tired to the point of skipping dinner, although the hotel is glorious, the service delightful (as it's been everywhere frankly) and I'm drinking tea that may be made of cocaine.  And the internet is highly functional, hurrah!