Arriving In Life

       Cusco.  I´ve seen it spelled Cusco, Cuzco and Ququo.  Cusco with it´s cobblestone streets just wide enough to fit a compact car, with its tattered tile roofs and mercahnts selling there wares on the ground.  I fell in love the moment my derrelect cabdriver dropped me off.  I was immediately struck by the forgeiness of my surroundings.  My year of preparation and research was no where to be found.  I got into a scetchy cab, the kind with no meter and no official signage.  I paid him way to much and quietly observed as he took the longest possible route from the airport to my hostel.  Now I know I could have walked the distance in twenty minutes.  It would be my last cab ride in Cusco.

       Cusco, Peru sits at 11,000 feet nestled in a long valley surrounded by moderately dry hills that reach as high as 4000 km. (12000 feet).  There is a strong presence of Inca tradition coexhisting with the thriving Catholic Church, a gift from the Spanairds that plundered their beautiful temples, kindly removed them of all their gold and constructed a maze of European worship centers where they could pay taxes and be converted to Christianity in the name of our Lord.  In this the Spanish were quite sucessful.
        Today there is a power far greater than colonization or persecution.  It is patient, cunning and persistant.  It is the culture changing presence of tourism.  It feeds the majority of Cusco´s 400,000 inhabitants and is the reason for it´s continued success as a speck on the map in this vast planet.

       Perhaps I am to much of a daydreaming purist.  In a country stricken with poverty, Cusco thrives.  Women in traditional Peruvian garb will let you take their picture for a mere 1 sole (roughly .33 U.S.).  Other families travel to the jungle to retrieve the insects and flora that are used to make the dyes for their vibrant colors.  In my broken Spanish I´ve learned that the poorer shop keepers and street vendors do in fact make their own products.  One woman, who I insisted we buy from showed us pictures of her family buying the wool and dyeing the cloth themselves.  They gather an insect in the Northern jungles which is then used to make the variety of reds and browns for the clothing.

       What else of Cusco?  After six months of reading government travel warnings and hearing the horror stories of muggings and pack slashers I have arrived to find that the people are beautiful.  They smile when they speak and are genuinely currious about where we are from and if we are enjoying their town.  They are helpful and full of warmth; a charm that has been lost in the fast paced advancement of the western world).

       It is about midnight now.  I am at a rickety table writing only by a light shining through in the next room.  Up here in the Plaza de la Blas it is quiet and far enough from the noise of the bars and restaurants that crowd the streets of the main Plaza de la Armas.  I can only hear the constant sounds of dogs barking and roaming in friendly packs.  Ocassionally a drunk tourist stumbles by, tripping on therough cobblestone, looking for their hostel.  It is wonderfully cold and suits me for a place to write.

       I will not post again until after I have visited Machu Picchu.  Our four day trek which covers 42 km and takes us to the dizzying height of 13,776 feet begins on Wednesday.  After that we will return to Casa de la Gringa for two days before we catch a nine hour bus to Puno.  There we will explore Lake Titicaca which shares a border with Bolivia, before heading to La Paz.

       Thanks to all that continue to read.  Remember:  It is good to go out into the world and do well.  It is better to go out into the world and do good.