Machu Picchu was magnificent. It is, somewhat, the tip of an iceberg of magnificence in the Andes. Machu Picchu sits in a valley, a very long valley. The main river snaking and rushing through the valley is the Urubamba River. There is a museum in Lima, the Larco — one of the world’s great museums — which has a room of, what they call, “erotic” pottery. Each of our guides, on each of the ruins we visited, spoke of the Inca’s belief in the forces of nature. They honor the sky, the earth, and what is underground. Those are represented by birds (sky), felines (earth), and snakes (underground).
They dwell on dualities. Male and female. Light and dark; the sun, the moon. Hot and cold. Weak and strong. And fertility is ever present. Fluids. Water for the animals. Water to bring forth life from the earth. Also the fluid, the egg and the coupling which lead to childbirth. In that sense, the pottery is erotic. I have never seen a clay pot moulded into a vivid sculpture depicting child birth until the Larco Museum. The clay rises up from the vessel in the shape of a woman on her back with her legs spread. Someone embraces her from behind to support her back. In front, someone helps guide the child out of the birth canal. That is in the specifically erotic section. In the general area, are hundreds of other depictions of people and animals and events. The museum left us speechless. The aesthetics of the ancient people of Peru were a combination of profound subject matter executed with unsurpassed technical skills.
But back to the Urubamba River. The ancients felt the water of the river and it’s ability to conceive and sustain life was sacred, hence the river was sacred, hence the valley, too. That is why it is called the Sacred Valley. Over the course of dozens of miles along the valley there are those stone terraces climbing up the mountains. Some are more significant. Those are the ones we visited. Saksayhuaman. Tipon. Ollantaytambo. Moray. Each one could be described in radiant words. They are like the pottery, profound, skilled and together inspire, in me, great respect for the humans who desired and created perfection.
From Machu Picchu, from the outstanding Belmond Sanctuary Lodge, we rode the Merccedes Benz bus back down the narrow zig zag lane to the train. We road the train parallel to the Urubamba River. Past the trees full of wild orchids and back to the arid Ollantaytambo train station where we had left our suitcases at the El Albergue Inn. Where the blind harpist played his huayno music. A car and driver awaited us. We drove to the village of Urubamba. The Tambo del Inka Resort was an excellent destination. Behind tall walls and gates, it has monumental scale indoor public spaces. It also has display cases with more of the fine 2,000 year old pottery. Our room opened onto a lawn edged with giant eucalyptus trees. The eucalyptus was on the bank of the Urubamba River. Our room was a gem. The walls were covered with beautiful amber fabric printed with an ancient symbol. All other surfaces were beautiful woods. During the day we walked across the street to the local food market. Held in a cavernous space, if you squinted and looked from the balcony it was like opening a treasure chest. The carrots, broccoli, tomatoes, etc. shined like glittering gems. And the people, particularly the ones in traditional Andean clothes, were as colorful. It was beautiful. I took photographs. With stealth, I held my cell phone camera at my navel. I hoped I was capturing images. I was lucky and got a few. The local faces are beautifully weathered; full of character.
After Urubamba, another car, another driver, took us to ruins en route to our next destination. One of the ruins, Pisac, again atop a hill, looked across a narrow valley to a mountain face poked with dozens of holes. The holes had been sealed grave sites. Buried with dead were gold and sacred objects. The Spanish conquerors, when they realized there were sealed tombs, went about unsealing and grave robbing. It is not a black and white situation, the Spanish and their conquering. But they were so heavy handed. They had zero curiosity about the people they had come to dominate. They required each Incan to be baptised catholic, to give up speaking Quechua, to take a Spanish name. The Spanish dismantled much of the Incan architecture and planted Spanish colonial buildings atop the old foundations. They were alphas. Clobber. Dominate. Subjugate. Look what it got them. Three hundred years later, they lost all of south America, Latin America and all of the western United States. The Incan Empire existed for about four hundred years. They did not, poof, come out of nowhere. They evolved from many earlier Peruvian cultures, three thousand years worth. When they went about taking over villages and other societies, their method of conquering was to use persuasion. To offer improvements and respect to those they conquered. That did not necessarily make their empire last longer than the Spanish empire, but it was a kinder more human existence. All the artifacts — whether ruins of five hundred years old, or pottery of two thousand years of age — speak through the centuries with profound radiance.
From Pisac we visited Tipon. The ruins of Tipon are mainly about it’s system of irrigation canals. Though that term makes them sound as attractive as a sprinkler system, they are quite beautiful. Channels were cut into the earth. The channels were clad with stones, mostly flat, but with some protrusions to create an attractive burbling sound. They channels at times go underground then reappear in time to flow down to a lower terrace like a small waterfall. As with all the other ruins, the surrounding vistas are breathtaking. (Too many superlatives, but all warranted).
From Tipon, Wes directed us to a Hacienda (it’s name escapes me at this moment), a Spanish ranch. It used to be one thousand acres until fifty years ago. Then, there was a coup or junta, some military related change of power. They enacted what are referred to as “agrarian reforms”. I have not read up on them. Their effect was to reduce the Hacienda’s acreage from large to small. I do not know much more than that. What remains, the one hundred acres, is idyllic. Spanish style buildings. A green lawn with an arbor and morning glories climbing up it’s tall posts. One small building made me remember my mother’s description of a childhood house in Taos, New Mexico. The Hacienda owner took us into a small two room structure. Inside, the floors were smoothed adobe. The walls were stones smoothed over with adobe. In a corner, in an adobe fireplace, more cooking fire than fireplace, there was a fragrant log burning. It lit the room with a warm glow. From under the wall’s adobe benches, dozens of guinea pigs peeked out. One of them must have given the “all clear” signal, because they suddenly all came out at once. Our host tossed a pile of fresh green alfalfa toward them. They made the cutest squeal. It sounded like they were saying, “cuy cuy” (coo- eee coo-eee). And in Quechua, that is what they are called, cuy. They are adorable, but as much as they are adored, they are raised for eating. We did not eat cuy. But we did eat fresh mountain trout for lunch under the morning glory arbor. To the side of the green lawn was a large rectangular patch of bright white corn laid to dry in the sun. Once dry, the kernels will be taken from the cob, sent to Lima and finally to Trader Joe’s to be sold as Inka Corn. I remember that snack in the 1960’s as “Corn Nuts”. This Hacienda supplied the corn for both products. They have a somewhat lucky situation. That variety of corn grows only in the Sacred Valley. Other places around the world have tried without success to grow it. The Hacienda has been family owned for many generations.
Eventually, we arrived into Cusco, the main city of the Andes. The population is about five hundred thousand. The terrain is hilly. The altitude is some ten thousand feet. Cusco was once the capital of the Incan empire. The four quadrants of the empire met — like our four corners spot where Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, etc. meet — in Cusco. The Spanish dismantled the buildings. They left only the foundations and maybe walls of eight or so feet high. Earlier, I described walls of that sort. Precision cut. Mortise and tenoned in their unseen joint areas. Also they are angled ever so slightly inward for structural stability. Not so much that it is pyramidal, you hardly perceive it. As you wander the city, you are walking along side the Incan walls. You can tell because there is no space between the stones. You cannot fit a credit card nor a piece of paper between the stones. I do not know if the sidewalks and streets are also Incan. The sidewalks, all narrow, are stone; slippery when wet. The streets are, as in Rome, black rectangular cobble stone.
Cusco is a hive. It is abuzz with locals and tourists and women in traditional Incan costume either carrying a month old live alpaca or leading an adolescent alpaca on a leash. The alpaca may be as adorable as the cutest puppy or kitten. They, at least the ones on the streets, are docile with large eyes and fluttering eyelashes. We had a brief opportunity to see other local animals in a rescue zoo. I thought I saw large stones; they were ancient tortoises. There were the shaggiest llamas and alpacas. Wes petted one’s wooly neck. Clouds of dust puffed out in the sun. In a large glassed in area were two tapirs. In appearance it is a cross between a weasel and a raccoon. It is an infamous animal. You may have read of the most expensive coffee in the world. Hundreds of dollars per pound. What makes it so special? (Really, it is special. Maybe not in a good way.) The tapir is fed the coffee beans. The tapir does not digest the beans. They pass through it’s digestive tract entirely intact. When they do, someone cleans the tapir poo off them. From there, they make their way to the coffee cups of the rich and famous. No, we did not sip a cup. We saw an adorable toucan with a chipped beak. Really, it was adorable. We passed by the puma cage. There were four sleek, lean, muscular, impatiently pacing pumas. They look powerful and lethal. Finally we entered a warehouse large cage. Inside, were the unprettiest birds, the condors. They are unimaginably large. They were made to fly for us from the far end of their cage to where we sat. It was an impressive whoosh when they flew a few feet over our heads. I did not know whether I was in danger in their cage. Probably not, as long as I was alive. They are scavengers of dead animals. Another day, we happened upon the condors opposite, a lovely small bird whose color seemed derived from powdered aquamarines.
From Cusco, we made an excursion to several tiny villages to see catholic churches. One of them is referred to as the “Sistine Chapel of South America”. It was a style similar to many old Spanish adobe churches in New Mexico. Not at all European. Beautiful folk art painted walls. One was sweet and scary and funny (ha ha) all at once. It depicted judgement day. One side was heaven. One side was hell. It was different from all the Incan art we had seen. It was melodrama. It was meant to induce fear. The Incan art seemed meant to induce inspiration.
I had been a bit luke warm about visiting Peru. Wes, as always, knows better in these and in all matters. He aced his research. The places he chose to visit, the sequence of events, the modes of travel, the accommodations. He is a virtuoso. It unfolded effortlessly and with inevitability. I only give myself credit for having a good amount of curiousity. I am probably a handful at times, but look at all the impressions Peru made on me. Los Angeles is coming in to view. We have so much to dream about tonight.
They dwell on dualities. Male and female. Light and dark; the sun, the moon. Hot and cold. Weak and strong. And fertility is ever present. Fluids. Water for the animals. Water to bring forth life from the earth. Also the fluid, the egg and the coupling which lead to childbirth. In that sense, the pottery is erotic. I have never seen a clay pot moulded into a vivid sculpture depicting child birth until the Larco Museum. The clay rises up from the vessel in the shape of a woman on her back with her legs spread. Someone embraces her from behind to support her back. In front, someone helps guide the child out of the birth canal. That is in the specifically erotic section. In the general area, are hundreds of other depictions of people and animals and events. The museum left us speechless. The aesthetics of the ancient people of Peru were a combination of profound subject matter executed with unsurpassed technical skills.
But back to the Urubamba River. The ancients felt the water of the river and it’s ability to conceive and sustain life was sacred, hence the river was sacred, hence the valley, too. That is why it is called the Sacred Valley. Over the course of dozens of miles along the valley there are those stone terraces climbing up the mountains. Some are more significant. Those are the ones we visited. Saksayhuaman. Tipon. Ollantaytambo. Moray. Each one could be described in radiant words. They are like the pottery, profound, skilled and together inspire, in me, great respect for the humans who desired and created perfection.
From Machu Picchu, from the outstanding Belmond Sanctuary Lodge, we rode the Merccedes Benz bus back down the narrow zig zag lane to the train. We road the train parallel to the Urubamba River. Past the trees full of wild orchids and back to the arid Ollantaytambo train station where we had left our suitcases at the El Albergue Inn. Where the blind harpist played his huayno music. A car and driver awaited us. We drove to the village of Urubamba. The Tambo del Inka Resort was an excellent destination. Behind tall walls and gates, it has monumental scale indoor public spaces. It also has display cases with more of the fine 2,000 year old pottery. Our room opened onto a lawn edged with giant eucalyptus trees. The eucalyptus was on the bank of the Urubamba River. Our room was a gem. The walls were covered with beautiful amber fabric printed with an ancient symbol. All other surfaces were beautiful woods. During the day we walked across the street to the local food market. Held in a cavernous space, if you squinted and looked from the balcony it was like opening a treasure chest. The carrots, broccoli, tomatoes, etc. shined like glittering gems. And the people, particularly the ones in traditional Andean clothes, were as colorful. It was beautiful. I took photographs. With stealth, I held my cell phone camera at my navel. I hoped I was capturing images. I was lucky and got a few. The local faces are beautifully weathered; full of character.
After Urubamba, another car, another driver, took us to ruins en route to our next destination. One of the ruins, Pisac, again atop a hill, looked across a narrow valley to a mountain face poked with dozens of holes. The holes had been sealed grave sites. Buried with dead were gold and sacred objects. The Spanish conquerors, when they realized there were sealed tombs, went about unsealing and grave robbing. It is not a black and white situation, the Spanish and their conquering. But they were so heavy handed. They had zero curiosity about the people they had come to dominate. They required each Incan to be baptised catholic, to give up speaking Quechua, to take a Spanish name. The Spanish dismantled much of the Incan architecture and planted Spanish colonial buildings atop the old foundations. They were alphas. Clobber. Dominate. Subjugate. Look what it got them. Three hundred years later, they lost all of south America, Latin America and all of the western United States. The Incan Empire existed for about four hundred years. They did not, poof, come out of nowhere. They evolved from many earlier Peruvian cultures, three thousand years worth. When they went about taking over villages and other societies, their method of conquering was to use persuasion. To offer improvements and respect to those they conquered. That did not necessarily make their empire last longer than the Spanish empire, but it was a kinder more human existence. All the artifacts — whether ruins of five hundred years old, or pottery of two thousand years of age — speak through the centuries with profound radiance.
From Pisac we visited Tipon. The ruins of Tipon are mainly about it’s system of irrigation canals. Though that term makes them sound as attractive as a sprinkler system, they are quite beautiful. Channels were cut into the earth. The channels were clad with stones, mostly flat, but with some protrusions to create an attractive burbling sound. They channels at times go underground then reappear in time to flow down to a lower terrace like a small waterfall. As with all the other ruins, the surrounding vistas are breathtaking. (Too many superlatives, but all warranted).
From Tipon, Wes directed us to a Hacienda (it’s name escapes me at this moment), a Spanish ranch. It used to be one thousand acres until fifty years ago. Then, there was a coup or junta, some military related change of power. They enacted what are referred to as “agrarian reforms”. I have not read up on them. Their effect was to reduce the Hacienda’s acreage from large to small. I do not know much more than that. What remains, the one hundred acres, is idyllic. Spanish style buildings. A green lawn with an arbor and morning glories climbing up it’s tall posts. One small building made me remember my mother’s description of a childhood house in Taos, New Mexico. The Hacienda owner took us into a small two room structure. Inside, the floors were smoothed adobe. The walls were stones smoothed over with adobe. In a corner, in an adobe fireplace, more cooking fire than fireplace, there was a fragrant log burning. It lit the room with a warm glow. From under the wall’s adobe benches, dozens of guinea pigs peeked out. One of them must have given the “all clear” signal, because they suddenly all came out at once. Our host tossed a pile of fresh green alfalfa toward them. They made the cutest squeal. It sounded like they were saying, “cuy cuy” (coo- eee coo-eee). And in Quechua, that is what they are called, cuy. They are adorable, but as much as they are adored, they are raised for eating. We did not eat cuy. But we did eat fresh mountain trout for lunch under the morning glory arbor. To the side of the green lawn was a large rectangular patch of bright white corn laid to dry in the sun. Once dry, the kernels will be taken from the cob, sent to Lima and finally to Trader Joe’s to be sold as Inka Corn. I remember that snack in the 1960’s as “Corn Nuts”. This Hacienda supplied the corn for both products. They have a somewhat lucky situation. That variety of corn grows only in the Sacred Valley. Other places around the world have tried without success to grow it. The Hacienda has been family owned for many generations.
Eventually, we arrived into Cusco, the main city of the Andes. The population is about five hundred thousand. The terrain is hilly. The altitude is some ten thousand feet. Cusco was once the capital of the Incan empire. The four quadrants of the empire met — like our four corners spot where Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, etc. meet — in Cusco. The Spanish dismantled the buildings. They left only the foundations and maybe walls of eight or so feet high. Earlier, I described walls of that sort. Precision cut. Mortise and tenoned in their unseen joint areas. Also they are angled ever so slightly inward for structural stability. Not so much that it is pyramidal, you hardly perceive it. As you wander the city, you are walking along side the Incan walls. You can tell because there is no space between the stones. You cannot fit a credit card nor a piece of paper between the stones. I do not know if the sidewalks and streets are also Incan. The sidewalks, all narrow, are stone; slippery when wet. The streets are, as in Rome, black rectangular cobble stone.
Cusco is a hive. It is abuzz with locals and tourists and women in traditional Incan costume either carrying a month old live alpaca or leading an adolescent alpaca on a leash. The alpaca may be as adorable as the cutest puppy or kitten. They, at least the ones on the streets, are docile with large eyes and fluttering eyelashes. We had a brief opportunity to see other local animals in a rescue zoo. I thought I saw large stones; they were ancient tortoises. There were the shaggiest llamas and alpacas. Wes petted one’s wooly neck. Clouds of dust puffed out in the sun. In a large glassed in area were two tapirs. In appearance it is a cross between a weasel and a raccoon. It is an infamous animal. You may have read of the most expensive coffee in the world. Hundreds of dollars per pound. What makes it so special? (Really, it is special. Maybe not in a good way.) The tapir is fed the coffee beans. The tapir does not digest the beans. They pass through it’s digestive tract entirely intact. When they do, someone cleans the tapir poo off them. From there, they make their way to the coffee cups of the rich and famous. No, we did not sip a cup. We saw an adorable toucan with a chipped beak. Really, it was adorable. We passed by the puma cage. There were four sleek, lean, muscular, impatiently pacing pumas. They look powerful and lethal. Finally we entered a warehouse large cage. Inside, were the unprettiest birds, the condors. They are unimaginably large. They were made to fly for us from the far end of their cage to where we sat. It was an impressive whoosh when they flew a few feet over our heads. I did not know whether I was in danger in their cage. Probably not, as long as I was alive. They are scavengers of dead animals. Another day, we happened upon the condors opposite, a lovely small bird whose color seemed derived from powdered aquamarines.
From Cusco, we made an excursion to several tiny villages to see catholic churches. One of them is referred to as the “Sistine Chapel of South America”. It was a style similar to many old Spanish adobe churches in New Mexico. Not at all European. Beautiful folk art painted walls. One was sweet and scary and funny (ha ha) all at once. It depicted judgement day. One side was heaven. One side was hell. It was different from all the Incan art we had seen. It was melodrama. It was meant to induce fear. The Incan art seemed meant to induce inspiration.
I had been a bit luke warm about visiting Peru. Wes, as always, knows better in these and in all matters. He aced his research. The places he chose to visit, the sequence of events, the modes of travel, the accommodations. He is a virtuoso. It unfolded effortlessly and with inevitability. I only give myself credit for having a good amount of curiousity. I am probably a handful at times, but look at all the impressions Peru made on me. Los Angeles is coming in to view. We have so much to dream about tonight.
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