Sad Goodbye's, Happy Arrival's and Slow First Steps In The City In The Sky

First thing. Blogspot organizes blogs by month, and when the month changes, they no longer show the last months entries on the same page as the new month. If you are interested in looking at more of my blogs, (please do) just click on the icons that say october and november and there's lots more. The last one I wrote was on the last day of the month, check it out, it has some photos of the food here. Cheers.

Cusco is a place that escapes description. My feeble attempts at poetry would do it no justice and I am sure that somewhere, sometime, some writer has done her right. It is a city of high, lonesome sound. Not like bluegrass, (I hope you get this, if you don't, google 'high lonesome sound') but more like the embodiment of vastness at high elevation. It is a place that oozes power and at once convinces the visitor that it is a special place like no other. It is a place of beautiful colonial buildings built directly on top of the ancient and much revered ruins of the Inca Empire. A city of kings, it is said to be one of the world's centers of spiritual energy, and nearby resides the Lost City of Machu Picchu. In the morning the sun shines down, taking away a portion of the chill that resides at 11,500 feet. In the afternoon, the clouds pull over and the tiled rooves take on a different, milder hue. In the early evening, one can hear bells echoing softly in the distance, as they do in the old church towers of Europe. Dogs bark and people chatter below in the ancient cobbled streets. It is something outside of the big world, outside of our current time.

I had a beautiful final day in Lima. Spent mostly with my family, eating and playing with kids and taking photos and laughing at familiarisms. It is really hard to explain what happened there. In two short weeks, I really did get adopted by those beautiful people. They took me in like another one of their children and I became a part of their daily lives and goings-on. The two weeks that sped by seemed like months in another sense. I find myself at a loss for descriptors in this matter, which may be just as well. But I can say in all honesty, that this morning, in that misty, grey half-light of Lima, surrounded by the soft fragrance of springtime blossoms and the plaintive call of some unknown Peruvian songbird, that I had to fight back tears when saying goodbye to them at the curb of Ramon Zavala. I now have a number of new homes, and by that I mean not only places to sleep, but places to be welcomed into a lifetime, a lifeline, and what could be warmer than that? At this point in time, fortune smiles.

Time and again I come back to the idea of fortune. Often in the most simple of things. If nothing serious, it is a fun way to pass the minutes. There is an old zen story from China that reveals the insecure path of fortune and the delicacy of any given moment. It is the story of a farmer and a number of things that happen to him. One thing happens and it seems like a bad thing and all his neighbors come and say, "We are so sorry for your loss, it is truly too bad." To which the farmer replies, "Perhaps." This 'bad' event leads to another event, which is, in itself, a very fortuitous event and soon the neighbors are clamoring around saying, "Oh, what good fortune, you are blessed to be so lucky!" To which the farmer again replies, "Perhaps." The good event leads to another event which is again, bad. Again the neighbors come and proclaim their sorrow. And again, this wise farmer replies "Perhaps."
And so it is with all happenings, if we can only allow our narrow minds to lift from the moment and see out across the larger terrain of the chain of happenings. I had one of those mornings. I thought I would be crafty and beat the traffic/airport situation by getting a really early start. Of course I didn't get to bed 'til late last night and I am fighting a cold on top of a gnarly case of stomach fallout, so waking at five was definatly a bummer. But I was going to get to the airport without having to run, how good! The taxi was on time and we rolled to the airport, but being sunday, there was no traffic and we made it to the airport so fast that I quickly realized that I would have to entertain myself for hours, waiting for the plane. When I got to the check in, things got worse. As planes often are in South America, mine was delayed. By two to three hours! Que barbaro! Now I would have half the day there!! Shit! But then the pretty lady behind the desk looked up and smiled and told me that the 5 AM flight was also delayed and was, in fact, still at the gate and was about to be boarded. I ended up walking right on to that plane and I was in Cusco by 8:30. Long before my original flight would have even taken off, even if it was on time! Que suerte? Perhaps.

I arrived early and made my way to my hostal, which sits up high above the town. Let me say at this time, that the rumor of altitude sickness is no joke! They weren't messing around when coming up with this one. I took a pill for it a half hour before landing. When getting out of the airport I felt fine and got a cab to take me to the bottom of the hill my hostal is on. From there I would have to hoof it. I started gregariously up the hill and was soon hit by this phenomenon like the good old, proverbial 'ton of bricks' that lurks behind some hidden curtain of life. Whoa. My head started to spin and I could hardly breathe and in the back of my skull the blood was pounding like hammers in my veins. Walk slow, I thought. So I did, but my pulse continued to race. My head pounded with such ferocity that I thought I might adema...that is one thing that can happen. Despite the chilly breeze I was sweating like a prizefighter and my pack seemed to weigh as much as the bricks that had just hit me. With many small steps and deep breaths I made it to the top of the hill and into the old stone walls of Hostal Mirasol. Thank dios! I think I now know what it feels like to be an elderly person!! Uff! I was greated by the friendly owner who immediatly showed me to the dining room and prepared me a kettle of mate de coca. This is a tea that is made from the leaves of the coca plant and is said to aid in the adjustment to the altura. (No, you don't get high from it.) It seemed to work pretty well, but it is hard to tell because I have taken it really easy today. I watched the changing of the guard in the main plaza and I had a great lunch of Papas a la Guancauno and more Aji de Gallina. I partook in siesta and then strolled through the lazy sunday streets, looking out over the golden valley and all the red rooves turning into the lights of nighttime. Tomorrow Jake and Rebecca will be arriving. I am very excited to see these old friends. They too are family, and more and more we realize, throughout our travels and travails, that family is what it is all about. I'll be adding photos to this entry before too long, I have a feeling that Cusco and its environs will be filling up my camera.