Fireworks and Urine

1:30am Cuzco arrival time. Hail a cab. How much to Hostal Royal Frankenstein? 20 Soles($1 = 3 Soles). Ha, no, 5 Soles. Silence. Well? Ok.

Welcome to the Gringo Capital of South America. Where the local culture is trampled and foreigners are walking dollar signs. Quite different than Bolivia, where tourism is still establishing itself. Here, and throughout Peru, tourism helps many, many people bring home the bacon.

My week in Cuzco coincides with Inta Raymi, a month long celebration of Cuzco's history replete with fireworks, traditional dance, reenactments of ancient battles, platos tradicionales, lots of drinking, and day long parades. My first night in town was marked by a light and sound show - luz y sonido - in the plaza de armas which was packed shoulder to shoulder with locals and foriengniers. Not being a fan of crowds, I grabbed a bottle of Chilean red wine and climbed a few hills looking for a quieter spot. Roof of an elementary school? Perfect. Up I went to wait until the fireworks began. Unbeknownst to me, the school roof was located just below the launching zone. What followed was ten minutes of exploding heaven. Being an early July baby, I've long associated my birthday with fireworks. Thus my deep love and need to watch fireworks at least once near my birthday. If not, I get really cranky, just ask my old partners. Watching the sky explode with flaming rainbows and glittering silver willow trees while drinking red wine on the roof of a Cusqueno elementary school made for a damn good, if early, birthday celebration.

The rest of my week in Cuzco was passed wandering around the touristed and untouristed parts of town. Geat conversations with an older chap about Peruvian, American and international politics. All politicians are greedy and will do whatever they need to do to increase their power was the consensus. Yup. Got sick for a few days. Bound to happen. Watched a lot of World Cup games. Soccer doesn't have any where near the appreciation it should back home. Mid-afternoon drinking with a random assortment of internationals and everyone hollering at the TV screen is fun.

The night before the Cuzco's big reenactment of its was una locura. The little plaza right near my hostel was packed with people selling caldo de gallina, pollo asado con papas, chicha, rum and coke(pre-mixed) and beer. The smallest beer being sold was a 40 oz, so I bought one, grabbed a cup and sat down to drink and people watch. A guy, Mario, invited me to join his drinking circle, so we shot the shit about art, philosophy, the USA, Peru, travelers and girls, as boys are wont to do. A woman came by selling beer and we bought a few more 40's, a large drunk man then got right into her face for a second and Mario whispered in my ear that they are married. Large drunk guy hears this, fills a cup with beer, throws it Mario's face and kicks him in the stomach. Taking that as my exit cue, I step away, thank everyone for the good time and leave. Walking away I noticed that the streets were sopping wet. Walking past a set of port-a-potties, the men were using them, just not as designed. They simply urinated on the outside of them and created a rapidly flowing river of urine down the street. It was as if a storm drain had overflowed with urine. Chuckling to myself, I noted that Black Rock City's human waste disposal system is better organized than Cuzco's.

Tomorrow the city reenacts ancient battles and I board a combi to Ollantaytambo!