Day 1 at La Posta de Salud en Urubamba

When the first day includes an abortion, examining a cadaver for foul play, treating a spurting head wound, fainting teenagers and a boatload of sick babies who scream bloody murder when getting injections you know the summer is going to be exciting and educational.

Ollantaytambo

The best way to get to Ollantaytambo from Cuzco is minivan. I made it to the minivan station at 3pm. Bad idea. School had just gotten out. The ayudante squeezes me and 40 giggling, groaning school kids into the van. It was a tight fit for the next half hour till the kids emptied out and I found a seat.

The landscape around here is mountainous dotted with small shrubs, rock slides, Incan ruins and dusty switchbacks trailing off into the distance. Eventually this valley, the Sacred Valley, takes you to Macchu Pichu. Since the late 70's villages in this valley have become towns and towns have become little cities thanks to tourism dollars.

Ollantaytambo, my town till August 25th, is the last stop on the train before Macchu Pichu and boasts its own beautiful ruins. Geographically important to the Incans because it's easy to defend and has plentiful rich agricultural land. Good reasons still, the ruins and agricultural land are propelling the Ollantaytinos into the 21st century. Many tourists stop here and many townsfolk have businesses catering to them. Woodfired pizza ovens? Italian espresso machines? Is this San Francisco?

Getting to town and settling into my family and life here for the next two months is exciting. I cannot wait to get to the hospital and get to work.

Peruvian Home

Home, sweet Peruvian Home.

For the next two months I'll be living here in Ollantaytambo, Peru. It felt good to arrive and finally meet the family and see the town that will have me as a guest till August 25th. Exciting and relieving.

My room at my host family's home in Ollanta, looks out to dry mountains, dotted with Inkan ruins and dusty horse paths. A river runs below them, carving out the valley, dirtied with pollution from the all towns in the valley. A beautiful beach with grey sand, ideal for sunning, would be ideal for swimming if the river was clean. The growth rate and lack of environmental awareness/education is a horrendous combination. The people of this land are rapidly and unconsciously destroying it, along with corporations. All in this mad dash to profit from tourism and the globalized economy we share. Glimmers of its beauty are apparent from a distance: snow capped mountains, terraced hill sides and fingers of blue wood smoke reaching for the sky early in the morning. But the beauty of my host mom's smile, my host sister's excitement about Lady Gaga or the camaraderie that comes from drinking beer with my cousin can only be felt from a few inches away.

The host family is wonderful and the house a shambling collection of bits and pieces. The kitchen and dining area are adobe with tarped ceilings and dirt floors. Currently visiting the dining area is a Virgin and a daily prayer group at 5pm. Cooking to the sound of old women reciting Ave Marias is novel and slightly creepy. In the kitchen you'll find about 40 guinea pigs running around, squeaking and eating alfalfa. Called "cuy" here there are source of protein; fatty, gamey and totally edible. Guarding the cuy is dirty little white kitten who spends it's days napping near the fogon - a wood fired stove. The fogon sees the most cooking action, soup, rice, potatoes, but we occasionally use gas. Nearby the family has farmland with peas, alfalfa, a grumpy old cow, more cuy and plenty of wood for cooking fuel. Just outside the kitchen is the chicken coop and the yard. 9 hens freely roam under the sun and rooster's watchful eye while laying an egg every few days or so. Three, small in size but bursting with bravado, dirty white dogs - Yogi, Oso and Pelusa - guard the complex, barking late into the night at every moving shadow. They chased a huge pig out of the yard last Monday and I laughed so hard as they did. The living quarters are two stories high, cement and rectangular. Cool during the hot days and cold during the cold nights. I'm on the bottom floor, in the largest room that I've ever called home. Such a change from the tiny SF boxes people call apartments.

The family is Ana Maria(mom), Alejandrina(neighbor), Margarita(sister), Katy(sister), Abrahm(adopted son), Rueben(cousin) and Goyo(adopted son). Ana Maria is the president of a 2,000 member women's association that formed to fight injustices happening to women in Sacred Valley. In addition to being politically rad, she farms, runs the family, operates a store downtown and is great to simply talk with. Alejandrina cooks and cleans but lives up the road. A bit surly, but with a deep, fleshy laugh that warms my heart. This leads me to do silly shit in an attempt to make her smile. Margarita works for the municipality but spent 6 years in Italy studying to be a nun. Realizing she wanted a family, she kicked the habit and returned home. We bake cakes together and generally act like brother and sister, punching, stepping on each other's toes and teasing each other about enamorados. Katy is in high school and literally jumped for joy when I busted out the Lady Gaga. Abrahm is 8. He spends his time spinning tops, playing in the dirt and complaining about doing chores. We have much in common. Rueben drives a combi, collective van, between Ollantaytambo and Urubamba. He just broke up with his wife and is living with us for a while. Goyo is working on a local political campaign and the national literacy effort. He is in and out of the house. The mix of people is well balanced, woman led and pleasant. The time we spend in the smoky, squeaking kitchen drinking mate, eating and joking is comforting, healing. I feel at home.

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!

A lot of bus

Thursday night, 10pm: Leaving Cochambamba for La Paz, then Lake Titicaca and Copacabana before the border at Desaguadero, afterwards lies Puno and finally arriving in Cuzco at 1:30am on Saturday.

A lot of bus.

A lot of beautiful scenery, particularly the terraced hills ringing Lake Titicaca. Incan terraforming visible everywhere on gentle slopes and dangerous descents. Blue water and fierce sun at 3,800 meters above sea level gave me the worst burn of the trip yet. Well worth it.

After getting stamped and processed at Desaguadero, the Peru-Bolivia border, 7 additional people joined the already full bus that brought us there. Naturally this created a scramble for seats with 7 people, not all of them new, having to sit in the aisle for the next 4 hours. During musical chairs an American woman, the last to re-board the bus, was told that she was going to have to sit in the aisle. Her response, in English, "I'm not from the third world, I don't have to deal with this shit," hung heavy in the air for a few minutes till a young man from Colombia gave her his seat. Would I have given her my seat? Not at all, this is part of the party. I gave the man from Colombia my seat half way through the ride because he shouldn't of had to bear the privileged traveler's burden alone.

Is this cold of me? No. Traveling is hard, you have to constantly adjust to new situations and decipher implicit norms on the fly. This experience changes you, softens your straight lines and wears down those mental rough edged expectations you carry. That is exactly why I travel. For the metamorphosis it induces, however large or small.

Phew. That has been demasiado bus for me. May my primary form of transport for the next two months be ambulation or bicycle.

Starry Nights

A bus filled with 29 sleeping souls and me rumbles across Bolivia's dirt roads. Listless, I stare out the window and notice the stars. Stars unseen from the north. Stars kept invisible by the light pollution. But here, as if I was lounging inside the Hubble telescope it is just darkness, stars and myself for miles around. Crystal clear pin points of light create a glowing spider web of fantastical shapes in the sky and I stare, giddy like a child with my secret prize. A quick glance around the bus confirms it's mine as I nuzzle up to the window, pull my blanket tighter and wonder what stories the Incans shared with these stars.

The White City

A dusty, bumpy, crowded, stinky midnight bus from Samaipata to Sucre reminds me that not everything is a small, peaceful mountain town.

Sucre, the White City, shares the capital role with La Paz and is a historically wealthy town, packed with colonial buildings, ornate, well preserved churches and a large, shady central plaza. Why the moniker? Because the buildings around town center are maintained in their original colonial paint color. The effect conveys power, cleanliness and purity, but that posturing falls apart two blocks off the plaza. You'll find mangos, queso criollo, chicken feet and beef heart next to each other at a gritty everyday food market where lunch is a buck and taking in the scene is free and comfortable.

Cochambamba next! Then on to Peru!