Easter Monday back home, pretty regular day here in Cusco. No trips to St John's Point to enjoy a picnic in the car whilst a hurricane rages around us, no. The simple company of churches, that's how we shall pass this day.
There is logic to this. Visitors to Cusco find (often frustratingly) that the main attractions are all covered by a single boleto turistico, a catch-all pass that sets you back PNS$130 but gets you into sixteen different sites. The pass lasts for ten days, covers eight museums or similar, four sets of ruins just outside Cusco, plus a further four ruins at villages in the surrounding Sacred Valley area. Time it right and you can definitely get your money's worth.
The little problem on the side is that many other attractions, mostly churches, are not included on the ticket. Logically then you go and see the churches first, then the sites on the card, and when all is said and done you finish up in Ollantaytambo, the village closest to the little town of Aguas Calientes, jumping off point for Machu Picchu.
Pan-tastico! continues its tradition of fine bready breakfasts, we spend a while chatting to some of our fellow guests, rather a lot of French folk staying here, plus some rather cheerful German men, one of whom sports a green 'Irish Yoga' t-shirt. I was somewhat bemused by an upstanding German looking to the Irish for advice on how to drink.
We make our first stop at the Museo Maximo Laura, for some reason one of the top destinations on Tripadvisor, something to do with textiles. Of course, all becomes clear when we arrive. Maximo Laura is a feted international artist who creates enormous panels of colour, combining traditional Incan art with cubist influences. The tapestries are stunning. Like most museums we visit here, no photos, whether flash or not, and no filming. Worth every Sol we didn't spend on it (the museum is free entry. Of course, you might decide to buy one of Laura's pieces for an unspecified sum...)
Sarah tries to purchase some gifts from a street urchin, but we have no change. We walk down to the nearest Scotiabank and queue for twenty minutes to exchange our PNS$100 notes for smaller denominations. By the time we get back the urchin is gone. No gifts today.
Off we totter towards the Plaza de Armas yet again, our preferred destination is the Catedral de Cusco, enormous, beautiful, and sadly a rather pricey PNS$25 to get in. We think that includes another church as well, but its not clear, and the entrance is swamped with gangs of organised tourists all waving little sheets of authorisation in their hands. Best to back and head to the nearest alternative, the Templo de la Compania de Jesus, built on top of the original Inca temple here in what the Inca's considered to be 'The Bellybutton Of The World".
This one only costs PNS$6 each, and for that you get an enormous building with some fine artwork, a wee wander around upstairs where you can look out upon the Plaza De Armas, plus a brief trip into the crypt to see a small hole in ground; below us are the remains of the Incan temple, which looks a lot like no one has been down there in quite a while. It is surprising sometimes to be in churches and feel they don't fully exploit their touristic potential. But, of course, these are still churches.
I stop and look at the incredible artistic legacy left behind by Christianity, in spite of whatever feelings I harbour regarding religion, and two questions come to me: what will become of all these churches as the church continues to decline? These are, even for heathens like myself, often an essential go-to in any city. And secondly, what artistic heritage has the humanist tradition left behind? Whilst it is oxymoronic to talk about humanist beliefs, what have we put in place to promote our way of thinking, not just in word but in image? What public places for thought and solace are we offering those in need? Even I find it physically relaxing and mentally stimulating to sit in a fine church and consider the world.
We strike out into the daylight and decline to buy nice but expensive religious pruck at the shop next door. A short distance away is La Merced, next church on our route. This time, however, we are swamped in religious art; a courtyard with frescos, a few enormous paintings of miracles that some basic human beings had scratched their names on to, and a collection of items heavy with gold, silver, diamonds, pearls, and countless precious stones. Sarah goes into a fury when the curators follow us into the galleries, watching us watching things. She also goes a bit crazy when the assistants approach us too quickly in the shops.
Throughout our time in La Merced we are serenaded by a child who was torturing a trumpet, the cries of children howling along to church songs, and the yelps from a gang of tracksuit clad schoolchildren practicing kung-fu. Not what we expected, as per usual.
By 4pm hunger has struck for both of us. Sarah, whilst improving, is still wary of eating, and we find ourselves in an Indian buffet restaurant serving a selection of vegetarian dishes and chicken or beef curries. Very tasty. Sarah declines to join me on the PNS$15 all you can eat experience.
Cusco cools down quickly once you are out of the sun. It's a tricky city to prepare for; on one hand you want to wear shorts and t-shirts, and make sure you have suntan lotion on, but on the other hand you need layers with you for when you enter a church or museum and it gets awfully cold. The sun also sets here about 5pm, an hour earlier than Lima, falling away behind the mountains and bathing the Plaza de Armas in soft light. We settle ourselves on the steps in front of the cathedral and people-watch for a while.
A local indigenous lady sits beside us and begins knitting. The Plaza is awash with groups of tourists. Some rude people sit down the steps from us and persist in trying to take a picture of the lady, who lifts her hat down over her head. She is unwilling to be photographed, that's not her role here in the city. One rude tourist just stands pointing his camera at her, waiting for her to move her hat. I feel that the distance between Western tourists and the Incan culture, which they proclaim such love and respect for, couldn't be further. The voyeurism is disgusting. So many people utterly disconnected from the reality of what they are viewing. They don't understand the humanity behind what they snapping pictures of, no comprehension of the lives the people endure. After the rude tourists depart we speak to the lady. She is knitting a jumper for her shop around the corner. She asks where we come from and tells us she is from Puno, but is here in Cusco to work. It is a simple conversation but it makes us feel a little more respectful.
I know that tourism is often voyeurism, in fact it can be hard to avoid being that person taking photographs of people simply eeking out an existence, selling boiled quail's eggs from a cart so they can afford to feed their children. Even as a non-believer its a type of voyeurism to wander in and out of churches, watching people cross themselves and praying to saints that they fervently believe can offer them relief. Driving through shanty-towns on the edge of cities, walking through favelas, you can even head to the hellish mines of Potosi in Bolivia and see what sort of conditions the miners have to endure through their short working lives. It is fascinating but ugly all at the same time. The question remains: if you don't go to these places to look at things, why do you go?
We try and relieve ourselves by buying locally made produce, making small contributions to the local economy where possible, and trying to not intrude where we aren't wanted. Some people consider tourism as a God-given right to thrash your way through cultures around the planet, bemoaning how backward these people are, imagine not being able to put your toilet paper down the toilet, but into a bin! I know I would like to put a lot more detail into this blog about names, dates, events, but I just can't remember them when it comes time to type. There must be some sort of compromise that doesn't just result in sitting on a beach for a week re-reading Michel Houllebecq or Roberto Bolano.
Back at the hostel we stop for the night. Sarah watches 'Bridesmaids', I have lost myself in a copy of Stephen King's Night Shift which is lying around the hostel. We aren't tired but head to bed about 1am. We had thought we had the room to ourselves but, late in the day, another chap turns up and we have to share. Sarah is distracted by a hundred different things right now and this does nothing for her mood.
Tuesday morning and we have decided to go and buy our boleto turistico. The storm of the previous night is gone, although the sky over Cusco is not one to be predicted as clouds roll in and out without reason or warning. It is beautiful sitting in our hostel, high in the city, and look out at the shadows rolling across the tops of the red slate houses and around the surrounding hills.
A walk to the wrong end of Avenida El Sol and the tourist office is closed, so back up to the other end, accompanied by a union march of a few thousand people. Lots of chanting, lots of police, no trouble whatsoever. Below the office where we buy our tickets (PNS$130, write your name on the front, gets you into each site once and only once, valid for ten days) is the Museo de Arte Popular, a collection of little figurines made every year around Christmas and sold to the local people who buy them to bring luck to their homes. For 75 years the council has bought up the best pieces for posterity, and you can see them all here. From a little Joseph, Mary and Jesus made out of cutlery to tiny silver faceless figures climbing mountains, a colourful clay village on a hillside, and dozens of musicians and dancers, there are a wealth of ideas all playing on a theme. It's a good coherent collection.
Next up is the Museo Historico Regional. Another courtyard, another countless number of paintings, mostly religious, supplemented by some interesting and specific information on the lives of Jose Gabriel Tupac Amaru, hero of the Americas for fighting against the injustice of the Spanish Crown and torn apart by horses for his troubles, and El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, a mestizo of royal Incan heritage who wrote the first accounts of the history of the indigenous peoples of the Andes back in the 16th Century.
By now, however, I have a little religious burnout. When you start to see, over and over again, the same imagery painted by different hands (in La Merced, at the back of the church, are three copies of the same painting of Jesus on the cross hanging beside each other. That, surely, is overkill). After lunch will be the Museo Municipal de Arte Contemporaneo. First is lunch.
We find ourselves in a little courtyard with a Menu del Dia of PNS$12, which is really a bit silly cheap. Sarah, being careful, orders a custom made dish of pollo a la plancha (grilled chicken) and rice, whilst I try their sopa de quinoa followed by bisteck a la plancha. The soup is excellent, the steak is not, but at less than three quid for lunch I'm not complaining. Sarah is a little outraged to be charged PNS$25 for her chicken and rice, but the waiter isn't for moving. We depart with the two of them on bad terms. A shame, I would have gone back for that soup.
For the first time in 5 months we run into two people we had met previously, an English couple we were on the boat with at Paracas in Peru. Quick chat, away we go.
Our final stop of the day turned out to be a little strange. What should have been a museum of contemporary art was more like council offices with some paintings on sale around it. No one showed the slightest interest in our boletos. Good job. Five minutes of wandering and we were away.
Once again the heat vanished from Cusco and we were in conditions akin to an Ulster summer. An hour was spent searching some shops for our lady of the previous evening, and we eventually found her on her way home, so nothing could be bought from her today. I resist the temptation to buy a bronze condor ("Only a hundred and seventy sir, nice price!") and our day out is done.
No bad tummies from lunch, things are improving.
On our way home I purchase a couple of small bags of coca leaves from a little lady in the street. One sol a bag, I have been curious about the coca leaf 'chewing' ritual for a while. You basically put a leaf or two into your cheek, moisten, masticate a little, and once you have built up a little ball you add something to release the alkaloids, like bicarb of soda or a little ash. I used toothpaste, which did the same thing. The result is a little like drinking mate, but leaves you with a very fresh tasting mouth and without a full bladder.So that's that then!
I risk a couple of beers in the hostel, Cusquena red, better than most but not actually good, and we enjoy the company of Nancy and Jamie, our New Zealand peers. The night flies in, and we retire, early-ish, about 11.30pm.
There is logic to this. Visitors to Cusco find (often frustratingly) that the main attractions are all covered by a single boleto turistico, a catch-all pass that sets you back PNS$130 but gets you into sixteen different sites. The pass lasts for ten days, covers eight museums or similar, four sets of ruins just outside Cusco, plus a further four ruins at villages in the surrounding Sacred Valley area. Time it right and you can definitely get your money's worth.
The little problem on the side is that many other attractions, mostly churches, are not included on the ticket. Logically then you go and see the churches first, then the sites on the card, and when all is said and done you finish up in Ollantaytambo, the village closest to the little town of Aguas Calientes, jumping off point for Machu Picchu.
Pan-tastico! continues its tradition of fine bready breakfasts, we spend a while chatting to some of our fellow guests, rather a lot of French folk staying here, plus some rather cheerful German men, one of whom sports a green 'Irish Yoga' t-shirt. I was somewhat bemused by an upstanding German looking to the Irish for advice on how to drink.
We make our first stop at the Museo Maximo Laura, for some reason one of the top destinations on Tripadvisor, something to do with textiles. Of course, all becomes clear when we arrive. Maximo Laura is a feted international artist who creates enormous panels of colour, combining traditional Incan art with cubist influences. The tapestries are stunning. Like most museums we visit here, no photos, whether flash or not, and no filming. Worth every Sol we didn't spend on it (the museum is free entry. Of course, you might decide to buy one of Laura's pieces for an unspecified sum...)
Sarah tries to purchase some gifts from a street urchin, but we have no change. We walk down to the nearest Scotiabank and queue for twenty minutes to exchange our PNS$100 notes for smaller denominations. By the time we get back the urchin is gone. No gifts today.
Off we totter towards the Plaza de Armas yet again, our preferred destination is the Catedral de Cusco, enormous, beautiful, and sadly a rather pricey PNS$25 to get in. We think that includes another church as well, but its not clear, and the entrance is swamped with gangs of organised tourists all waving little sheets of authorisation in their hands. Best to back and head to the nearest alternative, the Templo de la Compania de Jesus, built on top of the original Inca temple here in what the Inca's considered to be 'The Bellybutton Of The World".
This one only costs PNS$6 each, and for that you get an enormous building with some fine artwork, a wee wander around upstairs where you can look out upon the Plaza De Armas, plus a brief trip into the crypt to see a small hole in ground; below us are the remains of the Incan temple, which looks a lot like no one has been down there in quite a while. It is surprising sometimes to be in churches and feel they don't fully exploit their touristic potential. But, of course, these are still churches.
I stop and look at the incredible artistic legacy left behind by Christianity, in spite of whatever feelings I harbour regarding religion, and two questions come to me: what will become of all these churches as the church continues to decline? These are, even for heathens like myself, often an essential go-to in any city. And secondly, what artistic heritage has the humanist tradition left behind? Whilst it is oxymoronic to talk about humanist beliefs, what have we put in place to promote our way of thinking, not just in word but in image? What public places for thought and solace are we offering those in need? Even I find it physically relaxing and mentally stimulating to sit in a fine church and consider the world.
We strike out into the daylight and decline to buy nice but expensive religious pruck at the shop next door. A short distance away is La Merced, next church on our route. This time, however, we are swamped in religious art; a courtyard with frescos, a few enormous paintings of miracles that some basic human beings had scratched their names on to, and a collection of items heavy with gold, silver, diamonds, pearls, and countless precious stones. Sarah goes into a fury when the curators follow us into the galleries, watching us watching things. She also goes a bit crazy when the assistants approach us too quickly in the shops.
Throughout our time in La Merced we are serenaded by a child who was torturing a trumpet, the cries of children howling along to church songs, and the yelps from a gang of tracksuit clad schoolchildren practicing kung-fu. Not what we expected, as per usual.
By 4pm hunger has struck for both of us. Sarah, whilst improving, is still wary of eating, and we find ourselves in an Indian buffet restaurant serving a selection of vegetarian dishes and chicken or beef curries. Very tasty. Sarah declines to join me on the PNS$15 all you can eat experience.
Cusco cools down quickly once you are out of the sun. It's a tricky city to prepare for; on one hand you want to wear shorts and t-shirts, and make sure you have suntan lotion on, but on the other hand you need layers with you for when you enter a church or museum and it gets awfully cold. The sun also sets here about 5pm, an hour earlier than Lima, falling away behind the mountains and bathing the Plaza de Armas in soft light. We settle ourselves on the steps in front of the cathedral and people-watch for a while.
A local indigenous lady sits beside us and begins knitting. The Plaza is awash with groups of tourists. Some rude people sit down the steps from us and persist in trying to take a picture of the lady, who lifts her hat down over her head. She is unwilling to be photographed, that's not her role here in the city. One rude tourist just stands pointing his camera at her, waiting for her to move her hat. I feel that the distance between Western tourists and the Incan culture, which they proclaim such love and respect for, couldn't be further. The voyeurism is disgusting. So many people utterly disconnected from the reality of what they are viewing. They don't understand the humanity behind what they snapping pictures of, no comprehension of the lives the people endure. After the rude tourists depart we speak to the lady. She is knitting a jumper for her shop around the corner. She asks where we come from and tells us she is from Puno, but is here in Cusco to work. It is a simple conversation but it makes us feel a little more respectful.
I know that tourism is often voyeurism, in fact it can be hard to avoid being that person taking photographs of people simply eeking out an existence, selling boiled quail's eggs from a cart so they can afford to feed their children. Even as a non-believer its a type of voyeurism to wander in and out of churches, watching people cross themselves and praying to saints that they fervently believe can offer them relief. Driving through shanty-towns on the edge of cities, walking through favelas, you can even head to the hellish mines of Potosi in Bolivia and see what sort of conditions the miners have to endure through their short working lives. It is fascinating but ugly all at the same time. The question remains: if you don't go to these places to look at things, why do you go?
We try and relieve ourselves by buying locally made produce, making small contributions to the local economy where possible, and trying to not intrude where we aren't wanted. Some people consider tourism as a God-given right to thrash your way through cultures around the planet, bemoaning how backward these people are, imagine not being able to put your toilet paper down the toilet, but into a bin! I know I would like to put a lot more detail into this blog about names, dates, events, but I just can't remember them when it comes time to type. There must be some sort of compromise that doesn't just result in sitting on a beach for a week re-reading Michel Houllebecq or Roberto Bolano.
Back at the hostel we stop for the night. Sarah watches 'Bridesmaids', I have lost myself in a copy of Stephen King's Night Shift which is lying around the hostel. We aren't tired but head to bed about 1am. We had thought we had the room to ourselves but, late in the day, another chap turns up and we have to share. Sarah is distracted by a hundred different things right now and this does nothing for her mood.
Tuesday morning and we have decided to go and buy our boleto turistico. The storm of the previous night is gone, although the sky over Cusco is not one to be predicted as clouds roll in and out without reason or warning. It is beautiful sitting in our hostel, high in the city, and look out at the shadows rolling across the tops of the red slate houses and around the surrounding hills.
A walk to the wrong end of Avenida El Sol and the tourist office is closed, so back up to the other end, accompanied by a union march of a few thousand people. Lots of chanting, lots of police, no trouble whatsoever. Below the office where we buy our tickets (PNS$130, write your name on the front, gets you into each site once and only once, valid for ten days) is the Museo de Arte Popular, a collection of little figurines made every year around Christmas and sold to the local people who buy them to bring luck to their homes. For 75 years the council has bought up the best pieces for posterity, and you can see them all here. From a little Joseph, Mary and Jesus made out of cutlery to tiny silver faceless figures climbing mountains, a colourful clay village on a hillside, and dozens of musicians and dancers, there are a wealth of ideas all playing on a theme. It's a good coherent collection.
Next up is the Museo Historico Regional. Another courtyard, another countless number of paintings, mostly religious, supplemented by some interesting and specific information on the lives of Jose Gabriel Tupac Amaru, hero of the Americas for fighting against the injustice of the Spanish Crown and torn apart by horses for his troubles, and El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, a mestizo of royal Incan heritage who wrote the first accounts of the history of the indigenous peoples of the Andes back in the 16th Century.
By now, however, I have a little religious burnout. When you start to see, over and over again, the same imagery painted by different hands (in La Merced, at the back of the church, are three copies of the same painting of Jesus on the cross hanging beside each other. That, surely, is overkill). After lunch will be the Museo Municipal de Arte Contemporaneo. First is lunch.
We find ourselves in a little courtyard with a Menu del Dia of PNS$12, which is really a bit silly cheap. Sarah, being careful, orders a custom made dish of pollo a la plancha (grilled chicken) and rice, whilst I try their sopa de quinoa followed by bisteck a la plancha. The soup is excellent, the steak is not, but at less than three quid for lunch I'm not complaining. Sarah is a little outraged to be charged PNS$25 for her chicken and rice, but the waiter isn't for moving. We depart with the two of them on bad terms. A shame, I would have gone back for that soup.
For the first time in 5 months we run into two people we had met previously, an English couple we were on the boat with at Paracas in Peru. Quick chat, away we go.
Our final stop of the day turned out to be a little strange. What should have been a museum of contemporary art was more like council offices with some paintings on sale around it. No one showed the slightest interest in our boletos. Good job. Five minutes of wandering and we were away.
Once again the heat vanished from Cusco and we were in conditions akin to an Ulster summer. An hour was spent searching some shops for our lady of the previous evening, and we eventually found her on her way home, so nothing could be bought from her today. I resist the temptation to buy a bronze condor ("Only a hundred and seventy sir, nice price!") and our day out is done.
No bad tummies from lunch, things are improving.
On our way home I purchase a couple of small bags of coca leaves from a little lady in the street. One sol a bag, I have been curious about the coca leaf 'chewing' ritual for a while. You basically put a leaf or two into your cheek, moisten, masticate a little, and once you have built up a little ball you add something to release the alkaloids, like bicarb of soda or a little ash. I used toothpaste, which did the same thing. The result is a little like drinking mate, but leaves you with a very fresh tasting mouth and without a full bladder.So that's that then!
I risk a couple of beers in the hostel, Cusquena red, better than most but not actually good, and we enjoy the company of Nancy and Jamie, our New Zealand peers. The night flies in, and we retire, early-ish, about 11.30pm.
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