More Inka History, Higher and Higher : Cusco to Puno : Sat 10th May

I sleep surprisingly well. Our Chanel-adoring roommate has not returned from wherever The Greatest Party In The World That Stinks Like A Whore's Handbag is, so we can comfortably jump out of bed and put the lights on. Not that that is any sort of a bonus in this dump.

It's 5.50am.

No chance of breakfast even though the kettle seems to be on the stove. The special guy who works there comes downstairs and lets us out onto the road. A taxi immediately drives up and we get in. It's that easy, sometimes.

Ten minutes later we are on the other side of the city. Cusco is very different when the streets are empty. The most action we see is around the market area where an awful lot of people are up and selling their wares at an hour I do not even normally acknowledge (not since I was 26 and living on my own in Canada and it was totally acceptable to go to bed at 6am because I was weird).

At the Inka Express Departures Office we have our tickets marked and our bags loaded on the bus without any quibbling whatsoever. A two minute walk takes me to a little shop where I get us some water, and at 7am or so we board and depart.

You have two choices (two good choices) when heading from Cusco to Puno. You can take Cruz Del Sur's fancy bus option which leaves around 10pm or you can take a tour bus with Inka Express or Tour Peru (I think) which costs more and takes longer but leaves at 7am and stops at four scenic spots along the way (and includes a buffet lunch!). Plus it arrives at 5pm instead of 5am, and that's good enough for me.

We putter along for an hour or so. This is the first bus we have been on in a very long time where there's no one but tourists. I have to admit I don't really like it, but what can you do? Life on the road is merely a competition as to who has the most expensive camera body and the longest telephoto lens. You would think that people who were that fussy about their photographs might not be on a tourbus that allows you about half an hour per site, but then you don't always want to give these things too much thought or you might end up with two pencils up your nose and a pair of underpants on your head. Saying "wibble".

 

First stop is Andahuaylillas, a little town with a famous colonial church with some incredible frescos which, as per usual, you are not allowed to photograph. That must have disturbed our budding David Baileys, but here's a few shots of the outside. As per usual, there used to be an Inka temple here, and a lot of the artwork inside has Andean touches (almost all fine art in Peru was composed by members of the Cusco School, and after a while you can see it clearly). The tree is also sacred, and during the flowering period is covered in blood-red blooms. I also bought a tasty chocolate bar that was a bit like a fake Snickers. A woman to the side is selling aji de gallina and rice out of a wheelbarrow. You cannot fail to be impressed by the entrepreneurialism of Los Peruanos.

This beautiful multi-coloured flag is that of the Quechua people (the flag for the Aymara is similar but checked instead).

Back on board and another hour or so to Raqchi, considered one of the Inca's most important temples. This one, unlike those we encountered in Cusco or up the Saced Valley, is to Wiracocha, the overarching god of energy and creation, above even the sun and moon. Legendarily this temple boasted the largest roof in the Inca empire. This is where we learned about the Inka trail, that it full stretches over 23000km, a long spine with many offshooting ribs. Raqchi, as well as hosting a fine temple, was also a key stopping point on the trail. There are (were) dozens of storehouses (named 'qolqas') which held potatoes, maize, jerked meats (usually llama) depending on what was being traded in which direction. Towards Lake Titikaka the soil is really only good for growing spuds which the natives then exchanged here for vegetables or coca leaves. The Inka trail runs right through the site, which is surrounded by an oppressive volcanic rock wall, many kilometers long, which obscured from the exterior what was actually located here in this mini-valley.

Church at the edge of the Raqchi site.

The surviving central wall of the temple of Wiracocha, all original except for the little bit of roofing they have put on to protect the walls from water damage.

The vague dark line you can see on the top of the hills is the wall surrounding the whole site.

Stone circles that used to be the pillars supporting the roof.

Our tour guide, Daniel. Good name, that.

Peruvian women will often carry as much as 60kg on their back. They are terrifying and awe-inspiring, all at the same time.

We learn one interesting fact; the Inca spoke Quechua in daily life and with their subjects, but used Aymara as a royal or secret language to hide things from the people. I remember studying a little about the indigenous languages of South America before we started our travels, and it was also so academic and abstract. The experience of being here is very different. In any bookshop in Peru, certainly not just those to do with tourists, you can buy a Spanish - Quechua dictionary. Its simply another language spoken in the country, some people speak it and some don't. Likewise, some people (although few you will encounter as a tourist) speak only Quechua. Some folks we have met speak as much Spanish as I do. What makes it a little easier to study is that, traditionally, the language has been written as the Spanish would pronounce it. So long as you understand the glottal stops and more unusual syllables then you can read a little (not that the words or structure bear any resemblance to a Romance language). Now, however, there seems to be a rise in cultural awareness, and you will see Hispanicised words written in more traditional Quechua spelling. This does lead to a few problems in there is no agreed spelling to the entire language, and sometimes you will encounter two words in equal usage (for example 'Cusco' and 'Qosqo', hispanic and quechua respectively). Many street names are being changed to more traditional spellings too. To the outsider these are relatively superficial changes, to anyone who studied the revival of the Irish language you will see important parallels.

At Sicuani we stop for lunch. An all-you-can-eat buffet! Some fat people are horrified that nothing is deep-fried and sulk back out to the bus. Sarah and I (and some other wise souls) grab a bowl of soup to start and return for our mains when the queue has vanished. The fools! We eat til we cannot move. I sleep on the way to our third stop, La Raya, midpoint between Cusco and Puno and excellent spot to take some photos (and buy more pruck, should you be so inclined).

Our view at lunch. Rubbish!

That train you can see in the distance costs around PNS$700 to travel from Cusco to Puno with PeruRail. Once again, I'm lead to believe the view along the way is overrated (plus it doesn't stop at any of these little towns either).

Final stop Pukara is like a little Spanish town during siesta. We climb off the bus in our mid-afternoon daze and, past an old woman begging on the steps, head to the archaeological museum down the street. Its a four room bungalow with a yard in the middle. I wonder why we have chosen to ignore the glorious church (cathedral?) that we parked outside in favour of this.

Of course, there are good reasons. There are some fine pre-Inkan artefacts here, including a statue of The Great Beheader. We also learn that, pre-Inka, the three sacred animals were not puma, condor and snake, but rather puma, condor and frog. The frog was a creature who could live on land and in water. Gosh! We also met our final Andean creatures, the elusive vicuña. The vicuña is smaller than the alpaca, very gentle and graceful, almost like a deer. They are also endangered because they have been hunted to hell (even now wild vicuña are not safe). A lot of this is to do with vicuña wool being the finest in the world, selling at US$500 a kilo. Trust me, you can't buy it in the shops and no one is getting a vicuña shawl for Christmas.

We also learn, finally, about the bulls that everyone has stuck to the roof of their houses. They're on every house in the Sacred Valley and I have pondered their existence for weeks. It turns out they were originally llamas, little clay models, stuck there to protect the family within the home and bring them luck. The Spanish came and, naturally, changed them to bulls. That's that.

The Great Beheader. So now you understand the trepanning, the child sacrifices, and why, any time they made a statue of him, he always has a head in his left hand (often he himself is headless).

Mummies found at the enormous site just behind the hotel which we are not allowed to visit.

Our final drive takes us through Juliaca, a city which makes Larne look like a shining diamond, and round the hill to Puno. Juliaca boats a population of a quarter of a million, Puno a mere two hundred thousand. It's bigger than I expected. It also looks like an utter dump. For a town renouned for being on the Gringo Trail, the infamous route that all bloody foreigners take through Peru to see all the things they have been told are worth seeing, I am stunned by its resemblance to working-town Pisco, where we found ourselves stranded a month or so ago. Happily, very happily, I would be proved wrong over the next few days.

A PNS$6 taxi runs us over town to Hostal Sariri, which is really more of a hotel than a hostel. Our private room is comfortable and we have our own tv with cable, which lets us watch the Grio d'Italia (and note that the weather back home, no matter where we are, is always worse). Only two things are letting down our accomodation. Number one, the 'hot' water in the shower is definitely in need of a visit from Peruano Trading Descriptions. Number two, our room is utterly freezing. No radiators, just four blankets on the bed. My fingers go blue typing up my blog. Hot tea lasts about five minutes. A shame.

One thing left to do and that is eat dinner and retire. Neither of us are happy with our schedule now. We have a mere two full days in Puno before we need to begin our hectic run to La Paz, through Bolivia and out to Buenos Aires. We had initially planned about five days here. Puno may look like a half-finished industrial complex (Juliaca and Puno are infamous for their unfinished buildings, as you don't have to pay tax on a house missing a final floor or, you know, doors and windows) but there's a surprising number of things to do here. It also has a reputation for being a bit dangerous around the edges.

Good job it was still in Peru. We haven't been disappointed here yet. A quick walk down the road and onto Calle Lima was were all the shops and restaurants were. We walked past a dozen pizzerias to find ourselves in a pizzeria. A very good pizzeria. Where we had burritos. Mmmmmm. And beer. Mmmmm. We met the French couple from Machu Picchu and they ask if our accomodation is also cold. We affirm yes. At this point I am wearing all my clothes, scarf, gloves, and my red comedy hat from Roots in Canada. I haven't needed these accessories since New York City in November. We are over 3800m up. Brrrr.